There are photographs that capture a moment, and then there are photographs that preserve a prophecy. One such photograph takes me back to the evening of May 12, 2024, at Hotel Jehanuma Palace in Bhopal -- my last memorable meeting with Jaspal Rana.
I had become friends with him during the Paris Olympic selection trials in Bhopal in 2024. One day, I approached him with a request. "Sir, I want to take an exclusive photograph of you with Manu." He smiled and replied, "I have a video of her on my mobile. Use that." I wasn't ready to give up. "Sir, everyone will have that. I want an exclusive photograph with my camera for The Times of India. Please don't tell anyone about it today." Without a second thought, he agreed. "Alright, come to Jehanuma Hotel between 5:30 and 6:00 pm."
I reached the hotel at 5:15 pm. What unfolded that evening remains one of the most cherished memories of my career. The national shooters were relaxing in and around the swimming pool, enjoying a rare break from the pressures of competition. But away from the laughter and chatter, in a quiet corner beside the pool, sat Manu Bhaker. She was playing the violin. Beside her sat her mother, watching with a smile that reflected both pride and affection. It was a scene of remarkable calmness -- an Olympic hopeful, a violin in her hands, and a mother quietly soaking in the moment.
Then I heard Jaspal Rana's voice. "Faruqui, come here and take this shot. This is Manu." I immediately raised my camera and captured the photograph I had come for. Afterwards, I began recording a short video. Manu first played "Happy Birthday" on her violin and then beautifully rendered the tune of "Jana Gana Mana." As I filmed, Jaspal Rana walked up behind me and gently placed his hand on my shoulder. Then he said something that I have never forgotten. "Faruqui, remember this. When Manu wins an Olympic gold medal, use this shot of her playing the National Anthem along with the photographs from there. This is her real identity."
That day. That evening. Those words. Some moments never leave you. The photograph was published the very next day on the sports pages of all editions of The Times of India. But the publication was not what made that evening special. What stayed with me was the trust Jaspal Rana placed in me -- and the certainty with which he spoke about Manu's future.
A couple of months later, when Manu returned from Paris with two Olympic bronze medals, my eyes filled with tears. Not because I remembered the photograph. Not because I remembered the publication. But because I remembered the man standing behind me that evening, seeing a future that the rest of us could only imagine. At that moment, I wished he were still there to pat my shoulder once again and say: "See, Faruqui... didn't I tell you?"
Today, Jaspal Rana is no longer with us. But his faith in his athletes, his generosity towards people, and his ability to recognise greatness long before the world applauded it, continue to live on. That photograph remains safely stored in my archive. That video remains preserved in my collection. And that evening remains etched in my heart. The marksman may have lowered his rifle for the final time, but the last shot he called right still echoes through memory.
