It all started in late November 1966, when I was just 19 years old. I was a
thousand miles north of home, and it was my first real job. I was, by then, the manager of the photo department in the now long-gone Hougen's Department Store in Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada.
I had a regular customer – a very decent chap of East Indian descent, by the name of Raghu. He was a fine young fellow, both handsome and very likable. It was not long before the Christmas holidays when Raghu came to me and asked to purchase a Polaroid 100 camera and some 100 packs of Polaroid color film.
The total cost was just over CA$1,100 and he put it on his charge account. That was over three month's wages for me at the time. Today, it's roughly equivalent to just over CA$11,000 (around $8,000 / £6,000 / AU$12,000). So it was a substantial sale!
He then flew home to India. When he had not returned by late January, my boss came to me expressing concerns that he might be gone for good – and would the bill ever be paid? Without any idea of Raghu's plans, I blithely assured him that all would be well and to be patient. Call it faith in humanity.
Eventually, near the end of February, Raghu did indeed return. He promptly paid his bill, in full, and told me that he'd come home without a single photograph to show for his trip!
He explained that the people in his home village were very poor and almost nobody could afford to have a photograph of themselves. That was a luxury that was simply out of reach, financially.
So he had taken photographs of everyone he knew – their families and friends, and the families of their friends – and gave all the photos away!
He said it was the best Christmas he'd ever had! I think there might be a lesson in there for us all.
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