Money-centric

I love photographs! I love having them framed and presented to my loves ones even more.

I spend hours editing the photos, applying appropriate effects and adding frames to them before I go to the studio to have it printed.

Hence began my encounter with a local photo studio. It’s near my present paying guest accommodation.

I generally get the photos printed, laminated and framed. I had earlier done the same previously from a different studio and it cost me Rs. 180.

So, when this local shopkeeper charged me Rs. 180 for the first photo that I got done from there, I thought everything was fine.

By the second photo, he had somewhat recognized me. The charge was still the same. But he did not offer me a receipt like the first time. I thought it was fine for it was a local shop. After all, I had received no complaints with the first photo, and I bothered more about the product itself than the receipt.

The third photo that I got done from that studio was for a friend. She was supposed to gift it to someone, so I asked for a receipt from the shopkeeper. He said there was no need for it. I mentioned I was getting it done for a friend, but he maintained his position. My friend had to take my word of mouth on the making charge of the photo.

A few days ago I needed to get another photo done from the studio. It was a gift for my parents on their anniversary, and it was special to me.

It was roughly six months since I had visited the studio last. The shopkeeper didn’t seem to recognize me anymore.

This time he said it would charge me two hundred bucks to get the photo done, in the very same manner I had got the previous three photos done.

Naturally, I bargained. He said Rs. 180 was too low. Fine, he would do it at Rs. 190.

I mentally blamed the inflation, and agreed.

As usual, he did not offer me a receipt. He wrote the advance amount I paid in a copy he maintained (hundred rupees) and wrote down the balance left to be paid as another hundred rupees. “But it should be ninety, isn’t it?”

“It’s okay. I’d return you ten rupees when you come to take the photo.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t forget?”

He said, “Of course, I wouldn’t.”

I left, having great faith in the word of mouth.

Five days later I went to collect the photo. He said it wasn’t done yet, as the photo he had initially printed had somehow got folded in the middle, and created a crease. He showed me the defective picture. Indeed, it was creased. He couldn’t use the same for framing, as it wouldn’t look nice. He asked for two more days.

Today I went to receive the photo again. When I arrived he was lecturing a person about politics and money. He was saying, “You see, people have lost their conscience. A person who has passed just class eight and has become a millionaire is respected in this country. And a man who has done his Ph.D. and is jobless has no value. People only see and care about the money.”

I smiled, agreeing internally.

I enquired if my photo was done. He was so busy in his musings that he took a while to reply. Yes, it was done.

He handed me the photo. I took out a hundred-rupee note and gave it to him. “You had promised to charge one hundred ninety rupees,” I said.

“Ah! I am not going to give you back the ten rupees. Instead, I am giving you the other photo, and you give me twenty rupees more. Here, see the photo,” he said, handing me the creased photo.

“But I don’t need the other photo. You can keep it.”

“What would I do with it?”

“But I didn’t ask you to crease it!” I retorted, angry now.

He merely said it took him thirty rupees to get the photo printed, and went back to his computer and the other person (who was the listener to his ramblings about people being money-centered these days).

I was rattled. But being a polite representative of the middle-class, for whom prestige is a big issue I refrained myself from arguing further. I didn’t have such an upbringing whereby I would make someone else pay for my expenses. After all, the photo was mine. My parents were in it. (I didn’t feel like saying that if the seller manhandles a product during its design, for whichever be the reason, the customer is not entitled to pay for it)

I asked the friend who had accompanied me to the studio to pay the twenty bucks, as I did not have the cash on me right at that instant.

We took the photo and left.

On the way back, we debated whether what happened was ethical or not. I was disgusted. So was my friend.

Then I made up my mind, promising myself never to return to the studio again.

“He didn’t gain twenty rupees, he lost a customer,” I told myself, though it's a sad attempt to soothe my bruised ego.