Small town, Big dreams

"There are lambs at my place, you can take photos of them also", was the first thing he said when he spotted me photographing the fields surrounding my uncle’s house. It was only the second day of my trip to Kerala, India’s southernmost state, and I had no idea who he was. I subsequently found out Kochumon helped around the farm, doing odd jobs in order to support his mother and younger sister. He was nearly seventeen, and having spent most of his childhood with my uncle and aunt, was practically a member of the family. Despite his decidedly modest means, and the unfortunate burden of being called Kochumon (meaning 'small boy') well into his teens, he had a wide smile which now grew even wider as I agreed to accompany him to his home.

It was a small red-brick structure, dwarfed further by its proximity to the sprawling building in which my uncle and aunt lived. Kochumon led me into the front yard, excitedly informing his sister that I was there to photograph their lambs. His mother scurried indoors, and emerged with a plate of malt biscuits. The two lambs were then promptly dragged out of their little tin shed and lined up for the camera. They were followed by an enthusiastic procession of three chickens, a pair of rabbits, and a ridiculously cute kitten. All the while Kochumon never stopped smiling, his eyes glowing with pride as little sections of his private universe were slowly committed to film.

I reached the end of the film roll with the photo of the kitten, but Kochumon wasn't finished. He now led me inside, and began to re-arrange the furniture- dragging the one chair, the tiny TV, a cassette player and speakers (which he made himself, his mother proudly told me), all to the center of the tiny room. He then called his mother and asked her to sit in the chair while he knelt beside her with his arm across her shoulders. "'It's ok if you don't get me, but get my mother and the speakers", he said. I nodded, knowing I wouldn't get any of them but lacking the heart to tell him. I held the camera up to my face, paused for a second, and pressed the Off button.

Days later, as I flipped through photos of lambs, rabbits, and kittens, I realized the picture I remembered most vividly was the one that I wasn't able to take. The one of Kochumon, kneeling beside his mother, his TV, and his hand-made speakers. And a smile that conveyed everything and nothing all at once.