Sharing a common identity: discovering Rural Orissa were women and Hijra work shoulder to shoulder on construction sites
If, as I believe, photographing requires humbleness and patience, in India this ‘exercise’ becomes even more trying and fascinating. This country that hosts almost one third of the world’s population, the vastity of it’s profoundly different regions form the Himalaya to the Indian Ocean and the multitude of cultures, religions customs and traditions are confusing to the eye, the heart and the mind of the photographer’s western rationality.
The Odisha region is home to over 63 Dravidian tribes – some of which are government protected- that mostly live in remote places made unaccessible to tourists. During my solitary exploration of the region a visual thread that I choose to follow magically manifests itself. Obtaining meaningful contacts with people whilst carrying a large hand held camera is not always easy in this area. My priority was to make contact, take the necessary time, explore, sit down and listen to the multitude of women that reveal themselves everywhere and that seem to be in charge of the fate of this entire territory.
Streets, markets, fields and villages teemed with frenetic and powerful woman activities, most of which committed to family survival. In this rural area most men are addicted to palm toddy and gambling, managing to work maybe once or twice a week, thus leaving the fortune of entire area fully in the hands of women. I stop by a road, astonished by the fact that it’s a road construction site were heavy loads like rocks, concrete and gravel are being handled not by men , as one would expect given the harshness of the task, but entirely by woman. As I approach I see that many of these woman are actually Hijra.
The Hijra are neither a caste nor an ethnic group: it is rather an ancient community that categorically refuses to be considered of any gender distinction, and in which most choose to become eunuchs. Already well known in the ancient texts, (from Mahabarata to Ramayana and Kama Sutra) they will shift in the course of history from venerable fertility’s ‘priests’ to a different social role that will slowly lead them to the death of their historical sacrality in favor of a sub-culture. They will be categorized as socially and economically backward due to an array of factors: colonization will corrupt and marginalize their role and will declare their illegality. In more recent times they have reacquired their constitutional rights, but although in the cities they can still gain their living by singing dancing and bestowing blessings during marriages and christenings, in rural areas such as this one their role changes and the can be seen working side by side with women as equals.
It’s a multitude of smiling, tired, thirsty and aching people, all incredibly strong and beautiful. In this grim and merciless scenario at the edges of our western logical frame of thought, they move slowly and gracefully crossing paths while wearing stunning and gaudy saris, colorful and jingling bracelets and necklaces, communicating through patient yet mischievous smiles. I now realize there is no such thing as a line to differentiate women from Hijra. The immense workload falls on everybody’s shoulders without distinction, and the overall group solidarity is impressive. All of them have a common role and goal, which can be accomplished only through a collective effort.
While taking pictures and talking amidst them my astonishment turns into respect: the one that fills the mind when you are forced out of your confort zone accepting and understanding unknown and unpredictable dynamics that are starkly real and very much widespread. While they fill my ears with questions that I try to answer as clearly as I possibly can, I keep shooting, trying to freeze in my pictures the immense femininity that, despite of all, they emanate in what still seems to me like hell.
