My countenance is neither attractive nor photogenic. Therefore, I always try to evade group photos with friends or relatives. But when the situation cannot be skipped in any way, I position myself in the neglected zone in the rearmost line when others compete for the front rows.
However, on one occasion, a photograph of mine left me in bliss. It was January 1993. I was then a regular reader of a magazine published from New Delhi. It held an essay contest asking the participants to send their entries with a passport-size black & white half-bust photograph by post.
Frantic effort
The essays of the first two winners would get published with their photographs. Only the photographs of the next 16 “highly commendable contributors” would be published with their names and those of their districts or towns.
The topic of the essay was “Future of democracy in India”. I decided to participate and wrote and rewrote every sentence with intense care. Page after page was wasted. I can still remember that I started my essay with the Latin phrase on democracy vox populi, vox dei .
I finished the essay and jotted it down neat and clean on one side of paper with a fountain pen gifted to me by my father on my birthday. The pages with a short biodata and photograph were put in a brown envelope and sent to the magazine.
After the harrowing process for days, I heaved a sigh of relief. The thought of the essay lingered for a few more days in my head. The process of editing and re-editing continued in my mind, though of no use. Many new thoughts, sentences, phrases, idioms and words that eluded me before sending the essay sprang up in my mind now. However, the whole matter disappeared from my head gradually.
In January 1993, the special number manifested.
Paying little attention even to the cover page, I turned over to the pages where the winning essays were published. To my utter disappointment, my essay was not adjudged for the first two positions. One from Kerala stood first and another from Indore second.
Then I turned to the next page reluctantly to see whether I was selected as a “highly commendable contributor”. I felt fortunate when I found that my photo was published and my essay got the third position. My regret doubled as I missed the chance of getting my essay published, thinking a little more effort would have realised my dream.
However, I was extremely elated to find my photo in a magazine. After a month, the postman delivered a large envelope to my address sent by the publisher.
My nimble fingers tore open the envelope hurriedly to find the certificate for my essay. I spent many hours gazing at my photo. It was my first photo to which I felt a narcissistic attachment.
nandi.budha@gmail.com
