Against the Red Sea

The helmsman responsible for making Bengal the red bastion finally passed away. For the past couple of days he had managed to shove the disaster in Haiti to a single column tucked away somewhere inside the newspaper. Miles of newsprint have been spent informing the masses about HIS failing kidney and urine retention. In democracy, even death it seems is not the great leveler.

This was my first state funeral and I was truly overwhelmed by the deluge of supporters. We Bengalis are a strange lot. We just need an excuse to celebrate. Students and clerks blessed the great communist for not dieing on a Saturday. Who wants to miss out on holidays. People flocked from remote corners of Bengal in trucks, buses and trains. Some of these mourners will surely stay back after sundown, taking in the lights of Paki Ishtreet (Park Street for the uninitiated); follow it up with a quick visit to the wonderland of Shonagachi- Kolkata's redlight district; and head for their homes next morning after a mandatory visit to the Kalighat Temple. The atmosphere was carnivalesque. And while the crowds waited, hawkers made a fast buck selling munchies. The more entrepreneurial ones had managed to make posters of the great leader that sold like 'hot kachoris.' Bengal is xeroxing its own White Tigers. So Arvind Adiga, you can see red and sue our Roshogolla arse but still no royalties for you.

I learnt a little bit about Murphy's law- you will leave behind the lens you need on the day you need it most. I also learnt about the golden rule- location...location...location! Its all about visualising random crowd movements and placing oneself at vantage points. Then its just getting the correct lens, exposing for five stops of difference and of course keeping in mind minor stuff like composition and news value. Fluid dynamics at its best. Considering I was always bad at physics, this was all about making mistakes and learning what not to do. So next time the R god dies and I have to head down south, I know what not to do.