I didn’t think it was possible to be besotted with someone.

The way I am, at this stage in life, with these many years, one divorce and lots of boys behind me. Didn’t think it was possible. Maybe that is what professional and intellectual intercourse feels like. Never met someone like him. One of those men I’d like to keep in my life forever – so that when I’m seventy and I look back, I know I didn’t miss out on anything.

I think I am obsessed with photography – wedding or otherwise.

There are so many things I want to capture and so little time.

Since being obsessed was never on the agenda, each time I pick up my camera, I ask myself if it’s really needed and the first answer is always, “Of course it is!” even though it probably isn’t. Sometimes I force myself not to carry my camera around wherever I go – afterall, I’m a professional photographer, not a hobbyist – I should shoot only when getting paid. (If only it was this simple.)

So there have been times when I went out and was not carrying my camera – and each of those times – I’ve regretted it.

I sit on a razor sharp fence – I don’t want to compromise on my personal life because I’m always photographing – paid or otherwise; and I also do not want to compromise on my photography – I have, after all, only about another 30-40 years of life left to live.

And I’ll be damned if I live any of it without my camera by my side.

So yes, I am obsessed. Sue me.

I can see that wedding photography is going to be a big part of my photography career. I enjoy the hard work, doesn’t mean I don’t bitch about it. Marwari weddings can be painful.

One of the things I’ve observed is the attention I get as a female photographer. I’m usually looking to be left alone to compose my images & shoot in peace. But the queue of people wanting a free portrait keeps getting longer.

They praise my camera, “It’s awesome because of the enlarge.” Obviously referring to the lens hood that does nothing of that sort.

Or, “You must be from Bombay. No one this smart can be from anywhere but Bombay.” This from a sixty-something old fart who hasn’t taken his eyes off my boobs.

Or, “You have to take a special picture of me. Just you and me.” Followed by hysterical smiling, winks and attempts at further innuendo.

And the usual being-mistaken-as-a-foreigner routine. “What country are you from?” in broken English.

The competition from the local and so-called “official” photographers is quite another saga. No respect for the other lens person’s space, trying their best to block my view, going wherever I go, replicating angles I’m shooting, making the couple’s expressions worse by asking them to pose and when nothing else works, taking pictures of me while I work. Their lighting sucks, they direct their flash into faces, they smell & I hate them for their doggedness. They’re on their feet for hours on end.

While I have no intentions of being just a wedding photographer, I can see this is part of my calling.

It means : “holier-than-thou: excessively or hypocritically pious”.

You’re probably full of yourself and comment on other people’s statements like it is your birthright to tell them how you know their profession better, how they should be raising their kids, how they should be holding their posture and who they should be hiring for that job opening.

If you are sanctimonious, you are probably also pedantic : “A pedant is a person who is overly concerned with formalism and precision; marked by a narrow focus on or display of learning especially its trivial aspects”. And you will obviously also be patronizing : “characteristic of those who treat others with condescension”.

I, on the other hand, prefer to be like Calvin. I don’t know shit and I only claim to know shit. I also want you to fuck off. Fuckface. Thank you Russell, I love you too.

Keys to most of the apartments of bachelors & single people can be found in flower pots outside their homes.

Discussions range from regular sex life to human evolution, auras & history. We were discussing Romans & how they fucked the concept of religion for all of us.

Photography, models, fashion magazines & typical life of creatives.

Someone’s trying to shove an ashtray on someone’s big toe. Life is good. Jacob’s Creek red wine is better than anything else I’ve tried.

Everyone has an opinion [ which is actually palatable but bear with me, it gets worse ]. A well-informed opinion is something I can respect. A mis-informed one is, quite frankly, not an opinion but a delusion. Add to that the fact that an @reply on Twitter means I am going to have to read it – not because I can’t ignore it but because it’s right there in front of my eyes and it can be read in a snap.

To top that, I regularly get suggestions on what I should have done and how, when the person replying has no real-world experience of doing what I’m doing – not specifically photography / design but independent business / consulting etc. It gets absolutely disgustingly bad when I ask someone particular a very-specific question and everyone else but that person sends me an @reply!

Most of my time spent on Twitter feels like I’m talking to myself.