The Wedding Photographer Read online

  THE

  WEDDING

  PHOTOGRAPHER

  Sakshama Puri Dhariwal

  For my parents, Meenoo and Atul Puri,

  because by the time you introduced me to cable TV,

  it was too late.

  I had already fallen in love with books.

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  PART ONE: THE FLIGHT

  Hour 1

  Hour 3

  Hour 5

  Hour 6

  Hour 8

  Hour 10

  Hour 11

  Hour 12

  Hour 13

  Hour 14

  Hour 15

  Hour 17

  Hour 18

  Hour 19

  PART TWO: THE WEDDING

  Five days to the wedding

  Four days to the wedding

  Three days to the wedding

  Two days to the wedding

  One day to the wedding

  The Wedding Day

  PART THREE: THE SCANDAL

  Scandal Day 1

  Scandal Day 5

  Scandal Day 9

  Scandal Day 10

  Scandal Day 11

  Scandal Day 13

  Scandal Day 142

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  PART ONE

  THE FLIGHT

  Hour 1

  This was the worst flight of Risha Kohli’s life.

  Scratch that. This was most likely the worst day of her life, even though it hadn’t started out that way. Despite being unable to check-in online the night before, Risha had managed to secure an aisle seat on a seventeen-hour flight from Los Angeles to New Delhi. The thought of spending those many hours squashed between two fat desi uncles, travelling from ‘Amreeka’[1] to ‘mera desh meri mitti’[2] had kept her up all night. Which is why Risha nearly passed out with relief upon discovering that the alphabet next to her seat number corresponded with an aisle seat. Imagine her pleasant surprise when she learnt that her seat number was, in fact, the exact same as her bra size. Best day ever, right?

  Wrong.

  Because Risha was seated next to a little boy with an inability to ‘hold it’. For the fourth time in an hour and fifteen minutes, the kid turned to his mother. ‘Mummy, I want to toilet.’

  ‘No, Bunty,’ his mother responded without looking away from the tiny screen in front of her. ‘Just now only you went, you can’t be going again itni jaldi[3]. Watch your cartoon chup-chaap[4].’

  ‘But I did su-su[5] last time, now I want to potty,’ Bunty said urgently.

  Risha unbuckled her seat belt with a pre-emptive sigh. So much for getting some desperately needed sleep on the coveted aisle seat.

  Bunty’s mother had the decency to look apologetic. ‘Sorry, behenji, hope you are not minding again and again we are disturbing you.’

  Risha tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. ‘It’s okay.’

  Bunty practically leapt over Risha, one hand already unzipping his Ben10 pants as he sprinted to the toilet with his mother in tow. Risha walked towards the cabin crew seats and spotted an Indian flight attendant wearing the reddest lipstick Risha had ever seen. Glancing at the woman’s name tag, she put on her most sororal smile. ‘Kritika, I’m so sorry for the trouble, but is there a vacant seat you can move me to?’

  In a phony British accent, Kritika replied, ‘I’m so sorry, love. The flight is full.’

  ‘I understand, but I’m sitting next to this little kid and—’

  She cut Risha off with a sugary smile. ‘I’m so sorry, love. The flight is full.’

  Risha gritted her teeth. ‘Yes, but—’

  With another pretentious smile, Kritika gestured to her blond colleague. ‘Connor and I really must get on with the service, love. Now, if you would please excuse us?’

  Connor shot Risha a sympathetic look before following Kritika.

  ‘Bitchika,’ Risha muttered under her breath, heading back to her seat.

  Only sixteen hours to go, she told herself. You can survive this.

  It wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t already under-slept. Kabir was right, the direct flight from LA to Delhi was a bad idea. ‘Another day won’t make a difference,’ he had assured her. ‘I have things under control here.’ But Risha didn’t want to push him because this trip, and photography in general, was her personal project. It had nothing to do with her ‘real’ job as assistant editor, Delhi Today, the entertainment and lifestyle supplement of News Today. And as her boss, Kabir Bose had no reason to go easy on her.

