Streets Ahead

A Mud Hut In The Middle Of A City Thoroughfare

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

This was shot in Calcutta, India, in October 2006. It might look like a mud hut in the middle of a city street, but allow me to explain.

This was shot during the Pujas, the period of Hindu festivities that is a long celebration of colour and light. This is actually a re-creation of an Adivasi village hut and was merely erected as a temporary attraction in south Calcutta.

By shooting from this vantage point, I was able to shoot through the hut, proving a view of the street on the other side. The two figures in the first image are clay renderings - but if you look through the open doorway on the far side of the second image (below) you actually see real people in the distance.


For earlier posts in this series, check out The Doors Archive.

Let There Be Light

Maybe We Can String Something Together Here

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I was in a hurry on a hot, humid morning in Calcutta, India, in October 2006 when I noticed something interesting. This unusual stack, part of what must have been hundreds of light bulbs, had just been taken down from the facade of a residential apartment block.

The lights had been used to illuminate the building during the festive Puja season, in an age-old tradition where lights and assorted decorations adorn homes of all descriptions. The Pujas are a prolonged holiday period during which Indian cities are transformed into havens of shimmering night-time light.

I composed this shot to emphasise the careful manner in which the bulbs had been arranged, but also to draw the eye towards the colour-coded wiring. Obviously the lights were removed in a certain sequence, and were about to be stored in a way in which they could easily be retrieved and replaced the next year.


Visit TNChick's Photo Hunt. Today's theme: "Electric''.

Think Pink

Spring Symphony Comes In Many Colours

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

As a child, I always wondered about the expression "as fresh as a daisy". Surely, I thought, there were other flowers that were bigger, taller, brighter, more infused with wonderful perfume …..

You see, I grew up in Calcutta, India, where we had a sprawling garden that was big enough for a badminton court near the driveway, a full-length cricket pitch near the back door, as well as an enclosed sanctuary where such missiles as soccer balls and cricket balls could not do any damage – and several long, broad garden beds.

So in my childish mind, there were many varieties that looked fresher than daisies, which I thought were probably a bit mundane.

Then I grew up (ostensibly) and married Mrs Authorblog and I became the designated gardener, teaching each of the Authorbloglets in turn everything I knew about horticulture. So when we built our own home and I had the great pleasure of designing and planning the garden, I planted some daisies that act as a beacon of the seasons.

There are huge mounds of golden-yellow daisies in winter, white daisies in late winter and now the scarlet daisies as spring loosens winter’s grip. And yes, I have finally realised that "fresh as a daisy" is entirely accurate and legitimate.


Visit Luiz Santilli Jr for the home of Today's Flowers.

Bus Top

Houston, We've Found One Of Your Rockets

Rear windows of a Calcutta bus. Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

The Law Is An Asp

Who Are You Blokes? Slitherin?

About a thousand Indian snake charmers have staged a rally in protest against a law that declares their profession illegal. Playing their distinctive flutes, they marched in Calcutta, demanding the right to perform with live snakes. Animal rights groups say the ban will curb the abuse of snakes.

FOOTNOTE: Fang club.

E Is For Eyesight

Never Let An Opportunity Go A-Begging

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

In October 2006, I was briefly in Calcutta, the Indian city where I was born. Early one morning, a childhood friend of mine picked me up and drove me around the sprawling city. founded by Job Charnock, just so I could capture familiar scenes.

We had been out for almost three hours when he suddenly stopped without warning. It was not one of the spots where we had planned to stop – and I could not see anything that I might want to shoot.

Before I could ask him anything, he pointed through the passenger window, telling me this was not a run-of-the-mill scene. He explained that a group of four beggars frequented the area, and that they always walked together, chanting as they carried two multi-coloured rugs.

A rug? Why the rug?

He explained that they held the rug in the manner of a fireman’s blanket. It was their practice to walk to a series of apartment buildings early every morning, before the occupants left for work. From the windows and balconies, the residents would throw coins onto the rug. Then, when there was no more money forthcoming, the foursome would carefully turn around and make their way to the next apartment building.

