A Beautiful Family of Owlets by Nu Yai Sing Marma
Last year, early one morning, my friends and I went to Rajshahi University to take bird photos, as many birds live there. A friend mentioned he had seen a Spotted Owlet in the campus jungle a few days earlier. We followed his path into the jungle. At first, we spotted one owlet, then two more—making three in total. Finding all three together was a stroke of luck, and I quickly took photos.
Nu Yai Sing Marma
Nu Yai Sing Marma is known as a tribal girl and a devoted photographer. A passion for photography was discovered during her university years, when it was felt that her hobby should be pursued seriously. Lifestyle, nature, and documentary photography are chosen as her main genres. Through her work, the culture and lifestyle of Bangladesh are portrayed, with special focus given to tribal communities. Many untold stories are captured and expressed through her lens. Each photograph is created to narrate a story, allowing traditions to be preserved and the diverse essence of her homeland to be shared with the world.
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They waited in the damp, quiet morning of Rajshahi, listening for the forest’s secrets. It’s rare to find such stillness in a frame. These three owlets, huddled together, seem to hold the very breath of the jungle. I feel a sudden, sharp ache of nostalgia looking at them; it’s the feeling of being small in a vast, wild world. The light is soft, patient, and kind. They didn’t rush, and the land rewarded them.
Three owlets huddled together is a charming sight, but I’m left wondering about the cost of this proximity. Spotted owlets are notoriously skittish; finding them in a campus jungle usually requires hours of silent, motionless waiting. Did you earn this shot, or was it simply extracted through a hurried approach? It’s a lovely composition, but I’d feel much better knowing you didn’t crowd these birds just to secure a quick frame.
Three owlets huddled in a Rajshahi thicket. It’s a charming scene, but I’m left wondering about the cost of this proximity. Did the intrusion of three photographers disrupt their morning? We often prioritize the capture over the creature’s autonomy. The technical precision is undeniable, yet I feel a prickle of discomfort regarding our obsession with documenting wild spaces. Why must we possess every quiet moment? Is our need for the perfect frame worth their agitation?