Camera
A
Not So Short Story by Ehtisham Rizvi
Finally
he had enough money to buy a camera, he was not a miser but for the last year
he had been clutching onto every rupee as if his life depended on it. He hadn’t
eaten out for what seemed like ages, he skipped his lunch to save money, and he
didn’t buy new clothes. He did all of that because he needed a state of the art
digital camera.
Xeshan had always been a
loner, he was blessed to be among the few educated people of the third world
country he lived in. Just like many of his peers, he worked day and night at a
job he was overqualified for, for money that wasn’t nearly good enough, and in
a capacity which did not allow him to utilize his talents. His only dream, his
only goal in life was to be the best photographer in the world. He did have an
eye for beauty, some of those, and there were few, who knew his work even
suggested that he found beauty in the most lifeless and ordinary scenes. He
made the viewer stop and think, and he did all that with the 5 mega-pixel
Camera of his cell phone. Some of the people who had seen his work online had
suggested that he get a better camera, for even the best of gladiators could
not survive for long with a blunt, rusty old sword. “A better camera means
better quality of pictures, and will help you reach more viewers” one of his
online ‘friends’ had commented on a picture he had taken. The picture was his
magnum opus so far, it was of an old man with a wrinkled face, sitting near the
grave of his dead son. There were no tears in his eyes, not even a frown on his
face, just emptiness, infinite emptiness. Xeshan had captured the withdrawal
and the exhaustion of the old man with such finesse, that as soon as he
uploaded it on his Flickr account, it started trending on different social
media websites. The picture made one stop, the picture made one think, the
picture crept into the very soul of the viewer and made him/her want to shake
the old man out of his oblivious state, it made one wish he/she could deliver
justice, it made one wish one could drag that man out of his hopelessness, and
it made one realize that Xeshan’s people, and his country, were already dead
inside, they just didn’t know it yet.
The picture titled ‘Cleanistan’
was picked up by several local newspapers, and it was with the help of some of
those papers that Xeshan finally had the money to buy his dream camera. He was
on his way to the ‘President’s Electronic Market’, the largest such market in
the city, and the money was carefully rolled up in his shoes. He wasn’t going
to lose 50,000 rupees to a mugger, and he didn’t care if it made him look like
a fool in front of the shop keeper. Money out of a shoe is still money, and no
shopkeeper would reject 50,000 rupees just because they smelled like his socks.
He got off the bus at the stop, and started towards the market, he knew what he
wanted, he knew how much it cost, and he had the money, what could possibly go
wrong? As he made his way through the crowd of people walking in different
directions, he bumped into someone. His first instinct was to check his
pockets, bumping into people in crowded place often meant that you would end up
without a wallet and/or your cell phone, but to his surprise, his wallet and
phone were still there. He looked at the man he had bumped into, and received
the shock of his life, it was the old man from the picture, the picture he had
taken when he was visiting his grandfather’s grave, the picture which had made
him enough money to buy a decent camera, the picture that had earned him the
most important thing a photographer in Cleanistan could earn, a name. The man
was staring directly into his eyes, but there was no emptiness in his eyes,
there was a sense of recognition, “you have a gift” he said to Xeshan, “you
shook them from their slumber, yet they are not awake. My son was not the first
victim, and he wouldn’t definitely be the last. If you can show them the
ugliness of what they have become, if you could show them the truth, maybe,
just maybe they could change” with that the man reached into the deep pockets
of his traditional Cleanistani shirt, and when his hand came out it had a
camera in it, a large black camera with a strange scope and a stranger
flashlight on top. Xeshan did not recognize the brand, and at first glance, it
did not even appear to be a digital camera, but he could not refuse the man’s
extended hand, he took the camera and tried to look at it from all angles,
weighing it, looking for a brand name, trying to judge the quality, when he
looked up to thank the man, he was not there anymore. He took a picture of the
shop in front of him, and the quality he saw on screen was much more than any
camera he could buy for 50,000. He smiled and started to cross the road to
catch the next bus home, “what a trip” he thought “saved 50,000 and got a free
camera”.
The next few weeks were
magical to say the least, every picture he took scored a ton of hits on
different websites, and many local and some foreign magazines and newspapers
bought his pictures. He could finally quit his day job and dedicate himself to photography.
His pictures exposed the bitter and sad realities of life, unlike his previous
pictures taken through his cell phone, which were all about finding beauty in
the otherwise invisible elements of the society. These pictures grabbed the
people by the collar and shook them, slapped them, cussed at them. Through his
pictures, he tried to awaken his comatose nation, but his efforts seemed in
vain. Surely he was appreciated as a photographer, and surely he was doing what
he loved and was making more money than he could ever hope to, but he felt an emptiness
and a void, he felt that old man’s eyes upon him, questioning him, asking him
if he had saved some other father from losing his son to sectarian killings.
With every picture he took, with every day that passed, with every “good job
Xeshan, I am a big fan of your work” comment he received on social media, his
frustration grew. He could feel his guilt overcoming him, days went by when he
didn’t take a picture, every time he picked up the camera, he felt as if the
camera was asking him the same questions as the old man, and that wasn’t all. He
could feel that somehow, the camera was connected to his mind, if he found
himself concentrating on something within a picture, the camera would
automatically focus on it, and blur out the rest. Looking through the lens and
looking at things without it, were now the same thing. Xeshan was puzzled by
his situation, he had taken a picture of his camera with his old cell phone,
and had posted it online, but no one was yet to come up with a manufacturer’s
name.
