His setup was ready for the shot. The room was dimly lit to avoid ambient light so the camera could capture only what the flashes would highlight. After months of preparation, studying angles using just the ink filler and in-camera flash, he had moved on to using his DSLR, external flashguns, a 100mm macro lens and other electronics.

Water-drop photography wasn't easy, and Filip never gave up. Some of his favourite water-drop photographs, however, were still those he had done manually with only an ink-filler and one external flash. His ultimate goal was to capture dewdrops in the mist at the Aquadrome.

Creativity in photography is a hard term to define. Thinking out of the box, challenging oneself in an effort to reveal the unapparent was what Filip always strived for, but it didn't materialize without conscious manipulation of gear, settings, light, perspective, composition, and processing to capture the envisioned mood or story. Sticking to his vision with perseverance always paid.

Taking a deep breath, he then activated the shutter button, which released the shutter on his camera, dropped two water drops in succession from the burette, fired the flashes and then the shutter closed. All was done in less than a minute, he was happy he had timed it to perfection, but before he could check the shots, his phone vibrated from the nearby worktable.

Filip took a step to grab the phone and answered it without pausing to look who had called.

"Hello?"

"Hey man, how's you?"

"Anton? I'm fine. It's been a long time. How are you?"

He cradled his phone in the crook of the neck, as he exited the studio shutting the door quietly behind him. It was his domain. Not that anyone entered; it made no sense for the uninitiated in there.

"How is work? All good?" Anton asked.

"Yeah, kinda. You know how it is at this time of the year. My regular gigs have dried up. I just hope I get some kind of permanent job. That'll change things."

"Yeah, about that. I found something that could turn permanent. I need a partner to work with."

Filip perked up at those divine words that felt like a glass of cold, carbonated water on a hot summer day. He didn't, however, understand Anton's reluctance. He had known him since his graduate days when they enrolled in the same college. Within a few months, they had become fast friends and a few months later shared rooms as well.

They eventually parted ways to try their luck in different cities but stayed in touch. An occasional 'Hi' here and 'what's up' there, was all they texted these days. Filip sensed a possible reconnect as soon as he heard Anton's voice over the phone. Call him old fashioned, on any given day, Filip significantly felt more attached to the caller through their disembodied voice than a text. Yet, texting was inexpensive, and there he rested his case.

"What's up, mate? Is the pay not good?"

"Nah. That's not it. Here is the deal. For the very first assignment, this publication wants us to cover the whole Rio type carnival thing from all over the world that has this Portuguese connection. They want to highlight it for the International Portuguese Language Day that falls sometime in May."

"There is a day of that sort? I wonder why I never knew!"

Filip could hear Anton's bark of laughter from the other end of the phone when he continued, "So, you mean to say we'll travel to some of the former Portugal colonies across the world?

And you feel it is not that good because? Come on mate, the whole experience would be so cool. I suppose it would be an all-paid trip, or is it not? Give the deets man. What's the catch?"

"All the places are taken by different teams, mate. Some experienced fellows are in on the Rio Carnival. Only one country is left —India. Nobody is game to go there in February. Looks like it's summer around that time there."

Filip's eyes widened in disbelief to hear his country of origin's name but that didn't stop him from claiming, "It's summer in most of India right from January through June. It isn't exactly hot in Jan and Feb. It's only the onset of summer. I have an inkling. Is it Goa by any chance?"

"Yeah pretty much. Goa hosts something similar to the Rio carnival there but at a very small scale."

"India? Hmm...well, if that's the only place. Sure why not."

"And we need to pay out of our pocket. If this publication likes the story, then we'll get reimbursed and permanent jobs too," Anton added pensively.

"That sucks. I need to think about this Anton. How long is the trip?"

"I'm thinking two weeks max. We need to get quotes, a lot of good shots, some wide-angle, some close-up. Really, travel photography types. You can cover the photos part whilst I work on the interviews."

"Looks like you thought this through," Filip took a deep breath.

"Does this mean you are in?"

"Nah... I have a few more questions."

"Fire away man. I'm happy to be at your service."

"What about lodging and boarding?"

"You caught me. I was sort of hoping, you know, so you would use your Indian relatives for that bit."

"Seriously, Anton? I hardly know anyone there right now. It's been ages since we migrated here. I'm not even sure if I can manage acceptable Konkani to convince some distant great-great-aunt who is still there. Many had moved to Portugal back then.

"Wait a minute! Don't tell me we are a team because I have Indian connections," Filip asked incredulously.

"What do you want me to say, Fil? To be fair, I wanted to do the assignment on my own. But you were the first guy I thought about when India was mentioned," Anton revealed sheepishly.

Filip sighed, "This is crap. Anyway, what's the publication? If it is some obscure one, I'm going to hang up without second thoughts."

"Wanderlust."

One word and Filip's brows lodged high into the floppy curls on his forehead, "Seriously?"

When Anton only grunted to confirm, he cooed, "That is amazingly cool! This changes things. Who would've thought?"

"And there is something else."

"Go on lay it on me."

"You can enter their photography contest with any of the photos taken during this trip even if we secure jobs. But this is applicable only for the photos on this trip if we get in," Anton slowly informed. He was no stranger to Filip's everlasting desire to win Wanderlust's annual photography contest. If by any chance they secure jobs, he could still enter, unlike the rule that the contest was not open to employees and their kith and kin.

"Anton, you are..."

"Yes, yes, you can thank me when we meet in person, and I'll autograph anywhere you want free of cost. I know I'm extraordinary."

