travel

She walks in the shadows, merging into the forest. All of a sudden, fog descends upon the meadows and hides her from view. She moves like a small rivulet flowing unseen, hidden from everyone’s eyes, deep inside the forest.

When you are attracted by the beauty of a flower you don’t feel ashamed of it. Then why do you have a sudden surge of shame when you see someone so beautiful blossoming in front of your eyes ? Is it our conditioning or the false sense of ownership? Who owns her ? Actually no one. Why can’t we treat beauty as beauty itself and reflect it like a mirror ?

Yakshini is a sign of abundance, sacredness, and fluidity. She is the mirror of nature in human form. She is no demi-goddess, no ghostly spirit, nor a witch in the traditional sense. She is the one who cannot be ignored, vital, untamed, and luminous.

What we’re making is not just art to be “looked at” — it’s something to be felt slowly, like poetry unfolding. We want to bring you closer to a time when love, dance, poetry, and celebration were a natural part of life. A time when women were honoured as sacred, when festivals like Vasant Utsav filled both villages and palaces with joy, and when beauty was not the tool of capitalism but seen as something sacred and beyond the physical.

Can we celebrate life without inhibition? The cold wind wrapping around the body as fabric, the delicate designs of water droplets drawn by clouds, each drop trickling down the spine—this is the thrill of living each moment fully in the present. To be part of divinity like a baby who knows no shame, no guilt, only trust in the arms of nature.

Photography is the younger sibling of sculpture and painting.What the eyes have seen, what stirred the heart, what awakened a feeling, all of it is captured through this medium, woven together with science and art.

A continuous stream of energy flows down from the mountaintop into the valley. She is gentle yet incredibly powerful—an elemental force both sensual and fierce. Refreshing, cold, and full of life. She cannot be owned, yet she lives within all of us.

A sky darkened with clouds,A wild wind roaring through,And the sea, raging in its own stormy rhythm. In that moody afternoon,The poet...

The twilight hour welcomes her to play on the earth. She enters through your ears by whispering soft murmur of the sleep that is going to...

थक कर, हार कर, एक दिन तुम आओगे, सब कुछ छोड़, सब कुछ भूल मेरी गोद में विश्राम पाओगे।

Whatever that defies our logic or fixed moral norms suddenly shocks us collectively. But if looked deep within that same energy finds space

कौन थे वे हाथ, जिन्होंने पत्थरों में प्राण भरे? सैकड़ों हाथ, मन और हृदय एक संग खिले।

A woman who embraces her inner tigress carries these qualities within her. She endures life’s daily struggles with courage

Things that cover me up is not me . Nor the skin that you see. मुझे जो ढकता है, वो मैं नहीं हूँ। न ही वो त्वचा, जो तुम्हें दिखती है।

या गवताळ कुरणावर वाऱ्यासोबत गप्पा गोष्टी करताना मी सर्वकाही विसरून जाते. ऊन, वारा आणि पाऊस यांच्या माऱ्यात देखील फुलणारी रानफुले पाहून मला क

वह तुम्हारी प्यास बुझाने वाली नहीं, बल्कि तुम्हारे भीतर का अथाह सागर दिखाने वाली है। बस यह तय करना है कि किसकी कहानी सुननी है और अपनी कहानी कैसे लिखनी है।

लक्षावधी वर्षांपासून या धरणीवरती चालणाऱ्या सिंधू आणि सागराच्या खेळातील मी एक जलधारा. काळ्या पाषाणाला भेदून पाताळाचा वेध घेणारी सरस्वती....

ज्या सोनेरी दगडांच्या मधून मध्ययुगात भारतीयत्व उत्कर्षाला पोहोचले ते विजयनगर साम्राज्य आजही जगभरातील लोकांना खुणावत आहे. त्या पाषाणांमधून...

ढगांच्या मऊसुत दुलईच्या खाली लपलेली सर्पिणीसारखी ती सरिता. सागराच्या ओढीने सह्याद्रीच्या अंगाखांद्यांवर खेळत उताराकडे धाव घेते. तिचे...

गार वाऱ्याच्या लहरी गवता सोबतच साडीशी लगट करीत जणु समुद्राचाच भास निर्माण करताहेत. साडी लपेटून चालणारी ती जणू एखादी गजगामिनीच. वाऱ्याच्या...