Film
Father and I are at the edge of platform number 1 at Pachora station. It is just a little beyond noon and the sun is a December gold and warm. The signal turns green. The Gitanjali will soon come roaring down the track.
Father takes out the Zenit, winds the film, calibrates the light and notches down a exposure.
“Here, put the strap around your neck and hold the camera with a straight hand.”
“Ok, pa”
“Wait for the moment. Don’t press to early. The engine should cover half your viewfinder, then press.”
“But we will get only one shot?”
“Mostly, but we can try to get more”
I can now see the train, raising dust and blasting its horn without a care. My arms tighten. My wrists lock the heavy frame of the camera. My 5 year old muscles feel pain shooting up.
500 metres. The viewfinder is lined up.
Waiting. Waiting. The pain coming and going in waves. I almost give up.
And just then, the bright red/yellow locomotive enters the frame. 10%. 20%. 25%. 50%.
Click.
The mechanical thump of it. The squeaky sound of the cloth shutter opening and closing. The pain forgotten for an instant. Arms relax, wrist unlocks and the camera comes down from the eye.
There’s a satisfied grin on my face. And father’s.
“Can we please, please remove the film and see the picture?”
“No, no, son. Lots of pictures to be taken before I can remove the reel.”
So, it wasn’t until 3 months later at a dusty and dingy photo studio in Jalgaon did I get to see the fruits of my labour. Holding up the print, I relive every moment of that afternoon on platform number 1. The pain coming flooding back. The relief and that wide grin.
******
I’ve switched over to digital cameras completely these past few years. The convenience, portability and sheer ubiquity makes it easier, but I miss the process of taking pictures using film. The loading of a carefully considered roll of Fuji Velvia, the winding of the strip into place, the wonder of watching a movable aperture close and open and the finality of a shutter click. Every shot one framed was measured, carefully thought out. The photographer pitting his knowledge of light and shadow against the fickleness of film.
I yearn for the days when photographs were truer than they are today.
