Archiving Loving Memories

Two senior photographers-Prashant Nadkar and Mahendra Parikh-passed away recently. Their memories and archives are never going to die

- Ritesh Uttamchandani

DEATH is strange. Stranger is the way we react to death. Depending on the equation, a simple "RIP" works in some cases, but some deaths rip apart your soul.

Suddenly, memories are jolted out of their slumber. They stretch like a cat and force you to think of the last conversation, or the last meeting. Was it nice? Did it end up in a fight? Did we argue about something? That last trip. That night out. Did we really drink that much? Was there an unfulfilled promise? What about that time when that idiot screwed me over on that deal? You are flooded with memories. Something as simple as an onion could remind you of the person.

Two photographers, both senior colleagues at some point, passed away recently while I was in the UK. The very tiny, insular and rabidly-fenced "art world" will never know about their existence so I guess for them their departure matters even less. But the Indian news industry mules were quite aware of the two.

Prashant Nadkar-My "short-fused" friend

When I was starting out, bunking Xavier's (Mumbai) to hang out with my mentor, counsellor and now friend, A Srinivas (The Indian Express), was routine. He is lovingly known as Srini or fukya-for the number of cigarettes he smokes. In an earlier life, Srini was an Amrutanjan balm salesman but he always had a penchant for weird stuff.

Once, he took me on a weekend bike trip to Murud as he wanted to photograph a bullock cart race on the beach. But I think that was just an excuse to get out of Mumbai, go to a beach and have a couple of beers! (Prashant) Nadkar, who was with The Week then, and I were both "students" of Srini. After our Murud trip, I did a few assignments for him with cut rolls handed over to me by Srini. I am guessing you know what a cut roll is.