Horse Cents

Sorry, Sir, Could I Use Mastercard Instead?

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

In late 2006 we found ourselves in India unexpectedly, on a completely unplanned trip. I was only in Calcutta for little over a week, but managed to devote some carefully chosen hours to photographing the city where I was born.

It was the third week of October and while the humidity was still high, the early-morning mists were just rolling in, heralding the onset of cooler weather.

I was shooting a series of dawn shots along the Strand, by the banks of the Hooghly River, when I decided to make my way to the racecourse nearby.

The Royal Calcutta Turf Club was one of my father’s favourite weekend haunts and to honour his memory, I was compelled to walk across the road to shoot some scenes from a venue he knew so well. I shot the grandstand, the straight, the wooden rails, the final bend – and then I noticed that a couple of racehorses had completed trackwork and were being walked by their handlers towards the Hastings stables.

In the distance was the Victoria Memorial, one of the greatest symbols of this 300-year-old city. (You can view some of my other photographs of the wonderful building here.)

Would I be able to shoot the VM (as the splendid marble edifice is popularly known) over the saddle of one of the racehorses? One short sprint later, I was able to convince the horse’s handler that I was not daft (Mrs Authorblog might not agree) and that all I wanted was an unusual photograph.

All of sixty seconds later, I was done. But the handler was in no hurry. I thanked him a second time and put the lens cap back on my camera. Then I realised he wanted a tip. I rapidly computed the value of the rupees in my wallet and realised he would get an infinitely good deal because I had no small-denomination notes.

Money changed hands. Honour was restored. Handler and racehorse departed towards the stables.

Dad, if you were alive, you would smile at this closing line – but let’s just say I was the second generation of our clan to lose money on the thoroughbreds here at the Calcutta racecourse.


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Supports Illustrated

Memories Can Help Bridge The Gap

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

When I was a little kid growing up in Calcutta, my parents used to take me to The Strand and I remember seeing piles of crushed rock beside the broad roadway. On three sides, the broad expanse of greenery stretched as far as the eye could see; the border on the fourth side was the mighty Hooghly River.

This public-access parkland was called the Maidan, or grassland – and it was as long and as broad as the central business district of most modern cities. Here, there was a racecourse, a polo ground, a parade ground, more cricket pitches than the city’s enthusiasts could ever need – and still plenty of room to spare. If you ran around the perimeter once, you’d never have to exercise again, probably for the rest of your life.

While I played "I’m the king of the castle" beside a rockpile not far from Prinsep Ghat, named after James Prinsep) I asked my Dad why there were several piles along the side of the road. He replied that the authorities were planning to build a second bridge across the river, to ease the traffic congestion across the Howrah bridge.

When we drove home through Hastings (named after Warren Hastings, a former clerk of the East India Company who became the first Governor-General of India) my father informed me that the bridge would probably be sited here.

Work on the toll bridge, christened Vidyasagar Setu, began after I graduated from university, but my father died almost a decade before it finally opened in 1992. The city-side approach to the sweeping bridge, almost half a kilometre long, was exactly where he had pointed out the spot as we drove.

Two years ago, I found myself in Calcutta on a brief, completely unexpected stay. A friend of mine picked me up early one morning to drive me around so I could photograph all the special places in the city that held so many cherished memories for me.

At Hastings, I asked him to pull over so I could take these shots. There is a lot of significance in the way I framed the first two photograph of the bridge cables – because the graceful building in the foreground is Prinsep Ghat.

In the last photograph (below) the unusual silhouette in the foreground is a banyan tree. The banyan, an incredible shady tree, is designated as the national tree of India and it is easily recognisable because of the vertically descending prop roots, which are clearly visible in my shot.

When I got back to the car, my childhood friend grinned and said: ``You know there are unimpeded views of the bridge further up.’’

Yes, I knew. But I simply had to photograph the bridge from the spot that meant so much to me.