Have you ever spared a thought for the paparazzi? Or the
phalanx of photographers who pop flash-bulbs when show town’s celebrities
arrive at party venues during the late, late hours?
Last week Jagdish Aurangabadkar, stated to be 65, ended
his life at a Goregaon apartment. The tragedy was duly reported in some of the
daily newspapers. What I noticed though is that precious few words were devoted
to the scores of scoop photographs he clicked ever since the 1970s: his favourites
seemed to be Dilip Kumar, Rajesh Khanna and Amitabh Bachchan.
The Aurangabadkar family was into covering the jagged
beat of Bollywood . Jagdish was born into this beat, but could never quite
afford to set up his own high-end studio or extend himself to glamour
photography. He was content being on the fringes, snapping candid moments on
the sets or at the party shebangs.|
At one point, Jagdish did handle the PR campaigns of a
few films. Again, he could never develop an systematic infrastructure to handle
this full-time. Polite and soft-spoken, whenever Jagdish called for the
coverage of a film under-production, it was impossible to say no. And he would
ask nervously, “Would you prefer to go to the location in the producer’s car or
a taxi?”
A taxi would be the preferred option. Invariably the
location would be Film City in Goregaon. The tab would be paid by the media
group I was working for anyway. En route he would not speak a word, knowing
that faux praise of producers, directors and actors doesn’t work anyway.
Early last week, oddly enough I was trying to contact him
for some vintage photos I need for a book I’m working on. His ‘phone number
wasn’t easily accessible. When I finally got it from a friend of a friend, it
was too late. Jagdish was gone.