I was fascinated.

But I had a question. Why did the four of them operate together as a team?

His answer floored me. They worked together because they were blind. They shuffled down the streets together, taking smaller steps because they did so in unison and because they were not blessed with normal vision.

"You can travel the world and you’ll never see anything quite like this," he told me.

He was right. The story of the beggars struck me immediately. So too did the bright colours of their clothing and the vivid hues of the rugs they were carrying. I was about to open my door when I decided to take a couple of shots from the passenger seat. So I rolled the window down and pointed my camera at the poignant scene. They were only a few feet away from me.

As I did so, someone called out to the beggars, telling them that a person in a car was about to photograph them. Things suddenly started to happen very quickly.

The four beggars wheeled around rapidly and took three or four steps (very much quicker than I reckoned they were capable of) towards the car. One of them was yelling something that I could not quite catch and the expression on the face of the closest beggar was suddenly hostile.

Before I could say anything, my friend had put his imported European car in drive and accelerated away swiftly. I only had time to shoot one frame before he made his escape.

Just one shot. Taken in a split-second before the opportunity vanished forever.

It was an incident - and a basic lesson in instinctive photography - that was to have an interesting echo, when I was charged by a grizzly recently. (You can see the photo and read the post at G Is For Grizzly.) As in India, one shot was all I had time for on that amazing day in the Yukon - but how many people are lucky enough to hit the shutter on a scene like a grizzly defending its piece of Canadian turf?

Maybe on this Calcutta morning, I was blessed with the understanding of the "Decisive Moment" that the peerless Henri Cartier-Bresson spoke about so eloquently. We have so much to learn from the masters of photography. And so much to be thankful for.

For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

Branch Manager

Everyone Needs A Social Climber (Sometimes)

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

When I was a kid, my parents' garden at 3 Dumayne Avenue in Calcutta (now Kolkata) was full of flowers. There was an amazing variety and the aroma and sea of colours suffused every corner of the huge property we were lucky to live on.

But for some reason I don't think we ever grew orchids, although I remember being aware of the plants. I also seem to recollect seeing them grown in pots at the annual flower show at the Horticultural Gardens.

When I was eleven years old, we travelled to Bangkok and Singapore and I remember the airline staff giving my mother a beautiful pink-and-purple orchid which she proudly pinned to her dress.


At boarding school in St Joseph's College, North Point, Darjeeling, in the foothills of the Himalayas, I was once a member of an authorised group of schoolboys who were given once-a-year permission to trek to nearby Lebong, set up camp overnight and spent about 24 hours examining local flora.

We also had special permission to carefully and responsibly (and what important caveats they were, both then and now) take certain plant specimens back to the school greenhouse.

I was thirteen when our group spotted a splendid orchid high up a tree. Among our number we had basic tree-climbers (me), talented tree-climbers (about ten) and supremely gifted rock-climbers (about three) but not one of us could get to the branch that held the orchid.


After about half an hour a "kancha" (a Nepali word for "little boy") came whistling down the hillside. We looked at each other just like cartoon characters do when they are endowed with sudden inspiration.

Our leader had a quick word with the lad, who would not have been more than about eight years old. He nodded, eager to prove his skill. And when our leader added the inducement of a handful of boiled sweets, the kancha could not have approached his task with more zeal.

In less time than it would take you to read this post, he had climbed the tree, grabbed the orchid, come down safely, accepted his reward and gone whistling on his merry way.


Visit Luiz Santilli Jr for the home of Today's Flowers.

The Doors (3)

Looking For The Wonderful Alley, McGraw

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Wherever I travel, I seem to take photographs of unusual objects. But doors, for some reason, seem to be a constant theme for me. Is there a Freudian reason for this fascination? Maybe because we, the human race, use doors to control access to ourselves, our lives, our thoughts and indeed our very existence.

Doors, I guess, are like the human mind. We open them readily to those we recognise and love, while (generally) we close them to those we do not know or trust or those whose proximity brings more questions than answers.

