Photography

Every time Aarav saw a camera, his eyes lit up like fairy lights at a festival.

At just seven years old, he had already memorized the names of every camera brand, could tell the difference between a macro lens and a zoom lens, and often adjusted his imaginary focus ring while staring at random objects around the house.

“I want to be a photographer when I grow up,” he would say with a dreamy grin. Most people just chuckled and ruffled his hair.

But Aarav wasn’t playing.

He didn’t want to take selfies or just click pictures for fun. He wanted to tell stories — real stories, beautiful ones — through a camera lens. His favorite pastime was flipping through an old dusty album his grandfather had preserved. The photos were black and white, grainy and soft, but they were full of life. Each photo whispered a secret. Aarav wanted to listen to them all.

One Sunday morning, he followed a butterfly in their backyard with a toy camera slung around his neck. He tiptoed, crouched, and even crawled just to get the "perfect shot." Of course, the toy camera couldn’t capture a thing, but in his mind, he had already framed the image, imagined the lighting, and titled it “Flight of Freedom.”

His parents watched him with admiration. “Maybe we should get him a real one,” his mother said.

“But he’s just a kid,” his father replied. “What if it’s just a phase?”

It wasn’t.

That winter, Aarav saw a photography exhibition at the local museum. He wandered through the gallery, staring at portraits, wildlife, cityscapes, and ordinary people frozen in extraordinary moments. One picture, in particular, of a child laughing under the rain, made him pause. He stood there for nearly ten minutes, imagining the photographer standing silently in the rain, waiting for that one perfect second.

That night, he said, “I don’t want to be a superhero or an astronaut anymore. I just want to be the person behind that lens.”

His parents finally gave in and surprised him with a beginner’s camera on his birthday. Aarav hugged it like it was a long-lost friend. He started capturing everything — his dog’s yawns, his sister’s messy hair in the morning, the postman’s bicycle, a drop of water balancing on a leaf, shadows, sunrays, smiles.

But Aarav didn’t just take pictures; he learned. He read books from the library, watched tutorials, and even talked to the old wedding photographer down the street who taught him about lighting and composition.

His first official "project" was a photo story on "Joy in the Ordinary." He printed ten of his best shots and made a scrapbook. At the school exhibition, his small table with the photos stood quietly in the corner — until people started gathering. His pictures didn’t scream; they spoke softly. And in those whispers, people found beauty.

At the end of the day, a journalist covering the exhibition knelt beside Aarav and asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Aarav held up his camera with a proud smile.

“I already am.”