Life with the monks - Stories from Cambodia

“I like being here, but I have to leave the monastery because of a family problem. I want to come back, but if I can’t, then I’ll start a mobile cremation business to earn a living.”

Ra has been a Buddhist monk for five years and lives at Wat Trach, a small temple and monastery near Siem Reap, better known for its proximity to the World Heritage Site, Angkor Wat. I met him in the temple grounds and asked about the tattoo that covers his chest and arms. “It's for protection,” he said, “Thoen Theara (a famous Cambodian kick-boxer and Ken Khmer fighter) has a similar tattoo.” I was at the Wat to distribute some photographs I'd taken two years previously and to observe the monks’ daily activities. 

A hornbill in the rafters

When I arrived, most of the twenty or so resident monks had gone to attend a funeral in a nearby village. Two senior monks remained with a young novice and two small boys from the local village who assistant tat the Wat and carry out various chores. Travellers will be familiar with the early morning, barefoot, street procession of Buddhist monks as they collect alms of food and other items in return for blessings. Less well-known are the daily routines inside the monastery. 

Shortly after I arrived, the novice began sweeping the floor of the main hall. He worked hard to remove the dust and other detritus blown in from the surrounding fields and forest. The two assistants cleared the dishes from the monks' breakfast and carried them to a small metal roofed shelter for washing. At one point a hornbill flew into the main hall and settled in the rafters, looking back at me as I admired its enormous curved beak. Hornbills establish strong pair bonds and often stay together for life. After this one’s partner died, it took up residence in the room of the head monk. It is not the only bird that lives at the Wat. Several wild fowl, formerly forest residents, have made their home here and together with numerous dogs, they are fed leftovers each day.

Once the sweeping was complete, the novice joined his two friends to help with the dishes before going on to do the laundry, washing his orange robe in soapy water before rinsing it and hanging it to dry. He then took a short rest, stretching out on the floor of the main hall for a short nap. 

When the other monks returned from their funereal duties, they were served lunch, resulting in yet more dishes. This time the novice oversaw a group of three other little monks who while washing up, discussed some matter at great length and in some degree of agitation. One of the temple dogs briefly watched them work their way through the pots and pans. He quickly lost interest when another monk appeared with food for the dogs. The pack pursued him to the feeding place, barking and jumping up in excitement. There was clearly a pecking order amongst them as some held back allowing the leaders to eat first. When one small dog tried to join them, he was chased away and hid amongst the bushes.

"Only do good things. Some monks have been fighting. This is not allowed."

Lunch is the second and final meal of the day and must be consumed by midday. Nothing else will then be eaten until breakfast early next morning, but it is permitted to take liquids. There are numerous explanations for this rule. Fasting in the afternoon and evening is thought to encourage self-discipline and mindfulness. It is also believed to promote good digestive health, allows for greater concentration and therefore benefits meditation. More practically, collecting alms in the afternoon is considered impractical, perhaps because of the extreme heat, and so is restricted to the early morning hours.

Lunch at Wat Trach is a quiet, almost informal affair due to the relatively small community. In Battambang, over one hundred novices and more senior monks lined up in strict order before being allowed to enter the dining hall. During lunch, one of the seniors gave a talk to the assembly: “Only do good things. Some monks have been seen fighting, this is not allowed...” The latter piece of advice was directed at some of the small boys who had come to blows, as small boys often do. 

All of the food must come from donations, either from the early morning procession or from devotees who visit the monastery for advice, or to receive a blessing. Most bring offerings of food or money with them. Blessings usually take the form of prayers said in the presence of the devotee but in some cases, water will be poured over a person’s head while the monk chants. This symbolises purification, removing negative karma, invoking health and well-being and bringing about spiritual peace. 

Once the monks have completed their daily chores, an hour or so is allocated to resting before religious studies resume. At Wat Trach the novice monks used this time to sit and chat, but in Battambang, dozens of little monks played with home-made kites while in Phnom Penh, one played games of the imagination with bricks left over from a building project.

“I enjoy the learning and education."

When I asked Ra what he liked about life in the monastery, he said: “I enjoy the learning and education.” Today many monks, especially the younger generation, receive formal secular education in addition to their religious studies. I met monks in Battambang, Siem Reap and Phnom Penh who were studying languages, business and social sciences at university, combining higher education with monastic life. Not all of them will live the life of a monk forever and it is important that they can support themselves should they leave.

Men and boys become monks for a variety of reasons. Some come because they are orphans or because their family is unable to care for them properly. Placing these children in the monastery assures that they will a least have a place to sleep, be fed twice a day and receive some form of education. Many are able to maintain contact with their families, to receive visitors and to occasionally go home. Some join the monastery in later life, perhaps after becoming widowed. Cai, the monk I met and interviewed at Wat Trach in 2023 joined the order after the death of his wife. Some are monks for only a very brief period - as little as one day - after the death of a particular relative. All are free to leave and return to civilian life if they wish. 

I managed to find three of the monks I’d photographed in 2023. One had already left the monastery to deal with some family matters, but by chance came back to visit while I was there. His hair had grown back and it took a few minutes for me to recognise him. Cai was temporarily at another monastery, so I left his picture with one of his friends. 

