Havaj

The relentless march of time and technology continue to chip away at the fortunes of a hardworking photographer until the goddess Kali intervenes by sending a stuffed toy tiger to lead the way to prosperity once again.

Studio portraits and function, family, passport, and marriage photos had provided Pinakin Chatraliya and his family a comfortable life with dowry for his daughters, Hira and Jassi. He even took photos at important official functions of the Archeological Survey of India, his scooter was like new, and his house was in good condition. People came to him because he knew the best locations with the best times and angles to take professional, studio quality photos. 

His photography business started waning when color prints and digital cameras came into the picture. His life changed when mobile phone cameras and selfie sticks squeezed out the demand for professional, studio quality photos.

Every day had become a long day. His feet hurt, his head ached, only one or two customers came to his Champaner studio; only one or two customers came to him after he spent the whole day at Pavagadh.

Pinakin looked over his shoulder at the twin towers of the Shaher ki Masjid framed in the sky as he locked the door of his studio. The last rays of the sun lit up the evening descending on the town. Then he saw a Volvo bus weaving slowly down the street with ‘Bajrang Travels’ painted in big letters across its windshield.

“Driver is lost,” Pinakin muttered to himself as he watched the approaching bus, the driver and conductor looking desperately for the road to get them back on the highway.

The passengers stared helplessly as vendors began to encircle the bus like a pack of wolves, each one hoping to make a big sale at the end of the day.

The bus swerved suddenly to avoid a young boy who jumped in front of it, waving picture postcards in the air. Brakes groaned and the air horn blared as the driver cursed and swung away from the foolhardy youth.

Pinakin saw something fly off the top of the bus. He felt the rush of air past his head and heard a dull thud behind him. He turned around startled to see a large stuffed tiger looking back at him from the footpath. The bus disappeared in a cloud of dust.

“Havaj! Mataji’s steed,” gasped Pinakin.

Quickly, before anyone noticed, Pinakin unlocked his studio door and whisked Havaj in. He placed Havaj on a riser platform, locked the front door behind him, and switched on the flood lights. Then he cut away the washing instructions tag.

“Bajrang Bali brought Mataji’s steed from the other side of the Himalayas.” Pinakin marveled staring at the ‘Made in China’ label he had cut out.

The next day Havaj reached Pavagadh. The paadi became his home with the talao, Lakulish mandir, Kalimata mandir, and mazaar behind him. Pilgrims and tourists started lining up for photos with Mataji’s steed.

With Mataji’s blessings and her gift of Havaj, Pinakin did not have to go looking for customers. He was busy at the best location with the best background and the best angles taking professional, studio quality photos.