Small is beautiful: Photography in a Delhi market
26th October 2009
Simon Harding
‘Second left, in front of the market’, at least that’s what I thought the man in the camera shop said, but now I wasn’t so sure. The shops had petered out and all that remained was a dusty path running precariously alongside a busy dual carriageway. A few stray dogs scratched themselves, impervious to the deafening racket of thousands of passing cars, autorickshaws, lorries and the occasional bicycle. A group of men slept on thin mats under a tin shelter by the roadside. One stirred and watched me from his position, prostrate on the mat with the sleeve of his grey workman’s shirt across his face. I stopped, paused, turned and purposely strolled in the opposite direction, trying to give the impression that this sweaty, slightly red faced expat knew exactly where he was going: That was just a little detour to admire Indian road building techniques.
I had left my friend’s flat in search of a couple of passport photos and despite numerous glass fronted shops selling cameras, printers and just about every photographic accessory under the sun, none of them actually took any pictures. Promising all the photographic gadgets a wealthy Indian could ever want for his holiday snaps and half a dozen shaved and shirted young men to sell them, they somehow failed on the practical front.
The passport photo is to the official document in India, what the cherry is to the Black Forest gateaux. Buying a mobile phone, getting an internet connection, signing a rental lease and registering with the local authorities all require at least a couple of mug shots. So in demand are passport photos that some Delhi expat forums advise their readers to carry half a dozen around at all times in their wallets, pointing out that a sizable purchase will probably require a hefty outlay of both rupees and photos.
But at lunchtime on a street bustling with a heady mix of traffic, street food dhabas, shoppers, horns, school kids and young men riding their motorbikes every which way, the expat forums weren’t helping much. Where does one actually get a photo taken?
I decided to head back to the market and have one last look around. Walking around the market is like a treasure hunt. There are few signs on anything; occasionally the odd bit of Hindi painted on a door, but nothing as brazen as a family name and snappy business title. There are, however, clues. Most businesses have entirely open fronts, spewing pots, pans, vegetables, fruit, lentils, fabric and men’s shoes onto the path, others, mainly the service providers, leave more subtle clues, confident that their customers already know where they are, relying on probably the oldest marketing strategy in the world: word of mouth.
After nearly stepping on an ‘ice cream bowl set’, which one trader seemed to store on the pavement, I hit the jackpot: An opening between two clothing stalls through which two large shaded spot lights and small scruffy blue background panel were clearly visible. Stumbling into the shop, kicking child’s sandals out of the way, I was greeted by the proprietor. He had to be: there was only room for two of us in there. ‘Five photos, instant, 60 rupees, twenty-four, two hour wait, 50 rupees’, said the portly moustachioed gentleman, dressed in the two colours so beloved of middle-aged Indian men: beige and off-white. ‘Five instants, please’, I said, hair stuck to my forehead.
He gestured to the stool in front of the blue panel and picked up a large and visibly aging camera liberally re-enforced by sellotape. He squatted, stood up, told me to lower my chin, stepped left, then right, like an artist trying to find the right angle in a studio no bigger than the average bathroom. One flash later and he disappeared behind the blue screen, beckoning me to follow. Before I could move the familiar ‘de-dung’ tone of a Microsoft computer waking up from ‘standby’ mode rang out. I sat on a stool in the single-bed sized backroom and watched him load up Photoshop, cut, clip, align and touch up the pictures. Then he fed laminated card into a skeletal printer, all under the preserving, sustaining eye of Vishnu, peering down from the wall.
The result was amazing. Previous passport photos show me front-on, dazzled like a driver’s eye view of someone about to connect full-on with their speeding car. But these were different. Somehow, in a tiny studio and with what looked like fifty quid’s worth of equipment, he had managed to take the most flattering shot of me that I’d ever seen: looking slightly upwards into the camera, eyes open, a hint of a smile, against the deepest azure blue you’ve ever seen. A truly professional job for Rs.60 (about 80p).
Presented with a 6x12ft room, an aging camera, a couple of lights and some slightly dishevelled computer technology, most would baulk at the idea of actually making a business out of this motley collection of parts. Yet, the market is full of small service providers like the photographer, all squashed together competing for space, yet somehow co-existing on an incredibly fertile area for small businesses to grow. They operate in the tightest of confines and, through years of perfecting their trades with the often modest tools at their disposal, deliver outstanding results. A sewing machine bolted to a table in the corner is the heart of a stitching, altering and mending business, which provides an income for a family; an elderly man squats down at a workbench in a tiny cupboard littered with wires, circuit boards and plastic. It is the nerve-centre of a busy repair business, wringing a few more years out of toasters, VCRs, CD players and TVs. Whilst large retailers move in around them, the small businesses in the market continue to thrive due to a combination of reputation, diligence and good old fashioned craftsmanship.
Entrepreneurship doesn’t have to be measured in material terms, it is an attitude and one which is alive and well in the minds of tens of thousands of business people in India. When that is supported by the extent of material resources available in other parts of the world, then we will see India’s potential fully realised.