Fogbound

Winter in Kolkata does not arrive with snow. It arrives softly — through fog settling over the Maidan, through the warmth of a clay cup of chai, through hands searching for comfort in the cold morning air. This frame captures one of those fleeting moments where the steam almost disappears into the mist, becoming part of the atmosphere itself. The silhouette, the silence, the first light cutting through the trees — everything feels suspended between stillness and routine.

Maidan mornings have their own rhythm. Tea sellers, walkers, distant tram bells, football practice in the fog, conversations half-heard through the cold air. There is nothing extravagant here, yet everything feels cinematic. Kolkata has a way of turning ordinary mornings into memories without asking for attention. You just have to pause long enough to notice them.