Capturing the Dance of Light, Shadows and Colors

“Sam, I want you to take this camera. It is your responsibility to take care of it and make sure you click as many pictures as you can.”

I was scared as my friend, Jamal gave me his camera. It was expensive, it was DIGITAL! I had never held a digital camera in my life before this. Most importantly, I had to click images of the wedding ceremony of someone who happened to be his sister (I consider her as my sister, too. We call her ‘D’). I could easily miss an important moment. The infamy for being absent-minded and the habit of getting lost in my own world was not at all helpful. What if I screwed something up? What if somebody got offended when I clicked him/her? I had no time to think. I got even more nervous when I could hardly figure how to turn the camera on. Jamal gave me a brief tutorial about the various functions in the camera, continuously reminding after every sentence that I must keep it on ‘Auto’ mode at all times.

Me: I need practice, not your 5 minute tutorial!

Jamal: You can do it. Just remember the basics, and…

Me: … And always keep the dial on Auto, I know it. Be with me for some time please, at least let me know how I click.

Jamal: Would you like to do some videography? I have a video camera, too.

Jamal won. I was intimidated. And like I was told, I went around clicking faces and moments, taking great care about the mode I had kept the camera on. By the time all the ceremonies were over:

1. I had clicked a total of 578 photos:

Yes, I remember how many pictures I had captured. Of course, some images were overexposed, some underexposed, some were blurred, some were plain unflattering. But that is the point of clicking so many photos – with each click, I learned something new. There are few things as fascinating as a bride’s smile, and I was not only in the best position to watch her smile, I was gleefully capturing it, as well.

2. Everyone knew me:

The good thing about Indian weddings is that people love getting their photos clicked. The camera was a fantastic medium for introducing me to new people. And the best part about meeting them was that I had seen everyone smile (people seldom make bad faces at something as fine as a camera).

3. I turned into a better photographer:

Contrary to what I had thought before the “assignment”, photography was not just about “taking photos.” I was capturing memories – memories people, myself included, would cherish for a long time. I was capturing expressions – the happiness, the celebratory mood that I got a chance to be a part of. But most importantly, I began to view the world differently. Getting behind the camera changed me forever, and I enjoyed it!

I am thankful to Jamal for introducing me to his friend, the camera. It is my friend too, now. It gets along well with me, and continues to teach me something new each time I interact with it. I literally view God’s wonderful creations with its eyes and marvel at them. I have more knowledge about the visual aspects of nature, the intricacies of  small things, and the beauty of the grand design. As I walk in the bylanes of South Bombay, I feel empty streets speaking to me. I love photography because it gives me courage to say the things in my heart that I probably wouldn’t otherwise say out loud.

I capture. I express. I learn.

“Imprisoned Love”

“A Long Wait”

“Bruised Memories”

“Tree Silhouette”

“Repentance for Majesty”

“Her Love For The Wind…”

“A Little Quarrel” 

“Walking with The Mist”

Check out how I see the world: http://instagram.com/lumographer07

The Promenade of Hope

Marine Drive – what are we reminded of when we think of this place? The sea, the breeze, the sunsets, and the lovers (and their antics, too). True, this place is popular for all this, no doubt about that. A lot of people come here just to have an eyeful of the romance they find people indulging in. Perhaps, it is entertaining or just plain too arousing (I am sure people who have witnessed some serious PDA know what I mean). Yet, every few yards one can find someone sitting alone, most likely from a recent heartbreak, sometimes with that empty look on their face, sometimes with tears in their eyes, but always quiet and isolated from their surroundings.

Foursquare Check-in: Marine Drive.

