2010, from Autobiography, in my iPad application Horvatland.
One of my first photo stories in Lahore was about Hira Mandi, the dancers’ and prostitutes’ quarter. Predictably, it became a bestseller. I often hung around there, if only because it was the only place where women were not in purdah and would look me in the eyes, although they turned away as soon as they saw my camera. One night, I found them having a party in honour of some local beauty queen, wearing all their jewellery and for once not too reluctant to be photographed. But the light of the petrol lamps was too poor to show their dances. I hailed a tonga to go and fetch the electronic flash, which weighed ten kilos and which I had dragged with me everywhere on this trip, avoiding to use it (because Cartier-Bresson recommended working with available light) but keeping it charged all the same, just in case. It took an hour, but when I got back the party was still on and the women (and their bodyguards) didn’t make too much fuss about my flashes. I owe the close-up of the little prostitute, who must have been twelve years old or thereabouts, to this breaking of my master’s rules. It appeared on the cover of several magazines, and I wonder if she ever saw one of them.
1952, Lahore, Pakistan, Heera Mandi (the red light area) a young dancer (c)
