Kiran Kallur Photography

Kiran Kallur Photography Kiran Kallur is an Alpinist and Photographer.

Letters from the cold desert
01/05/2026

Letters from the cold desert

23/04/2026

Land of High Passes

I sat across a kettle of namkeen chai and a plate of rotis at Syed Muji’s house, a resident of Parkachik village. He had...
21/02/2026

I sat across a kettle of namkeen chai and a plate of rotis at Syed Muji’s house, a resident of Parkachik village. He had generously agreed to let me camp on his farm, on one simple condition.
I should have breakfast and chai with him the next morning. I nodded and agreed, with a trace of hesitation I didn’t fully understand then.
After a cold night in the tent, I woke up to the sound of voices.
Syed Muji and his children stood outside, smiling, greeting me into the morning. It’s a morning I still remember clearly.

The comfort of namkeen chai isn’t in its taste. It lives in the warmth with which it’s offered.

I find myself held by the same feeling when I share morning filter coffee with friends in Bangalore, every other day before we begin.
I look down at my cup and slow myself, careful not to finish it too quickly, wanting to stay inside that warmth a little longer. It took me a long time to understand this. It was never about the drink. It was always about generosity. About warmth. About moments that stay with you long after the cup is empty.

A decade ago, somewhere between college project submissions and internal exams, I booked a one-way ticket to Kolkata. I ...
17/02/2026

A decade ago, somewhere between college project submissions and internal exams, I booked a one-way ticket to Kolkata. I didn’t quite know what I was walking into. The city had already been photographed endlessly, especially through Western eyes. Images I had grown up seeing. Frames that quietly shaped how I understood this country and its culture, sometimes without realizing it.

Monsoon in Kolkata was unlike anything I had known. The rain came down heavy and unapologetic. The humidity didn’t just cling to the skin, it found its way into the camera too. But there wasn’t much room for complaint. I walked the streets for over two weeks. Met people. Ate sweets for breakfast. Learned, slowly, to move past my hesitation, to point a camera openly, to accept confrontation as part of the process.

I’ve forgotten many of the smaller details now. But photographically, I remember so much. The urgency. The joy. The uncertainty of not knowing what the next frame might hold. I shot everything on a 50mm then. Nothing else. It felt enough.

Looking back at those images today, I was pulled straight through time. What returned most vividly was the end of each day. Sitting in a small cabin, a Mughlai paratha on the plate, misti doi waiting. That last bite. The quiet sigh that followed.

And maybe, life isn’t all that bad after all.

There’s something magical about watching the landscape change its shades and hues overnight after a heavy snowfall.
13/02/2026

There’s something magical about watching the landscape change its shades and hues overnight after a heavy snowfall.

Siblings out for an evening stroll in Lohajung, Chamoli district, Uttarakhand.
05/02/2026

Siblings out for an evening stroll in Lohajung, Chamoli district, Uttarakhand.

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