Tag: Photography

Up above

Sometimes you need to go up above to realise how minute you are in the grand scheme of things. And a long flight journey is the best place and time to contemplate your place in the world with a view that complements the thoughts. I looked through the window on my flight to San Francisco, and what I saw sprawled below amazed me to silence. There lay the city—or what led to the city—of San Francisco. It was just winding sand paths and shore-kissing seabeds, but the lower we flew, the bigger it got. It’s incredible to think how putting distance between two things puts so much perspective in place. We often think great of ourselves, but from afar we’re nothing more than a speck of futility.

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Walking down Haight

It was love at first sight. And my first sight was through the windows of a bus as it cruised along the street that’s Haight Street. My friend and I were on a hop on-hop off tour then, and the moment I entered the street, I knew I had to come back again to explore further.

It looked like any other street—except that it wasn’t. There were buildings and there were people. But unlike most other parts of San Francisco, the buildings weren’t picture perfect. The people weren’t suited, booted, or groomed. Purple-headed women walked hand in hand with pink clad men. No one stared at each other as weird. No one seemed conventional, and yet, no one seemed to care. Some wore jeans, some wore mascara, and a lot wore whatever felt comfortable.

Haight 1

Store exhibits advocated peace and love, street signs echoed similar emotions, and even the walls called passers by to listen. Love afloat, was abundant, and at times as with love, overflowing and breaking norms.

Haight 2

Seeing all of this left a permanent smile of my face. I felt as if a bloom ballooned up within me, filling me up with the joy of welcome. There sparked inside me a sense of belonging to the place. I wanted to stay there, to walk down the street, to walk into shops. I wanted to talk to the people on the streets, befriend them, and hang out. For someone who’s reluctant to barge into another person’s consciousness and force discussion, I felt like doing that exact thing. To my surprise, I realised that the people of Haight Street would’ve been only too happy to talk to me.

Haight 2

For the first time in my life, I saw a hookah bar. Curious, I went in. Men and women had seats for themselves, going about their usual business, smoking away, reading a book, watching a game, and unperturbed by the stranger who’d just walked in unashamed and out of place. The shop owner came up to help me settle in, and I stepped back telling him I was just looking. A big smile came onto his face, and he waved his arms around the bar, inviting me to look around and hang around for as long as I wanted. When I left, my compassion for the people of San Francisco had magnified.

When I went back a second time to Haight Street—alone, this time—I felt the same sense of joy. This time, however, I realised what about the locality made me so ecstatic. Being in the street made me feel rebellious. All around me people embodied everything that our typical society scorns upon. Metaphorical reminders of Bob Marley and John Lennon, their beliefs, and The Beatles of 1960s hung over the sky exuberating with positivity and encouragement.

Haight 1

Sure, I did come across a couple of guys who willed sell me pot. Illegal though it is, I didn’t feel scared or ominous. In fact, it was so casual and so matter of fact that I understood there was nothing to fear. It was just a part of everyday life.

All my life, my family had taught me to be wary of strangers, of people who’d lead me astray—but here I was passing people whose habits I’d never micic, but people who I’d respect nevertheless. It was a new experience and I enjoyed every moment of it. And I realised how huge San Francisco is—diverse, yet inclusive of every weirdo, every nut job, even every other corporate guy. The city continued to surprise me.

Varying interest

We’re not all fascinated by the same thing. What interests me could be mundane and unworthy of a second look to someone else. This was only too common while I was in California. It was my first time in the US—a first world country—and I was gawking at everything I saw. Sure, I had seen fancy buildings before, but it still seemed magnificent to me that the city of San Francisco housed such constructions that its residents looked at every day without seeing it. Walking down the streets that day, I saw countless jaw-dropping sights that were just pedestrian to the locals.

pedastrian

A visit to the Golden Gate Park

When I was in Pleasanton, my friend and travel partner took a weekend off for Chicago to meet with her friend. That gave me two whole days for myself. And what else would I do than explore the city of San Francisco?

Although I’d hit a lot of popular places the last time I was there, I missed on one important monument: The Golden Gate Park. So I went there that Saturday morning.

