Tangents
The Waiting <i>Game</i>
A Rare Pose. Photo: Ihtisham Kabir
It is noon on a hot and humid April day. I am standing with my camera amidst some trees when I see two unusual flying bugs. They come and go in random trajectories. Then they tire and sit - but only for a split second, too quick for my camera to focus - before flying off again. I stay still, looking through my camera viewfinder, sure that the next time they sit, or the time after that, I will get their picture. Indeed, waiting is a large part of photographing birds, wildlife and insects. I usually try to find a likely place, hopefully spot a creature, and wait for the right moment to photograph it. The trouble is that none of the creatures follow my wish. They move of their own free will, which is driven by priorities such as finding food, mating, feeding their young and avoiding predators. At times, out of sheer desperation, I concentrate hard, solemnly sending reiki and assorted mind control commands their way, but they are impervious. Either they do their own thing, or they run away. Playing “take my picture please” with the photographer is not an important part of their daily routine. The insects I am tracking return presently. It is difficult to follow them with my eye, even harder through the camera's viewfinder. I have a sudden epiphany. How painfully slow we humans are compared to other creatures! The blink of an eye is time enough: a frog jumps three feet, a fingey (drongo) snatches a dragonfly mid-flight, a lizard sensing my presence vanishes, a kingfisher takes off with a fish, a squirrel leaps from one tree to the next. Their muscles have zero inertia, reaching top speed in a fraction of a second. Compared to them, I must be a clumsy picture: large, slow-moving, sweating profusely in the heat, blinking rapidly as sweat stings my eye; unable to sit in odd positions, jump from one tree to another, race like a bullet or simply vanish. To make matters worse, my largeness presents obvious dietary - nay, feasting - possibilities to other creatures. The mosquitoes and leeches I can understand. After all, it takes one tiny incision to access several litres of nourishing blood coursing through my veins. But why do those red ants love stinging my legs? Why does that large beetle dive for my nose? Does my nose look like his potential mate? Huh? This is the dilemma of the waiting game. While waiting for my photo target, I become lunch target. I have become so accustomed to non-cooperation that when I finally find a bird close by and unafraid, I am more startled than the bird, and, fumbling with the camera, miss the photo opportunity. Yet I persevere, telling myself the waiting game has not become an obsession. I need just one more chance, one more shutter-click, one more time the bug sits down or the bird shows its face...I will get it, and then I will rest.
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