  Risha’s friend, Nidhi, had overheard Kabir telling Sukhdeep Pal Singh Baweja, the sports editor, that Risha was the ‘best journo News Today ever had the honour of employing, and the newspaper would surely shut down without her’. Like most marketing people, Nidhi had a tendency to exaggerate.

  Kabir hadn’t exactly deified Risha, as Nidhi claimed, but he had excluded her name from an explosive tirade targeted at the rest of his team. Apparently, what Kabir had really said, was, ‘How can I put together a forty-eight-page supplement when I’m short of three reporters, one designer, and constantly have to babysit two of the most incompetent interns, ever? How did these people get their journalism degrees without learning to spell simple words like “connoisseur” and “faux pas”? The other day, I heard one of the interns ask Risha what “tay-tay a tay-tay” means. Risha looked appalled at first, then explained that a “tête-à-tête” is a private chit-chat. At least one person out of eight can pronounce basic words, Sukhi!’

  Sukhi, under the influence of Karl Marx and Johnny Walker, though probably not in that order, had told Kabir to ‘stop being an elitist bastard and come to terms with the fact that the vocabulary of an average NT reader consists of only eleven eight-letter words.’ And only for effect, he added, ‘Just because you live in Friends Colony and throw random French words into your weekly column doesn’t mean that you can deny others the bloody joie de vivre associated with writing!’

  Nidhi didn’t know what happened after that because she ran off to take a phone call—something she'd been doing a lot since her recent marriage to cricketer Vikram Walia. But if Risha had to guess, Kabir was probably furious at Sukhi’s hypocrisy. Because when it came to venting about the ineptitude of his own sports writers, Sukhi was a known cribber. And on an unrelated note, he was also a borderline alcoholic, with serious anger issues. Risha suspected the only reason editor-in-chief Jay Soman humoured Sukhi was because of his connections in the BCCI. Sukhi had played a few international matches in his time, but due to a severe shoulder injury, his cricket career had come to a premature end.

  ‘The only reason he’s so bitter and angry all the time is because his dream of becoming the next Navjyot Singh Sidhu was shattered,’ Nidhi hypothesized. ‘Can you imagine what the world would look like if, in addition to Sidhu-isms, we also had to put up with Sukhi-isms?’ Nidhi had asked while driving Risha to the Delhi airport.

  ‘God forbid,’ Risha shuddered at the thought.

  ‘Is your lover boy okay with you taking more days off after returning from LA?’ Nidhi asked.

  ‘Real mature. Just because Kabir is supportive of my photography, doesn’t make him my “lover boy”.’

  ‘Of course he’s supportive, like he has a choice! You’re making five times of what our shitty jobs at NT pay us.’

  ‘If you hate your job so much, why don’t you just quit?’

  ‘As soon as Vikram is back from the Australia tour, I’m going to resign.’

  ‘You would be so much happier doing the NGO thing full time.’

  ‘The NGO “thing”? You’re so articulate; eve
r considered a career in journalism?’ Nidhi quipped.

  ‘Hilarious.’

  ‘And what do you mean if I hate my job? You hate yours, too; don’t you?’

  Risha shrugged. ‘I like writing, just not about boring society parties. Actually, Kabir has been quite understanding about that, too. I’ve basically transitioned to Health & Lifestyle and he’s making Charu and the interns work the Page 3 beat. And he has promised me a weekly photo essay as soon as the team is back to its full strength.’

  Nidhi’s green eyes flashed with interest. ‘He is so in love with you.’

  ‘No, he’s not.’

  ‘You should totally date him,’ Nidhi insisted. ‘He’s exactly like Rahul Khanna in Wake Up Sid—suave, sophisticated and super hot.’

  ‘Don’t forget “pseudo”! And Konkana dumps Rahul Khanna for Ranbir Kapoor. Also, you’re married—does Vikram know that you have a crush on my boss?’ Risha asked, well aware that Nidhi had eyes only for her drop dead gorgeous husband.

  Just like half the country’s population.

  ‘I’m just being objective. Until you find Ranbir, you should totally date Rahul. I mean, Kabir.’

  ‘I will take your advice into consideration. Not.’

