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dontpanic79
Danish Aslam
Filmmaker
The many layers of a Bombay nightscape—concrete on concrete, stacked, a dusty brown patch, one stubborn tree, gleaming bikes lined up under halogen bulbs contrasting with antiseptic white.
And then it hits you—there’s no space for a sky.
The manifestation of all my collective courses over the last six years!
The purpose behind Project Stillness-a slow reset, is to offer a santuary where you can plug out of autopilot living, slow down and become more intentional and mindful.
A space that will gently nudge you to become more present in the moment by engaging your senses.
As a mindfulness based transformational coach blending psychology, spirituality and creativity I hope to empower others to live consciously and joyfully
I share simple prompts, habits and activities that are designed to fortify the mind, expand attention, improve focus and calm the nervous system.
As the world continues to spiral I hope you find some stillness here!
I hope to see you at @projectstillness_byshrutiseth often.
#projectstillnessaslowrest #founder #creator #transformationalcoach #behaviouralcoach
A rare sighting on Carter Road: something moving toward its destination without a 40-minute delay 🙃
Eight frames of the sun slowly ghosting Mumbai.
Goa doing what it does best. There are places you visit, and places you return to. The last week of the year in Goa will always be one of the best places to return to.
Indian Ocean, golden hour, low-budget superhero mode.
Gurfateh looking dynamic but really just on Swiggy 🙃
The morning after a birthday: first day of the rest of it, before the noise comes back.
Existential drama and sunlit elegance. Black, white, and fully convinced he runs this house.
#motutitawaysethaslam
A quick 2–3 days in Srinagar for the last leg of the shoot, and it felt like seeing Kashmir for the first time - through a camera instead of memory. The familiar things were still there — the air, the light, the quiet — but so were things I’d never associated with growing up here. Not “progress” in the brochure sense… more like the place shifting in small, unignorable ways.
1. Dal Lake before and after the sun clocks out — same frame, completely different mood.
2: Imran and me looking absurdly excited for two people who had slept all of four hours.
3: The hotel lobby reminding me that Kashmiri craft still doesn’t need an Instagram filter to show off.
4: A lone chinar with the sun caught in its flame-coloured leaves on the banks of the Dal.
5: A train at Nowgam Station — something I’d never seen as a kid.
6: Coffee culture has officially arrived; cafés now dot the landscape of Srinagar and somehow it works.
7: Me with a kangdi, pretending I’m not freezing. (“Cold? Who, me? Why do you ask?”)
8: The boat that makes kababs. Only Srinagar would think, “Why limit street food to streets?”
A few days, lots of images, and the sense that Kashmir is still beautiful — just changing in ways you only notice when you return with a lens instead of nostalgia.
A quick 2–3 days in Srinagar for the last leg of the shoot, and it felt like seeing Kashmir for the first time - through a camera instead of memory. The familiar things were still there — the air, the light, the quiet — but so were things I’d never associated with growing up here. Not “progress” in the brochure sense… more like the place shifting in small, unignorable ways.
1. Dal Lake before and after the sun clocks out — same frame, completely different mood.
2: Imran and me looking absurdly excited for two people who had slept all of four hours.
3: The hotel lobby reminding me that Kashmiri craft still doesn’t need an Instagram filter to show off.
4: A lone chinar with the sun caught in its flame-coloured leaves on the banks of the Dal.
5: A train at Nowgam Station — something I’d never seen as a kid.
6: Coffee culture has officially arrived; cafés now dot the landscape of Srinagar and somehow it works.
7: Me with a kangdi, pretending I’m not freezing. (“Cold? Who, me? Why do you ask?”)
8: The boat that makes kababs. Only Srinagar would think, “Why limit street food to streets?”
A few days, lots of images, and the sense that Kashmir is still beautiful — just changing in ways you only notice when you return with a lens instead of nostalgia.
A quick 2–3 days in Srinagar for the last leg of the shoot, and it felt like seeing Kashmir for the first time - through a camera instead of memory. The familiar things were still there — the air, the light, the quiet — but so were things I’d never associated with growing up here. Not “progress” in the brochure sense… more like the place shifting in small, unignorable ways.
1. Dal Lake before and after the sun clocks out — same frame, completely different mood.
2: Imran and me looking absurdly excited for two people who had slept all of four hours.
3: The hotel lobby reminding me that Kashmiri craft still doesn’t need an Instagram filter to show off.
4: A lone chinar with the sun caught in its flame-coloured leaves on the banks of the Dal.
5: A train at Nowgam Station — something I’d never seen as a kid.
6: Coffee culture has officially arrived; cafés now dot the landscape of Srinagar and somehow it works.
