Credits, Close-Ups, and Collateral Damage

With my dear friend and the artist Mr Sridhar Comaravalli

His click 👇

The morning had already done its part, cool breeze, a reasonably disciplined jog, and the quiet satisfaction of having earned the impending indulgence of our breakfast ritual.

As I slowed down near the lake, I was joined by a friend of over three decades, an artist of some repute, a cartoonist with a sharp eye for irony, and a photographer with an even sharper eye for detail. The lake, for him, was less about walking and more about waiting, waiting for the perfect bird, the most obliging butterfly, or an occasionally vain peacock to strike a pose.

He had just wrapped up his morning’s “shoot,” while I had just about wrapped up my morning’s “struggle,” and together we waited for our third accomplice before proceeding to the more serious business of breakfast.

It was during this interlude that he showed me a caricature, sent to him by someone, originally created by a well-known artist, but forwarded without any explicit credit.

Now, my friend belongs to that rare and disciplined tribe who believes in giving due credit, always. His social media posts are never complete without the meticulous “PC(Picture Credit): (Photographer’s Name)”, a small but significant nod to the creator.

So, understandably, this omission didn’t sit well with him.  I, however, made the cardinal mistake of introducing nuance.

I pointed out that the artist’s trademark signature was quite visible on the caricature. To a layman, I suggested, sharing something inspiring without formally attributing it might not stem from disregard, but from innocence, or perhaps just habit. Not everyone, I ventured, operates with the same rigor when it comes to artistic credits.

This was not received with enthusiasm.  Sensing the gathering clouds, I nevertheless pressed on, never known to retreat gracefully from a debate already underway. I suggested that perhaps it was not worth getting worked up over something as minor as this, especially when the artist’s identity was already embedded in the work.  “If anything,” I added, “it’s free publicity.”

I might as well have added fuel to a well-lit lamp.  To be fair, my friend took it sportingly, though not without visible disagreement. In what I suspect was a tactical diversion to calmer waters, he decided to deploy his newest acquisition, his mobile camera, and suggested a close-up photograph of me.

Now, I have always been a generous recipient of his photography and an even more generous distributor of it, often uploading his pictures of mine within minutes, happily accepting compliments that rightfully belonged to him.

But this time, I hesitated.  A close-up, I protested, would reveal far more “fine detailing” than I was ready to broadcast to the world. Some things, like wisdom and wrinkles, are best revealed gradually.

Undeterred, he clicked.  I must admit, the result was impressive. The light, the framing, the background, all impeccably handled. I complimented him sincerely, acknowledging that such finesse could only come from someone with his versatility.

At this point, the artist in him retreated, and the modest technician emerged.  “It’s not skill,” he said, almost dismissively. “It’s the mobile.”

That, of course, was an opening too tempting to ignore.  “Ah,” I said, “in that case, do tell me the make of the mobile. I must ensure I give proper credit when I post this, since you are so particular about such things.”

He didn’t see that coming.  The silence lasted a second. The laughter lasted much longer.

And just as we were recovering, he added, with mock caution, that one had to be careful while talking to me, as any casual exchange could very well find its way into one of my blogs, complete with photographic evidence.

I paused, nodded thoughtfully, and thanked him.  “For the idea,” I clarified.  And as promised, here we are.

Stories, not instructions. Experiences, not advice—medical or otherwise. Data, only what the internet quietly gathers anyway. Proceed with equal parts curiosity and common sense.