A Tale of Two Siblings (alternative title-"How Razz Got his Groove Back")

My brother- whom I call Bhaijan and everyone else calls “Razz” has always been the whole world to me- generous and compassionate, with the gift of making others laugh out loud. He is spontaneous, vibrant and loved by all who know him.

In high school, he became interested in photography. He began with a seventies clunky Kodak Instamatic which used a contraption called a flash cube for indoor photographs. These are currently collector's items. He saved up all his pocket money to buy a used Yashica which was a lucky find at a church rummage sale. He then turned his 12' x 12' boxroom into a makeshift dark room. I thus grew up using the words 'shutter speed' and 'aperture' with a fairly moderate level of comfort.

We did a lot of what used to be considered typically boyish activities growing up i.e.we went to every auto show, every cricket match, every car-related exhibit we could find in the City of London,and Bhaijan would always have this Yashica snapping away. To our annoyance, he would NEVER take photos with family members in them- always inanimate objects or random passers-by.

His partner in crime was someone so hilarious he could have been a stand-up comedian with his dead- pan voice and black clothes- Manjeet- a Sikh boy whose sister always wore different colored socks. These two friends would go to the economically-challenged parts of town armed with a tripod. They scoured the London docklands or the East End for potential prize-winning shots or just a jolly good time. One week-end they took off for Edinburgh, entered a photography competition and ended up winning second place. It was a black and white composition depicting two cranes next to the River Thames . It currently hangs in my guest room.

When Bhaijan went away to college, he focused on becoming an engineer and we thought his artistic days were over. Apart from being the impromptu photographer at weddings, he almost stopped taking pictures altogether.
My parents worried about him living so far away and got him engaged at 19 and married a couple of years later!!
So there he was, with huge responsibilities. It was time to become a grown-up and he turned into a rather serious, settled husband and father. Even though all his friends and family continued to encourage him, he practically abandoned the hobby for years.

Then all of a sudden- last December, Bhaijan sent me a link to a web-site he made. He was trying to gather a portfolio to be accepted into the Royal Photographic Society. He was so passionate about his creations that it got ME thinking. I wanted to re-connect to my own now tenuous links to creativity- and immediately re-started my blog.

Well, our two families went to Hyderabad together and he took hundreds and hundreds of pictures there. Other than the usual family compositions at lavish weddings, he was taking photos of the diverse and unusual people and places that you can only find in that particular sub-continent. A fishmonger wearing a fuchsia shirt, a rickshaw driver trying to transport seven striped mattresses- that sort of thing. Although the photos highlighted idiosyncrasies- they were never meant to be cruel or mocking. If anything, they brought out the character and history of the place.

During the evenings, we would gather at my uncle's house for dinner and Bhaijan would project the day's photos on to the television. Much ooh-ing and aah-ing would ensue. During one of these viewing sessions we were marveling over a composition entitled "Sunset over Usmansagar". Bhaijan had waited over an hour to capture the exact moment that the sun would retire over that rich deep blue expanse. At the time, I hadwondered if it was truly worth the wait and if we ALL should have to suffer for my brother's art. But one of my relatives proved me wrong by exclaiming thus:

"Razz Bhai, I have lived here my whole life but I didn't realize how beautiful Hyderabad is!"

My brother had achieved one of the goals of the artist- allowing the viewer to see the familiar in a new light. The next day, while we were on a sight-seeing tour, one of our cousins-a most conventional, sensible, rather burly doctor, alerted him to something bizarre:

"Razz Bhai- look! "Pappu Tailors"

The bus driver slammed on his brakes. Bhaijan jumped out of the vehicle, adjusted his wide angle lens briefly then SNAPPED that picture of the unfortunately named establishment amid a bevy of cheering cousins. He took a bow and jumped back onto the bus.

And at that moment, I realized.

Razz was back.