In the rush of our everyday lives, we often take our closest family members or people we admire for granted. We know them as parents, grandparents, or loved ones, but how well do we truly understand who they are, the depth of their life journeys and the lessons they carry with them?

When we came in to this world, we came with nothing – no belongings, no possessions. But in today’s day and age, growing up entails the accumulation of objects that facilitate our daily activities. These objects eventually become a part of our family culture and history, each with its unique story to tell. From the treasured gold-rimmed bone-china tea cups reserved only for special guests to the collection of masks on the wall or fridge magnets, and even the grandfather clock that demanded winding each day—everything holds a piece of our story.

I recall those early weekend mornings when my father would play traditional music on the gramophone at 8 am. Back then, I’d protest, my words muffled in the comfort of my half-sleep, questioning why I couldn’t have a few more hours of slumber. Yet, when I left for college and found myself in a quiet dormitory, I realized that that the familiar melodies from that old gramophone had been a comforting presence. It took me several months to adjust to the new silence, a silence that felt unsettling in its own right.

In the age of photography, we often capture only faces, well-lit close-up portraits, or fleeting moments. In doing so, we miss the intricate connections that truly define a person. To successfully capture the essence of an individual, we must delve deeper. It’s about capturing not just the person but their relationship with the material objects in their surroundings, living and non-living. It’s about documenting the space they inhabit and the time they call their own.

The moment I think of my grandma, I can see her being helped on to the worn-out black chair and table kept by her bed. Behind the chair, is her glass cupboard embedded in the wall filled with her oils, medicines, books, biscuits and more. To the right stands an aged, dark tan Burma teak cupboard with a mirror on its face and a crystal handle. She took a while eating her breakfast as her teeth had long abandoned her. She would bite into the soft middle of the slice bread and create circles in the square for she could not chew the borders anymore. A glass of Horlicks (malt drink) would accompany the bread. The tree leaves dancing in the wind engaged her constantly. She was on the first floor. Sounds of urban cacophony and calls of the street vendors would fill the air. “Peeeppaaaraaaaaaay – a distorted and stretched out call for the word Paper” would shout one of the vendors going door to door to collect old newspapers and recycle them. Crows would come and sit at the window and caw. They kept her company. They knew her.

Once she finished her meal, she would be walked slowly to the balcony three rooms apart. A walking stick in one hand and another person supporting her. The crows from the window will fly along and accompany her to the balcony and wait for her patiently. There standing behind a big black column, she would hold herself steady with one hand on the stone guard rail and with the other she would throw the bread borders on the ledge below, to satisfy their hunger. She would quietly watch them with a toothless grin till the birds finished their food and flew away. It was a beautiful relationship.

Today she is no more. She passed away when I was still a child. I wish time travel was a possibility for I would be there in a jiffy to photograph this ritual that happened every day. In the past, widowed women in India wore white as a symbol of their grief, signifying the color draining from their lives. While I firmly believe that black and white photography often tells stories more powerfully, especially in uncontrolled environments where too much color can be distracting, in this case, even in color, the result would have felt black and white.

This deep connection to the things that surround us in our everyday lives transforms them into reference points and containers for our cherished memories. The glass of Horlicks on that breakfast table isn’t just a container for a beverage; it holds the warmth of countless conversations and the fragrance of shared moments. The grandfather clock isn’t merely an object telling us the time; it echoes with the memories of daily winding, marking the passage of time in the heart of our home.

Photography, when done thoughtfully, becomes a powerful tool for storytelling. It allows us to weave together the narratives of people and objects, creating a tapestry of memories that transcend generations. It’s a way of understanding our roots, connecting with our heritage, and preserving the essence of those we hold dear.

So, the next time you pick up your camera, take a moment to dive beneath the surface. Don’t limit yourself to capturing just faces; strive to encapsulate the tales that unfold within each frame. Seek to chronicle the connections between your loved ones and the elements that define their existence. Preserve the spaces and moments that forge their identities. It’s about celebrating the beauty within the ordinary and perpetuating the memories nested within the objects, the spaces, and the people we hold dear. Through the art of photography, we possess the power to narrate the sagas of our elders, to encapsulate their essence, and to ensure that their stories are cherished by generations to come. Reach into their soul to tell and show us who they are.