I hope to be able to give Ra his picture on a future visit - if he is still there. The idea of a mobile cremation service may seem strange to westerners, but it is a well established business in Cambodia, especially in the rural areas. Cremation is usually performed in or near temples, but sometimes, for logistical or cultural reasons, this is not possible.  A portable pyre is transported to a location where a cremation is required. Monks will be invited to say prayers for the deceased and a temporary dais is constructed for this purpose. Different sizes and designs are available according to how much the family are able to pay. I witnessed one such funeral a short drive from the centre of Battambang. Ra said: “I did many different jobs before I became a monk, but being a cremator is the best profession. People will always need cremations. It’s a good business."

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Wanderlust

I often feel like traveling during February. The cold, dark days of winter’s final month make me long for sunlight, warmth and colour. You might call it wanderlust, which is the title of a new exhibition at the Paxton Centre in Crystal Palace, London. Five artists are participating in this show, including me. Deciding what to exhibit led me to review my travels and photography from last year and to share some of my favourite work in this post.

During 2024, I visited India twice, each time for a month. I also made shorter visits to Istanbul and Budapest, both cities that I have been to before, although not for some years. I spent a lot of time on photography on each my trips and in Budapest and Istanbul, I enjoyed linking up with some great local photographers who helped me get the shots I wanted and to interact with people. In India I saw Hyderabad for the first time and attended the Koovagam festival that I’d read about during lockdown and had wanted to see ever since. I also spent time in Chennai, Mumbai, Punjab, Rajasthan and Delhi catching up with old friends and making new ones.  

Some of the photographs I took on those trips formed part of my October exhibition at the Jeannie Avent Gallery in East Dulwich. It is a great place to exhibit and it was my fourth show there. My 2024 exhibition was entitled “Untold” a reference to the subjects of my work, who are often unseen or overlooked, and to my ongoing writing project on a similar theme. “Untold” included the three portraits and three candid shots featured in this post. All six tell or suggest a story. The subjects of the portrait photographs told me a little about their lives while the candid shots, taken in the moment, leave the viewer to think for themselves about what they are seeing.

I also received my first ever commission last year. I was invited to photograph the cast of Earworm - a play staged at The Divine, a fringe venue in North London. I was a little nervous about the project and there were some environmental challenges about doing the shoot in the basement theatre, not least a revolving disco ball that couldn’t be switched off! Despite this, I was pleased with the results and more importantly, so was the writer and director and the four cast members. It was good to see my work on the production's digital and hard copy publicity.  

Ravi as Karuppanasamy

People who follow my work will know I enjoy portrait photography. Faces can tell stories but if the photographer is willing to take time, the subject is also likely to tell some of those stories. By chance my three favourite portraits from last year all have a spiritual theme. I met Ravi in April during the Koovagam festival. It was an extremely hot day, well over 40 degrees and very crowded. About 200,000 people attend the festival each year, swelling the village population from it’s usual few hundred. Ravi is a farmer who also participates in community theatre. He was putting on theatrical make-up and preparing for a performance when I saw him and asked if I could take his picture. He agreed and explained that he was to play the part of Karuppanasamy, a village deity regarded as the Hindu god of righteousness and who has many devotees in southern India and amongst the Tamils of Sri Lanka. 

Gupta Nath

A few days after meeting Ravi, I met Gupta Nath in the narrow lane of Chennai’s flower market. He is a sadhu, a wandering Hindu ascetic, who has renounced the material world to go in search of enlightenment. He explained: “I walked here from Kashi (also known as Banaras or Varanasi). I have been going from temple to temple trying to find god, but now I know he isn’t in the temples, he is in our hearts.” He wore markings on his forehead that indicate he is a follower of the Hindu god, Shiva, and he carried a staff decorated with a garland, no doubt given to him in the market. Gupta Nath’s comments and photograph attracted much interest in my October show. It is my favourite portrait from last year. 

My third portrait selection is that of a Pandit, taken in Nawalghar, a small town in Rajasthan, India. The word “pandit” comes from the Sanskrit “pandita” meaning "learned man” “wise man” or “teacher”. The markings on his forehead show him to be a follower of the Hindu god Vishnu. He owns a small general store in the centre of the town and was patiently waiting for customers. I was drawn to him due to his contemplative expression.

Contemplative Pandit

My favourite candid shots of last year were also taken in India. In two of them the subject's face is unseen. This adds a further challenge to the viewer, preventing them from considering the expression or mood of those photographed. What is the story of the young woman standing beside the water at the Chennai fish market? Is she waiting for someone to return from the sea - perhaps her father, husband or brother? Or, is she longing to be somewhere else, to escape to a new life or to be reunited with someone who has already left? And why are there so many shoes, seemingly abandoned on the dockside? 

Similarly, in a Hyderabad street scene, what has the laughing girl just been told by the two other young women? Has she just made a joke or has she been told one? Is this a friendly exchange or a confrontation? Is this genuine laughter or bravado? I was drawn to this scene by the preponderance of the colours red and yellow and the interesting signage in the backdrop, but it is the expression of the young woman that is what Henri Cartier-Bresson called the “decisive moment,” freezing in time something that may never happen again.  

