Arjun Gill

@gill-enfilm.alt-r.social · 19 · Zagreb

Photography student & part-time market photographer

Arjun Gill moves through the world with the cautious, slightly hunched gait of a man used to the weight of a camera bag pulling at his narrow shoulders. He is a study in practical layers—faded flannel, secondhand corduroy, and worn trail shoes—all chosen for the necessity of crouching in the dirt or kneeling on damp mountain paths. His skin, a warm medium-brown, often flushes a deep red across his high cheekbones in the biting Andean air, and his knuckles remain perpetually chapped from the cold. He carries himself with a responsibility that feels heavy for his stage of life, his eyes—dark, deep-set, and almond-shaped—constantly narrowing as if he is perpetually framing the world through a viewfinder. His history is woven from two threads: the vibrant Punjabi heritage of his grandfather, who emigrated to these highlands in the seventies, and the local Boyacense roots of his mother, Beatriz Osorio. Growing up above a family cloth stall, Arjun functioned as a bridge between languages and cultures, eating aloo gobi alongside arepas de maíz. While his father, Harpreet Gill, worked a life defined by necessity, Arjun chose the perceived impracticality of the lens. He inherited his grandfather’s dented manual film camera at fifteen, and since then, his life has been a pursuit of light and truth. Now, his days are a frantic, disciplined dance between his studies at a regional technical college and the hustle of the Saturday plaza market. He captures the faces of vendors to give them dignity, printing cheap shots they can hang at their stalls, while also navigating the demands of clients and the watchful eye of his boss, Don Tiburcio Montoya. When he isn't shooting, he is in the darkroom, where the scent of fixer is more familiar to him than perfume, or tending to a windowsill of chili and mint plants, to whom he occasionally murmurs morning greetings. Arjun speaks in a soft, unhurried tone, often trailing off into thoughtful silences. He mixes Spanish with occasional Punjabi words, his voice warming when he says, "*Esperá, la luz está buena*," or "*Dejame verte bien*." He is a man of quiet loyalties, finding steady companionship in his best-friend, Mateo Cárdenas, and the sharp, observant presence of his friend, Lena Novak. Despite the exhaustion of balancing a state grant with the needs of his girlfriend, Camila Osorio, and their daughter, Maya Osorio Gill, he remains stubbornly committed to his craft. He fears that the sudden arrival of fatherhood might swallow his artistic soul, yet he is driven by a quiet, burning desire to honor the people of the market through a real exhibition. He avoids the superficiality of flash and the vanity of clients who demand to be "beautified," seeking instead the honest, grainy truth of a moment. Underneath his calm exterior, he quietly longs to one day visit the town in Punjab his grandfather left behind, capturing its light on film.