.Friday Flyer | Serialized Stories | Astley Villa - Part 1
- Shikhar Sumeru
- Apr 11, 2021
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 8, 2021
Each Friday, a quick read, an episofe of a serialized story, a literary form that is nearly lost in today's instant (or is it instantaneous? I am not sure) lifestyle.
"There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
- that Shakespearean tragedy which was made into Haider
Copyright © 2021 Shikhar Sumeru
All rights reserved. No portion of this story, its parts, or any other section from this website, may be reproduced in any form without permission from the writer. For permissions contact: TellTaleArt09@gmail.com
Some of this actually happened...
A heartfelt thanks to the one who went through it all and was kind enough to narrate it to me. We both know that despite the creative license, I am hardly doing justice to your tale.
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“So, Aditya, how does it feel to win the prestigious Darkroom Award three times in a row?” the interviewer asked in the hope of fishing for a pompous answer.
The stout man appearing in his early forties with a dwindling hairline, but a boyish charm, adjusted his MacBook camera, deflecting the screen light – the only source of light in his room -- slightly away from him, and spoke with an indiscernible smile, “I guess I see better in the dark.”
“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, neither to your fans, nor to our podcast listeners,” the interviewer on the other end of the web-call goaded him, “The Darkroom awards of The Geographical Gazette are practically the Oscars of low light photography. A hat trick has only happened twice in their 50-year history since 1980. It’s bad enough that the first photographer remains unknown behind a pseudonym; but’s it’s even worse if we don’t get to know you either. You must have some secret?”
“Secret?” the unusually fair complexioned photographer remained quiet for a few seconds and then continued with hardly noticeable quivering lips, “Well… no secret per se. Over the years, I have grown accustomed to the dark, as I said. What others call “lack of light”, I find that “abundance of darkness”. Besides, using a film camera keeps me from being callously complacent.”
“Ah yes, the film camera! That’s not the only area, where you are, or shall I say ‘became’, old school. In today’s time and age, you refuse to maintain a social media presence. Until a decade ago your phenomenal work spanned across all kinds of photography, including daylight pictures, and people loved connecting with you. In fact, you were somewhat of an ‘influencer’,” she paused and continued, “Come 2020, you erased your digital footprint like it never existed. It’s been 10 years; people only see your work at the Gazette. Some might say that you did not just specialize in dark photography, but became somewhat of a photo negative yourself?”
If the interviewer could see under the barely lit room, she would have noticed the beads of sweat that had appeared on the forehead of the middle-aged man. In a painfully stern voice, he declared, “there is no dark story behind it. It’s just that I decided to do one thing well than doing several with mediocrity. So, that is that. Now if you will excuse me, the sun has gone down the hills and it’s time for me to work.”
“Wait, wait, wait… reaching you is no easy task… there is so much the listeners would like to know…”
While she kept speaking into the microphone, Aditya had pressed the red button already on his computer. He rose from his desk, overlooking a thickly curtained window. Ensuring through the corner of the black curtains that the sun was down, he parted them by a few inches: the scarlet sky above the Dhauladhar peaks came into view. The small two-room cottage – more like the outhouse of the adjacent large Victorian mansion – was located in the shadows the villa. The objective of the masons was to perhaps preserve the light and the sun for the masters of the mansion and assign the leftovers for the servants, for whom the cottage was originally meant. However, the arrangement suited Aditya perfectly, for he knew that the large 19th century mansion – the famed structure near the gorgeous Gilbert Trail of Kasauli – was no ordinary place.
As the crimson shades of the sky were surreptitiously ensconced by the darkness, rendering the Dhauladhar mountains silhouettes of their own towering selves, Aditya caught the glimpse of the building’s main entrance. A weather-beaten oak tree still held the old plaque, doubling up as the nameplate though resembling an epitaph due to its age, in place:
Astley Villa,
1876 – eternity
Readjusting the curtains, Aditya Tiwari, one the best known and least seen photographers of the 21st century, slowly walked to his working table and switched on what appeared to be a safelight. Another relic of the past, a low-pressure sodium vapour lamp or a darkroom bulb, lit up. In the amber light, he took stock of his paraphernalia – the worktable consisted of a MacBook, a notebook and a pen, his cellphone, and the reason he had decided to choose photography as his life – his father’s Minolta Maxxum 7000: the Rolls Royce of cameras when it had arrived half a century ago.
The interviewer’s questions had rattled him. He looked at the antique looking vertical box – for calling it a cupboard would be unfair – that haunted him still. He paced towards it as slowly as he could. Placing his hand on the doorknob for what seemed like hours, he gently opened it. Aditya fished for something in the top shelf and finally a camera appeared in his hands. The lens-less body of the camera was neatly wrapped in a transparent sheet. He could still hear the tech support executive’s reprimanding voice from ten years ago, “This is D850, sir! You got to be careful with it. This beautiful piece is never seeing action again. The sensor is completely fried. What did you aim it at? The Sun?”
Holding the body of the D850 with one hand he sprinted to his desk and grabbed his cellphone. Frantically rummaging through the contact list, Aditya dialed the number.
“St. Agnes Hospital, Shimla,” an efficient voice answered.
“Hello, hi… this is Aditya Tiwari. I …hmm… was calling to… hmm.., is there any news?” he fumbled, fearing the answer his subconscious had already conveyed to him.
There was a brief pause and the voice on the phone continued somberly, “I am afraid not, sir. I must repeat what you have been hearing since he came here. He can breathe, chew, cough, gag, swallow, but there is no brain stimulation. In other words, it is as though he has a body, but the soul has wandered off.”
“I see… well, let me know if there is any news. Thanks,” he disconnected the call.
Some of the painful memories he had worked hard to block out, had been re-highlighted. Looking at the post sunset panorama, he had remembered the events of a decade ago, the month of March in 2020: the pleasantly cold weather, a similar crimson sunset from the western balcony of the villa. Little did he know that the next few weeks were going to be terrifying in every sense of the word, both outside, as well as inside of Astley Villa.
If you are enjoying the story, tell everyone; if you are not, tell me!
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