Beyond the Frame 22/
Searching for sisters after an earthquake in Nepal PLUS how to optimise Lightroom Classic for maximum efficiency.
Bhaktapur
Whenever I’m in Nepal, I try to visit Bhaktapur. The city sits squarely in the foot of the Kathmandu valley, a dusty 15 kilometres from the capital. Bhaktapur is a thousand years old and I’m struggling to find a description that doesn’t include the phrase “where time stands still” but…
The five-roof pagoda overlooking the main square is over 300 years old. Buildings look like they have been standing for centuries, the ubiquitous red bricks providing a consistent, monochrome backdrop for thousands of carnivals and colourful ceremonies.
The city’s maze of narrow streets and alleyways are ideal for those of us who don’t mind being aimlessly lost. What’s around the next corner? A woman pounding grain in a stone mortar? A white-bearded gentleman, custodian of an ancient temple? A group of men standing precariously upon a teetering wooden chariot? Perhaps a man offering to sell a chicken at a competitive price?
All of these and more.
I like to seek out aesthetically pleasing backgrounds and just sit. I’m very good at sitting. I’ll compose a frame, take some meter readings, adjust camera settings and then watch people going about their day. I’m hoping that serendipity will bring interesting characters into the scene but, if I’m not working, I’m content to just sit and appreciate the surroundings.
I found an alleyway where a sliver of sunlight was shining zigzag highlights. Ideal backlighting.
So I sat.
And I focussed my attention on appreciating my surroundings. 😁
After a while, two girls sauntered into the alley, swinging their schoolbags. Half-way along the alley they stopped, one walked back to where I was sitting and asked, “Where are you from?”
We chatted, I asked if I could make some photos, which piqued her sister’s interest enough to prompt her to walk back too.
They told me their names, “Yamuna and Jamuna” and, very proudly, that they were twin sisters, five years old. They asked lots of questions. “What is your name? Do you speak Nepali? Do you have a sister? Do you have a wife? Can we have your camera?”
“My name is Gavin.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
When they felt satisfied that I’d answered all their questions and were convinced that I was unlikely to give them my camera, they turned and strolled back up the alley, swinging their bags again.
And then they were gone.
I recorded their names in a notebook. I try to make prints if I’m likely to return to a place. A print is a simple and inexpensive but greatly appreciated gift. Even if I didn’t meet Yamuna and Jamuna again, chances are I’d be able to hand the prints to a friend or neighbour. It’s a very small gesture but I hope it goes some way to adjusting the potential imbalance of “taking” photographs.
You might have noticed that I never use the phrase “take photos” in the newsletter. I prefer “make photos”. I also try to avoid “Shoot”, “Grab” and “Capture”. So much of the language of photography suggests something predatory. I’m under no illusions, there is an inescapable imbalance, but I try very hard to approach my work, especially street portraits, with a sense of respectful collaboration. No doubt we’ll return to this topic!
But before I digress too far, let me take you back a few moments. As Yamuna and Jamuna were walking away down the alleyway, they did something that I’ve noticed people doing 99 times out of 100.
They gave a backward glance over their shoulders. In fact, they stopped walking and turned.
The final glance
I’ve seen this happen so often that I’m prepared for it now. I have dozens of photos of people I’ve spoken with giving a backward glance as they walk away.
I’m not sure why we do it. If there are any psychologists reading, please let me know what’s happening.
My theory is that as we walk away, we’re reviewing the conversation in our minds, cementing the memory, like re-watching a video recording of our encounter on fast-forward. Perhaps we attach a mental image to that recording for future reference? When we glance back, we’re confirming and fixing that mental image.
Whatever the reason, it’s a characteristic so universally common that I can now accurately predict exactly when somebody will glance back.
I hoped that Yamuna and Jamuna might turn at the point where they reached the sunlight. And that’s exactly what they did. The sunlight shone through their pigtails, casting their shadowed outlines on the pavement.
It isn’t a photo likely to win any awards but it delights me, which, after all, is why we make photographs, right?
The portrait of Yamuna at the top of this edition appeared in my first exhibition at London’s Photographers’ Gallery, which made me even more determined to return to Bhaktapur with some decent prints to share.
However, the circumstances of my subsequent search for Yamuna and Jamuna took an unexpected and deadly turn.
After the Earthquake
I arrived in Kathmandu one day after the devastating earthquake in April, 2015. This is the caption that accompanied images I wired back to news editors.
“KATHMANDU, NEPAL - APRIL 25: A major 7.8 earthquake hit Kathmandu mid-day on Saturday, and was followed by multiple aftershocks that triggered avalanches on Mt. Everest, burying mountain climbers in their base camps. Many houses, buildings and temples in the capital were destroyed during the earthquake, leaving over 6000 dead and many more trapped under the debris as emergency rescue workers attempt to clear debris and find survivors. Regular aftershocks have hampered recovery missions as locals, officials and aid workers attempt to recover bodies from the rubble.”
The death toll was later revised to 8,962. Many thousands were badly injured and many, many more were left homeless.
Searching for the sisters
Bhaktapur was very badly affected. The ancient homes and temples were not built to withstand such a force. Had the earthquake not happened at midday, when many people were outside their homes, the loss of life would have been far greater.
In Bhaktapur, I found people removing rubble by hand, desperately searching for missing friends and family.
I found the alleyway where I had previously sat on a sunny day, casually watching passersby, and where I answered Yamuna’s and Jamuna’s many questions. One building had collapsed, most were visibly unsafe. Rubble piled so high that it covered motorbikes — you might be able to see the saddle and handlebars of a moped, still upright, in the bottom right of the frame.
The chances of surviving beneath a pile of rubble like that are slim. Slimmest of all for children.
I found many people sheltering under plastic sheets, their homes either reduced to rubble or dangerously unsafe. I showed my photos of Yamuna and Jamuna, asking if anybody knew what had happened to them…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Beyond the Frame to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.