"Can You Tell a Green Field ?" is a photostory about a small town named Tarakeswar, located in the southern part of West Bengal, India. I am someone who was brought up in Tarakeswar. Our life is a hybrid one, caught between village and city.

The shift in power at the centre of Indian politics in 2014 disrupted the stable trajectory of globalization and urbanisation and brought us face-to-face with sudden and rapid changes. Like the rest of India's urban areas, Tarakeswar have also affected by sudden changes. According to a document published by the central government in 2023, by 2036, 40% of India's population is expected to live in cities.

Tarakeswar is a small urban space with a low population density.

Over the past 10 years, the impact of this sudden globalisation and the difficulty of adapting to it have made us even more isolated. What does it mean to live — alone or together — in these times? This question is where this project began.

This project is helping me see how this change unfolds both indoors and outdoors and creates conflict in everyday life. Through it, I am trying to document the transitional period of an urban area.

This is a compelling statement outlining a documentary photo collection focused on replica artists, drawn from my personal experience as an assistant director. The collection appears to be a blend of staged photographs capturing both the artists' on-stage performances and their everyday lives. My choice of shooting on film is highlighted as a strength, contributing a unique aesthetic and potentially a sense of timelessness to the work. The challenges faced during editing and the acknowledged weakness of not capturing a broader range of documentary-style images provide an honest insight into the creative process. Ultimately my aspiration to see this collection realized as a book speaks to the depth of my engagement with the subject matter and my desire to share these stories with a wider audience.

In a remote valley above the river Teesta in North Sikkim lies the village Naga, nestled between lush forest, mighty waterfalls and the mountains of the Himalaya. But the idyll is deceptive and the
future of the village uncertain. Less than two years ago a glacial lake outburst ood (GLOF) on the Teesta caused heavy landslides and unprecedented devastation. The catastrophic event lead to
the destruction of homes, infrastructure, and livelihoods in Naga leaving the community in uncertainty. In the following monsoon season, heavy rainfall caused the land to sink further, the
local school was lost.

Today the aftermath is still visible and between the ruins life continues as people try to adapt to the new circumstances. Wait and see is the premise of many, wait for the roads being rebuild and see what the next monsoon will take. As the land remains unstable the government plans to build a New Naga further uphill in the forest, but the people longing to their home are doubtful about the idea.

As the e ects of global warming are especially threatening the Himalayas, the fate of Naga stands as a testament. In my photo project I document a place in a state of change, while focusing on
the scars of the past and the resilience of a community facing an uncertain future.

"If you could change one thing about your body…" my mother will name her freckles. When I was home last, I watched her press toothpaste onto her skin, trying to erase something she had lived with for years. She handed it to me, said I should try it too. She often calls me Chhyake, a word used for the scars left after skin diseases.

In Nepal’s patriarchal gaze, something as natural as freckles is treated as a flaw. Freckles, for me, became a metaphor. Much like queerness, they are simply there—natural, unchosen, and yet so often treated as something to hide or fix. How much of our lives is spent trying to fix what was never broken? How easily shame passes down from one generation to the next—quietly, almost invisible—until it becomes ours. It wasn’t just her discomfort I saw, but the way it had shaped mine. I had inherited more than her features—I had inherited her fears.

This series reflects on those inherited insecurities—the ones etched into our skin through silence, repetition, and care. But alongside that weight, I return to another part of me—my Newari upbringing. Mha Puja, a ritual of self-worship, teaches us to honour the body as sacred.

I live between these two truths: one that tells me to hide, and another that invites me to celebrate. Sometimes I wonder—do other living beings care how they appear? Or is this burden of visibility something only humans carry?

I first arrived in the Awajun communities about ten years ago. I went to the Cenepa River basin with the anthropologist and close friend Josefa Nolte, to record the ceramic production processes. Over the following years, I continued recording the work of the ceramists and the difficult daily lives of women in this and other Awajun basins, all in very remote areas of my country.

Although only the young women speak Spanish, language was never a barrier to communication, and over time, a bond of sisterhood was built. It has always been—and continues to be—a place where I feel cared for and safe.

Women are responsible for tending the farm, hunting and fishing, preparing food, caring for their children, and producing pottery. The primary raw material for pottery is clay, which takes millions of years to form. Clay deposits are found in ravines and streams, always near water. The myth that tells of the origin of clay says that it emerged from a woman's belly when she fell from the sky.

Women who are not menstruating and have been on a diet go in small groups, singing anent to ask the earth's permission to remove the clay they will transform into the various pieces of Awajún tableware. The amamuk** and pinig** used to share Masato (traditional fermented yucca drink) and food among the elders, are decorated with graphics inspired by the nature that inhabits their territories. This decoration, of symmetrical harmony, is linked to religious magic and has become part of their identity. Making clay vessels thus becomes a political act of reaffirming the connection with the land and transforming the soil into a vessel and instrument. Without pottery, there is no way to cook food, nor in which to ferment or serve the Masato that nourishes and delights relatives and visitors—friends and rivals—who come to the house to establish ritual dialogues, organize activities, and make alliances.

Every time Awajun women produce pottery, for their own use or for sale, it is a reaffirmation of their culture and identity.



*The Ayaymama is a bird from the Amazon that is key to the Awajun legend about the origin of clay

** Pinig and Amamuk are awajun ceramic bowls. Each one with an specific shape and function.

Absence and presence—traces of a colonial past linger in Darjeeling’s landscapes, its social fabric, and its architecture. The British planted tea seedlings smuggled
from China, built grand schools, and laid down railway tracks to transport tea to Siliguri and Calcutta. As the demand for labor grew, so did the population, shaping
Darjeeling into the mountain town it is today.

What began as an exploration of tea and its supply chain evolved into a deeper inquiry into the region’s identity. Officially part of West Bengal, Darjeeling is home to
a predominantly Nepali-descendant population, many of whom advocate for an independent state within India—an aspiration yet to be realized. Today, Darjeeling's local Indian tourist shape the cityscape. Ethnicity, migration, and the weight of history remain pressing concerns, as the town continues to navigate its complex past and future identity.

This project is a deeply personal exploration of my mother and family, unraveling my mother’s individuality and the complex dynamics she shares with various family members. Through this narrative, I seek to understand my relationship with her, reconcile old childhood memories, and let go of the grudges I have held over time. By examining her relationships with others—my brother, my father, and even herself—I aim to gain deeper insights into her behavior and choices, while reflecting on how societal conditioning has shaped her life and identity as a woman.

At its core, the project interrogates how societal norms mold women’s desires and psychology, often compelling them to internalize patriarchal values unconsciously. These inherited frameworks can distort autonomy, leading women to become reluctant agents of their own subjugation—repressing their authentic selves and perpetuating cycles of control. Through my mother’s story, I explore the quiet tragedy of self-enforced limitations passed through generations and how these inherited roles affect not only her but also the entire family.

One particular thread in this narrative is the relationship between my mother and brother. My mother always desired a son who would fulfill her dream of becoming a doctor. After years of prayers and hopes, when he ultimately did not meet these expectations, she became deeply unhappy. My brother, who struggled with a psychological disorder from an early age, faced immense pressure to perform and fulfill her dreams—a burden that shaped his own struggles and our family dynamics.

Adding another layer to the story is my father’s distance from traditional familial expectations. Choosing the austere companionship of his widowed mother over the
obligations of husband and patriarch, he left my mother stranded in a role she neither chose  nor contested. His absence amplified the expectations placed on her, leaving her to navigate  strained relationships with my brother and hollow compromises with him—a man both  absent yet omnipresent in his refusal to conform. Through her eyes, I examine the fragile geometry of our family: how behaviors ripple through relationships, creating interdependencies that profoundly affect each member’s psychology.

While this project examines the individuality of each family member, it also highlights how their actions are interconnected—how one person’s choices or struggles can have a lasting impact on others. Though each member is different in their own way, they are bound by shared histories and unspoken dependencies that shape the emotional fabric of our family.

The Armenian community's long-standing presence in India, particularly in  Kolkata, is a testament to their resilience and adaptability. Saco and Marie Stephan's story is a poignant example of this. Having spent their entire lives in  Kolkata, they embody the blend of Armenian heritage and Indian nationality.  Their relationship with the city is rooted in both cultural appreciation and a sense
of belonging. 

Despite many attempts to seek opportunities in Europe, the couple found themselves firmly rooted in Kolkata. Over the years, this city has not only  become their home but also a place where their Armenian identity continues to
flourish amidst the vibrant Indian culture. They have embraced their life in Kolkata, sharing their experiences and contributions to the multicultural fabric of
the city.

The Holy Church of Nazareth and other Armenian landmarks serve as anchors to their historical and cultural identity. The tradition and customs of the Armenian
community, shared with their fellow Kolkata residents, enrich the city's heritage. Their pet cat, Ashley, adds a touch of warmth to their quiet retired life, making their home a cozy embodiment of their unique story.

Saco and Marie's parents, Vahan and Luceenian, who married in 1954 in Jerusalem, laid the foundations of a family tapestry that includes seven children, although they faced the sorrow of losing four. This journey of loss and
perseverance reflects the broader narrative of the Armenian diaspora, showcasing how communities continue to thrive even in the face of challenges.

In celebrating their heritage and maintaining connections with their roots, Saco and Marie have turned their life in Kolkata into a rich narrative of belonging and identity. They exemplify the understanding that home is not just a geographic  location but a complex interplay of memory, culture, and personal history. Their pride in being both Armenian and Indian encapsulates the beauty of multicultural
identities and the shared human experience.

The first chapter of Kabootar awaay jawaay documents the high flying Pakistani pigeons sport. Seven pigeons across Punjab fly up, and the seven pigeons in Punjab fly back down. Seven pigeons across the Emirates fly up, and the seven pigeons fly back down. Seven pigeons across Oman fly up, and the seven pigeons fly back down. This orbital path is set for the birds by their owners, starting from the cages on the roof (chhat), up towards the sky where they fly high.

The second chapter looks at pigeon lovers and breeders in Oman. The birds constant coos in zikr (prayers and utterances glorifying God), bring its owners a simple joy; and in each other, they’ve found solace.

Long a witness to invasion and extraction, Jungle Mahal is a visual inquiry into the layered landscapes of Purulia, West Bengal. Through memory-drawn imagery and discreetly staged scenes, the project reveals the many worlds that coexist in contemporary Ajodhya Hill.

Sacred to the indigenous communities, the Ajodhya Hill has been revered as a living entity—worshipped and relied upon as a source of sustenance. Once central to the everyday lives of those inhabiting its slopes, the hill has faced repeated desecration—first under British colonial rule through mining and timber extraction, and later through large-scale hydroelectric dam projects initiated by the state. These interventions have displaced local populations and severely disrupted the natural habitat, fracturing the deep relationship between the land and its people.

Using both ancient and contemporary images, Jungle Mahal creates a dialogue between two distinct perspectives—the historical narrative of the Ajodhya Hill and the lived, sensory experiences of its people today.

Working in the region, I extracted photosensitive botanicals and developed Ferro-Botanical prints—a process that transforms the very materials linked to the land’s degradation into agents of narration. The interplay between these extracts is then revealed in images by its own organic emulsion.

Engaging with local communities, I documented the cultural life of Jungle Mahal as it continues to evolve under shifting economic and social conditions. Rooted in a long legacy of resistance and guerilla warfare, the region holds a deep memory of defiance. Through martial art dance forms like Chhau and ritual practices, the project traces living acts of resistance that carry forward stories of survival and identity.

Jungle Mahal is an attempt to demystify human development in this region, by exploring how it is continually shaped by a constellation of non-human context that influences every aspect of its existence.