One of my most treasured photographs of Shri Amitabh Bachchan began with a Scrabble board. His mother, whom I called Maaji, had written a birthday message on the board: “I love you Munna, happy birthday.”

When he saw it, I took the photograph. I have covered countless important occasions, but I can still see that moment whenever I close my eyes. The man millions knew as a superstar was just a son receiving a message from his mother.

As my boss turns 84 today, it is moments like this that come back to me. After more than three decades as his personal photographer, I have learnt to look beyond the obvious frame. And in life, as often in films, some of the most revealing bits are moments nobody could have planned.

I still remember my first call to Pratiksha 30 years ago. Sitting at the reception, nervously checking my cameras and lenses, my heart was racing. When the receptionist finally said AB—as I affectionately call my boss—was asking for me, I gathered my gear and walked inside.

What I saw gave me goosebumps. Amitabh Bachchan ji, Jaya madam ji, Harivansh Rai Bachchan ji, and Teji Bachchan ji were sitting together, with Babuji composing poetry as I entered. My heartbeat soared, but I steadied my hands and began clicking. An hour later, AB said, “Okay, thank you,” and I left to print the photographs. I was going through a difficult personal phase, and those lively images gave me enormous happiness.

That evening, when I handed over the prints, my journey as his personal photographer officially began.

For a long time afterwards, every call from Pratiksha or Jalsa would make me anxious. Had my work met his expectations? His positive responses gradually gave me confidence, but even today, every assignment feels like an examination. He studies the pictures carefully before he chooses what to share. Yet behind that exacting eye lies a deep empathy.

Working with Mr Bachchan quickly grew beyond a professional assignment into a relationship built on deep trust and mutual respect. People know him as the Angry Young Man or the towering icon of Indian cinema, but behind the lens, I have witnessed a side that rarely reaches the public eye: caring, remarkably thoughtful, and fiercely disciplined.

During an outstation film shoot early in my career, I was lying ill in my room and missed going to the set. Noticeably absent, my boss came to my room personally during a break. He didn’t just send someone to check on me; he walked in, saw my condition, called a doctor, and waited by my bed until the doctor arrived. He then arranged a flight to Mumbai so I could recover comfortably at home. That is who he is—a megastar with an impossibly demanding schedule who takes time to look after every member of his team.

His attention to those around him can be wonderfully unexpected. After a shoot in Malad, he asked, “Paresh, you stay in Malad, right?” Then he said he wanted to visit my house. He met my family, prayed at our temple and blessed me.

On a trip to Kashmir, I bought him a shawl. He owned so many that I assumed mine might never be worn. Yet, on my birthday, January 3, I saw him wearing it. He had remembered something I had long since stopped expecting him to remember, and clearly, he knew how much that gesture would have meant to me.

His everyday discipline is legendary. Whether he finishes shooting late into the night, he never skips his gym routine, his spiritual practices, or his commitments. But even this discipline comes with consideration for other people. Once, after a shoot that began at 7 am, we reached the Trident at about 5.35 pm for a 6 pm event. He had not even had lunch, but he waited in the car. I learnt that he did not want an early entrance to unsettle the organisers’ arrangements; so, he went in at exactly six.

On set, his respect for the craft extends to everyone behind the scenes. He ensures technicians have the space they need to do their work. During rehearsals, instead of retreating to his vanity van, he will stand opposite a co-actor for their close-ups—offering his own eyes for them to perform to, knowing how much it elevates their delivery. If he notices a crew member standing without a seat, he immediately asks for a chair to be brought over. These small, thoughtful gestures matter enormously to the people who receive them.

I see that same intense awareness outside Jalsa. Every Sunday, before his scheduled appearances, we prepare our cameras and coordinate with the security teams as massive crowds gather. When he finally steps out, his enthusiasm is infectious—it reminds me of a child running to meet loved ones.

Yet, even in a sea of thousands, his focus never loses the individual. During one chaotic gathering, he spotted a woman whose hand had become trapped in a barricade. He instantly called for security to intervene, personally attended to her, and ensured she received immediate medical care. Within that enormous, roaring crowd, he had noticed one person in distress and made sure she was looked after.

My work has taken me from film sets to family occasions, including Abhishek and Aishwarya’s wedding and Aaradhya’s birth. Those photographs carry a responsibility beyond technique. Some stories and photographs are not mine to share. The confidence placed in me matters as much as the archive. After all these years, I still want every frame to do justice to my boss; I also know that some of my best work must remain with his family.