https://medium.com/@rohitjain217

Photo for a Cause - By Rohit J, New Delhi (2026)

31/05/2026

It’s never that you have figured out everything. You keep learning. Though with experience, you learn with a little more regulation and mental stability.

As a documentary photographer working with social organisations, mostly, I have to document stories. Time is too less in the field. People are also busy with their work.

In that space, how I document my work becomes a self-questioning for me. And that self-questioning is good because it keeps reminding me how I am seeing people, knowing their stories and taking their photos.

It also makes me aware that I accept my presence to them that I am here solely for the stories and photos. I tell them, even though I am here for a short time and we may not meet again, I remember their faces when I edit my photos and write their stories. Some faces stay with me longer.

In that very short time, I converse with them to know their deep circumstances, stories and thoughts. How their family lives together, how they manage their life, what brings them joy and sadness.

I ask them, do you feel comfortable sharing these things with a stranger?

I feel when I share the purpose of my visit clearly, they also feel a trust and maybe a connection.

Somewhere in the back of my mind it runs - will they think I am just another person who came for their own purpose and will vanish once the work is done?

I don’t want that feeling to sit between us. Yes, I am here for the stories and photos. I won’t lie about that. But I am also genuinely curious to feel them: their life, their weight, their world.

I want them to feel that I belong to them in that moment. And quietly and curiously, I wish they also belong to me.

I try to make them participate in the process of storytelling as much as I do, being a storyteller.

Over time, I feel the neuroplasticity of my brain is slowly trying to rewire itself to see people as people, not as stories and photos.

I get tired and disconnected from people at times. That is human. But I check the core from where I am functioning. It gives me some signal that I am trying to go in the right direction largely, if not completely.

09/04/2026

‘In That Moment’

Condoms are the first line of protection against HIV and other infections.
 They are simple. Available. Known.

And yet, not always used.

In India, data like NFHS-5 (2019-21) show that condom use remains low compared to permanent methods like female sterilisation. Protection often becomes the woman’s responsibility, while in many situations, men decide whether a condom will be used at all.

But, in real life, things are messier, more complicated, less controlled than we think.

“Log jabarjasti karte hain. Maante hi nahi. Kitna bhi bolo…condom use nahi karte,” a s*x worker says.

Sometimes, it is about power.
Sometimes, about preference.

“Some people want s*x without condom. They want it rough.”

Sometimes, it is simply the moment.

“People are impulsive,” someone says.
 “In that moment, they don’t think.”

In other situations, alcohol and drugs make that moment even smaller.

“Log nasha mein hote hain…unhe bas s*x chahiye.”

For some, it is also about how and where they’re able to express intimacy.

“In our community, things don’t always happen in open or stable spaces,” someone from the q***r community says.
 “You meet suddenly, sometimes late at night. There isn’t always planning.”

“In that moment, you just want a connection. You don’t always think about condoms. Or you don’t have one.”

For many, it is also about distance and loneliness.

“We are always on the move,” a truck driver says.
 “Thake hue rehte hain. Family se door. Kabhi 50-100 rupaye mein mil jata hai…truck ke peeche. Us time kaun condom ke baare mein sochega?”

Even when condoms are used, they are not always used correctly.

“Kabhi kabhi phat jaata hai..log tel laga lete hain,” someone says.

“Some people use two condoms together,” a loom worker explains.
 “Par usse tootne ka chance aur badh jaata hai.”

There is awareness.
 But there is also hesitation, pressure, urgency, and unequal power.

And in many situations - especially for women and s*x workers -
 using a condom is not just a choice. It is a negotiation…

Continues in comment…

08/04/2026

In a small district town, we met around 15 home-based s*x workers and 5 brothel-based.

We couldn’t go to another brothel.
 There were clients inside.

One woman said, “I am doing this only for my children.”

Almost everyone said the same thing.

When they spoke about how they came into this work, they didn’t sound angry. They sounded tired.

Some said they tried everything before this - house work, small jobs, anything they could find.

“We never thought we would get trapped in this… like this… forever.”

But when they spoke about their children, their faces changed.

That was the only time I saw hope, or to say better, resilience. A will to live a life.

They want their children to study.
To live differently. To never come here.

And then there is a fear they live with every day -
that their children might find out.

I kept thinking about that.

Can you imagine that fear?
Living with your child, loving them, feeding them, raising them - and hiding your life from them at the same time.

