"'Derek, get in the damn car!-we have done doing the goddamn coverage!!-the locality is wretched like shit!-and I cannot take it anymore-neither can my crew!' said the smartly attired, confident woman, who had caught everyone's attention since the very beginning.

"'Great then, Samantha!-I am comin'-you get the others ready asap! Kiddo, gotta get going now. Meet you soon, and when I do, I'll let you know the other mechanisms!' said the man, looking down at me, with a grin of compassion.

"I had but known that it was a grin, a smile of solace-and that they would never return to this wretched place of peril and prejudices, leaving behind their comfort and luxuries-they would never!

"I did not smile.

"'Buh-bye!-we shall meet again! You can call me Derek! And you are-' he struggled recalling my name.

"'Arnav-Arnav Lohar,' replied I, trying my best to endure my tears and turbulence which thereby, had begun whirling in my heart.

"'Yes, Arnav, we shall meet again!-you are a really keen kid, I must acknowledge!! I would've taught it to you if time had permitted, but huh!-duty calls, you know!' said he, letting out a soft sight, however, still managing to keep the smile intact.

"'Buh-bye, Derek' I had to bid adieu, with my tear soaked eyes and my voice of discontentment.

"Derek went out from the shadowy nook underneath the Banyan roots and leaves, to join the pretty woman awaiting her colleague.

"And too went the DSLR.

"They went in a car, prolly a Honda City, inside which had had been a four or five more people, prolly members of the crew.

"In went the DSLR.

"The path of their departure was traced by the little sprinkles of saltwater from my eyes.

"It was the path of departure of Derek, Samantha, the crew, and my companion-the ebony polish DSLR. Along with them, went my beacon of hope and flambeau of delight, as my being but once again, sank into the strains of the mundane monotonies!

***

"That night, after dinner, I occupied my favourite seat, lit the lantern which traced the silhouette of mine, eminent upon the windows from outside!-and it traced the paper upon which were my thoughts were to collide, and birth a creation, which could yield satisfaction and sustain from this agony, this longing of mine-for the divine, gorgeous, creature.

"The home that time, was a little more noisy-alive! It was devoid of the profiles of my father and mother framed and hung in the room, against the melancholia of the wall. Me and my siblings, led lives in the shadow of oblivion-we lived lives, as children-and not as sinners or Dalits!

"My siblings sojourned with me, in the same room, which was treated like a dormitory sheltering us to slumber!-however, we had different private rooms for ourselves and our thoughts!

"Arvind Dada and Arjun Da lay upon their respective positions, their eyes rested upon the lines upon the parchment, reading, reminiscing, relating, imagining. They were fervent readers, fond of stories and fond of other readers.

"Shikha, on the other hand, held the cheap pen which she had managed to purchase with her savings collected over a span of bout two-to-three years. She inked words upon the parchment.

"Mother and father occupied the other room, accompanying each other to sleep.

"I, on the other hand, occupied the little chair; my objects rested upon my favourite table, against the bamboo tapestried walls.

"The graphite of my pencil kissed the paper.

"It fell in love, adorned, converged, traversed through and traced the whiteness. You know, Sameer, there is a thing with the duo of pencil and paper!-they aren't racists!-the beauty, the contrast of their complexions create masterpieces capable of defying the senses and sanity-however, the racists cannot master the contrasting grid, the grace of their complexions.

"And the human being who does master- oh, Robin, how he but yields from it, such unfathomable bliss!-such soulful satisfaction engulfs the soul!-a pleasure but so pious, that my words may never ever articulate!

"The pencil confessed its fervour for the paper, by fondling, touching, caressing, tracing strokes-they were strokes to signify, to seal their bever bondage, of love, piety and desire.

"The paper, was still; like the ether, it carried its lover's strokes, and confessions, silently, sustaining the insanity, the childish creativity of the graphite.

"And it endured the little folds, crumpled marks it made, the manner in which it sullied the whiteness to create something-blissful, bever-exhausting its own span of life, the youthfulness of the sharp, so did the bold, gallant summits-for they were blunted, to converge with the sullied, wrinkled, whiteness of the page.

"Both did destroy their perfection-the pencil, by blunting itself-and the paper by carrying the ebony traces of the graphite-by carrying the amateurish, insane, childish desires-in a manner, still, silent, meekly like the azure ether carrying, transmitting life and delight to its children.

