A Wonderful Beginning to a New Photography Club

Today was a very special and fulfilling day for me.

I had the opportunity to share my journey with photography with around 50 students and faculty members at the launch of a new Photography Club at Women’s College, Thiruvananthapuram.

What I had planned as a presentation slowly turned into something much more meaningful. For nearly two hours and twenty-five minutes, I found myself travelling back through my own photographic journey—my early photographs, assignments, personal projects, influences, failures, discoveries, and, most importantly, the stories and experiences behind many of the images.

As I moved from one photograph to another, I was also revisiting different stages of my own life. It made me realise once again how much photography has taught me—not just about making images, but about looking, observing, questioning, understanding people and places, and finding my own way of seeing.

With the Photography Club members and faculty at Women’s College, Thiruvananthapuram.

After launching new Photography & Filmmaking club at Govt Women’s college , Trivandrum

What touched me most was the way the students and faculty stayed with me throughout the entire presentation. They listened, asked questions, engaged with the photographs, and showed a genuine curiosity about the journey behind them. They also spent time looking through my published books and exploring my body of work.

For me, that enthusiasm was perhaps the most rewarding part of the day.

I have always believed that photography clubs and communities can play an important role in the growth of a young photographer. When I was beginning, there were far fewer resources available to learn from. We learned largely through observation, experimentation, conversations, mistakes, and the encouragement we received from fellow photographers and photography groups.

Today, young photographers have access to an enormous amount of information. But information alone is not enough. The opportunity to meet, discuss, question, experiment and learn together remains just as important.

That is why seeing this new Photography Club take its first steps was particularly meaningful to me.

A new group of young photographers has begun looking at the world through their own eyes. I feel privileged to have been invited to share a little of my journey at the beginning of theirs.

I hope they will find their own questions, their own ways of seeing, and eventually their own visual language.

And I hope photography brings them the same curiosity, discovery, challenges and joy that it has brought into my life.

My sincere thanks to the students, faculty, and everyone at Women’s College, Thiruvananthapuram, who made this day possible.

A memorable moment after the launch of the new Photography & Filmmaking Club at Government Women’s College, Thiruvananthapuram.

Keep looking.
Keep questioning.
Keep photographing.

World Photography Day: How Photojournalism Shaped My Photography

World Photography Day, for me, is not simply a celebration of the medium, but a moment to look back at the journey that photography has taken me through. I left teaching in 1996 to pursue photography, without knowing where that decision would lead me.

Sirohi, Rajasthan, 2017. A child left alone in the village while the family went to work in the fields. During our visit, the village appeared almost deserted, with no one around except the child.

Shadow of a beggar walking along the streets of Yadagirigutta, Andhra Pradesh, 1994.

Photograph published in Outlook magazine as part of the follow-up coverage of the Parliament attack.

Over nearly three decades, photography has taken me from the urgency of photojournalism and documenting people, places and events to a more personal and patient way of looking—one that allows me to spend time with a subject, return to it, observe its changes and discover meanings that may not be immediately visible.

An elderly woman sits in despair after receiving the bodies of her grandchildren following the devastating 2004 tsunami in Nagapattinam, Tamil Nadu.

I feel fortunate that I chose to join news magazines in pursuit of my dream. The experience of working with supportive and perceptive photo editors played an important role in shaping me as a photographer. Their guidance, criticism and trust helped me grow, while the demands of magazine assignments constantly challenged my understanding of what photography could be.

Working in Delhi, in the fast-moving world of news and reportage, gradually changed many of my early assumptions about photography. I learned to look beyond the obvious, to respond to situations quickly, to find visual possibilities within ordinary moments, and to understand the importance of context, timing and sequencing. More importantly, the years in magazines allowed me to question, rebuild my own process. What began as a pursuit of a profession slowly became an education in seeing, and that experience continues to influence the personal projects I make today.

