Ritayan “Rikh” Mukherjee is an independent photographer based in Kolkata. With editorial clients such as the World Bank Group and UNDP, he reports on healthcare, climate change, migration, and culture in rural India, and his photographs have been published in national and international media. Awarded the Ramnath Goenka Excellence in Journalism (RNG) Award in 2019, he is a senior fellow at The People’s Archive of Rural India (PARI), a multimedia digital journalism platform.
Ritayan Mukherjee has been working on a long-term photographic project titled Sans Terre, which aims to capture the lifestyles of pastoral and nomadic communities in India, particularly in Kachchh and the Himalayas. He started the project in 2016 and has had his works exhibited in multiple locations in India and abroad over the years. In 2019, he became a full-time photographer and has contributed to three books, including Calcutta Then, Kolkata Now, published by Roli Books.
In this conversation with Abir Pothi’s Editorial Team, Ritaayan discusses his photographic journey and his experience capturing rural India.
Tell us about your photographic journey, especially your documentary photography. Was there a definitive moment, or was it a gradual process?
Yes, I think it’s a gradual process. Like most Bengali youngsters, I was captivated by photography from a very young age. My amateur photography experience began in 2007-2008 when I was gifted with a DSLR camera and started photographing the old houses of Kolkata. Because my father was an oral historian and a professor of literature in Kolkata. So I knew these houses and their history. I photographed a series, and later it was published in several journals, and even became part of a book titled Calcutta. I got a big break in mid-2015 when one of my stories on India’s longest narrow-gauge rail journey from Madhya Pradesh got published on a US-based platform, and People’s Archive of Rural India approached me to republish it. After that, the PARI founder editor, Mr P Sainath, gave me a PARI fellowship to cover pastoral nomads and more.
Tell us about the photographers, writers, or artists who were particularly formative for you.
The extraordinary work and life of Sebastiao Salgado inspire my photographic philosophy and lens through which I see and capture the world. I admire his talent and dedication, which inspire my artistic goals. It is amazing to see him consistently produce so many exceptional photographic books, each one a testament to his unique vision and unmatched skill in depicting the human condition and the natural world with such raw power and exquisite beauty.
I also admire his remarkable and ambitious effort to restore an entire jungle in his hometown. This dual commitment to artistic excellence and environmental stewardship depicts a holistic, inspiring person whose impact extends beyond the visual frame. His journey shows that photography can be a force for good, a catalyst for change, and a deep connection to our planet. The scale of his photography, the depth of his subjects, and the monumental task of ecological restoration inspire me to pursue artistic mastery and a meaningful contribution to the world through my photography.
You describe your focus as “rural India,” spanning healthcare, migration, climate change, and culture. How do you define “rural” for yourself?
The line between urban and rural is disappearing fast, and it includes rural people living in big cities. Their journey will be an eye-opener for us.
What ethical questions did you struggle with when you first began photographing people in vulnerable situations, especially in contexts of health, migration, and precarious livelihoods?
I favour long-term projects, as the successful development of compelling narratives often requires multiple visits to a specific location. This approach enriches the content, making it both diversified and informative. Furthermore, repeated interactions with a particular place or group of people foster trust, which I consider paramount. For instance, the scoliosis story took over a year to complete. This extended timeline was essential because the photography had to be done in the operating theatre, a process that required close collaboration and guidance from spine surgeons at every stage. Although it was a gradual undertaking, the final outcome was remarkable. Therefore, I believe it is crucial for individuals to be thoroughly prepared and committed before embarking on complex and sensitive projects.
I quote iconic photographer James Nachtwey, “I have been a witness, and these pictures are my testimony. The events I have recorded should not be forgotten and must not be repeated.”
How would you describe your visual language, for example, your choices of light, framing, distance, and rhythm when working in these landscapes and communities?
My photographic style is not fixed; rather, it adapts to each story I capture. A consistent element across my work, however, is my exclusive use of lenses within the 24mm to 70mm range, which contributes to the symmetrical composition often found in my photographs. On occasion, I may employ a wide-angle lens if the situation specifically requires it.
