Fragments and Letters 2021-24

For this series, I went back to paper, embedding my mother’s fabric and threads into the pulped letters. The materials hold her presence, making each piece tactile and close.

Memories you can touch, where absence and connection exist together.

For this series, I moved from paper and paint to fabric, screen printing, image transfer, and embroidery. Letters to my mother, written in a script I made up, became the heart of the work. They are stitched with her threads on her clothes or fabrics from her cupboard. Through stitching, printing, and layering, the pieces transform loss into something living.

A dialogue between absence and remembrance that is both intimate and enduring.

Made in collaboration with Pramila Choudhary
This installation, 51 × 10 × 10 ft, combines used garments crocheted onto a metal armature with a sound piece of anonymously shared stories. Created for the Abhivyakti City Art Festival in Ahmedabad, India, the work began as a way for us to process parental loss. Donated fabrics that belonged to those who have passed or carrying poignant memories were crocheted into a river like form, transforming individual grief into a collective expression. By embracing and sharing pain, the project became both healing and connective, turning loss into tangible memory.

After suddenly losing my mother, life and work came to a standstill. Every action felt like creating new memories without her, which didn’t feel right. Months later, I realized making work about her might ease the grief and drew me back to my practice. What began as a meditation on peace and serenity became a way to live again. Loss feels immense when it’s personal, yet shared grief offers perspective. These works are letters to my mother,. They started legibly, then gradually becoming distorted and secretive, meant for her alone.

22nd March to 24th April, 2018
(11 out of 33 works)

33 Days of Ibadat (prayer): 33 signifies the Tasbih (prayer beads), which is divided into segments of 11 and is a repeated motif in my work. The works in this series were started at the same time every day for 33 days (4:00 am—the time for Bandagi/meditation), and I stopped working on them at whatever point I was at 11:59 pm the same day. They had to be the experience of just that day.

While working on these, I spoke to my mother a lot. The motifs and layers of watercolour signified death and what happened after to our soul, its journey, and how it connects to what we do in our lives here. I would share these thoughts with my mother, who would continue to encourage and guide me. I did this because my relationship with religion was wavering at that time, but the thoughts that kept coming were confusing and surprising.

These works became more poignant for me because, during this process and in this body of work my mother’s involvement was significant. Two days after the 33rd piece was made, my mother passed away, unknowingly giving me the iota of strength to cope with her loss, always telling me that death was just another part of life.

These marks reflect an emotional, spiritual, and physical shift shaped by giving. I’ve come to see selflessness as a quiet form of selfishness—not negative, but grounding. Giving back offers something in return: connection, clarity, and a sense of peace. What I give out comes back to me in ways that keep me steady, and that return is why I continue.

Bandagi is a series based on repetition as a meditative act, drawing from zikr and bandagi, forms of repetitive prayer. Each piece is built through 11, 33, or 99 layers, reflecting the counts of the tasbih (prayer beads). These repetitions shape the time, rhythm, and discipline of making.

The process is quiet and deliberate. Repeated actions leave subtle traces on the surface. Rather than describing belief, the work holds repetition as a space for attention, stillness, and reflection.