When moisture softens the camera-eye

What distinguished Raghavendra Rao in his over 30-year career as a photojournalist was the ever-present moisture in his eye. The human predicament moved him constantly, as did any form of beauty. His eyes would well over and the moisture would seep into his camera lens to soften the contour of every frame. The resulting image would directly appeal to our heart.

In the cramped, cynical world of the daily media, journalists usually do not let the events of the day touch them. Photo-journalists are even tougher. Their eyes are glazed. Nothing fazes them. There is no waste of emotion or sentiment. They have seen it all — death, destruction, violence, mayhem.

A brutal war or a bloody riot leaves them untouched. They are witnesses to the worst aspects of the human species. A photo assignment is merely an opportunity to push and hustle and secure a scoop over all opposition.

This is where Rao was different. He was compassion personified. It was impossible for him to click a picture without getting involved in the life of his subjects.

When the camera was not enough, he could also write with abundant sensitivity and in elegant prose. There are many pieces he penned under the nom de plume of ‘Sai Prashanti’ that had readers wondering who the author was.

Raghavendra Rao’s career in photojournalism began, in the late 1960s, with The Indian Express , Madras. He went on to become its chief photographer by the 1980s.

During this period he shot some dramatic photo-essays for the paper and his work was often displayed prominently on the front page. When I joined IndianExpress as a rookie in 1973, one of my motivations had been the memory of the brilliantly shot and dramatically displayed front-page photos accompanied by the credit line, ‘Photo by KN Raghavendra Rao’.

Despite the age gap, it did not take long for us to become friends and he was quick to pull me into a close circle of journalist colleagues. These were constant acts of generosity from his side, whenever he spotted some specific talent or skill in a junior colleague.

It was always a pleasure to see Rao accompanied by a shoal of younger colleagues, constantly learning from him the art of extending the circle of companionship and conviviality.

Later he worked for a while in India Today magazine’s Southern bureau, during the time Raghu Rai was photo editor of the magazine. During this period, I accompanied him with my camera on several assignments.

On one such trip to a cyclone-affected hamlet in Nellore district in Andhra Pradesh, I got to see from close his process of work.

While some of us were busy framing very graphic (and, perhaps, ‘sensational’) images of devastation wrought by the cyclone, Rao set about looking for people who had been affected by the calamity. He spoke with them, consoled them and eventually, yet unobtrusively, photographed them.

The resulting essay of pain and loss, told through the wizened faces of these villagers, spoke far more eloquently of what had happened than our pictures of material havoc.

In the early 1990s, Rao helped set up the photo department of BusinessLine , the newly launched business daily of The Hindu group. He was responsible here for recruiting and training several young photographers and inspiring them.

Rao’s oeuvre spanned politics, street life and portraits of artists. His series of pictures of Carnatic musicians is still a rage among music buffs in South India.

He has several solo photo exhibitions to his credit. The animated face and hands of an MD Ramanathan is as close an experience of getting to hear his music than actually hearing his music.

A shot of dancer Chandralekha against the sea and sky on Elliot’s Beach is an essay in movement.

Rao came from a school of photography that believed more in emotion, intuition and spontaneity, rather than conscious preoccupation with technical details.

In many conversations we had, he would always hold firm to the belief that the mechanics of the medium should not be allowed to overpower the poetry of the expression.

Raghavendra Rao was also an influential teacher and, for many years, interacted with younger professionals through workshops and discussions.

His greatest joy, though, I believe, was when he was engaged with children, motivating or exciting them or when he was tending the plants in his garden at his home, Rasa , in Injambakkam. With children he was an instant raconteur and with plants a caring nurturer.

Rao (82) passed away after a phase of being unwell, at his son’s home in Ahmedabad. Just a couple of years ago, he had helped conduct a photo-workshop for me during the occasion of an exhibition in memory of our common friend, the artist, photographer, designer Dashrath Patel.

During that time he had spoken lovingly of his childhood days in Mandya, Karnataka, and how he picked up nationalist and anti-imperialist sensibilities in those pre-Independence days. It was an early formation that was to also affect his photo-practice, as he carefully skirted around ideas derived from Western masters and showed the courage to develop his own native creative instincts.

In an era when photography has become both ubiquitous and aggressive, when virtually everyone seems to have an image-making device at their fingertips, when millions of images are being produced and uploaded by the hour, when the assault on our ocular sensibilities has reached its nadir, one thinks back on a photographer such as Raghavendra Rao with a sense of wistful longing; to a time — not too long ago — when photography represented not just sight, but also insight; when a photographer-journalist, like Rao, saw it as his professional task to amplify not only the vision of his readers, but also their heart.

We will miss the ‘wet’ prints he used to show us with such excitement.

The writer is a Chennai-based journalist and photographer