An unforgettable photograph marked the day

You always remember your first time. Photographing a prime minister, that is.

Twenty-eight years ago, on 15 September 1984 to be precise, as a young photojournalist still wet behind the ears, I was despatched by the editor of The City Tab , Bangalore’s lively and now defunct weekly tabloid, to cover the inauguration of the All India Mahila Congress convention at the Palace Grounds. Margret Alva (now Governor of Rajasthan) was in charge of the prestigious event.

Armed with my camera and press pass, I was all keyed up. And there she came, the picture of dignity, and saluted the national flag. I started clicking furiously. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi then strode to the dais.

Photo op lost

The venue was packed with women. As an elderly matriarch tried to reach out to her, I thought I had my photo op, expecting a humble citizen to hug one of the world’s most powerful women. But Indira Gandhi shrunk back, uneasy, and gesturing her to stop.

Out of the corner of my eye, to my great alarm, I saw a veteran photographer from another publication pointing at me and whispering to a senior police official.

Before I realised what was happening, the policeman positioned himself before me and demanded my press pass. I complied.

“Show me the badge the other photographers have!”

Before I could open my mouth, I was grabbed by the collar and ejected from the venue.

Stunned, angry and confused, I nevertheless stayed put outside the pandal, hoping for the photograph that would make my day.

The function ended and the policemen streamed out, followed by the Prime Minister. Suddenly, the crowds of women outside closed in on Ms. Gandhi in feverish adoration. All hell broke loose as the women pressed forward to touch the Prime Minister.

That one frame

And then it happened: my heaven-sent opportunity. The Prime Minister dodged her unruly constituency, hitched up her sari a little and made a dash for it. Though caught in the crush, blind instinct took over, and I managed to click one frame. It turned out to be one of the best pictures of my career yet.

Sure enough, the policemen shoved me aside and I fell over in a heap along with others.

There were great whoops of joy when I showed the developed print to my editor. The team gave the caption: “PM on her heels.”

My euphoria lasted just a few weeks. The following month, on the morning of October 31, the lady who was in a way responsible for my growth as a news photographer, was assassinated.