There is a moment in every parent’s life when the night is meant for sleep, but your toddler has other plans — plans that light up the room in ways no grown-up could ever predict. These photographs were taken in the wee hours of one such night, during what was meant to be a bedtime routine, but instead turned into a theatre of light, curiosity, and boundless imagination.
In this black-and-white series, my two-year-old son discovers what he calls our “magic lamp.” To him, it’s the sun, a portal, a spotlight, a mystery that demands exploration. Watch how he gazes at the beam with eyes wide open — not just seeing, but wondering. See how his fingers reach out, as if he could touch the light and hold it like a firefly. These are not just gestures; they are theatrics in motion.
Unlike us, kids don’t just play — they become. In one moment he’s a shadow puppeteer, in the next, a scientist discovering light. He isn’t just pointing; he’s commanding. He isn’t just climbing the cushions; he’s scaling mountains to tame the moon.
The composition leans heavily on bold visual elements — strong shadows, defined geometric shapes, crisp lines, and angular forms — that create a structured, almost architectural frame. Within this rigidity, the kid becomes the counterpoint: soft, fluid, and emotionally raw. This visual tension heightens the storytelling — where the starkness of light and structure contrasts the tenderness of discovery, making the moment feel both intimate and monumental.
There’s a sacred stillness in some frames. A breath held. A pause before a question forms. The way he kneels or stands on tiptoe, balancing between caution and wonder, speaks volumes of how play is not reckless, but full of thought — a philosophy in motion.
We as adults often forget this. We forget what it means to be completely absorbed in the now. We lose the magic of looking at a switch and thinking it’s the gate to a new realm. Of seeing light not as a utility, but a companion.
Through this lens, I saw not just my son — I saw the child I once was. The one who believed lamps could talk, shadows could dance, and the world was not yet defined by facts but by feelings.
This series is not about light and shadows. It’s about illumination — of what we left behind. It’s a mirror for all of us who once lay awake in bed imagining stories on the ceiling, who made friends with the moonlight, who gave names to inanimate things just so they’d never feel alone.
So here’s to the magic lamp — and to the children who remind us that light doesn’t just shine. Sometimes, it listens.
In the Frame: Vidit Verma (my son) | Camera: iPhone 15Pro | Edits: Adobe Lightroom (Mobile) Props: Table Lamp and Cushions
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