Shooting Spree

An array of stimulants8212;psychedelic strobe lights, Freddie Mercury and Bailey8217;s Irish cream8212;bombarded my senses as I deliberated on a few things before embarking on my mission.

One8212;and this was flagged 8216;wary8217;8212;was that a large majority of males who come with their girlfriends/wives/colleagues to nightclubs are pretty well built. Next, the very act of taking surreptitious pics with a cell cam could be a predominantly male activity; a convenient digital buttress to the ancient rite of bragging 8216;8216;hey guys, take a look at my 1-byte stand, yuk, yuk8217;8217;. And, most importantly, a black eye at a disc, in the line of duty, is not as noble as shell shock in Baghdad.

My first morally-ethically grey act was a cinch. It was a picture of some pretty women to my immediate right, singing, drinking, having a ball. None of them noticed me clicking their picture, and it was all over in two seconds. A moment of their lives was entirely mine. But like my cellphone, I too didn8217;t want needless data. So, delete.

After I8217;d cleaned up a Cointreau, I decided to move on to the second level of this digital game, more high risk than the first. And it is the element of risk that provides the initial momentum for digital T038;A grabbers across the world.

A pair of long legs caught my attention and my cell cam8217;s. But she was dancing with her boyfriend, a fair, bespectacled, decent-looking chap; they were obviously very into each other. The poor darlings were totally in the dark as I waded my way through tangles of nice-smelling, nice-looking protoplasm.

Tapping my feet and freeing my arms to some fast-paced 8217;80s number, I got within striking distance.

The strobe lights spun faster, the noise reached its peak and I went click, click.

The pics, as I discovered while moving in tune with the next song, were just hazy blurs. One had captured the DJ, while the other was as dark as a sun-starved planet.

My second attempt was a little better; at least, I thought I got the legs. But even she appeared to know that. 8216;8216;See!8217;8217; she exclaimed. And her boyfriend saw. My camera, an image on it, and the frozen look on my face.

8216;8216;What?8217;8217; he asked me, bellowing over the din. 8216;8216;Oh, didn8217;t notice it was on camera mode,8217;8217; I replied. He looked at the camera and wanted to see it. I took a quick look at the screen and gave it, pretty confidently, to him.

My woeful lack of skill at cellphone shutterbugging had resulted in another hazy blur. He took a look at it, then gave it back. 8216;8216;Forget it! I8230; 8217;8217; he sputtered, as he sized me up. I panicked. Did he know judo? Was he an underworld don8217;s nephew?

His girlfriend wanted to call the manager. But our peaceful soul just walked away in a puff of disgust, followed by his angsty lady.

As I watched them go, even I felt thoroughly disgusted with myself, though this was supposed to be an assignment. To me, it was a pretty pointless exercise, though it takes all kinds.

Meawhile, the others around me were busy dancing. The bouncers stared vacantly. Nobody sensed anything amiss. It was another night as usual.

Someday, I hope, there8217;ll be a law that bans camera phones in public places across the country. Until then, people like that cute couple will, I guess, have to deal with click creeps like that goggle-eyed guy in the picture.

Copycat Camera
Manju Sara Rajan turns strained shutterbug inside the fancy digs of a Mumbai boutique

I8217;M not a speed junkie, would have made a bad Tehelka reporter, and extreme sports is one of the many things I just don8217;t get. But, last week, when I jumped into a car and sped away from

Kimaya, a plush boutique located on Mumbai8217;s Juhu strip, I have to admit to an ever-so-slight adrenalin rush.

I had spent the previous half hour taking ill-focused pictures of the store8217;s pricey wares. Why? To prove that even in an environment as uptight as this high-end outlet, where they keep a sharp eye out for clients who photograph designs so their darzis can produce affordable copies, it is perfectly possible to sneak a few shots. So I wasn8217;t a righteous hack trying to point out security loopholes at the Mantralaya, but at a time when frisky celebs and teens get caught on cam phones, the point is simply how simple it is.

Around 7.45pm, I strolled into Kimaya, ostensibly just another browser. There were at least six assistants holding fort, and with a clutch of customers, the place was, more or less, full up.

My brief was clear: Get in, take pictures, most probably get caught, get out. But despite the planning, most of us get apprehensive when we know we8217;re about to attract the wrong sort of attention. And so there I was, anxiously browsing through clothes that I would never wear.

After the first round, I slipped off to a brightly-lit outpost displaying weighty wedding habits, lifted the phone tucked in my fist, jabbed the camera button on the tiny Sony Ericsson, and captured my first shot8212;a lehenga-choli. That first piece calmed some of my jagged nerves, and things got on a roll.

From the formal wear, I moved on to ponchoesque blouse, a party dress, a ruffled skirt and other things in between8212;snap, snap, snap. At one point, I stood right across from a fairly disinterested attendant, took aim and shot a garment perched right next to the man.

It was during my preparation for the eighth picture8212;right by the door8212;of a pretty Tarun Tahiliani blouse that an assistant brusquely asked that highly-anticipated question, 8220;Ma8217;am, are you taking pictures on your phone?8221; When I calmly answered in the affirmative, she rushed over for the good fight. 8220;I8217;m doing my sister8217;s trousseau shopping,8221; I tried. 8220;She lives in the US, and wants to take a look at them before I buy.8221; A perfectly reasonable explanation, I thought, but the aggressive little lady wasn8217;t buying it: 8220;We cannot allow you to take pictures.8221;

Unfazed by my sibling devotion, she insisted I delete my mobile designer portfolio. Even the 8220;I didn8217;t see any 8216;no photography8217; sign8221; didn8217;t help.

Needless to say, post my refusal to destroy the pictures, she kept a pretty good eye on me, escorting me back and forth till both of us had enough of the vigilance, and I left.

Admittedly, snapping a few expensive threads doesn8217;t exactly amount to industrial espionage, especially when I have no intention of fabricating designs. But, even in the event of malicious intent, like I said before: The point is simply how simple it is to get sneaky with a camera phone.