All that we’ll be is a photograph

NJ Ravi Chander

Among the early family photographs in our possession, the sepia-tinted still of my parents, shot on their wedding day, is my favourite. A photo showing my mother carrying me in her womb comes off as the second best. Another black-and-white picture showing me astride a wooden toy horse, with mother standing by my side, also makes it to the podium.

My parents tied the knot in the ’50s at a popular wedding venue for middle class families living in the Bengaluru cantonment. The hall still exists, but considering the younger generation's preference for lavish venues, weddings seldom take place here. Nuptials back then were low key, unlike today’s big fat Indian weddings, and wedding photography was still in its infancy. Incredibly, the lone photograph and the invitation announcing my parents’ nuptials are the only documentary evidence of the event.

My parents make a happy picture in the wedding frame. While the tall, dark and handsome groom looks dapper in his suit, the bride is all poise, grace and charm in her bridal attire. Today’s colour portraits are poor cousins compared to this charming sepia image.

The iconic GK Vale and Company on Mahatma Gandhi Road which ran the tag line, ‘Specialists in amateur photographic service and block makers’ was my parents’ favourite haunt. GK Vale was among the handful of photo stores in the Bengaluru cantonment of yore. It had carved a niche for itself and gave the few competitors that thrived, a run for their money. Young and old, including photo connoisseurs, made a beeline to the studio to get shot on camera. Prominently displayed on the studio’s windowpanes were portraits of beautiful women, handsome men and couples. They specialised in matrimonial portraits and became the ‘Instagram’ of Bengaluru, long before the era of social media.

I recall a hilarious episode shared by my mother. A few months after their nuptials, my parents trotted off to the studio to get a still picture of my mother. As was usual during that era, they had to endure a long wait before their turn arrived. Back then, the photo shop used a darkroom to process the film, make prints and carry out other associated tasks. A week later, when my father went there to pick up the photographs and the negatives, the sight of his wife’s image splashed over the windowpane of the studio startled him.

Some passersby pausing to look at the picture also did not escape his scrutiny. Dashing inside, he beckoned the owner and implored him to pull down the display at once. It was apparent that dad could not stand the sight of other men ogling at his wife’s photo. The studio promptly took off the exhibit, much to his relief. Everybody goes into stitches whenever we recall the episode.

A photograph is worth a thousand words and reminds us of a time that once was. One day, all your children will have is pictures of you, and that’s all we’ll be — a photo.

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