My mother immigrated to New York for college from India in 1989. This Rolleiflex camera was one of the only objects she brought with her on her journey across the world. The camera is heavy, no longer functional, and fraying with age. I always wondered why she would choose something so impractical and archaic? When I was younger she would show me the intricate clickers, worn leather casing, delicate shutters, and mesmerizingly glossy mirrors. "It belonged to your great-great-great grandfather," she told me with pride. Our house is filled with old pictures. Different decades, faces, and places, but somehow these pictures are uncannily similar. Always an irritated child, brooding teenager, elders in the back, children kneeling in the front, a face looking away. I smile thinking about the parallels with my own family today. I wonder how many of these moments were captured with our Rolleiflex? 

Today, our camera gathers dust on one of our book shelves. Nonetheless, I have never seen it as an eyesore. Unusable and tattered, yes. I see it as having captured something that today's modern iPhone cameras cannot, my family history. This Rolleiflex gives me a snapshot into my family's life. I smell the anticipation of a new picture, hear the "are we done yet?" in Hindi, and see the checky grins. My mother, the homesick college student who boarded a plane to a foreign country, didn't bring this object to take new pictures, but to preserve her picture of home. 

– MSG-S

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant