He looked back, intensity in his eyes natural to a monk, yet betraying the calm of his robe. Puzzled, he asked, “why are you following me? Am I some kind of a muse?”
I was taken aback in the spurt, only managing to mutter some gibberish about how great he looks amid this stark landscape. I asked him if he would pose for me.
He smirked, “Pose is what you and I excel at. That’s what you are doing, pretending to be the developed, chronicling the ‘exotic’. Pose is what I do when I pretend to understand what the god says, saying yes to everything the master teaches.”
I asked, fixated only on what he said about himself, “why do you do it then?”
He laughed gently, tapped my hands and said, “May be I’ll know myself better someday. May be god will reveal itself. Or may be I’ll die content that I tried. Till then I wear my pose proudly, living everyday as the one when I attain the truth about myself. You have to live what you want.” .
“Now go snap away. I am posing.”
PS: None of this conversation actually happened. It’s a figment of my imagination that went past my glazed pupils the moment I lay my eyes upon him and my fingers upon the camera.
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