Read the previous part of the story here.
Jenny surveyed the crowd that had come to
listen to the minister speak, with a photographer’s eye. She mentally composed
shots, cropping stragglers neatly out of the frame. Although she was there to
cover the event for a publication, she always had a weather eye out for that
award winning shot.
She idly played with her butterfly earring
as she cocked her head, trying to figure out which shot she should take first.
Her large Nikon camera ensured people automatically posed for her, in this era
of selfies.
She preferred clicking weather beaten
faces, of old men and women, the ones who had lived full lives. Children were
easy to shoot. Full of innocence, even an amateur could get good shots if she
focused on them.
The noise was deafening. There must be a
thousand persons here, she thought. The crowd moved forward, jostling for space
and taking her with them. The smell of the great unwashed assaulted her
nostrils. Couldn’t be helped. That was part of the job too.
Unbidden, a stray memory floated in her
consciousness. Of a girl in her colony. The prettiest one by far, with full
lips, flashing eyes and milky, smooth skin. She knew it too. She had dreams of
becoming a Bollywood star.
So she was easy prey for that smooth
talking man who promised to take her to Mumbai and put her in touch with
filmmakers. She had run away from home, taking a little money. Of course, there
were no meetings with filmmakers. The man and his friends had sold her to a
brothel.
Jenny shuddered, scattered conversations
bringing her back to where she was. Two plump aunties were gossiping about the
atrocious prices of vegetables. “I sure hope this man can bring down the prices
to earth,” said one to the other, who nodded solemnly. Jenny took a photo,
startling the ladies, who smiled reflexively.
As she moved forward, taking care to keep
to the sides, where there were less people, she kept taking photos. You never
knew when you could end up with a great shot.
A baby a man was cradling reached out for
her camera, grinning toothlessly. When Jenny took a photo, he squealed and hid
his face on his father’s shoulder.
Just then, Jenny spotted a familiar face.
She couldn’t remember the girl’s name, but knew they had met recently. She
smiled vaguely and took a photo of Roohi, who was a blur in motion as she raced
around, playing with the other children present.
Jenny looked around for her parents, who
were keeping a watchful eye on their child. She managed to get a candid shot
without them being aware of the camera.
The crowd was getting impatient. Where was
the minister? Just as its mutterings threatened to become angry ones, the man
appeared. Jenny took a photo of the crowd, as it craned its collective neck
forward, for a better glimpse.
The minister was a showman, who took the
stage as if it were his rightful domain. He raised his hand to acknowledge the
crowd’s applause and also calm it. Jenny knew this trademark gesture and was
ready to press the button. Click.
Read the next part of the story here.
Read the next part of the story here.
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