There are weddings you shoot, and then there are weddings that shoot you back — that pierce something deep, that remind you exactly why you chose this life behind the lens. Priya and Rahul’s three-day celebration at the Taj Lake Palace in Udaipur was the second kind. Completely and utterly.
e arrived in Udaipur two days before the wedding — partly for reconnaissance, partly because this city demands it. Udaipur doesn’t reveal itself to visitors in a hurry. It unfolds slowly, like a hand-painted miniature. The ghats, the lake, the pink and gold light that falls at 5pm in February — we needed to understand it before we could photograph it. So we walked. We sat by the water. We watched where the sun died each evening.
On the morning of Day One, I stood at the edge of Lake Pichola and watched the sun come up behind the City Palace. Meera was already scouting the hotel rooftop. Vikram was deep in conversation with the event coordinator. We were all doing what we always do before a big wedding: listening to the light.
The Mehendi Morning
Mehendi mornings are chaotic and beautiful in equal measure. Forty women crammed into a suite fragrant with rose petals and sandalwood, the henna artist working with the focused calm of a sculptor, aunties giving unsolicited advice, cousins stealing samosas from the breakfast tray.
Priya was at the centre of all of it, radiating a particular kind of joy that only comes when you’re surrounded by every woman who has ever loved you. We shot for four hours and barely scratched the surface.
The best photographs are never taken — they are given. Priya gave us the photograph of our careers simply by forgetting we were in the room.
Arjun Menon, Lead Photographer
Finding the Quiet Moments
In the middle of the mehendi morning, there was a moment — maybe thirty seconds long — when Priya’s mother sat beside her, took her hand, and said nothing. They just looked at each other. The room was loud and oblivious around them. But in that bubble, everything was silent and sacred.
I made one frame. No flash, barely enough light, f/1.4 wide open. It’s the frame from this wedding that will live in me the longest.
The Wedding Ceremony
The ceremony itself was held on a floating platform on Lake Pichola — a mandap draped in marigold and jasmine, surrounded by still water and the distant silhouette of Aravalli hills. We had three photographers positioned around the mandap. Vikram covered the groom’s procession; our second shooter Nisha handled wide establishing shots; I stayed close to Priya.
What I remember most is the quality of light at 4:30pm. The sun was still warm but had lost its harshness — it came across the lake horizontally, catching the silk of Priya’s lehenga and turning it into something molten and luminous. Photography sometimes meets you halfway. That afternoon, it sprinted.
The First Look
We had planned the first look for 3:45pm on the hotel’s private terrace — a spot Meera had found the day before, sheltered from the wind, with an unbroken view of the lake and the City Palace behind it. What we hadn’t planned was the white egret that landed on the balcony railing five seconds after Rahul turned around.
Some moments are choreographed. Some arrive. The egret stayed for ninety seconds, and in those ninety seconds we made eleven frames. Two of them are in the album. One of them will appear in Meera’s portfolio until she retires.
The Reception & the Last Dance
By 9pm, the mood had shifted entirely. The formality of the ceremony gave way to pure celebration — a 12-piece band, a dance floor full of guests of all ages, and Rahul, who we’d assumed was shy, turning out to be the best dancer in the room by a considerable margin.
We shot the reception until 1am. By the end, our feet were hurting and our batteries were spent, but we were grinning at each other across the dance floor the way we always do when we know we’ve made something special.
The Last Frame
The last photograph I made was of Priya and Rahul, standing alone on the terrace after the guests had gone, looking out over the illuminated lake. Priya was still in her reception lehenga. Rahul had removed his sherwani. They were just two people, newly married, standing in the quiet of a city that had witnessed their love story.
I made one frame, horizontal, from twenty feet away. They didn’t know I was there. That’s the photograph that will hang in their home. That’s the photograph I’ll show when someone asks me why I do this work.
