Photograph

 "Do you remember when did you click your first photo?", I asked him this morning.

"Well probably in my 11th standard", he mused.

"When did you click yours?", he enquired.

"Well this is going to be a long story!", I added sheepishly.

I was in eighth standard when my parents took me on a trip to Kolkata. On a sultry July afternoon as we were sitting in the lawn overlooking the Victoria Memorial, I suddenly had the urge of freezing that moment. My father back then was a proud owner of a camera that none dared to touch. When I asked him to let me click a snap, he hesitated a great deal but couldn't possibly say no.I could feel my heart beating aloud as I pressed that tiny silver button. My mother's pastel saree complemented the towering presence of the monument at the backdrop. My father's furrowed glance clearly suggested that my intrusion was unwelcomed.

But, that very day I had realised that photographs had the power of transforming the mundane into something beautiful. Each photograph has a story to tell. A story which lies embedded until discovered.

On my recent trip, as I was walking through the streets, he clicked some photos which have stories to tell. Probably I will need to think of turning it into a series because I have so much to talk about. For today, let me attach a photo which though totally has no loose ends connected to what I wrote, still made me remember this story.