Photographer

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Searching for romanticism that songs and literature about the city had fed him, he walked the streets with his DSLR in one hand and a backpack on another shoulder. He would suddenly stop, kneel on a knee, click, move ahead, slouch, click, click… Beggars, stray dogs, passing strangers, fish seller women, lovers in a corner, sly men stealing a look at young girls, hawkers, book sellers by the sidewalk. The camera looked, captured all it could in its belly while the photographer walked lost in the pursuit of a perfect shot.
 
Each time he found a frame, he would think, ‘This is it, my shot of the day’ but then it wouldn’t be enough. His hunger of his mind kept increasing to match up with the camera’s thirst. Both couldn’t get their fill.They gobbled up all they could, the colors or the lack of them, ripples of the ocean, rough texture of roads, intoxicated lights as night came along. Then he realized, he hadn’t eaten and that just like his camera, he had a stomach to fill too. In one corner was a little stall manned by a teen age boy, crowded by people of all ages and genders. The boy was selling wadaa paav (spicy fried potato balls stuffed in buns). The photographer pointed his camera, zoomed on the eatables being handed over and let the camera savor the piping hot wada paavs,the delicious smoke that rose from the large iron kadhaai, the oil that bubbled up to give birth to more wadaas. That’s it, he thought and moved on forgetting all about the juices of hunger that continued to fill up his belly. Click Click Click…
 
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