  ‘If you’re not going to date him, you have zero incentive to work at NT. Honestly, with the kind of money you’re making per wedding, you could do photography full time. The fact that you’re also passionate about it is a bonus.’

  ‘I’m just multitasking as long as I can,’ Risha said.

  ‘And the monthly pay check doesn’t hurt either,’ Nidhi pointed out.

  ‘Yes, unfortunately, some of us aren’t married to the richest cricketer in the world.’

  ‘Hey! I never—’ Nidhi’s retort was interrupted by her phone and she gave Risha a sheepish grin. ‘Speak of the devil.’

  Risha smiled and turned her face to the window, allowing Nidhi a modicum of privacy to speak with her husband.

  In a way, Risha owed her success at wedding photography to Nidhi and Vikram. She was the photographer at their wedding, and had posted a few candid shots on her blog. Even though there weren’t too many close-ups of Vikram, Nidhi had been recognized by a few fans, causing the photos to go viral. Risha had received dozens of calls after that, mostly from crazy fans, but a few legitimate queries as well.

  So when Risha asked her first client, Ridhima Jaipuria, for one lakh rupees, and wondered if she had overpriced her services, Nidhi banned her from negotiating costs with anyone. ‘Are you crazy? Any amateur can make a lakh! You shot Vikram Walia’s wedding!’

  Risha gave her friend an amused smile. ‘How is it that you absolutely refuse to drop Vikram’s name even to get a table at a restaurant, but have no qualms about stooping to the level of a middle-class Delhite when it comes to me?’

  Nidhi looked at Risha as if she were mad. ‘Because you’re my best friend, but also because you’re the most talented photographer I know. And hello, if I need a table at a restaurant, I simply flash my press card!’

  Nidhi had called back Ridhima Jaipuria, claiming to be Risha’s manager, and clarified that one lakh meant one lakh per day, and for four days it would amount to four lakhs plus service tax. Ridhima had agreed immediately, as if one lakh or four lakhs was all the same to her. She then dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Did she really shoot Vikram Walia’s wedding?’

  Nidhi scoffed at that. ‘Of course, she did.’

  ‘Is it true that his wife is a total south Delhi snob?’

  There was a long pause before Nidhi responded, ‘She can be.’ And with that, she slammed the phone on the daughter of the thirteenth richest man in India.

  In addition to being the sixth wedding Risha had shot, the LA wedding was her very first overseas assignment. Over the course of the week, Risha had done the pre-wedding shoot, followed by the whole wedding shebang. The wedding was larger, grander, and more exhausting than any other she had ever shot.

  Add three hours of sleep a day for a week to a non-stop seventeen-hour flight and a seat next to a compulsive toilet goer, and what do you get? Worst day ever.

  Bunty poked his skinny finger into Risha’s thigh. ‘Aunty, thoda side[6].’

  Hoping he had washed his hands, Risha gave him a smile. ‘I’m only a few years older than you. At least call me didi[7], yaar!’

  Bunty giggled as he slid into his seat. ‘You called me “yaar”[8]. That means I’m your boyfriend!’

  Risha frowned. ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

  Risha glowered at him. ‘Watch your cartoon chup-chaap.’

  The last thing she wanted to do was to discuss her love life, or lack thereof, with a nine-year-old.

  Bunty’s mother scowled at him. ‘Bunty, don’t do badtameezi[9] or I will tell air hostess aunty to drop you at the next stop.’

  Bunty’s eyes widened and his lips quivered with fear. Risha smothered a laugh. Served the little monster right.

  Realizing that she wouldn’t be getting much sleep next to Mr Su-su Potty, Risha stood up and reached into the overhead bin for her laptop.

  Hour 3

  Risha plugged her memory card into her laptop, grumbling to herself. Nidhi called this her ‘post-partum depression phase’, sifting through thousands of photos for the first cut selection. Unlike traditional wedding photographers, Risha didn’t believe in sending her clients thousands of photos to choose from. She spent a substantial amount of time on a thorough quality check. She painstakingly looked through each image, discarding the ones with poor lighting or resolution, cluttered frames, and most importantly, the non-candid images or ‘posers’. Most clients had a regular photographer to cater to requests such as ‘Hamare kitty party group ki ek photo lena’[10]; they didn’t need Risha for that.

