Lucky shot or not?

Moments of photography... from a newbie's point of view.

A lucky shot: While snapping macro shots of flora, I found this 1cm or so sized spider 
hidden amidst yellow bell flower bud

Case #1:

I sometimes wonder what's the difference between two photographs. You see, some subjects turn out as your lucky encounters. You spot them,  you snap them, and that's all to it. Some subjects are elusive and uncommon, you need to mix more luck and hard work to track them down. There are also ones called compositions, where various settings - internal and external - ought to be arranged meticulously - for hours or days - to get one photograph just aesthetically right. And then there are shots that are meant to be post-developed, for their magic blooms within a photo lab or a photo editor.

But if the subject is the same, like when two people snapped the sky while standing on two different points on the roundish earth, would it look the same? Or would it not? Yet the keen eye will surely note who's the veteran and who's not.

Let me take the instance of the grasshopper's case. I happen to spot a bunch of tiny green grasshoppers playing hide and seek in a grass bush. All I did was lower my cam into the bush and go clicking right and left. The cam was set to super macro mode, so it did the job for me. The pics came out cool, and I was really happy. Happy to see those tiny beings in larger than life sizes.

But then... some months later when I was browsing an online gallery of a photographer, I happen to come across a grasshopper, in fact it was the head of a grasshopper. My first thought was, oh how lucky to have a high end cam to get such fine detail. And then... I read the caption under that grasshopper's head.

You see... this photographer dared to plant himself full flat on the ground, mind you he was outdoors, with his bulky cam and remained still for several minutes to capture one tiny guy who happens to land on the ground before him, on a whim. Right when the photographer was about to snap, his model flew away... on a whim. Disappointed at his miss, the photographer stood up, but then the model flew back and sat right at the same spot. The photographer again sprawled flat on the ground and was about to click, when the model flew away... again... on a whim. And this had happened several times but the photographer never gave up and finally managed to outwit the mischievous model by a fraction of a second.. and right after the shot was taken, his model flew away and never returned again.


Case #2:

Sometimes I can't help but wonder... why people travel to far off places. Some travel thousands of miles away from their loved ones and cozy homes, just for the sake of shooting scenes that are bizarre, mysterious or magical. Like the aurora spectacle near Polar regions, or castles of stalactite and stalagmite, dizzying cliffs, volcano eruptions, giant tornadoes or even uncharted tombs where ghosts would likely patrol. And some photographers dare to stay up in jungles just to capture the elusive night crawlers, big and small, where many of them could be found easily in almost any zoo.

So why... why do they go that extra, extra mile... to capture something so momentary and ephemeral? Why stare at the sky, night after night and track the faint trail of stars, or snap frame by frame the entire sky from one horizon to another, and try to stitch them all together.. to make one photograph?

Perhaps they have witnessed what we have not. Perhaps they have observed those subtle nuances, ambiances, expressions of the subject that the ordinary eyes would fail to note.

You see... the big cat in the jungle will not yawn the same way as the one in the zoo. For the one in the jungle is never bored, and only expresses that he's ready to set off for hunting on a long sleepless night. The one back at zoo may yawn more often, drenched in a never ending boredom, where the same old scenes pop before him from morning till night.

If that's not the case, then perhaps the sky from the photographer's backyard is hindered by the lights of their neighborhood, or the smoky clouds puffed from a far away factory, or the dust that swirled up during day has weaved a hazy screen at night. But when they trek to the summit of a very high mountain, or trudge along a sand dune in a vast arid desert, or wade through the savannah with a tree not in sight... far... far away from the so called civilization... that's when the photographer begins to see the stars... the ones he's never seen before. For his vision is now clear, and his mind is free from clutter. And there before him unfurls the perfect night sky, bundled with its boundless charm, all set to be captured.

That's what I felt when I came across in another gallery, a starry sky with myriads of teeny stars glimmering in magical glows of reds and purples, how tough it must have been to capture that night sky... so beautiful and vast.

Beating the chill of the night, being under siege by armies of blood thirsty mosquitoes and ticks, patiently waiting for the right moment, breathing as softly and slowly as possible, concentrating solely on the sky and nothing else. Not even the faintest rustle, the whooshing of the wind or the creepy nightly moans of the wild beasts lurking around would scare him. Nor would he worry about the lethal critters that could pop up any moment beside him. He puts his life on the line for that one memorable moment... which made me think... how amazing it must be to become a photographer of such caliber and resolve?

I felt so intimidated, like a tiny ant confronting a giant T-Rex. But I know that one day when that tiny ant try and build an anthill... so big, bigger than anything else around him, then the ant too can relish the spectacle that the T-Rex has been relishing for all that time. Then again, what the two sees might never be the same... even at the same altitude... with the same pair of eyes. But this little ant is hopeful enough to conquer the summit of the tallest anthill one day, in future... somewhat distant.

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Just felt like penning my thoughts when I browsed some breathtaking travel photographs just the other day at the NGM site.

The droplet and the friend

On the yellowy green banana leaf I sprinkled some water. Tiny mirrors suddenly popped. They allowed me to see the world, through their eyes.

Dew drops on a blade of grass can't last long. But when those pearly droplets drop on to the ground, they connect and make tiny puddles. Water can't survive alone, nor can humans.

I then wondered if friends are also like droplets. They may start out as one puddle and dry up to be droplets. Or start as droplets and connect to be a puddle. The more they are the bigger the puddle becomes, from a puddle to a pond, from a river to a great ocean.

