Unfiltered Raw Frames

I miss those days when we looked at wedding albums for pastime in relatives’ homes. Even after 5–6 years, the marriage still felt 'new', and people would proudly pull out albums to show. I might sound old and boring, but I hate some of these technological "advancements". (Of course, without them I wouldn’t be writing blogs, never mind!) Now we look at the pictures—oh sorry, reels—on our smartphones. And those never give the natural feel. Over-saturation, extreme color grading, the staged shots—they make everything artificial and unpleasant. Honestly, recent wedding albums feel less like memories and more like catalogues advertising clothes, jewelry, decorations, and makeup.

My parents' wedding album is kept at my grandma's place, and whenever I'm there, I never miss the chance to see it. Every time I look at those same old pictures, I'm not bored. They entertain me in a way that's hard to describe. I revisited them last week, and this time it felt different. The photographs were the same, but my feelings were completely new. Earlier, I would just identify relatives, laugh at the outdated graphics, or notice silly details like which aunty wore which saree or who held hands while posing. (Silly of the younger me, I know!) And for some years, as a little girl, I didn’t know how to answer when people asked, "Where were you?" or "Why didn’t you attend your parents' wedding?" I think this is one of those guilty pleasures of uncles and aunties, teasing kids with such questions and enjoying the embarrassment on the parents' faces.

But last week, when I saw the album, I looked directly into people's eyes. I stared at single photos for long, and I had mixed emotions. Weddings in India are not always pure joy. Especially for the girl’s parents. They are hiding tears behind smiles, preparing to say goodbye. Meanwhile, except for the bride’s family, everyone else beams with joy. That's how marriages have always worked in our society.

This time, I also noticed something new—I carry so much of them in me. I have inherited traits from my parents and grandparents, small and big. Unknowingly, I sit like my maternal grandma. I have my mom’s skin complexion. I look so much like my dad. I even have a black mole on my right chin, exactly like my dad—his is smaller and lighter, but on the same spot. My forehead is his too. My hands and feet are a reflection of my mom's. My eyebrows are a perfect blend of my mom's and dad's. My hair is from my paternal grandma. I am a raw, beautiful fusion of my parents' and grandparents' genes. I carry both good and bad traits, physically and intellectually. And after staring into their eyes, I love myself a little more. I'm learning to accept my flaws. I won't complain anymore about my looks or insecurities.

But this also makes me wonder: why is our generation so frantic? Where has simplicity gone? Today, there's hardly any space for being raw or unfiltered. People wear several layers of makeup to conceal their real skin. No offense, but I don’t like this constant non-acceptance of oneself. It feels like everyone is trying to look like someone else. Weddings especially have become less about family and more about promotion—like a live showroom of businesses. Makeup artists arrive with suitcase trolleys full of artificial jewelry and endless products. Are you even serious??! Do you really need a whole trolley to feel beautiful? If yes, that’s a personal choice, sure, but it makes me sad that natural beauty and confidence are so underrated. And then, instead of focusing on the bride’s emotions, the artists are busy taking reels of their painted bride desperate for likes and shares. On the other side, decorators are flying drones, shooting cinematic angles as if the wedding is a Netflix film. And don’t even get me started on event managers—why do you need a stranger to manage your own family’s moment? The more I see this, the more I realize: the soul of weddings is quietly slipping away behind lights, lenses, and hashtags.

Looking back at those old albums makes me realize how much depth we've lost. Photographs once froze truth—the wrinkles of a worried parent, the sparkle in the groom’s eye, the shy smile of a bride. Today, photographs freeze filters. Maybe that’s why I hold on to those fading pages at my grandma’s place. They are more than pictures. They are real, messy, unfiltered moments. They remind me where I come from, and perhaps, who I really am.