poverty – GMB AKASH

‘Heroes of Life’ – Part I

‘Heroes of Life’ – are those incredible humans who always find their way to light and love. They had known defeats, sufferings, struggles yet they possess a beautiful story in their hearts, which is worthy to share with the world.

Kawser Hossain, Shamsuddin Miah and Rani’s stories touched everyone’s heart. They were featured first in GMB Akash facebook page and become an inspiration for thousands of people all over the world. This video is about how we have helped three of them so they can give a good fight with their lives and remains as unbroken as they were. Thanks everyone for giving them love, respect and support.

You tube Video: ‘Heroes of Life’ Video interview

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Yesterday, I was able to buy a new dress for my daughter after two years. While I handed sixty pieces of five taka note to the seller, he yelled at me by asking if I am a beggar. My daughter held my hand and cried to leave the shop by saying that she did not want to buy any dress. I wept off her tears with one hand. Yes, I am a beggar. Ten years ago I had never thought in my nightmares that I have to live by begging from people. The night coach fell from the bridge and unbelievably I was alive. I was alive by becoming a disable. My youngest son often ask me where had I left my other hand. And my daughter Sumaiya feed me every day by saying she knows how difficult it is to do all work with one hand.

After two years my daughter is wearing a new dress, that’s why today I brought her with me to play for some time. May be I will not be able to earn anything today, but I wanted to roam around with my little girl. I secretly borrowed this mobile phone from my neighbor without informing my wife. My daughter has no picture and I want to make this day memorable for her. When one day I will have a phone I will take a lot of pictures of my children. I want to keep good memories. It’s very difficult to send my children to school, but I am educating them all. Sometimes they cannot attend exam because giving exam fees is not always possible by me. On those days they feel very sad then I tell them, sometimes we can miss exams because the biggest exam is life which we are giving every day.

Now I will go for begging. I will place my daughter in a signal where she will wait for me. I will look at her from distant while begging. I feel shame while she looks at me when I lend my one hand to others. But she never leaves me alone. Because there are big cars, she thinks accident can happen again, these cars could run on me and I would die. Whenever I managed to get some money I return to home by holding my daughter’s hand. We do bazaar on our way and my daughter always carry that bag. During rain we love to get wet and talk about our dreams. In someday I do not get any money, on those days we return to home silently. On those days I feel like to die but at night when my children fall in sleep by holding me I feel being alive is not a bad thing. Only bad is when my daughter waits for me in the signal by keeping her head down. When I cannot look at her eye while begging. But today is different. Because today my daughter is very happy. Today this father is not a beggar. Today this father is a king and here is his princess.

– MD. Kawsar Hossain

This father and daughter received love from all around the world. It takes almost one month for me to find out him. After several meetings with the family, Kawser wanted to have a source of income. He wanted to do vegetable business in rickshaw van. He also wanted to educate his daughter and he never want to beg in his life.

I promised Kawser to gift a van rickshaw and settle his vegetable business. He has received vegetable business and a rickshaw van. His children received scholarship for one year. I long a few generous friends contributed for this cause. ‘This Heroes of life’ – are extraordinary human beings. Sumaiya and his father Kawser is already making differences in their life.

‘We can help someone with the minimum we have. Someone’s nothing can be someone’s everything’

Remember the elderly couple?’ For everyone they are ‘The Baghban couple’!

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Last year we fled together. We never thought we could do that. I knew that our children may stop communicating with us. But I and my wife are living forty seven years together. Every day after sunrise she wakes up me first and together we do our prayers. Forty seven years we never had spent a day without each other. Seeing my wife’s face was the first thing happen to me every day. We struggled together with our six children. In the past, often times I was able to manage one time food for my family, I and my wife starved whole day after feeding our children. She never complained, never told me that I was failed as a husband. After so much suffering we never left each other’s side, never fought one single day, and never lost faith on each other. When my elder son took me and the youngest daughter took their mother, we did not realize that they decided to take us separately. Our children earn little and they have their expenses. After fulfilling their children’s need our need was burden to them. We knew everything but it was impossible for us to accept that we cannot be together anymore. I shamelessly asked my elder son and he was very surprised. He informed me that none of them are capable of taking care both of us.

I tried to adjust. But every morning when I wake up I wanted to see her smile. I spent my whole day by waiting for my son’s arrival so I could talk to her with the phone he had. But he arrived late night when on the other side my daughter usually went to sleep. The day when I was able to hear her voice none of us could speak a word. I heard how hard she tried to keep clam her tearful voice and I murmured stupid things. I never thought life can become so meaningless without each other. Every day I felt to run to my daughter’s house which was far away from mine. Then one day by gaining some courage I told her that I wanted to run together. By surprising me, she asked me to go right away. I took my walking stick and never looked back. We run away together with empty hand.

Now I sell children’s toy. I hardly can manage 100 taka every day and after I return to home I found food on our bed. Our children arrived once to see us last year; they told us how we failed them, how humiliated they felt for our behavior. We did not say anything. We do not want to hurt them. They decided to never come again. Sometimes we feel bad for our children, we miss them. But we know we are running out of time. I am fifteen years older than my wife. Any day I may die in the road while selling children’s toy. So I keep saving some money in a mud bank, I do not want my wife to beg to people to finish my last work. But every day my wife cries a lot during her prayer, whenever I ask her why she is crying so much, she would always say, ‘I want to die with you’.

– Samsuddin Miah (77) with her wife Rekha Begum (62)

For Shamsuddin Chacha, it’s very hard to walk miles after miles by carrying toys in his back. After all his hard work the little money he earns goes for his cancer patient wife’s medicine. After daily struggle of managing food and medicine, every day they find their way in their wrecked one bed room house. I along my facebook page GMB Akash friends comes forward to help him. ‘After receiving the rickshaw van and shoe business we are very happy. We pray to God so we can move forward with this work. I cannot thank enough everyone who has helped us. We are feeling like today is an Eid day’ – Shamsuddin Miah

Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal …

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He was about to throw my one month old boy. I was holding his leg and he was kicking me constantly. There were scars in every parts of my body. With blade, knife and needle. Sometimes by holding my legs he pulled me out in such a speed that it was very difficult to keep my clothes on my body. My daughter had run behind me by taking one of her scarf to cover the naked parts of my body. She used to scream, ‘Please, help my mother.’ But no one came to help us. He had beaten me on the road. Someday my girl counted the scars of my body and often told me that she lost those unlimited counts. My husband was a heroin addict. After selling everything I had, we were the only things for him to sell. I used to keep poison with me all the time. My daughter knew that it was poison. Whenever we were hurt, by holding and crying to me she asked, ‘When will we have the poison, maa?’ I asked her, ‘Why?’ By weeping her eyes off she replied, ‘It’s very painful to live.’ Then that night arrived when I decided to end all our pains. We were counting hours for our death. My one month old son was smiling in his dream. I could not put poison on his mouth. I held both of them with my chest and ran away, ran away before anyone could sell us or kill us. At that midnight no one asked us what had happened, where were we going? Whenever I was slowing my daughter was crying and telling me, ‘Run Maa, run.’ When the sun was rising, we heard the sound of azaan and crows were flying all over above our heads. I asked myself, ‘Where should I go?’ I wanted to give a chance to me and my children, by breathing in free air, by having some courage to dream. Without knowing where to go, whom to knock. I do not know what we will eat tomorrow. My daughter is struggling every single day to feed us. I am incapable of walking straight. Every night I heard my daughter crying secretly, whenever I touch her head to calm her down she often whisper, ‘Everything will be okay, very soon.’ I nod and say ‘Yes’ to her. Knowing very well nothing will change, light will never enter in our lives, we will never be able to smile. Not everyone knows how it feels to be happy in life.

– Rani (33)

Rani wanted to change her life. To help her we settled her with a rickshaw van and spice business.

Everyone can help someone. Everyday can be a different day. Thanks for becoming a part of this change making journey by giving your warm words, by offering your gift and making everyone believe that humanity exist

– GMB Akash

‘Many Miles Many Smiles’

You are loved! ❤

That is the note every child received. In five straight days I had reached more than 500 impoverished Bangladeshi children and gifted one goodie bag each that consisted of an item of new clothes, a pair of slippers and chocolate. Then together we headed for the group lunch. The children grinned from ear to ear, laughed and screamed in joy and burst out in happiness. All this happened due to a ‘three day campaign in my Facebook fan page’. I would like to thank every friend who has donated HAPPINESS to these children. Thanks for sharing your world with these children. During five days from morning to noon I had unforgettable moments with street children, child labourers and unprivileged rural children. My friends, in this video I am sharing a glimpse of that joyous experience which which many of you have created along me. I am welcoming you to have a look at what have you brought to these children!

Click in this Link to watch the video: Video of Many Miles Many Smiles

‘Is this mine?’ Salauddin uttered with surprise. ‘Are these all for us?’ with the same surprise, Ratan, Sojib and Yusuf asked. I nodded with a smile and before I could answer, Sojib run up and called out every child’s name they are living with. To my surprise within half an hour about a hundred of children encircled me with a thousand questions. I handed every child one goodie bag that consisted of a new pair of slippers, new clothes item and chocolate. Their sparkling eyes, bright smiles and warm words made the evening unforgettable. Among them a few were not smiling and seemed confused. I patted them on their backs and asked what happened and then questioned them if they weren’t happy with the new things. With hesitation they asked me if I could provide them with some food to eat as they had not eaten anything since yesterday. That moment I decided besides giving them one goodie bag I will also treat them in a good restaurant and make their day fulfilled. When I declared they can have their lunch in a restaurant their happiness exceeded its limit.

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There are hundreds of boys and girls who work as child labourers with their parents who work in the brick fields. While Munni was wearing her new given dress, she shared with me, ‘I hadn’t gotten any dress or shoes for last Eid. Today is my Eid day.’ While wearing their clothes and slippers they continued to laugh, showing their new things to each other and continued to giggle as they saw me waving and leaving them.

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The hardest part was to buy different clothes and slippers for different age groups. I would like to give special thanks to my students and companions Tutul, Disary and Proshanto for their generous time and effort. By this post I would like to thank each of you who have helped me with time, labour and generosity for this mission.

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The scenarios in the factories weren’t different. The child labourer formed a queue voluntarily and continued to surprise me by their gratefulness. I could not imagine a small goodie bag could give so much happiness. When they opened their gifts each of them smiled instantly. Even in the rural village where our ‘First Light School’ has its junior students, those who belong to extremely poor families burst out in joy while receiving their gifts. All of them gathered, lined up and shouted ‘Thank you!’

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My friends, see what we have done together with a small three day campaign. Your generosity filled hundreds of innocent souls with the greatest gift of ‘Happiness’. Thank you! Thank you for showing them that there are people in the world who have a heart to love and give.

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Innocent Feet

Shaheen (10 years old) does not feel badly anymore to walk with empty feet. Five months ago when he first started walking without sandals, broken pieces of glass and small sheets of tin oftentimes cut his feet. Sometimes when he would hop onto a running train to save himself from the station inspector, the damaged surface of the train’s step would injure his bare feet which caused him much suffering for some nights. In pain, he could not work for a few days. Nowadays, Shaheen thinks dirt layer surfaces for his feet are actually saving him from injuries.

Abu saleh

Abu Saleh (11)

Ali noor (10 ) Ali Noor (10)

Ali raj (12)

Ali Raj (12)

Arman (10)

Badshah (9)

When Shaheen’s mother was alive she used to put oil on his hands, legs and hair. Shaheen knew his mother well and if she could see him now, she would do it again. She had never beaten him ever. But after her death when the new mother arrived, she and his father used to beat him every night. Often he had to spend the night in the yard in front of the closed door of his father’s house. One morning last summer, Shaheen left his village and took the train which was coming to Dhaka. He no longer misses his past except for his mother.

Shahin (10)

Shaheen (10)

bappi (11)

Bappi (11)

Emon ali (12)

Emon Ali (12)

Hasib

Now he carries the goods of passengers in the train station in bare feet. Even if he wishes to buy a pair of sandals, how will he manage money? And if he does manage to buy them, how will he safeguard them? Yesterday his friend Ismail’s new sandals were stolen and Ismail cried for the whole day. He had bought them with 150 taka by saving two days of income. Ismail now collects empty plastic bottles to sell in the recycle shop and has not spoken to anyone since he lost his sandals.

