Mohammed Alim is a photographer you might know by his Instagram nickname apyfz. He is famous for his stunning photographs of mosques — perfect in every sense: the background, the details, and, most of all, the symmetry. His work is a true paradise for perfectionists, the kind of images you can’t help but look at over and over again.

You have probably come across one of his most famous shots — a mesmerising image of hundreds of worshippers inside Masjid Istiqlal. That photo went crazy viral.

We were so captivated by his work that we decided to reach out for an interview. Our conversation revealed quite a lot — from the fact that Mohammed didn’t start out as an architecture photographer, to the mosques that stand out most in his eyes, and the fascinating story behind how his iconic photo was made.

— Mohammed, so, you were raised in Saudi, but now you are based in Indonesia. Let’s start from the beginning: where did you live in Saudi, and what was your childhood like? Who are your parents? Tell me everything.

— I was born in India but moved to Saudi Arabia when I was around 8. I grew up in Jeddah with my parents and three younger brothers. My dad was a professor at a university there, so we lived a very middle-class, no-frills kind of life, pretty standard for expat families back then. The Saudi Arabia of 20 years ago is very different from the one people see today.

My childhood wasn’t anything special. It was quiet, sometimes even boring. I didn’t have many friends, spent most of my time studying, and we would visit India every now and then. That was life. But somewhere in the middle of all that, I started wanting to photograph things. When everything around you feels still, the small details start to matter. I became obsessed with how sunlight entered my room at certain times of the day.

We couldn’t afford a camera, and the best I had was an old Nokia phone with a 0.3 megapixel lens. Tiny, compared to my 60 megapixel Leica camera that I currently use. But back then, that was enough. Even that felt magical.

— Second, how did you end up in Jakarta, Indonesia? What made you decide to move there?

— The move to Jakarta came after a long string of moves across countries for study and work. I left for the UK at 17 for my undergraduate studies, then went to Italy at 21 for my master’s, and eventually returned to India for a short breather. At 24, I moved to Malaysia for a PhD, but midway through, I landed a job while interning at a company tied to my research, so I decided to stay. I ended up spending five years there.

Around that time, my dad had relocated from Saudi to Indonesia. We decided to start a business together in Jakarta, and that is what finally brought me here. That was about three years ago, and I have been here ever since — living, working, and gradually building a life that feels grounded.

— Now, let’s talk about your journey as a photographer. How did it all begin for you?

— I wasn’t the photography nerd in the family. That title definitely belonged to my younger brother. Around the time Sony CyberShot point-and-shoot cameras were becoming affordable and popular, my dad got himself one because he was always the one taking family photos. I was too focused on studies to care much about it at first. But the more my brother used it, the more curious I got. Eventually, I picked it up and started learning how to use it myself. Best decision I ever made.

I was around 15 when I really started playing with it. I thought I was being artistic. Maybe I wasn’t, but it felt like it. This was also the peak Facebook era, where everyone was looking for any excuse to post photos. I ended up starting a small photography page on Facebook, and to my surprise, it crossed 10,000 likes within a few months. Back then, that number felt impossible, especially for someone just messing around with a point-and-shoot. Having a CyberShot was a social tool as much as it was creative. But at the time, Saudi society wasn’t exactly open to public photography, especially for teens. So most of my photography stayed indoors, focusing on sunlight in the room, shadows, and small everyday details.

Things changed when I moved to the UK. Suddenly, I could photograph anything and everything. It was a massive culture shock, but also a creative reset. I saved up and bought my first DSLR, a used Canon EOS 500D. I still have it, and it still works. That is when I really got into it. I started with nature photography, made friends through it, and created some great memories. That is where the journey really began.

— What were the very first photos you ever took?

— One of the very first photos I remember taking, and actually being proud of, was of a Starbucks cup on a wet wooden bench in the university garden during sunrise. That is exactly how I described it on my old Facebook page, too. I had just started using a DSLR and discovered “bokeh” for the first time. It blew my mind.

From there, I slowly started upgrading my gear and taking things a bit more seriously. I was studying in Aberystwyth, a small seaside university town in Wales, so a lot of my early photos were nature-heavy — beaches, cliffs, waves, fog. It was a beautiful place to learn photography without even trying too hard.

