Deaf in DC: A Memoir

13. Back to Photography

49 13 Back to Photography ALL MY EDUCATIONAL EXPENSES AT GALLAUDET WERE paid for by a grant-in-aid. The only expenses I had were books, clothes, and cigarettes. I had sworn off smoking when I left India and had vowed to lead a real spartan life like Gandhi did. However, Dan had a carton of cigarettes and had told me help myself. I had decided to take one cigarette to get an idea what an American cigarette tastes like. That was the famous last word, or rather, the famous last cigarette. I was hooked again and Dan’s carton was gone in no time. He didn’t have any money to buy another carton, so I had to dig out of my meager supply of dollars to buy my “last packet” of cigarettes. And that cost 35 cents in the vending machine. I remember the photography place where they took the mug shots for identity cards and also remembered the fancy cameras they had. The idea of getting my hands on a sparkling new Nikon, which I had seen only in advertisements or from a distance, was tempting enough for me to earn some money. This helped me overcome my fear and go visit the place in the basement of the old counseling center. The supervisor of the photography department was sitting and talking to another guy there when I entered the room. I was thinking about my first interview for a photography job three years earlier and was nervous like a beggar. I was going to beg for a job that they had not advertised. Frank, the supervisor, looked at me. I forgot that Americans didn’t understand my Gagret-accented English and asked, “Do you need a photographer ?” Frank understood me, however. He began to speak and when I shook my head, he took out his pen and began to write. He wrote in large capital letters. He wrote and I spoke, wondering how he could understand me or if he really did. Ten minutes later, I walked out with my feet about one foot in the air. I had a job offer working twenty hours a week at $1.25 50 d e a f i n d c an hour. That was, I figured as I walked back to Ely Hall, about eleven rupees an hour. I was going to earn working part-time in one week as much as I earned working for a whole month full-time in India. Then there was the interview. The only question Frank had asked me was if I knew how to develop photos. My mere mention of the fact that I had worked professionally for six years closed the interview. He didn’t ask me, “You are deaf. How will you be able to work?” He didn’t make me stand in the middle of the room but had offered a chair next to him. He told me to bring my class schedule and we could work out a schedule together. He also instructed me to keep record of all the time I worked for payment later. As I was leaving he shook my hand. This was a little unnerving. Bosses didn’t shake the hands of their underlings in India. I started working the next day. There was a Student Body Government (SBG) meeting and I was to take a few photographs of officers and participating students. I was wondering about the camera when he took me to a cupboard and pointed at the three 35-mm single lens reflex cameras and an array of lenses sitting there. I picked a Minolta, two lenses, and a flashgun. Frank told me to take these with me to the dorm as the student meeting was in the evening. Walking with the expensive camera and spare lenses, holding them like a baby, I felt like a king. It took me fifteen minutes to shoot the SBG meeting. After classes the next day, I took the photographic equipment and went to the darkroom. I told Frank that I had used only ten shots and there were twenty-six more shots left on the film. If he needed photos now, I could cut the film and develop it for printing. “What do you mean by cutting the film?” Frank asked. “I will cut the used film and develop it and save the rest for future shootings.” I explained. “NO, NO!” He wrote on a sheet of paper, “YOU DEVELOP...