Many of my projects have grown in this way. Lifelines, Painted Palette, Panoramas But Not Quite, Conversations of Light, and The Language of Presence, along with my work on migration, religious rituals, public spaces, landscapes and everyday life, did not begin as neatly defined projects. They emerged from things I repeatedly noticed, encounters that stayed with me, questions that remained unanswered, and images that slowly began to form larger connections. I have often arrived at a subject through photography first, and only later understood why I was drawn to it. That process of discovery has kept the journey alive for me—the understanding that every photograph can lead to another question, another place, another way of seeing. From the intensity of reporting to the freedom of personal projects, photography has gradually become more than a profession; it has become a way of thinking, remembering and understanding the world around me. On World Photography Day, I celebrate not only the photographs I have made, but the years of looking, wandering, waiting and discovering that have shaped the person behind the camera.

Woman oracle performing during the Bharani festival in Kodungalloor, Trissur

Part of a black-and-white exercise I began in Hyderabad in 1994, exploring the possibilities of photographing at midnight using only moonlight. I often wandered around Gachibowli, near the HCU campus, searching for subjects shaped by the darkness. This photograph of an elderly couple living among the rocks was one of my successful attempts. Much of Gachibowli has since disappeared beneath rapid real-estate development. See the next image from this series.

New constructions in Gachibowli, where some developments have retained the natural rock formations while others have crushed them to make way for construction. The transformation of the landscape is evident around the Microsoft campus.

Playing with toy guns near Select Citywalk Mall, Saket, Delhi, 2020. The children had found a discarded mannequin and turned it into part of their game. I later included this image in my long-term project on child abuse in India, using the doll as a metaphor for vulnerability and violence.

Installation view from my 2021 solo exhibition in Delhi.

Conceptualising a visual narrative for a story on women hawkers.

Kolkata, 2026. The city still holds on to its old-world charm,
with traditions kept close to the heart and woven into everyday life.

Recently published Photography book

What is happiness in me? Am I really happy?

That question came back to me last night after I watched a TED talk by Sujith Ravindran, whom I happened to meet in Thiruvananthapuram a few days ago.

With writer and author Sujith Ravindran at Pournamikavu Temple, after presenting him with a copy of our coffee-table book.

Our meeting was completely accidental. I was introduced to Sujith at Pournamikavu last Friday. At that time, I knew very little about him or his work. After returning home, I mentioned our unexpected meeting to a friend, who suggested that I watch some of Sujith’s talks and videos.

I did.

Sujith Ravindran, often described as a contemporary mystic, speaks extensively about happiness, peace and the way we experience life. His ideas made me pause and, more importantly, made me look inward.
After listening to one of his talks in YouTube, I began doing a kind of fact-check of my own life.

Am I happy?

What actually makes me happy?

Is happiness connected to success, money, recognition, comfort and quality of life? Or is there something deeper—something within us that exists independently of external circumstances?

What struck me about Sujith’s message was the way he presented happiness not simply as pleasure or a favourable situation, but as something more fundamental to our existence. His clarity made me reconsider some very basic questions about my own life.

And naturally, I began thinking about my work.
For almost three decades, I have lived through photography, painting, travelling, observing, documenting and creating. There have been periods of recognition and periods of being ignored. There have been exhibitions, books and opportunities, but also long stretches of uncertainty, silence and questions about where my work stands.

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When a Photograph Brought Someone Home
I took this photograph in Kochi in 2006 during a personal trip. Four years later, I exhibited it at a group show at OED Gallery, Kochi, along with my classmate Balakrishnan V. P. A visitor suddenly recognised the man in the photograph—his relative, who had been missing since the 2004 tsunami. He was overwhelmed with happiness and returned to the gallery the next day with his relative, who was alive and well. A photograph I had taken casually had unexpectedly helped reconnect a family with someone they thought they had lost.
Perhaps this too is happiness—the knowledge that an image you created has brought joy to another person.

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Yet, through all of this, I have continued to look.

Perhaps that itself tells me something about where my happiness lies.

Happiness, for me, is in the work
I have often wondered what happiness really means. Is it comfort, success, recognition, money, or simply having a good quality of life?

For me, happiness has rarely come from any of these things.

I have found it in my work.

With a camera in hand, I have wandered through people, places, light, shadows, rituals, surfaces and fleeting moments. Sometimes I photograph for a story. Sometimes I photograph simply because something catches my eye. Sometimes I paint. Sometimes I write. And sometimes I spend years following an idea before it eventually becomes an exhibition project or a book.

There is a certain happiness in that process—the moment when I discover something I had never noticed before. It may be a face, a gesture, a patch of light on a wall, an abstract formation on a surface, a conversation between strangers, or a quiet moment that nobody else seems to notice.