— Your photography shows a real fascination with Islamic architecture. When did that begin? Do you remember the moment you started to really notice the beauty around you? Was there a specific building that made you fall in love with this style?

— Ah, yes. Honestly, I never imagined I would get into architecture photography, let alone Islamic architecture. For years, I was just taking photos of anything that caught my eye and posting on Instagram. By that point, I had invested in more expensive gear, learned my way around Photoshop, Lightroom, colour grading, all of it. I had been doing that for over a decade, but never once thought of myself as someone who would focus on architecture.

That all changed while I was working as a product manager at a Malaysian company focused on Islamic social finance. We often needed visuals that reflected “Islamic” themes, like patterns or architecture. And every time, the design team would pull the same tired assets from Canva or Freepik. It bugged me. Every Ramadan, every Eid, you would see the same stuff recycled by every company.

So I thought, why not do something different? I had a camera. I was in Malaysia, surrounded by beautiful mosques. I decided to go out and shoot some myself. That is when it clicked. Not just the idea for work, but the realisation that this was something I wanted to pursue more seriously. I wanted to build a collection of Islamic architecture photos that were mine, that no one else had. And looking back now, I am proud that I actually followed through. I really do have that collection today.

— You wrote on your website, “Indonesia is a paradise for someone who loves to photograph the intricate beauty of mosques. What fascinates me the most is how no two mosques are alike—each one tells a unique story through its domes and minarets.” Can you tell me about a few mosques that have really stayed with you, the ones you love photographing most?

— It really is. I started photographing mosques in Malaysia, but it wasn’t until I came to Indonesia that I realised just how vast and diverse the mosque landscape is here. Indonesia is home to over a million mosques, literally, and no two are the same. Each one draws from different architectural styles, regional influences, and cultural histories. You could spend a lifetime here and still keep discovering new ones.

The mosque that has had the biggest impact on me is Masjid Istiqlal in Jakarta. It is the largest mosque in Southeast Asia, and it has given me so much. It is where I took the photo that got nominated for an Unsplash award. It is also the mosque behind my ReFocus Awards win. Two of my most viral photos came from there. I have been doing photography for over 12 years, but the photos I have taken at Istiqlal have done more for me than anything else. No other mosque comes close. At least not yet.

I keep going back. It is only about 30 minutes from where I live, and I try to visit every Friday. Even though I have shot it from every angle, it still surprises me.

That said, I am also a huge fan of the smaller mosques, the ones you find in the middle of villages, completely out of place in the best way. If someone from outside Indonesia saw them, they would probably assume they were famous landmarks or tourist destinations. But here, they are just part of everyday life. Those hidden gems are some of my favourites to photograph.

— How would you describe the feeling you get when you look at these mosques? I imagine it is a pretty emotional moment for you.

— It really is emotional, but not in a dramatic way. It is more like a quiet, overwhelming kind of feeling. When I stand in front of a mosque that is beautifully designed, perfectly lit, and full of life, there is this stillness that takes over. It’s not goosebumps or tears or anything like that. It is more like a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

There is something sacred about symmetry. Something calming about the way light hits marble, or how a minaret cuts through the sky. And then there is the human element, like someone sweeping the courtyard, kids playing, or people entering for prayer. All of that together creates this strange mix of awe and peace.

Sometimes I just lower the camera and take it in, because the photo can wait. That feeling can’t.

— Your project, Sacred Symmetry: The Domes and Minarets of Indonesia, is absolutely fascinating. How did you come up with the idea to capture the sacred symmetry of these architectural marvels?

— The idea came naturally. After photographing mosques for a while, I started noticing patterns, not just decorative ones, but the deeper symmetry in how these structures were built. Domes, minarets, courtyards, arches, they all had this balance that felt intentional, almost meditative. I kept seeing it everywhere I went.

At some point, I realised I wasn’t just photographing buildings. I was documenting a kind of visual language that repeated across different regions but always said something new. That is where the idea for Sacred Symmetry came from, the urge to capture that consistency, that sacred sense of order, while also celebrating the diversity in how it is expressed across Indonesia.

It became more than just photography. It felt like preservation, like I was creating a record of beauty that often gets overlooked in everyday life.

— Is there a particular mosque from this project that stands out to you?

