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I remember my father taking pictures of me and my baby sister when I was around 4 or 5, in his Kodak Brownie box camera. Of course, at that time I did not know what, why or how of it. But now, it astounds me how much in keeping it was with the image of my father I had developed from the 15 years of my life during which he lived. Hailing from a tiny South Indian village from a middle-class family he had made a good life for himself by passing a couple of accountancy exams conducted by the British Government at Bombay; migrating to Rangoon in Burma (now Yangon in Myanmar) – facing opposition by the Brahmin elders, with a job with the British Government; and rising high in the Accountancy Dep