Through the lens of Sureash Cholai – seeing the bigger picture

It might have been on one of our many assignments together that Sureash Cholai, a man of notoriously few words, told me to always have a backup plan.

I didn't understand the reason for the advice but I always thought highly of anything he had to say.

I began working with Newsday in July 2015 while on vacation from my marine biology degree at the UWI.

Sureash, like so many other staff from that generation of the Newsday, was always willing and accessible to offer advice on the profession and what could be done to make me a better reporter. But on this occasion, sitting in his old grey Mitsubishi Libero, the one with the peeling paint that he always promised to sell one day, the conversation drifted away from photos and interviews. It was here he urged me to always be prepared for the future and never settle for less than what my value was.

"You're a young man Shane, you have your whole life ahead of you. Make sure and get as much out of it as possible."

The advice was unexpected by appreciated.

I thought of it a few times since he offered it, but even more now that he is gone.

We spent a lot of time in that car going to and from assignments, following up on murders and just out on the hunt for pictures. We got to know each other much better.

A native of Princes Town, Sureash began his career not in photography but in electronic repairs.

He told me long before the internet age of online classes, he took part in a "mail-order" electronic repair course where he became certified in basic maintenance.

From this, his passion grew to photography where he began work with some the island's most popular publications at the time, the Trinidad and Tobago Mirror and the Sunday Punch – the latter always drawing chuckles from some of our older co-workers.

More than talking about his past media experiences, each of Sureash's stories had the same colour and excitement you would expect from any of his photos.

He broke down in vivid detail, the laid-back, relaxed atmosphere of a Mayaro beach house vacation with his family, down to the sizzle of duck currying in the pot and the chill of drinks in the cooler. He described the raucous atmosphere of a San Fernando bar in the 80s where he knocked glasses and joked alongside his close media colleagues and a man who would later become a president of TT. He shared the ominous dread he felt the night of July 27, 1990, seeing Yasin Abu Bakr announce that TT's then government was overthrown. Each story containing a sliver of advice, from how you shouldn't mix drinks, to finding the right balance between work and family life, Sureash's sage advice was always welcome and appreciated.

It was the longest journeys I appreciated the most.

On one occasion in 2018 we were assigned to cover damage done to the abandoned Macqueripe Tracking Station in the aftermath of a strong earthquake earlier that year. To access this station we had to walk through the Bamboo Cathedral all the way to the top. After an hour and a half and several breaks for water, we eventually reached our destination at the peak. Making use of natural light and tweaking images to make sure they "pop", Sureash worked magic and his Nikon was his wand.

But his job went so much further than pressing a button to make a pretty picture. If seeing was believing, Sureash left little room for doubt as his images, clear and candid offered a glance at the realities around us.

His eye for photography was so good, that whether it was an upscale cocktail reception for the business elite or a single mother of four in urgent need of assistance, Sureash took you there and he made sure that you saw what he saw. Early in my media career I tried my hand at amateur photography with a Nikon Coolpix.

Sureash, while examining a few of my photos, once pointed to the lack of clarity and focus in a few, showing me how to adjust the lens to get the best quality image – how to see the bigger picture.

Sureash Cholai, I'm sure you will be remembered for making sure we all saw more than what was on the surface of a photo, and for that, there is no tribute long enough to capture that gift. Rest in eternal peace my friend.