On the waterfront

Red and yellow

I captured another decisive moment in Barnala, a town of 120,000 in the Punjab, India. It is a relatively modern city with no tradition of tourism and the only reason I visited was to break my journey between two Bikaner and Amritsar. The plan had been to get up early and drive on, but I couldn’t resist spending an hour walking in the streets before leaving. 

Despite the early hour, the temperature was already in the high thirties with 85% humidity. I encountered a large group of elderly Sikh men, all former electricity workers. They were waiting to travel to Patiala to take part in a protest about their pensions not having been increased despite the rising cost of living. They invited me to drink tea with them before they boarded coaches to go to the demonstration. A little further on I passed several small, open fronted businesses, including car repairers and a tailor who sat in front of a huge electric fan but was still sweating profusely. 

A few steps further and I came to a tea shop where a worker was obscured in clouds of steam that rose from the pots of boiling chai he was preparing. I took several shots as the steam waxed and waned, until finally it cleared to reveal the chaiwalla (tea-seller), wiping his face with a red and white gamcha (worker’s scarf), a religious image on the wall behind him and another figure coming into view. I think it’s my picture of the year. It captures the decisive moment when the steam clears...although the real decisive moment may have been when I chose to delay my departure from Barnala, enabling me to take this shot. Oh, and I will be traveling later this month when I will be returning to south-east Asia to escape the winter and to hear mores tories.

Preparing the chai

All of the photographs featured in this post (and lots more) are included in the Wanderlust exhibition at the Paxton Centre in Crystal Palace.  Four other artists are participating and their work includes painting as well as photography. The exhibition runs until the end of February. The Centre is open Monday to Friday 9-5 and Saturday and Sunday 10-5. It also has a cafe, an impressive programme of events and activities, and some very reasonably priced hot desking space. Come along! 

A dying art - Urdu calligraphy in Hyderabad’s Chatta Bazaar

“Please wait here and I will be back soon,” said Abdul Khaleel, one of the last Urdu calligraphers of Hyderabad’s Chatta Bazaar. I had just handed him a large format copy of the photograph I'd taken two days earlier. I’d noticed him as I passed through a narrow, traffic blocked alley, as he sat anticipating customers. He agreed to be photographed and we waited patiently for a gap in the traffic before I could get the shot.   

Chatta (sometimes written as “Katta" ) Bazaar is the home of Khattati, or Urdu calligraphy. It is a dying art, thought to have been brought to Hyderabad by the Qutb Shahi dynasty, who ruled from 1518 to 1687, and were responsible for much of the city’s built heritage. The practitioners of the art were known as Khattats or Kaatibs, the words from which this quarter of the city draws its name.

I had come to the bazaar to see traditional Urdu calligraphers but found that very few still worked by hand. After the computerisation of Urdu text in the 1990s, demand for hand-written work decreased, with customers opting instead for digital prints. This has resulted in many calligraphers losing their business or having to use their skills elsewhere. Abdul’s experience is an example of this. He previously worked for the Siasat Daily, an Urdu newspaper. Before computerisation, the blocks used to print the newspaper had been made from handwritten text, but technological advances meant that Abdul and many others were no longer needed and had to find other ways to make a living. This problem is not peculiar to Hyderabad as according to a 2023 article in New Lines Magazine, Delhi’s Urdu bazaar only had one working calligrapher.

“I have fewer customers these days and young people don’t want to learn the skills."

“I have been working in my shop for about 40 years now,” said Abdul, “Customers come on special occasions, particularly weddings. I charge 200-300 rupees (about £2-3) for a handwritten invitation and the customers then take it to one of the nearby printing presses for copying. There are many such shops in the bazaar. Sometimes Urdu schools and madrassas (Islamic religious education institutions) also come to me.” He was not optimistic about the future of his craft. He said, “I have fewer customers these days and young people do not want to learn the skills." He explained that there are over 200 fonts in Urdu calligraphy, and that it can take years to learn them all.

I wanted to give him a copy of the photograph and a couple of days later, I returned to the bazar to look for him. The shutters were up, but he was nowhere to be seen. Luckily, his mobile number is displayed in the shop and my guide and interpreter, Madhu, called him to tell him we were there. A few minutes later, Abdul appeared, “I was at the afternoon prayer,” he said. I handed him the photograph and after studying it for a few seconds, he touched his heart and thanked me. “I’ve been photographed before,” he said, “but they don’t usually bring a picture back.”

Abdul insisted we accompany him to a small tea shop where he ordered masala chai for the three of us. The other customers tucked into fried snacks and mutton dishes, occasionally looking over at us, perhaps wondering what we were doing in a small neighbourhood eating place. After a few minutes, Abdul pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and said, “Write your full name in English.” I did as he asked and returned the paper to him. He set off in the direction of his shop,  reappeared a short time later, and handed me another piece of paper with my name beautifully transcribed in Urdu letters.

