What I Learnt from a 50 Year Old Film Camera
The Pursuit of Mindful Photography
Last year, in the month of May, I was in Pune for a very enriching project that involved teaching writing and photography to students. Through the workshop, I felt ignited by my own love for photography - the camera, the stories, and everything in between.
A very dear friend from Mumbai, who wanted to gift me something he had bought for me, came all the way to Pune to give it in person. I was left wondering: what could it be that required him to come all the way?
He only kept saying it was delicate and had to be delivered in person.
When we finally met in Pune during my last few days there, I assumed that perhaps it was his presence, his warm hug that he wanted to give in person. And honestly, that would have been a perfect gift in itself, too.
He also brought along with him his film camera, a toy older than both our ages combined, and whose lustre still shone bright compared to everything else around it. I had seen it many times on video calls, but to hold it in my hands and see it live was a joy I had not known.
So this was the delicate gift, I thought. He wanted to show me his film camera!
I was satiated.
However, during the conversation, he unassumingly brought out another heavy camera from his bag and put it in front of me. Now, there were two on the table.
I sat there, confused, not understanding what had just happened. I looked at him. He had a smile on his face that he was trying to hide, as if nothing had happened.
I ran forward to give him the tightest hug ever! I just couldn’t believe it.
My friend had gotten me a FILM CAMERA. This one looked exactly like its older brother, aged like fine wine, its metal still shining bright, its leather still intact and tough, while carrying stories of all the people before me who had had the privilege to shoot on it.
When I held the camera, it felt like I was holding a piece of history in my hands. This camera was easily 50 years old and still worked like a charm.
I still remember the first time I removed the lens cap and looked at the world through the viewfinder. Everything felt soothing, peaceful, and it reminded me of days bygone few of which I had not even lived myself.
That entire evening, I smiled from ear to ear. To thank my friend for his absolute generosity would never be enough, so I promised to use it well and to create beautiful photographs with it.
It’s almost been a year since I’ve had that camera, and to date, I have shot around 65 photos on it, the same amount of photos that I click with my iPhone on a leisurely neighbourhood walk.
For a novice like me, photography is still a game of both quantity and quality. I am far from the stage where every photograph I click carries meaning. So I click whatever I find interesting and then judge it later for whether there was some value in it or not. Modern-day cameras and devices allow for photographs to be shot and produced at the click of a button. Today, I can click a photo and show it to the world all within five minutes and get feedback from all my friends and followers.
However, things were very different back then. Photography and each photograph had an entirely different tempo to it, an entirely different approach, one rooted in minimalism, slowness, and awareness.
Being a 90s kid, I still remember being on family trips where my father would so carefully compose a shot to be clicked on his Kodak. Every click was important. Every photograph had a tangible value. The reel was expensive, and so was developing it later. The best part or the worst part was that days after coming back from the trip, you would come to know of the photographs you had shot. Some you would have forgotten, to be revealed directly after processing, and some you would eagerly wait to see.
Today, again, the process has become bastardised to the point that hundreds of photographs lay unnoticed, unseen, in the folders of our phones only to be later deleted in bulk to make space for new ones.
The entire process of photography has become so quick that it has lost the meaning it once held.
I still remember the first photo I shot with my film camera. I had to very skillfully study the light, make changes to the settings, subtly make a lot of assumptions and calculations and then take a shot. The sound of the shutter was a loud, reassuring click.
Even after so much effort and time, to have no instant photo to look at was a bit upsetting in the beginning. I wondered: what did I click? How did it look? Was it even captured, or did I just waste a precious shot?
These questions stayed in my mind, and I lay a bit restless, not being able to see the photo instantly after being trained for so many years to expect instant gratification.
In haste and the restlessness of it all, I did something that made complete sense to me at that point in time: I shot another photograph.
Only to feel even more restless and to wonder at the absurdity of it all.
