Eyes of Madras 2.0
The last article I filed with my beloved editor.
An autorickshaw moving barge-like through a flooded street. Drenched boys dancing in the wake of a scooter splash. A dutiful mailman wading through the knee-deep water to deliver letters. There was nary a cloud in the sky when I stepped into the C.P. Art Centre, Alwarpet, the venue of second edition of Eyes of Madras, a photography exhibition, but inside, it felt like monsoon.
Chennai Does Not Have Only Summer, the section I wandered into announced its intention plainly. A necessary correction, perhaps, to the tired cliche that the city only three seasons: hot, hotter, and hottest. Here, the vivid landscapes tell the story of a city which prays for rains but always seems to be unprepared when the wish is granted. The exhibition’s seven other themes — celebration, work, roaming, mobile storytelling, black‑and‑white Chennai, urban flora and fauna, the arts — felt less like categories than ways of paying attention and create their own narratives.
Chennai Photo Walkers will have you convinced that there is never a dull moment in the city, rain or shine. Since 2007, this band of amateur photographers has documented the city’s people and buildings, from the everyday to the emblematic. In a metropolis of over ten million people, subjects abound and in the eyes of the camera, as in the eyes of the law, we are all equal. Whether it is the classical singer Aruna Sairam at the Music Academy or the vegetable vendor who has set up her stall under a plastic umbrella, the lens captures the individual’s dignified mien.
Picture Credit: Ramana Kumar B ‘Rain or Shine’ from Eyes of Madras 2.0
Chennai is a city by the sea, the camera-toting group has captured some arresting images right by the shore. A few shots which grabbed attention: A pair of white bulls being bathed at the Marina, a hand from a giant clay statue bidding the city one final goodbye, a group of young dancers leaping high on the sandy beach. There was also an image of fishermen turning work into play while unloading the catch of the day. “It was at Kasimedu, where unloading big fish was done as a ‘catch-the-ball act,’ says the photographer Naveen Kumar, a chartered accountant by profession, who was one of the four organizers of the show.
The organizers realized that a call for photos under the usual themes of Architecture, Landscape, and Natural Heritage of Chennai would only lead to submissions of repeat images of the LIC, catamarans, banyan trees of Adyar and so on. “We wanted every theme to have a story, or some drama and hope we achieved what was intended,” Kumar says. Much thought went into the captioning as well. “If the captions were inappropriate or if they lacked punch or drama, we went in and made changes. ” Eyes of Madras 1.0 debuted in August 2017 during Madras Week.
Picture Credit: Sethu Raman ‘Celebration of Joy’ from Eyes of Madras 2.0
Veteran BBC correspondent Andrew Whitehead, who is in town to teach at the Asian School of Journalism, says the photographs were of exceptional quality. Some of the images made him linger; others made him laugh out loud. His favorite? A beaming shopkeeper admiring photos of himself and his storefront, taken just a minutes earlier. “People are always keen to see how their photos turn out,” says Whitehead. This is a near-universal truth.
An estimated two thousand people dropped in to see the three-day show, which, the organizers say, was an event to encourage passionate amateur photographers. Will it inspire its members to explore this “wildly photogenic city” as Londoner Whitehead calls Chennai? At present, The Chennai Photowalk Group has over 16,700 members on its rolls in Facebook. They go out as a group, in and around Chennai, on the first and third Sundays of each month. “All Are Welcome,” meaning, of course, the membership is free of charge. Every cellphone has a built-in camera — so there is no need to buy a camera to join the group.
What these weekend photographers will choose to notice is anyone’s guess; we’ll find out when the next edition of the exhibition arrives. For those of us who no longer live in the city, it offered something better than nostalgia: the chance to look again without softening the edges. No rose‑tinted glasses needed.