The discovery itself gives me something.

I have also realised that my happiness does not always depend on what happens after I make the work.

An exhibition may happen or may not. A book may sell or remain unnoticed. Someone may appreciate an image, while another person may simply pass it by. Recognition may come, or it may not.

But the experience of making the work remains mine.
Maybe that is what continues to give meaning to my journey. My work has given me a reason to remain curious. It has taught me to slow down, observe, wait, travel, question and look for beauty in places where others may not stop to look.

So I find myself returning to the question:

If I take away recognition, money, success and everything external, what remains that still makes me want to wake up and create?

The answer, perhaps, is quite simple.

The desire to look.
The excitement of discovering.
The joy of creating.

I don’t know if that is what happiness is. But after all these years, I know where I find mine:

somewhere between looking, discovering and creating.

And perhaps the greatest happiness is not in being recognised for what you create, but in still having the desire to create when nobody is watching.

The Making of a Photobook: From Vision to Print – A Photographer’s Journey

First proof

Holding the first prints of a new book as they emerge from the press is an experience that is difficult to describe. It is a moment of relief, excitement, anxiety and gratitude, all arriving at once. For a brief instant, I forget the months—sometimes years—of work that led to that point. I simply stand there watching the sheets roll out, hoping that the colours, tones and details I carried in my mind have finally found their place on paper.

People often see only the finished book. What remains invisible is the long journey behind it.When I make photographs, it is usually a solitary experience. It is just my thoughts, my eyes, my camera and the unfolding situation before me. Every frame is an instinctive response to a moment that may never return. At that stage, I am not thinking about a book. I am simply responding to life.

Dummy- Conversations of Light 2026

Only later do I begin to realise that photography is just the beginning of the process.The images have to be revisited with fresh eyes. They must be edited, sequenced and arranged so that they begin to speak to one another. A single photograph may stand on its own, but a book demands a conversation between images. It requires rhythm, pauses, repetition and surprise. Gradually, the photographs stop being individual pictures and begin to form a narrative.

Then comes another layer of collaboration.

Experts in post-production help refine the files with great care, ensuring that the colours, contrast and tonal values remain faithful to the original vision. Their work is not about altering the photographs but about allowing them to reach their fullest potential in print.

After that begins the equally demanding process of designing the book. Layouts are explored, dummy copies are produced, test prints are examined and corrections are made repeatedly. Every proof reveals something that escaped notice earlier. Every revision brings another small improvement. Perfection is never reached, but one keeps moving closer.

Behind every successful print is a team that refuses to compromise. During the critical press checks, the passionate crew at Anaswara in Kochi made sure every page reflected the vision I had imagined.

For this book, I deliberately chose to create the layout myself. I wanted the visual flow to remain deeply personal, allowing the pages to breathe in the same way I had imagined them while photographing and editing. Yet that did not mean working in isolation. A few designer friends stepped in as consultants, offering honest criticism and helping me refine details that I could no longer see after living with the project for so long. Their observations often revealed problems I had overlooked, making the final book stronger than I could have achieved alone.

Printing in progress

The written word is as important to the book as the photographs themselves. Forewords, prefaces, introductions, the photographer’s statement, captions, descriptions, biographies and acknowledgements all need voices that complement the images. Over the years, I have relied on friends and writers whose command of language helps articulate thoughts that I sometimes struggle to express. Their words add another layer of meaning to the photographs. And just before the book goes to press comes one of the most crucial stages: proofreading. Having learned from mistakes in my earlier books, I now value the proofreader’s role immensely. Their careful eye catches the errors that everyone else has overlooked, ensuring that the finished book is as polished in its words as it is in its images.

Finding the right printer is another chapter in itself. A good printer does far more than reproduce photographs. They understand paper, ink, colour, texture and consistency. They care about every sheet that leaves the press. Finding someone with both technical excellence and genuine passion—while staying within a limited budget—is never easy.

By this stage, the project has become much larger than the photographer who first pressed the shutter. Countless hours of creative discussions, technical expertise, machine time, craftsmanship and the generosity of many passionate people have quietly become part of the book. Although only one name appears on the cover, the work carries the fingerprints of many.