I took a long breath and sighed to myself. Well, 30 more shots to go before I can send this to get developed. The camera and the process felt sexy, but the experience had a very unsexy feeling. My mind couldn’t comprehend the sudden shift of it all to shoot a photograph with so much intent only to see it months later.
Why would someone do that in this day and age? Why am I even carrying this piece of antique with me when I can very well just shoot on my phone and see the photo right there?
I let my camera rest for a couple of days, only to return to it later to capture a beautiful scene from my balcony. Then, a few days later, I shot a photograph of myself looking in the mirror. A few days later, of my wall on which I put some postcards and prints. I even took it on my travels, and like the slow process of photography with a film camera, it slowly came to me. The pursuit of it all. The pursuit of mindful photography.
This camera allowed me to be so intentional, slow, and aware with each photograph I took that, more than the result, it was the entire process that became so enriching and nourishing to me as a photographer. I would take so much time crafting each shot only to sometimes not take the photo at all. On other days, I would find joy in the smallest of things and would jump at taking a photograph, even though it meant having only a few more photographs left to shoot.
Thanks to the film camera and the beauty of its slowness, I have started to really relish the entire process of photography all over again. I have waited for months to see the photographs being developed and produced, only to be surprised at all the photographs I had shot and forgotten.
I have shot and developed 2 film rolls till now—an equivalent of roughly 65–70 photos (accounting for damage of 5–7 photos, which is normal by all means) and each photograph, and the story behind it, is incredibly special and dear to me.
Each photograph perhaps also costs a fortune since the price of developing a photo and of a film roll has increased significantly in the past few years. And yet, the cost of it is justified in front of the great photography lessons that I have been learning.
My experiment with the film camera and the pursuit of mindful photography also created a small experiment that I offer and facilitate with participants where I invite people to just click 3-5 photographs max over a period of a 1-hour walk, and to really be very slow and intentional with every shot they’re clicking. Of course, we do this with our phones, but the limiting number, three or five, or whatever it is, brings many interesting feelings and challenges to participants, is what I have been told.
In a world which is rushing to get everything done quickly, from grocery deliveries to instantly sharing of photographs, a 50-year-old camera gently tugged me backwards in time to learn important lessons of slowness, awareness and intention brewing a new found love for the art.
If you wish to see all the other photographs I have shot on my film camera, you may check them out here.
I invite you to reflect and write on the following prompt:
Take three photographs the next time you go for a walk. Only three.
What made you stop? What did you notice? How does it make you feel?
As a feature of all my newsletters, I share one song, one book, one plant-based meal, one film/video that inspired me, and some photographic updates from my life.
Song: The weather in the mountains these days has me humming this song.
Book/Newsletter: I just finished reading Ibn - e - Battuti by Divya Prakash Dubey. Now, I am picking up another hindi book which has intrigued me for a very long time - गुनाहों का देवता (Gunaho ke Devta) by the legendary writer Dharamvir Bharati Ji.
Meal: I had a hearty meal today at the local temple.
Film/Video: Created this short fun video to briefly show the process of shooting on a film camera.
Photograph(s): I suggest you go through this link to see all the photographs I have shot on my film camera. Would love to know what you think of the photographs. :)
Read my other newsletters :
The story of moving to the mountains
Why I Ran from Vipassana
My relationship with failure
Photography, my first love
Read my short stories :
Compilation of all recommendations :
Video recommendations
Music recommendations
Books
Free Journaling eBook:
Last year, I compiled a journaling ebook for myself for times when I feel I have nothing to write. I am offering it to you for free. Whether you’re starting your journaling journey or feeling stuck in a creative block, this guide will help you find your way.
Download your free journaling e-book here.
Thank you for reading my work
Rishabh Khaneja
Creative Writing Laboratory
Instagram | Substack | LinkedIn | Creative writing workshops
My friend recently let me borrow a film camera, definitely an old one, without me even asking. It's been sitting in my drawer for three months, but after reading this, I'm definitely taking it out and making some pictures very soon! :)
So beautiful! And a very timely reminder.
Thank you.