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Hasib

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Like Shaheen and Ismail, Shakil, Jahangir, Baii, Imon Ali, Arman, Emon, Fahim, hundreds of children are moving around in the train station in bare feet. All of them are living in the same condition. Some came here a few months ago and some came years ago.

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Alamin (8)

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Tonni (9)

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Every one of them has two similarities. One is that they all walk the whole day in bare feet in order to earn bread and the other is the tragedy of their lives. Most of them left home because of the loss of their parents, or torture by their step parents, or because of acute poverty.

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Jahangir (13)

With those small bare feet they used to run away by escaping the eyes of the station master or station police. When the trains arrive or passengers come, they run swiftly over the hot stoned train tracks and take a load on their heads. If they get 10 taka (one cent) they buy nuts for lunch and if they can earn more, they can have rice and lentils. This 7-12 year-old children’s feet are telling the tales of their fate: evidence that tells how they are bearing their lonely young lives on those innocent feet.

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Oil Noor (7)

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A question to humanity from a 11 year old Maruf:

‘No one cares for us. I cut my feet by broken piece of tin. It bleeds for days but no one stops and asks to help me. Like me hundreds of children are walking in bare feet and no one ever asks us if they can give a pair of slipper. Isn’t this a selfish world with cold hearted people.’

Maruf

Can we together prove him wrong? Can you donate slippers for these street children and show them that we care about their suffering, their bare feet matters to us? Can we?

I am going to gift slippers to these street children on 7th January, 2016. If you want to donate for slippers please email at akashphoto@gmail.com you can donate slippers (size 33 – size 40) at our address; To know details you can also message me at facebook (facebook.com/gmbakash/).

Sakil (13)

Lastly I hope my favorite quote will inspire you as much as it inspires me:

I am only one, but I am still one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. And because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

sami hamja 10, mother died , father is a heroin addict

Sami Hamja

Smoke and Ashes

Rozina counts every day for six months running. Her family starts working long before the sun rises even when her small kids are remaining in the deepest sleep. She feels bad about calling them for work but like every day she cruelly has to do it. Everyone comes to have breakfast when the rice is still in the process of cooking. She rapidly waves her hand and lets the fire rise. During this time she quietly thinks about their time in the village that is far far away from this isolated brick field. She recalls her abandoned home and acutely feels a need to see the village sooner. But her urge quickly vanishes when she also remembers those days of starvation. Jalil sleeps in the bed that is made by gathering brick after brick. Rozina tried to hide those bricks by a flowery bed cover. Razina and Jalil have been married for ten years. Along with their five-year daughter and six year old son her family comes to work in this brick filed for six months in every year.

Five years old Sadia is working in the brick field for first time. Along her, seven members of the family are serving in the brick field to repay their loan. Sadia’s job is to dry 5000 bricks every day. For such seven days work she weekly gets 250 taka ($3). Sadia who once used to be naughty now hardly talk. She only smiles when after working she finishes collecting coal for her family.

The houses that have been built by brick field owners are home to 100 brick field workers’ families. Just like Rozina they are living in hope of returning to their village one day. No one decorates their house. If a family buys any new item it goes into a box and it remain there until they get a final call to go back to their real home in the village. Rozina’s red bangles, her daughter’s new shoes, boy’ toy; everything goes into the trunk. She also keeps some precious things of her mother-in-law who dies last year from tuberculosis. Everyone says her mother-in-law died because she worked in the brick filed. Rozina does not believe it. Once the whole family strived for three days and no one died that time. Death is written by fate. This brick field is a way for them to survive; a way to feed themselves and their children.

The sound of songs awakens the brick field locality. The brick field workers start working. They are used to listening to songs from their mobile phones. The rhythm of the songs motivates them to work. Rahmat Miah has been working in brick field for seventeen years. The day he started understanding life he found himself in the brick field. During childhood he used to help his father for transferring bricks or lining the piles. Till today he does not do any work other than working in brick field. After carrying 5000 bricks he can manage to earn 200 taka for doing the bazaar shopping for his family. Sometimes he could save a little amount after cutting all costs. But his body does not help him much. Every month he has to take leave for 4-5 days because of illness then he has to spend out of that precious savings for food or medicine.

Men, women and children everyone remains busy in the brick field. Sometimes when the sun goes up in the overhead a few older men or women fall to the ground. Then they get an hour break. They have to carry or shift or line up 5000-10000 bricks every day. However they loudly chat in a half an hour break. They smoke and talk about the economy and the politics. Women generally rest in silence and sometimes go to their quarters to do quick house chores. Children work continuously. It seems that working is some kind of important game. Small Minara who is just four years old collects coal from the brick field. Why does she collect coal? After a long silence she replies boldly, ‘This is my job’.

During the one hour lunch break they eat a lot. Three plates of rice and lentil is their daily lunch menu. Men who are living with their families eat with them; those who came alone to the brick field eat in groups of men. A few go to take a quick nap. This is a kind of moment when they will not speak or hear a single word. All are tired, very very tired. Life goes on; work starts again after break.

Smoke and ashes blow everywhere. Workers’ bodies turn black in smoke and ashes and their feet turn black like coal. Still they continue to work in a dreamless brick field. In the middle of this Rozina dreams to go back to her village. Rahmat tries hard to save a few pennies, the children continue to collect coal. Very Far from the town the workers of the brick field continue to work to build our urban world.

‘Chain of Love’

Life was never easy for Jarina Begum. During childhood she lost her parents in the Kamplapur railway station. She had no memory of her childhood. Lonely Jarina’s struggle never takes a break. After living here and there at the age of twelve, people from her locality gave her a marriage with Ismail. She knew nothing about family life though she started to dream. A few years went well. This was the best time of her life. But when her only son died at the age of twelve her family was shattered. Her husband got involved in drugs. Her happiness lost in darkness. She again gets back her hope during her second pregnancy. ‘Mali’ arrives as an angel in her life. She started dreaming about having a normal life again. But fate was not on Jarina’s side. She discovered when Mali was two years old that she is mentally disabled. Also when Mali was two Jarina’s husband died from taking excess drugs. Till today ‘Disabled Mali’ is the reason to live Jarina’s Life.

Now Jarina is only Mali’s maa. Mali behaves like a child at the age of thirteen. She has very slow mental growth. Jarina has to connect her to a chain so that she cannot flee alone while her mother went to work. She was lost twice while Jarina went to work. The tragedy of Jarina losing her own parents is like a nightmare for her. She does not want to lose Mali again. After finding her, she found a way to keep Mali at their place. She chained her with a long chain. She goes to work in the morning and works madly while feeling the tension of Mali. She collects paper from the road. She carefully crosses the road everyday as she knows if she died there is no one for Mali. With cloudy eyes Jarina said, ‘I put a chain on her leg and put a stone in my heart’. While she was saying this, Mali untied her pajama bottoms and squatted to do her toilet. Jarina swiftly wnt there and covered her daughter with a cloth. Mali is Jarina’s world.

Jarina dreams one day Mali will be okay. Sometimes she gets upset thinking, if Mali could be like other girls, she could help her with earning a living; she could understand how hard it is to work feverishly. But Mali understands nothing. She can only feel the touch of love, the smile of affection. When Jarina ties her hair Mali gives kisses on her mother’s cheeks. When Jarina is feeding her, Mali takes some rice and puts in her mother’s mouth. They have nothing; no home, and no furniture and no utensils with which to cook. This mother and daughter have only love that is sheltering them so far.

As street people, Jarina and Mali have nothing. They only possess a few household materials that Jarina ties up and hides in a neighbor’s place because Mali cannot take care of anything while her mother goes to work. The neighbors of Jarina help her when she goes to work. They look out for Jarina if someone comes to disturb disabled Mali. The neighbor Kalpona said, ‘There is no one for this mother and daughter. They are living for each other. We see no one like Jarina who is doing this much for Mali. We pray for their happiness.’

Jarina Begum has now only one dream in life: to educate Mali in order to give her a normal life and to see her as an able person. Jarina pointed at the pen and drawing paper of Mali and said, ‘If there is any heartfelt person who could admit her to a school for the disabled then I can I die in peace’. While embracing Mali, Jarina lastly said, ‘Pray for us so that we, the mother and daughter, can die together. Why is life so painful?’

‘Feet tell stories’

Brick field labouer’s feet tell their tales. Thousands of men, women and children continue tolling in the open brick fields. Their muddy clothes, smudged coal colored skins and bare feet tell the tale about how everyday they are fighting to live a life. I continue to search their stories of struggle about how their hope transform into despair. Once a labourer stopped me to take his portrait and asked me to take an image of his feet and said, ‘Show our feet. It’s enough to explain what we are up to.’

Under the baking hot tropical sun, Moriyum (7 years old) continues to collect coals in the most perilous conditions even though everyone goes to lunch. Just after shifting 1000 bricks to dry in the sun, Moriyum’s brother Mohsin (9 years old) also goes to lunch. But Moriyum continued to collect coal for her family.

Working children are a common sight at the brickworks as they regularly employ entire families – who oftentimes make their homes on site. Education is a luxury for Bangladesh’s rural poor with children often earning their keep as soon as they can walk. Ranging in age from young children to grandparents, they work long hours to mix out millions of bricks to fuel construction boom that shows no signs of abating. The high chimneys of brick fields are snot only pouring grey smoke into the air but also blowing it into labourer’s lungs. All of the brick fields are located along rivers. Millions of bricks are burned here. Almost all bricks are made using a 150-year-old technology. Soil is mixed with water, formed into bricks using wooden forms, then left to dry in the sun before being burned in traditional kilns. The process is done almost entirely by hand.

Kohinoor who was balancing the heavy loads atop her head said, ‘We work like slaves. And we die like slaves.’ Kohinoor’s mother-in-law died last year while working in the brick filed. Another woman who has worked a decade in the field was badly suffering from tuberculosis and headaches. Kohinoor added, ‘We know we will die by working here, but we have no option.’

Brick-making provides a better income than agriculture or other jobs available in rural Bangladesh, but it is dangerous and often devastating to workers’ health. Accidents are common and workers have no protective gear except save for what they are able to cobble together themselves.

By balancing the heavy loads atop their heads, workers must carry the raw mud to the brick making area are where skilled artisans shape it using brick moulds filled by hand. However, the millions of workers who make the bricks face harsh and uncertain conditions. Brick field labourer Makbul said, ‘Everything tastes like mud. I taste mud in my mouth, tongue, throat everywhere.’ By showing the feet of Makbul’s friend, Jasim said, ‘We are brick human. We have feet like coal.’

Like Makbul and Jashim, hundreds of men come with their families during the brick session in the brick fields. They made their temporary shelter near the brick field in the place given by the brick field owner. The mud house’s bed is made by brick after brick and then putting plastic over the bricks where they rest and sleep. They took loan from the brick field owner which and continue to pay it back by giving labour with full family. Small children of each family works to dry thousands of brick every day. For drying 1000-5000 bricks a child gets 25-50 taka daily. That also goes into the pocket of father for buying food for the family. The Father and mother of each family go to work before sun rise. They carry 12-16 bricks each weighting 2.5kg. For a twelve-hour workday during which an average worker carries about five thousand bricks, he earns Tk. 80 after his expenses are paid. This means toiling 12 hours a day for a daily wage of 120 taka (USD 1.70) for men and 100 taka (USD 1.40) for women.

Still they hope for a better life and perhaps dream of happiness. During his break, after lighting a cigarette Motahar said, ‘My wife often asks me to take her to the cinema. We have no money left after basic shopping at the bazaar and paying loans. But she managed to save and bought an old phone for me. Now while I work, I listen to songs.’

(Brick fields are not only causing suffering for labourer but for the environment also. Bangladesh is hit harder than almost any other country in the world by climate change despite emitting very little greenhouse gases. But still the emissions from the brick kilns hurt the environment. Brick kilns are the leading cause of air pollution in the country. There are about 5000 brick kilns in Bangladesh, which are largely responsible for air pollution. Dust from the brick-making sites spreads in the wind to nearby towns and villages clogging the lungs of young and old and generates health problems that the country is ill-equipped to handle. The chimneys continue to poison labourer lives and as well as letting the environment to suffer in silence)

Train Track Life

Suddenly the inter-city train appears rushing at them on the tracks with its deadly noise which is the only thing that alerts the people. The scene includes a train that seems to be traveling as if to arrive at the slum but then ruthlessly goes right through it. It watches and touches both sides of the slum’s tin-roofs. Who could have ignored such g-o-t-a-n-g, g-o-t-a-n-g sound that raises heartbeats of the inhabitants of the Karwan Bazaar train track Slum in Dhaka on a daily basis… at least fifty times a day?