For photographers who are not widely known, this journey is often financially exhausting. Every stage demands resources, patience and faith. There are moments when it seems far easier to leave the photographs on hard drives, unseen and unfinished. Yet I have always believed that photographs deserve a physical life. A book gives them permanence. It allows them to survive changing technologies and passing years. It becomes something that can be held, revisited and passed from one generation to another.

Ultimately, making a photobook is not simply about printing photographs. It is about preserving a way of seeing. It is about giving shape to years of observation, thought and experience. It is about trusting that somewhere, someday, someone will open its pages, spend time with the work and understand what I was trying to say.

That hope is what keeps me returning to the press, watching another set of prints emerge, knowing that every book is not just my work, but the result of a remarkable collaboration between passion, friendship and persistence.

Published in 2025

Published in July 2026

When a Mobile Phone Became a Lamp of Devotion

A Small Light for an Eternal Story: Two evenings ago, while visiting my brother-in-law’s home in Pala, I witnessed a quiet moment that has stayed with me.

His 90-year-old mother was seated with the Adhyathma Ramayanam, continuing her evening recitation as she does throughout the sacred month of Karkkidakam. In Kerala, this is a cherished tradition, when countless Hindu families gather each evening to read the Ramayanam, drawing inspiration, solace, and spiritual strength from its timeless verses.

As evening deepened into dusk, I switched off the main light to preserve the gentle ambience created by the oil lamp beside her. But its soft glow was not enough for her aging eyes to clearly read the text. I asked my brother-in-law to switch on the torch of his mobile phone. Without a moment’s hesitation, he quietly held the light over the pages, allowing her to continue reading. It was an instinctive, unspoken gesture that perfectly complemented the serenity of the moment.

What struck me was the quiet harmony between tradition and technology. A mobile phone, so often seen as a source of distraction, became a simple lamp, enabling an elderly mother to continue a lifelong practice of devotion. It was a small act of care, yet it carried a profound sense of love and respect.

Moments like these often pass unnoticed, but they remind us that faith is nurtured not only in temples and rituals, but also within the quiet corners of our homes. It lives in everyday acts of kindness, in the bond between generations, and in the shared commitment to keeping cherished traditions alive.

This photograph is my remembrance of that evening—a gentle meeting of light, devotion, and love, where a small beam from a mobile phone quietly illuminated both the pages of the Adhyathma Ramayanam and the enduring spirit of a family tradition.

The Streets: My Living Classroom

Lessons from Three Decades of Street Photography.

Palani, Tamil Nadu 2010

The streets have never been just places to walk through. They have been my living classroom.

Every time I step out with a camera, the photojournalist within me awakens, searching for stories hidden in ordinary moments. Years of wandering have trained my eyes to notice what others often overlook—to find the extraordinary within the everyday.

People often ask whether this comes naturally. I don’t think it does. The streets teach you to observe patiently, to wait, to anticipate, and to recognize the subtle details that reveal human life. They sharpen your instincts until seeing becomes a way of understanding.

Perhaps that makes me a wanderer more than a photographer. I am drawn to unnoticed corners, fleeting gestures, changing light, and quiet human emotions. Every walk becomes a lesson.The streets have given me more than photographs. They have given me patience, empathy, resilience, and an endless curiosity about people and places.

Even after nearly three decades as a documentary photographer and photojournalist, I still walk the streets as a student.Because the streets never stop teaching.

The streets have taught me to study life.They have taught me patience—the patience to return to the same street, the same corner, and even the same spot, again and again, knowing that every hour, every season, and every passing face tells a different story.

The streets have trained me to observe before I photograph, to slow down before I press the shutter, and to recognize the quiet gestures that reveal human emotions. They have taught me to see beyond appearances—to notice joy, loneliness, hope, resilience, love, and loss in ordinary moments.

As a documentary photographer, I have learned that the greatest stories are rarely extraordinary. They are hidden in everyday life, waiting for someone willing to pause and truly look.

For nearly three decades, the streets have been my greatest teacher. They continue to shape not only the photographs I make, but also the person I have become.

The streets didn’t teach me photography. They taught me how to see.

Where Fire Meets Light

As a photographer and artist, I have always been drawn to moments where light, atmosphere, and human belief come together. Ganapati Homam is one such experience. It is much more than a ritual; it is a space where fire, sound, fragrance, and devotion merge into a living visual and spiritual composition.