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No begging and no prostitution

“My parents said they would accept me on two conditions - no begging and no prostitution. Now I work with NGOs and community members to improve the lives of people like me and I have a good relationship with my family,” said Lavania. We were speaking outside the Koothandavar temple in Koovagam, a small village that attracts up to 200,000 visitors for its annual festival. Like Lavania, many who come to participate in re-enacting the story of the god Aravan, are hijra, sometimes called eunuchs or kinnars. In India they are recognised in law as a third gender. Most adopt female dress and behaviour and traditionally earn a living by collecting alms and giving musical performances at weddings, births and festivals. During the Mughal period some held high positions in court and would be called upon for advice on religious matters or to give blessings during important ceremonies. 

Lavania 

In the Mahabharata, a narbali, or human sacrifice was required to appease the goddess Kali before the start of a war. Aravan volunteered himself but did not wish to die a virgin. The gods Arjuna and Krishna are unable to find a wife for him as no woman wished to become a widow the day after her marriage. Krishna assumed the form of Mohini, a woman, and married Aravan.  The next day the groom was sacrificed to Kali and his body cut into 32 pieces. The goddess then blessed Arjun with victory and  Mohini grieved and followed the rituals of widowhood. The festival re-enacts this story. 

I met Lavania on the first day of the festival when thousands waited to enter the temple to take part in a ceremony that would see them “married” to Aravan. Many were hijra, but perhaps half were villagers including men, women and children. Devotees emerged from the temple wearing bangles and a thali (also known as a mangalsutra), the necklace worn by married women to ward off the evil eye. Outside the temple and in the village streets, crowds gathered to take part in various pooja (rituals) and to receive blessings from the hijra.  Small fires were started and the hijra circled the flames, clapping and chanting in a form of call and response. The villagers watched closely while clutching small gifts and financial donations to give in return for advice and blessings. 

Waiting to enter the temple to marry Aravan

Village craftsmen receiving blessings for a hijra guru

Other pooja involve animal sacrifice. A group of men arrived leading a young goat to the open ground outside the temple. A small crowd gathered around to watch a priest as he covered the goat with turmeric and said prayers over it. When the prayer was finished, one of the men stepped forward and slit the goat’s throat. It struggled for a moment and was then still, its blood spreading on the ground. I was assured that this was an honour for the goat who would be reincarnated as a higher being.

The conditions laid down by Lavania’s family may seem strange, but they reflect the lives of many of the community, who unable to secure employment, make a living by begging in the street or through prostitution. Very slowly this is changing, and Lavania is one of a growing number of hijra who now work in mainstream jobs. In Mumbai I met community members working in catering and as beauticians. One was a law student. The day before the festival began I met Suganiya who said: “I have a job, I work in an office.” She agreed to be photographed but asked: “Shall I change my sari first?” “No need,” I replied, “You look fine as you are.”

Suganiya

The first day of the festival was joyful and the mood celebratory. In the morning and early afternoon the craftsmen of four local villages continued their work on making an idol to represent Aravan. Each village makes different sections of the god which are then assembled and mounted on a wooden chassis. I watched the Koovagam artisans painting their section. One of the temple priests encouraged them to: “make it beautiful.” In the evening there were theatrical performances, concerts, a fair, fashion shows and a beauty contest. The crowds made it impossible for vehicles to reach the village and participants had to walk a few kilometres along a dusty road to get there. I spent some time watching a talent show. Hijra performers sang and danced to popular film songs, cheered on by an audience of thousands. Reporters from local radio and television stations filmed the activity and carried out interviews amongst the crowd. 

The second day was more emotional. The crowds grew bigger and the narrow village streets became harder to negotiate. Dozens of devotees pulled the idol, stopping every hundred metres or so, as people called on the priests to shower them with garlands, dropped from the pinnacle.  Parents surged forward to hand babies and small children up to the priests who gave blessings before carefully passing them back down. The road is uneven and when the idol rocked precariously from side to side, the crowds pressed back against houses to avoid being crushed. Hundreds of police officers were on duty to maintain order, the size of the crowd, their religious fervour and the extreme heat (it was 43 degrees and humid) making their work harder. Despite this, they remained calm, and the crowd co-operative. “There won’t be a lathi (baton) charge today,” said Vinodkumar, my guide and interpreter.

The idol being pulled through the village

Calling for blessings from the idol

“My husband must go to war, he is a great warrior"

Many people left the chaos of the street and took refuge on the rooftops. At one home the residents invited me to join them. Their roof was almost level with the head of the idol. Down below, the hijra continued to sing, dance and perform pooja.  One group circled a fire, clapping, alternately leaning towards and away from the flame and  singing a song about Aravan: “My husband must go to war, he is a great warrior, but I don’t want him to fight, I too have many qualities, he should stay at home with me.” Others threw pieces of coconut into a fire and said prayers over them. The villagers edged closer to the flames and when the chanting was finished, some leaped forward, hoping to pull pieces of coconut from the fire, believing they will bring prosperity and protection. Coconuts featured in another pooja. A hijra guru said prayers over a flame, then her followers aggressively hurled the fruit at the ground, in the belief that they were destroying negative energy. Again, the crowd tried to gather the pieces, the pushing and shoving causing several to fall to the ground. 