Comment: “Two reasons I come here – when I am alone, when I want to be alone. Reason 2 this time”

Of course, I didn’t mean it. There were others reasons why I would come to this beautiful place. For me, this promenade has mostly served the purpose of connecting with myself. Perhaps, it is the only place in this entire world where I don’t have to stress on NOT thinking, concentrating instead on the sound of the waves and noticing each change in the notes of this wonderful music of nature. There have been times when I would engage in a conversation with the sea for hours, to the extent of considering it as one of my most honest friends. For hours, I would just ‘talk’ to it. However, whenever I was with someone (Yes, I have performed my own set of antics here, as well, minus the PDA!) this sea would keep listening to me, choosing to answer only when I diverted my attention to it.

I found it extremely futile to understand the exact reason of not only commenting on my check-in like that, but also the check-in itself. To top it all, I shared it on Twitter, too. I knew I had just broken up with my girl-friend, I knew it was painful, I knew I needed to be alone for a while to convince myself that things would be okay if I wished they were. But what prompted me to post such a comment still couldn’t be figured out. It was like Math. I sat there facing the setting sun, with tears in my eyes, quiet (Right, I was isolated, too, just like I previously mentioned – why would I waste almost a paragraph on it, if I didn’t feel it myself?) Staring at the sea but choosing not to converse this time, I wept slowly, making sure my sobs did not escape. It was difficult, but even more difficult was trying to accept the fact that I had just broken up. It was like breaking a house I had painstakingly built, brick after brick, for 4 years. I recalled making a sand castle at Chowpatty (not too far from where I was) when I was a child. I remembered sitting there and staring at my ‘achievement’ for a long time, even as my playmates frolicked in seawater. I must have sobbed the same way when I had to leave it back there in the evening.

The waves crashed the tetrapods harder, as if urging me to speak and relieve my heart of the heaviness it felt. I gazed at them with the same vacant expression I had since I spoke to her on the phone a few hours back. I had come to the Hutatma Chowk, one of my favorite places in the entire city – partly because I loved taking walks here and partly because of the famous large open second-hand books library near Flora Fountain. I have always loved the books over there, though not as much for reading as for the large piles they were neatly organized in. I found being surrounded by these piles immensely fascinating.

I went to one of the book-sellers and asked if he had old National Geographics. Nodding enthusiastically, he guided me inside through the maze of papered knowledge, pointing at a pile of yellow-bordered magazines as high as I stood. The other piles behind it were even larger, and many such piles acted like walls of the ‘room’ I was in. I expected myself to smile at this lovely sight as I often did, but I did not. I could not. I crouched and pretended to carefully examine the spine of each book, as if looking for a specific issue. As I saw the book-seller leaving, I wiped the trails tears had left as they trickled down. I felt it was better to get inside an open book shop and weep, rather than walking on the road and doing the same. Perhaps I was being too much of a ‘cry baby’, but I knew that it was all I could do. It was hard to believe that minutes earlier, I was absolutely happy, with everything to look forward to… Because minutes earlier, I had someone I was sure to spend my life with, though a bit scared because there was a marriage proposal for her, which her family had approved and the guy’s family were highly likely to follow suit. Minutes earlier, I had someone who would rejuvenate my hope when it faltered because I knew that with her by my side, I would never lose.

But I lost. The very rejuvenator of my hopes had to extinguish them by saying that the nuptial was approved and that she couldn’t do anything about it. She said she loved me but could not go against her family. I was still proud of her, because she chose to obey her parents over me. Not for a moment did I feel betrayed. Instead, I felt that she was being as honest to me as she had been in the past 4 years. But yes, I was extremely sad. I listened patiently to all that she said, by the end of which I had reached Flora Fountain from CST station. I hadn’t spoken a word and, worried, she asked if I was alright.

“I am going to the Marine Drive.”

“Why?”

“I want to be alone for a while.”

“Okay. Please take care, and call me when you can.”

The waves still tried to coax me to speak, but everything I experienced since she had called me was playing in an endless loop in my mind. The sea roared louder, attempting to distract me. “Why did this happen?!” I exclaimed slightly louder than I did in the course of the day. Half an hour later, my phone vibrated for the third time. It wasn’t her as I had expected, but another girl, an ex-colleague who replied to my check-in on Twitter.