— I actually don’t know most of the mosques in this project by name, and there is a reason for that. Many of the photos were taken along the elevated toll road that runs from where I live to the airport. On that stretch, you can see dozens of mosques off in the distance, with domes and minarets popping out between rooftops and trees.

Whenever I spotted something interesting, I would pull over, take out my telephoto lens, and try to frame the shot from a distance. No drone, no big production. Just me and my camera, trying to capture something beautiful before the moment passed.

Some of my favourite shots came from that road. I wasn’t chasing specific buildings. I was just drawn to the unexpected symmetry and elegance of these mosques that most people pass by without a second look.

— Of course, I have to ask about the photo with prayers in Masjid Istiqlal that went viral. Tell me everything — how did you make it, what was that day like, where were you standing? Were you expecting such recognition? And am I right that this photo opened the door for you to start photographing mosques with a professional camera? I want all the details.

— That photo is part of a series I took at the start of Ramadan here in Indonesia. The focus was Masjid Istiqlal, the largest mosque in Southeast Asia, and how it transforms when it is filled with people. I called the series Colours of Devotion, and this particular image was taken during one of the evening prayers at the beginning of the month. I was on the first floor of the mosque, looking down at the patterns formed by the worshippers — the colours, the flow, the unity. I wanted to capture how the mosque isn’t just a building, but a space that comes alive when it is used exactly as it was meant to be, by the people it was built for.

I had just purchased a 100-megapixel medium format camera and wanted to test its cropping ability. The image you see is a crop of a much wider frame, but it was composed with that in mind. I originally posted it on my Threads account (not Instagram) just to talk about the crop capabilities and the camera. But it quickly gained traction for a completely different reason. People were drawn to the colourful mukenas, the prayer garments worn by the women. In many parts of the world, they are mostly black or white, but in Indonesia, they are full of life, patterns, and colour. That detail gave the image a distinct identity. And when I posted it to Instagram, things just skyrocketed.

I didn’t expect how far it would travel. Almost everyone I meet in Indonesia has seen it. When I visited a mosque in Bandung, they immediately recognised the photo and told me they had been waiting for me to show up. They even gave me special access to photograph the mosque with my professional camera, something they usually don’t allow. That moment made it clear just how far a single image can go.

And it wasn’t just in Indonesia. I started getting messages from people in the UK, Canada, various African countries, and even back home in India. So many people reached out, some just to say thank you, others to donate, and quite a few inviting me to visit their countries, saying they had mosques they would love for me to see and photograph. Suddenly, I had all these new “friends,” people I ve never met, but who felt connected to the photo and what it represented. It feels weird and great at the same time.

— You have said, “I’m not strictly a street photographer. I’m not just doing architecture either. I’m somewhere in between. A ‘Habitecture’ photographer, maybe. Or just someone who finds meaning in how people shape space, and how space shapes them.” Do you remember a moment on your journey where you really saw how people shaped the space around them? A time you really felt that connection?

— Yeah, there was a moment at Masjid Istiqlal that really brought this idea home for me. I was there during one of the Ramadan nights, and while people were deep in prayer inside, I noticed kids running around and playing in the outer courtyards. Some people were resting, others were sharing food, and a few were just sitting quietly, lost in thought. It wasn’t just a mosque. It was a living, breathing community space.

That contrast really stayed with me. The balance between devotion and everyday life happening side by side made me realise that these spaces aren’t just built for rituals. They are built for people to exist in. And it is that interaction, how people shape the space and how the space holds them, that I am always trying to capture. That is what “habitecture” means to me.

— It seems like you are still very much an explorer. Sure, you are a "habitecture" photographer, but are you drawn to other directions as well? If so, which ones?

— Absolutely. I still feel like I am exploring, and I don’t think that is ever going to stop. While Islamic architecture and community spaces have recently given me the most meaning, I have never limited myself to just one genre.

I actually take pride in being able to photograph everything from macro to astro, and everything in between. I have photographed the stars, the Milky Way, and on the other end of the spectrum, I have zoomed in close enough to capture the stamen of a flower. I enjoy that range. It keeps me curious, and it keeps photography fun.

Whether it is a dome, a night sky, or a drop of water catching light, if it feels worth remembering, I will take the shot.