My entry into printing : When a photograph becomes complete

What if the photograph isn’t the final step? And what if some images don’t end when they are taken? What if you want to feel the image- the subtle, happy feeling of holding an image?

The beginning: capturing everything

My journey with photography did not begin with printing. It began, as it does for many of us, with a digital camera and an eagerness to capture everything that moved me.

In those early days, I photographed freely. Anything that caught my attention became a frame. There was joy in the act itself, in seeing, reacting, and preserving moments. But somewhere along the way, after a couple of years, it changed. Capturing was no longer enough; I found myself wanting to stay longer with the images I had made.

Wanting to stay with an image and holding a photograph for the first time

That was when I began printing. They were simple inkjet prints at first. Three, maybe five images every few months. Each print held a certain weight. It was no longer just a file on a screen; it was something I could hold, revisit, and live with. Looking back now, those prints feel like markers of time. Almost every phase of my journey exists somewhere, quietly, on paper.

But even then, something felt incomplete. It was like preparing a beautiful meal and realizing that a single missing ingredient could transform it entirely. I could see the image, I could hold it, but I couldn’t feel it fully. There was a disconnect I couldn’t quite explain.

Slowing down with film

That search led me to film. It slowed me down, it made me more intentional, it brought me closer to the act of seeing, but even with film, that subtle absence remained. The image existed, but it still felt like it was waiting to become something more. I even began developing my own film, both medium format and large format. In the early days, this was guided by my mentor, Shankar Kiragi. He didn’t just guide me; he was by my side when I captured many images of Hampi on film, and helped throughout when I started with film photography.

That process brought me closer to the image, closer to the moment it was made, but even then, I felt there was still a step missing.

Discovering alternative printing

That was when I discovered alternative printing. What drew me in was not just the visual outcome, but the process itself. It was intricate, methodical, and deeply tactile. Cyanotype, platinum palladium, gum printing and of course the traditional darkroom process- each process carried its own rhythm, its own way of translating light into form. These were not just prints; they were interpretations.

The journey to learn

I realized I needed to learn this in-depth, that decision took me to the UK—London and Durham—where I had the opportunity to learn from Ian Phillips McLaren and Roberto Aguilar. They had spent years understanding and refining these processes, and learning from them was not just technical training, but a shift in perspective.

The days were not only about making prints. They were about understanding patience, material, and the unpredictability of the medium. Light behaved differently, and the paper responded differently. Nothing was entirely in control, and that lack of control became part of the process. Also read: Ian Phillips McLaren's article on me

From image to craft and preparing for something personal

In many ways, that journey was also about preparing myself. I was working on projects like Hampi and Varanasi, deeply personal explorations. I realized that if I wanted to present them honestly, I needed to be involved not just in capturing the image, but in bringing it to life. Printing became essential, not optional.

The photograph becomes physical and my experience of holding it

When I returned and began printing on my own, everything finally aligned. The image felt complete! Not perfect, but complete.

There is something about a handcrafted print that changes your relationship with a photograph. The imperfections, the variations, the way light interacts with the surface—they all add character. The image is no longer just seen; it is experienced.

Where photography becomes complete

And perhaps the most intense moment comes at the end, when the print is washed, dried, and held in your hands. There is a quiet sense of relief, not because everything went as planned, but because something has come into existence despite all the variables, the uncertainties, the waiting. That particular feeling cannot be replicated on a screen. Thank you to my mentors Shankar Kiragi, Ramesh Adkoli and Rajkumar Krishna, who helped me set up the print lab from scratch and helped me with every step of creating a print in the initial stages of handcrafting my own print. 

Printing taught me that a photograph does not have to end as a digital file. It can evolve, it can take form, and it can carry time within it. For me, that is where photography found its completeness, not when the image was taken, but when it was finally brought into the world.

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