This vintage camera was his most prized possession. He hid it from everybody, even his wife.
It was their 28th anniversary and there was a present at his desk.
The note alongside the present read –
“If only you’d let me know what it was that you protected so fiercely, these 28 years would’ve been a beautiful celebration of our marriage! If only.”
Tears ran down his regret laden face as he sank into his chair.
It was his camera, tagged with another note – “8th Jan 1971 - the day you left for Bombay.”
It’d been HER gift after all!
He looked at his hand with dismay. The doctor had tried his best but could not re-attach his severed fingers. His sniper sharp abilities would suffer and his career as a sharp shooter would plummet to unseen depths.
A bird’s chirping awakened something inside him. He picked his equipment and headed towards the terrace. Locating the bird, he settled down in his sniper position and took aim. Patiently he waited for the right moment and took a single shot.
Reviewing his work on the SLR screen filled him with pride. His lost fingers wouldn’t hamper his photography career.
It was love at first sight. I took her home and wrapped my knotty fingers around her curvy body. She made me look at the world with a new perspective and soon became my indispensable partner. Together we explored the beautiful world.
And suddenly one day I gave in to temptation and took the forbidden path. I turned into a voyeur. She protested, but I ignored her. Until one day she turned against me and made me look at myself. I realized who I am.
He captured frames
Submitted to OFS
And silently read
The people's perspective
On his shots
To himself, secretively
When he reads
A hundred perspective
On his shots
He smiles to himself
With every story he reads
Only to realize
That people were writing
Writing on him
I picked up a second-hand camera.
After clicking few pictures with it I noticed a man in the background of each shot. Somehow, a mysterious figure in black appeared in all the photos. I zoomed into it and finally saw the man’s face. I was flabbergasted.
I immediately called the seller; he said that he used it for his research for an experiment to capture the soul escaping from someone who just died.
With trembling hands, I asked the name of the person he experimented on?
He said rather loudly. “Wake up”
I woke up. Panting. In my bed.
It was his first exhibition. Visitors were very much impressed by his photography.
'Your photographs look like the work of paint. Poetry by a very sensitive poet' exclaimed a visitor to him.
'Please don't compare my work with that of a painter or a poet. A painter uses his brush and colour to enhance the beauty or ugliness as he imagine. Poet uses words of his choice to do the same thing.'
‘My photographs depicts the real beauty or ugliness as it exists around us. I live in a real world and not in an imaginary one.'
Nicky’s passion has been photography for a while. And it’s quite a surprise for a blind girl to be so good at it.
When I received this today morning, I thought somebody played a cruel joke. A Lens to me? The last I saw the world was exactly a year back. I felt a chill down my spine switching between "I was" to "I am" in the blink of an eye. I picked it up, went to the mirror, and pressed something in haste.
“Shut and open” came the voices, piercing through the silence.
I pressed again like a rebel with nothing to fight for. The symphony was beautiful.
I reminded myself, a door opening always sounds better than a door closing.
"Hey, fella, what's your backup plan?” chided his childhood buddy, whilst he was busy adjusting his camera lens.
He faced a severe backlash, right from the start, the moment he considered taking up his hobby as a full fledged profession. Physics is one subject he loved in college, no matter his utter disregard for others.
Times changed, he did photo shoots for weddings. He had a regular job now, although something was missing. Stories based on a frame, he read it in a daily. He lent some of his shots for the initiative, thus "One Frame stories" was born.
People say I have a special eye. Eye to suss out the beauty of life. Well, that be but people are so slighting. What I photograph is not exhibiting the worldly beauty of life. Photographs are expressions. Expressions beyond what I cherished or lacked in life. Photography is a way of living and reliving moments, of telling stories. Photography is encapsulating infinite depth of inner world. It is beyond narrow province of happiness and sadness; it’s soulfulness. But I vaguely jumble up my photographs; I don’t want anyone to know me unreservedly. Why should you?
He always said camera was his 1st love. I argue with him for that. Married for 20 years and nothing has changed except that he is not here anymore. But, I could still hear him talk about his camera, his 1st love.