They also spoke about clients.
Some are okay. Some are not.

A community leader said, “I have to control the clients. Otherwise, they become very rough.”

She added, almost casually,
 “My partner is a ‘gunda’ here. Because of him, some men listen.”

Then she paused.

“But not all. You can’t fight everyone.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

In that moment, it felt strange,
that for some women, safety depends on having someone more dangerous on their side.

And then I kept thinking -

In a small town,
 if so many women are here not because they want to be, but because they had no other way left,

then this is not just their story.

This is a reflection of all of us.

Something is broken.

And we, as a society, are all part of it.

05/04/2026

I look at myself in the mirror. I embrace myself.
 I see the fear. I see how I don’t love myself.
 My eyes fill with tears.

Then something shifts. I begin to feel love for myself.
 I go further within. I start to feel light.

I smile. I smile widely and laugh.

Finally, I have accepted myself.

He said, “I don’t seek love outside anymore but within me. That’s my freedom.”

03/04/2026

I can’t stop thinking about the transgender women I met recently.

They said,
 “People like us… We have to do what clients ask.”
 “Sucking a client’s pen*s… that is also part of it.”

It’s midnight. I’m sitting at Marine Drive. Soothing.

The city looks clean from here. Orderly. Distant.

But they might be out there right now with clients, doing what is being asked of them.

I am still trying to imagine their world.

They transition because that’s who they are. Because they feel feminine.
 Because living any other way is not living at all.

To live what they feel, to become who they are, they transition.

But to live as themselves, many are pushed to the margins -
 begging along with their community members,
 doing s*x work to survive. (Not all.)

“People like us don’t always get to choose,” one of them said.

No one says this out loud. They did.

Not because they want to. Because often, they don’t have a choice.

Most places won’t hire them. Most people won’t accept them.
So survival looks like this.

You call it something else. They call it work.

One thing I noticed -

They build their own world.
They live together. They sing. They dance. They laugh loudly.
 They call each other family.

They hold each other in ways the world never did.

But survival has its own rules.
 And they have found ways to protect themselves.
They know how to put condoms on clients who refuse to wear them.

They hide condoms in their mouth. Wait. And just before the act, they roll it on, before the client realises.

“That’s how we take care of our health.”

One of them said, almost casually,
 “It tastes like coconut oil.”

I didn’t know how to respond.
Later, sitting by the sea, I kept thinking,

We talk about protection. They practice it.

We talk about dignity. They negotiate it.

In a world that refuses to make space for them, they have learned to survive inside it.

Not everything is a choice. Some things are survival.

* In the fourth photo - a peer educator demonstrates how to roll over the condom.

I wrote this a week ago when I had met them

01/04/2026

These days my friend and I are working on HIV prevention related work. We are hearing a lot of personal and poignant stories of people.

Radhika and Ritesh (name changed) got married like most couples do, with plans, with small dreams. A home. A child.

Then one day, after a test, everything changed.

Ritesh was HIV positive.

When they told him, he broke down. He was sweating. He couldn’t stay.

The counsellor was still speaking. He didn’t hear anything.
He just walked out.

After that, Radhika and Ritesh stopped talking about having a child. Not because they didn’t want one, but because they were scared.

“What if the child also…?”

At home, people asked questions.
 “When will you have a baby?”
 They would smile and avoid the answer.

They couldn’t explain why.
 Not because they didn’t have an answer, but because of the stigma around it.

They were even hesitant to consult the doctor for fear of being judged.

Somewhere in that time, a health worker, Vanita, came to meet them. She sat with them, listened. They told her everything they hadn’t been able to say out loud.

“Can we ever have a child?” Radhika asked.

Vanita said yes. Slowly, carefully, she explained how.

Ritesh would continue his ART treatment. Radhika could take PrEP before trying.

It didn’t sound simple. But it sounded possible.

So they tried.

Radhika started taking the pills. Months passed.

Nothing changed suddenly, but something inside them did.

And then, one day, she conceived.

Now, they have a one-month-old baby.

Ritesh still looks at the child like he’s not sure it’s real. 
Sometimes he just sits there, quietly.

Every evening, he comes home, picks up the baby, and hums a lullaby, softly, almost to himself.

The same life they thought had ended is now in his arms.

29/03/2026

Some stories stay with you.

The more you listen, the more you realise -
their lives may look different,
but their feelings are not.

Love, fear, care, relationships, survival -
it’s all the same.

