Suyash Kumar Neupane

Indiana University

A cylindrical metal clad in matte-and-gloss,
Visible wear and minor dents,
Faded, the letters “50 mm” that once were,
A dull metallic scent,
Cool to touch now,
But,
It is the summer back home,
This reminds me of.

“For you!”, said an artist in scene,
Holding out something familiar,
Amidst the muffled silence of the restaurant,
The clattering of spoons and fork,
Vapor wafting over tea-cups,
The smell of fried eggs and noodles.
Lunch hour, as I remember now.
“You sure?”, I ask—unsure,
“Go on!”, he said.

The photographer and the ethnographer,
Comfortable in our own truth(s),
En scène—both aware,
Capturing – either attempting or failing to—is but partial.
A picture of the dance, sans the sound and pulse.
A picture of the food, sans the aroma and taste.
A slice of life, ever so fleeting, sans permanence.
Never the totality of lived experiences.

Patiently—focusing intently,
Amidst the pulsating chirp of crickets and birds, marred by my camera app’s robotic whirr,
A cool breeze brushes my cheek,
As I focus on this lens,
“Atchoo”—an allergic sneeze via the smell of mowed grass, (thanks neighbor!)
Distracted that I am, focusing again,
On this 50 mm lens,
7000 miles from where I received it,
Framing this object that frames,
Parts of my ethnographic truths,
Parts of my ethnographic lies.