The Journal
This space holds words that don’t always become paintings.
They are notes on living, noticing, states of mind and becoming — written slowly, without a brief.
Did I just lose the plot again? I had so carefully written it down this time — on a little piece of paper — and kept it locked inside a…
I love how your waves rise—rough and high—rushing toward me at the shore. And then, just before they reach me, they soften…gentle, almost tender, as they touch my body and…
Choice is a tricky thing. It gives you a sense of power. The feeling that your life is in your hands, that the direction you take depends on what you…
On my birthday, eight other babies were born in a hospital in Orange City, New Jersey. Among all of us newborns, I was the only girl. Since the next day…
I had just moved to India from the US in 1989, and as a 6 year old, my first summer here felt almost unbearably hot. The kind of heat that…
I’ve lived in this city for sixteen years. Long enough for its name to stop feeling like a label and start feeling like a sound my life grew around. Recently,…
A few days a ago, a close friend, asked me how it felt to live now that Baba (my father) has passed away. For the uninitiated, my father — Prabhakar…