Labour-II

This concept surpasses simple labour. It relates to the act of obliterating yourself.

I wrote this while observing and talking with Assamese migrant workers who build the fundamental foundations of our houses but lack none for themselves. Brick kiln workers The most striking feature was the fury of invisibility—how their backs bear the weight of industry, while their identities are examined, discounted, and denied.

The body's inscription, "ঘর্ নাই কাগজ কোয়ে"—functions as both a directive and a stipulation—that is, hold dirt, keep working. It shows their imprisonment in a survival cycle: expected to resist poverty, flood, and loss, while constantly working to build, brick by brick, chimney by chimney.

The tall chimneys in the distance serve as extensions of the labourer's spine at the front, not only as infrastructure. I purposefully combined the body with the factory to show how the worker—used, tired, and replaced—becomes an important part of the machine.

Most of these workers are migrants; some without legal papers, some from areas prone to floods, and others from shanties that fall every monsoon. Their battle is existential as much as financial. Their citizenship is also under question. What is there left to challenge when floods cover your farm and the state rejects recognition of your name on official records?

I used red and black to create a dramatic contrast: red symbolises blood, labour, and energy; black signifies suppression, neglect, and the abyss into which they are relegated.

This is an assertion, not a lamentation. Though the figure lacks eyes, I want the observer to feel under close examination by it. Though the state could reject them, they see us. They also remember.*