The Graveyard Shift

Graveyards have always caught my imagination. The first time I went to the graveyard was back in Hyderabad, when my grandfather passed away. I was 10 years old at that time. And more than the funeral ceremony, I found myself interested in wandering around the desolate graveyard, reading the epitaphs of all the people who had been laid to rest. Since then, every January, I have eagerly looked forward to visiting the graveyard for grandfather's anniversary. While mom and sis, cleaned away the dead leaves from the tombstone and dusted out the cobwebs, I went on my walk.

Of particular interest to me was the older section of the graveyard where expat Britishers from the British era in India, were laid to rest. Some of them, I imagined were soldiers.
It was all too fascinating for me to think about where their travels had taken them, during the course of their lives, and how they ended up below the ground in a land they had set out to conquer. Most of the graves in this section were of people who had died in the 19th century. For me, this just spiked up the enigma quotient of those graves. They seemed so far removed from my own existence.

My own thoughts wandered away to their descendants, and I wondered if they had settled down in India, or if they made it back to their own country, and if they were aware of their own blood resting in a far away land. It did set the stage for some very compelling stories, if you let your imagination wander.

The big old banyan trees which provided ample shade, the peace and quiet of the graveyard that soothed your nerves, along with the light breeze blowing in from the open spaces all around was a refreshing change from the noise of the city.

I find it fascinating to imagine what kind of lives the buried had led, and how they met their end. Calculating their age by their date of birth and the day they were laid to rest, all of which wa s mentioned on their tombstones, was another absorbing exercise.

It was also interesting to observe how much importance people attach to the tombstones of the departed. Tombstones of all sizes and shapes, some made of marble, others of granite, and some with plain concrete, all of them held a novelty I can't describe. Some of them sported very ornate and intricate designs while others were simple and plain.


Most of the epitaphs were quotes from the scripture with a stress on eternal life, while others were quotes very plainly intended to get the members of the family through the tough time.

Given that things are how they are, I decided to pay the cemetery in Bangalore a small visit yesterday. The cemetery road is en route to Cubbon park when you go from Koramangala via Adugodi. There are around 4 cemeteries located on this road. I decided to stop at one of them and see if I could get any good shots. However, I wasnt sure that I'd get permission to shoot pictures inside the cemetery from the cemetery office. So, I decided to walk right in and shoot, and hope I didnt get caught.


The time was around 4:30 in the afternoon, and I knew that I was just in time for the "Golden Hour". There were some boys playing cricket in the far corner of the graveyard, and the watch man was sitting on a grave, smoking a beedi , absorbed in the match. I took my chance and quickly got a few shots. It's understandable that some people might consider it offensive to shoot photographs. So, I wanted to be as discreet as possible as I went about the shoot.

A bunch of noisy mynahs kept hopping from one tombstone to another and finally settled down on a small tree nearby, and engaged themselves in animated chatter.



A jungle crow flew down from its flight home, to take a sip from the small pool of water near the sump. The cobwebs, adorning the graves, glistened like fine threads of gold as the sun started to set for the day. The caretakers 'mongrels stretched themselves one last time on the black granite of a tombstone, trying to make itself warm one last time, before the harsh chill of the winter night set in the graveyard.