Doors are the most ancient method of protecting our personal space. I've also found that doors are like snowflakes, for you seldom find two that are identical. Perhaps that explains why the opening sequence of Monsters Inc sticks in our collective consciousness, as the myriad doors traverse a never-ending roller-coaster production line.

Recently I posted Traffic Jamb, then a couple of weeks ago, I posted a shot of this burgundy doorway in Calcutta, India and last week I followed it up with this random shot of a weathered blue door in Fremantle, Western Australia. I received a lot of comments and emails suggesting that I start a regular series.

Yes, I like the idea. So here is the next instalment in the series. This was shot in September, in Whitehorse, capital city of the Yukon. I was there at the invitation of Yukon Tourism and this was one of about 200 shots I took in the last couple of hours on Canadian soil before I caught my flight back to Australia.

Those who have read my travel writing and my blog would know that the Yukon has occupied a special place in my consciousness since my first trip there in 1999. So I guess it's fitting that this was taken in Paradise Alley. This part of Canada has always been my idea of paradise.

Access All Areas

In India, All Kinds Of Doors Open For You

Central Calcutta, October 2006.
Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Playing Favourites

Image Conscious (And The Story Behind Each Shot)

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Since this week's Photo Hunt theme is "Favourites", I've tried to select three of my most cherished images, not just for what they depict in colour and form, but for the story that goes with each shot.

2006. Calcutta, India

This was taken on a hot, sticky, intensely humid night during a very brief and unexpected visit to the city where I was born. It was in the middle of the Pujas, the peak Hindu festival season and it was also the night before Id, the major Muslim festival.

At this street bazaar behind the New Market, the crowds were almost impenetrable. There was no threat, no danger, for these were only shoppers in holiday mood. This was no street for someone in a hurry. The car inched along until I decided the best thing was to go on foot in search of some photographs.

I was dripping perspiration when I finally saw a stall selling colourful bangles. I had taken half a dozen frames when I saw this display – and immediately I knew I had a shot to treasure, if only I could get it right.

I steadied myself against the passing crowd. I chose my settings carefully in the darkness, to make the best use of the single naked bulb above the display. And, yes, I ignored the squadron of little green Diwali flies that were biting my scalp.


2007. Yarra River, Melbourne

The sun was coming up over the Melbourne Cricket Ground as I walked across Princes Bridge. It was not a frosty morning, but still one of those cold Melbourne dawns – and the blowtorch of golden light reflected on the Yarra River was a breathtaking sight.

As always, there were rowers and kayakers on the river and I could see that one was heading on a course that would run parallel to the pooling light. I waited patiently, thankful for the 18-125mm lens that enabled me to frame exactly what I wanted.

I didn’t wait until the low keel was in the middle of the frame. I understand just how powerful an asymmetrical composition can be in terms of emphasis and I wanted the hull and the oars off-centre, so that the liquid gold would be the main focal point and the eye would notice the rower as a value-added bonus to the composition.


2007. Dandenong Road, Melbourne

There are winter fogs in Melbourne, but this was one of the most interesting I’ve ever seen. This was shot at about 5am as I drove down Dandenong Road towards the city.

For all the world, it looked as if someone had smeared orange jelly across my windscreen. I pulled over, put my hazard lights on and because there was no traffic at all I was able to take some interesting semi-ghostly shots looking straight down the road.

But I needed some other object or device, to use as a counterpoint to the striking colour of the fog. I walked down the broad median strip that doubles as the tram tracks – and found my lodestone there. Not only was there a tall palm tree to use in silhouette, there was also a tram shelter. Because of its construction, it not only provided a slender silhouette, but gave me a Shrek-like sheen through the glass panels as well.

The quality of the street lights in the thick fog evoked an image of Dickensian London and it also gave me an interesting reflection across the metal of the tram shelter. I guess this is one of those images that could have been shot in any century, in any city.

