In April, as India’s governing Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) ran elections in parts of the country, a visionary Indian passed away. He went quietly, much as he had lived, and left behind a vast photographic archive of the world’s most populous nation.
Raghu Rai (1942-2026) was India’s foremost photographer. Born prior to independence in what is now Pakistan, he and his family were one of the many millions forced to relocate during Partition.
For more than 60 years, Rai created a continuous visual record of India post-independence. He photographed major national figures, important moments in the country’s complex development, and the wide diversity – geographic, religious, cultural, social and ethnic – that shapes what it means to be Indian.
In subtle but persistent ways, his images challenged the country’s current dominant narratives. His work raised doubts about rigid nationalist rhetoric, government policies, and some of the questionable myths that underpin the ideology and politics of Hindu nationalism.
Photographs of a changing nation
Rai rose to international fame when he became the first Indian to join the renowned photographic agency Magnum. Well before then, though, his images were in the global daily press. As such, his photography is intrinsically woven into how India came to be thought of at home and abroad.
Rai shot both in colour and black-and-white, his aesthetic turning ordinary moments into fragments of awe, insight and grace. His lens captured the breadth of India – from Kashmir to Kerala, and from the Himalayas to the Arabian Sea.
He photographed major establishment figures and the many unpredictable moments of everyday life, including quiet, personal scenes of reflection. His subjects ranged from leaders such as Indira Gandhi, the Dalai Lama and Mother Teresa to the landscapes and ordinary people of rural and urban India.
Thematically, Rai’s images spanned city life, spiritual journeys, landscapes and many other aspects of Indian society. They were often shot from a wide-angled lens that framed social scenes. His images of classical Indian musicians offer proof of how photographs can hold the flow and rhythm of music through nuanced attention to tonality, mood and evocation.
But perhaps most haunting is his photograph of a dead infant buried in rubble. It was captured in the aftermath of the world’s worst industrial tragedy, the Bhopal disaster of 1984.
Over 500,000 people in the vicinity of the Union Carbide India Limited pesticide plant were exposed to the highly toxic gas methyl isocyanate. The child’s open, sightless eyes force the viewer to look this horror in the face.
In Rai’s wide-ranging photographs, the nation appears in transformation. His work helped Indians to see themselves as part of this larger national movement, connected through shared relationships and interactions. In his images, you can see the colours, contrasts, tensions and energy of Indian life, captured in brief moments that seem to flow into one another.
To consider the panorama of his work is to see India not as divided or hierarchical, but as a complex, interconnected mix of people and cultures.
A spiritual exploration
Rai’s death marks the end of an era of photojournalism forged in pre-digital times. Much changed in his lifetime, but his dedication to photography was, as he put it, a spiritual exploration. His work reflects this search for revelation across the length and breadth of India.
This idea of “quest” should be heeded. Its relevance is more urgent today than ever, as India’s Hindu nationalist government finds yet more ways to extend its grip on this vast and diverse nation – promoting the view that to be truly Indian, one must adhere to its ideology.
Rai’s images go beyond what is shown in the frame, opening up possibilities that aren’t fully defined or explained. His work traces the evolution of India over more than half a century, and proposes endless facets of the country in ways that build connections across geographies, perspectives and people.
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