For a while I remained on the roof, photographing the activity below. Someone call out in English: “Hey camera man! Take my picture!” I looked for the source of the request and saw a hijra looking up, lips pursed and hands on hips. As I pointed the camera, others began calling out, posing, blowing kisses and making heart shapes. The crowd cheered. When I came down from the roof someone else called out with a different request. “Buy me an ice-cream,” said Ramiya, who sat in the shade rubbing her feet. “What flavour do you want? Come with me and choose,” I replied. “Any flavour will do. My feet are too sore to walk,” she said. A vendor was offering ice-cream on a stick for a few rupees. I bought two for Ramiya, who then posed for a portrait.

I left Ramona and followed the procession of the idol out of the village and into the fields. The rough ground made its progress even less stable and at one point the police became more rigorous, forcing the crowds to one side for their own safety. The idol would soon be destroyed - re-enacting the death of Aravan. Those who had married the god the previous day, broke their bangles and waited in line for a priest to cut the thali from their neck, leaving the ground covered with symbols of widowhood

“Hey camera man take my picture"

Broken bangles and discarded thalis

During the second day, some of the hijra changed their clothes, donning the white sari customary of Hindu widows. Shenpagavali wore a white sari and asked me to photograph her, before telling her story: “I am 72 years old and I come from Kanjipuram village. I lived with a man for fifty years but he died last year and now I am alone. There were 12 children in my family. After my father died I came out. My family accept me and some of them came to the festival with me. I make a living by collecting donations at local shops and by doing small jobs for an NGO. People don’t give me trouble. I do not drink, smoke or take part in sexual activities. I come to the festival every year to pray that next year will be better. I studied to grade 12 but left home at 12 years of age. My guru has 20 chelas (students), but I don’t have any followers.” I saw Shenpagavali again later that day. As I left the village for the final time, I looked back and saw her. She had changed back into colourful clothe and danced alone to the music being played in the temple grounds.

Shenpagavali 

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Urban Eats Phnom Penh: from hunger to food tours - Stories from Cambodia

“You can understand a lot about a culture from its food,” said Vanarith, expert in Khmer (Cambodian) cuisine and owner of the recently established Urban Eats street food tours in Phnom Penh. I asked him to explain. “You can learn a lot of facts from museums or from visiting monuments such as palaces and temples and that’s important, but by sitting down and eating with local people and hearing their stories, you can begin to understand their history, traditions and culture,” he said. 

“You can understand a lot about a culture from its food"

Just thinking about those noodles brings back the taste.

It was early morning in Phnom Penh and we were eating fried noodles in a small, family-run business, established more than 30 years ago and now run by the grown-up children of the owners. The cafe was an open fronted establishment, allowing customers to watch the early morning street activity, including a procession of Buddhist monks and groups of children on their way to school. Vanarith had collected me from my hotel for a morning street food tour adapted to my vegetarian requirements. I’d been a bit concerned that this might present a difficulty but he reassured me saying: “I can design a tour to accommodate different dietary needs. The morning tours are especially good for vegetarians and even vegans.”

Just thinking about those noodles brings back the taste. They were the culinary highlight of my tour, simple, honest and flavourful. I could have eaten a second plate but had to keep room for other treats. These included the local take on doughnuts - a thick, deep-fried savoury breadstick, as well as local fruits and fresh juice from a stall run by a Vietnamese family. The tour had begun with an iced-coffee in the Old Market (Psa Jas in Khmer) where a friendly woman was selling baguettes on a street corner. She laughed when I told her her they were as good as those sold in Paris. I wasn’t lying. 

Baguettes as good as those sold in Paris.

I asked Vanarith how he came to be working in tourism and specialising in food tours. He said: "When I was born, my family were living in the jungle with soldiers fighting the Khmer Rouge. (The communist Khmer Rouge had been ousted from power in 1979, but the remnant fought on for several years). I was always hungry. At three or four years of age I learned to cook simple dishes but there was never enough to eat. I remember begging the soldiers for rice. Later, when I was in an orphanage, I loved helping in the kitchen. I would chop vegetables and prepare herbs and was given extra food for doing this. When I lived in a hostel I cooked for my friends. I would ask them for fifty cents each and then prepare two or three dishes for them. I went to the market to buy the food and brought it back to wash, prepare and cook. I did everything except washing the dishes - I don’t like doing that.” 

Vanarith with the US Ambassador on an evening food tour

“We suffered very badly and were subjected to intense abuse.”

He explained how he came to be in an orphanage: "In 1999, we came to live in Phnom Penh. My parents left me and my three siblings in the care of a woman who turned out to be involved in drugs and prostitution. We suffered very badly and were subjected to intense abuse - both physical and mental. We were often beaten.” He continued: "One afternoon I was playing in the street with some friends. I had no shoes or t-shirt and only wore torn shorts. A woman approached me and asked if I would like to live in an orphanage. She said I would be given food, a place to sleep and that I’d go to school. Of course, I said ‘yes’ but first we had to ask the permission of the woman who was supposed to be looking after us. She agreed to us let us go but because of where we had been living we had to take a a blood test. Luckily we all tested negative. I was eight years old.”

