I have been coming to Badi Malikpur, my ancestral village in Darbhanga, since I was a child. Not every year, but whenever I do come, it is usually around Moharram, for about a week. And then, just as quickly as I arrive, I am back to the life I have built elsewhere.

I have lived most of my life in cities. Cities that are crowded, restless and always moving. Yet somehow, whenever I am away, I find myself coming back to this place. There is a familiarity here that I don't have to look for. The trees, the fields, the ponds, the people, the heat, the evenings. Things that are ordinary here but somehow stay with me when I leave.

These photographs were made on my phone, casually, while I was there. I wasn't out photographing the village. I was simply noticing things. A tree in a particular light, mangoes hanging from a branch, cattle resting in the shade, someone working in the fields, a path, an afternoon, an evening.

Perhaps I photographed them because I know how little time I actually spend here.

Every year, I return. And every year, I leave again.
This is where I come from. This is where I belong.


There is rarely a camera in hand when I am here. These photographs happened somewhere between being present and simply looking.