Chapter 33: Lights Before the Lens
March 1983 – Singh Media Lab, Lucknow
The late monsoon had settled over the city like a memory. Rain soaked the courtyards of old Lucknow, dripping from tiled rooftops onto the narrow gullies below. The scent of wet earth mingled with the sharp aroma of coal smoke and the sweetness of rosewater from nearby homes preparing for rakhi. Somewhere in the distance, a rickshaw bell rang, blending with the temple bell from a small shrine beside the lab gate.
Inside Singh Technologies' east wing, another kind of rhythm was unfolding—quieter, but no less urgent. The once-empty space had grown into something living: wires snaked across wooden tables, spools of magnetic tape spun lazily, and voices murmured beneath the gentle hum of invention.
A brass nameplate, slightly weathered from the humidity, now marked the door:
> 🎬 Singh Media Research & Development Unit
"Let stories rise from the soil."
It had been six months since the idea had taken root—since Ajay Singh, with Bharat quietly at his side, formed a team to reimagine how India could tell its stories. Now, prototypes were blooming like wildflowers after rain.
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The Prototypes Begin
In one corner, an audio engineer adjusted the knobs on a small wooden mixer. "Left channel drift is stable now," he muttered, as Sneha Trivedi, the classically trained vocalist, tested a dholak rhythm layered beneath her voice. The sound came back through the speakers with an odd richness, like old studio recordings played on fresh tape.
On the far side of the room, two young engineers were lifting a homemade camera dolly—its wheels built from repurposed cycle rims—onto a short test rail. Above them, a rig of amber and white lights circled on a crude but functional motorized arc, a soft whir echoing like a ceiling fan in summer.
Anant Verma, head of the R&D unit, clapped his hands. "Six working devices. Three more near completion. That's better than any Bombay lab in our budget."
Ajay stepped inside, damp from the rain, umbrella in hand. His eyes immediately searched the room, landing on the one figure sitting quietly by the window.
Bharat, in a loose sweater two sizes too big, was staring out through the rain-speckled glass. He held an old leather notebook in his lap, the pages filled with drawings, notes, and strange diagrams that sometimes seemed years ahead of the tools lying in front of them.
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Bharat's Memory of the Future
Bharat was only eight, but there was something in his eyes—something that remembered things that hadn't happened yet.
As he watched the monsoon wash across the courtyard, his thoughts turned inward.
> "In my other life," he thought, "films had no boundaries. CGI made tigers leap from oceans. Actors aged backwards with VFX. Worlds were built in green rooms, not in deserts."
He could still see the soft glow of editing timelines from future software: scenes shuffled like playing cards, transitions added with a click, colors adjusted frame by frame without ever touching the film itself.
> "Here, in 1983, editors still use scissors," he thought. "They slice celluloid by hand, hoping the glue holds. What if we gave them something better? What if editing was like writing—a cursor, not a blade?"
He scribbled quietly into his notebook:
> Project: CineEdit 1.0
• Goal: Non-linear film editing software
• Interface: Timeline view, clip modules
• Actions: Cut, copy, paste, fade-in/out
• Bonus: Real-time preview window
• System: Compatible with BASIC on microprocessors
• Cost: ₹500 software + ₹3,000 machine
He drew a square screen and underlined a word:
> "Undo — the filmmaker's second chance."
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In the Lab – Technology and Imagination Collide
"Try the coconut coir under the sound panel," Bharat said gently, walking over to where Sneha was testing the vocals again. "It absorbs bass fuzz. You'll get a cleaner dholak echo."
Sneha looked up, eyebrows raised. "How do you know that?"
"I don't," Bharat said with a small smile. "But I thought maybe… music likes softness more than steel."
Just a few feet away, engineers were testing the first small-scale green screen—the background cloth dyed in a bright, odd green that looked unnatural to the eye. A miniature clay figurine of Hanuman stood in front of it, lit by the circular lighting rig above.
"No shadows," Bharat instructed. "Make the light soft, not direct. And blend the edges—there can't be contrast lines."
Anant turned. "You've done this before?"
Bharat hesitated. "No… not here."
Ajay, watching the quiet exchange, said nothing. But inside, he felt both pride and a strange awe—as if his son were tapping into a future only he could see.
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Team Meeting – The Bigger Vision
Later that afternoon, the team gathered around the chalkboard. The room smelled of masala chai and warm cardamom biscuits. Papers rustled. Rain still tapped gently at the shutters.
Ajay stood at the front. "Let's take stock. What do we have?"
Anant read aloud:
Portable directional microphone – ✅
Tripod + camera dolly – ✅
Multi-light rig with rotation – ✅
Cassette-based mixer v0.5 – 🟡
Voice echo box – 🟡
Green screen backdrop – ✅
"We're still missing one major piece," Ajay added, looking at Bharat. "Post-production."
Bharat rose slowly, walked to the board, and wrote in clean block letters:
> Digital Film Editing Interface
Sound Layering Console
Emotion-Based Music Cue Generator
"Explain," said Sneha.
Bharat turned. "Filmmaking is emotion, but editing is timing. Every sound, every cut—it has to land right. We need tools that let directors move scenes like puzzle pieces. Sound layers should shift without re-recording. Music should adjust based on mood."
Anant asked, "You're talking about… AI?"
Bharat smiled. "Not yet. Just smart templates. But one day, yes."
Ajay crossed his arms. "How far can this really go?"
Bharat looked at him calmly. "Far enough that even a village boy with a borrowed camera can make something that changes the country."
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Screening Room – First Light
That evening, the team gathered to watch their first experimental short film: The Boatman's Journey, shot in Barabanki using their prototype equipment.
The projector flickered. On the screen, a small wooden boat slid through gray water. A woman's voice sang a folk verse in the background. The camera panned, gliding as if weightless. The audio was crisp. The light looked soft and natural.
No one spoke. There was only the sound of river, breath, and rain.
Then someone whispered, "It looks… real."
Not polished. Not perfect.
But honest. Beautifully honest.
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Later that Night – A Conversation in the Rain
Back home, Ajay and Bharat sat on the veranda. Rain drummed against the tin shade, and the warm smell of sandalwood drifted from inside, where Dadi was lighting the diya.
Ajay turned to his son. "You really believe all this will work?"
Bharat tilted his head. "I know it will."
Ajay nodded. "Why you, Bharat? Why do these ideas come to you?"
The boy looked toward the monsoon sky. "Maybe because someone forgot to build these before. Maybe I've come back to finish what they started."
Ajay fell silent.
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A Notebook, A Candle, A Beginning
Later, Bharat sat at his desk with only a flickering candle beside him. His fingers moved quickly over the pages.
> "Next: 'Voice of India' archive – dialects, moods, ages
Recordings in Awadhi, Maithili, Tamil, Bhojpuri
Use for dubbing, teaching, storytelling"
He closed the notebook gently.
The rain continued outside, as the night folded into itself.
But inside that little lab—inside that one flickering mind—a nation's new voice was beginning to take shape.