Opening Doorz
“Celebrating Life”
By Martin D’Souza | Opening Doorz Editorial | March 19, 2026 He doesn’t just take photographs. He steals moments from the shadows and hands them back to the sun. Today, […]
By Martin D’Souza | Opening Doorz Editorial | March 19, 2026
He doesn’t just take photographs. He steals moments from the shadows and hands them back to the sun. Today, as Sudharak Olwe turns 60, I find myself looking back at a journey that spans over three decades, a journey where the lens wasn’t just an instrument, but a bridge between two worlds.
My association with Sudharak (or Olwe, as the warmth of our friendship allows) dates back to the early nineties. But if you ask me when the real magic happened, it was the late 90s. That was the era of the Bombay Times under Malavika Sangghvi. We were younger then, perhaps a bit more restless, certainly more idealistic. It was a time when the city was transitioning from Bombay to Mumbai, and we were right in the thick of it, capturing its pulse, its grime, and its undeniable glamour.
Professionally, he was a force. Personally, he became family.
They call him the Master of Light, and for good reason. While most photographers obsess over expensive strobes and artificial rigs, Sudharak Olwe looks for the sun. He understands the nuances of natural light, how it can soften a harsh reality or highlight the dignity in a weary face.
I’ve watched him work, and this is where the man separates himself from the click-happy crowd. He doesn’t just walk in, rummage through his bag, fix the lens, and start shooting. He enters a space with a humility that is rare in this age of paparazzi. Whether it’s a high-society event or the cramped quarters of a conservancy worker, Sudharak removes his shoes, bows his head, and waits.
He first breaks the ice and gets to know the subject, be it a star or a common man on the street. For him, the human connection is a must before he ever looks behind the lens. He waits for the light (and the person) to accept him. That is his craft, and that is what brings the beauty of the soul into his images. It’s why his Padmashri isn’t just an Award for photography; it’s a recognition of his humanity.
When you look at his work, you don’t see pretty pictures. You see the truth. His seminal work, In Search of Dignity and Justice, which documented the lives of Mumbai’s conservancy workers, moved the needle of social justice.
He looked into the pits where men were submerged in filth and saw human beings. He felt their pain. It’s that empathy that separates a technician from an artist. He told me once that he’d only be content when manual scavenging was abolished. For Olwe, the camera is a weapon against apathy.
Away from the accolades and the social crusades, there is the man I know over family holidays. We’ve spent many a vacation together, where he isn’t the celebrated photojournalist, but the friend who finds beauty in a mundane sunset over a beach on the Konkan stretch or raucous laughter over a simple meal.
Our friendship has blossomed like a well-composed shot, balanced, deep, and full of rich tones. He has been a constant through the highs of our careers and the quiet lulls life offers everyone.
One memory we repeat ad nauseam whenever we meet is a photoshoot Malavika sent us to at the Mahalaxmi Race Course in 1997. The Polo season was starting, and she wanted a specific look. We gathered a group of good-looking youngsters, took our pictures, and trotted back to the office.
One look at the film, and Malavika was livid. She wanted the horse at a particular position and the subjects standing in a specific manner… she even had a drawing for it. It was April, it was blistering hot, but we got back on his bike and went back the next day to find the same people. We found them, arranged them to her exact specifications, and got it published.
There was a girl in that image, and I wrote in the article that she should be in the movies. Little did I know then that Preity Zinta would become a superstar. Aditya Motwane was in that frame, too. I’m sure they remember it, because Bombay Times was Bombay Times back then. Everyone wanted to pose for our cameras!
Oh yes, he also has that photograph of me dancing with Achala Sachdev when she graced the Bombay Times party (1998) in conch shells! He showed it to my wife!!
Beyond the lens, there is the Photography Promotion Trust (PPT), which celebrates two decades of existence this year. Sudharak realised early on that to break the cycle of marginalisation, one had to put the power of the narrative into the hands of those living it.
Through PPT, he has trained the children of conservancy workers, women in red-light districts, and youth in rural villages to tell their own stories. He gave them a voice and a vocation. Seeing those kids graduate with diplomas in photography, moving from the margins to the mainstream media, is perhaps his greatest exhibit.
So here we are. Sixty years. In photography terms, that’s a long exposure. It’s enough time to let the light truly soak in, to develop a perspective that is both sharp and soulful.
Olwe, you’ve spent your life highlighting those whom society chooses to keep in the dark. You’ve turned the invisible into the indispensable. As you celebrate this milestone, know that I, and the countless lives you’ve touched through your profession, salute you.
You’ve shown us that photography isn’t about what you see, but how you feel. You’ve made us lean into the frame, look past the grime, and find the soul.
Happy Birthday, my friend. May your light never fade, and may your lens always find the truth.
I know, your best is yet to come.
THE RIPPLE EFFECT
For those who are interested, The Ripple Effect, 20 years of Visual Democracy, a photography exhibition, is on at the Jehangir Art Gallery till March 24, 2026.
Image Credit: Sudharak Olwe
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