All posts filed under: Photographic Stories

Few moments are best shown with the eye. These works were the documentation of then given time and space that came to me as assignments either travel explorations. You are welcome in the world where you will enter the domain of each element that is present outside and in ourselves

11 Greatest Indian Circus Photographs of the 20th Century

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I have been a Photographer in this lifetime. And I feel I have been a photographer first than being anything else later. And one thing that a photographer does for a lot many hours is only seeing. And if seeing gets him closer to nature, he then starts studying seeing, observing, reading and doing everything else when not taking photographs. Photography carries a rich history and we can imagine that now when we have got all the equipments and technology by our side where we can just delete an image right after taking it. This could not be even imagined 30 years ago. And through that period came courageous, motivated people who took up camera to pen their observations. If this post is being read by anyone who is born after 2000, you may feel at home and open yourself up to take some time out to study some of the most brilliant minds who took up image making, who made images when no one was watching. Their documentation changed the ways of seeing. Their …

Back to Blogging While Breathing the Deadliest Air in the World’s Most Polluted Capital Delhi

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My Road To Nara Family, Namaste again. I hope you have all been healthy and enjoying these last few weeks of 2024. In late March, when i announced my break for I think five months, which initially i thought would be a lot more and I will start writing here a lot earlier, but life threw a beautiful mix of intensity and learning all these past months that strangely i enjoyed my new found freedom to an extent it became harder for me to come back here. But it was not the ‘not writing here’ part which concerned me most, it was not missing it. Family life, School- its responsibilities and then my own personal and professional commitments to myself. Some posts that were published earlier in last two months were pre-scheduled, so much so that I had written them in May itself. I forgot about them and couldn’t write or comment back as i didn’t see them for over a month. I will try to get back to the posts and answer each one. …

Children Of War and A Look Into the Parallel Universe

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Once in many years comes a project that brings your life’s reality to a halt. Probably bringing a comma or a complete stop for sometime. Even though it isn’t a big deal to be trained in the visual medium today as everyone’s eyes roll over social media like clouds moving above us, most of the times everything passes as our heads are always elsewhere but that one moment when the thunder strikes, we come back to life. Our World is at war. Still not at its peak as the real WAR is still around a few years away, but as we read this article in 2024, the world is already on a boil and soon rather anytime it is expected to burn. Only if things, governments, war companies do not mend their ways but even for that the time has already gone. Ever since the US moved out of Afghanistan; West Asia and the Middle East has become ever so vulnerable. The ever going war in Africa, Syria, Yemen, ever since in Afghanistan, Russia-Ukraine. And …

Shades Of August

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Dear Co-Travellers, August tinkers like its the doorway to change. May be the first knock towards the last half of the year. The month brings Rain and rains bring movement. An upsurge of energy. Life happening everywhere while bringing us that twilight period of Clouds and glitter, of filtering light, running rivers, thundering skies and speaking earth. I have been away from writing on the internet but I have been writing. A Project of importance or so i must feel; the law of cause and effect leads you to interesting crossroads. At home, a rally of unfortunate events one after other in the family and neighbourhood brought me to reason ‘The Origin of Disease’. About our understanding of food and ancient crops. And most importantly about self-healing. Is today’s society capable enough tackle stress, depression, anxiety, internet addiction, or even life and time management on its own? For each one who thinks of food as nourishment and life as energy. For anyone who would like to delve deeper in the realms of understanding one’s mind, …

How an Old Man Taught Me to Reach the Tower of the Eternal Bliss, the Mystery of Fire And of the Universe On the Banks of Ganga?

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I had a quick two-day tour to Haridwar with parents. A meeting with a Guru was arranged and they were excited about it. I, as was the deal had only one plan; to walk as far and as close to the mother river Ganga, as much she allows. 4 a.m. When we reached Parents took to the ashram and I to the mother river. But this time without impressions. Past months have seen a difference in the way I am doing things and one thing that I am particularly peaceful about is leaving the camera first and then leaving this want, to make the most beautiful, meaningful looking photographs. I am not. I am not doing it. I am letting the days pass by without making any digital memory out of it. I feel no desire anymore to keep making memories. As of now I imagine I have done my quota of “always looking like a crow” to do something all the time. I am walking without me institutionally looking to make images or even …

One Deep Journey to the Indian South : A Visual Study of Thiruvegappura Ambala Observing the Culture and Music of God’s Own Country