“Why alone on Marine Drive? Where is your girl friend?”

“I don’t have a girl friend anymore.”

“:O Ohho! #Facepalm”

She then messaged me privately to ask for my phone number. I replied back with my number at once. I got a missed call, and I politely messaged that I had no balance. She then called me and asked me about what happened, and I answered. I went walking all the way back to CST, talking to her. Apart from asking about me, she also spoke a lot about herself – How she was, her own break-up and how she had to deal with it, how she believes in the Zodiac, her love for the clouds and how she thought they conversed with her. By the time I got the train, I realized how better she made me feel just by talking to me. I was still sad about my break-up, but not as sad as I had been at the Marine Drive.

I still go to this promenade, but never alone. The sea still talks to me, sometimes making me close my eyes so I can concentrate on what it says. This happens when the person in my company talks to the clouds because she loves them. But she loves nothing else the way she loves me. This person is the same girl from Twitter. She gave my life a new meaning, teaching me how to feel free to express without inhibition. It is not that I didn’t know how to express, but she perfected and polished my expressions by helping me remove each spec of fakeness from within me. She completed me.

Whenever I come here, I remember my state on that day, and I wonder what made me check-in at Foursquare and share the same on Twitter. Perhaps it was in this manner I was destined to meet my cloud-lover, at least in theory. But whatever it is, I am happy. And in the end, that is all that matters.

Alina

How does a teenager feel going to his/her native place after 13 years? Most would not remember anything from their past (of course, they would have been too young then). But being gifted with a good memory, I remembered little details about my childhood in Kanpur – like being hit in the face by a plastic cricket ball while sitting on sky blue pillows near the store room window, the pane of which was wooden and spiky at places, enough to drive a three-year-old to use a blade to slice the protrusions. At four, I was too young to interpret the problems a family faces when it shifts from a place like Kanpur to a place like Mumbai, that too without money. Deep in hardships, my parents made sure my sister and I got the best possible education, food and shelter. As time passed, the situation turned better and better and 13 years later, I was able enough to take my entire family back for a visit (I worked while I was still studying).

My entire khandan waited there for us when we reached, and in the moments that followed, there were hugs and tears of joy. I looked in awe, the number of people I was related to, some that I never even heard about. In one corner of the house, a little girl stood and kept looking at me. Not glancing in her direction purposefully, I could feel her gaze not moving elsewhere. I made eye contact and went to her and asked her name. She smiled, revealing her rodent-esque front teeth. The size of her eyes decreased and her petite nose wrinkled at the sides. The next second, she hid her face behind the curtain along her side and whispered “Alina.”

“How old are you, Alina?”
(No answer)

“Will you not answer?”
(No answer)

“Well, do you know who I am?”
(A slight nod behind the curtain)

“Looks like you don’t want to talk to me?”

I left the conversation, hoping I didn’t scare her or that she was just shy. For 2 more days, she would just stare at me, smile and do nothing else. On the third day, she sang “Agar tum mil jao, zamana chhod denge hum…” (If I have you, I will leave the world) for me in front of everyone. Her voice was sweet and the diction was remarkable for a 4 year old child. While all laughed at her hand movements that accompanied her singing, I was astounded. No one realized what she was singing, except me. I was red-faced. A girl, 12 years younger to me, was singing a love song for ME! After the song was completed, she came to me and kissed my hand. “She has shock value”, I said to myself.

At the end of the week, we had to leave, and when the day came, her smile diminished. While I was about to leave for Mumbai, I went to her room and found her hiding her face from me again. Perhaps, she had heard me entering the room. I lifted the blanket from her face, with her little hand resisting my force in vain. She had been crying for hours over this little separation that was about to occur. I wiped her tears and her swollen eyes looked at me, crying even more, but making no sound. I kissed her forehead and wrapped my arms around her to embrace her. No longer able to contain the sobs trying to escape her little mouth, she cried her heart out.

