It was a cold night in Ladakh, in the northernmost reaches of India. I was perched on a rock with no one around for miles — just the silent company of a thousand stars. Somewhere in that silence, I decided to quit law for a career that came with no guarantees, no precedent, no case law to fall back on: filmmaking.

​

My first encounter with visual storytelling was through photography. An old camera, gifted by my uncle, became the instrument through which I learned to see. A community of fellow enthusiasts in my hometown gave me a place to sharpen my technical eye, and I began shooting landscapes, portraits, astro-landscapes — chasing light in whatever form it took. Somewhere in that process, I became obsessed not just with images, but with movement itself: the idea of travel. I backpacked solo through the Swiss Alps. I spent cold nights in the company of gypsies in the Thar desert. Each journey cracked open a different way of seeing the world, until travel stopped being something I did and became something that quietly rearranged how I thought. Today, I like to think my personality is less a single voice than a chorus — built from every person whose story I've been allowed to sit inside for a while.

​

My assignments carried me into remote mountains, desert badlands, and congested slums — places that don't often share the same sentence, let alone the same frame. I began documenting the conversations I had along the way, publishing them on a peer-to-peer storytelling platforms and eventually entered the Journalism. 

​

Since then, I have published on the BBC, National Geographic, The Quint, and many more.