People speculate that this train track-side slum had been built after the Liberation War of 1971. Though the slum does not seem too old, several inhabitants say that they have been living recklessly here for more than thirty years. Moreover, on both sides of the curvy train tracks that are lined with 1’000s of shanties, more than a hundred huts have been built in more recent times. Some of the smallest huts with only three foot high roofs rent for as much as 2000 taka (About $25). Those houses that are newly built with heights for standing-up cost 3000 taka (About $39) for a month.

The muddy train tracks are loaded with wastage and leftover rotten vegetables. During an ordinary mid-day women are busy preparing lunch with difficulty trying to manage their mud clay oven cookers set up only one foot from the rail. When a train passes through anybody from the train could take away the potatoes that Marium Begum (35 years old) is frying in the pan. Marium says, ‘my eldest daughter is ten years old and I taught her how to save herself when the train rushes to our hut’. Marium clearly knows how much distance is safe for her two small kids. All children of the slum are well taught how to run away when a train arrives on the tracks. But a lot of times trains come simultaneously on both tracks and terrify the children. It happens many times from day to night without prior warning.

Accidents are common and dangers are unlimited. The banyan tree root that grows from the hut of Kahinur is losing its leaves because many passengers who are riding on the tops of the moving trains are picking off the leaves for fun. It also amuses the slum children who have little to do. In this impossibly tiny strip of living space a lot of children lose their legs, hands and fingers in train accidents that take place in front of their parents’ eyes.

Jaleha Kahtun says, ‘If we had something in which to live in the village, we would never come to live in this train track slum. In the village the river overflowed and took away everything and now here in the bazaar is everything we own.’ Jaleha Kahtun is a rotten vegetable seller in the bazaar. She has to go to work at 5:00 in the morning. So she lives in this slum that enables her to go to the bazaar as early as possible. All of the people who are living along the train tracks are climate migrants due to frequent flooding disasters in the country.

Nothing has changed in their lives since they left their villages, but now at least they can feed themselves better. Sriti (15 years old) who is sitting in the middle between the two rail lines says, ‘We now understand how to act when a train comes. If you were in my place you might die without knowing where to go after seeing a train three feet in front of you. It takes experience.’

When there are no trains all of the inhabitants are sitting on the train tracks, gossiping or arguing with each other. Children are playing here and there. To add some life to this atmosphere someone repeatedly turns on the music of popular Hindi songs. When Rasel (10 years old) starts dancing by waving his lungi and mimicking the song ‘Lungi dance’, Lungi dance,’ people near him also begin to move their bodies to the melody. But before Rashel shows his brilliant steps someone screams that the trains are coming on both sides of the rail lines. Nobody forgets to take their sitting arrangement away with them; children quickly move with their toys, a grandmother rapidly puts a pot over her vegetable curry to save it from the dust. Just like in a theater the trains get a stage upon which to perform for a few seconds and when they leave, all of the inhabitants return to their customary life on the tracks that have been occupied for more than 30 years.

‘Life for Rent’

Night is the meaning of life here. Don’t dare to feel I am talking about moonlit night. It’s about a place where fluorescent bulbs hesitate to light up the great darkness. You have to go step by step by listening giggles and following Hindi songs. Cheap aroma or local fragrance continually defeated to hide smells of stinks. At this place, dreams never can lose its paths even by mistakes. But it certainly can turn into the ideal background for a horror blockbuster by following nearly naked heroine’s poster or staring into a photographs where a lady wearing red lipstick with her innocent eyes hanging over fungus wall.

Four storied building’s busy staircases are lively by steps of clients. Girls for converting themselves as women putting all make up from her dearest make up box and keeps doubling lighten up their cheeks with cheap blusher. For killing hunger each moment they have drunk tears and fighting with each other to get same client for a night. Excess make up, vulgar cloths and even by showing off most of the female fascinated body parts these girls can not satisfied their MADAMs.

In the race by standing full day beside the door dressed like this they have to show their madam their extra talent for hunting a client. While few of them get tired of being waiting and being rejected, lastly they may get one/two clients at the last moment of their very tiring publicity. Then the bargaining starts. It’s the bargaining of beauty, the outer shell. Minimum 100 Tk – to maximum 500 Tk depends on the job’s creativity and longevity. Either a client comes for an hour, for a night or for several nights they never bother to enter into the corridor of these beautiful doll’s heart. They rather treated her as a toy of entertainment.

As like being used for years after years these girls started feeling themselves as product. Product of modern day slavery. In the middle of these professionals there is also few girls common who uselessly try to hide their body with their small cloths, who will not look at any one’s eyes either for sorrow or for shame. These girls are new to the place, they been bought by madam one or two days ago. Betrayal boyfriend, step parents or their closest one play with their innocence and sold them in the castle for Tk 4000- 20000. Before realizing what had happened in her life her innocent soul has been captured by brothel’s reality. In between them there are girls who has been gang raped and our civilized society refused to accept her, so she finds her MADAM as mother and releasing all bitters of her life by the profession of sex worker.

Fighting over getting men at night does not change relationship between themselves on the day. An unknown bonding for each other has tied them up and takes care of them in dear need. That’s why, when a girl out of frustration cut her full hand with blade just to torture herself, her roommate wipe it off and put medicine on it. A six feet by six feet room is world for 3-4 girls, so when customer leave they decorate the bed with flowery bed sheet or place artificial flower for adding beauty of it. Knowing a home never will come in their life still they care for their small room as like their house.

By remaining in the strict guidance of Guards for several years these birds stop weaving their wings and thus they forgot how to fly. After earning 100 Tk per client 3-4 years passed thus but loans and buying money of madam does not meet up as these fates less girls can’t even calculate. If their luck is good enough few of them get little better madam who let them free after three to four years to do their business independently.

The story does not change here. Again after doing free business the girl do same mistake by giving heart to a client. Then one day come when the trusted man flew with her all money, gold and faith. All the tiny battles she had within inside that do nothing but shape her emotions, make her able to drink her tears of blood. Stories of a brothel have many shapes. Many girls do not miss their Fazar prayer; many girls learn to recite Quran. Many girls penned their parents and send money monthly putting fake address in the envelope. Many girls forced to take a drug designed to fatten cattle for market name Oradexon.

Their day passes by. One day visibly wrinkles can no longer hide by their heavy make up, then they started losing clients, then one night come when they had no one, and they become nanny of younger sex worker. Finally after death their bodies can be buried in a cemetery, though still in a separate one. But better than having their remains floating in the river covered by a sheet which previously practiced as ritual. Their existence remains in their tank which preserve full of their life memories, which lastly kept by their dear one if someone still have time to recall a sex worker.

“Its been 12 years I am familiar to them. Not only as a photographer but also as a brother. In the photograph, I am seating with my one of the sister from Tangail brothel. Whenever I go there, she runs towards me by calling “Akash Bhai”, she brings sweet, tea and speaks and talked lot about her dreams. These girls are weak for affection as I once treated her as sister now she granted me as her brother. No one knows the story of those faceless girls who are sold by their boyfriend, husband or parents. This is one way journey to brothel a place that is everything to them. By documenting on them I would like to spread their story of pains which are only locked into their own madam’s castle. I can also recall about one girl from those uncountable faces. Unsurprisingly – and despite her name – Asha isn’t very hopeful for her own future. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get married or have children,’ she says. ‘No one will marry me. If they did they’d only keep me for two or three days, and then they’d sell me back.’ She is more streetwise than some of the other girls here, many of whom share a tragic dream that one day a knight in shining Armour will arrive, to carry them off; then they will marry him, have his babies and love him forever. I wish there would be a knight in shining Armour will surly arrive, to carry them off from this living hell! I wish and I really wish!” – GMB Akash

“Survivors” Part I

“It seems like a lost world, where standing in a quivering dark, where there is nothing but darkness, a place where you stand alone and shiver in fear. I experienced the same. Children who are inhaling pains within themselves every second make me feel small, their sweating smile flashes their innocent identity, touches of their dirt-oily little fingers interpret their presence in my life, their spoken or unspoken life stories makes me unrest. Since then, I am upholding them inside of me. A simple and small photograph’s emotions might inconceivable to you if still now you do not know any of such children who straggle each day to make a living from nothing. Till the day, I know I had to do and I have to do my bit, may be it could be major, may be it could be minor but that was the day, I open the door of my heart and take them in. I vow to fulfill their lost smile by refilling it in their innocent lips. The creation I am crafting in 10 years never give me such feeling , but then first I felt the tender of giving birth of the creation by dedicating it to the angles of hell, at least my first endeavor to bring them up from the darkest hell. I celebrate my rebirth by expanding my arms, placing as more children as I can and thus my voyage begins.”- GMB AKASH

I cannot remain mute about the oppression that divides human beings — which is one of the reasons I commenced photography and it’s been 14 years I am doing. And it is my duty as a photographer and artist to point with my pictures at every aspect of existence in the society and world I live in, to show what can be shown, to go deep into every milieu and also into every aspect of poverty, deprivation and hardship that I encounter – because the only sin for a photographer is to turn his head and look away. After 14 years, acquiring tons of awards and gaining access to all major media frankly I experience NO CHANGE in the life of people I photographed.

Despite knowing a photographer duty only tilted for showing and investigating reality but this simple rule does not bring peace to my heart. Once an 8-year old balloon maker told me, “I took some damaged balloons for my little sister; I have no time to play. I have only time to support my parents,” I realized at that point I should turn my lens on lives like them.

I decided to dedicate whatever fund I left after make a living of mine to give to these ‘Survivors’. First I decide, I will gift them opportunity which will come from my personal earnings, portion of print sells or selling portion from my book ‘Survivors’. In the industry I am a straggler yet my pursuits provoke me to make my first experiment before I publish my book ‘Survivors’. I started searching faces inside the book and outside the book, which I photographed and found in vulnerable situation. One year I compromise my time, my photography, my assignment and my daily life to search these faces, I started living with them, understanding them and keep finding what I can do to make them able to earn a better life together. My idea is, working with them within the circumstances, gifting them the opportunity which will come as advantage in their life, advocate them as an assistant, monitoring their changes in life in one word to do everything that I will do to change my fate if I were them. Searching a face which I shoot 10 years ago is not an easy job, a face can be invisible in a crowd but I am fortunate to find many of them and building trust on me. 10 successful families consisting of ave 60 members make my dream come true. I ensure their life better, much better than they were living. & this gives me faith to publish my book ‘Survivors’ which is and will be the source of finance and gifting business/opportunity/education/chance to these ‘Survivors’ whom I photographed past 10 years. It was the day when I finally face my eyes to these children and touches their hand knowing I can at least rescue few of them from their daily hell. I become one of them, I become their hope, I become their asset and thus I started valuing myself and understand the significance and purpose of my rebirth.

It was just one year ago when I again found out Munna, whom I photographed at 2006. ‘Integrity with innocence’ this is the concrete of Munna’s character portrayal. Five years ago I first met Munna. Five years have passed fates of Munna & his father brings no change in their lives. At 2011, only difference was, with his five years experience Munna was getting 1600 taka ($1=72taka) per month. Moreover 12 years old Munna was running his younger sister education with his extra income of Friday overtime.

Munna’s father Alamgir was a cobber. Their family is consisting of five members who receive continuous negligence from their community as he works as cobber. Munna & his sister ashamed to say that his father is cobber and his little income cannot give education to his younger daughter Shathi and hunger forced Alamgir to send his little son to the factory which produces rickshaw particles. Alamgir elder daughter has to get married at early age because of poverty. They managed to eat hand to mouth, but without depending on Munna’s income their foods cannot be assured. Munna’s younger sister appeared to her class one final exam by borrowing pencils from neighbors, she had nothing without will for education. Munna works in a factory which produces intolerable noise during work. His 9am-7pm works ruined his childhood. His overtime income never allowed him to play. In fact he lost his interest for playing. A shy, unspoken boy whose whole body was covered with dust and permanent scratch on skins dull his brightness in an extent that he seems belong to the darken factory. During working with him in his work time, I never saw his smile. He had no ambition, no dream and surprisingly had nothing to share with anyone.

