"Khurai"

The sweetest turbaned thing ever born in the soil of Punjab is driving me around in Delhi. Yesterday evening I dragged him into the halls of National Gallery of Modern Art. Despite a two-hour shut-eye the previous night, despite waking up way too early in the morning to fly with a large baggage, and despite spending a lousy day at Pragati Maidan, I wanted to be there. A Raghu Rai retrospective was opening. My heart missed a beat when I saw the gallery's closing time is 5pm, but it was okay, probably because of the opening ceremony. (And in the opening ceremony there was this platitude march of "Raghu Rai and I" by various important persons and the release of two books -- Raghu Rai's India or some such, in colour and B&W -- Rs 5000 each, goddammit. I stopped inquiry at this point.)

My friend asks me what's going on here, and I tell him that this is Raghu Rai's photography exhibition.

"Khurai?", asks he.

"Raghu Rai", whispers I.

"Khurai?", asks he again.

"Khurai" is standing right next to us, and perhaps he's been listening to this. Khurai was seen smiling in any case.

(In hindsight, I probably was not supposed to shoot anything, even with a silly cell phone camera. But if this isn't an occasion for photographer rebellion, what is? Other people were taking pictures of themselves with Raghu Rai anyway. Just this much for me, please?)