It was a slow,
depressing summer afternoon, with hot wind and dust ruling the city streets,
and Xeshan was out there looking for inspiration. After wandering the streets
aimlessly for an hour, he entered the nearby posh coffee shop, he remembered
the time when he couldn’t afford to eat there, when he desperately wanted to
but the prices were too high for a salaried man like him. It had always been
his fantasy to run into his favorite TV actress Mahnur there, she had mentioned
in an interview that she frequented the place, and running into her in that
coffee shop was a dream he had seen with open eyes on more than one occasion.
As he entered the shop, camera in hand, he could not believe his eyes, there
she was, sitting right in front of him, much more beautiful in person than on
screen. His hands gained a life of their own, and forgetting all gentlemanly manners
and ethics of photography, he simply took a picture of her, all the while
thinking how good his life would be if she were his wife. The camera flashed,
and the picture was taken, when he put the camera down, he was in for the shock
of his life, he was not in the coffee shop anymore, he was in some strange
house and there she was in front of him. He noticed the ring on her finger, and
then memories started flashing before his eyes. He could remember asking her
out, he could remember the time he popped the question and he could even
remember the wedding. What he couldn’t understand was the existence of those
memories, he did not live that life, but he could see himself living it in
those memories. He could try to forget those memories like a pleasant dream,
but he could not ignore the reality, standing right in front of him, with a
loving smile. “Ready?” she asked, and he suddenly remembered that they had to
go to a dinner party.
After a few weeks, when
he was finally settling into his new life as a married man, he again decided to
take a stroll and think about his situation. He knew that somehow, the camera
was involved, he wished for her, and the camera made his wish come true. He
knew that the thought was silly and if he shared it with someone they would
call him crazy, but in his heart he was convinced that the camera could do
things, extraordinary things. To test his theory, or to validate his belief, he
stopped in front of a large mansion, he had always hated people who lived in
big houses, it’s not that he had something personal against them, he just
didn’t understand why some people had to show off their wealth with their big
houses and bigger cars. However, this house he liked, this house he wanted
“this house would be the perfect gift for Mahnur” he thought and looked at it
through the lens of the camera. His throat was a little dry and his heart was
thumping in his chest, his hands were cold and sweaty, but he put his feelings
aside, focused on the house and pushed the button. The camera flashed and the
picture was taken, when he removed the camera from his eye, he found himself in
the mansion, with Mahnur thanking him for the extravagant gift. He smiled, and
memories of him selling the mansion’s picture to a foreign customer flashed
before his eyes, the money was enough to make the down payment on the mansion,
and he could remember himself and Mahnur signing the contract. He knew that the
memories were false, but he was happy with the results.
His life changed forever
once he figured out how the camera worked, all he had to do was wish for
something and capture its image through the camera. The camera would fill his
mind with memories of how he acquired the object and the object would come into
his possession. He now owned several houses and cars, and frequently cheated on
his wife. The goal of changing his society for the better, one picture at a
time, had far been forgotten. He was now extremely rich, and Cleanistan was a
society where rich people could do as they pleased, no questions asked. He had
started using recreational drugs to numb his conscience. Looking at the camera
did not remind him of the old man anymore, he loved the way people treated him,
and he loved that he could break any law and get away with it by simply
spending pocket change. The society needed no change, the society worked for
him, everything was at it should be. But sometimes he could still feel the
void, no matter how many pills he took or how much powder he snorted; he could
feel the burden of his guilt increasing. He could feel as if he was letting
someone down, as if he was letting himself down.
He tried seeking help,
at first he went to the nearest priest; he skipped the part about the magic
camera, but told him that despite having everything he felt emptiness. The
priest advised him to pray regularly, and to donate money generously. After
trying that for a while, he became convinced it wasn’t working and went to a
shrink, the shrink advised him to exercise, to get in touch with his parents,
to take up a hobby and to meditate, but none of that worked either. His drug
and alcohol abuse increased rapidly, and his womanizing reached new heights of
degeneracy. Mahnur tried to leave him on multiple occasions, but every time she
did, he captured her image with his camera and wished her to stay; she became his
prisoner without chains, not knowing that she was being forced to stay against
her will.
“I was given a chance, I
was given power and I was chosen to change my society, but instead, I allowed
my greed and my lust to overcome me, I allowed the society to change me, I
became what I despised. Look at me and be warned, I had everything a man could
possibly have, but I didn’t earn it, I abused the gift given to me, and I
strayed from my path. Pray for my forgiveness, if you believe in prayers” the
very last entry in his journal was very similar to a suicide note. “Looks like
a simple case of suicide to me” said the inspector visiting the scene, “the guy
overdosed on drugs and alcohol, a good way to go in my opinion” the inspector
loved to crack wise.
“Rich guy, wife sure
inherited a large sum, could be murder” the sub inspector took his job way too
seriously, at least that's what the inspector thought, “look if you wish to
investigate murder, it means more work for me, so why don’t you just fill the
paperwork and let’s get out of here” the inspector was in a hurry to finish his
twelve hour shift. The men from the ambulance service took the dead body away. The
camera just sat there in the corner of the room on a table, looking at the bed
where he once laid, one more soul corrupted by his own greed, one more soul
adding to the camera’s magic.
I would like to thank my dear friend Zeeshan Haider for the central
idea of the story.