I aim to help Munna & his family. & my journey with them begins.

After seating several sessions with Munna’s family, we come to a decision that Munna’s father is the person who can be the financial in-charge of the full family and setting him in a business that he is capable to do will be helpful for the full family. After our market survey, by understanding the business chains he decided and I agreed with him to let him do business of cucumber. My logic is not to give money at their hand. I went with him and prepare everything; in short I assist him in every way to do the business. After one month of successful business Alamgir take out Munna from the factory. Their family started having three times food and able to provide rent of the house in proper time. He manages to make his capital triple in three months.

Munna’s younger sister running her school and did top in result. She will be in class four next year. Munna’s only one dream is to support his sister in education and fulfilling his family’s loans which are liabilities of their bad time. Still he wants to support his father by at least doing something. Within two months Alamgir tried to admit Munna at school but Munna told him in his spare time he will go to night school to get same age students like him and at day time he wants to do something he likes. As well Alamgir was afraid as they are living in slum and children who have nothing to do mostly get mixed with people who supplies drugs/engage in bad works. Again after seating with them, Munna expressed to me he wants to do popcorn business and he wants to establish himself independently. I realized I cannot take out him from the situation; I have to assist them to get a better life in their present situation. So I agreed with him and go to see first what will be his changes in life if he sells popcorn near his home at sadarghat.

Now every day, Munna willingly wake up early morning after brushing his teeth he seats with his sister to learn from her. Then he goes to ghat and buys popcorn from vendor later he sells popcorn till afternoon in ghat and finishing his work at 1pm he came at home. Now within months his appearance has changes a lot, his face, hands, and legs, fingers scars are recovering and mostly vanishes. The best thing is that now he laughs, he is making friends in evening field, he is proud that he is doing his own selling and helping his family beside education. Munna who lost most of his childhood in blocked, dull factory now loves to spend time with people by selling popcorn. He becomes vocal and ambitious. He keeps savings from his selling profit of popcorn. Munna’s sister Sathi dreams to become doctor. With the income of Munna’s father and Munna they are happily dreaming for their future.

Every evening Munna plays cricket with friends. Within Nine months Munna is recovering his forgotten happiness. His few hours works, playtime, quality family time and private education changes his life visibly. A family who hardly once managed one time food now can ensure nutritious foods for their children. A pessimistic Munna is now very much optimistic about his life and future. His family is earning happiness by putting out of their mind about their past bad days. I dream to get hundreds of Munna in my journey and to refill their lost smile. I am happy that at least there are many munnas with me and I am able to make them a part of my life. I will share these stories of my life with you one by one. It’s my belief that if a single hand comes to hold a child miracle in their life can happen.

“I am a story teller, nothing but I steal emotions, this link me to those lives which wrapped me in sentiment. I am a simple human being; I do mistake and learn from it. But I like to do experiment and I hate to be defeated. I try and keep trying until I achieve. I will keep contributing magic in lives I face with my camera. I will do my part, I will do my bit. A quote from Helen Keller inspires my journey.

“I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something that I can do.”

If your heart is moved to do something do not make it complex, plan it, do it & do it right now. Stop dreaming in expectation of Superman. Within you there is a vast chance of opportunity spread your wings & bring humanity.” – GMB AKASH

Angel in Hell – Part II

“Welcome you again in another season of Hell. Down in these dumps the name called childhood get matured for a few at the age of five. Their silent cry echoes from wall to wall of every hell which is considered as blessed place for them to earn bread. Their compact workstation, fiery factories or even the dusty brick lands are the place where they brought up independently” – GMB AKASH

Telling about the working environment of these children is a heart breaking job. Factory machines usually produce an intolerable degree of echo in the working place of these children. For adding more strain on them excessive heat works as miserable factor. Textile factory workers start their day at 8am and finishes at 8pm. During these working hours they managed to heal the pain of sound and heat by earning 1200 tk per month($1=83tk). In the brick field scenarios are not different. In brick fields every day work starts at 6 am, carring head-loads of eight bricks from the furnace to the supply pile. Each trip back and forth is allotted a little over a minute. For a twelve-hour workday for each 1,000 bricks child at a brick factory in carry, they earn 80 tk (<$1) after meeting expenses. Other hand, on the construction sites, children must sweat and slog through the intense heat of the sun, working long hours for scant reward. Moreover same obscurity and hardship in balloon factory, rickshaw factory, tannery, dump yards, motor parts factory, mirror making factory, coal and cigarettes factory. There is no such a single risky job where a child labour cannot be found. For many of them Jeans paint with a torn shirt is their everyday wear. And banana with bread is delicious meal.

They are sincerely doing their job because of their family either to support them or for their helplessness. I admit human power is the incredible above all. Their spirit overcomes all difficulties to feed them and their family by any hardship.

Factory owners straightly said, ‘If we do not employ these children they will be one of the street-addict children. Can you give them three times food, education and a home? Few of these children are helping their mother to survive. Few of them are helping educating of their younger. We are assisting them at least to survive in life with this working training.’ This is the most common answer I received from the majority of factory owner who assigned children to their factory.

Children can be a source of income, this insane thought still practicing among many part of the lower class group which leads them to give birth more children. Many families are dependent fully on the income of their 5-12 age children. But for many the stories are different.

I come to know these heart touching stories which are worthy to share. Many children are running their sisters education on their own income, many children efficiently managing three times food for their sick parents and many children still manages to spend one hour to study in night school. Many children touched me by saying they dream to have a factory with their savings! Even with this limited income! They are soulful and they have dignity which we should not let die. So I realize family is the root by which there must be a way to improve at least few of these children’s life. Helplessness of a family forces their children to work in a hazardous condition.

“Escaping from a situation where 7.4 million children are standing to you for a solution is pretty shivering. I believe it’s a sin for me as a human and as a photographer to turn my head and look away. I attach my life with them and thus the story starts” – GMB AKASH

To be continue…

Angel in Hell – Part I

“If my images bring to life the haunting realities that millions of children face each day then this is fulfillment of my work. And if mine is the hand that blocks the scorching sun from their eyes – bringing shade for just a single minute, then there’s value in the work I do. I am talking about 7.4 million children who are risking their life each second to rescue themselves from hunger and poverty, a tale of those for whom we rarely care about. I keep asking:

Who is there to bring them in the light from their working- living-hell? Who will save these innocent hearts which will decline with time! Is there any one? ”

– GMB Akash

I have traveled extensively in all developing countries including mine to document the use of child labor in factories. Years after years I have to wait to get entries to some of those hells which are only built to burn childhood in secret zone. I waited hours and hours beside the factory gates to get seldom permission to meet up those fateless kids. They never allow anyone to keep any documents or proof bearing things, but I did it by convincing factory owner. All time the heartless scenario, danger to get caught, inner emptiness frozen my finger to click. But when those children give a look with all the sorrow in expression God give me instant power to overcome anything of the world. & then my clicks never took a break.

The factories as too dangerous for children. They are “gloomy, unhygienic, smoky” and are fading away the children’s lives. I talk to the children in the factories and they tell me their stories, adventures and sacrifices. Their innocent smile can break your heart into enormous pieces if you stand in front of where they work/ live. My photos show the terrible environment they work in. Wherever I go I find great insecurity of lives. No protection, no appreciation, no opportunity. Their treatment varies child to child. There is no specific rule of behavior towards worker nether any of the factory maintain any core of conduct. Generally teenagers get bit generous treatment compare to children. But here experience never adds up any extra benefit for them. All are struggling in their own way.

* According to UNICEF, more than 7.4 million children are engaged in economic activity in Bangladesh. Many of them work in very poor conditions; some even risk their lives. Factory owners pay them about 400 to 700 taka (6 to 10 US dollars) a month, while an adult worker earns up to 5,000 taka per month.

My intention is not just to depict the children as victims of exploitation. I want to show the complexity of the situation: the parents who send their little boy to work in a factory because they are poor; the child who has to work to earn a living for the family; the boss of the factory who engage children also helping them otherwise, as if these children stay in the road they might take drugs or might become thief. I think it is impossible to abolish child labour completely in Bangladesh in the short term, but I do think it is possible to improve working conditions and to bring more children from factories into schools. I have been profoundly affected both emotionally and psychologically after seeing the repulsive evils of child labor. I feel guilty when I eat good food, and I feel haunted by the children in my photographs. I hope to achieve justice through documenting these conditions and making people aware of what is going on in these factories.

It’s positive when after seeing these photos people take a step, even realizing their situation can help. I believe many of us definitely indebted to them who are working for us in such condition. One day one by one we will all gather against such crime. Children will go to schools instead of factories. Yes, I am taking & I will until voices raise & hands come out.

“Can you exchange a day with your own child in the place of these children? Can you deposit your children’s labor in such a place for a day in return of $1. If you can’t, can you please do something for these children? “Wishing to help” is an excuse. Shame is a mild word to what we are overlooking. May our spirit wake up.”

– GMB Akash

‘Quest for Justice – Vigilantes in Pink’

“In the time of articulating the story ‘Vigilantes in Pink’ I apprehend that Woman has the supreme power of the supreme Being. She can be the one who eliminates sufferings; she symbolizes her mastery over all qualities which society never admitted characteristically. In their sadistic world – Gulabi gang never lost their hope, fighting against the injustice they are cleaning themselves a bit. Yes, I learn from them, each day we will not get a chance to save somebody’s life, but each day of our lives offers us an opportunity to affect one”

– GMB Akash

“My real strength is not in the stick, it is in my capacity my goddess gave me to give lessons to those abusive men” – Malti, from gulabi gang

Dressed in poignant pink saris, the all-female gang shames abusive husbands and corrupt officials.The several hundred vigilante women of India’s northern Uttar Pradesh state’s Banda area proudly call themselves the “gulabi gang” (pink gang), striking fear in the hearts of wrongdoers and earning the grudging respect of officials. Fed up with abusive husbands and corrupt officials, India’s poorest women are banding together, taking up arms, and fighting back. Their quest for justice is actually working. “Pink Gang” fights for the rights of women and other marginalized people in rural India.

Banda is one of the poorest parts of one of India’s most populous states. It is among the poorest 200 districts in India. Over 20% of its 1.6 million people living in 600 villages are lower castes or untouchables. Drought has parched its already arid, single-crop lands. To make matters worse, women bear the brunt of poverty and discrimination in Banda’s highly caste-ridden, feudalistic and male dominated society. Dowry demands and domestic and sexual violence are common.

Sampat Pal Devi who was married off when she was nine, wife of an ice cream vendor, mother of five children, and a former government health worker who set up and leads the “pink gang”. She utters,

“We are a gang for justice.”

Everyday many cases come to the gang from the village and villages from nearby. A mother brings in her weeping daughter who has been thrown out by her husband demanding 10,000 rupees from her parents. Sampat Devi tells her “gang” that they will soon march to the girl’s in law house and demand an explanation from the husband. “If they don’t take her back and keep her well, we will resort to other measures”. The pink sorority is not exactly a group of male-bashing feminists – they claim they have returned 11 girls who were thrown out of their homes to their spouses. They are against injustice just not against males.

Even Pal’s group gained dishonor in early days for beating up men who abused their wives. If they heard a husband was being violent, they would show up at his door with sticks – the same wielded by local cops when patrolling their beat—and demand he change his ways. Of the many cases that Pal handles every day, the majority are related to domestic violence, dowry demands, and abusive in-laws.

At first it was just five women, all old friends. But in a span of five years, the group has grown into a powerful brigade of more than 40,000 women, including 10 district commanders, who run the gang’s outposts across the district of Bundelkhand—an area that spans 36,000 square miles. These local Pink Gang stations operate in the same way as Pal’s own home does: They are meeting places for women to discuss their problems and, like Pal’s own home, the doors are always open.

