Long ago photography was capturing a moment to me and I guess the definition changed over the course of time. It turned out to be capturing a story and keep it as a memory.

Then there was a catch!

Once during a walk by the side of the canal of Toulouse, my friend and I discussed the technicalities of the photography. My friend argued that taking pictures in auto mode and then applying filters are not real photography. I acknowledged his view but had a little disagreement. I shoot pictures in auto mode as well as manual mode. Since I use my phone for all the photos, I shoot in auto-mode and I also use the pro-mode (Samsung S8), I’m okay with the pictures I take as long as I shoot what I really wanted to shoot. I too edit my photos and enhance them to some extent some time. I know a lot of people who like to keep the photos they take simple with minor corrections and people who edit to make it look dramatic. And there is another section of people who manipulate the pictures to a whole new level. I try all kind of image post-processing until it serves my purpose. But, most of the time, I shoot and then color correct a bit in a way to connect with the story I create, Not all like them but my definition of photography has given that artistic liberty.

Now, the above picture was shot using my phone that doesn’t have an optical zoom. I digitally zoomed to shoot because of which I lost a lot of quality. Even though I got the right frame, I lost the touch because what I shot seemed too bland to the memory I wanted to be vibrant. And the memory is walking by the side of weekend farmers market in the morning where people maintain social distancing and buying fresh vegetables. The lush green veggies, morning chills, walking by the side of the canal, calm water was so fresh, a dog that passed with his hooman buddy was the icing on the cake as I stood and looked at this beautiful scenery. The moment, the scene was fresh to my eyes but not to my phone’s lens. So I had to enhance the image to match the memory I created.

Following this event was my friend and I waited for another friend who joined us to go to a book table seller’s home. From there, we all three carried the table with me guiding using airplane language and my friends being my wingman. It was a shaky start due to miscommunication but went on smoothly and walked over a couple of kilometers by the side of the canal to reach our destination.

In the newly furnished home of my friend, I noticed and commented that the table we bought is not matching the rest of the furniture and the carpet.