The moment I entered the park, a smile came on to my lips—a bunch of kids skateboarded on the street leading to the park. It was a pleasant sight, for I had never seen such effortless skateboarders on street without being afraid of getting hit by a car. In fact, it was the first time I walked without the fear of motorists.

Before going further, I calculated how much time I should spend in the park. Little did I know then how big the park is. My first stop was the Botanical Garden. As I paid for my entrance ticket, the gentleman at the counter handed me a map of the garden and informed me that the 55 acre-garden hosts plants from all over the world. My heart skipped a beat as I heard the number—there was no way I’d cover all of that within the time I had planned. With a skeptical mind, I stepped into the garden.

The entire garden was categorised by region. On my right was Australia and to my left was South America. I went by what was right by me. The deeper I went into the garden the more fascinated I became of the plants. Time came to a stand still and I no longer worried about rushing off to the next place. The scent of living, breathing, greenery convinced me to linger in its essence and absorb the goodness it emancipated.

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I walked along from region to region, stepping over Peru, walking through the Andes, and swerving around Africa. I stopped at the Redwood Forest and went round and round in search of the Moonlight Garden before realising I had already been there. Name cards lined each plant and tree but none made sense to me. I was no Botany student, and I didn’t know the medicinal values pertaining to the plants. I was, instead, a backpacker, a nature lover, a passionate greenery-seeker who was more than happy to stand amidst teak woods a hundred years old. I cherished the feeling of past, present, and future life all around me. I felt elated.

Somehow it seemed unbelievable that people would flock to such a tree abode when they could be elsewhere doing something else. What I loved most about the garden was the lack of people. Even though there were many explorers like myself, the garden was so huge that I seldom came across them. Although the Botanical Garden was meant as a place to appreciate wild in its wilderness, I realised that garden authorities had to do something for people to visit. That’s why the Botanical Garden has special clearings, tree stumps, and benches—so that people could pose with plants. Perhaps the authorities thought that would be a way to attract more visitors. At least that’s how it seemed to me.

Whether or not the tactic works, it also seemed to me a little pathetic. It’s sad that we have to resort to such measures to appreciate nature. It’s sad that there aren’t many people who’d value the wilderness for what it is. And I know for certain that most people who visit natural reserves and gardens go for the photos.

My suspicion became a conviction by the time I left the Botanical Garden and entered the Japanese Tea Garden across the street. The difference was unmistakable, and it was evident even at the price of the entrance ticket. It was only a dollar more, but as I paid I sensed that the woman at the counter was bored. It wasn’t a mark of how tough her job is, but instead, a mark of how tired she was of talking nice to tourists. When I turned to the garden, I saw an abundance of people amidst manicured plants.

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To be fair, the plants were mesmerising. But about ten minutes in the garden, I couldn’t wait to get myself out of there. Every side I turned a couple or a group posed with the shrubs. And the plants, too, seemed pruned for pictures. People rushed to reserve their spot near weird-shaped plants. Although the plants radiated a calming sensation, mingled with it came unwanted and palpable excitement that didn’t originate from me.

I’m not against photo taking, for I took plenty myself. But it’s the excess touristy behaviour that made me uncomfortable. Nevertheless, I spent over an hour walking around, musing. With far fewer people, the garden would be a wonderful spot for a quiet afternoon. Not only was it domesticated, but it was also lush. Looking at the photographs I took there, I can’t believe how charming the entire garden is. Sure, I still feel it’s commercialised but it’s also a wonder.

It’s the first time that I can’t decide whether I like a garden. In every other circumstance, I would brim with compassion. Regardless of what I felt, though, the garden is a favourite place for both locals and tourists alike. In fact, a friend living in the Bay area mentioned to me that she adored the Japanese Tea Garden—she speculated it was the weekends that drew the crowd. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I chose the wrong day.

But my day wasn’t over yet, for I explored the Golden Gate Park further. More about all that in a part 2 of this post.

Looking through

Apart from being a natural frame of reference, windows open up a world of photographic opportunities. Though I love framing my photos with windows, most of the time the difference in lighting confuses me. I took this particular picture from a train in Portland. We were over the N Steel Bridge travelling from the North East of the city to the North West. It was a beautiful morning and the rain had just paused long enough for the sun to test the waters. I couldn’t help but click.

Portland - Lloyd Center