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There is one advice I must give. Travel; at least once in your lifetime get yourself a one way ticket to any place that has ever called you. Solo is better, just like Fear of the unknown is good. I would say, rather pounce on it and do it all the way. And even do it, as you doubt your self; setting aside gloom, prepare yourself to become aware of every breath that is going to come to you. Travel. Ever since February and March graced me to undertake an odyssey to the Indian South, it opened grand doors to a time and space that weren’t only old but preserved for centuries the fragrance of its tradition, from corruption that we have become accustomed to. Ceremonies, rituals, chants and most importantly the discipline of the two magic hours; to become conscious of the rise and the setting of the sun, and it being celebrated like a reserved festival for the soul with utmost attention, precision while guiding oneself to flow in following the cycle of …

Silent Poems From My Ancestral Village; A Photographic Tribute

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These images come from my village. Right here where my grandmother sits peeling potatoes, there i was born. But left within three months as I was told. The hand you see on the wall comes on Indian walls when a daughter leaves the house after marriage. This home also witnessed my earliest phase when I first started making photographs with our only family Kodak Film camera KB10. These are some of the Earliest images from my village home and probably the only time I could photograph my grandmother, peeling potatoes. Made in 2005. : ँ : Thank you. If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste : ँ : I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About me and importantly; As a co-traveller, will take you through the Ten Lessons I learnt from several years on the road, before you coarse on your own Road to Nara. Also read: Top 9 Most Read Posts of 2022 : ँ : You might also like to know about My Little School Project. If you wish …

Brahma Calls To Pushkar: Travelling with Parents to Man Mahal and other stories

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Something unlikely happened in February. I wrote a letter for the first time, to send it far away; away across the seven seas wishing someone love, birthday wishes and health. And subtly felt that I should start doing it more often. Through writing at least, making unknown known, to the people who are close but far, sending Postcards to you. As it would be great to support our age old Letter/Postal services to keep working in this digital world.  As it was also the birth month of my Mother. I kept planning that my parent’s travel, somewhere they had never been to. More so when they are more like Pilgrims than tourists, so wherever they can find a calling connection with the local lord, a deity of a city, a region; they go there happily. And that high of happiness had eluded them for the longest time. Much before the Virus locked our gates. The orders had come to open the schools. Ma and I had already started planning the opening of our school. We …

Last Few Days of Winter from my friend Rinku’s Home, in Naggar- Himalayas: A Photo-Story

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You know I love Delhi for its years old rich history, but more often than less, it has only been a pass for me towards the mountains. I love the Himalayas more. And in last one decade and half, I have found myself reaching to Naggar than anywhere else. It may also be how this quaint small village found me finding. Also Read: Birdsong- the first poem i wrote after reaching Naggar In 2007, while riding my bike from Delhi, looking for a place to stay for the night, each person i asked from directed me towards Naggar. Nagar in Hindi simply means a ‘city’, or so i thought that once i reach the city i will find a place. But the altitude kept getting higher as i rode in the night getting skeptical of ever reaching any so called ‘city’. But when I finally reached there, the first thing my senses noticed was the fragrance of Devdar trees. It was dark in the night and cricket sang the song of the moon. There were …

Home and the World : Walking around New Delhi and Old in January ’22

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Even though every day, slowly months and years seem to pass as fast as they arrive; January is special because first so much celebration already happens even before it arrives that half of it leaves while many still living hungover or in the previous year. Yet for me it was bringing some change that i could experientially notice, and drastic at that. Father had a near death experience so much that one night sleeping outside Hospital, in the boot of a car made me succumb to the emotions of not having a father anymore. Those five hospital days were special in a strange and new kind of way. Father eventually came back strongly, and is on his way to retain good health. But still something changed in me. Probably the essence of time. How so much is often so little. Hence January had to be celebrated, in the only few way i can. Working, walking, writing better. Ever since the seed of working on Delhi’s past and present has yielded, i had been moving around …

Jyoti Bhatt : A Tribute to a Living Legend : A Photographic Essay on Rural Gujarati Indian Life(1971-1987)

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Today, he is 87 and I will only wish that somehow a film compiling his works, his life, no matter however directed, should come out before we lose all of it. His experiences of that time and era must be recorded.

Days in the Hidden Valley of Mandal and a Small trek to Ma Anusuyadevi Temple : A Photographic Essay- III

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While studying culture and ancient practises in the Higher Himalayas.Continuing from Pandava Forest and the Brahma Kamal : The Nights of Change in the Himalayas and Finding Brahma Kamal : On a Rainy night from Delhi to Chamoli : ँ : Sumanto was waiting by the roadside, in front of the fisheries department. It was late in the night, very late by the mountain ways of life. Yet the most relieving part was that i wasn’t alone. With me was the last government bus, which i had to run after, in Rudraprayag to catch it. Had it not been that moment, i wouldn’t be making it even in my 30th hour of leaving New Delhi. It was cold. It was heavy. The restrain of the night, one which arrives after many days of rain. The climatic depression could still be felt. I could hear the droplets dropping off the leaves as I could hear myself heaving. The bus stopped. I bid byes to the driver, the conductor as i had been the only one riding …