“Please don’t go!”

“I have to, my dear. You know that your brother studies, right?”

“When will you be back?”

“Very soon, I promise! But you don’t cry, or my promise will be broken.”

She stopped crying immediately. I left with my family for Mumbai and talked to my mother about how popular I was amongst cousins, to which she simply replied by saying that it was so because I was the eldest of the brothers.

She is eleven now, and her parents have brought her to Mumbai for the treatment of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a type of cancer. I met her thrice in a span of one week, and the third time, she could barely move due to weakness from her chemotherapy session. She waited for me the entire day, despite knowing that I leave from my office in the evening. No sooner she saw me, than she stood and gave me a tight hug. She is much taller now, and her head reaches my chest, on which she rested it as if it was the world’s most comfortable pillow. I asked her to sit or lie down, but she wouldn’t let go for another 5 minutes. I helped her stand, her legs too weak to do the job. On the side of her neck was a recent biopsy wound, about the length of my index finger. The area around it was still red, which prompted me to ask whether it was hurting. She shook her head and complained only of the smell of the medicines she was prescribed. I sat her on the bed and caressed her cheeks. She asked if she could borrow my phone to play Angry Birds. I readily gave it to her, but she returned it seconds later. Upon being asked the reason, she said that she wanted to talk to me. We had a long chat about everything from her education to my love life. Her keenness was astounding! As I was leaving, she kissed my cheek and said that I was the world’s best brother. Not many times do I find tears so difficult to hold back in my eyes. I took out my handkerchief and pretended to wipe sweat from my face.
It was me who was hiding face now…

I remember…

I remember when I first met you – I didn’t know you will be so close to me one day.

I remember when I came to your college to meet you – Never were you so surprised. You literally didn’t believe it was me.

I remember the way your friends looked at me – perhaps they wanted to gauge whether I was capable of having the privilege of being friends with one of the nicest persons I knew.

I remember when your college watchman asked us to leave – we had been sitting for hours and talking. We laughed so hard as we were walking out.

I remember when we first went on a date – you felt so free to roam around on your own for the first time.

I remember when I first asked you to hug – I was nervous, but you welcomed me in your arms.

I remember when you first looked into my eyes – you looked in them and touched my heart.

I remember when I broke up with my girlfriend and I felt like crying – you hugged me tightly and said everything would be alright. It was so assuring.

I remember when you first clasped my hand and walked with me – I knew I would never be alone.

I remember when we enjoyed rain together for the first time and walked barefoot at the Marine Drive, holding hands – people around us smiled and must have felt that we were in love.

I remember when we first celebrated our birthday – we wondered how many friends would have birthdays on the same day and you hugged me, saying “None as close as we are!” It was our lives’ most special birthday.

I remember when I first asked to you whether you were in love with me – you said you loved me ever since you knew me.

I remember when I once sang for you by the seaside – and you gave me a peck without realizing where we were.

I remember how tears trickled down your dainty cheeks – you were afraid to lose me. I hugged you and we cried together.

I remember how much people were against our relationship – but we convinced everyone with our love.

Everyone… Except those who meant to you more than even myself – your parents. We gave in because we couldn’t hurt them. We lost.

I hope I don’t remember all this throughout my life, because while these memories are a constant source of my happiness, they do give pain too. I know that none of what I remember will be repeated.

I experienced no other loss as big as this one – I felt I would die. But you kept me alive, asking me to promise that I will try to live my life as well and happily as I can. I strive hard to do that, because I would never want to let you down. I never can. Life will never be the same, but I can at least hope to not lose you. And why would I? We are still friends…

No, we are Best Friends!

