Following The Lifeline

If at first the plates seem a random miscellany of regional unfolding from the Grand Trunk's inception outside the Calcutta Botanical Gardens to its truncated destiny at the border with Pakistan, look closer and you will discover the subtle commitment that shapes the subject and orchestrates the whole towards the elusive achievement of a book that hangs together. There is a very happy balance between content and production, text and illustration. The first plate, for example, shows the opening of a West Bengal level-crossing on the GT with all the attendant anarchy the subcontinent never fails to celebrate. The last plate is on the Wagah border-post being closed at nightfall by resplendent BSF jawans. Then follows a printed statement that the photographer was refused permission by the Pakistan authorities even though he offered to go on their terms and confine his shots to the common man. Pakistan is clearly the loser. Either they have something to hide or are scared of the creative person.

Singh's introductory text is a little masterpiece in declaring his passion for the GT and describing how his journeys were put together. Jean Deloche contributes a useful historical essay that is formal enough to give reference value to the book and stimulating enough to encourage further research. Riding the GT is an exhilarating experience if you are the driver of a Punjab Roadways bus, swiping all other traffic aside, but terrifying if you happen to be like me, a motorcyclist blown on the verge by the blast. Singh has caught this manic dimension in several Tata trucks upended and manages to lend some poetry to the pointlessness of death. Three alignments—Buddhist (to Patna), Islamic (to Dhaka) and British (to Howrah)—mark the GT and this rich historical mix continues to be reflected in the sea of competing modes of transport. It is daring of Singh to risk the accusation of displaying the poorer end of the Indian spectrum. But what his angles on the ordinary citizen prove is that the human form can seem more noble in a harsh setting than a soft one. Singh's pictures get it all in. They are animated, alive, almost hectic. Above all, they smoulder with reality. Gentle, smiling villagers only grace tourist brochures. Along the GT you find surely glowering, almost threatening faces and are forced to ask why so much uniform sullenness? Well-dressed students with flashy wrist-watches aspire to ride more than a bike. Alas, the system has made them unemployable. But also seeing red is the wittily counterposed benign GT visage of a camel peering at the traffic lights.

Shrunken civic statues range from Mrs Gandhi to Chairman Mao, from Bhagat Singh to the almost lyrically folksy Dr Ambedkar. Living politicians all seem well-fed and paid-up by Mr Jain, the bloated convoy of white Ambassadors already having become part of the BJP culture. The GT transport aids are all here, the puncture repair shop, the theka offering 'botal' and the dhaba now providing plastic chairs as an alternative to the string cot. It is imperative to echo in the cover shot the essence of your striving and here Singh seems to have received khara prasad from the Guru. An aquiline Nihang gallops his tatty baggage cart pulled by an-old-grey-mare-who-ain't-what-she used-to-be, followed by a prancing white wannabe stallion. An overarching emerald kikar tree relieves the grey monsoon mood and the entire canvas conjures up at once the homeliness of the Punjab and the essentially heroic quality of life along the Grand Trunk. Sorry to disappoint the happy couple. This is definitely a book to hang on to.