Faces are both familiar and strangers in the mist, of a hill station in South India. You feel you know them, but you don’t. The camera eye has moments that are intimate, delicate, withdrawn and sometimes caught up in it all. A motley crew of indigenous tribes, jostling for space with Muslims who migrated from Hyderabad, a place now known to them only in fast fading memories, of a Nizam who is now part history and part myth. Some even claim to have come from the Rann of Kutch toward the end of the 19th century. Life absorbs, so very soon intermarriage and the development of social bonds between the migrant and the indigene like the Tamil, Toda and Bagada communities brought a new shine to this part of the Nilgiris. Janitors, daily wage labourers, tailors, teachers and professionals in different fields they grew and prospered in their uniqueness. Like the Grand Vizier and his people from a space that only collective memory can celebrate.

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