Photography these days seems to be pretty much the in thing. Apart from a perennial lack of understanding anything figurative, I also wonder what the out thing is. If a product does well, they say it clicked. If a lot of people are buying a lot of something then it is being snapped up. If a car makes things in skirts come to you, it is flashy. When your wife clobbers you over the head because of the things in skirts it is called battery.
Either photography is getting popular or that the language is running out of words. The second one seems to be more logical considering that language has a bullet proof excuse about a picture saying several words at once. If I am an anti-capitalist campaigner, I would say this is a cover up by the camera companies to make illegal profits.
A few weeks ago, I was asked to write a letter. I was also asked to make it long. Not the one to shy away from a challenge, I embarked upon the task of writing a long letter. I sent in a few words to convey my regards to the paper. They sat together and formed a nice paragraph. At which point the other words decided that they did not want to have any truck with the paragraph business and promptly went off on a vacation.
The world being as it is, is full of coincidences. A long time ago, a barber went wrong, tonsured someone. As coincidence would have it, the bald man’s wish was granted. All of a sudden, we have the world’s richest temple around which there is also world’s richest concentration of bald pates. Why gods, if they are indeed there, would need money is a question that has yet been unanswered.
The letter is back in focus again. The letter was long. One paragraph long when the words went in search of god. I sometimes wish god was beside my room sometimes. My mother keeps remarking on the need for cleanliness and the last known address was that beside godliness.
I decided to give the letter another shot, gave it two instead and made it two-thousand-words-and-a-paragraph long and sent it in search of my friends address. A few days later, I get a reply which by the virtue of having said only one word spoke eloquently about the hollowed place between two gluteus maximi. I could only figure out one thing. The two picutres of simiam index fingers fondling a large cushiony muscle probably said the wrong 1000 words each.
Since the world operates on coincidences and the coincidence did not work with me, I can only infer that I am out of this world.
Photograph, courtesy Yours truly
Animal and ambience, courtesy Visakhapatnam Zoo.
Position, courtesy Coincidence