7: Me with a kangdi, pretending I’m not freezing. (“Cold? Who, me? Why do you ask?”)
8: The boat that makes kababs. Only Srinagar would think, “Why limit street food to streets?”
A few days, lots of images, and the sense that Kashmir is still beautiful — just changing in ways you only notice when you return with a lens instead of nostalgia.
A quick 2–3 days in Srinagar for the last leg of the shoot, and it felt like seeing Kashmir for the first time - through a camera instead of memory. The familiar things were still there — the air, the light, the quiet — but so were things I’d never associated with growing up here. Not “progress” in the brochure sense… more like the place shifting in small, unignorable ways.
1. Dal Lake before and after the sun clocks out — same frame, completely different mood.
2: Imran and me looking absurdly excited for two people who had slept all of four hours.
3: The hotel lobby reminding me that Kashmiri craft still doesn’t need an Instagram filter to show off.
4: A lone chinar with the sun caught in its flame-coloured leaves on the banks of the Dal.
5: A train at Nowgam Station — something I’d never seen as a kid.
6: Coffee culture has officially arrived; cafés now dot the landscape of Srinagar and somehow it works.
7: Me with a kangdi, pretending I’m not freezing. (“Cold? Who, me? Why do you ask?”)
8: The boat that makes kababs. Only Srinagar would think, “Why limit street food to streets?”
A few days, lots of images, and the sense that Kashmir is still beautiful — just changing in ways you only notice when you return with a lens instead of nostalgia.
A quick 2–3 days in Srinagar for the last leg of the shoot, and it felt like seeing Kashmir for the first time - through a camera instead of memory. The familiar things were still there — the air, the light, the quiet — but so were things I’d never associated with growing up here. Not “progress” in the brochure sense… more like the place shifting in small, unignorable ways.
1. Dal Lake before and after the sun clocks out — same frame, completely different mood.
2: Imran and me looking absurdly excited for two people who had slept all of four hours.
3: The hotel lobby reminding me that Kashmiri craft still doesn’t need an Instagram filter to show off.
4: A lone chinar with the sun caught in its flame-coloured leaves on the banks of the Dal.
5: A train at Nowgam Station — something I’d never seen as a kid.
6: Coffee culture has officially arrived; cafés now dot the landscape of Srinagar and somehow it works.
7: Me with a kangdi, pretending I’m not freezing. (“Cold? Who, me? Why do you ask?”)
8: The boat that makes kababs. Only Srinagar would think, “Why limit street food to streets?”
A few days, lots of images, and the sense that Kashmir is still beautiful — just changing in ways you only notice when you return with a lens instead of nostalgia.
A quick 2–3 days in Srinagar for the last leg of the shoot, and it felt like seeing Kashmir for the first time - through a camera instead of memory. The familiar things were still there — the air, the light, the quiet — but so were things I’d never associated with growing up here. Not “progress” in the brochure sense… more like the place shifting in small, unignorable ways.
1. Dal Lake before and after the sun clocks out — same frame, completely different mood.
2: Imran and me looking absurdly excited for two people who had slept all of four hours.
3: The hotel lobby reminding me that Kashmiri craft still doesn’t need an Instagram filter to show off.
4: A lone chinar with the sun caught in its flame-coloured leaves on the banks of the Dal.
5: A train at Nowgam Station — something I’d never seen as a kid.
6: Coffee culture has officially arrived; cafés now dot the landscape of Srinagar and somehow it works.
7: Me with a kangdi, pretending I’m not freezing. (“Cold? Who, me? Why do you ask?”)
8: The boat that makes kababs. Only Srinagar would think, “Why limit street food to streets?”
A few days, lots of images, and the sense that Kashmir is still beautiful — just changing in ways you only notice when you return with a lens instead of nostalgia.
A quick 2–3 days in Srinagar for the last leg of the shoot, and it felt like seeing Kashmir for the first time - through a camera instead of memory. The familiar things were still there — the air, the light, the quiet — but so were things I’d never associated with growing up here. Not “progress” in the brochure sense… more like the place shifting in small, unignorable ways.
1. Dal Lake before and after the sun clocks out — same frame, completely different mood.
2: Imran and me looking absurdly excited for two people who had slept all of four hours.
3: The hotel lobby reminding me that Kashmiri craft still doesn’t need an Instagram filter to show off.
4: A lone chinar with the sun caught in its flame-coloured leaves on the banks of the Dal.
5: A train at Nowgam Station — something I’d never seen as a kid.
6: Coffee culture has officially arrived; cafés now dot the landscape of Srinagar and somehow it works.
7: Me with a kangdi, pretending I’m not freezing. (“Cold? Who, me? Why do you ask?”)
8: The boat that makes kababs. Only Srinagar would think, “Why limit street food to streets?”