Maybe…
we are not that different.

28/03/2026

He was 22 when he chose a name for himself.

Aliya.

He said he can’t wait for the day people call him Aliya.

He kept smiling when he said this.

But along with that name came fear.
He believed that once he transitioned, there would be no place for him in society.
 No jobs. No acceptance for transgender people.
 The only way to survive is - s*x work.

He was studying nursing at the time, but even that didn’t feel like a real path anymore.

When he finally told his family, he expected rejection.

His father was silent at first. Distant.

And then, a few days later, he held him.
“You are my child,” he said.
 “I love you the way you feel. This is not your fault. Not mine either.”

His eyes glittered with teary water while recalling this.

Because he had already prepared himself to leave home.

He had even told them, “I will go… so you don’t have to face society. Bhai has his whole life ahead.”

But his younger brother stopped him.

“You don’t have to do anything just to survive. I am here. Always.”

For the first time, survival didn’t feel like loneliness.

He completed his nursing degree and got a job.
But the world outside the home was not as kind.
People mocked him.
 His gestures. His voice. His presence.

The workplace became suffocating.
He almost quit.

Then one day, on a friend’s suggestion, he visited a community organisation.

He went there for laser therapy.
But he found something else: dignity.

He learned about s*xual health. About protection. About choices.

He started taking PrEP not out of fear, but awareness.

And when he saw an opening, she applied for a job there.

On one condition:
“No one should laugh at me for being who I am.”
They didn’t.

Today, Aliya works as a nurse.
With care. With dignity.

He lines his eyes with kajal. Fixes his hair. Takes his medication regularly.

And waits patiently for his body to align with how he feels inside.

And then he said something very softly,
“When I look more like a woman… I will call myself Aliya.”

And this time -
She won’t have to leave anything behind to be her.

P.S. I wish I could share Aliya’s photo. Such a soft, calm and kindness she emits. The photo here is not of her.

27/03/2026

He was in the 12th standard when he first felt physical intimacy with a man. That was the time he realised he likes men.

But because of societal fear and family image, he could not express his orientation or desires. He got married to a woman.

Now, it has been ten years of marriage. He has a daughter.

With time, his wife sensed something. Later, he also told her how he feels. For many years now, he has not been intimate with his wife.

He has male partners.

I asked him, “Do you feel for your wife that she also has physical needs and emotional love from a partner?”

“Yes, I feel for her needs,” he said.

“I have told her, if you like someone… if there is someone in your mind, you can have a relationship with him.”

“But she cries when I say this. She doesn’t want to go anywhere.”

“Does it make the house tense?”

“Yeah… sometimes we have arguments. She gets angry. I remain quiet. I can’t do anything when I don’t feel intimacy towards women.”

“But you are married, and you have a daughter. Do you feel responsible?”

“Yes, I do. I take care of them in every way. I fulfil all responsibilities… except what a partner is supposed to give emotionally and physically.”

“How do you meet male partners?”

“There are signals… someone smiles, asks you to walk, or through the community.”

“Do you worry about s*xually transmitted infections (STIs) while having a**l or oral s*x?”

“For many years, I didn’t think much. Sometimes we don’t use condoms. I never got anything.”

He pauses.

“Recently, I got syphilis.”

“I was scared. I didn’t understand what it was. The doctor told me.”

It was a difficult time. He had no one to support him. He could not tell his wife or family.

“The injection is very painful. You need someone with you. But I was alone.”

Since then, he has started taking PrEP to prevent HIV.

“It is important for my health.”

“How do you take it at home?”

“I hide it. In a corner. In a neutral bottle. If someone asks, I say it’s vitamins.”

“If my wife sees it, she might think I already have HIV. But I take it to prevent it.”

Continues in comment…

17/03/2026

Some lives carry stories that are rarely heard.

This is the journey of a young transgender woman who faced rejection, violence, and discrimination, yet continues to live with courage and dignity.

Behind every statistic is a human life, a dream, and a struggle to be seen and respected.

In our documentary films we intend to sit and talk with people before we think of documenting their stories.

There comes moments where people share their stories with such intensity and innocence that you may feel like to interrupt them and hug them.

Photo for a Cause - By Rohit J

31/05/2026

09/04/2026

08/04/2026

05/04/2026

03/04/2026

01/04/2026

29/03/2026

28/03/2026

27/03/2026

17/03/2026

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