” Gulabi Gang proves that unity can be an answer to protest against the wrong stream. Why should we live our lives in constant fear of failure? While we can throw out all nonsense of our life alone! We ought to win the losing battle of life by fatal struggle. It’s not fair only to live in the line of survival. Surely we have got to make something more well than what we have got.” – GMB Akash

Life and Death in Pashupati

“Here and there they are seating in the courtyard and on the shrine platform with absorbed in detailed memories of a distant happiness. Or it is a place where elderly people are left by their families to die? Thousands question will haunt you but there is no one to answer you but only your inner realm of emotion. They submits to being fed, here, in a old home, It’s the same every day, every day…..I understand, when you get here you don’t worry about the future. Then, I mesmerize, May God bless and give them solace.” – GMB Akash

Once you enter the premises of the Briddhasram at Pashupathinath you can’t help but feel like you are transcended time back at least half a century or more, to a place where the world moves very slowly.

Looking at the bed side a damped photo of a grandchild while a grandma smiles and say she didn’t see her last 10 years yet she sleeps with a same photo in her mind. They were like reciting their homelessness to me. I have to capture their souls to keep their image from disappearing out of sight.

There, you can see all grey haired elderly citizens doing nothing but spending lazy moments for hours in the courtyard and on the shrine platform. Some curious eyes follow you as you walk pass the welfare gate. If any of them is busy praying than other is trying hard to bend and dust off his cloths. A place, all you hear is the steady sound of the wheeled metallic support of an elderly with crippled feet or a faint sound of a broken radio which is playing Nepali song or news.

(Social Welfare Centre Briddhashram is the only Elderly’s Home operated by His Majesty’s Government in the Kingdom Nepal. At present it is being operated by the name of Social Welfare Centre Elderly’s Home, Pashupati since 1977 A. D. The total sheltering capacity of this Elderly Home is 240 persons. These residents suffer from many illnesses associated with old age; including paralysis, failing eyesight and deterioration of mental faculties)

For some it is a depressing scene to see people at the end of life, away from family, living in the Briddhasram. But for many, this is a place where they seek refuge from an ever speeding life and feel satisfied enough simply helping and sharing talk with the older citizens. The residents of the home don’t talk much to each other, which gives you an aura of wilderness where no word is spoken; but they really live for each other closely for rest of their life. This home for the elderly fills one with hope. What gives hope is that although they have lost families and possessions, the residents still care, they care for each other and they retain a deep sense of humanity.

Many people believe that they must help and protect their parents, when they become old. I personally believe that this is a moral obligation that every child should have towards their parents, whichever the way they choose to do so but they should never let them break apart alone.

“Through my lens I try to listen to their silent voices, in absolute solitude and silence,for I am sure I shall be able to hear about their unbearable wounds in which they stumbled upon alone years after year. So I take out my camera, go inside the place and merged with their pain”

– GMB Akash

Decaying Earth

The overall global environment is declining fast and for Bangladesh it has been doing so more rapidly during the last few decades because of many obvious reasons. But we are still not surprised. We, all of us, pollute our own cities with trashes. So how can we claim owners of these factories, with hardly any education be conscious about the environment, feel the need to protect the environment? We need to count ourselves first to protect our own ecosystem to survive in an earth which will be a gift for our next generation – ONLY IF WE CARE

“Pollution is an immense crisis that is slowly destroying the world that we live in. It is crucial for every individual to do what he or she can to clean up the environment. Whether it is in the home or on a management level, or within us, every person is important and has the ability to make a difference and can help to stop pollution”

– GMB Akash

The mighty river Buriganga is now so polluted that all fish have died, and increasing filth and human waste have turned it like a black gel. Even rowing across the river is now difficult for it smells so badly.

Bangladesh has about 230 small and large rivers, and a large chunk of the country’s 140 million people depend on them for a living and for transportation. But experts say many of them are drying up or are choked because of pollution and encroachment. A World Bank study said four major rivers near Dhaka — the Buriganga, Shitalakhya, Turag and Balu — receive 1.5 million cubic metres of waste water every day from 7,000 industrial units in surrounding areas and another 0.5 million cubic meters from other sources. There is no fish or aquatic life in this river apart from zero oxygen survival kind of organisms. Bangladesh enacted a law in 1995 making it compulsory for all industrial units to use effluent treatment plants in a bid to save river waters from pollution, but industry owners often flout the rule.

Dhaka city alone generates about 3500 to 4000 m tons of solid wastes per day. The amount increases with the increase of population every year. The domestic, commercial, street sweeping, combustible and non-combustible wastes include discarded food, grass, plants, paper, cardboard, textiles, plastics, polythene materials, glass, metals, and construction debris.

Industries and factories have been polluting the water bodies in and around Dhaka city for the longest time. There are about 1000 small and large industries in Dhaka city producing a large amount of toxic and hazardous wastes contributing significantly to environmental degradation. The emission of various greenhouse gases such as CO2, CH4, among others from various industries, increases the overall temperature of the earth, resulting in global warming and making the area unsuitable for human habitation, animals and plant species.In the Hazaribag area of Dhaka there are 149 tannery units daily producing about 18,000 litres of liquid wastes and 115 m tons of solid wastes; nearly all of these are dumped in the Buriganga river, and a part is thrown into nearby drains and sewers. These wastes contain sulphuric acid, chromium, ammonium chloride, ammonium sulphate, calcium oxides etc. These may seep into the ground causing ground water pollution. Also, the intense, unpleasant odour affects the health of the people of the surrounding area. tannery wastes have a very serious and negative effect on the ecosystem.

‘It is very easy for every single person to help stop pollution and stop destructing the earth. It can take little effort, but can be something that makes a huge difference. Start by evaluating how you can make small changes. Even the smallest changes in your own life can have a massive impact.’

– GMB Akash

Ships’ Graveyard

“This is an emblematic depiction of the agony of hard labor. For saving themselves from hunger they breathe in asbestos dust and toxic waste. Thus they are risking their lives everyday. On the verge of death they risk their lives in order to endure themselves. They are passing their days on one of the world‘s most unregulated and hazardous industries, leaving a trail of debris, disability and death in its wake. I spend 10 days in the Gaddani ship-breaking yard north of Karachi in 2005. I witnessed workers dismantling large ships, piece by piece using no protection, in absence of tools, where one wrong move could result in death, but they were continually depending in their bare hands. In a city of dying ships flames with smoke rising, tormented with ship body parts, metal residue, asbestos, and oil spills. Barefooted workers with little access to necessary tools are vanishing ships on the rusty sand of Gaddani and break down these steel giants coming from all the harbours of the world.”

– Gmb Akash

The beach of Gaddani, 50 miles north of Karachi in Pakistan, has become one of the two world biggest cemeteries of super tankers, cargoes and other vessels in the world. Thousands of men, mostly Pashto migrants, toil over the ships. They are seasonal workers, a large number of native and immigrant workers returning to their homeland near the Afghan border at harvest time. The group consists of perhaps from Afghanistan. They pen for their beloved, whom they get to see only during the year ends. For around USD 1.20 a day, thousands of workers labour to dismantle dozens of ships each year at the ship-breaking yard in Gaddani.

Rashed, a labourer at the Gaddani ship-breaking yard has worked for five years dismantling ships. He said: “Had we had any other way of earning bread, we would not have come here.” Workers are always under high risk of accident, though they hardly care to secure themselves. Under hitting rains of sparks, blowtorches split through the thick steel skin of a ship. As they are cut lose, the pieces of metal plummet to the ground with a roar. I saw workers, toiling ceaselessly, as though banished forever to an underworld.

Many workers operate in tight spaces where the air is thin, and in high temperatures caused by hot welding, which is widely used, not to mention that they are constantly exposed to flammable liquids like paints and solvents. The work carried well into the night shipyard in Gaddani, Pakistan. This is the ship graveyard that serves as the final destination for a significant part of the world’s fleet.

“Barefooted workers would take apart, bit by bit, the dying ships with their bare hands, shipyard in Gaddani, Pakistan. On their shoulders, workers bore great metal plates to their destination. People complain about their crappy lives working in an air conditioned work place, imagine having this as your only option in life.”

– Gmb Akash

A World Full of Hungry Apes

“Photography has taken me to discover many unexpected territory as all time I wanted to see the sights of unseen & unforgiving incidents of reality. I was engaged in one of my personal project’s work on ‘sex workers’ for which I went to Madaripur. I have been working on ‘sex workers’ last 7 years & my works demand me to investigate their situation all over the country. Last year, in the month of August when I arrived at Madaripur it was afternoon. Shockingly I have seen thousands of apes are in street, running here & there. It was an unexpected thing of my life to see thousands of ill monkeys are moaning alone. I was traumatized, unspoken & felt awful when I understand all these thousands monkeys stand in front of me are HUNGRY. I always concern to cover stories of situation which need concentration for helping out by the assessment of the world. So I take out my camera & run to middle of them”

– Gmb Akash

In char Muguria area, Madaripur around 2,500 monkeys are facing severe food crisis. Due to acute food crisis many mother monkeys, passing days starved or half-starved, are even unable to breast feed their babies. Quite a few monkeys have already died in this serious situation. Concerned over the pitiable life of the monkeys, locals and visitors have urged immediate arrangement of food for the monkeys. Though the local communities are already poor to feed themselves but the heartbreaking scenarios of monkeys influence them to share their own food with them. Despite keeping distance with human the unable monkeys are taking foods from people’s hands. The hungry monkeys were competing for the inadequate foods like peanut or biscuit given by the visitors. They were also trying to eat whatever they got — grass, garbage, polythene etc. Baby monkeys are suffering badly in malnutrition. Even the water crisis made their lives more pitiful. Local community sought allocation for food for the monkeys but the higher authorities are yet to give any response in this regard.

“A mother monkey by carrying its dead child was passing from trees to trees. When it came in front of me & begged foods I realized the monkey did not identify its child is already dead. This pitiable situation made me terrified. These apes, whose residents are jungle, came out for food & begging to feed themselves. These climate victims are more alike my working project of ‘Sex workers’. Human & animal all are helpless in front of starvation & need. They are survivors of dreadful situation which many of us over looked or never know”- Gmb Akash

Life Indulges In Colour

I usually take a picture of a person and then afwerward when I close my eyes for recalling what I have taken – the first thing that hits my mind is – Colour. After observing a person if we try to recall, then unconsciously colours comes first in our mind. The texture of the skin, colour of hair, colours of cloths and over all colour gives us an impression about the mood of the sight. Colour is a strong element to illustrate a person’s traits. I believe every person cover a mood of colour.

From beginning of my career I am working for those people who are living in the edge of the society.While I started working with these people I surprisingly discover – life has taken all colours from them but still they are cherishing every moment of their life with colour. Colour is their courage; colour creates enthusiasm on them to fight to live for another day. Person, who has nothing, has colour in life. In beginning of my career I took all black & white photographs of those who are colourful. I found out poverty, sorrows and depressions become vivid if I skip colour from their life.

To present – ‘the present’ I start working on colour. A street child, laborer of a road or even a homeless lady all of them has colour. People who are fighting everyday to live life are heroes to me and these heroes represent colour. Their skin tone, dresses, living places all are colourful and powerful. They are deprived from all happiness of life but yet they treating themselves with colour. While I discover the truth I learned to capture the mood of colour on them.

“…I realize I have no power to deny the colour of these colourful people who are straggling in a colourless, hopeless world, nevertheless they live and smile. So I can not ignore the yellow balloon of a homeless child or even a red bowl of a beggar of the street. This inspiration inspires me to work with colour. Ans I continued my journey in the path of a colourless world to meet with all these colourful souls…”- Gmb Akash

Colour arouses my work for getting the depth of the sight. I got colour in different mood in the different part of the world. But I discover people who are fighting endlessly for surviving are more colourful than any part of the world. Because of this colour is more challenging to me. I take this challenge to explore the unrevealed spirit through every capture of mine.

I have a special affection for red. I like to take picture in the early morning and late afternoon. Unpredictably red comes to my way often. People who are living in lower rang affectionate about the colour – Red. It is important to take a red shoot carefully. Contrast might made the capture disturbing, while too much red can destroy the attention for the subject. A good composition and balancing of colour can create an outstanding shot. Apart of all it is important to discover the right mood of colour in the right temperament of an individual.

I go to country to country to explore colour differently. I have found out different colour in different cast. You will find people of power through colour. Your experiences & observations with colour will help you to reveal certain attribute of a community through colour.

