Life is strange. When I say that, I feel it in my bones.
A year back, I had met a photographer (let me call him Mr P) and collected some photographs from him for a rock band story. The day had been particularly harrowing for me. At the end of it when I reached office, I forgot the photos behind in the autorickshaw. I was racked with guilt and tension. And I wanted to be honest about it. I called up Mr P and explained to him how I had misplaced his pictures. I thought he would blow his lid. He did.
To make up for my callousness, I offered to get the prints developed. I asked for the negatives. He refused. Instead he asked me to shell out Rs 10,000 for each of the prints. Till that point I was being polite and I was making myself take everything he was saying (he said a lot) timidly. But the moment he quoted that figure I lost it. I bit out some cold remarks and hung up.
Our exchange was definitely not short and crisp as my account seems. It happened over the phone, the e-mail and then on the phone again. It was an ugly experience.
Today I called up a biker for a story. While I was talking to him, he mentioned casually that he is a photographer and a rock and roll one at that. The moment I heard that, everything kind of fell in place. In a flash. I was talking to Mr P. I was stunned. I quickly passed over the phone to my photographer who was seated beside me. I called up another biker and asked him where supposed Mr P lives. "Yes, he does have an office there," he said, confirming the place I had mentioned.
Now I have to go for the story and the shoot tomorrow. And meet Mr P. I am sure that once we meet, he will remember me.
I am scared.