- #HGCREATORS
- #HGEXPLORE
- #HGVOICES
- #HGSHOP
- CAREERS
- ABOUT US
- CONTACT US
“We resist before we embrace anything that makes us uncomfortable,” says 25-year-old Pulkit Mogha, who hails from Uttar Pradesh and is currently based in Goa working as an urban policy researcher. We are talking about censorship, not of him as an architect (which he is by profession) but of the photography that he posts on social media platforms. It started off as a desire to capture a private moment of vulnerability, of his own, he says. He eventually realised that the photographs saw more purpose as a moment of activism when sensitively shared with an audience. “I use the alienation and connection I felt while confronting my caste, gender and body as my motivation to take photos that relate to a South Asian audience, especially because I felt that all we had to fuel our imagination of desire and the queer body came from the West,” he says. To put it very simply, Mogha photographs intimate moments between people – from the queer community, to those of all genders, orientations, races and body types.
Growing up in a town where the word ‘gay’ was used in everyday slang and a cuss word by bullies in school, Mogha was a shy, reserved child who knew to keep his sexual identity to himself. After finishing school and before joining University, he volunteered with an NGO on gender-based violence which helped him reconcile with experiences of gender roles, stereotypes, masculinity, body image, and more, growing up. It connected him with a group of like-minded people, a kind of community of acceptance that he never had access to before. “I got a job that let me visit and move into Delhi, built a love-hate relationship with the city, and started organising meetings through QueerCampus, which back then was one of the only safe spaces for young queer youth. For the first time in life I met people who were non-conforming, allies, and let me think out loud, that helped me grow comfortable in my own skin,” he adds.
“As young people looking for any avenues of support we naturally surround ourselves with people who understand us. However, the city is too big and mindsets are only slowly changing. Now with 377 out of the way there is hope that the LGBTQI find it more conducive to demand equal rights and make visible the struggles and dialogues that were limited to closed groups and urban elite circles before.”
Like most of us, Mogha grew up admiring the work of artists whose subjects comprised of flawless white bodies. They were showcased as works of art, of an ideal of beauty that got so ingrained in us that nothing else would match up, especially not our brown-skinned, freckled and scarred anatomy. “I didn’t realise that I was internally hating my own body unable to see it through the same lens. I always felt that the bodies, subcultures and narratives of men from India were underrepresented in the global queer discourse, so it quickly became about appreciating our bodies and seeing them from the same lens of appreciation as we do the mainstream.”
It’s easy to understand where Mogha is coming from. We are in an age when what is ‘mainstream’ is finally being challenged by countless voices around the world, and while a shift is taking place, it still seems to be a slow one in India. Culture, traditions and art come to clash, more so when we talk about the naked human form, whether sexualised or not. A double standard exists when we consider the amount of skin we show (or make women show) in our Bollywood blockbusters, with sex scenes and kissing becoming almost common practice. It is good that we are normalising expressions of love on screen, but a reflection of the same is still not taking place in everyday lives and mindsets – especially in the name of same-sex love.
Silencing and censorship flag the work of artists across the board, and Mogha too faced the same. His current Instagram account is his third attempt at navigating the social media platform policies to find the cracks and ‘let slip’ his work. “It frustrates me more to see the very same amount of nudity in content celebrated as art on social media when these bodies are pale, muscular or belong to sexualized airbrushed women, while my photos continue being reported and taken down from Instagram as being too explicit or pornographic. But it’s a learning curve to find loopholes in the system and make my photos seen, which isn’t a foreign idea to most of us queer Indians, as most of our struggles in our physical lives are much the same, of finding loopholes in the system to be ourselves,” he says.
“I don’t think it is fear as much as it is the need to curb anything that breaks the norm. We resist before we embrace anything that makes us uncomfortable. It is all about pushing those boundaries to be inclusive and tolerant. My intentions have never been to provoke but to push those limits of understanding what is beauty, what bodies should be like, what is normal.” His work is clearly hitting home with the kind of responses and appreciation he has gotten. He tells me that his use of Instagram goes beyond its purpose as a visual medium. Mogha has received support not just from friends but from queer men from around the world, especially those from the Indian subcontinent “who resonate with these narratives and experiences and see the account as a medium to anonymously pitch in to a conversation they won’t engage in on public forums because of fear and stigma. They are silent supporters who appreciate that someone out there expresses what they wish they could too.”
But it’s not always easy and when you’re challenging a mindset, tradition and thought; something like the rigid notions of masculinity, sexuality and love there is always a backlash as well. Mogha has also experienced hostility online, to even being assaulted physically, an experience that left him shaken, as it would anyone but he hasn’t let that deter his creations. “I took that as a learning lesson and moved on, I wouldn’t want that to be highlighted as I didn’t need to be victimised to do what I do,” he says.
Mogha is uncomfortable with being labelled an ‘Instagram artist’ as the work he does is, in fact, the very opposite. “I take photos that are extremely private; no one in their right mind would call them fit for social media. But sharing these moments online, of vulnerabilities, or these bodies and aesthetics, trigger the biases we hold for some very private but intrinsic parts of ourselves, and that is important. When I visibilize, in small ways, I push limits. Sharing something very personal becomes a resistance of hegemonic ways.”
Going through his body of work, there are feelings of vulnerability and intimacy that seep through each of his photographs. It’s like you’re given a window into a private moment, beautifully captured and you feel like a part of it. Mogha explains that his work is a personal take on identity and estrangement. “I believe I contribute to the art of the first person, and take photos of vulnerabilities I relate to, in the hope of understanding them: photos of same-sex intimacies (like his acclaimed photo essay on cruising), of ostracised communities (poz, an on-going photo essay), of a softer masculinity muted under toxic hegemonic machismo (holding hands, an on-going photo essay).”
He works on multiple projects simultaneously which were initially limited to capturing people that he personally knew who trusted him with themselves, but he says that over time it has grown to include people of all sexualities and genders approaching him for photographs taken in confidence. “I like to explore and document queer subcultures. I have always been fascinated by cruising for example, so I took up to gay cruising in alleyways and parks around trans-Yamuna Delhi and made a photo essay around it. I had an HIV positive partner which led me to explore the desires and vulnerabilities of other couples and individuals. My own experiences informed ideas on what I wanted to capture,” says Mogha.
He plans to grow, beyond Instagram, expand on his photography with better equipment, try different mediums continuing on the same trajectory of exploring new and old subcultures as a photojournalist documenting the culture of the time. “Frankly I just see this as a kink, and it works because it comes from a place of passion...I also see this side to me as an alter ego because one side of my life exists completely dismembered from the other, where I have my work designing buildings and pursuing my interests in people, technology and urbanism; and a family that loves me for what I share with them.”
You can follow Pulkit Mogha and see more of his work on Instagram.
If you liked this article we suggest you read:
