Bengali meaning of With the Photographer ,

With the Photographer

by Stephen Leacock

Line-by-Line Bengali Translation

“I want my photograph taken,” I said.
"āφāĻŽি āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ›āĻŦি āϤোāϞাāϤে āϚাāχ," āφāĻŽি āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ।
The photographer looked at me without enthusiasm.
āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āύিāϰুā§ŽāϏাāĻšāĻ­াāĻŦে (āωāϤ্āϏাāĻšāĻšীāύāĻ­াāĻŦে) āϤাāĻ•াāϞেāύ।
He was a drooping man in a gray suit, with the dim eye of a natural scientist.
āϤিāύি āĻ›িāϞেāύ āϧূāϏāϰ āϏ্āϝুāϟেāϰ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āύু⧟ে āĻĒ⧜া āĻŽাāύুāώ, āϝাāϰ āϚোāĻ– āĻ›িāϞ āĻĒ্āϰāĻ•ৃāϤিāĻŦিāϜ্āĻžাāύীāϰ āĻŽāϤো āĻাāĻĒāϏা (āĻ—āĻ­ীāϰ āϚিāύ্āϤাāĻŽāĻ—্āύ)।
But there is no need to describe him.
āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϤাāĻ•ে āĻŦāϰ্āĻŖāύা āĻ•āϰাāϰ āĻ•োāύ āĻĒ্āϰ⧟োāϜāύ āύেāχ।
Everybody knows what a photographer is like.
āϏāĻŦাāχ āϜাāύে āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āĻ•েāĻŽāύ āĻšā§Ÿ।
“Sit there,” he said, “and wait.”
"āĻ“āĻ–াāύে āĻŦāϏুāύ," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ, "āĻāĻŦং āĻ…āĻĒেāĻ•্āώা āĻ•āϰুāύ।"
I waited an hour.
āφāĻŽি āĻāĻ• āϘāĻŖ্āϟা āĻ…āĻĒেāĻ•্āώা āĻ•āϰāϞাāĻŽ।
I read the Ladies Companion for 1912, the Girls Magazine for 1902 and the Infants Journal for 1888.
āφāĻŽি ⧧⧝⧧⧍ āϏাāϞেāϰ 'āϞেāĻĄিāϜ āĻ•āĻŽ্āĻĒ্āϝাāύিāϝ়āύ', ⧧⧝ā§Ļ⧍ āϏাāϞেāϰ 'āĻ—াāϰ্āϞāϏ āĻŽ্āϝাāĻ—াāϜিāύ' āĻāĻŦং ā§§ā§Žā§Žā§Ž āϏাāϞেāϰ 'āχāύāĻĢ্āϝাāύ্āϟāϏ āϜাāϰ্āύাāϞ' āĻĒāĻĄ়āϞাāĻŽ।
I began to see that I had done an unwarrantable thing in breaking in on the privacy of this man’s scientific pursuits with a face like mine.
āφāĻŽি āĻŦুāĻāϤে āĻļুāϰু āĻ•āϰāϞাāĻŽ āϝে, āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽāϤো āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻŽুāĻ– āύি⧟ে āĻāχ āϞোāĻ•āϟিāϰ āĻŦৈāϜ্āĻžাāύিāĻ• āϏাāϧāύাāϰ āĻ—োāĻĒāύী⧟āϤা⧟ āĻŦ্āϝাāϘাāϤ āϘāϟি⧟ে āφāĻŽি āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻ•্āώāĻŽাāϰ āĻ…āϝোāĻ—্āϝ āĻ•াāϜ āĻ•āϰেāĻ›ি।
After an hour the photographer opened the inner door.
āĻāĻ• āϘāĻŖ্āϟা āĻĒāϰ āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āĻ­েāϤāϰেāϰ āĻĻāϰāϜাāϟি āĻ–ুāϞāϞেāύ।
“Come in,” he said severely.
"āĻ­েāϤāϰে āφāϏুāύ," āϤিāύি āĻ—āĻŽ্āĻ­ীāϰāĻ­াāĻŦে āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ।
I went into the studio.
āφāĻŽি āϏ্āϟুāĻĄিāĻ“āϰ āĻ­েāϤāϰে āĻ—েāϞাāĻŽ।
“Sit down,” said the photographer.
"āĻŦāϏুāύ," āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ।
I sat down in a beam of sunlight filtered through a sheet of factory cotton hung against a frosted skylight.
āφāĻŽি āϘāώা āĻ•াঁāϚেāϰ āϏ্āĻ•াāχāϞাāχāϟেāϰ (āĻ›াāĻĻেāϰ āϜাāύাāϞা) āĻŦিāĻĒāϰীāϤে āĻোāϞাāύো āĻ•াāϰāĻ–াāύাāϰ āϏুāϤিāϰ āϚাāĻĻāϰেāϰ āĻŽāϧ্āϝ āĻĻি⧟ে āϚুঁāĻ‡ā§Ÿে āφāϏা āϏূāϰ্āϝেāϰ āφāϞো⧟ āĻŦāϏāϞাāĻŽ।
The photographer rolled a machine into the middle of the room and crawled into it from behind.
āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āĻāĻ•āϟি āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰ (āĻ•্āϝাāĻŽেāϰা) āĻ েāϞে āϘāϰেāϰ āĻŽাāĻāĻ–াāύে āύি⧟ে āĻāϞেāύ āĻāĻŦং āĻĒেāĻ›āύ āĻĻিāĻ• āĻĻি⧟ে āϏেāϟাāϰ āĻ­েāϤāϰে āĻšাāĻŽাāĻ—ু⧜ি āĻĻি⧟ে āĻĸুāĻ•āϞেāύ।
He was only in it a second, — just time enough for one look at me, — and then he was out again, tearing at the cotton sheet and the window panes with a hooked stick, apparently frantic for light and air.
āϤিāύি āĻŽাāϤ্āϰ āĻāĻ• āϏেāĻ•েāύ্āĻĄেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āĻ­েāϤāϰে āĻ›িāϞেāύ, — āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āĻāĻ•āĻŦাāϰ āϤাāĻ•াāύোāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϝāϤāϟুāĻ•ু āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻĻāϰāĻ•াāϰ, — āĻāĻŦং āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰāχ āϤিāύি āφāĻŦাāϰ āĻŦেāϰি⧟ে āĻāϞেāύ, āφāϞো āĻ“ āĻŦাāϤাāϏেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āωāύ্āĻŽāϤ্āϤ āĻšā§Ÿে āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻŦাঁāĻ•াāύো āϞাāĻ ি āĻĻি⧟ে āϏুāϤিāϰ āϚাāĻĻāϰ āĻāĻŦং āϜাāύাāϞাāϰ āĻļাāϰ্āϏিāĻ—ুāϞো āĻ›িঁ⧜ে āĻĢেāϞাāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ•্āϰāĻŽ āĻ•āϰāϞেāύ।
Then he crawled back into the machine again and drew a little black cloth over himself.
āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰ āϤিāύি āφāĻŦাāϰ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰāϟাāϰ āĻ­েāϤāϰে āĻšাāĻŽাāĻ—ু⧜ি āĻĻি⧟ে āĻĸুāĻ•āϞেāύ āĻāĻŦং āύিāϜেāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻ›োāϟ āĻ•াāϞো āĻ•াāĻĒ⧜ āϟেāύে āĻĻিāϞেāύ।
This time he was very quiet in there. I knew that he was praying and I kept still.
āĻāĻŦাāϰ āϤিāύি āĻ­েāϤāϰে āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻļাāύ্āϤ āĻ›িāϞেāύ। āφāĻŽি āϜাāύāϤাāĻŽ āϤিāύি āĻĒ্āϰাāϰ্āĻĨāύা āĻ•āϰāĻ›েāύ āĻāĻŦং āφāĻŽি āϏ্āĻĨিāϰ āĻšā§Ÿে āϰāχāϞাāĻŽ।
When the photographer came out at last, he looked very grave and shook his head.
āĻ…āĻŦāĻļেāώে āϝāĻ–āύ āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āĻŦেāϰি⧟ে āĻāϞেāύ, āϤাāĻ•ে āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻ—āĻŽ্āĻ­ীāϰ āĻĻেāĻ–াāϚ্āĻ›িāϞ āĻāĻŦং āϤিāύি āĻŽাāĻĨা āύা⧜āϞেāύ।
“The face is quite wrong,” he said.
"āĻŽুāĻ–āϟা āĻāĻ•েāĻŦাāϰেāχ āĻŦেāĻŽাāύাāύ (āĻ­ুāϞ)," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ।
“I know,” I answered quietly; “I have always known it.”
"āφāĻŽি āϜাāύি," āφāĻŽি āĻļাāύ্āϤāĻ­াāĻŦে āωāϤ্āϤāϰ āĻĻিāϞাāĻŽ; "āφāĻŽি āĻāϟা āϏāĻŦāϏāĻŽā§Ÿāχ āϜাāύি।"
He sighed. “I think,” he said, “the face would be better three-quarters full.”
āϤিāύি āĻĻীāϰ্āϘāĻļ্āĻŦাāϏ āĻĢেāϞāϞেāύ। "āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽāύে āĻšā§Ÿ," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ, "āĻŽুāĻ–āϟা āϤিāύ-āϚāϤুāϰ্āĻĨাংāĻļ (āĻ•োāĻŖাāĻ•ুāĻŖি) āϘোāϰাāϞে āĻ­াāϞো āĻšāĻŦে।"
“I’m sure it would,” I said enthusiastically, for I was glad to find that the man had such a human side to him.
