‘Don’t you wish to see my daughter’s wedding album?’ my friend beamed expectantly. I was quite sure I didn't, having attended the lavish wedding, but not wishing to sound rude, I paused, racking my brains for a good excuse to get out of the ordeal. She mistook my hesitation to mean ‘yes’, and went off inside, emerging a little later with a suitcase.
Excellent manners, I thought. She makes me stay to look through a photo album and then decides to leave the house. ‘Going somewhere?’ I asked. She laughed. ‘No, no. This is the album.’ Albums come in suitcases now? She handed it to me and I almost dropped it on her glass-topped table; it was insanely heavy.
Weddings are getting bigger and so are wedding albums. Photos are an inevitable part of weddings – the evidence, so to speak. Photographers had always made their presence felt, and of course, seen, at weddings, ensuring in the process that nobody else saw the marriage ceremony. The arrival of the bride was the cue for the horde to descend like Attila’s men and ambush the bride, groom and the rest of the dramatis personae. They aimed their lens at the protagonists to capture the action while the hapless guests were treated to the sight of a rich variety of photographers’ backs and an occasional glimpse of what was happening through chinks in the photographers’ armour.
The photographers next clicked photos of the couple with family and other groups, following it up with a sadistic visit to the dining hall to get shots of people in awkward eating poses. The guests would freeze with the hand, dripping payasam, halfway to the mouth that was already wide open in anticipation, but were pleased all the same to be caught in the frame for, although undignified, this was the surest way to ‘mark their attendance.’
The traditional photo session wound up with a few more clicks of the bride’s sobbing goodbye in the decorated car and her arrival with the groom at his house, miraculously transformed into a coy, happy person.
Things have changed. In the modern image-driven world where people take selfies and post them for all to see before breathing their last, it is small wonder that wedding photography should scale new heights. Now the photographer, ever important, has taken centre stage and calls all the shots.
The other day when we went on stage to greet the couple, the photographer, impatient to get on with the shoot, shooed us off. We watched him direct the bride and groom to adopt various coy and romantic poses – ‘Keep your hand on her shoulder and gaze dreamily in the distance,’ ‘Look deep into her eyes with love. No, that’s not a look of love,’ ‘Put your arm around his shoulders,’ ‘What, won’t go around? You've got to lose weight,’ he advised the groom and amended his command – ‘Place your arm on his right shoulder...’ Then he drove them outdoors for lovey-dovey pictures in the blazing sun. Perfect training for a career in films, I thought.
Contemporary wedding photography also includes informal shots to capture the mood and the atmosphere. Sessions begin early.
The innovative photographer often assumes the role of a videographer and captures on camera interviews with the bride, groom, relatives and friends. It’s all supposed to be casually done, to the accompaniment of themed music. Candid pictures are taken to get a feel of what the day was actually like, and finally the CD is handed over for a hefty fee.
Move over, cameras and tripods, welcome cranes and drones. Cranes with cameras move in slow arcs like pre-historic monsters on the prowl to click from unusual angles while you crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the function.
Don’t get alarmed if you hear a buzzing sound at the wedding hall. It’s not a swarm of bees, only a drone humming overhead to capture scenes from an aerial perspective. And before you leave, remember to take an instant print of you posing with the couple.
Digital technology has changed the way wedding memories are preserved. Now you can choose between a low-cost personalised photo book and an expensive flush mount wedding album. The suitcase my friend handed me yielded a flush mount album. Sickeningly romantic lines of poetry introduced different sections. An hour later, I looked up, bleary-eyed, to find my friend thrusting a CD before me. ‘Now let’s watch the wedding,’ she said...
(A fortnightly column by city-based writer, academic and author of the Butterfingers series. The author can be contacted at khyrubutter@yahoo.com)