At 17 he moved to a hostel, unsure of how to earn a living. “I had no qualifications, no degree, I had not been to college,” he said, “It was hard to find a job that would pay enough to live on. But I had learned English by taking some classes, listening to podcasts, using YouTube, watching movies and most importantly by talking to people. For a while I volunteered at the orphanage, helping to organise things and although I had no formal skills, I would  translate and teach a little English to the children.” He went on to work for an NGO where he further improved his language skills, before securing a job with a tour company and then working as a freelance guide for two years. During this time he acted as guide for some high profile clients including the US Ambassador and the vlogger behind Strictly Dumpling, a YouTube channel with more than four million subscribers. “In these jobs I learned about the travel industry and became experienced in interacting with tourists.  It’s this that gave me the confidence to start my own business,” said Vanarith. 

With Mike “Mikey” Xing Chen of Strictly Dumpling fame.

The five-star reviews on the Urban Eats Facebook page suggest this confidence is well placed. I asked about his future plans. “Many of our recipes and ingredients came close to being lost during the Khmer Rouge period. Some chefs, are working hard to save this heritage, visiting villages, speaking to elders and recording the recipes. I’d like to be able to introduce some of my guests to these dishes," he said, before adding: “And I want to develop my business and be successful, but I haven’t forgotten how I started. Many people here lack basic things such as clean water. I’d like to help them and plan to donate a percentage of my profit for this purpose.” My own plans involve some more of those noodles.

With Cambodian chef, Chef Nak, who is leading the work to 
recover recipes lost during the Khmer Rouge period.

You can contact Vanarith through the Urban Eats Facebook page and follow him on Instagram. 

All pictures provided by Vanarith with the exception of the lady with the baguettes, which was taken by the author.

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You can read more about the work to record and preserve Khmer cuisine here.

Hyderabad Art Deco

Bachelors Quarters, built in 1940 (photo credit - Nitya Gonnakuti)

"There may once have been a terrazzo floor here. They were common in buildings across the city but many have been lost now," said Nitya Gonnakuti as we entered the Bachelors Quarters building in Central Hyderabad. She has been documenting the city's art deco architecture since 2019 and shares her findings on a dedicated Instagram page. During my recent time in the city, and despite the extreme heat, she kindly showed me some of her favourite buildings.

Bachelors Quarters was built in 1940. Its central glazed stairwell, flat roof and open walkways show both art deco and streamline influences. It originally offered accommodation to poorer students from distant towns and villages who came to Hyderabad for more opportunities. Rents collected from the rooms were used to help fund scholarships for women. According to the Telangana Today newspaper, the building was commissioned by the Seventh Nizam of Hyderabad, but it has not been possible to find details of the architect responsible for its design. "This is a problem common to many of our art deco buildings. It is hard to find this kind of information or the date that they were built,” said Nitya. Today, it is used entirely for commercial purposes and houses several small business. Despite the absence of terrazzo, some original features remain, particularly the wooden doors and window fittings. Also original, is the Arabic inscription in the lobby which bears the Islamic date 1359, equating to 1940 in the Gregorian calendar.

Bachelors Quarters staircase

 A cultural hub for the Urdu language

Bachelors Quarters was not only a student hostel. It became a cultural hub for the preservation and celebration of the Urdu language. Publishers, newspapers and cultural organisations had offices there. In 1955, poet Suleiman Areeb began publishing Saba, an Urdu magazine, from room 17A. Areeb was politically active as a member of the Communist Party in the late 1940s and early 1950s. He was imprisoned twice, including on one occasion for reading a revolutionary poem in public. Saba became influential in popularising modern literary trends and ideas and drew many politicians and trade unionists to the poet's office. 

Poetry had a prominent role in the building. Mushaira - a gathering of poets to read their works in public - were held there. This art form was particularly prevalent in Hyderabad and it is likely that many of the performers passed through room 27 which housed a fine arts academy frequented by composers, artists and even comedians. From the late 1950s, Urdu began to decline in importance and this rich cultural scene started to fade away. Despite this Shugoofa, a monthly humorous Urdu language magazine was still being published from the building as recently as 2021. 

In 43 degrees of heat, dust and with the noise from the heavy traffic outside, it was hard to imagine the cultural and creative activity that once took place here. It was also difficult to photograph the long facade as it is practically impossible to find a break in the traffic for a clear shot. The extremely strong light and the width of the building was also a challenge. In 2007 proposals were brought forward to demolish Bachelors Quarters due to its then dilapidated condition. Fortunately, the threat receded and restoration took place in 2020, when each of the resident companies contributed to the cost. Despite its cultural and historical significance, it is not a protected building and remains vulnerable to “development” due to its city centre location. 

Nitya owns a successful branding and social media company. As we climbed the paan-stained spiral staircase, I asked her how she became interested in art deco. “Although I work in communications, I studied architecture and had to do an essay on a favourite building. I chose one that I found out was in this style and I wanted to know more," she said. 

Porthole with a palm tree, Moosa building

A porthole with a palm tree

The Moosa building is a short walk from Bachelors Quarters. According to the date on its tower’s facade, it was built in 1942. Despite the encroachment of signage from the ground floor commercial units, it remains a handsome building. Its balconies and roof terrace are reminiscent of the modernist buildings found in many European cities as well as in Melbourne, Tel-Aviv and even Asmara in Eritrea. It too was designed as a hostel, a function it still fulfils. 