There is a certain timeless quality to it and you almost expect to see Bill Sykes and Fagin emerging from the orange gloom.

Visit TNChick, creator of Photo Hunt. Today's theme: "Favourite".

My Name Is Earl(y)

Er, Sorry We Were Almost Late, Your Majesty

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I guess it’s a good thing I inherited the punctuality gene from my father, because my mother, a perennially delightful influence on my life, simply could not have been on time for anything, even if her life depended on it.

Part of family folklore is the story of the day the Queen came to town. Yes, that Queen.

At the time, my family lived in Calcutta and Dad scored two premier tickets to one of the big events of the royal tour. The Queen and Prince Phillip would be attending a special service at St Paul’s Cathedral - and Mum and Dad were high on the list of invitation-only VIPs.

Looking back on it now, I guess Dad must have been sweating bullets. How on earth was he going to shoehorn Mum into the car to be at the Cathedral with time to spare?

I wish they were both alive now, so that I could ask each of them for their own version of how the miracle came to pass. Dad’s version would have been dry-witted, succinct and to the point. Mum would have contradicted his yarn at every point and would have given a completely different viewpoint.

Turns out Dad not only got Mum into the car on time, he somehow managed to do so with more than an hour to spare. But Dad was a canny bloke, so I reckon he must have (deliberately) given Mum the wrong start time for the church service, or he simply re-set every clock in the house.

But there was my mother, resplendent in her hat and formal dress and her pearls. On time.

Before he started the car, Dad asked Mum if she had the tickets to the service. Mum nodded. Dad asked if she was sure. Mum said yes. Dad suggested it might be prudent to check her handbag. Mum suggested it might be prudent if Dad made no further suggestions.

So Dad, who oversaw the entry and exit of several million dollars’ worth of shipping every day in the port of Calcutta, saw the good sense in keeping silent.

They arrived at the cathedral, parked the car and walked towards the giant, shady portico at the west entrance. Naturally, they were asked for their tickets. Dad turned to Mum, who had them in her handbag.

Mum opened her handbag and looked. And looked some more. And some more. And then, short of turning her bag upside down, had to admit that she had no idea where they were.

At this point, Dad decided the best course of action would be to return home (no short distance, mind you) and search the entire house for the tickets. I cannot imagine that the spirit of conversation in the car would have been too lively or overly Christian-like, but Dad got home, found the tickets and this time insisted on putting them into the pocket of his coat.

They got back to the cathedral, triumphantly showed their tickets to the ushers and finally took their place in the congregation.

Remember I told you my Dad was canny? I wasn’t kidding. He had made two round trips, not one - and he still escorted Mum into the cathedral with about half an hour to spare.

Mrs Nesbitt hosts ABC Wednesday.

Here Comes The Pride

All The Patrons Are Well Groomed

Shagun wedding mall, Calcutta, India. October 2006

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Business Is Looking Up

No Entry For The Gentry

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I took this shot in Calcutta, India, in late 2006 during a very rushed trip to the city of my birth. Nuthin’ strange about the sign - until you look a bit closer. The hand-lettered sign does not adorn a gate or a home or even an office building. It’s attached to a tree.

So it wasn’t the corporate headquarters, but maybe it was the branch office.

Bell Hop

I Must Have Got My Wires Crossed

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

This shot was taken in Calcutta in mid-October 2006. I was there during the string of Hindu religious festivals known as the Pujas, the time of year when the entire city wears a festive air.

The Puja season in Calcutta, as it is in any Indian city, is a time to look up. There are lights festooned across streets, there are lights draped across buildings, there are lights at every pandal, the Indian word for a temporary structure that is a place of devotion and celebration.

There are sounds, too, that identify the time as being typical of the season. There are the sounds of amplified music on every street corner, there are the sounds of fireworks as well. Calcutta is transformed not just by the spirit of worship, but by the spirit of festive commerce as well.

