What do you know about Indian Fish?

I’ve traveled a good amount over the last year, going to places that I never thought I would travel to this early in my life. During these journeys, I have not only learned more about the world, but also a lot about myself. I’ve floated in the extremely salty water of the Dead Sea in Jordan, meditated in Buddhist temples in Nepal, played soccer in Qatar, and among others, almost been killed in India while being surrounded by dozens of burning bodies.

While traveling, I’ve taken a lot of photos, ranging from children playing soccer in Italy, to the gas-filled bloated stomachs of African children. When many people view my pictures, they perceive them to be aesthetically pleasing, and most give me positive feedback. But I’m not sure if people really know, or even care about, the stories behind them.

I recently entered three of my photographs in a photo competition, and surprisingly, two of them won. I was extremely happy to know that people thought that my photos were good, but upon reflection, I’m sort of disappointed in myself. Not because I don’t think that my photos are good, but because the stories behind these photos show that I don’t really deserve anything for them. This isn’t a bullshit confession type of thing, but I want to share the stories behind the two photos that won the competition.

I call this photo “Indian Fish.” In it, you can see a beautiful Indian girl making an angelic smile as she holds, what seems to be, a dead fish in the palm of her hand. In the background, the water is spotted with the reflections of clouds, and a boy—who may be her brother—looks as if he searches for his own prize, his own dead fish.

I had been to this place in Jaipur, India, the night before. To the right of the girl is what is known as the Jal Mahal, or “Water Palace.” It’s an amazing piece of Indian architecture, and looks as if it’s a palace built on water. In reality, it was a palace that just got flooded, which makes it such a cool thing to see. It was all lit up when I first encountered it, and I couldn’t really see it that well, so my friend and I decided to visit the following day.

As we got out of our car, we were immediately bombarded by the usual ragtag band of children begging for rupees, which we encountered in many of the other places we visited in India. I usually give someone money—regardless of if it’s in India or America—if I feel as if I can connect with them, but I literally had no money when these children came up to me. My friend and I circumvented them and started to check out the palace from across the water. As I was taking pictures, this girl kept asking me for money. I kept saying sorry, and then some men and an elderly woman surrounded me and kept begging. As the pleas and “pleases” increased, and men kept changing the currency of the money that they wanted, this little girl reached her hand inside of the lake and pulled out the fish that you see in her hand. I was so amazed, and as a reflex, began taking pictures.

Once I started to take the pictures, the people wanted money for being photographed. This happened a lot, and I felt bad, but I didn’t have any money so I just left. There’s not much more to tell after that. I got back to Abu Dhabi (where I was studying before I got back to America), and I entered this photo, along with two others, in a photo competition. This photo won me $50, and I couldn’t even spare that little girl a rupee (.02 cents).  I never really considered what this all meant until I had actually won the competition and got the money. It feels weird being able to actually make a profit off of taking a snapshot of someone’s experience as being extremely impoverished.

I titled this photograph, “Gurus.” There are four men who, despite the black/white setting, are dressed in extremely colorful and beautiful clothing. You can see a man on the far left raising his right hand in a peaceful gesture, the man to the right giving a double “okay” (or hinting at something he would like to do to a woman), the man in the center having an extravagant headpiece on, and the man to the far right just hanging out with his staff.

I encountered these men while I was visiting the Pashupatinath Temple in Kathmandu, Nepal. After witnessing the sight of burning bodies, which I became familiar with in India, I walked passed these four men and waved to them. I then did a double take and asked if I could take a picture of them. They said they wanted some money, but I was all out. I asked our guide if he could spare me some Nepalese rupees, and he gave me 20 (27 cents) to give to them. They happily accepted it and I began to snap away. They were amazing men, who seemed to be naturally happy. After taking some photographs, my friend and I proceeded on our journey and met up with some monkeys.

Like with “Indian Fish,” when I got back to Abu Dhabi, I entered this photograph in the competition. This photograph won me an additional $50, despite the fact that I had only given those men 27 cents. Of course I’m happy to know that people, other than myself, like my photographs, but all of this made me think about how people rarely know the story behind a photograph. We see pictures of starving children, of cheering fans, and of things like smiling children, but how often do we know how and why the picture was taken?