Benjamuna's Blog

Stories…. with a touch of India….

My favourite portraits… March 31, 2014

Filed under: INDIA — benjamuna @ 7:21 pm

Among the many photos I have taken in India, some stand out in my remembrance. Some of these portraits are taken almost ten years ago which makes me wonder how the girl’s lives look right now. The photos are taken in poor areas in Maharashatra, for the most part. Some of the girls could be married by now. Some might have been forced to quit school, if they were lucky enough to go to school at all. A helping hand is often needed at home. More money is always needed at home and sadly many girls have to sacrifice schooling, and further education.

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She was the youngest of three sisters, she was light as a feather…




















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How could you not miss the red bows!



The girls had brown school uniforms. They sat on the floor, the room was semi-dark. Her scarf was pink and she looked so wise.



















I’m thinking of her as a juggler. She was very much alive on one of the Mumbai beaches, she was a acting in front of my camera, but I knew all the time she was looking for some easy money. And I didn’t blame her. In the botanical world a juggler is a monkey flower. She was a beautiful flower on the beach!




















Suddenly we were surrounded by pink girls. They came swarming out of a school in Chor Bazaar, the Bhori muslim area. Happy to see the end of another School day, free to do something entirely different.




















They just sat there, talking to each other. I happened to come by, and said hello…



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Teenage friends. I asked them to pose for me. One chubby and childish. The other swanlike and fragile. Both growing up.



















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We had been driving for ages on roads full of potholes, dust, heat, sweat – and the reward was a school full of children in bright, red uniforms!



















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A young girl in a window sill, a live portrait, she didn’t move when I lifted my camera.


The colours of… March 21, 2014

Filed under: INDIA — benjamuna @ 8:47 am
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I’m not a “foodie“. I never explore food. But wherever I travel, I take pictures of food. Especially at markets. Street vendors are unbeatable… some with their food laboriously displayed with an artistic flaw. The bazaars of India; Chor Bazaar or Crawford market in Mumbai, or  Old Delhi for example… there is food on display everywhere. I don’t taste it (for many reasons), I don’t care about the smell be it good or bad. I care for the colours.


I like carrots though… The carrots in India are not orange, like ours. They’re red, and thus seem even more tempting. These carrots are cut by many helping hands in The Gurudwara Sis Ganj (Sikh temple), Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi.

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Chilli… Irresistible – unpredictable. It can ruin a meal, but most of the time it adds colour and taste! (maybe that was an understatement).


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I must admit…, it looks delicious! It’s a curry. Allo curry. Potato curry With loads of other greens and reds…Strong perhaps, the chillies are floating freely. This is from a street vendor in Old Delhi. I always question the hygiene… – No, says Anju my guide. – The turnover is so fast,she says, it sells so fast that nothing gets bad.


Lime… When I go to my local shop, there are 20-something lime on display. What I like in the markets is the abundance, it underlines the colours….



Deliciously sweet with musky undertones and a soft, butter-like consistency, it is no wonder the papaya was reputably called the “fruit of the angels” by Christopher Columbus.

Impossible not to have a bite. It looks good, – meaning it tastes good. And it looks good in terms of colour and texture.

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I thought for an instance it was pizza…absolutely not. It’s Pao Bhaji, mixed vegetables. And it’s not solid 
A quote – for your information since I myself can’t shed a light…:

Pao bhaji is a Maharashtrian fast food dish that originated in Mumbai cuisine. The pav-bhaji is a spicy preparation with a mixture of vegetables, either whole or mashed, a generous dose of fresh tomatoes, a dollop of butter, optional toppings of cheese and dry-fruits and fresh fruits, consumed with warm bread gently or crispy fried in butter – an all-time, anytime favourite with Mumbaikars.


I just have to include the – my – bananas…

I have travelled by car in India. I have stopped at dhabas, at hotel restaurants, at small cafes – I have eaten – but never felt really satisfied. The banana comes to my rescue, always. You’ll find them along the road, in many variations. Most of the time much more tasty than the ones at home. And the best thing, encapsulated in the skin, the fruit can be eaten with no further worries….


Kachori is an Indian snack… spelled in many ways, made in many ways…. This is Delhi-style….


Dal on display…. a mellow colour symphony! Dal, also spelled dahl, dhal or daal, is a Hindi word meaning pappu (lentils). It’s impossible to avoid dal when in India. I would call it a gravy, or  stew, eaten with rotis (flat bread), for example. Dal is known as the staple food in India. If you have nothing else to put on the table, dal is most of the time there – as  source of proteins and very often as an only source of food for the poor.
The photo shows various lentils.



Colours… March 7, 2014

Filed under: INDIA — benjamuna @ 12:35 pm
Tags: , , ,

If you don’t see colours in India, your eyes are not wide open. I came to think of colours when I recently  attended an occasion where the guests really were supposed to dress up. – Look around you, I whispered to my partner, how do women in Norway dress when they really want to look good? – In black, he said within seconds. A colleague wanted to defend all the women by saying; – But it’s winter, we would never dress in black in June. That well may be true, but there are clearly other colours suitable for winter than black.

In India, I’m always struck by the bright colours I see around me. No matter how poor the area is, how poor the people are, it’s impossible to avoid the colours.



Many female politicians in Norway wear red when they want to be noticed, it’s  a colour that attracts attention. It took me quite a few shots to make the shy girl above smile, and then her face opened up. She is very poor but she looks like a queen.  I met her in Pune, south of Mumbai, she came with her mother in order to get nutrition packs from an NGO. The room was packed with mothers and children, but albeit small and thin she stood out in her red dress.



Pretty in pink…. A young girl in Burari, one of the poorer districts in the North of Delhi. It’s festival time. She’s all dressed up, full of anticipation. She looks like a million dollar, I wish for her a happy life!



My guide Anju and me were stuck in a rickshaw in Old Delhi, the intensely crowded area just behind the Jama Mashid. The traffic moved slowly slowly but I was totally engrossed in a sari… of a  woman in the rickshaw in front of us, and didn’t really mind the lack of speed. We were trailing behind for quite some time. The traffic made it impossible to break free. So I enjoyed the sight of the beautiful earthen “ensemble”; the colours, the patterns…. Somehow she noticed, after a while. She looked offended and covered her head with the dupatta.



How could you not be attracted to this man in his green turban. He sat at the entrance of a Sufi temple in Delhi. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed him if it weren’t for the green headgear. He would more or less have blended into the background. Or maybe not…



Three muslim girls in Old Delhi, dressed in their school uniforms. I wonder why the girl in the middle is not wearing her veil. Is she naughty? Did she forget it? Is she not a muslim? But I shall never know.



– Tell me about Norway, how big is it? The guide from Salaam Balak Trust in Delhi fell into steps with me. He was otherwise dancing along in his bright, blue t-shirt. A proud guide, formerly a street child.  Eager to share his past, and his dreams for the future. And eager to learn. – Give it a guess I said. – Five million people he said.



White can be exceptionally white in India. Many parts of India is by our standards dirty. The white scull cap belongs to a jewellery maker in rather bleak surroundings in the maze of Old Delhi.



It’s impossible not to grab your camera when a holy man appears; a Sadhu. Everything around him was grey, a grey grey…. The cart, the men, their clothes, the street, the walls… – I know him, said Anju, he’s not like the other holy men, he wants work, he wants to contribute.
These men, and many more, are hanging around in Old Delhi, waiting for chance work.