Puri 2023

Shot at Puri in the evening. Love probably doesn’t always stay for long :)

Sittong, Before Lunch

The homestay owner works without hurry—hands moving from bowl to bowl, arranging food as if time is generous here. Light falls across jars, plates, the checked tablecloth. Outside, the hills wait; inside, lunch is taking shape.

The Queue

A slow-moving line, bodies pressed close for balance more than space. 

At the Gangasagar transit camp, waiting becomes a shared posture—hands resting on shoulders, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the frame.

Faces

At Babughat transit camp, the morning begins in a slow, patient line. The woman stands in the queue, waiting for a free breakfast.

Way to home

The Saraswati idol begins her journey home—lifted onto a truck, or carefully placed in a car. Kumartuli at night is hushed and glowing, the air thick with clay, lamps, and devotion. Her face catches the light, serene and patient, as if already blessing the days ahead. Moving through dark streets, she carries more than an idol—she carries hope, waiting quietly for morning to arrive.

Kolkata, 2019

A lattu spins, and the street briefly belongs to the boys. 

One watches the thread with complete seriousness, fingers busy with the logic of play. The other jumps, already celebrating, joy spilling out faster than the top can wobble and fall. In narrow streets, childhood finds room to spin.

Galiff Street, Kolkata — On the Way Back

I wasn’t planning to photograph Galiff Street. 

On the way back, the street insisted. Cages passed from hand to hand. Birds shifted, waited, watched. Men gathered, negotiated, lingered. Nothing dramatic — just routine, repetition, memory at work. Light broke the street into glare and shadow. Colour felt unnecessary. Monochrome held the weight better. A rooster pressed against a man’s chest, alert and unmoving, looking straight back. These are passing moments — unplanned, unclaimed. 

A few quick snapshots taken while returning from a sketching session. Galiff Street, Kolkata.

Early winter morning at the Maidan, Kolkata

A quick snapshot before I found a place to sit and sketch. The fog was still thick, blurring the edges of trees and earth, muting the vastness of the Maidan into something intimate. Young plants stood guarded, old trunks rested where they fell, and the city felt far away. Moments like this feel like a gentle pause—before the lines begin, before the noise returns.

Ei Somoy

A quick pause between journeys. 

The train stopped at a signal, just long enough to notice this quiet corner of the platform—the bicycle leaning patiently, the man lost in his own world, the layers of time on the shuttered wall. I clicked without thinking too much. Moments like these don’t ask to be framed; they simply appear and vanish. On the way to Taki.

Women drying cloths at Babughat Transit Camp

Saris and shawls are lifted, spread, negotiated with the wind. Between ropes and hands, a brief domestic order appears inside the camp’s noise. The cloths dry slowly, as if time itself has been asked to wait.

Babughat 2026, The day moves in fragments

Hands hold hands so no one disappears. Bundles rise onto heads, bodies tilt, adjust, move. Inside the transit camp, everything is temporary but necessary—lines, tents, food, water, waiting.