I had wrapped my dupatta around my waist nervously and was standing on the balls of my feet before I found the courage to look him in the eye and asked "can I take your picture?"
I've found that often behind the lens of my camera I feel intrusive. I don't know quite how to balance looking spoiled, with an expensive camera hanging around my neck, with seeming genuinely interesting.
He was holding a piece of sand paper and an indiscernible piece of wood. There was a pause. I definitely wasn't loud enough. I asked again. He nodded silently, slowly.
I began taking pictures.
That shutter click that my Nikon makes was for one full second the only sound in my ear.
He sat on a stool positioned beside his cart. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. And realized that both of his eyebrows were raised. He was staring at me while I figured out composition. The next three pictures were blurry.
His craftsmanship was impeccable. Think film. One shot to get it right. Can't waste it. The blurry pictures stopped. He kept sanding the piece of wood in his hand. I took pictures of the stools.
Of the pots.
I dropped my camera to hang around my neck, then re-wrapped my dupatta around my neck so it was hidden from view.
And then he finally spoke.
"Will I be on television?"
1 comment:
he is adorable.
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