I shot this frame near a pandal, because of one simple factor. In the years when I was growing up in India, I never saw bells used as a decorative motif. These huge gold-orange bells were made of fabric, embedded with glittering mini-mirrors and fringed with tassles. I enjoyed framing this shot, especially because of the dark wood of the ancient tree, as well as the beautiful green of the leaves.

There was one other factor on my mind. I guess bells are more a Christian symbol, especially with their Christmas connotations. When I shot this, I was aware of the overhead wires, and I worked the frame so that the wires would cross the frame diagonally, in a way that they would not threaten the bells as the central point of focus.

But if you study the frame closely, you have to look really hard to see the wires. The beautiful colour tones of the bells, the tree trunk and the leafy canopy make such an interesting splash that they overshadowed the potential dilution caused by the wires.

(The Odd Shots concept came from Katney. Say "G'day" to her.)

Verse And Worse

Random Wit, Errant Rhyme. Not A Literary Crime

Like everyone from Calcutta
I was plagued by a s-s-stutter
Then I went to Cotopaxi
It took so long to hail a t-t-t-t-t-taxi

Light Entertainment

Don't Get Your Wires Crossed

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

This photograph was taken in Calcutta, India on a very brief, unplanned trip in October 2006. The Hindu festive season known as the Puja holidays had just come to an end, and all the religious pandals (places of temporary worship, displaying images of Hindu gods and goddesses) were being dismantled. A lot of the apartment buildings in the city are illuminated with light festoons during the holidays, but these are all taken down and packed away after life returns to normal.

I caught sight of these lights at the side of a residential building in Ballygunge, in the southern part of the city. My children were with me at the time and it was (naturally) as if they could read my mind. As I reached for my camera case, they grinned and said in unison: "He's so going to take a shot of those lights.''

Yep, it was irresistible. The scene drew me like a magnet. All that coloured wire. All those light globes. How could I walk past something like that without capturing the scene? My only regret is that I never asked how many light globes it took to illuminate the building. Maybe I just wasn't bright enough.

(The Odd Shots concept came from Katney. Say "G'day" to her.)

Ex Ray Vision

An Oscar Legend Was Scene, But Not Heard

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Watching the Oscars this week jogged my memory, while I was casting about for a post for this week's edition of ABC Wednesday. This post had to be about an F-word, so I decided on film.

Last year, in an exchange of comments with Dan, who writes Dan’s Blah Blah Blog, I noticed that he had flagged the classic movie Pather Panchali as one of his all-time favourites. I mentioned to him that I once had the honour of being at a reception with the legendary director Satyajit Ray, who directed that film and many others that are considered landmarks in the history of cinema.

Ray, you might remember, was the man who singlehandedly put India on the world cinematic map and was the recipient of a Lifetime Achievement Oscar.

You see, I was born and educated in Calcutta and Darjeeling. Calcutta was home to Ray (1921-1992) and many a creative genius. Fortunately, I can speak Bengali, so I can pronounce the late director’s name like a true Calcuttan: ``Shottojeet Rye.’’

I was in my late teens when this event took place. But I hasten to add a) that I was not introduced to him and b) this is not a gratuitous exercise in name-dropping.

A couple of my friends had been peripherally involved in Ray’s film Shatranj Ke Khilari (The Chess Players) which starred Sir Richard Attenborough as General Outram.

Because of this extremely tenuous link to the film, we had been invited to a special end-of-shooting reception at the Hotel Hindustan International. I clearly remember Ray’s low-key arrival, later in the evening than everyone else.

He came with family members, not with lackeys, nor with hangers-on. He was instantly recognisable, not just because of his chiselled features and quiet dignity, but by the power of his presence. He was a tall man, with an imposing aura. I'm well over six foot in my socks, but he was at least an inch taller than me.

Height was one thing, but when it came to stature, he left me for dead.

I remember a hush falling over the room. Awe? Probably. Reverence? Perhaps. Or a judicious mixture of both. As a spotty teenager, I did not think it was my place to walk up and shake hands with one of the city’s internationally-lauded giants.

But I wish I had. I so wish I had.