Are there philosophical or literary influences that anchor your practice?
The philosophy is simple: my photograph must convey the voice of the people. Stories must be told with empathy, and human dignity must be preserved.
You’ve spoken about pastoralists being “on the edge of ecosystems.” Would you elaborate on that?
As the seasons change, so does the pastoralist’s way of life. As soon as the weather starts to change, they will be among the first to feel the effects. One such group is the Yak herders in the Himalayas, whose livelihood is under jeopardy due to the rapid decline of the
The yak population is increasing because of warmer winters. Compared to earlier times, pastoralists have to change their locations frequently. Zanskar is another well-known region where glacier water is essential to the survival of both humans and other wildlife. Plus, many glaciers in that area are melting rapidly. Some hamlets reportedly had to leave their residents due to a severe water shortage.
Is there an instance where the climate crisis became visible to you through a very intimate, personal moment with your subjects?
Yes, there are many visible and invisible moments. I have witnessed and recorded instances in which Cashmere goats were killed by an unexpected storm, a devastating loss for the families.
In another, because they don’t have mangroves to eat, I witnessed fully grown Kharai camels collapsing in front of me.
Last year, Ladakh had its wettest August on record, with up to 930% more rainfall than usual, leaving me stranded there. The unprecedented flood isolated several villages, caused flash floods, and cut off air and road connectivity. I had to drive from Leh to Srinagar via Joji La. It was an incredible experience.
How do you avoid reducing people’s lives to only their suffering, especially when working around health emergencies or forced migration?
Photos are born in a context. While photographing serious health and other issues, the challenge is to bring that context into the frame by including their lives and everyday objects.
Take us back to your first trip to Kachchh in 2015. What was that like? How has your perspective changed over the years?
The first trip to Kachchh opened my eyes to many things. At that time, Kachchh was clean, and there weren’t as many businesses there. But industrialisation advanced over 10/11 years. There are cement factories and solar plants everywhere. The landscape of the Kachchh is changing, and traditional herders are having a hard time because their grazing land is being used by other herders.
When did Sans Terre become a “project” rather than a series of isolated assignments or trips? Was there a conceptual framework that crystallised at some point?
“Sans Terre” was always meant to be a long-term project. The communities are linked to each other. In other words, they live in very different places but share the belief that “less is more,” which is at the heart of nomadic pastoralism. Pastoralism is a big subject, and I don’t want to get lost in the middle of it. That’s why it’s a smart idea to work on a long-term basis.
What does your fieldwork actually look like on the ground for Sans Terre? How long do you stay, how do you travel, and how do you embed yourself with the herders?
It was hard at first because, like the Changpas of Hanle valley, the communities I chose to work with don’t have much research online. The Changpas have been written about extensively, but the Hanle Valley Changpas are less well known. This is because you need special permission to get there, and they live high up. So, in February 2015, my friend and I went to Hanle. I’m glad I did. It was a beautiful winter scene. This is the beginning of Sans Terre. I think that instead of putting off research for too long, everyone should just start. Also, I always live near the crowds. I take my car. In Arunachal Pradesh, I had to walk for 9 hours through the jungle to reach a Brokpa village in Lagam. These were some of the times I went trekking.
Q: What drew you to the Drokpa initially, and what did you learn about Tibetan nomadic life that challenged your assumptions?
I first saw the images of Ddrokpa taken by a photographer who was based in China. Much later, I decided to photograph them because the Tibetan plateau is the heartland of nomadic pastoralism. From Changpas to Brokpa, all their origins are connected with Tibet. But the Drokpa are facing incredible challenges: the Chinese government forced them to settle in houses and took control of the land. They also promote a nomadic lifestyle as a tourism subject.
Q: The Changpa are closely tied to pashmina and the global cashmere economy. How did you decide to frame this relationship between a luxury commodity and a fragile landscape?
