Raghu Rai on the symbolic photo that told the story of the Emergency

Indian Express

5 hours ago

I distinctly remember the day the Emergency was declared. Almost overnight, police presence intensified everywhere. Protesters were put behind bars. I was a photojournalist with The Statesman and every photograph we wanted to publish required government approval. When we were told, 'You can't print this picture,' we would sometimes leave the space blank as an act of defiance.
There were several photographs that couldn't be published, including that of political leaders who were arrested and protesters. We devised ways to depict reality, with symbolic representations. For instance, one of my photographs that was published had a man riding a bicycle, taking his daughter somewhere. Behind them stood a few onlookers and a posse of police in a rather empty street — a rare sight for Chandni Chowk, which is usually bustling with people. The caption read, 'Life normal in Chandni Chowk', a blatant fallacy, as nothing was truly normal, which was also evident through the photograph.
Since there were no political and cultural activities, I also used the time to travel to villages and to the Himalayas to document life there. We are here in big cities to serve the big guys, but it's crucial to look beyond.
I also extensively photographed one particular wall in Old Delhi during this period, running from Daryaganj to Jama Masjid — resulting in the series 'Confessions of a Wall'. That wall seemed to possess a life of its own: a bazaar was held nearby on Sundays, children sketched on it and there were also people who scribbled abuses on it. It was interesting to see how its facade changed. The final nail in the coffin was when the wall gave me the final image of the political situation in the country.
Transformed into a political canvas, this wall was plastered with posters after the Emergency was lifted and elections were announced. This included posters of Indira Gandhi urging people to vote for her, and with her now-infamous slogan: 'Hum Do, Hamare Do' — the popular interpretation of 'Do' was her and Sanjay Gandhi. At the time, elections were held on the same day across the country and I had gone to Old Delhi to photograph people standing in queues to cast their votes. By
5 pm voting was over. On my way back, I saw a man collecting posters of political leaders and shoving them into a sack to sell them as raddi (scrap). I instinctively captured that moment. When I showed it to my editor Kuldip Nayar, he appreciated it but declined to publish it, fearing that if Indira Gandhi returned to power, both of us would be jailed. I was not a political writer, but I could feel the pulse of the people. I told him she would not return but he wasn't completely convinced. Frustrated, I tore the photograph and said I would not return to this office. The next afternoon, it was becoming clear that the Congress was losing. Mr Nayar started looking for me but I hadn't gone to the office in protest. He rang up to say the Congress was losing and my photograph can be published on the front page, in five columns. The photograph was published the very next day.
When she lost the elections, the Gandhi family realised that you cannot run an ancient civilisation like India by such ruthless measures. Sure enough, the Janata Party couldn't survive long and she came back to power with full freedom for expression and democracy.
When wars and terrorism are undeclared and when the Emergency and its parameters are undeclared, there remains an unknown and unmeasurable fear which retards the growth and well-being of the nation.
As told to Vandana Kalra