PHOTO BOOTH
OOOOF!!!that stitch in my stomach, wiping the stray tear out
of my eyes, I stare at my friend who is crying earnestly and laughing at the
same time…I turn to my third friend who is laughing and managing to still
clutch on to the photo which is that proof in history, that we were at the
INGO’s Saturday night bazaar in Goa. Our very own stamp on our timelines.
Strolling through a fair that throngs with life, pulsating
with beats from everywhere around the world, it’s a feast of the senses, if I may
relate everything to mmmm eating.
But controlling the stomach, just listen, close your eyes,
and through all the music you will hear people striking deals in every language
of the world.
So moving through the crowd, sometimes excused by a Russian,
sometimes pardoned in french, we chance upon this activity hub.
Seeing all those people rushing through the funny costumes
to the timer of ten seconds..We knew what we had come up to…all three
of us instantly had that epiphany that this was what we just had to do, get
into that photo booth.
So we quickly stood in queue for our ten seconds of fame, giggling
in anticipation and each eyeing our costume change. I knew I had to get that
wig on my head, life long desires of pink curly hair, finally coming into the
view, like a runner’s first glimpse of the closing line.
Anticipation glowing
in our eyes we waited and observed the veterans already on the shoot. We
observed their faults and laughed at their clumsiness, that polite awkward
laugh, which hopes, we don’t look the same.
Breathing was just a notch higher, as we were given our cue.
Clutching the wigs and over sized sunglasses we trooped on
the stage, waiting to be directed by the photographer, heart beating to the
countdown of ten,nine, eight,seven…..
We all posed like the seventies superfloozies…though later
on the Viking phase and the Minnie mouse desires overtook.
As he downed the shutter on the first shot…we ran, tumbled
more like it to the changing table and scrambled around for the next coolest
thing that would make us look the most foolish…
I was like a woman on a mission…I just stole whatever
discards came to hand ,so one shot I was even the Warrior Viking with a
penchant for heart shaped blue and pink sunglasses, talk about conflicting
desires.
However in one of the shots my curly haired friend also
became Viking,fast forwarded a few centuries , pretty sorted in her desires, she was the modern Viking.A brave warrior with an open mouthed war cry, floating around with a sign saying "like
me on facebook”.
The third photo countdown mad scramble, prize would have to
go to my third (first being me, straight haired,second being my curly haired friend) straight haired friend, who at first spent precious five seconds
deciding, probably tapping her feet as to which colour wig would suit her best,
(I guess the same desire for curly hair, germinates in her too)…deciding to be
loyal to her wig she then proceeded to pick the over sized sunglasses which
happened to be the coolest ones from a collection of say twenty,why you ask? Is
simply because they were the only ones which saw the world through one lens.
And there the count of ‘one’ saw us clutching once again to
each other as our kinetic forces fought to overcome the gravitational forces
and the jolts, of each of us halting at once ,being absorbed by each other. Swaying,yet
perfectly smiling into the camera for our third and final shot.
As it flashed into our eyes and ears resonating with the
booming voice of our photographers megaphone, we put our hearts into that
effortless smile, because it ‘bubbled’ up from every charged up cell in our
system.
We even convinced the photographer that we didn't need more
than one copy of our moment of memory making, because we were all technically
aware of the world of scanning, the look the guy gave us was purely writing us
off as scammers…but when you are on shoestring you really are on shoestrings, so
who cares about peoples faces, they are too high up anyway!!!!focus on the
shoestrings, and keep sidling past people.
Our high continued on to the table that was held on to
bravely by our straight haired friend who in an overcrowded common, open air
eating place fought hard to mark our territory on the bench, that was being
invaded by an amorous old man, bending in to inflame, a much younger woman on
his side, poking my friend with his amply carved camel hump back. Bravo
sweety!!!!she held her space till we were all well fed and watered.
Relinquishing, only to find more time for a stroll through the colorful stalls.
Everything was begging us to save them from the rule of the mean women manning
the stalls.We however were not economically placed to do that, but there were a
few rescue attempts made, some successful, and some ended in us being batted
out by the old bat women.
Overall our march out, was a relatively Victorious one.
The story of what we did with the soft drinks that were not
allowed in has to be a tale on its own…FOR NOW CHEEESE!!!!!
