By Dr. K. Javeed Nayeem, MD

Last weekend, I had written about how I made a friend while travelling on a train by exchanging books with her and then tragically lost her too. I had also asked my readers to stay tuned to the remaining part of my narration about another memorable train journey and so here I am.

Sometimes strange things happen, which seem very unusual and this is one such episode. As a medical student, early one summer, I was travelling by train to Gulbarga where I was studying, when a foreigner got into my compartment at Raichur and settled down with his knapsack on the window seat opposite mine, after flashing his smile at me with a nod of his head, as most foreigners do.

Although what he was carrying in the knapsack was not known to me, I could surmise what it perhaps contained, because of the unusually large tripod which was strapped to it. It told me that whatever he was in life, he certainly had to be a serious photographer too.

And, from the name Manfrotto on his tripod and the name Tucano on his knapsack, I could also guess that he was most likely an Italian.

Although most foreigners, unlike we Indians, do not start conversations with strangers easily, he turned out to be a little different because as he fanned himself with his cap he turned to me and said, “Oh! Isn’t it unbearably hot here these days?” I said it indeed was, with much hotter days to come very soon. He introduced himself as a priest from Italy, on his third trip to India.

This opening was enough for me because as a fellow photography enthusiast, I was waiting for a break to start a conversation with him about our hobbies. I asked him if he was having a good time visiting places in India and photographing them, when he told me that he indeed had a very good time till his camera broke down the previous day.

That was a second lucky break for me to continue our conversation further, when he told me that this time he was visiting all the Bahamani Forts and monuments. He had just finished with visiting the fort at Raichur and was heading to do the same at Gulbarga.

He however regretted that now with his only camera dysfunctional, he would have to be content with just visiting the monuments, without being able to photograph them. He told me that a photographer in Raichur had told him that the nearest place where he could hope to get his camera repaired was in Bombay, when I told him that he had received the right information.

His predicament which had left him crestfallen, began looking like an interesting situation to me. When I told him that I too was a photography enthusiast who could as a hobby, maintain and also repair and set right minor snags in cameras, his face brightened with a look of great surprise.

He quickly opened his knapsack and retrieved his camera which was a German Leicaflex SL, a very recent model then, which seemed to be in pristine condition. To give him the reassurance that it was quite safe for him to allow me to even touch his camera, I retrieved my own camera from my bag and showed it to him.

While his was a West German flagship product, mine being a Practica Super TL, was an East German one, from right across the Berlin Wall, which was then still dividing the two countries, though not the spirit of its people! And, while my camera was a very modestly priced one, his was at least ten times costlier than mine.

Yes, Leica cameras have always been and still are, among the costliest cameras in the world and so any Leica owner can rightfully feel proud that what he has in his hands is absolutely the world’s best camera.

It is a different matter that the best cameras in the world do not necessarily produce the best photographs in the world, unless the person behind the camera too has the ‘seeing eye’ and the talent that makes them outstanding!

After seeing my camera, the man handed me his Leica and asked me to take a look at it and see if I could understand what was wrong with it.

Not very surprisingly, my cursory external inspection, did not give me the slightest clue to the problem, beyond letting me know that there was one, because it was not working. But going by the gut feeling deep inside me, that a robust machine like a hardly used Leica, could not develop a serious mechanical failure, I reassured the owner that it was most likely to be a very minor glitch.

Very visibly reassured, he asked me if I could try to set it right upon reaching Gulbarga, when I said that I would certainly be happy to attempt it.

I was so moved by the man’s distress that I impulsively told him that while I worked on his camera, he was welcome to take my camera along with him and complete all his photography in and around Gulbarga, over the two days he would be staying there.

With a Leica, functional or dysfunctional, in my hands, it certainly would not matter in whose hands my humble Practica would be! He was so overcome by gratitude at my offer that he immediately bowed before me with his two hands together in a Namaste and said that I had come as a saviour to him.

We reached Gulbarga at four in the late afternoon when I took him to my room and told him to leave his belongings there and head out with my camera to make the most of the evening light which would have a most flattering effect on the monuments he wanted to see.

Yes, the late evening and the early morning hours have even earned the sobriquet of ‘The Golden Hours’ in photographic parlance because of this effect and most photographers try to do all their planned photography at this time.

After the man left with my camera, I lost no time and started working on his camera. To look at its innards, I unscrewed the bottom plate and gently lifted it off, when suddenly the camera clicked on its own, almost giving me a jolt!  When I cranked the film wind lever and clicked it a few times, it was working perfectly, as if nothing was wrong with it.

After shaking it to make sure that there were no loose parts inside, I replaced the bottom plate and operated all the dials and knobs and clicked it at least a hundred times when it worked flawlessly, faithfully upholding its worldwide reputation for robustness and reliability!

When its owner returned in the late evening, happy with the fruitful time in the Gulbarga fort but still visibly anxious about his camera, I made him sit down and suppressing all my elation and sense of accomplishment, I picked up his camera and just clicked it.

He nearly jumped with joy and grabbed my hand and shook it, thanking me profusely on what I had done and asked me what had gone wrong with it.

I narrated exactly what had happened during his absence and how his camera had set itself right without the need for any real repair. He sat staring at the camera in his lap for a long time and asked me very apologetically how much he could pay me for my job.

When I told him that I was not a professional camera repairer and would  not take any money for what I had done, he requested that I should at least accept a small gift from him, which would make him happy.

Seeing how emotionally moved he was, I did not have the heart to refuse his offer. He then rummaged into his bag and pulled out something and pressed it into my hand, with both his hands.

It was a Gossen Exposure Meter, another great German flagship brand, known for its accuracy and reliability in making perfect exposures, especially while taking landscape photos and portraits. In those days, it was a gadget that was hard to find but much sought after by most serious photographers and which could be seen only in the hands of professional cinematographers.

My happiness matched my new-found, rail journey friend’s and his gift, which had his name written on it, has remained with me to this day, serving me faithfully, true to its great reputation, which it shares with its country cousin, the great Leica itself!

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