I had this story in the pipeline for quite some bit of time. It was initially based on a photo in the Nat Geo, a snap which won the third prize in an amateur world photography contest. The image featured three children running across a field somewhere in rural India, a very powerful shot indeed. The link is unfortunately not available now, but I went ahead with the story all the same, finishing it over the weekend.

"A little to the left Sir, and you Madam, stand closer, just a bit, yes, perfect, say cheeeese"

Click. Vrroom. I pat my Nikon lovingly. Wedding photography is not exactly my specialty but today, Shantanu and I are standing in for an ill colleague who usually takes up such assignments for my firm. It is very hot, as is the summer in this part of India, an hour to go for the mahurat, I grab a glass of coconut water from the waiter’s tray. In the meantime, the uncle of the bride, a prominent MP, is busy on the dais. In between the garlanding - felicitation sessions, he speaks, water blah blah education more blah a profitable market for the farmers etcetera and etc. Oft repeated lines, I could almost mime this man.

Click. The father of the bride and his politician brother. Click The inundation of garlands.

The wedding is to take place on the lawns of the MP's farmhouse, one of the many estates he owns. A thousand people are moving about, a few more, getting out of the cars lining up the driveway. Pot bellied men, most of them heavily into politics, their wives in rich brocades, obediently following them, pallus firmly on their heads.

Click. The line of cars. Click. Everybody shaking hands. Click. Water hugging Agriculture, I&B hugging Education, an outpouring of affections as per their needs in the long run.

"Aho Deshmukh, zara ikde ya na" (Deshmukh, please come here). Amidst much fanfare and a flurry of those in the welcoming party, the groom comes riding on horseback. A few interactions later and I have already started despising the guy in question. The best thing about the groom is the equestrian he is riding on, and first among the other equally detestable qualities, is his high-handedness. "Hey you photographer, do this, do that, do blah-blah". To begin with, here I am, disconcerted by the heat and then this lord-of-the-pigs adds to my woes (bah). I dislike being controlled and ordered about in a profession that I know better than he does. His pals hover about and bundles of cash exchange hands amidst talks of a drinks binge sometime later in the day.

Click. The groom, (his swagger et al). Click. His friends. Click. Champion, the horse. Click. Champion eating motichoor ladoos. Click. Champion tired of ladoos. Click. I-aint-got-a-sweet-tooth-you-idiotic-homo-sapiens horse ignoring ladoos now. Click. Champion eating the groom? Naah, no such luck, I would have gladly used up an entire roll of film on such a service to mankind.

Next in the focus of my mighty lens is the bride; shy, pretty, a contrast to her fiancée. A few interactions with her and I start feeling sorry for the young lady. She seems so lost and unsure of herself, I am certain she is being forced into the whole thing. "C'mon smile", a fat, obnoxious looking woman, "You are so lucky to get married to him. SiddharthRao is so rich and handsome (bah) and he has three cars and so many farms (so what, bah again). You will never have to worry about money all your life". A weak smile from the bride, and I sense a sharp stab of pain in my heart. Love at first sight, sigh. I wish I could just shout, there and then, like in the movies I had grown up on, "Yeh shaadi nahi ho sakthi". But before I can break into a dream sequence dance with her (like in 'em movies again) a sharp stab in my heart again. What was with these multiple stabs, I muse, isn't it supposed to be just one. Investigations lead to an adjusting of the buckles of the camera strap, stabs in the back of my neck now.

Click. The bride. Click. Her mehendi. Click. Mrs. Obnoxious. Click. Pretty young girls, her cousins. Click. The saris gifted to her. Click. Her gold ornaments. Click. All the females in her family tree aged fifty and above, bawling their eyes out. Stop her someone, you are ruining her life. Stop crying and do something.

Whilst busy in wishful thinking (such as the chances of her agreeing to run away with me), I am rudely shaken by the shoulder, this action followed by an irritated voice, "Deshmukh Saheb, we have been looking all over for you, please come to the marriage pandal as soon as you can". With a mental note not too mistake myself to be her knight-in-shining-armor (movies, movies, too many movies) and with a last look at the lovely lady, I follow the guy to the pandal.

Five minutes for the mahurat.. Click. The pandit. Click. The flower decorations. Click. The guests taking their places in the front rows. Click. The sheer waste of money on the grandeur of decorations, on all that deceptive merriment. Click. The groom again, scowling at the poor worker, arranging the chairs, and then catching sight of his arch enemy, (me, who else), he scowls again.

I never knew what came over me, but I am sure it was the heat coupled with my impatience that was partly responsible for what I did subsequently. I walked off, right then, of course not march gallantly, no, but I sneaked off, just like that, out of those lawns, out of the gate, and after making sure I was not followed, I ran, towards the fields near the farmhouse. I was well aware of the furor that would surface at my sudden disappearance, but I also knew that Shantanu would take care of the marriage snaps thereafter.

The fields. Click. Three children running merrily by the river, the boy pushing the tyre with his stick Click. Their house by their small farm. Click. The mother, sitting outside, sifting through grains, smiling as she sees her children play (none of them have noticed me yet) Click. The hens scurrying around her. Click. A bird building a nest. Click. The juicy mangoes hanging dangerously low overhead.

Not very far away, a sudden audible applause and the band starts playing. I rest assured that I am personally not present for the marriage vows. A slight breeze and I doze off, confused dreams follow, Champion nibbling at my feet, the groom looking like a motichur ladoo, knights in shining armor suspiciously resembling me. I wake up with a start, when the bride suddenly turns into Mrs. Obnoxious, breathing down my neck.

Its those children again, fingering my camera, and when I am fully awake, they start questioning me. A few interactions later and I ask them to pose with their mother, but she refuses to, what would her husband say, when he comes home. The children are more than pleased to oblige me.

"Azun thoda davikade, ho bass thik, perfect, smiiiile" (A little to the left)

Click. The children, jostling each other. They probably do not know what “perfect” means nor what “smile” means. They don’t even need to be told. For the first time that day, my mighty lens captures expressions happy, the happiness genuine.

Current Music: Return To Innocence - Enigma (a very African feel to the song)