Of Blinking Green Lights and Man-eating Hyenas…

Ask any Mumbaikar about his/her most preferred place to sleep, ‘Home’ will be the natural reply from almost everyone. Ask about the second most preferred place, and a large chunk would say ‘In the train’, if they get a place to rest their bums, that is. For those who don’t get a seat, a multimedia cellphone and a pair of headphones are their ultimate company. I travel a lot by Mumbai’s locals, and often go through the entire journey standing. That night, since it was a Sunday, I was seated between two women (Gents compartments are usually Ladies compartments on weekends). The lady on the right had leaned all the way to the middle of the window and looked outside at every single object capable of emitting or reflecting light. The one to my left was playing with a toddler in her arms. I could see that the child was capable of walking – dirty soles of his tiny little shoes, that had possibly stepped on everything from “normal” soil to dog poo, were periodically imprinting the material on my T-shirt. There was no way I could prevent this except by standing up, which was a tough bargain. I decide to recollect the happenings of the day to distract my mind.

Earlier in the day, 9:08 pm to be precise, I was along with my pals after a long time, gleefully enjoying the time conversing with them, hanging out at a place where we used to hang out frequently as teenagers. One of them, Jamal, is married for around 2 years now and will be a father in a month’s time. He discussed about his future plans after his wife’s delivery and all the stuff. It was slightly strange to hear all this from him, but we still enjoyed. Time flew and it was only by 10:30 pm that I realised that I lived in Ambernath and had to rush to the station. Just as I was about to leave, Jamal popped up a question about Android’s latest update, the Ice Cream Sandwich. Knowing that I was slightly techie, he knew he could stretch the conversation at will. He did. It was only when he wanted to pee that he let me leave.

I was slightly tired and like many times, wanted to be teleported home. At the station, I crossed lazily to platform 1 using the foot-over bridge. A large crowd that was coming from the opposite direction, welcomed me. I walked along the side, watching the train, from which this flock of wild animals had alighted, leave. Battling my way through the commotion, I reached the lower limit of the staircase and looked at the digital clock at platform 1 (11:07:10), then at the one on platform 2 (11:06:36). I knew it was foolish to check timings on clocks provided by the Indian Railways, but my laziness just doesn’t let me remember it. I took out my phone, it showed 11:07 pm. “Yay! My platform won!”, I thought. This was foolish, too. It also meant that it was MY TRAIN that had left and I was a minute late in catching it. The empty platform corroborated my contemplation. I prayed it was some other train, but it wasn’t. After an excruciating 20-minute wait, a Karjat train arrived and I easily got a seat before it reached next station, though I sat between two women, one of whom had a child with soiled shoes.

I woke up with a start to find that there were a very few passengers and the ladies had gone. And my t-shirt was dirtier. The train was moving very fast, actually faster than any other time I travelled on this route. I looked outside and it was completely dark. “Oh my God!”, I thought, “Is it true? Did I…” Quickly taking out my phone out of the pocket, I checked for any CST-bound trains from Badlapur, using a local train time-table application. Yes, I slept through Ambernath and worse was the fact that there were no trains till 3:05 am from Badlapur. Trying my best to not look dumb to my co-passengers, I approached the gate and stood till I reached Badlapur.

“Dad, I slept through Ambernath and reached Badlapur. There are no trains before 3 o’ clock.”

“Then catch an auto rickshaw.”

“I can’t, as I don’t have enough money. Can you bring your bike and take me home?”

“No bike today, given it for servicing.”

“Okay. See you in the morning, then.”

“Oh no! Take care, son.”

I scanned through the railway charts for any long-distance passenger train halting at Badlapur. Finding none, I sat on a bench. A train going to Shirdi halted and the very few people who were at the platform started to board it. An old lady was getting in when the train started leaving. In panic, she lost footing and holding on to the poles at the door, she was being dragged along the edge of the platform. She didn’t let go, or would have slipped under the train through the gap between the train and the platform. Me and two other men pulled her away and yelled at her for her stupidity. She got up and again started running behind the train. Suddenly, everyone screamed again and it was learnt that a guy in the train had fallen after he attempted to pull the same lady inside. The train halted again and everyone started to converge at a point on the platform. I was sure that someone was killed and knowing that I had to spend a lonely night at the platform, I didn’t follow the people and sat on the same bench, instead.

