Flash Gordon

Lesson number one is all about the kind of pictures that interest Page 3 editors. Sempai Shah asks me to ‘‘catch the big stars.”

‘‘Shahid Kapoor and Kareena Kapoor together will make for a good picture,’’ he helps out, adding that I also need to get them to agree first.

I’m led through the hotel’s corridors and suddenly the glare of lights and bustle of activity tells me we are in the ballroom dressed up in Tarun Tahiliani drapes.

We have walked in through the rear entrance. Dozens of nattily dressed event managers and PR executives are completing last-minute arrangements.

Shah’s pretty well known and over pleasantries, we are shown the red carpeted corridor that has enclosures on both sides. We take up positions quickly as more lensmen trickle in.

Some of them are trying to squeeze in next to Shah. Obviously, he knows his business. I am not going to let go of my spot next to him, I decide. To hell with the dirty looks. ‘‘Yahan se goli-baari shuru,’’ laughs Shah.

Garewal’s the first to arrive, sister in tow. Dressed in customary white, this one’s designed by Narendra Kumar Ahmed (details, I learn, are very important).

‘‘Simiji, Simiji,’’ the air is suddenly alive with the sounds of cameras clicking as she poses gracefully. ‘‘Simiji iss side main,’’ ‘‘Please Simiji iss taraf’’.

Whoa! My camera’s not even switched on and I’m already being pushed around. But when I look around, I realise everyone is being shoved. It’s an unwritten rule—shutterbugs may fight for space, even abuse each other, but all is forgotten once you step out.

Mahima Chaudhari in a zebra print dress is, I figure, ‘‘the photographers’ favourite’’.

At least, that’s what we tell her. When ‘‘Mahimaji’’ turns, shoot! That is if the over-zealous event manager didn’t think she was more photogenic. This is a paparazzi pet peeve—event managers and security guards who manage to squeeze into the frame.

My feet are complaining now. I have been standing huddled for close to two hours. ‘‘Patience,’’ Shah intones. It’s 10.30 and Rani Mukerji, gorgeous in a red sari, walks in. I am running out of film.

The familiar click of the camera dies. Damn. Did the others notice? I know at least three photographers who’ve been eyeing my vantage position. Kya sari hai, Jayaji”, someone to my left greets Jaya Bachchan. ‘‘Looks like the TV crews are giving you competition,’’ she laughs pointing to the hordes of sound byte-seeking media. I refuse to give up my post even though I have no film. So when Amitabh Bachchan steps forward, I aim and click. ‘‘Amitji,’’ I call out and when the man looks at me, I shoot. Empty! No one can see the grin behind the camera.

‘‘Hrithik!’’ Click. ‘‘Sushmitaji! Click. ‘‘Shah Rukh! Click! I can’t stop grinning. It’s not the stars that I clicked with no film. It’s the 30-something photographer from the vernacular press.

I was fiddling with the camera during a break when he noticed. ‘‘Ayla,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘Normal mode ma shoot kare chhe? Flash also not there! Picture banta hain kya aise?’’

‘‘First class, no problem,’’ I said. I couldn’t have told him the truth. He shook his head, mazed. ‘‘Baap re.’’