Little is known about Moosa, for whom the building is named, but the friendly manager told us he had been an auctioneer. The tiny office contained an original 1940s wooden key-holding fixture, complete with numbers in an elegant typeface and the keys of unoccupied rooms. After some discussion, the manager agreed to let us see inside the upper floors and instructed an employee to give us access to all areas. 

Each room contains three to four beds and a few pieces of vintage, mismatched wooden furniture, including mirrors, desks, dressing tables and cabinets. Many of the tables had been overlaid with formica tops, presumably to protect the wood or possibly to hide damage. Each room has a fan and although they lack natural light, some have access to a balcony. Guests can stay here for a few hundred rupees per night.

Each cream-painted room door bears geometric motifs and art deco “waves” - although the latter are in pairs rather than adhering to the usual “rule of three”. Some original terrazzo flooring remains, including on the balconies. There is also a roof terrace, where laundry had been hung out to dry and where one resident slept under a canopy, taking refuge from the heat. Porthole windows are a classic art deco feature, but the Moosa building adds a local flourish, with an elegant palm tree and birds in flight on one of the landing windows. 

An ugly, abandoned and unfinished structure stands at the rear of the hostel. It conceals a large art deco villa, adjacent to the Moosa building and visible only from its rear balcony. It is in poor shape and in the process of being reclaimed by nature. There were signs that it is still occupied and despite its condition, there are hints of how elegant it must once have been. Its future must be uncertain given its condition and prime location.

Staircase window, Moosa building

Door with deco motif, Moosa building

Architectural influencers

Despite the dearth of documentation for many buildings, two architects are known to have influenced the acceptance of art deco in Hyderabad. Mohammed Fayazuddin (1903-77), studied at London's prestigious Architectural Association before returning to India in 1934 and beginning an illustrious career. In 1944 he produced a masterplan for Greater Hyderabad. He would go on to design the art deco influenced State Bank of Hyderabad on Abids in the city centre, and also the Ravindran Bharathi, a major cultural centre completed in 1961. Fayazuddin was a highly cultured man and enjoyed playing the sitar. Perhaps he played at Bachelors Quarters.

Karl Malte von Heinz (1904-71) was a German architect connected to the Bauhaus. He fled the Nazi regime in the 1930s seeking refuge in India and settling in Hyderabad where he designed a mansion in the Banjara Hills for the Raja of Wanaparti. He would go on to work for Robert Tor Russell the architect responsible for Connaught Place in Delhi. Heinz also worked for Russell on the Pataudi Palace in Haryana. It is likely that if either Fayazuddin or Heinz had been responsible for Bachelors Quarters, it would be known, but the design demonstrates influences they would have been familiar with.

Villa, Jeera Colony

Villa, Jeera Colony

“Om" in Hindi script, Jeera colony.

An art deco Hindu temple

Our final stop was in Jeera Colony, a neighbourhood in the Secunderabad part of the city. "This area was established in the 1930s. The original residents included affluent Gujarati, Marwari and Telugu families. The plots were allocated on a leasehold basis which means the residents do not own the land and permission to carry out works on the properties involves an expensive bureaucratic process. This has led to some of them falling into disrepair,” said Nitya.  This arrangement also brings other risks. As the leases approach their end, residents may choose to leave, making the buildings vulnerable to demolition, changing the character of the area, dispersing a century old community and erasing its history.

For the moment several art deco villas remain in Jeera’s quieter streets. Many have retained their original balconies, glazed stairwells, decorative iron gates and railings. There is even the occasional porthole, one of which bears the word “om” in Hindi script. This is an example of “Indo-Deco” - where local symbols, motifs and other design elements are amalgamated with art deco style. “Om” is a word chanted during meditation, to help energise the mind and the body. Perhaps the original owners had the inscription included to bring positive energy to their home.

Before we returned to the city centre, we made a stop at the Arya Samaj Mandir on Rashtrapathi Road. This Hindu temple has the date 1947 inscribed above its main entrance. Arya Samaj was founded in 1875 as a Hindu reform movement, so it is appropriate that the temple should be built in a style contemporary to its date of construction. The striking pink exterior, decorated with Hindu motifs was a fitting finale to our tour, and the possibility of seeing inside at some point, a reason to return to the city.

Arya Samaj Mandir, built in 1947.

Photo credit - image of Bachelors Quarters facade - courtesy of Nitya Gonnakuti. All other photos by the author.

You might also like Behind the courtyard door - Budapest’s buildings tell tales

Behind the courtyard door - Budapest's buildings tell tales

During lockdown I remained sane by trying to learn a new language and by travelling vicariously on the internet. One of the sites I most enjoyed took me into the lobbies, courtyards and walkways of Budapest's historical buildings. It told the stories of former residents and of events that had taken place there. Budapest is a city I had visited several times before, but had never seen in this way. Last week, I spent half a day with Vincent Baumgartner, the photographer behind Buildings Tell Tales, exploring some of the buildings featured on this Facebook group.

"She is a curious person. If a courtyard door was open, she'd go in..."

