what the eyes heard

Sound, for me, is not always heard it is often seen. My photographs are an attempt to translate the textures, rhythms, and silences of rural and small town India into a visual language. In the blur of a man walking under an open sky, I hear the low hum of midday heat, the distant crackle of dry leaves underfoot, the faint buzz of electricity through overhead wires. In the hands of a woman sharpening her grinding stone, I hear the metallic ring of her tool, the rhythmic scrape that has been repeated across generations a sound woven into the fabric of her daily life. 

Children by the water capture another register of sound: the explosive splash as one dives in, met by the quiet, contemplative stillness of another watching. Even the smallest details an ant dragging a fragment across concrete hum with a subtle, persistent sound, a whisper of survival. And in the blurred branches of a tree swaying against the sky, I find a ghostly kind of music wind playing an invisible instrument. 

These images are my way of listening with my eyes. They are not literal recordings of sound, but visual echoes of it fragments of the lived soundscape that shape identity, memory, and place. They remind me that sound is everywhere: in the movement of bodies, the weight of labor, the pulse of nature, and in the spaces where silence holds its own power.