"āφāĻŽি āύিāĻļ্āϚিāϤ āĻāϟা āĻ­াāϞো āĻšāĻŦে," āφāĻŽি āĻ‰ā§ŽāϏাāĻšেāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ, āĻ•াāϰāĻŖ āφāĻŽি āĻ–ুāĻļি āĻšāϞাāĻŽ āĻāϟা āĻĻেāĻ–ে āϝে āϞোāĻ•āϟিāϰ āĻŽāϧ্āϝে āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻŽাāύāĻŦিāĻ• āĻĻিāĻ•āĻ“ āφāĻ›ে।
“So would yours. In fact,” I continued, “how many faces one sees that are apparently hard, narrow, limited, but the minute you get them three-quarters full they get wide, large, almost boundless in — —”
"āφāĻĒāύাāϰāϟাāĻ“ āĻ­াāϞো āĻšāϤো। āφāϏāϞে," āφāĻŽি āĻŦāϞে āϚāϞāϞাāĻŽ, "āĻāĻŽāύ āĻ•āϤ āĻŽুāĻ– āĻĻেāĻ–া āϝা⧟ āϝা āφāĻĒাāϤāĻĻৃāώ্āϟিāϤে āĻ•āĻ িāύ, āϏংāĻ•ীāϰ্āĻŖ, āϏীāĻŽাāĻŦāĻĻ্āϧ, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϝেāχ āφāĻĒāύি āϏেāĻ—ুāϞোāĻ•ে āϤিāύ-āϚāϤুāϰ্āĻĨাংāĻļ āϘোāϰাāĻŦেāύ, āϏেāĻ—ুāϞো āĻĒ্āϰāĻļāϏ্āϤ, āĻŦিāĻļাāϞ āĻāĻŦং āĻĒ্āϰা⧟ āĻ…āϏীāĻŽ āĻšā§Ÿে āĻ“āĻ ে—"
But the photographer had ceased to listen.
āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āĻļোāύা āĻŦāύ্āϧ āĻ•āϰে āĻĻি⧟েāĻ›িāϞেāύ।
He came over and took my head in his hands and twisted it sideways.
āϤিāύি āĻāĻ—ি⧟ে āĻāϞেāύ āĻāĻŦং āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽাāĻĨাāϟা āĻĻুāχ āĻšাāϤে āϧāϰে āĻāĻ•āĻĒাāĻļে āĻŽোāϚ⧜ āĻĻিāϞেāύ।
I thought he meant to kiss me, and I closed my eyes.
āφāĻŽি āĻ­াāĻŦāϞাāĻŽ āϤিāύি āĻšā§ŸāϤো āφāĻŽাāĻ•ে āϚুāĻŽ্āĻŦāύ āĻ•āϰāϤে āϚাāχāĻ›েāύ, āϤাāχ āφāĻŽি āϚোāĻ– āĻŦāύ্āϧ āĻ•āϰāϞাāĻŽ।
But I was wrong.
āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āφāĻŽাāϰ āϧাāϰāĻŖা āĻ­ুāϞ āĻ›িāϞ।
He twisted my face as far as it would go and then stood looking at it.
āϤিāύি āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–āϟা āϝāϤāĻĻূāϰ āϏāĻŽ্āĻ­āĻŦ āĻŦাঁāĻ•াāϞেāύ āĻāĻŦং āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻĻাঁ⧜ি⧟ে āϏেāϟাāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āϤাāĻ•ি⧟ে āϰāχāϞেāύ।
He sighed again. “I don’t like the head,” he said.
āϤিāύি āφāĻŦাāϰ āĻĻীāϰ্āϘāĻļ্āĻŦাāϏ āĻĢেāϞāϞেāύ। "āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽাāĻĨাāϟা āĻĒāĻ›āύ্āĻĻ āĻšāϚ্āĻ›ে āύা," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ।
Then he went back to the machine and took another look.
āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰ āϤিāύি āφāĻŦাāϰ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰāϟাāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে āĻ—েāϞেāύ āĻāĻŦং āφāϰেāĻ•āĻŦাāϰ āϤাāĻ•াāϞেāύ।
“Open the mouth a little,” he said. I started to do so.
"āĻŽুāĻ–āϟা āĻāĻ•āϟু āĻ–ুāϞুāύ," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ। āφāĻŽি āϤাāχ āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻļুāϰু āĻ•āϰāϞাāĻŽ।
“Close it,” he added quickly.
"āĻŦāύ্āϧ āĻ•āϰুāύ," āϤিāύি āĻĻ্āϰুāϤ āϝোāĻ— āĻ•āϰāϞেāύ।
Then he looked again. “The ears are bad,” he said; “droop them a little more. Thank you.”
āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰ āϤিāύি āφāĻŦাāϰ āϤাāĻ•াāϞেāύ। "āĻ•াāύāĻ—ুāϞো āϜāϘāύ্āϝ," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ; "āĻ“āĻ—ুāϞো āφāϰেāĻ•āϟু āύাāĻŽি⧟ে āĻĻিāύ। āϧāύ্āϝāĻŦাāĻĻ।"
“Now the eyes. Roll them in under the lids. Put the hands on the knees, please, and turn the face just a little upward. Yes, that’s better.”
"āĻāĻŦাāϰ āϚোāĻ–। āĻ“āĻ—ুāϞো āϚোāĻ–েāϰ āĻĒাāϤাāϰ āύিāϚে āϘুāϰি⧟ে āύিāύ। āĻšাāϤāĻ—ুāϞো āĻšাঁāϟুāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āϰাāĻ–ুāύ, āĻĻ⧟া āĻ•āϰে, āĻāĻŦং āĻŽুāĻ–āϟা āϏাāĻŽাāύ্āϝ āĻ“āĻĒāϰেāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āϤুāϞুāύ। āĻš্āϝাঁ, āĻāϟা āĻ­াāϞো।"
“Now just expand the lungs! So! And hump the neck — that’s it — and just contract the waist — ha! — and twist the hip up toward the elbow — now! I still don’t quite like the face, it’s just a trifle too full, but — —”
"āĻāĻ–āύ āĻĢুāϏāĻĢুāϏāϟা āĻĒ্āϰāϏাāϰিāϤ āĻ•āϰুāύ! āĻ িāĻ• āφāĻ›ে! āĻāĻŦং āϘা⧜āϟা āĻ•ুঁāϜো āĻ•āϰুāύ — āĻāχ āϤো — āĻāĻŦং āĻ•োāĻŽāϰāϟা āϏংāĻ•ুāϚিāϤ āĻ•āϰুāύ — āĻšা! — āĻāĻŦং āύিāϤāĻŽ্āĻŦāϟা āĻ•āύুāĻ‡ā§Ÿেāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āĻāĻ•āϟু āĻŦাঁāĻ•াāύ — āĻāĻ–āύ! āφāĻŽি āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āĻŽুāĻ–āϟা āĻĒুāϰোāĻĒুāϰি āĻĒāĻ›āύ্āĻĻ āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻ›ি āύা, āĻāϟা āϏাāĻŽাāύ্āϝ āĻāĻ•āϟু āĻŦেāĻļি āĻĢোāϞা, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু — —"
I swung myself round on the stool.
āφāĻŽি āϟুāϞেāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āύিāϜেāĻ•ে āϘুāϰি⧟ে āύিāϞাāĻŽ।
“Stop,” I said with emotion but, I think, with dignity.
"āĻĨাāĻŽুāύ," āφāĻŽি āφāĻŦেāĻ—েāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āĻ•িāύ্āϤু, āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽāύে āĻšā§Ÿ, āĻŽāϰ্āϝাāĻĻাāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ।
“This face is my face. It is not yours, it is mine. I’ve lived with it for forty years and I know its faults.”
"āĻāχ āĻŽুāĻ– āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–। āĻāϟা āφāĻĒāύাāϰ āύ⧟, āĻāϟা āφāĻŽাāϰ। āφāĻŽি āϚāϞ্āϞিāĻļ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āϧāϰে āĻāϟাāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āĻŦাāϏ āĻ•āϰāĻ›ি āĻāĻŦং āφāĻŽি āĻāϰ āϤ্āϰুāϟিāĻ—ুāϞো āϜাāύি।"
“I know it’s out of drawing. I know it wasn’t made for me, but it’s my face, the only one I have—”
"āφāĻŽি āϜাāύি āĻāϟা āĻŦেāĻ–াāĻĒ্āĻĒা। āφāĻŽি āϜাāύি āĻāϟা āφāĻŽাāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϤৈāϰি āĻšā§Ÿāύি, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻāϟাāχ āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–, āĻāĻ•āĻŽাāϤ্āϰ āϝা āφāĻŽাāϰ āφāĻ›ে—"
I was conscious of a break in my voice but I went on— “such as it is, I’ve learned to love it. And this is my mouth, not yours.”
āφāĻŽি āĻŦুāĻāϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻ›িāϞাāĻŽ āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ—āϞা āϧāϰে āφāϏāĻ›ে āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āφāĻŽি āĻŦāϞে āϚāϞāϞাāĻŽ— "āĻāϟা āϝেāĻŽāύāχ āĻšোāĻ•, āφāĻŽি āĻāϟাāĻ•ে āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏāϤে āĻļিāĻ–েāĻ›ি। āĻāĻŦং āĻāϟা āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–, āφāĻĒāύাāϰ āύ⧟।"
“These ears are mine, and if your machine is too narrow—” Here I started to rise from the seat.
"āĻāχ āĻ•াāύāĻ—ুāϞো āφāĻŽাāϰ, āĻāĻŦং āϝāĻĻি āφāĻĒāύাāϰ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰāϟা āĻŦেāĻļি āϏāϰু āĻšā§Ÿ—" āĻāχ āĻŦāϞে āφāĻŽি āφāϏāύ āĻĨেāĻ•ে āωāĻ āϤে āĻļুāϰু āĻ•āϰāϞাāĻŽ।
Snick!
āϏ্āύিāĻ•! (āĻ•্āϝাāĻŽেāϰাāϰ āĻļাāϟাāϰেāϰ āĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻ)
The photographer had pulled a string. The photograph taken.
āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻĻ⧜ি āϟেāύে āĻĻি⧟েāĻ›িāϞেāύ। āĻ›āĻŦি āϤোāϞা āĻšā§Ÿে āĻ—েāĻ›ে।
I could see the machine still staggering from the shock.
āφāĻŽি āĻĻেāĻ–āϤে āĻĒাāϚ্āĻ›িāϞাāĻŽ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰāϟা āϤāĻ–āύāĻ“ āϏেāχ āϧāĻ•āϞ āϏাāĻŽāϞাāϤে āĻ•াঁāĻĒāĻ›ে।
“I think,” said the photographer, pursing his lips in a pleased smile, “that I caught the features just in a moment of animation.”
"āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽāύে āĻšā§Ÿ," āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āϤাāϰ āĻ োঁāϟ āĻ•ুঁāϚāĻ•ে āϏāύ্āϤুāώ্āϟ āĻšাāϏিāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ, "āφāĻŽি āĻŽুāĻ–āĻ­āĻ™্āĻ—িāϟা āĻ িāĻ• āωāϤ্āϤেāϜāύাāϰ āĻŽুāĻšূāϰ্āϤেāχ āϧāϰāϤে āĻĒেāϰেāĻ›ি।"
“So!” I said bitingly— “features, eh? You didn’t think I could animate them, I suppose? But let me see the picture.”
"āϤাāχ āύাāĻ•ি!" āφāĻŽি āĻাঁāĻাāϞো āϏুāϰে āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ— "āĻŽুāĻ–āĻ­āĻ™্āĻ—ি, āϤাāχ āϤো? āφāĻĒāύি āĻ­াāĻŦেāύāύি āφāĻŽি āĻ“āĻ—ুāϞো āύা⧜াāϤে āĻĒাāϰি, āϤাāχ āύা? āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āφāĻŽাāĻ•ে āĻ›āĻŦিāϟা āĻĻেāĻ–āϤে āĻĻিāύ।"
“Oh, there’s nothing to see yet,” he said, “I have to develop the negative first. Come back on Saturday and I’ll let you see a proof of it.”
"āĻ“āĻš, āĻāĻ–āύ āĻĻেāĻ–াāϰ āĻŽāϤো āĻ•িāĻ›ুāχ āύেāχ," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ, "āφāĻŽাāĻ•ে āφāĻ—ে āύেāĻ—েāϟিāĻ­āϟা āĻĄেāĻ­েāϞāĻĒ (āĻĒāϰিāϏ্āĻĢুāϟ) āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻšāĻŦে। āĻļāύিāĻŦাāϰ āĻĢিāϰে āφāϏুāύ āĻāĻŦং āφāĻŽি āφāĻĒāύাāĻ•ে āĻāϟাāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻĒ্āϰুāĻĢ (āύāĻŽুāύা) āĻĻেāĻ–াāĻŦ।"
On Saturday I went back.
āĻļāύিāĻŦাāϰ āφāĻŽি āĻĢিāϰে āĻ—েāϞাāĻŽ।
The photographer beckoned me in. I thought he seemed quieter and graver than before.
āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āφāĻŽাāĻ•ে āχāĻļাāϰা⧟ āĻ­েāϤāϰে āĻĄাāĻ•āϞেāύ। āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽāύে āĻšāϞো āϤাāĻ•ে āφāĻ—েāϰ āϚে⧟ে āĻļাāύ্āϤ āĻāĻŦং āĻ—āĻŽ্āĻ­ীāϰ āĻĻেāĻ–াāϚ্āĻ›ে।
I think, too, there was a certain pride in his manner.
āφāĻŽাāϰ āφāϰāĻ“ āĻŽāύে āĻšāϞো, āϤাāϰ āφāϚāϰāĻŖেāϰ āĻŽāϧ্āϝে āĻāĻ• āϧāϰāύেāϰ āĻ—āϰ্āĻŦ āĻ›িāϞ।
He unfolded the proof of a large photograph, and we both looked at it in silence.
āϤিāύি āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻŦ⧜ āĻ›āĻŦিāϰ āĻĒ্āϰুāĻĢ āĻ–ুāϞāϞেāύ, āĻāĻŦং āφāĻŽāϰা āĻĻুāϜāύেāχ āύীāϰāĻŦে āϏেāϟাāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āϤাāĻ•ি⧟ে āϰāχāϞাāĻŽ।
“Is it me?” I asked.
"āĻāϟা āĻ•ি āφāĻŽি?" āφāĻŽি āϜিāϜ্āĻžেāϏ āĻ•āϰāϞাāĻŽ।
“Yes,” he said quietly, “it is you,” and we went on looking at it.
"āĻš্āϝাঁ," āϤিāύি āĻļাāύ্āϤāĻ­াāĻŦে āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ, "āĻāϟা āφāĻĒāύিāχ," āĻāĻŦং āφāĻŽāϰা āϏেāϟাāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āϤাāĻ•ি⧟েāχ āϰāχāϞাāĻŽ।
“The eyes,” I said hesitatingly, “don’t look very much like mine.”
"āϚোāĻ–āĻ—ুāϞো," āφāĻŽি āĻĻ্āĻŦিāϧা āĻ•āϰে āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ, "āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻāĻ•āϟা āφāĻŽাāϰ āϚোāĻ–েāϰ āĻŽāϤো āĻĻেāĻ–াāϚ্āĻ›ে āύা।"
“Oh, no,” he answered, “I’ve retouched them. They come out splendidly, don’t they?”
"āĻ“āĻš, āύা," āϤিāύি āωāϤ্āϤāϰ āĻĻিāϞেāύ, "āφāĻŽি āĻ“āĻ—ুāϞো āϰিāϟাāϚ (āϏংāĻļোāϧāύ) āĻ•āϰেāĻ›ি। āĻ“āĻ—ুāϞো āϚāĻŽā§ŽāĻ•াāϰ āĻĢুāϟে āωāĻ েāĻ›ে, āϤাāχ āύা?"
“Fine,” I said, “but surely my eyebrows are not like that?”
"āϏুāύ্āĻĻāϰ," āφāĻŽি āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ, "āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āύিāĻļ্āϚ⧟āχ āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ­্āϰু-āϜো⧜া āĻāĻŽāύ āύ⧟?"
“No,” said the photographer, with a momentary glance at my face, “the eyebrows are removed. We have a process now — the Delphide — for putting in new ones.”
"āύা," āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–েāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āĻ•্āώāĻŖিāĻ•েāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϤাāĻ•ি⧟ে āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ, "āĻ­্āϰুāĻ—ুāϞো āϏāϰি⧟ে āĻĢেāϞা āĻšā§ŸেāĻ›ে। āφāĻŽাāĻĻেāϰ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻĒ্āϰāĻ•্āϰি⧟া āφāĻ›ে — āĻĄেāϞāĻĢাāχāĻĄ — āϝা āĻĻি⧟ে āύāϤুāύ āĻ­্āϰু āĻŦāϏাāύো āϝা⧟।"
“You’ll notice here where we’ve applied it to carry the hair away from the brow. I don’t like the hair low on the skull.”
"āφāĻĒāύি āĻāĻ–াāύে āϞāĻ•্āώ্āϝ āĻ•āϰāĻŦেāύ āϝেāĻ–াāύে āφāĻŽāϰা āĻāϟা āĻŦ্āϝāĻŦāĻšাāϰ āĻ•āϰেāĻ›ি āϚুāϞāĻ—ুāϞোāĻ•ে āĻ•āĻĒাāϞ āĻĨেāĻ•ে āϏāϰাāύোāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ। āφāĻŽি āĻŽাāĻĨাāϰ āĻ–ুāϞিāϰ āύিāϚে āϚুāϞ āĻĨাāĻ•া āĻĒāĻ›āύ্āĻĻ āĻ•āϰি āύা।"
“Oh, you don’t, don’t you?” I said.
"āĻ“āĻš, āφāĻĒāύি āĻ•āϰেāύ āύা, āϤাāχ āϤো?" āφāĻŽি āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ।
“No,” he went on, “I don’t care for it. I like to get the hair clear back to the superficies and make out a new brow line.”
"āύা," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞে āϚāϞāϞেāύ, "āφāĻŽি āĻ“āϟা āĻĒāĻ›āύ্āĻĻ āĻ•āϰি āύা। āφāĻŽি āϚুāϞāĻ—ুāϞোāĻ•ে āĻāĻ•েāĻŦাāϰে āωāĻĒāϰিāĻ­াāĻ— āĻĒāϰ্āϝāύ্āϤ āϏāϰি⧟ে āĻĻি⧟ে āύāϤুāύ āĻ•āĻĒাāϞেāϰ āϰেāĻ–া āϤৈāϰি āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻĒāĻ›āύ্āĻĻ āĻ•āϰি।"
“What about the mouth?” I said with a bitterness that was lost on the photographer; “is that mine?”
"āĻŽুāĻ–েāϰ āĻ•ী āĻšāϞো?" āφāĻŽি āϤিāĻ•্āϤāϤাāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ āϝা āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰীāϰ āύāϜāϰ āĻā§œাāϞো; "āĻ“āϟা āĻ•ি āφāĻŽাāϰ?"
“It’s adjusted a little,” he said, “yours is too low. I found I couldn’t use it.”
"āĻ“āϟা āĻāĻ•āϟু āĻ িāĻ• āĻ•āϰা āĻšā§ŸেāĻ›ে," āϤিāύি āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ, "āφāĻĒāύাāϰāϟা āĻ–ুāĻŦ āύিāϚে āĻ›িāϞ। āφāĻŽি āĻĻেāĻ–āϞাāĻŽ āĻ“āϟা āφāĻŽি āĻŦ্āϝāĻŦāĻšাāϰ āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻ›ি āύা।"
“The ears, though,” I said, “strike me as a good likeness; they’re just like mine. Is it me?”
"āϤāĻŦে āĻ•াāύāĻ—ুāϞো," āφāĻŽি āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ, "āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽāύে āĻšāϚ্āĻ›ে āĻŦেāĻļ āĻŽিāϞ āφāĻ›ে; āĻ“āĻ—ুāϞো āĻ িāĻ• āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽāϤোāχ। āĻāϟা āĻ•ি āφāĻŽি?"
“Yes,” said the photographer thoughtfully, “that’s so; but I can fix that all right in the print. We have a process now — the Sulphide — for removing the ears entirely.”
"āĻš্āϝাঁ," āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰী āϚিāύ্āϤিāϤāĻ­াāĻŦে āĻŦāϞāϞেāύ, "āϤা āĻ িāĻ•; āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āφāĻŽি āĻĒ্āϰিāύ্āϟে āĻ“āϟা āĻ িāĻ• āĻ•āϰে āĻĻিāϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻŦ। āφāĻŽাāĻĻেāϰ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻĒ্āϰāĻ•্āϰি⧟া āφāĻ›ে — āϏাāϞāĻĢাāχāĻĄ — āϝা āĻĻি⧟ে āĻ•াāύāĻ—ুāϞো āĻĒুāϰোāĻĒুāϰি āϏāϰি⧟ে āĻĢেāϞা āϝা⧟।"
“Listen!” I interrupted, drawing myself up and animating my features to their full extent and speaking with a withering scorn that should have blasted the man on the spot.
"āĻļুāύুāύ!" āφāĻŽি āĻŦাāϧা āĻĻি⧟ে āϏোāϜা āĻšā§Ÿে āĻĻাঁ⧜াāϞাāĻŽ āĻāĻŦং āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–āĻ­āĻ™্āĻ—ি āϝāĻĨাāϏāĻŽ্āĻ­āĻŦ āϜীāĻŦāύ্āϤ āĻ•āϰে āĻāĻŽāύ āϤীāĻŦ্āϰ āϘৃāĻŖাāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āĻ•āĻĨা āĻŦāϞāϞাāĻŽ āϝা āϞোāĻ•āϟাāĻ•ে āϏেāĻ–াāύেāχ āĻ­āϏ্āĻŽ āĻ•āϰে āĻĻেāĻ“ā§Ÿাāϰ āĻ•āĻĨা।
“Listen! I came here for a photograph — a picture — something which (mad though it seems) would have looked like me.”
"āĻļুāύুāύ! āφāĻŽি āĻāĻ–াāύে āĻāϏেāĻ›িāϞাāĻŽ āĻāĻ•āϟা āφāϞোāĻ•āϚিāϤ্āϰেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ — āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻ›āĻŦি — āĻāĻŽāύ āĻ•িāĻ›ু āϝা (āĻĒাāĻ—āϞ āĻŽāύে āĻšāϞেāĻ“) āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽāϤো āĻĻেāĻ–āϤে āĻšāĻŦে।"
“I wanted something that would depict my face as Heaven gave it to me, humble though the gift may have been.”
"āφāĻŽি āĻāĻŽāύ āĻ•িāĻ›ু āϚে⧟েāĻ›িāϞাāĻŽ āϝা āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–āϟাāĻ•ে āϤেāĻŽāύāĻ­াāĻŦেāχ āĻĻেāĻ–াāĻŦে āϝেāĻŽāύāϟা āψāĻļ্āĻŦāϰ āφāĻŽাāĻ•ে āĻĻি⧟েāĻ›েāύ, āϤা āϏে āωāĻĒāĻšাāϰ āϝāϤ āύāĻ—āĻŖ্āϝāχ āĻšোāĻ• āύা āĻ•েāύ।"
“I wanted something that my friends might keep after my death, to reconcile them to my loss. It seems that I was mistaken.”
"āφāĻŽি āĻāĻŽāύ āĻ•িāĻ›ু āϚে⧟েāĻ›িāϞাāĻŽ āϝা āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŦāύ্āϧুāϰা āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽৃāϤ্āϝুāϰ āĻĒāϰ āϰাāĻ–āϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻŦে, āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ…āĻ­াāĻŦ āĻŽেāύে āύেāĻ“ā§Ÿাāϰ āϏাāύ্āϤ্āĻŦāύা āĻšিāϏেāĻŦে। āĻŽāύে āĻšāϚ্āĻ›ে āφāĻŽি āĻ­ুāϞ āĻ•āϰেāĻ›ি।"
“What I wanted is no longer done. Go on, then, with your brutal work.”
"āφāĻŽি āϝা āϚে⧟েāĻ›িāϞাāĻŽ āϤা āĻāĻ–āύ āφāϰ āĻ•āϰা āĻšā§Ÿ āύা। āϤাāĻšāϞে āϚাāϞি⧟ে āϝাāύ āφāĻĒāύাāϰ āĻāχ āĻĒাāĻļāĻŦিāĻ• āĻ•াāϜ।"
“Take your negative, or whatever it is you call it, — dip it in sulphide, bromide, oxide, cowhide, — anything you like...”
"āύিāύ āφāĻĒāύাāϰ āύেāĻ—েāϟিāĻ­, āĻŦা āφāĻĒāύাāϰা āĻ“āϟাāĻ•ে āϝা-āχ āĻŦāϞুāύ āύা āĻ•েāύ, — āĻ“āϟাāĻ•ে āĻĄোāĻŦাāύ āϏাāϞāĻĢাāχāĻĄে, āĻŦ্āϰোāĻŽাāχāĻĄে, āĻ…āĻ•্āϏাāχāĻĄে, āĻ•āωāĻšাāχāĻĄে (āĻ—āϰুāϰ āϚাāĻŽā§œা), — āϝা āĻ–ুāĻļি āϤাāϤে..."
“...remove the eyes, correct the mouth, adjust the face, restore the lips, reanimate the necktie and reconstruct the waistcoat.”
"...āϚোāĻ–āĻ—ুāϞো āϤুāϞে āĻĢেāϞুāύ, āĻŽুāĻ– āĻ িāĻ• āĻ•āϰুāύ, āϚেāĻšাāϰা āϏাāĻŽāĻž্āϜāϏ্āϝ āĻ•āϰুāύ, āĻ োঁāϟ āĻĒুāύāϰ্āϏ্āĻĨাāĻĒāύ āĻ•āϰুāύ, āϟাāχ-āϟা āϜীāĻŦāύ্āϤ āĻ•āϰুāύ āĻāĻŦং āĻ•োāϟāϟা āύāϤুāύ āĻ•āϰে āĻŦাāύাāύ।"
“Coat it with an inch of gloss, shade it, emboss it, gild it, till even you acknowledge that it is finished.”
"āĻ“āϟাāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻāĻ• āχāĻž্āϚি āĻĒুāϰু āĻĒাāϞিāĻļ āϞাāĻ—াāύ, āĻļেāĻĄ āĻĻিāύ, āĻ–োāĻĻাāχ āĻ•āϰুāύ, āϏোāύাāϞি āϰāĻ™ āĻ•āϰুāύ, āϝāϤāĻ•্āώāĻŖ āύা āφāĻĒāύি āύিāϜে āϏ্āĻŦীāĻ•াāϰ āĻ•āϰেāύ āϝে āĻāϟা āĻļেāώ āĻšā§ŸেāĻ›ে।"
“Then when you have done all that — keep it for yourself and your friends. They may value it. To me it is but a worthless bauble.”
"āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰ āϝāĻ–āύ āφāĻĒāύি āĻāϏāĻŦ āĻ•িāĻ›ু āĻ•āϰে āĻĢেāϞāĻŦেāύ — āĻ“āϟা āύিāϜেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āĻāĻŦং āφāĻĒāύাāϰ āĻŦāύ্āϧুāĻĻেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϰেāĻ–ে āĻĻেāĻŦেāύ। āϤাāϰা āĻšā§ŸāϤো āĻāϟাāϰ āĻ•āĻĻāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻŦে। āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে āĻāϟা āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻŽূāϞ্āϝāĻšীāύ āĻ–েāϞāύা āĻ›া⧜া āφāϰ āĻ•িāĻ›ুāχ āύ⧟।"
I broke into tears and left.
āφāĻŽি āĻ•াāύ্āύা⧟ āĻ­েāĻ™ে āĻĒ⧜āϞাāĻŽ āĻāĻŦং āϚāϞে āφāϏāϞাāĻŽ।

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