The Cost of Seeing Less
It was back in 2019, when I was quietly birding near Mettuplayam. I had been there for almost two hours, patiently waiting. Suddenly out of nowhere big cars appeared—one after the other. In less than two minutes, a rare bird showed up. To my surprise, the people in those cars seemed to know exactly when and where to find it. They didn’t even bother stepping out; cameras jutted out of windows as the cars chased the bird, one after the other, freaking it out. Shutters rattled in chaos, without a pause.
Is this what photography has become? A rushed, informed chase for a frame, without connection, patience or presence?
Today, influencers and platforms like eBird are often misused. Instead of protecting habitats, they sometimes create chaos. Locations get exposed, timings get shared and the quiet corners of nature suddenly flood with people chasing rare sightings. It’s no longer about the bird—it’s about who clicked it best. Somewhere along this race, the bird loses its home, its peace and maybe even its way.
We live in a time where almost everything can be bought, sold and packaged. Even nature, once untouched and sacred has quietly entered the marketplace. A beautiful landscape is now a postcard. A rare bird is now a checklist item. Even the most silent sunrise is now a product—captured, edited and sold as a photograph.
I’ve often asked myself: When everything is a product, how do we as humans truly understand value?
The Illusion of Transactional Value
Today we’re trained to believe that value comes from price tags, views, likes and ownership. If you can sell it, it must be valuable. If you can buy it, it becomes yours. But nature doesn’t work this way. A forest doesn’t care if you photograph it. A bird doesn’t know if it’s rare. A river keeps flowing with or without an audience.
When we only see nature as a product, we start to believe that it exists for us—to consume, to capture, to show.
But real value is silent.
Photography has become a question are we preserving its beauty or packaging it for the next scroll?
Photography when mindful can be a form of gratitude. A way to show others what’s worth protecting. But it can also become a way to consume nature without ever truly connecting to it.
To experience or extract?
I am not against photography. I am not against platforms. I am against the rush. Against the noise. Against the idea that a bird is valuable only when it's captured.
Maybe it’s time to remember that some moments don’t need to be posted. Some sightings don’t need to be shared. Some birds need silence more than shutters.
Maybe it’s time to ask ourselves Are we truly protecting nature or just running after numbers and awards? Have we fallen into a “trophy culture” again—where spotting a rare animal becomes more important than making sure it has enough space, food and safety to survive?
By altering earth, we reshape the very systems that sustain our bodies and minds.