A few days, lots of images, and the sense that Kashmir is still beautiful — just changing in ways you only notice when you return with a lens instead of nostalgia.
A quick 2–3 days in Srinagar for the last leg of the shoot, and it felt like seeing Kashmir for the first time - through a camera instead of memory. The familiar things were still there — the air, the light, the quiet — but so were things I’d never associated with growing up here. Not “progress” in the brochure sense… more like the place shifting in small, unignorable ways.
1. Dal Lake before and after the sun clocks out — same frame, completely different mood.
2: Imran and me looking absurdly excited for two people who had slept all of four hours.
3: The hotel lobby reminding me that Kashmiri craft still doesn’t need an Instagram filter to show off.
4: A lone chinar with the sun caught in its flame-coloured leaves on the banks of the Dal.
5: A train at Nowgam Station — something I’d never seen as a kid.
6: Coffee culture has officially arrived; cafés now dot the landscape of Srinagar and somehow it works.
7: Me with a kangdi, pretending I’m not freezing. (“Cold? Who, me? Why do you ask?”)
8: The boat that makes kababs. Only Srinagar would think, “Why limit street food to streets?”
A few days, lots of images, and the sense that Kashmir is still beautiful — just changing in ways you only notice when you return with a lens instead of nostalgia.
Talat Noi — Bangkok’s most photogenic contradiction.
Rust, rhythm, and design all sharing a lane.
Tea at Baan Chim Cha, a teahouse tucked inside a 200-year-old shophouse where time slows over oolong.
A spare-parts shop turned accidental art gallery.
La Cabra for coffee — brutalist calm and the only place I’ve looked even taller.
Waan Jai Café House - a retro hideaway where you can play an old Nintendo on a tiny CRT screen.
And finally, La Copita, a micro agave bar where everyone’s a regular by round two.
Talat Noi — Bangkok’s most photogenic contradiction.
Rust, rhythm, and design all sharing a lane.
Tea at Baan Chim Cha, a teahouse tucked inside a 200-year-old shophouse where time slows over oolong.
A spare-parts shop turned accidental art gallery.
La Cabra for coffee — brutalist calm and the only place I’ve looked even taller.
Waan Jai Café House - a retro hideaway where you can play an old Nintendo on a tiny CRT screen.
And finally, La Copita, a micro agave bar where everyone’s a regular by round two.
Talat Noi — Bangkok’s most photogenic contradiction.
Rust, rhythm, and design all sharing a lane.
Tea at Baan Chim Cha, a teahouse tucked inside a 200-year-old shophouse where time slows over oolong.
A spare-parts shop turned accidental art gallery.
La Cabra for coffee — brutalist calm and the only place I’ve looked even taller.
Waan Jai Café House - a retro hideaway where you can play an old Nintendo on a tiny CRT screen.
And finally, La Copita, a micro agave bar where everyone’s a regular by round two.
Talat Noi — Bangkok’s most photogenic contradiction.
Rust, rhythm, and design all sharing a lane.
Tea at Baan Chim Cha, a teahouse tucked inside a 200-year-old shophouse where time slows over oolong.
A spare-parts shop turned accidental art gallery.
La Cabra for coffee — brutalist calm and the only place I’ve looked even taller.
Waan Jai Café House - a retro hideaway where you can play an old Nintendo on a tiny CRT screen.
And finally, La Copita, a micro agave bar where everyone’s a regular by round two.
Talat Noi — Bangkok’s most photogenic contradiction.
Rust, rhythm, and design all sharing a lane.
Tea at Baan Chim Cha, a teahouse tucked inside a 200-year-old shophouse where time slows over oolong.
A spare-parts shop turned accidental art gallery.
La Cabra for coffee — brutalist calm and the only place I’ve looked even taller.
Waan Jai Café House - a retro hideaway where you can play an old Nintendo on a tiny CRT screen.
And finally, La Copita, a micro agave bar where everyone’s a regular by round two.
Talat Noi — Bangkok’s most photogenic contradiction.
Rust, rhythm, and design all sharing a lane.
Tea at Baan Chim Cha, a teahouse tucked inside a 200-year-old shophouse where time slows over oolong.
A spare-parts shop turned accidental art gallery.
La Cabra for coffee — brutalist calm and the only place I’ve looked even taller.
Waan Jai Café House - a retro hideaway where you can play an old Nintendo on a tiny CRT screen.
And finally, La Copita, a micro agave bar where everyone’s a regular by round two.
Talat Noi — Bangkok’s most photogenic contradiction.
Rust, rhythm, and design all sharing a lane.
Tea at Baan Chim Cha, a teahouse tucked inside a 200-year-old shophouse where time slows over oolong.
