In the year 2000, Mr Brar was the owner of a photo studio in a small village. It was beautiful with cream-coloured walls and photographs of different kinds hung over them within frames of different colours, patterns and materials. The wall highlighting lights added a warm hue to the walls.
About 60-65% of the studio was visible through the glass door of the shop which was bordered by a black aluminium frame around it and straight through the door was the desk on which Mr Brar sat.
It was in every way a neat and modern looking photo studio.
There are many kinds of villages around, some are truly more beautiful and carry the air of unparalleled positivity with all forms of amenities readily available. But on the other hand, there are also those villages which are somewhat behind the realisation of the advancement the rest of the country has made but they are not necessarily backward. So, one thing that made the villagers confused was, what was Mr Brar doing here with this fancy photo studio.
Most of the photographs which were clicked in the village were passport size photos for school, college purposes, or other official work. A photographer came to the village from the nearby town to take these passport photographs when needed and then he would return and send the printed photos by post. Nobody owned a camera here.
It was not known where Mr Brar lived. He drove in his white sedan to the studio in the morning and left at the end of the day.
Bakul, a boy in the village, was very fascinated by Mr Brar’s photo studio. Mr Brar would often notice Bakul trying to peek inside the studio. One day Bakul found Mr Brar was not at his desk so he took his time peeking inside till he heard the voice.
“You can go in if you would like”
A startled Bakul looked behind to see Mr Brar standing with a walking stick in his hand. Mr Brar walked past Bakul into the store and held the door open for Bakul to come in.
Slowly and hesitantly, Bakul stepped inside, observant of Mr Brar, whose gestures did not match the serious look he had on his face. Bakul realised the air inside the studio felt different, it felt pleasant and the photos on the wall looked beautiful, almost unreal. There were photos of different places and different people, some old, some young, children, infants and then he stopped at the photograph of someone who looked like Mr Brar in his younger days.
“I was in the army and I also had a love for taking photographs. There are several photos from places I have been to” said Mr Brar and Bakul looked at another photo of Mr Brar, in it he was in his uniform
“Would you like to get a photograph clicked?” asked Mr Brar, “you don’t have to pay”
Bakul didn’t know how to react to this complete stranger and he ran away out of the door of the studio, once looking back to find Mr Brar still looking at him
Next day at school Bakul found his classmates gathered around a desk in the class. He went closer to find that one of his classmates had got a photograph clicked from Mr Brar and it was unlike anything they had seen, such a detailed photograph with deep colours. Bakul experienced a hint of the feeling he had felt at Mr Brar’s studio.
That evening, Bakul once more went to Mr Brar’s studio and he did not peek but walked in straight. Mr Brar, who was writing something down, looked at Bakul.
“Why are you here? I mean in this village, won’t you make more money in some big city?” asked Bakul
Mr Brar kept his pen down and pointed Bakul to sit on a chair.
“This is my great grandfather’s shop,” spoke Mr Brar, “I think I have had enough of the world, so this is me trying peace for change”
Bakul looked confused, not able to understand the depth of the words.
“You will get it one day,” smiled Mr Brar for the first time to Bakul
Bakul looked around at the photographs on the wall once more, glancing at each with more time than before.
“So, are you ready for that photograph?” asked Mr Brar
Bakul didn’t say anything at first and then he spoke, “Can you teach me how to take such photographs?”
Mr Brar smiled again and spoke, “of course I will teach you. That is exactly what I am here to do, to teach”
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 
One response to “Bakul’s Curiosity”
Heartfelt story.
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