Sometimes friends just walk in and out of your life. One time you fee they are your kindred spirits. Soon they prove you are wrong. and it all becomes a mirage. When they don't see you, they forget you. When you don't see them, you forget them. No contacts = no bonds. The friendship becomes a mirage, an ephemeral memory of a lifetime. Like those little droplets who were once left all alone.

Then the end becomes the beginning, and the beginning becomes the end. Both, for the droplet and the friend.

The Kite and the Bird

I thought we were the same.. when I saw him and I, both soaring high... riding the winds in the boundless blue sky.

As I flew higher and higher my frilly long tail fluttered like waves. He glided stretching his coffee brown wings.. and flapped from time to time to catch the current. But soon we parted our ways. 'That was the beginning of the end..' the kind northern wind whispered in my ears. But I simply ignored.

I never believed in the red thread of fate, for I was always attached to a fine white thread with utmost strength.  I was striving hard to escape the dictator at the other end. He knew I was trying to escape. So he tugged, real hard, and I swiftly drifted down.

I think I lost conscious.. though I do not know for how long. When I slowly opened my eyes, the glaring sun rays blinded my sight. I had to squint and look around. Oh but alas! Everything around me was upside down!

No... it didn't take me that long to figure out.. it was I who was upside down. Dangling like a teeny weeny spider on a fibril, I felt the weight of the gravity for the first time. I looked up again.. squinting my eyes. The fine white thread was glistening like a tinsel.. weaving itself in a messy tangle.

And then.. I saw a heartrending sight. The heartless white thread had captured my friend. He was wriggling in pain, on a bough few feet above me. His eyes were both swollen, from all the tears dripping like a fountain. And there it was... the vicious raven with those piercing eyes and razor sharp beak. It was attacking my friend. And all I could do was watch... in silence.

I opened my mouth and screamed at the top of my voice. 'Help him, please... somebody... anybody.. just help him. He's my friend. My very first and dear friend.'

Did anyone hear? I looked around. Not even a ghost was in sight. I tried to pull the glittering white thread, but it didn't budge. The raven was circling like an eagle fixed on its prey. It was a chilling sight.

Just then I heard a few footsteps. Was it the dictator who gave me life? No, it was someone else. He called others for help. He brought a long pole, a ladder and a bamboo. With the help of his allies he came to the rescue of my friend.

My friend.. he was in utter pain. Here and there white feathers popped out over the once neat coffee brown plumage. His yellow beak was partly opened, but no voice came out. He was totally worn out. The raven had left. His allies were steadily working hard.

Between my untimely slumbers.. I saw my friend soaring once again. He didn't glide nor flap his wings in grace.. it was all wobbly but he still managed to escape.. from the evil snare that my own white thread of fate had woven in despair. Just as he left out of my sight.. I heaved a long sigh.. and shut my eyes. At last I too was free.. when I slowly drifted and entered the eternal sleep.

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Sorry that I couldn't add a note to this post. Especially since this is a non-fiction, written as a flash fiction.
It was the end of last month.. I heard a commotion outside as I was getting ready to go for work. Our neighbors had gathered round the 'Tree of Life' (if you could still remember that very special tree I introduced in my oldest blog). They were using everything they could to save the life of a poor birdie, a mynah, who was caught up in a cord entangled on high branches. The cord had been broken off from a kite. There was a big crow attacking the mynah, and it was crying loudly in pain.

A couple of babblers tried to help it, but they were soon chased by the crow. It was a terrible sight. Just before I left home I heard the good news, that our neighbor finally was able to free the bird and it flew away with few injuries. This neighbor hardly talk with us but I really appreciate his relentless effort cause he actually came back without going for work to save this birdie, and he struggled with a long steel pole and a bamboo for over half an hour to loosen up the cords and save the birdie's life!

(Un)controlled

 There are times that you feel you're so powerless.. you're imbued with negativity... you've run out of all ideas.. you feel desperate for a change.. and then... you catch that faint light... the light at the end of the tunnel? Nope.. the teeny faint feeble spot of light at the bottom of your heart.. that says.. you've not tried.. not just enough.. there's more options.. hundreds of them.. if you just believe.. and look around. 

360 degrees = 360 ideas!

PS: that's mathematics for dummies. ^__^

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The society is a strange thing. It has such an impact on individuals, whether we like it or not. It seems like the society is controlling us.. pulling us with invisible strings.. like how the puppeteer controls his puppet.

The puppet has no choice but to play along their roles.. as and when the strings get pulled. The puppet needs to remain heartless, brainless and mindless and let the puppeteer stage the show. Add a ventriloquist and the puppet becomes completely mute.. unable to voice his opinions anymore.

The show goes on, the viewers are happy, the puppeteer receives money. The puppet.. gets thrown into a dark corner of the closet. If broken, the puppet gets replaced. It's the same model, same costume, same skills, the individual puppet has no unique value.

The society is such a scary thing. But.. strangely the puppeteers are all made up of puppets. Each getting controlled by their superior, until the hierarchy hits the ceiling.

Going in a rut, doing the same thing daily, mechanical greetings, emotionless smiling, shallow conversations, empty promises.. isn't it high time for the puppet to brush off all the dust and pull the strings out. And stand up on his own feet and voice out.. even in a soft whisper.. if not so loud.. this isn't fair.. this isn't what I want.. let me be me.. am I not a human.. after all?