Somewhere between the altitude delirium and more rice than stars in the sky, I watched my instinct drive me back to topics that spark the fire of curiosity – roots, transit and evolution. The dialogue between then & now, the sacred & the practical, the woven & the worn.
As I booted over 200km through the Annapurna massif I found myself drawn again and again to the textures of identity, literal and metaphorical.
I didn’t set out to make a statement about culture, but rather to enquire: what happens when the symbols of who we were start collecting dust?
The traditional fabrics of the Himalayan folk – once lived in, worked in, celebrated in – are now often tucked away in wardrobes deep and dark, coming out to play only for festivals and tourists. Their threads hold stories, memories, even smells that are part of the land itself. But as modernisation sweeps across even the highest ridges, these garments risk becoming little more than costumes.
And while I don’t believe in preserving the past in a museum glass box, I do wonder, what if we’re not meant to discard the old ways entirely, but remix them? Honour them. Let it walk into the future, mud on its boots and all?
This photo series is not just about fashion, but about continuity and redefinition. And it echoes a much larger question we’re all pondering: how do we move forward without abandoning who we are?
It’s all over the place: in ancient practices now adapted into wellness trends, in AI trying to replicate the human touch (still waiting for a robot to whip up momos like Karma didi).
As I invited the locals to play models (my fashion background isn’t going anywhere) – by donning their ancestral garbs with a different intention, I saw not nostalgia, but a reawakening. As if the garments were stretching their arms after a nap, saying “ahhhhhhh yes, I remember who I am”. I’ve learnt that sometimes it takes an outsider to remind us how special what we have is.
Because here’s how I see it: I am not my coordinates. I am not just a passport or a dot on the map. I am the byproduct of countless choices, sacrifices, and beautiful stories- many of which I didn’t witness, but carry anyway.
My people brought it this far, so I could take it a smidge further.
And maybe that’s the task of our time: to not only digitise the present but to dignify the past. Not with blind reverence, but with curiosity, playfulness and honour.
Yeah, convenience may replace the handmade. Yeah, the mass production may edge out the unique. But perhaps, if we look a tad closer, if we keep asking questions and documenting what remains, we can stitch something new, not as a replica, but as a continuation.
Could the last thread also be the first?