The Light Within, a picture book on the vision-impaired, resonates with the vivacity of unburdened human spirit. The author speaks to photographer Sipra Das, who herself conquered her limitations working on her magnum opus
With her unkempt mop of graying hair, her frumpy dress sense and her loose command of English, Sipra Das may not be an inspiring figure to many. It is important to talk of how she appears to people because it has a bearing on what she has been able to achieve with her picture book on vision-impaired people called The Light Within - a different vision of life (Niyogi Books, Rs 1,000). The book, released by President Pranab Mukherjee at Rashtrapati Bhawan in December 2013, provides insightful peeks into the lives of the blind - who, as the photographs show, live lives as fulfilling as any regular man or woman despite the unimaginable impediment of being unable to see anything around them.
In Pictures: The Light Within
Das, 55-plus, as she herself puts it, has been a news photographer for almost three decades, working with All India Radio, Press Trust of India, India Today and Sakalbela, with a few stints as a freelance in between. She started the project on the vision-impaired in 1999 in New Delhi with some photographs of some blind boys. "But I was not convinced. When I looked at those pictures, I saw there was a disconnect between my mind and my camera, between myself and my subject," she says. Her moment of epiphany came when she met Jawahar Kaul, a teacher and anti-corruption activist. He ran the All-India Confederation of the Blind in New Delhi, which had a hostel for blind boys and girls. Das got permission to spend a few days at the hostel. After her first night there, she found after her bath that there were no mirrors around when she wanted to comb her hair. She saw the blind hostellers routinely going about their morning regime, but still irritated at not being able to spruce herself, she complained to Kaul. "You don't need mirrors to see, see with your heart, as we do," the blind Kaul advised her. This simple admonition made Das see her subjects in a completely different light.
But Das' book is not about the woes of a community deprived of light and colours. It is, on the contrary, the celebration of their dark world and their ability to transcend physical limitations in pursuing a normal life. So she has met dancers and actors, mechanics and fishermen, students and beauticians, lawyers and corporate executives, doctors and teachers, homemakers and adventurers, who may not possess the gift of sight but have a true insight into life. "Yes, we don't have many things in our lives, but like my subjects, we have to learn to live the best life with what we do have," says Das, who imbibed this truth after initially finding herself doubting her own ability to complete the work she had set out to do.
It wasn't easy for Das. She had to eke out time from her professional work to pursue her project. She had to look after her mother, an unemployed brother and another brother who had been born with just one kidney which too was damaged, all on her meagre salary. But with whatever she could spare, she bought film rolls and travelled for her project. "It is easy to locate celebrities, but I had to travel much and explore much to find blind people leading regular lives," she says.
Her biggest hurdle came when, finally satisfied that she had the content for a book, she set out in search of a publisher. One after another, the publishers rejected her book. Who could have confidence in a frumpily-dressed woman with a mop of unkempt graying hair talking in heavily accented English? It was the same story with potential sponsors. "They would tell me, call us after 20 days, there is no need to come to the office," say Das. "I would smile in their presence, but out on the street I would sit down and weep because I knew they were actually rebuffing me." Finally, after three long years of sheer stubbornness - at one point she was so discouraged that she wanted to chuck the entire manuscript into the Yamuna - and inspired by the men, women and children whom she had captured on her Nikon and Canon cameras, she was able to persuade a publisher to begin printing the book.
By the way, President Mukherjee did not technically release the book. It was unribboned by two blind girls, 16-year-old twins Prachi and Pragya Mahajan. Mukherjee only received the first copy. Both Mukherjee and Das had decided that the moment should belong rightfully to the brave people to whom the book was dedicated.
