It began with a borrowed camera and a wedding in the hills of Shimla. One body, one lens, a single roll spared for the family who could not afford a second.

That scarcity taught a discipline that never left: make every frame count, and wait for the light to mean something.

A small studio in the old quarter, paid for frame by frame. The whole family pitched in — a sister retouching late into the night, a father building the first set by hand.

It was never only one photographer. It was a household learning to see together.

The first solo exhibition, “Between Moments,” travelled to three cities. Quiet rooms, large prints, and strangers lingering a little longer than they meant to.

It was the year the work stopped being a service and started being a voice.

A long-form series in the Western Ghats — patience measured in fur, feather and fading light. Months in hides, waiting for an animal to forget we were there.

The same lesson as that first wedding, only quieter: be still, and be ready.

Fifteen years of work, bound into a single monograph. The first edition sold out in nine weeks, each copy signed at the kitchen table where it all began.

A family business, finally holding its story in its hands.