  Risha gulped down her lukewarm coffee, and started with the obvious thumbnails.

  Select, delete. Select, delete.

  If Risha ever quit her job to do photography full time, the first thing she would do would be to hire an assistant for this specific task. She loved taking photos and even enjoyed working on the album design, but the tedium of going through each and every image was something she could do without.

  One particular image caught her eye and she zoomed into it. It was a photo of the bride’s father during the vidaai[11]. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears and his lips were pursed together to suppress the inevitable breakdown. Just looking at the emotion captured in the image gave Risha goosebumps. It was photos like these that made her love wedding photography so much.

  Risha’s faraway smile was interrupted by an elbow jammed into her ribs.

  ‘He is your boyfriend, na?’ Bunty giggled.

  She shot Bunty an angry glare that made him jump in his seat, knocking over his juice box and sending a spray of sticky orange juice all over her laptop.

  Risha froze. Bunty’s mother stared at Risha in horror. ‘Behenji, I am raylee raylee sorry.’

  She whacked Bunty on the head and said in a menacing tone, ‘Bunty, ab tu dekh what I will do with you. I will throw you out from this window and you will have to reach Delhi on your own!’

  The threat sounded legit to Risha. A moment later, it was confirmed that Bunty had bought it too, because his fear-stricken bowels finally caved in. And just like that, Bunty went in his seat.

  Hour 5

  ‘Are you kidding me, Kritika?’ Risha exploded. ‘A boy just pooped in the seat next to mine! Do you seriously expect me to spend the next twelve hours sitting there?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, love—’

  ‘Yes, I know. “The flight is full.” You have to do something. I’ve been sitting there patiently for the last two hours, but I just can’t take it anymore. I’ll sit anywhere else. ANYWHERE!’ Risha said in exasperation. Whatever happened to ‘ek Hindustani hi ek Hindustani ke kaam aa sakta hai’[12]? Way to set false expectations, DDLJ.

  Risha turned to Connor for help, but he just shrugged.

  Krit
ika arched a perfectly shaped brow. ‘You’ll sit anywhere?’

  ‘Yes!’ Risha nodded.

  ‘Last row?’

  ‘Sure!’ Risha agreed with relief.

  ‘Non-reclining?’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  ‘Next to the toilet?’ Kritika asked.

  ‘I’m already sitting next to the toilet. Get it?’ Risha winked.

  Kritika gave her a blank look, then broke into her trademark faux grin. ‘I’m so sorry, love. The flight is full.’ Then she whipped around and walked off.

  Risha stared after Kritika, puzzled. Was this woman a robot trapped in a human’s body? Risha turned to Connor with a helpless look. ‘What just happened?’

  ‘What happened,’ Connor said, taking a step closer to her, ‘is that a seat just opened up in business class.’

  Risha was caught off guard by his sudden proximity, but the words ‘business class’ made her ears perk up. She tossed her long brown hair behind her shoulder and tipped her head innocently. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Kritika is always a cow to girls who are prettier than her,’ he said with a flattering smile.

  Risha giggled. Or she hoped it was a giggle. Nidhi always said Risha’s laugh was like a Punjabi man’s—loud, hearty and interspersed with snorts. Risha prayed this laugh had sounded more like Aishwarya Rai and less like Kangana Ranaut.

  ‘The airline has a strict guideline about broken TV screens,’ Connor explained, taking another step towards Risha. He was now standing a mere six inches from Risha and she was beginning to feel quite uneasy. Or maybe it was the garlic on his breath that was making her nauseated.

  Risha considered herself fairly inept at the art of flirting, so she racked her brain for the contents of Kabir’s latest weekly column titled ‘Flirt Your Way to Success: 5 Handy Tips’

  She had already done the hair-tossing and giggling, what else was left? Ah, the slouching! The article had mentioned that men like women who literally look up to them, because apparently it gives them a faux sense ofpower. At 5'8", Risha was taller than most Indian men—and definitely this petite British man—so she bent her knees to appear shorter. ‘Go on.’