– I prefer to use natural light which allows me to capture the originality of the moment of colour.

– I try to find out a natural background which suits the subject’s colour instinctively perhaps my entire colour photos are – found situation. So I believe to observe more & more while traveling frequently.

– Working with a single colour allows me to appreciate more intricate details within the subject itself.

– I travel to discover for getting the unexpected shot yet carrying the note in mind that I am searching thing which I have seen several times but never been noticed. Searching without clue for a known thing helps me to get a good colour shot.

– I only pick colour which has meaning to the subject.

“While I am taking photos of these colourful souls I am learning to live in colour. By capturing these colour moments I have learned – few hints of red, blue & yellow has inspirations in our life. People who are fighting without anything in this world are healing their pains by indulging in colour”

– Gmb Akash

‘Nothing to hold on to’

“When the train starts your feet will shake and you will automatically try to hold something, but there is nothing to hold on to. From 2005 I went up the train. Sitting or lying on the corroded metal roof of a train moving at 40 kilometers/hour is dangerous. By knowing that any time accident can happen you obvious to be nervous. It gives you an insecurity and makes it more risky. In that time there was no one who can tell me the rule of hanging in a running train, there was no example of photograph by which I can inspire myself to capture moments in camera. But I did not think twice to step into the slippery train and attempted to make a new series on the bravery of some insignificant heroic lives.”

– Gmb Akash

© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Seven years ago I had to travel many times by train to come to the city. During traveling I noticed low income people were traveling in the roof of the train and even in between joining line of the train. Most of them were low wage working class and traveled with high risk of severe accident. I was surprised to the fact when I discovered few of them traveled many times of the day with life risk. For knowing the reason my interest had taken me to the root. I pick my camera and leave my seat. Thus my journey starts in the running train. I had a basic curiosity to know about people whom I intend to photograph. From beginning of my journey I work for those people who are fighting endlessly to survive without anything but a smile. For taking photo of them I blended myself into the same conditions which help me to get the insight of the story. This inquisitiveness leads me in the top of the train. And I become one of the free passenger of regular running train. Thus I got familiar with the scary situation of the fearful journey; discover people and above all I took pictures.

© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Uncountable times, I went to the roof of the train. Often traveling made me familiar with scariness of a running train. People become well-known to me. I find out so many different stories of people and their determination of surviving. When I manage myself to step straight then I pick my camera and start capturing my feelings. No one travel to risk their life to get pleasure. All were unable to manage travel cost as they were living under the margin. Many of those travelers work as day laborer, many of them goes for selling fishes in city which they collect from their villages. All of them have to return also. These travel costs can not manage by them so they risk their life in the top of the train.

© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

This traveling is very addictive. When you will discover people who have power on them, who were bravely setting without caring anything the something will happen to you too. These people inspire you to live life without getting frustrated. They have nothing with them only have bravery to fight against all odds of life. So this journey put power inside me to fight in rest of my life with bravery and inspire to take any risk to live a life.

© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

In winter surface of the train get slippery, once I stepped without been concern and attempted to fall. It is difficult to take picture in opposite of the direction of the running train. Along other passengers I have faced terrible winter, unwanted rains and continual heat in the top of the train. Many times wires hit me, every time I thought I should not go more. But again I can not resist myself. Getting a good picture is toughest thing while you need to spend days and months for the right moment and for the right click. I won travel photographer of the year title in 2009 on the series. Besides all I am fortunate to be able to stand in this fearful journey which will continually give me power for rest of my life.

© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

“I recall all these journeys repeatedly. My achievement is that I established this series as one of favorite topic for photographers. I feel happy when I see photographers come from around the world to get a free ride in the top of the train and takes pictures. All these make me happy. I collect all these treasured moment and I am working for publishing a book soon on this series. I have to say, I am fortunate by killing fears of me to become able to go to the top of the train. There is nothing to hold on to, only your fearlessness”

– Gmb Akash

© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Reckless Calamity washed out lives

After Aila attack it has been two years Khadeza Begum sold her cattle & everything to rebuild her only shelter. Now it is another nightmare for her to stay under her destroyed house after facing another devastating flood. She has no idea how she will manage to pay back all her loans, besides passing nights in this smashed house with her husband.

Kadeza Begum said:

“We have nothing left, but we have to survive, so we’ve had to build our house again, twice in two year”.

Like Kadiza Begum It takes one year to Nobab Ali for building his house after Aila attack. Again flood hits on his all effort & left him in the flooded street. After all these devastation still he is trying to get some materials from the ruined house for covering his head in the road.

Alike them all inhabitants of Shamnagar are suffering like prisoner of devastating water kingdom. Helplessness & shouts are not getting into ears of rest of the people around the world & surroundings. In all places water & the destruction of water could experience in flood affected areas of Shatkhira. Inhabitants are collecting water after walking 3 Km. as all tube well are under water & badly affected by salt.

Amina begum told:

“Here water in everywhere, even in my house there is no sign of house only water. But we are such cursed that we have no water for drinking”

After facing devastating flood every year, they are fighting to live apart loosing shelter for existing. Still they are fighting to live. They are collecting all destroyed pieces of house to shed their head. Women go for fishing. They are healing pain of each other set aside from the remaining world.

I headed to the flood affected area of Shatkhira when all those villages are under water within three days & was out of communication. Evidentially when I reached to Shamnagar sun was setting down. I was surviving in a boat & could not see surface to stand a while. With the drowning sun the village was drowning under water. People were sheltered above in roofs of their houses. Moaning of old people & shouts of children were making the atmosphere miserable.

The southern part of the country is mostly affected by rain-fed disaster. There was heavy rain all over Bangladesh but flood has affected 14 of the 64 districts in Bangladesh. In Satkhira Kobodak, Betna, Shalta and Morichhap rivers swelled abnormally over the last seven days overflowing their banks inundating 160 villages in dozens of unions in Tala, Kalarowa, Ashashuni and Sadar upazilas. Over four lakh people of 160 villages were marooned. Crops on several thousand acres land; thousands of dwelling houses, schools, mosques, markets and ponds were inundated. Over 2,000 shrimp enclosures were washed away. Families lost everything & staying night without roofs in wild weather. Incessant rain coupled with high tide triggered by depression in Bay in the last few days caused river water rising engulfing villages on their banks. No humanitarian support has been provided to the people in the most affected districts by the government, local, national and international NGOs even after 10days of water blockage. People are suffering like prisoner of devastating water kingdom. There helplessness & shouts are not getting into ear of rest of the people around the world & surroundings.

After the flood in Shatkhira, all ladies are moving for dry places by carrying their belongings. Families lost everything, passing nights without roofs in wild weather. In such a situation open air in field of water can not accommodate them for healing pains. Leaving behind everything they are moving to the city. . Hunger, helplessness & calamity force these climate refugees to the city. City welcomes them to face the uncertainty of living for their entire life time. Rootless people suffer here & there. Their tears evaporated by thirsty street of Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh.

Bangladesh is the most vulnerable country in the world, the frontline state of climate change. Mostly to say Bangladesh seems the leader of climate change. With 140 million people, Bangladesh is one of the world’s densest nations and also one of the most vulnerable to the impacts of climate change. Like much of the delta region, it floods each every year, but the flooding has been getting worse, the waters are staying longer, and contaminating the fields and the wells with salt. People in Bangladesh live precariously close to the risks of cyclones, floods and droughts and more than 100 million people live in rural areas. Two-thirds of the country is less than 5 meters above sea level and in an average year, a quarter of the country is inundated. Bangladesh has experienced severe floods every 4 to 5 years that may cover more than 60 percent of the country, resulting in significant losses. United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change predicted that rising sea levels could submerge 17 per cent of Bangladesh by 2050, creating 20 million “environmental refugees”.

Here is a short film on this concern – how people are facing the calamity by living their normal life behind:

Still images of this devastating flood could reveal people’s straggle & endless helplessness.

In 2009 Aila attacked Shatkhira, after two years when that pain has not healed this place again faced the ferocious attack of flood. While in these two years affected people managed to build their destroyed home but again flood has taken last hope from them. Over four lakh people of 160 villages were marooned. Crops on several thousand acres land; thousands of dwelling houses, schools, mosques, markets and ponds were inundated. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

After Aila attack it has been two years Khadeza Begum sold her cattle & everything to rebuild her only shelter. Now it is another nightmare for her to stay under this destroyed house. She has no idea how she will manage to pay back all her loans, besides passing nights in this smashed house with her husband. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

The flooding continues by washing away many homes and fields, the ill-fated flood victims Like Jhanu Begum remain living on the damaged embankments, surviving the rainy season in huts made of plastic sheets and bamboo.© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

The lady is going inside her house. The flood has broken all her hope to pass a single night in serenity. After facing devastating flood every year, they are fighting to live apart loosing shelter for existing.

© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

People are fighting alone against every odd of their lives & with regular calamity. People are using medicine in their feet as they are living in water long time. These people do not know when they will get relief from flood water. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Flood has taken everything from inhabitants of Shatkhira. Every day straggle for getting water & food become another calamity for their life. All tube well goes under water & already badly affected by salt. Sufferers have no way to get rid rather then suffer in crisis. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Besides Khadeza begum has to pay back all her loans of rebuilding the house after Aila attack, but again she lost every piece of it in this flood. She has no idea how long the village & she can survive. She is trying to collect all wasted material of her house in hope to get a shed by road side.© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

It takes one year to Nobab Ali for building his house after Aila attack. Again flood hits on his all effort & left him in the flooded street. After all these devastation he is trying to get some materials from the ruined house for covering his head in the road. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Nobab Ali has no idea how long he can survive surrounded by flood water which has proven curse to him. In his last dates he is fighting every year for building a house to shed his head. After the devastating flood attack again he is searching, below in water in hope to get his lost belongings.© GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

The violent flood abandons lives of Shamnagar inhabitants. With all fields under salt water, no shrimp farming or other activities can be restarted, and people have no way to earn a livelihood. Instead they try to fish in the nearby rivers even in floated roads. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

People are moving to the city by vans even all roads went under water because of devastating flood in Shatkhira area. In 2009 Aila attacked Shatkhira, after two years when the pain has not forgotten this place again faced the ferocious attack of flood. Leaving behind everything they are moving to the city. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

In the Alley of Disaster

“I headed to the flood affected area of Shatkhira when all those villages were under water within three days & out of communication. Evidentially when I reached to Shamnagar sun was setting down. I was surviving in a boat & could not see surface to stand a while. With the drowning sun the village was drowning under water. People were sheltered above in roofs of their houses. Moaning of old people & shouts of children were making the atmosphere miserable. When I reached to the house of Khadeza Begum I closed my eyes. It took two years to rebuild the house of Khadeza after selling all her cattle as well taking huge loans after Aila attack in 2009. I was standing in front of her ruined house. The house which has been rebuilt these two years by the bravery of Khadeza. I could not answer when she was hitting me by asking why I come to take photo of her ruined house again after Aila. No one come to ask them ever how they are fighting against the will of nature. She cursed all those happy people who seat silent after hearing their news”

– Gmb Akash

In all places water & the destruction of water could experience in flood affected areas of Shatkhira. Inhabitants are collecting water after walking 3 Km. as all tube well are under water & badly affected by salt. After facing devastating flood every year, they are fighting to live apart loosing shelter for existing. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

In 2009 Aila attacked Shatkhira area, after two years when that pain has not forgotten this place again faced the ferocious attack of flood. While in these two years affected people managed to build their destroyed home but again flood has taken last hope from them. Over four lakh people of 160 villages were marooned after the striking of flood in this 2011. Crops on several thousand acres land; thousands of dwelling houses, schools, mosques, markets and ponds were inundated. Shrimps in over 2,000 shrimp enclosures were washed away. Families lost everything & staying night without roofs in wild weather. No humanitarian support has been provided to the people in the most affected districts within the affected time of 13 days.

People are helpless after five days water blockage. The lady is going for fishing. While in these two years Aila affected people managed to rebuild their destroyed home , again this flood has taken every hope from them. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

People were suffering like prisoner of devastating water kingdom.Helplessness & shouts are not getting into ears of rest of the people around the world & surroundings. Still they were fighting to live. They were collecting all destroyed pieces of house to shed their head. Women went to water for fishing. They were healing pain of each other set aside from the remaining world.