This is a grey area. I have witnessed that the Changpa are struggling with the changing climate pattern, but in Leh and other places, the number of Cashmere-selling shops is growing. The recent policy of the Government of India not to import inferior cashmere from China might be one of the reasons that the industry is flourishing.
With the Brokpa, how did questions of identity, myth, and external gaze (including tourism and media) shape the way you chose to photograph them?
The Brokpa have always been ignored by the mainstream media. I first reached out to them in 2015; their lifestyle was so raw. What I have, I have presented. Very organic and raw.
The Bakarwals’ routes cut across contentious and militarised regions. How did questions of security and politics affect your access and your images?
No. I actually never faced an issue. The Bakarwal community is so amazing, warm, and hospitable. Whenever I travelled or stayed with them, it was an amazing experience. And I never faced any issues with the authorities.
What particular challenges and insights emerged when working in Kachchh with the Fakirani Jats, especially around land rights and grazing access?
Kutch’s biggest issue is rapid industrialisation. Currently, one particular company has established ownership over a substantial portion of the coastal area through various business endeavours. Reports from early 2026 indicate that the organisation has acquired approximately 460,000 acres in the region for the development of renewable energy and industrial projects. This year, when I was driving from Bhuj to Lakhpat, I saw so many windmills it was crazy. Windmills are popping up all over Kutch, like moss. They’re everywhere, even in places where the villagers didn’t want them. Now I get Don Quixote, who thought they were giants and fought them. These lands are used for community grazing by many pastoral people.
How did your collaboration with the Centre for Pastoralism begin?
It took place after my first fellowship with PARI (2016–2018). Then, sometime after COVID in 2022, I decided to expand Sans Terre to cover pastoralists in Zanskar and a few other places. This is how I got to CFP. The people in charge knew about Sans Terre, too; I had known them for a long time. Many of my photos have already been used on their website or in their brochures. So when I proposed, it went smoothly because I had an idea and a letter of support from PARI, the publication platform.
As a PARI Senior Fellow, how has PARI’s editorial philosophy shaped the way you build a story through your photographs?
Everyday lives and everyday people lie at the centre of PARI’s editorial mandate. My photographs are documenting the ordinary, the everyday.
What has been the response from the communities themselves when they see exhibitions or published work about their lives?
I have not hosted any independent exhibition on the topic to date. So I have not been able to invite them. But in the future, if I host any exhibition, I plan to invite them. I discussed this with my friends in Ladakh: I want to host an exhibition in the main market, inviting the Changpa families I photographed. And publications are easy to circulate; many young souls in Nomadic communities have social media accounts. Hence, they read or are aware of the articles I am writing.
What patterns or absences do you notice in how South Asia is represented in global visual media?
It’s always presented from a very exotic point of view. The colours of India, this and that, but the voice of the people always stayed missing.
Sans Terre has already spanned a decade. How do you know when a long-term project like this is “finished,” or does it remain open-ended for you?
This is such a great question. I often ask myself, “Should I close it ?” But the answer is no. I will mark it as ‘ppen – ended’. Every year I will add one or two communities but also keep a track about the previous communities I worked.
Are there new communities, geographies, or thematic threads you wish to explore next?
I am working on visual stories about healthcare, mostly nowadays. That’s my first priority. But I am looking for a new collaboration to expand Sans Terre among Sikkim Yak Pastoralists and Duck Pastoralists in Kerala, some Changpa living in strategic zones in Ladakh, Brokpa families living in Arunachal, and pastoralists of Kerala.
Finally, what advice do you have for a young photographer or journalist who wishes to work with vulnerable communities and socially engaged topics?
My advice to young photographers is: “Just go out and shoot.” Also, respect a “no” from your subjects. This is crucial in photography. I’ve encountered situations where individuals initially declined to be photographed. By honouring their wishes, I found that they later agreed, resulting in exceptional outcomes. Always listen carefully to people before opening your camera for the photography session.
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