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Photo: Moztaba Nadim Omio
Photo: Md. Mahtab Hossain
Photo: Refayet Zabir

Intra-AIUB
Photography Exhibition 2011

“Intra-AIUB Photography Exhibition 2011 (IAPE 2011)” was the first photography exhibition of American International University-Bangladesh's Photography Club outside its own campus. The Exhibition was held from 30th September to 2nd October, 2011 at Drik Gallery, Dhaka, showcased the works of rookie but creative photographers of AIUB Photography Club

The photography work, although done by amateurs reflected the different sights and scenes of Bangladesh in a unique and creative way. AIUB Photography Club (AIUB PC) is a platform which encourages the students of AIUB to use their creative skills, share their knowledge, participate in technical discussions and most of all present their collective photographs through initiatives like this Drik exhibition, which reflects their view of their surroundings through the lens of a camera.

The exhibition was open from 3.00pm to 8.00pm with the launching on 30th September. Two related events were organized keeping with the theme of the exhibition - a Basic Photography Workshop, held on the 2nd day of the exhibition, and an Open Photo Critic Discussion, held on the closing day.

Photo: Khondker Nasif Akhter

The event was sponsored by Prime Bank Limited and the online radio partner was Radio Circle. The first day started with the opening ceremony at Drik Gallery, Dhanmondi by our chief guest, Manzur H Khan, Director, Office of Student Affairs(AIUB) and Andrew Biraj, photographer of Reuters. A workshop conducted by Saud Al Faisal concluded the second day. The third and final day had a few activities, such as the 'Photo Adda' to end the exhibition with. Finally, certificates and prizes were distributed to the best photographers of the event. Azad Noor Ehteshamul, President of AIUB PC, announced the results. The first prize went to Refayet Zabir, the second prize to Md. Mahatab Hossain and Maztaba Nadim Omio came third. The last award of the evening was for the Most Active Member of AIUB PC for the year 2011. This award went to Khondker Nasif Akhter, the General Secretary of AIUB PC, who then added a few lines to officially lower the curtains on the exhibition.

The hard work and the amount of effort each photographer put into their work was clearly visible, and the event can only be called a resounding success. We hope the AIUB-PC returns with a bigger and better event next time and treats us to even better photography.

By Shaer Reaz
Special thanks to Khondker Nasif Akhter for showing us around.


I warned him. I warned him a billion times. I told him we would get into a situation like this one. But who am I to question the boss of the house, the feeder of my family? But once again he was wrong and now he has left me to fight Mother Nature's war all by myself. Typical daddy.

The minute I got on our boat I could smell it in the rush of unwelcoming wind that went passed me. But I never trusted my instincts. Even if I did, it was a perfect time to catch a couple of dozen fishes. The markets were going to open the next day and my father needed the money; we all did. Drought and starvation had struck our village and we've been struggling.

In just a few short minutes we were out at sea. My vision reached out till the far end of the horizon with nothing but endless water. That's when I realised that the clouds were darkening. My most feared situation had come true. The momentum of our tractable boat had gone haywire. The arm of the sail wobbled viciously and the small boat wobbled from one side to another until I saw my father falling, words and sounds lost to the roar of the sea. My dad fell from the small raft into the churning water. I reached out my hand and he caught it. The force of the sea was far too strong. I felt his hand trembling in horror. I had never seen his face look this scared. It turned pale white.

My father and I were never close. He would always keep us under strict rule. But a dad was a dad. You would not be able to have another one, and even if you do they would not be the same.

My hand felt like it was going to come off; my grip was loosening. This was not happening, I thought to myself. But reality was harder than that. He looked me in the eyes, and through the spray, I could see him give me a fleeting smile. It seemed to say, "Sometimes you have to let go to see if there was anything worth holding on to. Son, I am going to your mother; take care."

The waves swallowed him.

Guilt hit me in the gut. Was it really my fault? Did I murder my father? I could not answer those questions. I sat down, tears running down my cheeks. Tears were words the heart could not express.

But life must go on. I stuck my tongue out, ready to taste the first drop of rain after ten months...

***

It has been a few days that I had been at sea. My stomach was grumbling in frustration. Hunger and thirst were small complications for my living standards and I could tolerate it for a week without food. It had been raining hard the last couple of days and I got myself into a small fever. Survival was an uncertainty.

I closed my eyes an heard the splashing of waves; maybe that is how I would die: listening to the music of the sea. I pictured a flower in my head. My favourite flower blooming on the rosebush that I had planted in our yard a few years ago. "It's all said and done, it's real, and it's been fun." But my illusions blurred out and darkness took over. My mind faltered. I told myself, I am going home.

The blackness had been overcome by a tinge of light. Someone was stroking my forehead. I had felt this warm hand before. A hand I longed for years to touch me. My mum's hand. I forced my eyes to look up. Too bright to get a clear image, I could draw out my mum and dad. My mother looking down at me like a guardian angel with her ever long hair and then my father. Worry ran over his face, but a little smile appeared from somewhere underneath.

Pliny the Elder once said that 'a home is where the heart is'. Maybe I do not have a heart anymore but now I have both my parents and that is where my home is.

By Anishta Khan

   

 

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