A spare-parts shop turned accidental art gallery.
La Cabra for coffee — brutalist calm and the only place I’ve looked even taller.
Waan Jai Café House - a retro hideaway where you can play an old Nintendo on a tiny CRT screen.
And finally, La Copita, a micro agave bar where everyone’s a regular by round two.
Bangkok feels like a video game that never ends.
A phở joint that wants your love and your trust.
A GTA-style massage parlour glowing in neon.
A mango sticky rice cart with Michelin-level confidence.
Elephants painted on walls — Bangkok’s quiet symbol of strength and luck.
A rusted Fiat turned art outside a chocolate bar.
Traffic moving like an organized stampede under skytrains.
And finally, a Mexican wrestler mural — my daughter posing like she’s joining the league.
It’s all absurd, electric, alive.
Bangkok doesn’t tell stories.
It collects them.
Bangkok feels like a video game that never ends.
A phở joint that wants your love and your trust.
A GTA-style massage parlour glowing in neon.
A mango sticky rice cart with Michelin-level confidence.
Elephants painted on walls — Bangkok’s quiet symbol of strength and luck.
A rusted Fiat turned art outside a chocolate bar.
Traffic moving like an organized stampede under skytrains.
And finally, a Mexican wrestler mural — my daughter posing like she’s joining the league.
It’s all absurd, electric, alive.
Bangkok doesn’t tell stories.
It collects them.
Bangkok feels like a video game that never ends.
A phở joint that wants your love and your trust.
A GTA-style massage parlour glowing in neon.
A mango sticky rice cart with Michelin-level confidence.
Elephants painted on walls — Bangkok’s quiet symbol of strength and luck.
A rusted Fiat turned art outside a chocolate bar.
Traffic moving like an organized stampede under skytrains.
And finally, a Mexican wrestler mural — my daughter posing like she’s joining the league.
It’s all absurd, electric, alive.
Bangkok doesn’t tell stories.
It collects them.
Bangkok feels like a video game that never ends.
A phở joint that wants your love and your trust.
A GTA-style massage parlour glowing in neon.
A mango sticky rice cart with Michelin-level confidence.
Elephants painted on walls — Bangkok’s quiet symbol of strength and luck.
A rusted Fiat turned art outside a chocolate bar.
Traffic moving like an organized stampede under skytrains.
And finally, a Mexican wrestler mural — my daughter posing like she’s joining the league.
It’s all absurd, electric, alive.
Bangkok doesn’t tell stories.
It collects them.
Bangkok feels like a video game that never ends.
A phở joint that wants your love and your trust.
A GTA-style massage parlour glowing in neon.
A mango sticky rice cart with Michelin-level confidence.
Elephants painted on walls — Bangkok’s quiet symbol of strength and luck.
A rusted Fiat turned art outside a chocolate bar.
Traffic moving like an organized stampede under skytrains.
And finally, a Mexican wrestler mural — my daughter posing like she’s joining the league.
It’s all absurd, electric, alive.
Bangkok doesn’t tell stories.
It collects them.
Bangkok feels like a video game that never ends.
A phở joint that wants your love and your trust.
A GTA-style massage parlour glowing in neon.
A mango sticky rice cart with Michelin-level confidence.
Elephants painted on walls — Bangkok’s quiet symbol of strength and luck.
A rusted Fiat turned art outside a chocolate bar.
Traffic moving like an organized stampede under skytrains.
And finally, a Mexican wrestler mural — my daughter posing like she’s joining the league.
It’s all absurd, electric, alive.
Bangkok doesn’t tell stories.
It collects them.
Bangkok feels like a video game that never ends.
A phở joint that wants your love and your trust.
A GTA-style massage parlour glowing in neon.
A mango sticky rice cart with Michelin-level confidence.
Elephants painted on walls — Bangkok’s quiet symbol of strength and luck.
A rusted Fiat turned art outside a chocolate bar.
Traffic moving like an organized stampede under skytrains.
And finally, a Mexican wrestler mural — my daughter posing like she’s joining the league.
It’s all absurd, electric, alive.
Bangkok doesn’t tell stories.
It collects them.
Bangkok feels like a video game that never ends.
A phở joint that wants your love and your trust.
A GTA-style massage parlour glowing in neon.
A mango sticky rice cart with Michelin-level confidence.
Elephants painted on walls — Bangkok’s quiet symbol of strength and luck.
A rusted Fiat turned art outside a chocolate bar.
Traffic moving like an organized stampede under skytrains.
And finally, a Mexican wrestler mural — my daughter posing like she’s joining the league.
It’s all absurd, electric, alive.
Bangkok doesn’t tell stories.
It collects them.
View Instagram Stories in Secret
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