Grab a printed picture from the dusty boxes. Any picture. It is the most neglected item in our households because for at least ten years we have been taking pictures only in digital format and saving them in hard drives. But pick one up, I am waiting. Great, you have one in your hand! It is unlikely that you would pick up a black and white photo. These genres are born out of traces from bounced ricocheted light or complete absorption of it on a surface, the science of imprisoning them in an “Anupol” on a film or sensor, and finally translated in a two-dimensional mural on a paper by an elaborate waltz of chemicals. So, you are holding a wonder in your palm. But the picture is color, you say. Is there red, any amount of red in that picture? Sometimes even if you do not see that color, it is present, barely breathing, hiding with an agency. It is my favorite, no reason.
In digital format a bunch of “yes” and “no” in very commanding arrangements: 111111110000000000000000 stands for the color red. You cannot omit a single zero/ “no” from the pack. If you do, the electronic device you are using, holding, would go erratic. It is also one of the Magi from the primary color group – the trios that create such a rich, vibrant, spectacular vista around us. It is impossible to fathom the mechanism of that process. But is it possible for us to say those 1’s and 0’s in an “Anupol” – in an atomic small instant – much like the duration it took for the camera to snap that shot? The shot you are holding is like any other household photos, the camera shutter speed was one-sixtieth of a second. Meaning that the light played magic on a strip of film or sensor only for that moment. This speed for some photos of non-moving objects is as short as one hundredth or two-hundredth of a second. Now, pause for a moment, please. How ridiculously small that number is! Not a second, a tiny fraction of it, I remind you once again. A photo is a testament of our life, snatched from the ruthless tyrant – the time – to make a monument. To make a memento for it would last long after our own footprints stop making marks on the dusty desert of eternity. While we are alive, life moves away with extraordinary speed: 100,000 heartbeats, 30,000 blinks, trillions of synapses in a day. And our brain is busy ignoring more stimuli than it is bringing attention to our psyche. A picture announces a revolt from time’s running away with an anchor in its waves. It declares a victory over the seized moment, however small the duration might be. That “Anupol,” that moment will forever be ours, the shape of our brief stay on this blue planet carved out as a memento for generations to come and our tiny life elongates into a future albeit in our absence. Still, many of us reading this post are vehemently reluctant to sit in front of a lens. It is nothing short of punishment.
On the other parts of the world profit sniffers with camera play with this emotion to capture moments and visit refugees, say in Syria or Rohingya camps in Bangladesh. They offer to take pictures of anyone who is interested. There are many takers of this offer with an interesting transaction scheme between them. The refugees have no money or valuables to offer in exchange. But they are not hesitant to give away their allowances, say a bowl of barley, wheat, or whatever they receive from the authority in a form of ration. “We have lived many times in the past without food” they reason! The sub-par print quality of Polaroid is as good as any other variety to them. There is no guarantee that the photo would last long enough. No guarantee that it would be with them when they find a place to start over. More importantly, if they would ever find a place of their own! Their life is in waiting. Except for vultures, no one notices them meaningfully. Still, tomorrow they cradle today in their heart. It is easy to omit them from any census, easier to ignore them than the 1’s and 0’s of the color red. Nothing goes haywire when we leave them out. So, they have a need for a picture, it may outlive them! They are not interested in snatching a moment from the sea of time. Barely breathing, hiding with an agency to proclaim they too were here before fading away into oblivion.
P.S.: Anupol is an old Bengali word meaning atomic small amount duration of time. Mostly used in poetry when Tagore received his Nobel prize. Since then it too faded away. It pronounces Awe – noo (as in nook) – Paul.
“Anu” means atom and “pol” moment.