MY MOTHER’S FAVORITE CHILDREN

I arrived in Chhattisgarh carrying fragments of history—stories of resistance, survival, dignity shaped by land and memory. But it was not through timelines or milestones that the region revealed itself. It was through people.

Progress is a difficult word to define. It depends on context, and more often, on intent. Too frequently, exploitation arrives wearing the language of development. In the years since Chhattisgarh came into existence, change has moved swiftly across its forests and fields. Mines, power plants, highways, cities—each presented as proof of advancement. Yet the question lingers: whose progress is this?

The forests and fields come first. They are not backdrops, but living witnesses—holding generations of labour, belief, and belonging. Within these landscapes, faces emerge: calm, direct, unguarded. Each portrait carries an inherited sense of identity and self-respect, shaped by long encounters with displacement, power, and resilience.

Nearly thirty percent of the state’s population is tribal. Left to their own rhythms, they live with an ease that feels almost radical today. They sing, dance, laugh, drink, love—fully and without apology. The land provides what they need. The soil is generous, the forests abundant, the seasons familiar. Their relationship with nature is not ideological; it is everyday life. One wonders why it is so difficult to simply let them be.

Daily life unfolds quietly—hands at work, bodies moving through familiar patterns, homes shaped by necessity and care. Here, livelihood is not separate from culture; it is an extension of it. Ornaments, tools, textures, and gestures hold stories passed without words, marking belonging rather than display.

As I travelled through the state, I saw the markers of modern ambition rise from the ground. But it was the people who held me. Faces shaped by sun and labour, yet softened by kindness. Smiles that arrive easily. Generosity offered without calculation. Women held with respect. Love expressed openly, without fear or performance.

At certain moments, the ordinary gives way to the ceremonial. Ritual performers move not for spectacle, but for continuity—echoing ancestral faith, collective memory, and the need to remain rooted amid constant change. These are not performances for an outside gaze; they are affirmations of presence.

Their ambitions are no smaller than ours—only clearer. They do not chase excess. They seek contentment. A harvest balanced in the palm of a hand. A home shaped by use. A glance exchanged between two young people that carries an entire future within it.

The earth may have hardened their palms and etched lines into their faces, but it has taught their hearts to remain open and their spirits to rise. They understand something we seem to have forgotten—that happiness is not the outcome of progress, but a way of being.

This work does not attempt to define a people, document poverty, or romanticize the past. It listens. Through land, faces, labour, ritual, and quiet detail, these photographs trace a living relationship between identity and place—where history is not archived, but lived each day.

If only we could learn to see life through their eyes.