The old photograph had turned yellow on the edges. It was fading away. Just like the memories of Eddie. Fate cut short the beautiful life of my boy. But I will not sleep in peace till I get justice. I will also not let the culprits sleep in peace. How dare they just hit my boy and get away with it? They killed not one, but three people. Eddie’s mother hasn’t spoken since she heard about him. My purpose of life was decided when I lost them both to different worlds. Bereavement. Soon, they will know how it feels.
“ His Soul is back with the camera to click pictures” nervous Mitlesh managed to say while gasping
“So harbinger of misery in our life has finally appeared” said Arun while rubbing his chin
“What are you saying?” almost cried Vishti
“What happened was not our fault however Our whole group is paying for it, this is not fair ” angrily added Mitlesh
“ Fair, Do we really want to discuss fair” Vishti stuttered
“We should not have posted his naked pictures on Facebook and He would have not committed suicide” Arun reminded everyone
Now We have to pay!
The white spiralled building of the Academy was quiet today. Classrooms and halls alike shrieked of emptiness. Only the library hosted couple of students still working on their final papers. Books were flying around with a muffed zoom.
The librarian went to Mira to see if she needs help.
How is the selfie thesis going on?
“Good, but I still don’t understand why people used to do this.”
“Look inside you!” said the librarian, walking away with a smile.
He was the keeper of the Earth 3.0 secret.
He was the first selfie coming alive in this universe.
A withered kid aches for her mother’s hand and flower smiles while butterfly sucking its nectar.
Silvery moon romancing with hazy clouds and fluttering birds kissing the last rays of sunset.
In winters, dew pleasing the leaves intensely and water-pearls swinging on the twigs across rainfall.
Bare impressions, roaring waves and Lost sea-shells, yet to be discovered
It is so relieved to feel a stranger, her contour with pauses — bit by bit.
Behind my lens, thousand poems floating in this world
I’m afraid if you would notice the essence of life,
since you’re still — Pondering upon my missing fingers!
I was sitting in front of the camera thinking of her.
Last night, her unabashed, melancholic eyes pierced right through me as her anger made its way slowly in my fuzzy state of mind. “All that fame has made you detached. I miss the old you.” she said.
Just as my inadvertent train of thoughts picked some speed, a coarse voice abruptly brought it to a screeching halt, “Lights, Camera, and Action!” I spoke my lines, almost mechanically. Looking at the lens, a seeping nothingness made me mutter under my breath I miss the times WHEN WE actually CLICKED.
The moment i was born my mother was abused for giving birth to a curse child. Starting from my cradle days to college days I was teased and mentally tortured for my disfigured fingers. Nobody wanted to see the world from my view point. I had been just a sympathy child who would end up on the government office desk on disabled quota. But I had other ideas to explore my world through camera. Look where I am exploring the world through the camera and the people who judged me for being disable are confronted in their small den.
Raju and shilpa were madly in love with each other. He was little mad and demented. She was very innocent and sensitive. But together they always loved doing crazy things. Unfortunately when their private hours were captured and trapped in wicked hands. The life was miserable and their lives were big blows to their families.
The diagnosis felt a little harsh to me. For a person who made his living by running fine strokes of colours on a canvas, Parkinson's was the nightmare of nightmares. I could no longer sign my artworks.
For days at stretch, I stared at my canvas, wondering what I would do next. I could only see retirement staring back at me. It wasn’t until I made peace with the nightmares that I realized; I could use it to my advantage.
I used to paint with colours. I paint with light now.
And I am an inspiration to the masses.
He said Cheese. I kept walking. Then I turned suddenly, clicked this with mobile. I met him only yesterday but I knew there was something between us.
That night he proposed me, not for marriage, but for a chance. He gave his number, I was too timid to preserve it.
I have only this picture. His face is not visible but I remember every feature.
3 years back when I opened Facebook, this was first face I searched.
After 7 years post-marriage, 2 years post-motherhood, my life looks complete; I still feel I didn't give my life a chance.