"They destroyed, only to create!—they generated the treasury of imperfection!

"By the resonant bellow upon the needle of the clock reaching the ultimate destiny; the one marking the new beginning-midnight!-the frequencies of the peals of a pendulum emanating from some of the lavish mansions engulfing the boundaries of the slum-and the consumption of a dreamy, stupefying, and restless thirty or thirty-five minutes-a portraiture had been birthed upon the page.

"It was a creature in ebony polish-the DSLR, elegant, its buttons full of youth and labour, and dignity. The muse had occupied my sanity and hence, had I but been compelled to give life to its lively portraiture, eminent within the musings of my days.

***

"'Dada, what are you doing?' asked Shikha; a paragraph had been traced upon the formerly blank page held within her arms.

"'Well, what are you?' I reciprocated her question.

"Shikha blushed for a moment, then said in her shrill voice, her words traced with deep symptoms of dissaproval and discontentment, 'Why should I say?'

"'Then, why should I' replied I, my words too holding the similar tone.

"Shikha was dissatisfied with the intellectual trick. She, with a little frown, twisted her lips and brows. Her pupils journeyed to their homeland for the hour. She once again, but engrossed herself into the incompleteness of the page and paragraphs.

"Arvind and Arjun Dada did not bother to break their dream with the banter between Shikha and me.

"I took the page, then held the yellowed parchment against the flame of the lantern enclosed by the glass chamber. The light emanating from the beacon illuminated the page.

"The object wrought upon it, intensified its grace and elegance, consuming the brightness.

"For the very first time, had I seemed to discover my ambition, my pursuit and existence.

"I said, stammering all the way through, 'I want to be...I want to be eh, a photo...graph...er..'

"My siblings stood upright, endeavouring their best to not choke on the syllables.

"'You want to be what!?' Arjun Dada exclaimed, his brows frowned out of perplexity.

"'You wanna be a photographer!?-the one who clicks pictures!?' said Arvind Dada, his arms folded upon his bosom, his brows bearing the same frown, and his voice the solemnity.

"'Umm, yes!' said I, my pupils uncontrollably led down, my heart almost thrusting against the chest.

"'Well, you know anything at all bout the device!?' asked Arvind Dada, the frown lingering upon the ebony brows.

"'Umm, yes!-the window-like thing above the-eh!-screen is called, ummm, yes, viewfinder.' said I, the reminiscence and pronunciation of the term without stammering, bringing a wee bit of triumph to my bosom.

"And it did bring me a beacon of hope.

"Shikha, out of perplexity, now sat contemplating the expressions of the participants of the dramatic conversation. Her pupils moved from the page and now, hovered over her siblings.

"'Hmm, you have any idea of the cost of the thing!?' Arvind Dada pensively put forth his analytical argumentation.

"'You think, Baba can support the amount amidst the financial crisis we are going through!?' asked he, looking into my eyes.

"'But..' I wanted to explain.

"'You first think bout that!' said Arvind Dada, the solemnity now amplified into a proclaimed agitation.

"'Okay Dada.' said I.

"I had from my childhood, been a coward. I hence, had no says or arguments to be put forth against Arvind Dada's analytical ones.

"However, for solace, I must assert that all of us (me and my siblings, inclusive of the eldest one, Arjun Dada) were afraid of this seventeen year old practical, and the most matured person of our uncanny flock.

"'No more 'okays' and 'buts'... Here, Shikha, lower the flame of the hurricane. Off to bed now, everyone. Gotta get up early tomorrow!' commanded he, boldly.

"A meekly Shikha, whilst carrying away the hurricane from the table, spotted the little muse I had drawn upon the parchment. She stood, transfixed.

"'Shikha!' called Arvind Dada. 'You dreaming over there!? Get the damn lantern-it is late!!' exclaimed he.

"'Arvind Dada, Arnav Da has drawn something!-you wanna see!?' said she, rooted upon the same spot, her eyes buried in the parchment.

"'What!?-What is it!?' said Dada, the mild agitation now becoming increasingly eminent within the solemnity of his voice.

"Then, Shikha with quivering arms handed over the parchment without ever musing over the need to ask for my permission. Held Arvind Dada, the evidence of my fancies, the muse haunting my days-the impression of the divinities of the device!

"Did his analytical argumentations at all become tender upon casting his tough, logic-infested, observant eye over the parchment perception?"

****