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There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out

Behind the school building I found some scraps from Chobimela, some useless boards, broken glasses and wood pieces. And a thought just came to my mind, what if I make a Box-Camera with all these. In which, there will be a view-finder, focussing would be simple: unlike Pinhole-cameras, it won’t be like throwing stones in the dark anymore. I asked Moti bhai for some boards. After talking it over with the office he said take anything you want. So I did. The boards were made of thin plastic. It would be easy to cut it with an anti cutter and carry it around when all’s said and done. I started working on it at Pathsala’s terrace, and gradually people were drawn to it, started gaining a bunch of ideas. Directing me to a lens shop at Puran Dhaka Monir Bhai advised taking a 100-power glass lens from there. It’ll be perfect as a fixed lens for the Box-Camera. The viewfinder was made using Tracing paper. With the help of a carpenter I made a base so that it could be easily attached to a tripod. Within a week’s worth of work the camera was ready. Now it was time to test. I decided to take the first picture in the dark room, the models myself, Rudro, Anondo and Nadim. Rudro-Anondo are twins. Nadim thought up that they could be used to make an illusion. A few seconds of exposure, we stuck to our positions.

Pinhole Camera: Selfie
2015, Dhaka

Around the beginning of 2015. It was winter. East West University let us know that we were going to have our convocation. My university buddies got very excited. It was going to be a big reunion; we didn’t get a lot of occasions to get together otherwise. Everybody had started working here and there. And I was attending Pathshala, very serious about photography and my assignments. 

Mom and dad told me to collect the certificate, so I made time to go there one day. The administration informed me that I need to pay taka 5000 to attend the convocation – for a convocation gown and some snacks apparently. I, for the life of me, couldn’t figure out why I’m being made to pay for my own certificate! 

I told them that I just wanted the certificate; I won’t be attending the ceremony. 

They let me know, I would have to pay regardless. 

The gown wasn’t that fancy. A black cloak made of thick fabric. Very hot for the intense summer in my country. Had no choice but to pay the money. While completing the necessary paperwork after finding me a right-sized gown, the officer told me to be very careful with it. I mustn’t get it dirty, mustn’t lose the fancy string on top of the hat, etc. I was surprised again. I had already paid for it – the gown is mine now…so, why does he even care? He replied – “the gown has to be returned, within 14 days, after the convocation. 

So, I have to pay five grand to rent a dress for 14 days? That too to wear for just one day? The sky fell on my head for the second time that day (at this time with all the heavenly bodies out there). What is he saying? This was downright robbery! The damned dress would cost me around taka 357 per day! I have never worn anything this costly in my entire life! Well, what can I do? Since I’d already paid for it, decided to put it on right away. Didn’t take the thing off the next 14 days, not for a second, not even to bathe. Did everything in it – ate, slept, went to class, roamed around the city taking pictures – all the while wearing the gown. I was going to get my money’s worth. 

At Pathshala, for a self-portrait assignment, my friends helped me set up a tripod and take a picture with several minutes’ exposure. My very first selfie.

(Went to the convocation with a very long string in my pocket. Wanted to make sure that I don’t lose the hat when we throw it up in the air for the picture; wasn’t about to pay the penalty fee for this. When we finally arrived at the venue, it turned out that security was really tight there. The president had come to confer certificates and all. Didn’t want to sit through all that jazz, and decided to go for a rickshaw ride around Hatir Jhil with my little sister Hridi instead. No use wasting such a wonderful evening sitting inside.)

Pinhole Camera: My School
2014, Dhaka

Made some pinhole cameras with my friends. Think it was around 2014. You need a dark room to load the pinhole pages (paper negatives) in the camera and to develop them later.  So, instead of going out to snap some pictures, we took some right at the school so that we can use the school’s darkroom. At the time, the fun to be had was more important than the resulting snaps. Somehow, they ended up with me (perhaps because I got to do the developing). I was a float some during those days; never got to stay in any one house for long. One of the houses even got flooded once. Years later, found some of those pictures while sifting through old junk and notebooks. Needless to say, they were in a deteriorated state. The pictures are now lined with many scratches. The school in them is also no longer there; has seen many changes. Moshure Bhai’s bike and scooter, parked side by side, the iron staircase, the wide open first-floor rooftop, under the sprawling mango tree and its neatly cleaned out base, the smoking zone, the darkroom, the sitting downstairs sitting area where Jo used to hang his film show posters – none of its there anymore. 

Technically, there is an element of ‘capture’ in every picture taken. Whichever way you point your camera, the scene gets captured for life. It’s not the case with pinhole cameras. It has a habit of losing things. Even though it can manage big depths because of its short aperture, it cannot capture anything in motion because of its long exposure time. Thus, the camera wiped out all the people in our otherwise bustling school and made it a quiet and lonely space, devoid of people. Now, after all these years, looking at these pictures makes me feel as if we left our school behind, all alone. My old home is waiting in vain for all my chatty friends to return.

Cigarette Packet:
2015/2016, Dhaka

In lazy afternoons, among idle chatters, I feel like fidgeting with something. Like my mother used to design on the phone directory during long calls of the landline era, something like that. I had nothing close at hand to tear apart or draw on except cigarette packets. Peeling the cover, I would draw about anything on it with colorful pens. If the person chatting with me liked it, he would take it. Or else it would collect dust in a drawer in a corner.

Digital Painting: 
2013, Dhaka

These are paintings drawn on my phone. Who knows where the digital copies are, the ones I printed are the only ones left.

Notebook:

I am not one to buy notebooks. I usually buy my preferred paper and sew them. Glue them together. Make covers, roam around the press-quarter in search of cutting machines. I make them for myself, and also as gifts for my friends. It is a process, one my very own. The binding materials are my toys. Even after the notebooks have fulfilled their purpose, I don’t throw them away, I keep them like old toys. They have been traveling with me from one place to another for some time now. Going through them, one could see my words-paintings-roughs. It’s quite fun.