A Creative Gamble
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two impostors just the same…
Hi!
Do you know what a film roll for an old camera costs? When I last used them back at the beginning of the millennium, they cost ₹150-200. They fit inside my Kodak EC100, a mechanical film camera I’ve used for several occasions and trips.
At the beginning of November, I’d returned to India briefly. This India trip was meant to be the first time my wife and I return to our parents’ homes after our marriage and I knew I wouldn’t be able to write consistently. If you know me, you know I get grumpy if I’m taken away from my writing for too long. So the best way forward was to incorporate a creative project within the scope of a vacation. Which meant documenting the whole vacation in the only other way I know how: clicking pictures. When I found the old camera and a sealed film roll tucked away in the back of my old cupboard, it all clicked. This could be my mini project while on vacation—capture memories on film.
Seeing the world through the tiny constricting eye hole is strangely freeing. There was no screen to check how a picture turned out, something my nephew’s sadness when he saw the back of that camera crystallised. I didn’t click multiple shots just to get the right frame or angle. Once the shutter button clicked, I’d have to wind the roll before I could take another picture. No burst mode. No autofocus. No guiding lines. Simple point and shoot.
And the biggest unknown remained the enigma of whether these pictures will even develop?
Yet, I continued to click pictures. 36 of them, precisely. I pulled out the camera at every opportune moment. I remember most of them. My mom, framed by the door of our house. My best friend mid speaking, surprised at being caught in front of a camera for a change. My wife and her old friend, conversing in the kitchen, eventually hugging each other. Each picture taught me more about deepness within a moment and their ability to linger.
When I pulled out my camera to click my mom, she flashed a smile—but before I could get my frame right, she said wait. She then pulled my wife next to her and then, only then, did I click it. If it were a smartphone, I’d have a picture of her and of her and my wife. But that pause and the final shot showcased what was really important in that moment.
My best friend and his partner have a rule that when either of them is travelling for work—which both of them often do—they don’t text but send pictures to each other. Talking without words. Whenever I’m hanging out with him, he’d click a picture of me to send to her. This time, I surprised him and not just with a phone photo but an old school camera in his face. He froze, not knowing what to do with himself. It was a perfect tables turned moment and the picture captured his exact expression, that light splashing into my brain synapses as well.
While my wife chatted with her friend in a long but narrow kitchen, I turned the camera vertical for the perfect frame. I stood by the doorway, the two unaware of my presence. They spoke about all their time together, standing only a feet apart in the narrow space. I don’t know what I was waiting for but something inside me told me to pause. A minute later, my wife went over and hugged her friend from the back, placing her head on her friend’s shoulder. That is when I finally clicked the picture, a moment that captured the enormity of the bond they shared.
Once the little dial showed 36 pictures were clicked, I rewound the roll and sent it for developing. My wife and I also bought a brand new roll. It costs ₹1800! I wasn’t even sure if the first roll would develop. But I did it anyway. A creative gamble.
For 6 days I waited for his phone call or email. For 6 days I kept clicking pictures with the new roll. For those 6 days, I remained optimistic.
On the final day, I called him. He told me the roll is blank.
I was crushed. All those pictures. All that giddy joy. All those frames, that lighting, those moments, lost. And I hadn’t used my iPhone’s camera at all—I wanted to remember the whole India trip through the nostalgia soaked lens of that old camera. I was all in. And I lost.
Since then I haven’t clicked a single picture with the new roll. There are 11 pictures left according to the dial. I may bring myself to do it this December. If, I’m brave enough to gamble on it again. If, as Rudyard Kipling says.
I still have the memory of making memories. I guess, that’s all that matters.
Akshay’s Updates
I’m debuting a new true story live on stage with the Story Collider on 5 December at the Imperial College, as part of their Imperial Lates. The story is called Bigger on the Inside. I get really timey wimey with this one, if you know what I mean. If you’re around, I’d love to see you. Register here for free: https://www.storycollider.org/tickets/2024/12/5/london-senses
My essay On Time will be published in Tamarind Literary Magazine Issue 7, which releases next month! I’m really looking forward to seeing that essay out in print. It remains the single best piece of writing I’ve done in the last couple of years.
Until next month,
Keep trying
Akshay
You’re reading Missives from an Island a newsletter by Akshay Gajria, a prize-wining writer, storyteller and writing coach. This newsletter is delivered to your inbox on the 30th of every month. You can also find Akshay on Threads, Instagram, and Medium. If you enjoyed reading, consider tipping him by buying a cup of tea (or three) here or buying his ebook (linked below). You can discover his work at akshaygajria.com
