No one knew my river was always flowing

2018-2025

Drifting through time, where memories linger like distant echoes—standing still as the past slips away, winging into the unknown.

“No one knew my river was always flowing” is a about the relationship between people and the river. I photograph from my observations and experiences depict the landscape, portraits, objects and nostalgic memories.
Ever since my upbringing with this ephemeral river I have always been curious why people often come close to river listening harmonic tune, connecting with the rhythms. How they look upon on the river I feel they endeavor to ask something, want to share something maybe it was emotion or devotion. But when the time comes water struggling to flow on the river, dry out like a lone horse standing on desert that makes what people feel like; subsequently I only feel emptiness. Lines of dry bed of river feels like lost wave of song which people never want to listen.
1947 colonial power divide the river between two different lands but same language countries with communal conflicts made two diverse cultural regions as well. One part is Rajshahi (Bangladesh) where I born and another part is called Murshidabad (India). People who are coming from the Murshidabad forcefully and voluntarily migrated into Rajshahi and they never forget their past. So many witnesses bear with the flows of river. Padma is ubiquitously known as ganga. Mythologically this major hydrodynamics system has numerous mentions in the Vedas, the Puran, the Ramayan and the Mahabharat. Various kind of animals, birds, trees are also part of this Gangetic.

PROJECT GALLERY

Main Image - No one knew my river was always flowing

Standing by the river, where lost moments ripple away—observing the tide, searching for a sense of belonging.

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Drawn by curiosity, people often come closer to the river—seeking stories in its flow.

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listen to the river’s song, carried by memories and connect with its flowing rhythms of life.

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Between the ebb of the past and the flow of the future, two generations sit—one casting dreams ahead, the other lost in reflections of what once was.

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where the river draws boundaries and memories drift away—migration is not just a journey, but a longing for what was lost.

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The emptiness echoes the silence of displacement and history, reminding me of the floating remnants of a past that refuses to fade.

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Roots entwined in silent sorrow, Culture echoes a tune now hollow. Lost in time, yet still we stand, A melody fading across the land.

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Through the barren whispers of the wind, a lone soul wanders, untamed yet confined. Struggling against the weight of emptiness, seeking solace in the echoes of the divine

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The trees stood still, in silent lament, their roots whispered low to the earth, forsaken, as if calling for a song, lost in time’s wind— a melody gone, yet never forgotten.

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The river whispers secrets to the quiet banks, while souls drift apart like leaves on its current. Between them, the heart-shaped void lingers— a reflection of love lost, or love yet to be found.

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Carrying the weight of the river’s silence, their eyes tell stories the water keeps. Drifting between dusk and dawn, they belong to the journey, not the shore .

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Among the sacred symbols of Om and Swastika, devotion finds its home in tradition’s tender embrace. A gateway to purity and surrender, where faith flows like an eternal river.

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Bathed in the twilight’s embrace, devotion flows like the sacred waters, a silent bond of belonging, where souls meet the divine.

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For the soul of the forsaken chair, like the heart of a wanderer, knows the sorrow of belonging nowhere and the sadness of songs unsung.

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Like fleeting echoes of forgotten laughter, they run upon the dunes of time, half-dream, half-memory— caught between the past and the vanishing horizon.

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Asking emptiness is like a dead cow floating on a river—a lost wave of a song that no one ever wants to hear.

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A lone red flag whispers to the wind, a silent sentinel in the endless sand. Does it mark a warning, or a forgotten promise? Only the shifting dunes will know.

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