Portfolio - Landscape

Jawaharnagar, Bhuj, Gujarat
Deep inside the Rann of Kutch, next to a sweltering salt flat is this village with a pretty much modern sounding name. However, it’s a setback to medieval history the moment you enter the hamlet. It was so slow paced… so lonely. The only burst of life I saw was in the eyes of these two girls looking at me in wonder and awe.

Ambala Railway Station
Once upon a time, Lord Shani was testing Lord Hanuman for his patience. Hanuman warned him - don’t trouble me, I am in the midst of my prayers, but Shani did not listen.
When Hanuman’s patience ran out, he tied Shani with his tail and beat him blue and black. I t was then time for Shani to apologize and ask for the treatment of his bruises. Lord Hanuman told Lord Shani to go to every house and collect oil as a balm for his bruises and that all who gave oil must never be troubled in their lives.
Since that day, all god fearing Hindus give oil to the representatives of Lord Shani after looking at their images in oil with the belief that their bad grehas will be transferred to Lord Shani.
Early one morning, these two representatives of Lord Shani wait to collect the bad grehas… and of course, coins surrogating for oil.

Old Kangra Village, District Kangra, Himachal Pradesh
Swaha! Some rituals withstand the test of time. Every god-fearing family in this part of the country is bound to have performed a havan ceremony within the four walls of their homes. In this image, arms converge to the chants of mantras rending the air, invoking the gods to bless them and protect from evil.

By the banks of Ban Ganga River, Kangra, Himachal Pradesh
I’m sure all of us would have seen death in our families. To assuage the pain, we perform sorrowful rituals. One of them, according to the Sanatam Dharma, is the pind-daan.
Five balls of dough are made and placed at five places - the place of death, the door of the house, the resting place half way to the cremation ground, next to the pyre and the kukshi - sthan (next to the arm of the departed). By doing this we ensure peace for the freed soul. It’s a humbling experience.

Chatwal Village, District Kangra, Himachal Pradesh
‘Catch ‘em young’ may be the clichéd mantra in cricket parlance, but for millions of street players, it offers little meaning or opportunity. With makeshift gear, this kid puts zeal on the pitch and faces a stuffed sock ball. We, however face something different - a question. In the sense defying cricket craze, are we losing focus on nursing young talent vis-ẚ vis the billions of rupees we spend on pampering rusted hands?

Chango Village, District Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh
Some thousand miles from home, with a trail of broken hearts in the wake, an uriya (from Orissa) migrant mother and her son work the grime of apple orchards in this far-flung Kinnaur hamlet. What is it that is here and not in Orissa? I asked her. Roughly translated, she gave me the clichéd ‘every grain of food carries the name of the person for whom it is meant.’
I am sure it does, but something was amiss in this dismal juxtaposition. Why, but why? Why does a state create conditions so that denizens are forces to leave the comfort of their home, their language, and look for those parched grains carrying their names in a distant hell?

Yol Monastery, Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh
Just as the rosary beads twirl incessantly around the thumb and the middle finger, this lama circumnavigates Lord Buddha housed inside the monastery. World over, this piece is enacted at a million places at any given time. It’s an integral part of Buddhism

Lalung Primary school, Spiti valley, Himachal Pradesh
In 1947, when India gained independence, Lalung was an extremely remote village of a few houses, the inhabitants of which rarely venturing out of their high Himalayan cocoon…it was a two hundred kilometer walk in any direction. Today the village boasts of an approach road, a dispensary, a wireless set and a primary school. The successive governments have boasted of something more important—quality education for its school children. Sitting under open sky and biting cold, a bunch of school kids chant Ka-kha-ga (a hindi equivalent of a-b-c). Things may have changed since the independence, but between the lines of toil on this five year olds’ hands, there is a story not very different from what would have been six decades ago.

Old Kangra village, Himachal Pradesh, India
We all got up today morning, got ready, went about our chores like dutiful humans. When we go away from this exhibition to our homes and tuck in for the night, all of us would have turned one day older. All would have had a few more lines drawn across the book of life...and then before we know it, the lines will start to converge.
One fine winter afternoon, I found myself in the company of my paternal grandmother and her sister. I took in the sun and their reminiscences, the story following the intricate lines of distant past and between the lines years peeled off like layers. Today, the lines remain on paper, the flesh and bone having gone to ash.

On a Dadar road, Bombay, India
Bombay is a city of bizarre juxtapositions. People rich and poor, in cars, on foot and on horse back... all on one road... all very normal. Life buzzes past this moment without batting an eyelid, but something poignant about it lurks in the backdrop... like a smell lingering in the air... an ache that refuses to die...

On a footpath outside Churchgate station, Bombay, India
Hope lays supine beneath a soothsayer’s advice about wearing rings and beads. As Bombay roars past, the man sleeps close to footfalls of pedestrians and the façade of a high-rise. His dreams in the city of dreams will probably remain just that... but the brazen optimism in the face of adversity was what stopped me in the tracks.

Outside Mastrang Village, Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh
In an idyllic setting, three friends take a stroll back to their village. Laidback life, lyrical evenings and tranquil landscapes conspire to make living a gratifying experience…but nestled between moments is the tedium of climbing steep valley walls for firewood, tending to waiting and whining children back home and compromising with their alcohol drenched husbands…it’s like a sweet and sour soup.

Jeori (Rampur), Himachal Pradesh
Barbers in India have been known to be extremely passionate about decorating their shops, however kitschy they may get out to be. Loud portraits of religious and bollywood gods go together on a garish montage. To go with them are cheap aftershaves and obsolete shaving rounds.
As a side order, I got blaring music with my goatee trimming.