The sacred fire (Agni), the herbal offerings, and the uninterrupted chanting of Vedic mantras create an environment that feels both grounded and transformative. Traditionally, this combination is believed to purify the surroundings, dispel negative energies, and bring harmony to the mind. Whether one approaches it through faith or through observation, there is an undeniable change in the atmosphere.

Through my camera, I found myself looking beyond the flames. I was drawn to the subtle interactions—the rising smoke catching the first rays of the morning sun, the shifting expressions on the faces of the devotees, the rhythm of hands making offerings, and the dance of light and shadow around the Agni Kund. These fleeting moments cannot simply be photographed; they have to be experienced before they can be understood.

The ritual culminates in the *Poornahuthi*, the final offering into the sacred fire. A dry coconut, betel leaves, coins, and other offerings are placed into the flames, symbolizing the complete surrender of the ego to the Divine. To me, this final act is not only a religious gesture but also a powerful visual metaphor. It reminds us that every meaningful beginning requires us to let go of something within ourselves.As the early morning sun slowly rises and the fragrant smoke drifts through the air, the space transforms into something almost ethereal.

The light softens, the smoke diffuses every beam of sunshine, and the entire setting is wrapped in a quiet sense of freshness and positivity. It is in these moments that photography becomes less about documenting an event and more about preserving an emotion.Spending time witnessing and photographing the Homam left me with a deep sense of calm and gratitude.

The sacred mantras, the carefully chosen herbal ingredients offered into the fire, the warmth of the flames, and the devotion of the participants together create an experience that extends beyond the visible.

As an artist, I left with more than photographs. I left with a reminder that some images continue to exist long after the camera has been put away—they remain within us, shaping the way we see light, people, and the sacredness of everyday life.

Yoga stories: from my tear sheets

My Journey Photographing Yoga

My association with yoga began sometime in the early 1990s, not initially as a photographer, but as a student seeking to learn and practice. I joined the Sivananda Yoga Centre in Trivandrum under the guidance of Shri Reddy, who was my yoga instructor. Looking back, it was a turning point that quietly shaped an important part of my photographic journey.

Yoga instructors of the Sivananda Yoga Centre during a brochure photo session, Neyyar dam, Thiruvananthapuram, 1990.

Story published in Outlook News magazine

Yoga practitioners performing at Lodhi Garden on the occasion of International Yoga Day, New Delhi.

Interestingly, I became involved in the activities of the centre even before I became deeply involved in the practice itself. Shri Reddy discovered that I was an art student and felt that I could contribute to the organisation beyond the yoga mat. He encouraged me to assist with design work, publicity materials, printing, and various backend activities related to events and programmes. I gladly accepted. What began as voluntary support soon became a deeper engagement with the world of yoga.

Outlook news magazine

As part of these activities, I started photographing yoga sessions, practitioners, and demonstrations at the Trivandrum centre. I also spent time photographing at the Sivananda Ashram in Neyyar Dam, the main ashram nestled amidst forests, hills, and water. Those early assignments were more than photographic exercises; they became opportunities to observe and understand the discipline from within. Through repeated exposure, I began to appreciate the precision, balance, and philosophy behind the postures. The camera became a tool not just for documentation but also for learning.

Over time, I developed a visual understanding of yoga that went beyond the aesthetic appeal of difficult poses. I became interested in the relationship between body, mind, discipline, and environment. This understanding would later prove invaluable in my professional work.

Yoga instructors of the Sivananda Yoga Centre during a brochure photo session, Neyyar dam, Thiruvananthapuram, 1990.

BSY, Bihar

BSY, Bihar

Ranchi yoga center 1998

Ranchi yoga center 1998

A major turning point came in 1998 when I joined *Life Positive* magazine, a publication dedicated to alternative healing systems and spiritual practices, including yoga, meditation, Reiki, naturopathy, and holistic wellness. For a young photographer with a curiosity about people, culture, and spirituality, it was a dream assignment.

Photographs published as the cover story of
Life Positive magazine.

