In my years behind the lens, I have witnessed many difficult scenes. But what happened on Sunday evening is something that still echoes in my mind.
When word came in about a massive explosion at a firecracker factory in Kattanapatti, I left Madurai around 5.30pm without a second thought. By 7.36pm, I was near Virudhunagar, stepping out of my car and walking down a narrow, dimly lit path towards the factory — the kind of path that gives away nothing of the chaos waiting ahead.
Just as I reached near the gate, my phone rang. It was my wife. I told her I had reached Virudhunagar and asked her and my daughter not to wait for dinner. And then, in the very next moment, everything changed.
A deafening blast ripped through the silence. Before my mind could register the sound, something — a flying object, perhaps debris — struck my head. The world went blank for a second. Not silence, but a strange, disoriented void. I couldn’t understand where I was or what had just happened.
“Sit down!” voices shouted — police, fire and rescue personnel. I didn’t question it. I sat down beside a fire service vehicle, trying to gather myself. Then the sounds returned. Not normal sounds — screams. Panic. Cries for help cutting through the darkness.
The air was thick with the sharp smell of burnt firecrackers. Somewhere in the confusion, I heard someone say the Collector might have been inside. That one line made the scene feel even heavier, even more urgent.
When I finally stood up, instinct took over. People were running towards the main road, and I ran with them. It was only then I realised I was injured. My hand went to my head — there was swelling, and the pain was beginning to rise. My heartbeat was racing, refusing to slow down.
For a brief moment, I was just another person in that chaos. But then, almost as if a switch had been flipped, training took over.
I lifted my camera. In front of me were the injured — a man clutching his leg, another bleeding from the head and body. The fear hadn’t left me. The shock was still there. But through the viewfinder, everything sharpened. Frame by frame, I began to document what was unfolding.
Even now, the memory lingers — the blast, the screams, the confusion. It doesn’t fade easily. But in that moment, standing between fear and duty, I chose to do what I have always been trained to do. I kept shooting.
After I reached the main road, I immediately called my photo editor, Shiba Prasad Sahu. He asked me to stay safe and get medical treatment right away.