All tubewell of villages goes under water. Everywhere there is only water but there is no water for drinking. Still inhabitants are trying to get salt water for drinking. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

The lady is going inside her house. The flood has broken all her hope to pass a single night in serenity . © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Hunger, helplessness & calamity force them to the city. City welcomes them to face the uncertainty of living for their entire life time. Rootless people suffer here & there. Their tears evaporated by thirsty street of Dhaka.

Climate forces Jahangir to move to the city with his family. Now this Mirpur slum is his identity. Water crisis as well accommodation problem hitting their everyday life . His wife like him are suffering everyday for taking bath in this nearly open bathroom by sharing with more than 300 slum dwellers. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Hosna comes with her two children from Jamalpur. Her husband left his family after loosing everything in devastating flood. She came in this plastic shelter three years ago. This street houses does not provide any toilet. By not having any window she manages to placed everything of her family in six feet by six residences. In these three years she managed to gather many things which she packed in bags. With all these things she dreams to go back to her village one day. © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

After discovering the insanity of nature & bravery of these sufferers I realize these people are stronger to rule their own live. If these brave people could get support of a shoulder to cry, rest of us could claim us as “Human”. I recall the statement from Helen Keller & focus my lens to capture some brave moment.

“I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something, and because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something that I can do”- Helen Keller

Homeless people float near in the street of the city. By few road sides families are allowed to build their homes. Still climate refugees can not gather enough wasted digital prints, papers & bamboo for making plastic houses. Those who can not manage helplessly sleeps in open air by not letting the place empty. Everyday they collect papers for dwelling beside street.

Water crisis Myth & Reality

Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh is one of the most densely populated cities of the South-Asian countries. Due to rapid urbanization process, the city is emerging as a mega-city and this trend generates numerous economic and social externalities and social cost such as deterioration of environmental quality, increased pollution and congestion. 30 to 50 percent of total Dhaka residents are Slums dwellers. Slums of Dhaka city are beset with a number of socio-environmental problems specially ‘water’ crisis.

“In slums from early morning hours passed & water pot gathered gradually. Queues of water pots & lines of people are regular scenario of the slum. Government van comes once in a day with drinking water. They have no idea exact when the van will come, so they line up their water jars & sit beside. Most of the inhabitants of these slums are climate refugees. Most of the slum dwellers stand in lines before the sun rises. After passing the long queue, knowing that this impure water causes sickness, they feel that they are fortunate. Their consolation is that at least they don’t have to leave with empty pots” – Gmb Akash

Apparently the place seems like garbage, though this is the most desired place of the inhabitants of Mirpur slum in Dhaka city. For water, in this thirsty zone queue stars near midnight. After an immense time of patience they got quiet impure water which often makes them sick. In spite of all they give a cheerful smile when they touch the water after passing the long queue. No dirty water can kill their hope & smile.

In slums straggling for water starts before the sun rises. A boy collects water for his family near mid night for avoiding the long queue.

In Mirpur slum, slum dwellers have to waits hours & hours in queue for water. Children use to drink water whenever they got chance to get the pipe. Slum dwellers of Mirpur hardly get drinkable water. Bad smell & impure wastage made the water high-risk. Dhaka. Bangladesh

A woman is fighting for water. Children & ladies stand up in queue before the sun rises. Slum dwellers of Mirpur hardly get drinkable water. Bad smell & impure wastage made the water high-risk.

Rohingans living in Burmese refugee’s camp has no facilities for drinking water. A Rohingan woman is collecting drinking water from rain source. Water fall of mountain is the only source of water for them. Else they have to travel 2kilomiter for collecting that impure water.

Women have to spend several hours & travels long everyday for collecting drinking water. In Shatkhira, they have to go long distance, they usually collects water from ponds. After boiling water hardly removes salts & thus they make the water drinkable.

Satkhira District is in the southwest coastal area of Bangladesh. Cyclone Aila hits 14 districts on the south-west coast of Bangladesh on the 25th May 2009. The cyclone caused 190 immediate deaths, injuries to 7,103 people, damage to 6,000 kilometers of roads, more than 1,700 kilometers of embankments to collapse, more than 500,000 people to become homeless. Because of this calamity all fields got salted & farmers become helpless. As well in Shatkhira people are not getting clean drinking water, as the water is salt affected.

Children & women have to spend several hours & travels long everyday for collecting drinking water. In Shatkhira, they have to go another part of the river for collecting water. After boiling water hardly removes salts & thus they make the water drinkable. Farmers can not produce crops because of salinity. In such a situation inhabitants lives become itself a calamity living by every day’s straggle.

The woman is going to collect water from a Tube well, which is the only tube well for seven villages. The inhabitant of char in Noyakhali has to travel 3-4 kilometers by walking to collect drinking water.

“In this corner of the world people are fighting to get a pot of drinkable water. Their lives have collapsed in need of getting a pot of fresh water. People are experiencing severe thirst which may never come to an end if “Water”- could not save by Human” Gmb Akash

‘The Vanished Native’

‘The Vanished Native’ – Existence of Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh is tale of those people who lost their freedom of living and identity now just tagged as refugees. For living decades here we still the same plastic rapping shelter that has uncountable holes. They everyday travel miles to drink mud water. Those people are struggling to get back their honour as human not as any nation. They are considered as most unwanted people in both of the zone. Still their way of living is a message that they are just suffering well – Gmb Akash

An old Rohingya lady is taking nap in her shelter. They are not allowed to do work outside or move freely. Old people like her are struggling hard for passing their last days by doing nothing.

Decades refugee families are suffering well having only a plastic shelter. If the refugees manage to get outside the camp, they are then vulnerable to harassment by the residents of the villages surrounding the camps.

In the early 1990s, more than 250,000 people belonging to the mostly Muslim Rohingya minority escaped persecution in Myanmar by fleeing across land and river borders into Bangladesh, where most were housed in 20 camps. Their living conditions are sub-standard and they are uncertain about their future. They are living without freedom of movement, permission to work or basic human rights.

A Rohingya mother seating idle with her child. Most of the new born and children suffered from massive Malnutrition.

The experiences of violence and coercion over the years have inevitably fostered a climate of fear and distress among the refugees. They are not permitted to work. They have nothing to do to live their lives. They have no money, their husband or wives are not allowed to do any work. They are like prisoner of an open field of limited activity.

The girl belongs to the refugee group who are living without freedom of movement, permission to work or basic human rights. Besides she dreams to study, go regularly for taking part in Madrassa.

Children study the Koran (Qu’ran) in a makeshift Madrassa (Islamic school) in the Dum Dum Meah refugee camp.

The living place displays the most unprotected residence for living as human. The rapping plastic sheet which have uncountable holes surround them generation after generation. In a small place where hardly two people can live, ironically they are living more than eight people.

Two young men are making a new house in the Dum Dum Meah refugee camp. There is no change in their accommodation scenario instead of getting only holes in every rainy season.

Rohingya refugee families have to depend fully on ration. The refugees are totally dependent on the weekly distribution of food. For many, food is the only source of income, as employment is prohibited.

A Child in the Dum Dum Meah refugee camp. Here everlasting hunger, heightened vulnerability to disease, and hampered growth will only be overcome if the Rohingya refugees get enough to eat everyday. But still it is a dream to these refugees.

“Sometimes I bathe only two to three times per month because I have to save water for other member of my family”- A woman of seven member of the family were telling about the water condition.

There is just one toilet between every 10 families. Teenagers hardly go to toilet in day time. As the toilet is visible from outside because of broken doors & holes is plastic rapping areas.

“Through the damaged door everything is visible when we go to toilet. In spite of danger we young girls go to toilet when it is dark that no one could see us”- young girl of the camp named Mya

Water fall of mountain is the source of water near the Burmese refugee’s camp for Rohingyas. Rohingya families are collecting water from mountain as there is no facility of water in their camp. After 2 kilometers walking they can collect drinking water however they got sick often by this impure water source.

Besides them thousands wait, unregistered, and unsure of what their future holds. People are stateless and hopeless. They have nothing in their hands.

Rohingya families have to totally depend on ration supplies. This generates an endless cycle of food shortage as no food enters instead of only rations for them.

The boy representing the third generation of one Rohingya refugee family. They do not have any identity as nation. Despite losing everything they are fighting to get the honour as human.

“Many lives have begun in these camps in the last decades. Many will end here, too, without a birth or death certificate to prove that they ever existed. There straggle will convey message to all people who are unknown to the fact of living no where, belongs to no nation and not aware of searching identity everyday” – Gmb Akash

Born to work – A Battle of a “Survivor”

“Survivors” depicts the invincibility of the human spirit to survive against all odds. People who live on the edges of society have had a big impact on me and have been a great inspiration to me as a person and in my career. The existing social hierarchies have made me realize that those who live at the lowest rank on the economic ladder are the true survivors. These people are deprived of even the basic necessities of life, yet they manage to live each day with a smile on their faces. As a photographer I feel it is my task to show the world those unseen realities and to shed light on what most of us never see with our own eyes.

I have been doing my project “Survivors” for the last 10 years. In these years I tried to bring changes in some lives. But now, I moves to work on it highly by bringing the project “Survivors” in light. & lend hands to some miserable souls. Munna is one of them. Here I am revealing life & straggle of Munna – which many of you may never seen but heard many times, which many of you may imagine but never feel. Welcome to the world of a – little soldier ‘Munna’

“Born to work – A Battle of a Survivor”, First video made by me & a documentation on ‘Munna’ from the project ‘Survivors’.

‘Integrity with innocence’ this is the concrete of Munna’s character portrayal. Five years ago I first met Munna, he was same like now. He was a seven years old shy boy who never complains to anyone. At the age of five he comes to the factory. Two years he did nothing & got no money. At the age of seven, he learns & starts working. When I took his first picture his hands remarks his experiences.

Five years have passed fates of Munna & his father brings no change in their lives. Only difference is, with his five years experience Munna is getting 1600 taka ($1=72taka) per month. Moreover 12 years old Munna is running his younger sister education with his extra income of Friday overtime. His dreams confine to get more experience of hard work & made a big factory. He dreams to give good food to his family, he dreams to take them in a better place. The boy speak too less, stand always like a shadow. Whenever I took picture of him, he tried to clean his torn cloths as well hide torn areas. These little doings, little words earn respect.

20 years ago Munna’s family had come to Dhaka for better living. Time never brings any happiness in their lives. By a little donation Munna’s father bought shoe sewing materials & now he is working as cobbler. They pray that rainy season may never come. As people does not come to do shoe polish in rain time. Munna & his family are surviving in the race of life.

Like Munna around 7 million children are straggling in our country. May be it is difficult but not impossible to give hope to these 7 million children. If only every capable person lend their hands for one family.

My project “Survivors” aims to help Munna & his family. This project designed to help ten families from ten backgrounds. By little collection – a fund will hand over to Munna & his father. Munna’s father will utilize it for lifting their fates. 25% of the selling price of my book “Survivors” will give to these kinds of 10 selected families. You all are invited to stand beside Munna. Won’t you lend your hands? If your heart is moved to do so please visit “Survivors” by Gmb Akash at : http://emphas.is

“Our little help, little words, little recommendations could bring light in some dark places of this earth. ” Gmb Akash

“Untold Stories” Part II

Habitually I take my camera, leave my place and lost for long time. These unpredictable journeys never tire me. In searching of stories I traveled miles after miles, I reached many unexpected places by unplanned ways.

Location was India, a mountain near a coal mine. I was not even thinking another terrible accident was waiting for me.

Jharkand, India. One of the largest coal mines in Asia.

My main focus was low-income people; I find out these poor people who were going back to the coal mine early in the morning. They went for stealing coal & later sell in local market. Next morning I followed them quietly. I experienced they carried these heavy basket full of coals 3 to 4 kilometers from mountain. They were bare foot most were children/female from poorest families.

Jharkand, India. One of the largest coal mines in Asia.

When I reached to the top of the mountain I could not miss the chance to take photos of those workers, who were working in coal mine. One of my friend was just beside me and poked me to skip from there. Just after few minutes suddenly three men came in the place. Then hold me & my camera tightly, caught my friend as well.

