Susnata Karmakar
There is so much more to life than making a living. So, what is it that really defines us, eventually?
I know a mathematician who is a brilliant poet, and a student of literature who can paint dreams. As for me, I am tired of all the dreaming. I wake up exhausted. Utterly amused most of the time, and sometimes extremely disturbed. Then I get out of bed, rush and strive to make a living. No wonder it takes me a while to remind myself of who I am, and what I am to do for the remainder of the day. It surely never feels like the dawn of a new day, but rather a culmination of the 33 years of my existence. After all, that is what defines me.
When I was younger, I looked forward to turning 18. I still do. It was a glorified thing, a golden age to attain. Earning myself a driving license and a voting card: essentially being able to drive myself and the nation in every possible and absurd direction. Since then, I have always exercised my voting rights for a losing cause, and can therefore consider myself guilt-free in the honour killing of a democracy. If I could, I would do something about it. But I can’t. I was born in a small town. I have grown up amidst art and poetry. I have always loved music and the sound of laughter sparking an evening. I once had a dog. I buried her with my own hands. When I love someone, I take them to the mountains. I used to love the vast paddy fields near my grandfather’s house, walking aimlessly along their narrow embankments for great distances. Sunshine crept surreptitiously in my corners on winter mornings. The mundane possesses its secrets, its own magic. But from the day I had to carry my grandfather on my shoulders and then watch him slowly climb up in plummets of smoke spiralling above those paddy fields, I have avoided taking that path.
My grandfather used to teach biology. He would have been mighty proud of me today, working as a postdoctoral researcher in the same field, in Cambridge. So, I gather myself to go to work. Cambridge is a tiny little town, but within its small boundaries, it holds a vastness that is hard to describe. It’s not just about its colleges and chapels, spires and bridges. To me, it’s a city full of people and their bicycles. A city full of dreamers hoping to live a little better, hoping to expand their dreams.
A young undergraduate moving into town, with suitcases full of hopes and ambitions. A legendary scientist making elaborate plans for her retirement in Barcelona. A busking musician ignoring the insistent drizzle and playing Louis Armstrong covers. A painter sitting with an easel on the King’s parade, making portraits of people who pay him to do so. A punter reciting the history of the Backs to a curious group of tourists. An elderly couple exploring the shops in a Christmassy market square. A homeless person sharing his misery with his dog. And students, like the students in so many nooks of the world, who think they can stop genocide.
So, I pick my camera up sometimes, excited by its alchemy of art and science. I record my familiar streets in canvases of light and shadows. I shoot exclusively on 35mm films, putting a price tag on the shutter button (which is such a revelation), developing my own negatives, and accepting a tool that demands patience and presence. This is my experiment. A shared relationship with the camera, my best friend. A reason to step out of the house on lazy Sundays, when all I want is to become a singular inseparable entity with my bed.
Cambridge, after all, is a living history. I am not participating in what one can call a historical living. But sometimes I do just a little more than merely making a living. I document my world, my feelings, my Cambridge. I live in my history.
Susnata Karmakar describes himself as a blend of diverse interests. Though a science student and researcher by profession, he finds solace and expression in various art forms, with a particular passion for analogue photography. He shares his work on Instagram (sk.analog), where he’s always eager to connect with fellow enthusiasts. Website: skanalog.myportfolio.com
Excellent curation of images complementing the narrative. Analogue photography has its own charm. I had once attempted it on a direct positive film on a pinhole camera. The whole process of developing the photographs in the dark room is an adventure in itself. Keep at it! Enjoyed reading the piece. Kudos.