For a laugh at my 2007-series F post, check out Sigmund Fried.

C Is For Chariot

You Think You Can Take Me For A Ride?

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

The next time you're stuck for transport, this is the chariot I'd recommend. I saw this opposite the Victoria Memorial in Calcutta when I was there in October 2006. Yes, I know you're going to ask me the logical question - did Mrs Authorblog and I take a ride in it?

Er, the answer is no. It was early morning and Mrs Authorblog wasn't with me as I meandered around the city with my camera. And besides, I couldn't see the owner/operator of the carriage, or the horse that would normally be tethered to the shaft.

Yes, I can anticipate your next question too. You want to know if there was evidence that the horse had been in the vicinity? Yep. Did I step in it? Nope, because I'm older and wiser now. Well, older, anyway. Y'know.

Which makes a change from the time I stepped in moose dung in Muskoka. But that's another story - and you can read all about my adventure/misadventure at Bear The Brunt Of It. Luckily I was on my own at the time, else I would have been given the third degree. Or maybe even the turd degree.

Victoria Across

Calcutta's Answer To The Taj Mahal

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

With this week's Photo Hunt theme being "old-fashioned" it is my very great privilege to take you on a tour of the Victoria Memorial in Calcutta (now Kolkata). This shot (above) was taken in late October 2006, shortly after 7.30 in the morning, before the sun had burnt off the mist that shrouds the city like a veil of antique lace. There is an ethereal beauty to this extraordinary landmark of the city where I was born and I have to admit I had a lump in my throat when I pressed the shutter to capture this scene.


The Victoria Memorial is a white marble building that was built between 1906 and 1921. Mate, there are palaces around the world that aren't as majestic as this place. The huge angel atop the central dome is called the Angel of Victory. It's made of bronze and has ball bearings beneath its pedestal because it serves as a graceful weather vane. Yes, it still turns, despite its massive weight.


This is part of the ornate gateway (above) leading into the parkland that surrounds the Victoria Memorial. It was built to honour Queen Victoria, who was the Empress of India until her death in 1901. Calcuttans refer to it as the "VM" and the bus conductors - in that wonderful quirky telegraphic language of theirs - call it "Toria Moria".


This shot (above) was taken inside the grounds, as I walked across the vast moats that surround the expanse of parkland. When I was very little, my Dad (who knew everything about everything) told me that the moats were not just decorative and that they were designed in keeping with the foundations of the building.


This was the last shot (above) I took in the sequence that morning. I had walked back to a friend's car. I mopped my brow in the humidity and sank into the back seat of his Mercedes, my camera bag at my feet. "Finished?" he asked me. I nodded. I was done - and I was exhausted. He started the car but before he could move, I yelled out to him not to put it into drive. He looked at me as if I was mad. I reached for my camera, took the lens cap off and shot this final frame of the Victoria Memorial reflected in his wing mirror.

Cotton Pickin'

The Fabric Of Society

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

This photograph is more than merely my depiction of red; it is also part of my life in many ways. Why? Because it was taken a year ago, at the New Market in Calcutta, India. I grew up in Calcutta and trips to the New Market (or Sir Stuart Hogg Market, to give it its real name) were a special treat. It was the sights. It was the sounds. It was the aromas. The New Market, under one huge roof, was an unforgettable experience then - and it still is, even now.

It is also part of my life because the New Market is lovingly described in my first novel, Vegemite Vindaloo, which was on several bestseller lists and was even ranked at No.3 on one list, behind the Booker Prize Winner at No.1.

I took a variety of shots for this week's "Red" theme, but discarded them all in favour of this image, with the generous daubs of red splashed through the frame. These cotton outfits, displayed in a shop's entrance, are known as "shalwar kameez".

As a child, I must have walked past this shop hundreds of times. On this occasion, during a sudden and unexpected trip to the land of my birth, it was my turn to point out familiar sights to my three Australian-born children. And today, it is such a great privilege to share a part of my life with you, my readers.

Please tick the camera poll on the right. Thanks!