I didn't grow up with a fixed idea of home, so paper became the constant instead. Wherever we were posted, I could always find a blank page, and it never once asked me to explain myself the way a new school always did.
I paint the way I learned to sit still: slowly, and without filling every space just because it's there. A lotus doesn't need the whole page. Neither does Krishna, or a glass of chai going cold on a table while someone finishes a conversation. I'd rather leave room around a subject than crowd it — room feels more honest to me than detail does.
Most of what I paint sits somewhere between devotion and the ordinary, because that's genuinely how I've always experienced both. A prayer and a cup of tea have never felt like they belonged in different registers to me. Growing up, the puja room and the kitchen were often the same kind of quiet. I paint them with the same attention, because to me, they ask for the same attention.