Before photography, there was a life of strategy decks, spreadsheets, and airport lounges — eleven years in the corporate world across four countries. But somewhere along the way, I realised what I truly craved wasn’t deadlines or data — it was presence. Real, fleeting moments. Photography didn’t just change my career — it changed the way I saw the world. I don’t direct love stories. I quietly witness them, capturing what’s felt, not forced.
My journey from finance to photography took
me through Asia, Africa, and North America —
and along the way, I fell in love with music,
perfume, and stories. The kind you hear in a
song, wear on your skin, or find in an old book.
All of it reminds me that what’s fleeting is often
what stays with us the longest. That’s what I try
to preserve — the in-betweens, the real, the
deeply felt. I celebrate everyday that I have found myself !
Once behind corporate meeting rooms
Now capturing timeless chapters
Once behind corporate meeting rooms
Now capturing timeless chapters
Tell me your story
Before photography, there was a life of strategy decks, spreadsheets, and airport lounges — eleven years in the corporate world across four countries. But somewhere along the way, I realised what I truly craved wasn’t deadlines or data — it was presence. Real, fleeting moments. Photography didn’t just change my career — it changed the way I saw the world. I don’t direct love stories. I quietly witness them, capturing what’s felt, not forced.
My journey from finance to photography took me through Asia, Africa, and North America — and along the way, I fell in love with music, perfume, and stories. The kind you hear in a song, wear on your skin, or find in an old book. All of it reminds me that what’s fleeting is often what stays with us the longest. That’s what I try to preserve — the in-betweens, the real, the deeply felt. I celebrate everyday that I have found myself !
Unscripted pieces of me
PASSIONATE ABOUT
Books are my quiet place and perfume is how I keep a moment close.
my place to go
"Montreal" holds so much of me—wins, heartbreaks, quiet beginnings.
I go back to remember, and to feel it all again.
Worst Fear
"Spider" is my worst possible fear- You will not find me anywhere if I can spot any nearby !
Silent SKILLS
I’m a quiet "guitarist", mostly an audience of one. I write "poetry" too—short lines to hold what mattered.
Favourite food
Bangladeshi Cuisine- That's it !
Wishlist
I have dream of visiting ancient places and of course- learn "Piano"
My Favourite
Latte but a bit hazelnut makes me more romantic
Magical Realism & Historical Fiction (with essence of romance!)
Indie Folk- makes space in heart!
Amber, Leather, Tobacco and Earthy Scents
Latte but a bit hazelnut makes me more romantic
Magical Realism & Historical Fiction (with essence of romance!)
Indie Folk- makes space in heart!
Amber, Leather, Tobacco and Earthy Scents
Four countries, countless flights,
one war I walked through.
I’ve called four countries home and learned my best lessons between airports and unfamiliar streets. The humanitarian years put me in finance roles inside hostile zones, where numbers met real lives. In South Sudan, a civil war sealed the skies for five days—no contact, only the sound of what mattered. I made it out, but I didn’t leave empty-handed. I carried humility, patience, and a steadier way of seeing. Different cultures, quiet wins, sharp setbacks—each shaped how I move, how I listen, and how I hold space for others.
Quiet by nature, I’ve met extraordinary people in the most ordinary places I’ve lived and worked. Crossing horizons taught me more than maps—faiths, languages, and traditions that tuned me to how people feel. I learned what matters when it’s love, kinship, or friendship: tenderness, time, and being seen. On my favorite roads I’ve watched love unfold—sometimes sudden, sometimes shaped by tradition—always drawing two people closer. Whatever path I’ve taken, it’s been worth it—for the story, and for love.
I’ve called four countries home and learned my best lessons between airports and unfamiliar streets. The humanitarian years put me in finance roles inside hostile zones, where numbers met real lives. In South Sudan, a civil war sealed the skies for five days—no contact, only the sound of what mattered. I made it out, but I didn’t leave empty-handed. I carried humility, patience, and a steadier way of seeing. Different cultures, quiet wins, sharp setbacks—each shaped how I move, how I listen, and how I hold space for others.
Quiet by nature, I’ve met extraordinary people in the most ordinary places I’ve lived and worked. Crossing horizons taught me more than maps—faiths, languages, and traditions that tuned me to how people feel. I learned what matters when it’s love, kinship, or friendship: tenderness, time, and being seen. On my favorite roads I’ve watched love unfold—sometimes sudden, sometimes shaped by tradition—always drawing two people closer. Whatever path I’ve taken, it’s been worth it—for the story, and for love.
"Why wedding photography, Why now"
I spent years making sense of lines and timelines, then realized the truest proof of a day is light on a shoulder, hands finding each other, a room exhaling. Wedding photography is where I trade summaries for something you can return to—frames that say, “This happened. It mattered.”
Pictures were rare growing up—busy parents, distant relatives, long quiets where memory did the heavy lifting. Years of travel and work taught me how steadying it is to feel seen, and how quickly a moment drifts if nothing holds it. Weddings brought that lesson into focus: two people at the center, family folding in, a hundred small glances that vanish unless someone is paying attention. I’m there for those—breath before a promise, the softening of a room when vows begin—so those seconds have a place to live.
Eleven years in corporate gave me precision, but story is what keeps me. I’m not here to perform for metrics; I’m here to listen, notice, and hold space for what’s real. Weddings let me do that—blend calm guidance with a storyteller’s eye, honor culture and family, and make photographs that outlast the day. I’m a romantic at heart and a strategist by training; together, they shape work that feels cinematic and true.
Tell me your story
Let's hold onto what time tries to take
I spent years making sense of lines and timelines, then realized the truest proof of a day is light on a shoulder, hands finding each other, a room exhaling. Wedding photography is where I trade summaries for something you can return to—frames that say, “This happened. It mattered.”
Pictures were rare growing up—busy parents, distant relatives, long quiets where memory did the heavy lifting. Years of travel and work taught me how steadying it is to feel seen, and how quickly a moment drifts if nothing holds it. Weddings brought that lesson into focus: two people at the center, family folding in, a hundred small glances that vanish unless someone is paying attention. I’m there for those—breath before a promise, the softening of a room when vows begin—so those seconds have a place to live.
Eleven years in corporate gave me precision, but story is what keeps me. I’m not here to perform for metrics; I’m here to listen, notice, and hold space for what’s real. Weddings let me do that—blend calm guidance with a storyteller’s eye, honor culture and family, and make photographs that outlast the day. I’m a romantic at heart and a strategist by training; together, they shape work that feels cinematic and true.
I move quietly, steady in the background, holding the small things so others can breathe. In my life—family, friends, even strangers—I’m the one who listens first and keeps the pace gentle. And when a voice is needed, I’m the loudest believer, reminding people of their worth and their light. Happiness matters. Care matters. I stand for both.
A Quiet Anchor and Loudest Believer
I’m drawn to the middle, not the finish line—the minutes we’re actually living. Destinations can pull us out of the moment; presence puts us back in. Photography feels the same to me: it’s truest when it keeps the now—a glance, a breath, a hand held a little tighter. Less future, more present. That’s where meaning lasts.
Prefers the "Journey" More
I’m drawn to the details that carry a place—rain on a tin roof, a spice jar cracked open, ink on a second-hand page. Street chai cooling beside a window, a rickshaw bell far off, worn fabric that still remembers a hand. These small things hold time better than headlines do. I pay attention there, where meaning hides in plain sight, and let the quiet teach me how to see.
Seeing "beauty" in the small
