I began photographing the junction outside Capitol Cinema almost on a whim. Every evening, as offices emptied across the city, thousands of commuters converged at the Capitol Cinema crossing before making their way to Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus, one of the main railway stations in Mumbai. I could feel the city gathering momentum around me. There was an energy to it, almost tidal—surging, pausing, and surging again.  There was a restless choreography to the crowd—people weaving through traffic, running to catch trains, pausing briefly before disappearing into the crowd as quickly as they had emerged. I kept returning to the same spot at the same hour for a couple of months, what fascinated me wasn't the rush itself, but its repetition.

As days went by, the collective mass of the crowd dissolved into solitary lives. Standing amid the rush were moments of quiet vulnerability: a face suspended in thought, the fatigue carried home after a day's work, the quiet urgency of someone trying not to miss the next train. The junction became a place where thousands of separate lives passed through the intersection at the same moment before continuing on their own journeys.

I began to realise, I was really photographing human labour—not inside an office, but the daily act of moving through the city in order to make a living. These fleeting journeys, repeated by thousands every evening, are so ordinary they often go unnoticed. 

Working Capital is an observation of this daily performance—of the people whose movement gives rhythm to the city. It is a record of those evenings, observed from a single corner outside Capitol Cinema.