When we met at 9am, Vincent had already been on the streets for a couple of hours, exploring and taking photographs. "I wake up early and go out with my camera to catch the light at its best," he said. I asked how the project had started and how he became interested in architecture. "As a child I would go out walking with my mum. She is a curious person. If a courtyard door was open, she'd go in and I would go with her. She remains curious and we still explore together now," he said, "It must have started there." Some of his earlier explorations took place in Switzerland where he was born to an Hungarian mother and a Swiss father. Despite this, from an early age he was familiar with, and took a close interest in Hungary and Hungarian culture. He explained, "We often came here during the summer, and when I was nineteen, I came to Budapest intending to stay for one year, but ended up staying for five. During that time I completed my BA and also took part in a study programme for diaspora Hungarians, learning more about our culture and history." 

He returned to Switzerland to complete his Masters Degree, and worked there for a year, before his curiosity about different countries and cultures led him to spend a year in Iran. In 2018 he returned to Budapest. "Despite being born in Switzerland, I was starting to feel homesick for Hungary, so I came back, found work and settled here," he said. He currently works in communications for an international organisation.

While walking in the city, he began noticing names and dates carved into brick walls. "My curiosity was aroused and I began photographing this historical graffiti, using old telephone directories and other documents to research the details. I discovered that many of the marks had been made by on-duty police officers in the first few decades of the twentieth century, and that others had been made by famous people," he said. One such famous person was the psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Léopold Szondi. Vincent continued, "I discovered a piece of graffiti seemingly written by him. I photographed it and sent it to the Szondi Foundation who confirmed that it was his handwriting." These findings not only led to him establishing the Instagram page Bricks of Budapest, but also to addressing a conference in Cologne.

"Almost everything I posted provoked comments and messages..."

This project sparked his interest in what might be behind those bricks and he began entering courtyards and taking pictures with his phone. Keen to share his findings with a wider audience, he launched the Buildings Tell Tales Facebook page in 2019 and soon began attracting a positive response. "The page quickly got traction and from the beginning, almost everything I posted provoked comments and messages from current or former residents, including people who had left Hungary," he said. Today the page has more than 34,000 followers, about half of them in Hungary and significant numbers in the USA, United Kingdom, Israel, France and Switzerland. "During lockdown I began to take my photography more seriously. I bought some equipment and took some classes. I wanted to better record my findings and to produce aesthetically pleasing pictures," he said. He has been so successful in this aim, that two Budapest local authorities have now granted him access to the buildings in their area of jurisdiction. 

Our walk focused on the city's seventh and eighth districts, once home to a large Jewish community. The huge external doors and sometimes austere exteriors of the apartment buildings can conceal stained glass, terrazzo surfaces, art nouveau tiles and elegant balconies or walkways. Others open to neglect, decay and empty apartments, some of them waiting for the wreckers' ball. Writers, artists, musicians, scientists, labourers and craftsmen once lived in these apartments and all must have had stories.

The level of grandeur denoted the social class of those who originally lived there, although many of the grandest are now in a poor state of repair. One apartment building is said to have housed a bordello that counted European royalty amongst its clients. Its stairwells are now dark, the decorative metalwork rusting and the plaster cladding crumbling. The same building has special historical significance as the wall of the wartime Budapest Ghetto stood in its rear courtyard. The original wall was demolished in 2006, but a portion has since been rebuilt as a monument.

A photographic studio in the attic

Other buildings are well maintained with evidence of repair work and clean courtyards free of litter. In Kiraly Utca, the inhabitants of one apartment block had undertaken historical research focusing on the story of former resident photographer Pal Kis. He worked from a converted attic room, where the ceiling and one wall were constructed entirely of glass to admit natural light. As well as running a successful business, he worked as photographer for the Opera House. During the latter part of the Second World War, Kis was one of many Jewish men taken for forced labour, but he managed to escape and return to Budapest. He was arrested again and deported on the last train to leave the city before the Russian encirclement. He died in the Buchenwald concentration camp in January 1945. While performing forced labour he maintained a secret diary, parts of which are preserved at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. Kis' story is posted on information panels in the courtyard of his former home. 

The Kiraly Utca building's residents are clearly interested in its history, while elsewhere people greeted us and one asked for the details of the Facebook group as she wanted to know more about the project. "People are used to me now," said Vincent, "Often when they see me setting up my tripod, they will stop and talk." He has also attracted a significant amount of media attention, including from Hungarian state television, local and national newspapers  and overseas publications.

Since 2018, he has amassed a huge body of both photographic and written documentation on Budapest and I asked about future plans for sharing and developing his work. "I started a website last year and would like to further expand my project by obtaining a guide qualification so that I can lead tours of some of the buildings. I have also had a few exhibitions of my work. My next show will be in the Institute Français in September this year," he said. I asked him if he would consider producing a book, "Yes, that's possible too," he replied. 

You can follow Vincent's work on Facebook at Buildings Tell Tales  and on Instagram at Bricks of Budapest and Buildings Tell Tales

You can find the Buildings Tell Tales website here.

His next exhibition opens at Cafe Le Troquet in the Institute Français from September 7th. More details will be announced beforehand on the above links.

Photographs in this blog provided by courtesy of StudioSB