Welcome To Heaven: Stories From the Line Of Control that May Enlighten The World– VII/Final

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On the Great Himalayan Road Journey to Baltistan, today is the showdown, the final journey continuing from Call of the Now- I Life and nothing more- II Road will tell you- III Remember me with a Lotus- IV The Gun Mountains and other Gods- V The Wait of Baltistan- VI : ँ : — It was more difficult to reach here than i had thought. To an extent I was only one night away from leaving it all and going back home. A whole day had gone in repairing Tyre and servicing this vehicle in Diskit, the same valley that hosted gypsies once, ancient travellers, porters coming from Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan carrying opium and other magic potions to the cold desert of Hunder; a stop that they still talk about as the Silk road. This was the ancient Silk route, and from here you either go up to Mongolia or find your way to the Tibetan plateau into China. I took to Baltistan. “And had Turtuk not pulled me in this one time, I may …

The Gun Mountains and Other Gods -V/VII

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On the Road to Baltistan, continuing from Call of the Now- I Life and nothing more- II Road will tell you- III Remember me with a Lotus- IV : ँ : Before we reach Turtuk, Baltistan; it was important to dedicate an essay only to the journey. My travels that saw me traversing through these dangerous, rough and meditative landscapes that over the years helped changing me, even my cells. For many years this road has been my road to inner work and of the outside world, and i imagine one which taught me best how to discern. This National Highway that runs from Srinagar, Kashmir to Leh is called the NH Delta- 1 and is the most important road that joins the valley of Kashmir to Laddakh. La that is ‘a mountain pass’, and ddakh is the ‘King’- this land that is the king of the mountain passes, running along the mighty river Indus, parallel to the most active, volatile border in the world, the Line of Control with Pakistan. Ever since the partition …

Remember me with a Lotus: Memoirs of heaven and birds in Kashmir- IV/VII

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Narayan, do you know why I am here today? I kept my silence. I couldn’t see my father when he died. I wasn’t there. He had stopped me from leaving home but I left regardless and all my life i have been living with this guilt that i couldn’t even gave my hands for his body. I wasn’t there with him when he wanted me most and it had needled me every moment. You know, when he was young, he too came on this yatra, with someone like you, his friend. I remembered his stories of bathing in the coldest waters of Sheshnag.

Life and nothing more- II/VII

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Continuing from Call of the Now, for the Great Himalayan Road Reunion. : ँ : To Srinagara, to zojila, to Leh, to Hanle, to the land that invoked my spirit, beyond the Indus, towards the Karakoram, to the parents of my children in Turtuk, to the man who flipped, to all the treks that lead to mahadeva and Gaura; to the top of that Himalayan mountain where the first tyre burst, to i don’t know what pass that came after where hundred’s of horses ran just to take left, and we took towards sky. Stone laden river bed that kept us moving on a conical mountain all afternoon, many called it a road. Through a broken bridge, through the ditches connecting another ditch on the World Yoga day. To stopping in front of the snow, and drinking it. To dipping in the coldest river Tirthan, to filling stomach from the river Chandrabhaga. To standing all night under the milky way. To crying for my parted child, to buying eyes for Rasool bhai. While laughing at …

How i found my Will? And sooner my health. The Kushti world of Ancient Indian Wrestling: A Photographic Essay -II

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It was a week later, since that night of inner churning, when I met Sangram Singh again, and for the first time at his one room flat in Delhi. And most interestingly, he was already drinking, since sunrise. His whole house smelled of tobacco. Lights not brighter than the ones we sat under, in his auto. The green wall behind him wore a Hanuman calendar of the previous year. His eyes swollen, pointed, looking towards me, followed my gaze from the wall to the glass that was kept at the low table beside his bed, rum still left in it. “It’s not good for a wrestler, you know”. He picked up the glass and emptied it in one gulp. When I was young even the smell of this bothered me, but now it’s my nectar. It is this, which makes me feel alive. But Narayan, you look different today, Sangram suddenly getting aware of my presence. You seem all ready? He said looking at my camera. You wanted to see the wrestling place, right? I …

When Krishna calls. A dream life of an Australian Photographer from Paris : Travels in Vrindavan

