It’s not that I was close to my father, on the contrary, I wasn’t. In fact, there was an awkwardness, an invisible wall between us, a hesitation that was partly cultural perhaps. And his untimely death left me with many unanswered questions. The world around me changed rather drastically, only I couldn’t acknowledge the impact of his absence. It’s hard to be at home -- his spectacles, watches, diaries, keys --.

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Now I find myself all alone in this house and all I have are his memories, “his things”.

A strange presence in the absence.

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These photographs do not just paint a portrait of my father, they also speak about memories, places, things, rituals—all mediocre, every day, mundane. Every photograph, hints at a sense of tension, conflict and pain encountered.

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It is my foray into my father’s life, an attempt to get back the intimacy which was long lost, along with any opportunity for it to be regained. Such is time.