The earth is not mere soil; she is Prithvi, Bhūmi Devi, mother, healer, womb of fertility. To coat the body in her clay is to surrender, to remember our origin, to feel her warmth press against the skin like memory itself. Washed clean, the body glows with a radiance no artifice can imitate. Mruttika Snan is love upon the body, a sacred, sensual surrender—a celebration of raw, divine beauty.

There was a time when life was not measured in hours or wealth, but in the rhythm of the heartbeat and the pulse of the earth. Humanity lived naked before the elements—facing hunger, storms, the vast unknown.

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.

An ancient rock looks like dragon egg on the bank of the ferocious ocean and dark skies is all a terrific combination. It was tempting to create a visual art through body movements and fabric.

A tribute to the forest enchantress NEELA who is still alive in the minds of millions across India. Villages where she is mentioned in bedtime stories or by the fireside. The seductive, beautiful and powerful demigoddess who rules the interior of forest where no one dares to venture.

The flow of the universe comes to us in the form of various states of the objects. Some seen others that can be felt. The senses makes things to be felt. And the things from which we derive pleasure become sensual. The play of life happens through ancient primordial sound. We call it Naad. The interaction of the Bindus ( dots / atoms ) and their dance creates the magical sound. 

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.

They say — change is one thing, acceptance is another.Life flows endlessly, like a river finding its own path.Yet we hold on to things long gone,Echoes of the past that no longer exist in the present.

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...

Whenever I watch paintings or  sculptures from the masters  of medical or ancient Bharat a sense of calm enters into my mind. My gaze travels across the artwork in a rhythm that they have found in nature and poured it into their artwork.

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...

 The world awakens from the sleep when she greets them with her smile. She is the messenger who breathes life into everyone. She is Usha.

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