Jharkand, India. One of the largest coal mines in Asia.

Those men were trying to throw me from the mountain, was scratching me to take the camera but I hold it tightly. I was literally scared but asked them to take me to their boss. They dragged me down, tore my shirt into two parts, hit my shoulders and kicked in my knee. They were dragging me to their boos which is around one & half kilometer. In the meantime of their kicks, I have changed my memory card of the images.

Jharkand, India. One of the largest coal mines in Asia.

When I meet their angry boss, I managed to tell him that I am a tourist. My hobby is photography, I took picture as in Bangladesh there is no coal mine like this. He took out my cf card and threw to a drain. I said sorry to him, bribe some money and he let me free. I was so scared, their people followed me long. When I returned to the hotel I got sick for few days. But you can not blame a photographer’s blood. I go back again in my next tour and be careful to take pictures that time.

Jharkand, India. One of the largest coal mines in Asia.

These images are stories of my own experiences. I am writing tours of my life. These journeys invite me in territories I never dream evem. Sometimes I run to save myself, sometimes I take ride in the top of the roof of the train, or I sleep in the flooded floor of village hut, I swim, I hang on, and above all I meet those souls. These adventures invites dangers. But after reaching to those people, getting permission to enter to their private door all my hard work and risks become worthy.

No dream too big/No distance too long

Destination was Bhutan. It was long hours of days and nights but I keep working. I went to finish “Survivors” Bhutan’s last part. Every country has its own smell, so has its own depth to make any stranger curious. However I meet differences between every country of the world, except “Survivors”, that is indifferent. They are geometrically located in long distance but precisely living a same life as each other. Here a short sharing to discover “Survivors” in Bhutan.

The girl belongs to the area the kala Bazar slum where most of the cleaner’s families are living. These peoples are living with garages here & there, else they made the country Bhutan a beautiful & neat city for others.

An old day laborer, whose main occupation is work as day laborer in other’s fields Bhutan © GMB Akash / www.gmb-akash.com

Bhutan has long been a mysterious and elusive country for the world. It is small and under populated. The economy is based on agriculture. The majority of Bhutanese are not skilled labor workers. Last time when I was in Bhutan I feel the same force to take out the right moment to capture. But as always you could never be sure either to peak the moment or let it evaporate before you understand to grab it.

The old woman was sitting in a Buddhist monastery for her prayers. Many of old women in Bhutan passes their last days near these monastery.

In Lagjophakha, most of the working class people lives. The woman living in the working class slum was stand in the window.

In early morning, the streets of Thimphu are cleaned by male & female cleaners’ everyday. Most of them live in Kala Bazar slum. Inadequate living things & continual deprivation has pause their life, not even to express their sufferings.

Near the kala Bazar slum an old man seating in a tea stall. Here low income people living their life in sacrificing their basic needs.

“I was leaving Bhutan, head was full of their straggle stories & their clam sufferings which I hardly understand. Right moment, my project “Survivors” was up is emphas.is. When I was in dilemma either I could ever be able to give back these “Survivors” loves & fulfill my liabilities at that moment I saw a board written:

“ No Dream Too Big

No Distance Too Long ”

I got my inspiration back, I stand straight . These fate less fighters inspires me to fight for them….” Gmb Akash

“Untold Stories” Part I

My identity is my photography. From the crowd of photographers, I am one who determine to dedicate everything in photography. I could never think a day will come when photography will be only reason to live my life! In my surroundings & the place I brought up no one can ever thought a boy can devote him for photography. In my environs and in the space I was brought up in no one ever thought a boy can dedicate himself for photography. Throughout my childhood I did not have access to photographers, their work, or even a camera. Photography did not exist for me in theory or in practice. I held my father’s old camera and started taking pictures unconsciously in 1997. Since then I have not stopped clicking for a single day. Every day, in every angle, in every corner of my world I keep capturing those miserable souls and kept them in heart of my camera.

“Bravery” is the most unexpected power of these children. They work 1 0hrs and more having no protection, no appreciation, no admiration but with a wide smile in their faces. In the resting time, when I took photos I asked them what they will become in future. They randomly said they want to be Doctor, engineer, pilot! I lost my words! They do not even know, the work they are doing will never take them in any of these designation they are dreaming for. One boy from them look at me and said, ‘I will be a photographer like you, will take picture when my boss beats my friend’. I use to close my eyes often in between the conversation.

When I was leaving the working place of children, I ask them what they want to eat. For them bread is the most delicious food. When I back from the place my soul left heavy. After I got Vevey International photography grants in 2010, with some money I bought new dresses and went to them. Happy faces of 65 children, their shouts, their joys, their hugs I even can feel now when I am writing. I could not resist tears for giving them these simple cloths and after receiving their unconditional love makes me so much small.

18 months old Khadeja was suffering from diarrhea in Rayer Bazar slum. Her parents kept her under the sun to ironically cure her. Her condition was bad & malnutrition made it worst. Her parents were no where found near to ask the explanation.

Women protect themselves from the rain at a tea plantation where they work near the village of Elkaduwa. Tea is one of the country’s main export crops. sri lanka, Matale District

“It was rainy season. Female workers of Srilanka were rushing to their work place. I was rushing with them. These ladies were bare foots, clothes were thin. I was wondering how whole day they will work. Suddenly I felt something beating near my knee. I ignored and keep clicking. When I could not bear any more I hurried back to my hotel. I found louse beating. It was bleeding, and I got sick. When I was suffering from pain I recall those ladies who were bare foots & thus they works everyday!”

My friends started calling me “Hijra” Undoubtedly it was shocking for me but I didn’t stop working on trans-genders. It was way too distance to reach as nobody worked before me on this community. It took years to get entry to their door. I patiently keep trying. Mixed with them, talked to them, took gift for them. I tried to understand the basics of their lives. Their ways of life makes them strange characters and granted as alien in the society. Instead of getting warmth from the society, they receive hatred and contempt. Few among them were forced to leave school because of their classmates’ negative attitude towards their feminine behaviors. Their lack of education has so far deprived them of information and any scope of communication with trans-genders all over the world. So they confine themselves to their own small community. They engage themselves in merriment, singing, dancing and thereby hiding their struggles and worries in laughter. After several years of working, I go to the depth of their lives. People laugh at me, make fun of me. But when I meet with them their warmth of admiration give me the courage to depict them in my frame.

In district hospital Accham every day people come to get treatment for HIV. To reach in this remote hospital I have to travel several days. Even people who come for treatment walk two days or more. In those villages you can hardly find male member of the family. In every family some one died in this disease. They have no work there, so they go to India for long time. They bring HIV unconsciously when they come back. Even some ladies come to know that they are HIV positive after of their husband’s death. Their painful stories of surviving could hardly reach to the top.

15 year old Masura Begum at the Fistula Treatment Centre in the Dhaka Medical College Hospital. Masura developed a fistula after an unsuccessful abortion operation was carried out after she was raped. Over 71,000 women live with fistula in Bangladesh, with the World Health Organisation estimating over 2.5 million cases worldwide. The UNFPA have trained 45 doctors and 30 nurses to treat the disability at the centre in Dhaka. Obstetric fistula, which can occur after days of obstructed labour, is both treatable and preventable, yet it carries with it a huge stigma, and can have devastating consequences, usually killing the baby and leaving the woman with chronic incontinence. Dhaka

Liza is an old sex worker in Tangail brothel. In early childhood her step mother sold her to the brothel. She forgot their name, faces & even where she born. She admire when some one took her photo. When I was taking her photo & listen to her story, this hard hearted lady broke out in tears. She lost her young age, clients hardly come to her. She has no one, without this brothel she has no place to go. Now she works as maid for other sex workers. She was crying in thought of why god punishes her this way. She lost her childhood, she never got love in her life now in old age she has to rotten in this brothel. That time first I thought of buying sewing machines for these kinds of old sex workers. At least they could find a self respect at the end of their lives!

“I am working on old home past many years. “Kontinente” a German magazine published my work on Nepal old home. That old home even did not have sources to give two times food to those old inhabitants. After knowing the fact many people come forward to help them. We raised sufficient fund through mother Teresa Home. When a mother said “I waits for you my child as just like I waits for my son” I feel little. We still keep working for all those great hearts”

“I am in an endless journey towards an infinite route, only to find a real world of humanity. This thirst is eternal. I will keep walking, touching every face I meet by my lens. I will show the world – those unknown stories of sufferings. If a single hand comes to give them a shade then that is the real honor of my sweat” – Gmb Akash

Born to work

“I see the beauty of people and the human soul in the pictures I take. And though the circumstances of some of the people I portray may be grim, back-breaking, depraved, the people themselves are always remarkable characters and souls” Gmb Akash

17.5 percent of all children aged between 5-15 are engaged in economic activities. The average child labourer earns between 400 to 700 taka (1 USD = 70 taka) per month

Child working at a silver cooking pot factory. The child labourers earn about 200 taka ($1=70tk) per week and they work about 10 hours a day. Dhaka, Bangladesh.© GMB Akash

“He laughs, he run & his eyes sparks like any other kids we see around us. When they spend hours after hours under pressure to become one of capable member of their family, they start to diminish. Poor families have to send their child to face the cruel world by sending them in factories, streets instead of school. Little children start to know the world by sleeping in the street, breaking bricks or carrying sands” Gmb Akash

Shilu works separating sand and stone. At least 10,000 people, including 2,500 women and over 1,000 children, are engaged in stone and sand collection from the Bhollar Ghat on the banks of the Piyain River. Building materials such as stone and sand, and the cement which is made from it, are in short supply in Bangladesh, and commands a high price from building contractors. The average income is around 150 taka (less than 2 USD) a day. Jaflong, Sylhet

Rahman (12) is beating by the owner of the textile factory. His job is sewing children t-shirt. In the mean time of work he was slow to deliver, that’s why he hit by the owner. He earns $1 by ten hrs of work in a day. Dhaka. Bangladesh

13 years old Fatema is getting older with the experience of carrying brick for construction sites. She has to take materials for construction firms & moves up to sixth floor with all those heavy materials all day long. She got 1500 tk per month for carrying countless buckets from morning to noon. Surprisingly, this 13 years girl represents herself way too older than her real age. Dual shade of her face, displaying the lost child in the reality of surviving. Dhaka. Bangladesh

© GMB Akash

Tired Motalib (12) was taking rest in the sand field of Jaflong, Sylhet. Before sun shine he starts to collect stones in his basket. In sunset when the contractor counts stones & fix money in order, he gets some time to relax. He can take 35-40 tk when he leaves the field. While he looked into the camera his sweat & sand covered body defeated by his curious eyes & innocent smile.

© GMB Akash

Nine years old Shakil’s job is to make balloons. In the time of making these colorful toys, he himself mixes by those powder ingredients. His has done his works usually after the sunset. If any balloon is not fit to sell then the seller gives it to him. He keeps it for his young sister because he usually didn’t get any time to play. He gets 700 tk for a whole month of working, Dhaka.

© GMB Akash

“Their innocent smile can break your heart into enormous pieces if you stand in front of where they work [and] live.”

© GMB Akash

“I want to deliver their voices to all of you & their hidden pain & cries. If any of you spend one second in a thought to help or even a prayer for them is the reward of all hard work” Gmb Akash

© GMB Akash

“All the time the heartless scenario, people sufferings & my inner emptiness had frozen my finger to click. But with all those sorrows in expression accompanied by smile when they give a look, they push me to overcome anything. & then my clicks never take a break” Gmb Akash

© GMB Akash

These are the hands of Alamin, 11 years old brick field worker who starts work from 5am. Smoke & ashes covers Alamin’s whole body but works never cover a smile in his face. He carries brick from the field to kiln. He usually carries 4 bricks at a time top of his head. per brick is almost 2.5 kg in weight. For 1000 bricks the workers get 80 Tk. Alamin covered with smoke & ashes, at the same time he carries 400 bricks a day in cost of his fadedness. His family comes from Kishorgonj with their three children and all of them are selling their childhood costing per day nearly 80Tk.

© GMB Akash

“No one has the time to listen them, they are mostly unseen human. I tell their stories, depicts their emotions, steal their sorrows in my frame…if these stories ever touch your heart please feel free to share ….your sole help can even awaken people to bring their hands to these lost souls..” Gmb Akash

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