I had no interest in becoming a photographer. As the oldest of four sisters, I was the most photographed child in my family. My mother would often photograph me to validate an experience in her life. Being photographed was just another family ritual for me.

I had thought of studying graphic design, until I had to photograph the moods of a person for a class assignment… My mother fought with my very protective father to send me to the National Institute of Design. I went to photograph tabla maestro Zakir Hussain... but the organisers stopped me and I fell. My 18-year-old pride badly hurt, I waited for the ustad to finish his concert before crying out, "Mr Hussain, I am a young student today, but someday I will be an important photographer, then we will see." Zakir was amused, and invited me to travel with him.

I wanted to be open to the surprises life has to offer, to be free to be as I am. For six winters, I travelled with Zakir and all the musicians he played with. Zakir became my mentor. I think my true learning comes from those travels, listening to the finest classical musicians night after night.

My mother freed me from social norms…and even from herself. She had been a widow for some years, so when I bargained that I wanted to study at the International Centre of Photography in New York - instead of a dowry - she agreed that a good education was more beneficial. Marriage was not the be all and end all, she said. I spent a year studying documentary photography.

Naively believing I could make a difference, I returned and started photographing some desperate social situations of India. But Meherunissa, the child prostitute I photographed over two years, died anyway. The photographs were published extensively, but I had to accept that nothing changed in the lives of people I photographed.