It was past 1 o’ clock now and I had to cross over to the other platform where the first local train of the day was to arrive. Now, there was a dead body, blood and gore scattered on the tracks, so I wasn’t crossing the tracks at any cost. I took the foot-over bridge and reached the other platform, trying not to look at the spot where the good fellow died, but I was still curious. So I moved my head sideways to catch a glimpse of perhaps a severed leg or arm. Fortunately, there was none, neither was any blood or gore. No one had died. The night suddenly turned more comfortable.

I was hungry, but had enough money to only travel from Ambernath station to home. Also, all the eateries at the station had closed by then. I scanned the other platforms and then the one I was sitting on. My eyes fell on two green neon signboards. I advanced towards them. “Deputy Station Manager”, “Station Manager”. A man came out of the first cabin holding a torch with a green blinking light and pointed it towards an approaching train. The same blinking happened from one of the compartments at the beginning of the train, and again at the end. Mr. Deputy Station Master did this whenever a long distance train passed. “Wow! He earns by pointing a torch the whole night!” He was entertaining me big time, or at least I thought so – I had to pass my time somehow. Afterall, Tata Docomo doesn’t offer free internet if the total core balance is 15 paise! By 2 o’ clock, three more people were sitting with me and waiting for the train, except they had already slept.

“Hi, at what time is the first train?”

“3:05 am.”

“Any passenger train before that?”

“There’s one at 2:38 am, but it usually arrives by 4.”

“See, I just need to go to the next station. Is there any overhead equipment repairing engine which could drop me?”

The guy shook his head and looked at the footprints on my t-shirt. I went back to sit at my place where mosquitoes had just began to miss my alcohol-free blood (All three people were badly drunk). It was quite cold by now and I took out my handkerchief and made into a bandana that covered my ears.

It was getting extremely boring now. Mr. Deputy Station Master was now busy chatting with a GRP constable and had stopped his torch-pointing. There weren’t any trains passing, as well. The only audible sounds were dogs barking in the deserted street outside the station. I wondered how it would have been had that lady slipped through the gap, or that guy got killed. Would have I spent such a boring night with such ease? “No! I would have walked home, in that case!”, I thought and smirked. But I was glad I didn’t have to go on foot, perhaps the dogs would have turned into hyenas and hunted me, had I done that. A sudden jolt surprised me, rather pissed me off, as I don’t like interruptions while I am imagining. I wanted those hyenas to consume the body to which the hand, that rest on my shoulder, was attached. I turned to see what would the creatures feed on. It was the green-blinking-light man. Looking at his slightly squinting eyes behind an old pair of spectacles and a muffler wrapped around his head, I felt like a sinner. I couldn’t do this! Hyenas don’t consume good men, especially those who blink green lights at trains. “This train will halt at Ambernath. You are lucky it arrived early today”, he said. Looking in the direction where he pointed, I saw a train and it wasn’t passing, it was waiting for me! The feeling was soothing, like a survivor straight out of a Discovery Channel show. I boarded the train and looked at my phone. It was exactly 3:00 am, only 5 minutes before the first local train, but that meant I could sleep for 5 more minutes in the morning (which is a lot, if you are an office-goer).

Inside, people returning from Shirdi stared at me blankly, but I didn’t care at all. I recalled my entire experience – witnessing two near-deaths, sitting at spooky platforms, imagining barking dogs converting into hyenas and killing a man with the world’s best job, leaving drunk men who were still sleeping at Badlapur and of course, the happiness of seeing a train that saved 5 minutes of my sleep. “Ah! Home, here I come!”