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“O Krishna, the stillness of the divine union, which you describe, is beyond my comprehension. How can the mind which is so restless, attain lasting peace. Krishna, the mind is restless, turbulent, powerful, violent. To tame the mind is like to tame the wind.” – Srimad Bhagvad Gita  I was in my early teens when on my grandmother’s fierce insistence, parents took us on a tour to Mathura and Vrindavan. Krishna had supposedly entered my grandmother’s dream. She lost her sleep, and waited for that day when she would touch the earth of Krishna’s birth. And encircling the epical, ancient, holy Govardhana hill,  गोवर्धन पर्वत on her bare feet. The sun was setting in the land of braj as we arrived, the winds started blowing, grandmother’s eyes went backwards; her body calmed, voice started mumbling the words known to every wall and each monkey sitting on them, as they could  be heard from myriad mouths. Narrow lanes of brick, tall walls wearing Mughal attires turning holy, as the time turned blue like romance, the colour of Krishna, Yamuna …

The motorcycle, Dalai Lama and the Meal – I

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Few years ago, I was travelling with once upon a time a beautiful friend. And like all great friendships do, we were growing up becoming something together. And during this long period of growth had found our confidence, our speech, as we took travelling to many a distant lands and one land far; discovering treasures together that helped us earning our eyes, my outer nature and his inner, we learnt together and kept going.   The sun had set again. And unlike last night that had just blown in; we should have found something, somewhere to rest, to eat by now. But here we were still riding, and had been riding our motorcycles for last two, twelve-hour days, while living through one gruelling moonless, freezing night in between, that started late yesterday noon, when we were stopped, stunned to see a river that had come on the road. We parked and got down. One spring had broken loose. Pulling in all mud, the boulders, rocks, with an intimidating noise, and the force of the coldest water …

One Time at a Rural School In India: A Photographic Essay For Bharti Airtel Schools in Rural India

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It was a time of purity. I wasn’t affected by socially suited media still. I loved being away and explored possibilities, more than even my liking to reading. I had only recently started thinking about teaching as i had left my job as a researcher then, at a publishing house and of course without any extensive hope, I wanted to travel. Good friends are the keys to the future doors. Juin called me one day at her office, and introduced me to her lady boss, in another publishing house. I went prepared and had an absolutely beautiful experience meeting her. She shared her travel stories and laughed well at mine. I could feel she loved hearing few things about what i had planned and while doing so she put forth an idea that she had been thinking. Her organisation had been providing free education and meals to primary school children in some north Indian states and had no documentation of it. She wanted someone to travel to these remote villages and document children studying in …

SINGSONG : Finding the King With a Golden Voice of Cambodia – A Photographic Film

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In December 2018, I rented a bicycle and started recording songs of the people I would meet in my travels around in Cambodia. Through the sound filled in my ears I slowly started seeing. But few days later I realised listening, sitting in a room that all the songs that people sang were of the same singer. Sinn Sisamouth, the father with the golden voice of Cambodia. I started researching on this singer and soon learnt that Sinn Sisamouth was the most revered singer of Cambodia and South-east Asia then. He had gone missing under mysterious circumstances and was most likely killed in 1976 by the Khmer Rouge regime. And his songs were banned for the next four years to come. Khmer rouge was in power from 1975-79. It is estimated that the brutal regime claimed the lives of more than 1.9 million people. That was around 28 percent of the total population of Cambodia, eliminated. The regime tried to control and take the country back to the Middle ages, forcing millions of people from …

In the land of Snakes

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Twenty six days ago and three hundred fifty kilometers north I Moon I reached Aldona late in the night. It was Purnima, the full moon of Holi. Vishwan was away, gone to a border village, tsar. A place somewhere in the middle of the jungle at the border of Goa and Maharashtra. But I had no idea of that then, I was waiting. I sat downstairs at the bar. Grandmother was pouring feny to a local. She told me about Vishwan smoking too much. The room was lit with two cyan bulbs. He arrived. We kept my backpack at his place. He lit his cigarette. We sat. His hair had grown and white; beard thickened and black. Soon, we were off, feeling the dense wind of the leaving winter, scooting through the western ghats in the night going towards the moon. We entered the fair. Vishwan parked the vehicle somewhere outside and we started walking away from the lights towards the jungle. It was late. But it wasn’t dark. The night seemed to have dissolved with …

Where the Children go

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Among themselves they feel free. Independent yet in a boundary, vulnerable and not sure about tomorrow. Kids are those whom, while you watch them in your most baleful of moods they still make you smile. The essential human truth, pitted against modernity – is invincible. There is a child in a man wanting to go back to the womb. The shadows of a festering burden of the next crop of humans, the unclaimed, unborn, and the just born. The Indian state perceives the child parent relationship to be a legacy of tribute to a social order, more than a right of the child. When a child is separated from his/her parent, it is not viewed as the duty of the state to provide that child with a family environment. Adoption is supervised by the state, but India does not have a long term foster care or alternate care system outside of institutionalization. A study estimates that there are about 44 million destitute children and yet only 5000 are adopted each year. A countless number of …