Passions In Darjeeling: Joni Kabana
I first saw him while he was sitting in the back of the room. He seemed more attentive than the other students and his hand went up after each topic I presented.
How do you engage with your subjects to make the portraits seem more intimate, even when you don’t know their language?
What is the best way for me to light a portrait in direct sunlight?
How can I back up my images when I don’t have a laptop or access to a computer?
Mikma’s energy and love for his craft struck me, and I wanted to help him reach his goals in the swiftest manner possible. I only had one day to teach photography at this Darjeeling communications school.
Class ended, and I was on my way back to my hotel when sirens started blaring and people began running about. We were used to hearing demonstrations in the distance, but this sounded like the angst was right down the street. And it appeared to be escalating.
We were escorted into a nearby hotel and were told to stay there and that we could not leave. Soon we heard the clank of bars being locked, and at each window and entrance, an armed soldier took his stance.
We stayed there overnight, cuddling hot water bottles on our laps as there was no heat. At first, we all joked and had a great time telling stories as we waited out our adventure. Then boredom hit, and we all became anxious to leave.
In time, a man entered, and told us that we would need to head down the mountain before dawn, quietly exiting before the sun rose. We could handle that, we thought. This added excitement to our adventure.
None of us slept that night. When it came time to go, we were permitted out of the doors and we quietly got into our convoy of vehicles. Slowly, the tires crept along the stone road, until WHAM! A group of men jumped out from the dark streets and surrounded all cars. Our driver rolled down his window and a hand thrust inside abruptly and grabbed the keys in the ignition.
We remained there for about an hour, all of us trying to text home to let our loved ones know we were in a bit of danger.
Luckily, one of our hosts knew the leader of the demonstration and after several rounds of phone calls, we were taken back to the hotel to remain locked down until the demonstration resolved.
As the sun came up, I found myself watching from behind padlocked bars as trucks passed by carrying men waving guns and flags. And then I saw Mikma running by, his camera in his hand.
MIKMA! I shouted. I WANT TO COME WITH YOU!
No, he said firmly. It is not safe.
I turned back to play the hundredth game of something with the rest of our group of restless souls, and got lost in the chatter of my colleagues.
About two hours later, I hear something at the door. It was Mikma.
Hurry! Come with me, but only if you stay right by my side.
I jumped up, grabbed my gear and brushed aside the protests of my co-workers and the hotel owner. Within minutes, I was in the middle of the protest, and everyone seemed to want to be photographed. I beckoned several protest leaders away from the chanting crowd and made portraits of them.
As Mikma and I were working side by side, I saw that he was constantly deleting images from his camera. I asked him why he was editing while shooting.
I only have one compact flash card, he said.
Mikma was the town’s newspaper photojournalist. I coupled this with his earlier question about not having a laptop, and I was saddened by the unfair advantage I had from living in a country based upon relative stability and prosperity.
We finished our photo session and Mikma escorted me back to the hotel, where I was told that it would soon be safe to leave. This time we would leave right at daybreak. My heart kept longing for a way to help Mikma but I was at a loss regarding how best to do so. I could not leave him my own laptop, as I needed it for the rest of my assignment. As we packed up to leave, I wished I had left him a few compact flash cards.
This time as we left, our cars took a straight and fast bee-line right out of town. As we neared the far edge of town, we saw a small group of protestors ahead starting to yell and wave their arms. As we navigated through the growing mob of people, I saw Mikma run past our car.
MIKMA! Here.
I tossed a large compact flash card at him. He stooped to pick it up, and smiled broadly as he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Mikma and I kept in touch over the years and I followed his journey when he moved to Delhi and then back to Darjeeling. I rejoiced as his photography skills went from basic to fantastic, and have enjoyed getting a peek into his world through his pictures.
A few months ago, he messaged me and asked if he could watch my strobe lighting class over Skype, as there were no commercial lighting classes in Darjeeling. As I started to plan for this class, the Prints For Prints project was starting to blossom. Mikma sent in several images, and we selected three to be included in the print sale. See them here: Faces, Play, At Ease On The Edge.
One day I would like finally to be able to lend assistance to the photographers in Darjeeling by traveling with a few commercial photographers to teach local photography students how to create commercial images, in addition to making and donating family portraits at the nearby Tibetan Refugee Camp.
Joni Kabana, Portland, Oregon, USA
