Unlearning is not destruction; it is transformation. It is the caterpillar dissolving into chaos so it can emerge with wings. It is the ocean's tide, retreating not to disappear but to gather strength for its return.
This exhibition, held at the India Habitat Centre, celebrates not only art but the very essence of humanity--our ability to express, to connect, to include, and to create.
January 1st is a mosaic of dreams and decisions, of reflections and resolutions. The year stretches before me like an endless road, inviting my weary feet to tread paths both predictable and poetic.
But anger is not a release; it is a captor. It festers. It poisons from the inside out. It consumes us, one thought at a time, until we are left hollowed by its weight.
This moment has stayed with me, not just for its awkwardness but for the clarity it offered about the silent, pernicious ways assumptions creep into our interactions.
And so, I find myself staring at a rent in the weave--a gaping wound I caused, an absence that echoes like an empty stage after the lights have dimmed.
Where is home? It is a question that loiters in the mind, persistent and shifting, as if it knows the answer will always be incomplete. Is it Delhi, where I was born, and where my earliest memories were folded into the rhythms of family and tradition? Is it Bombay, where my ambitions bega
Some lives are like steady rivers--quiet, unassuming, yet profoundly transformative. They shape the landscapes they touch without noise or fanfare. My mother, Sunita Saran, who turns 80 on December 7th, is one such person. Her story is deeply personal yet universally inspiring, a testamen
He had honed my skills, shown me a world that some might not see in a lifetime, and taught me to grow into a richer, fuller and smarter version of myself.