Simply South edition, India Today

The magazine gave me an extraordinary opportunity to travel extensively across India. Within a relatively short period, I found myself visiting ashrams, yoga institutions, spiritual retreats, and healing centres in different parts of the country. I travelled to places such as Munger to visit the renowned Bihar School of Yoga, and also journeyed through Ranchi, Pune, Bangalore, Sringeri, Agra, and many other destinations.

for India Today magazine

for India Today magazine

for India Today magazine

Infinite Swimming pool facing sea, Yoga and Ayurveda treatement is one of the key speciality at NEELEWAR HERMITAGE resorts in ‘Ozhinchavalappu’ at Neeleswaram near Kasaragod.

These travels brought me into contact with yoga gurus, teachers, Reiki masters, seekers, and practitioners from diverse backgrounds. Every journey became a learning experience. I observed different schools of thought, teaching methodologies, and approaches to spiritual practice. More importantly, I witnessed how yoga was being integrated into everyday life by ordinary people seeking health, balance, and inner peace.

For someone who had always dreamt of travelling and exploring India, those years were invaluable. The assignments combined two of my greatest interests—photography and travel. The camera became my passport into worlds that many people never get to see.

When I later worked for other publications and was assigned stories related to yoga, wellness, or spirituality, the work came naturally. I was no longer approaching the subject as an outsider. The foundation had already been laid during my years with the Sivananda Yoga Centre and strengthened through my travels with *Life Positive*. I understood the language, the practices, the atmosphere of ashrams, and the subtle moments that often reveal the essence of yoga.

Many of the photographs published over the years emerged from this long engagement. They were not merely illustrations accompanying articles. They were visual records of encounters, journeys, and experiences accumulated across decades. Each image carried with it memories of early morning practice sessions, conversations with teachers, quiet moments inside meditation halls, and long journeys by train and bus across India.

Outlook Money

Outlook

Life Positive

Today, when I look back at these published works, I see more than photographs. I see a personal journey that began in a small yoga centre in Trivandrum and gradually expanded into a wider exploration of India’s spiritual landscapes. The photographs stand as a record of that journey—one that continues to influence the way I see, travel, and photograph the world.

— The Roving Steamer

She Was Calmer Than the Photographer

Creating “Balance on the Edge” on a Cloudy Chennai evening

The Art of Balance: Leena, Yoga instructor in Chennai, photo session for India Today Simply South edition

For this yoga photo story, I was looking for an image that would convey balance, concentration, and a sense of elevation. I suggested that the instructor perform a posture on the parapet of her apartment building. In the final photograph, she appears to be standing precariously on the edge of a cliff-like structure, but the reality was quite different. All necessary safety precautions were taken before the shoot. Behind the parapet was a small roof that provided a secure surface, and even in the unlikely event of a slip, she would have landed on the roof rather than falling to the ground. By positioning myself at a low angle, I was able to create the illusion of height and exposure, transforming an otherwise safe setting into a dramatic visual statement.

The photograph would never have been possible without her complete willingness and confidence. She immediately understood the visual idea and embraced it with remarkable composure. After just a couple of frames, I was ready to call it a day and hurried towards her, eager to bring her down. To my surprise, she was far more relaxed than I was and wanted to try a few more postures. While she remained calm and focused, my own heartbeat kept climbing with every additional pose.

It was a cloudy day in Chennai, and the soft overcast light added to the mood of the image, helping create one of the most memorable photographs from the assignment.

Uttarakhand: A Landscape Between Devotion and Development

A sadhu, a wandering ascetic of the Himalayas, rests near Tapkeshwar Mahadev temple. Living a nomadic life shaped by pilgrimage, devotion, and renunciation, he pauses here beside the sacred waters before continuing his journey through the mountains.

There was a quiet sense of fulfillment when I finally reached Haridwar this time. Taking the ropeway up to Maa Mansa Devi Temple became more than just a comfortable journey to a sacred shrine — it felt like arriving at a place that had silently waited for me all these years. Though I have been visiting Haridwar and Uttarakhand since 1998, strangely, I had never visited this temple before. Standing there after the darshan, watching the city spread below, the Ganga flowing like a silver thread through the valley, I felt how journeys keep unfolding no matter how many times we return to the mountains.

From the temple atop the Shivalik hills, the city, the Ganges, and the surrounding landscape unfold in a remarkable panorama of faith, geography, and urban life.