"You are an asshole, that's something I meant to say," Filip teased.

"So are you in?" Anton asked ignoring him.

"Wanderlust nullifies my sound judgement. So, I guess I'm in."

"Way to go, Fil. Ok, so we'll schedule some time and catch up in person. What do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan, text me the details. I'll be there."

"Ok then, catch you later Fil," Anton paused and added, "I'm very happy you are on board. I too need that job."

"Then let's give it our best shot. Promise?"

"It's a promise!"

With his spirits considerably lifted, Filip wound up his work at the studio and sat down in a corner flipping his phone. Though Anton was clear that Filip was in only because of his Indian connection and expected to take care of accommodations, Filip wanted to try his luck with homestays or tourist hostels on his own before he sought his relatives through his mother.

It was not about pride. Nah...never about pride. He would leave no stone unturned until he succeeded. However, he wasn't that intent on digging his family's past with a country he knew very little about. He didn't know the reason for their immigration, he never cared. He didn't know if he would rattle a few skeletons from the closet if he approached his mother.

Hence, he did the only thing that everyone these days did for every silly question in their minds. He opened a search engine and typed tourists hostels in Goa.

After what seemed like two hours of fruitless, phone calls and his dwindling call balance, he thought he was well off asking his mother. He locked his studio and bounded down the stairs in a hurry. He had a lot of convincing to do and old albums to dig.

When Filip, a fresh photojournalism graduate, was looking to relocate to greater London for better career prospects, Pedro had passed away plunging the family into a period of grief.

His job hunts took a backburner when he decided to support his mother in a time of need, though Mari insisted she was fine. Women were resilient, he knew that. Mama couldn't be all fine, Filip had thought. She and Pai had spent years together; they had brought him up. Yet the morning after the funeral, she had seemed strong. After two days of weeping, she had decided that the house had become excessively filthy. Then she had cleaned, not only the inside but also the little terrace garden in the front. She had called in her friends to scour the walls and whitewash them.

She had survived his death. She had lived on, a little more austere than she had been before, but ever more capable, more sinewy. A time or two Filip had thought — with an unsettling feeling arising from the observation — that she seemed calmer after Pai had gone, more steady and self-possessed.

Filip couldn't just leave her though, being an only child, she was all the family he knew. Their patisserie that specialized in Portuguese and Goan delicacies especially bread did decent business. He had converted the small storeroom at the back of it into his studio, which was at a walking distance from their place. He took up freelancing gigs and persisted on seasonal jobs that ensured they had a comfortable life.

Over the years, his dad took a mortgage to purchase the apartment they had lived in since their arrival in London and the end owned it. Pai's long-last wish to buy a home in England came true during his final years. He had died a happy homeowner.

"Mama? Mum? Are you home?"

"In here Filip, what's the matter?"

He didn't know why she insisted on calling him with his full name. He was Fil everywhere except on the legal documents and identity cards. He liked Fil —it was short, easy to pronounce, and pretty much unisex.

His mother came across with a plateful of peas. She sat at the dining table which was rather an all-purpose table and began to split the pods and clatter the peas into the plate with her thumb, shuck-shuck-shuck, so quickly that the sound was one long hum.

Filip bent his head on to the table spread and took a deep breath. Under the washed asperity of the soft cotton table cloth, there was the sweet trace of soap —it was a scent that Filip had known all his life, and now he breathed it in, scrunching his nose into the cloth and making little grunting noises.

"What're you doing, Filip?" Mari asked, and reached around with her other hand to pinch the burrowing nose. He didn't feel crazy, not even close, but it was too difficult to explain why he needed to do that, just then.

His mother's calm eyes were trained on him, "What's the matter, Filip? Is something wrong?"

"Did I tell you about Anton? My old college mate?"

"I don't particularly remember. Wasn't he the roommate?"

"Yeah, the same guy. He called today. We got talking, and he mentioned this photography assignment. That's unlike the temporary assignments I take up. Once we finish it, there is a very huge chance to secure a job with this popular travel magazine..." he trailed looking all charged-up and tense at the same time.

Her every action spoke of patience, she knew unless Filip had something very important to tell, he wouldn't take time, her breathing was even, slow. From across the terrace garden outside came that steady patter, the small tense splatter of water on stones —it was raining again.

"I need to go to India for this assignment, specifically to Goa," he blurted out in a rush.

Mari paused splitting her peas to look at her son and continued without uttering any word. Filip waited for a whole minute.

"Come on mama. Tell me something. Is it ok? Not ok? Because..."

She gave him a small smile, "If I'm not wrong in assuming, you need to know if I could help you with your Goa trip, isn't it?"

He took a deep breath, "Yes, I'm not sure why we left Goa. I don't want to open Pandora's box now."

Mari laughed aloud, "Silly Filip. We migrated because of the usual reasons, good job prospects, and promise of a comfortable life. Nothing more. If you think we are running away from something like murder or should I go much deeper? A drug racket? Mobs maybe? You always had an overactive imagination," she chucked an unopened peapod at him.

"Mama, stop teasing me. So nothing then?"

"Nope."

"Then will you help me with my accommodations? We'll be there during the Carnaval, peak tourist season. It's a two-week trip."

"Hmm...I can't guarantee anything. I need to make a few phone calls if you'll excuse me. Dinner duty is on you tonight. Make the bhaaji. I have the bread in the oven. Now move your lazy bum, unless you want to sleep on the streets in Goa. Which place in Goa though?"

"Vasco."

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