Mother Died and Time Passed
/ পরিচয়

পরিচয় কী?
নাম নাকি চেহারা? নাকি কোন অবস্থানে থেকে আকার ধারণ করা?
আমরা রোজ পরিচয় খুঁজি। নিজের বৈশিষ্ট্যকে প্রাধান্য দেই। নিজেকে আরও গুরুত্ববান করে তুলি;আর একটু পরিচিত হওয়ার আশায়।
আমরা সব হারাতে পারি কিন্তু পরিচয় হারাতে পারি না।
রাজনৈতিক কারনে মায়ানমার থেকে আসা কিছু মানুষ আমার দেশে অবস্থান নিয়েছে। সমুদ্রের ঢেউয়ের মত মানুষ। ঢেউয়ের কোন পরিচয় থাকে না; ঢেউ পুরোটাই সমুদ্র।
এতগুলো লোক একসাথে ঘরহারা-অবস্থান আর পরিচয় হারা। এরা সবাই মিলে রোহিঙ্গা। একটা বিশাল সংখ্যা। যে সংখ্যা এপাশ থেকে ওপাশ হয়। আর,আরও বড় সংখ্যায় থেকে যায় কোন পরিচয়হীন ঘরে।

What is identity?
Is it a name or a face? Is it changing through from a position?
We are in search for identity all through our life. We prioritize our individuality and that makes us important. With the hope, that we will be known and remembered by the others.
We can lose everything but not thyself.
Due to political conflicts, few people fled from Myanmar to my country. People like the waves of ocean. Wave does not hold any identity. Altogether, they form an ocean.
At once all these people became homeless, lost their land and identity. In general, they are Rohingya. A vast number of them, this number spans. Moreover, they remain in a large number with no identity.

Rohingyas – possibly the world’s largest stateless population. Almost a million Rohingyas have sought refuge in Bangladesh, fleeing persecution and unimaginable suffering in their own country. In Bangladesh, they have found shelter in a few refugee camps in the Technuf area. The biggest one of these camps is Kutupalong, located in Ukhiya.

​I have been working in Ukhiya for more than five years. I have witnessed how a person loses her identity and gets reduced to just another number. I was fascinated by the ID cards that had been issued by the Burmese military to some of these people some 20 years ago. All Rohingyas were supposed to get one of these but this promise never materialized. The ID card had decayed over the years. Paper weathered; ink faded. It appears that the identity of the Rohingya has faded with them too. So in my picture, I lose details. I process negatives of the digital snaps I take and then print again in the Darkroom to lose the details, intentionally. Faded identity of a forgotten people.

​Meanwhile, the number of refugees in the Bangladeshi camps grows everyday. People looking to stay alive, people running to the hills. The hills sheltering them are decaying. The trees are gone. As a result, in the monsoon, there is nothing to stop the landslides. Which used to be a lonely hill is now a busy township.