For decades, Uttarakhand has lived in my imagination not merely as a destination, but as a landscape of dreams. The mountains, rivers, mist-covered roads, pilgrim towns, forgotten tea shops, wandering sadhus, forests wrapped in silence, and the changing Himalayan light have always called me back. Every visit leaves behind unfinished conversations with the land.

As a photographer, these journeys are never merely about reaching destinations. They are about discovering layers — layers of people, devotion, solitude, memory, landscape, and time itself. Uttarakhand has always offered frames that exist somewhere between reality and meditation: pilgrims walking barefoot through cold rain, monkeys silently waiting near temple steps, old faces illuminated by the first light of morning, clouds swallowing entire valleys within moments, and rivers carrying stories older than memory itself.

The stream originates in the hills near Tapkeshwar Temple, a naturally formed cave shrine where water continuously drips from the cave ceiling onto an ancient Shivalinga. The site is closely associated with Guru Dronacharya of the Mahabharata and is believed to have been his place of meditation and residence. From these sacred hills, the waters descend through the valley before eventually joining the river below.

I still remember the Uttarakhand of earlier years — then called Uttaranchal — with its narrow mountain roads winding through deep valleys, roaring water streams rushing beside dangerous bends, strap-clogged roadside tea shops, falling rocks interrupting journeys without warning, and small mountain towns wrapped in simplicity. Travelling through these regions once carried a sense of uncertainty and adventure. Every journey felt intimate with nature. The mountains dictated the rhythm of travel, and human life adjusted itself humbly around it.

Ropeway to Maa Mansa Devi Temple, offering sweeping views of Haridwar below. From the temple atop the Shivalik hills, the city, the Ganges, and the surrounding landscape unfold in a remarkable panorama of faith, geography, and urban life. The view also reveals the rapid transformation of Haridwar over the decades, where expanding infrastructure and urban development coexist with one of India’s most enduring pilgrimage traditions.

Today, the landscape is visibly changing. Roads are widening rapidly, cutting through mountains that once stood untouched. Small roadside shops have transformed into large commercial establishments. Hotels, resorts, taxis, and tourist vehicles have multiplied everywhere. Pilgrimage routes that once felt spiritually quiet are slowly becoming crowded corridors of tourism and commerce.

Pilgrims at Dhrona Cave. The natural stream originates high in the hills, while the check dams seen here have been created to facilitate tourism and support the local economy.

At the same time, I notice that the local people still carry the warmth and resilience of mountain life, though naturally many have moved towards more business-oriented ways of living as tourism expands. Change is inevitable, especially in places receiving constant movement of pilgrims and travellers. Yet somewhere beneath all these visible transformations, the old charm of Uttarakhand still survives — in brief silences, in forgotten corners, in an old wooden house beside the road, in morning mist covering a village, in temple bells echoing across valleys, or in the tired but peaceful faces of pilgrims resting after long climbs.

From the rope-way, the temple hills overlook a landscape shaped by enduring pilgrimage traditions and the accelerating pace of modern development.

However, one also senses certain disturbances entering the landscape — ecological pressure, commercial expansion, hurried development, and the gradual fading of the slower rhythm that once defined these mountains. More reforms and large-scale changes will undoubtedly reshape Uttarakhand again in the coming years. The region is standing between memory and modernity, between preservation and transformation.

Perhaps that is why I feel an urgency now — to witness, to walk, to observe, and to record the present as honestly as possible. Photography, for me, becomes not just documentation, but a way of preserving fleeting atmospheres before they disappear into another version of the future.

Maa Manasa Devi

This journey gave me the opportunity to explore more deeply than before. I found places I had never seen during my earlier travels — hidden roads, quieter shrines, mountain settlements, changing landscapes, and moments that cannot be planned. Every turn seemed to reveal another possibility, another story waiting to be photographed.

Sri santhosh Purui Ashramam, Haridwar

Now, more than ever, I feel an urge to continue exploring the rest of Uttarakhand. Not as a tourist rushing through locations, but as a wandering photographer trying to understand the spirit of the mountains. There are still countless roads left unexplored, remote villages hidden behind bends, forgotten temples, riverside mornings, and human stories waiting patiently in the Himalayan silence.

Perhaps this is what keeps calling me back to Uttarakhand again and again — the feeling that the journey is never complete.