Flower Market - Original Acrylic Print

If something here truly speaks to you, if it reminds you of a moment, a person, a memory, or simply stirs something quiet inside you’re welcome to claim it.
All I ask is that you share why it resonates with you. Just a small note through email or social media is enough.

Golden Genda – Hand Painted Original

Festival mornings always begin with soft light and quiet busyness. There’s a calm kind of excitement in the air,floors freshly mopped, the scent of wet earth mixing with incense.

In the corner, my ajji sits on the floor with a damp cloth in hand, slowly wiping the flowers clean. One by one. Her pace is unhurried, careful like she’s not just cleaning petals, but preparing them to hold something sacred. The sunlight catches the edges of the flowers and everything feels golden the floor, the moment, even the silence.

Golden Genda is a piece I painted to hold onto that exact feeling. The yellow in this work is not just a color , it’s warmth, memory, movement. It reminds me of fresh rangoli powder scattered near the threshold, of laughter echoing from the kitchen, of the first laddu being rolled. A painting for anyone who finds joy in the in-between — not the celebration itself, but the soft, glowy hours just before it.

If this piece feels familiar to you in some way, you're welcome to claim it.
But only if it truly resonates. One painting, one home, when the time feels right.

Gulbaar – Hand-Painted Original

It was one of those cool,tinted evenings,the kind that settles gently over your skin like dusk-coloured silk. You step out for something small. A warm puff from the bakery. Maybe a soft, just-baked slice of honey cake. You don’t take your phone, only some quiet hunger and the day’s leftover thoughts.The streets are still. The breeze carries the smell of something toasted and sweet, and for a moment, nothing needs to be fixed in the world.

On your way back, you take the longer lane where houses wear bougainvillaea like earrings.And that’s when you see them. A cluster of soft pink flowers, tilted slightly under their own weight. Not roses. Not anything named. But blooming anyway.

That’s what Gulbaar feels like. A painting of that exact pause. That soft glance at something beautiful that didn’t ask to be noticed but still, quietly bloomed.

If this moment feels familiar to you even just a little you’re welcome to hold it.If it resonates, just write to me and tell me why. That’s all.

Neela Baag – Hand Painted Original

It was one of those soft rainy afternoons the kind where everything feels slower,but your senses are quietly alert. I was on a bus, earphones in, listening to old songs,half watching the rain dot the windows. Nothing unusual until she stepped in. A woman, dressed in a crisp white-and-blue churidar, braid tucked back,tote bag on her shoulder and a half-wet umbrella peeking out.At first, I didn’t think much of it just another commuter. But then I saw it.

Her dupatta.

It was beautiful. Blue flowers delicate, balanced, almost like block print but softer. I couldn’t stop looking at that pattern. I kept thinking, who chose that print? Where did it come from? Why did it feel so perfect for that exact moment?The rest of the bus ride faded. That dupatta stayed. Later, I painted it. Not an exact replica but the feeling of it. The memory of the colors.

Neela Bag is that moment, captured before it slipped away.

If you’ve ever fallen in love with a piece of fabric, a pattern, a color combination so quietly beautiful ,then this piece might be yours.

Aam Phool – Hand Painted Original

Mangoes mean heat.
Mangoes mean pimples.

But you eat them anyway,for the love.

Mango ras in glass bowls.
Mango jam in old Horlicks bottles.

Visiting people’s homes and getting a plate with mango, just because it's mango season.
And every house? A different taste.Some deep yellow, some orange, some watery sweet, some sour enough to bite your tongue.Sometimes you get bluffed by the vendor they say it's ripe, but you know the truth the moment you taste it.

Still, you add sugar, mix it with milk and the flavour of mango still wins.

And like every year, one dress gets ruined.A bright spot. A smear. The mark of mango.
Sticky, golden, honest.

That’s what this artwork is, Aam Phool.
It’s not just color,it’s memory, mess, and mango season on paper.

If that feels like your summer too, maybe this piece is yours.

Laal Jadoo – Hand Painted Original

Red has always left me unsure.
The curtain that looked soft in the shop but too loud at home.
The cherry that looked sweet but wasn’t.
The kurta I loved but didn’t wear.
The tomato that fooled me.
The red lipstick that didn’t suit me, but I still kept.

The bedsheet that was too bold.
The chilli drying on the windowsill.
The bangle set no one uses but still sits in the box.
A sticker on my bag that scratches my neck but I never peel it off.
A red pen, out of ink but I can't throw it away.
A red thread tied to my wrist for luck.
A toffee wrapper.
A warning sign.

Red is bold. It is beautiful. It makes you pause. Laal Jadoo is all of that,a red that stays in your mind long after yo have walked away from it.

If this reminds you of a choice you almost made,message me. May be this one is meant for you.

Indigo Raat – Hand Painted Original

It is after dinner. Not too late, just late enough for the house to fall quiet.
The lights are dim. No TV tonight just the radio humming with Kishore Kumar, then Rafi..
Amma and Appa start talking softly over the music.They’re not arguing or instructing just remembering.

That song? It played during their college days. Amma skipped class to watch the movie in a single-screen theatre. Appa says he stood in line for tickets, three hours in the sun.
They laugh. They compare then to now.

You sit there, listening,trying to picture their world.What they wore, how they must have looked, what it felt like to be them.

It’s not silence. It’s softness.
It’s not boring. It’s Indigo Raat.

This painting is that quiet time not blue, not grey, not sad just still.When the night holds music, memory, and the people you love without asking for anything in return.

If that sounds like something you’ve felt Maybe this one belongs in your home.

Honey Bageecha – Hand Painted Original

Summer holidays in Dharwad had their own rhythm.We would play for hours under the hot sun running,shouting,making up games.Every now and then,rushing inside for a quick sip of water, our cheeks warm, hair stuck to our foreheads.

Ajji, sitting with a big steel plate, making her signature instant laddoos,mixing crumbled chapatis with jaggery, dry fruits, and homemade ghee.Her hands glossy from all that ghee. 

And then the laddoos. Sweet, golden, warm. Too big for my little palms, but impossible to resist.One bite and back out again into the sun, the dust. Because it wasn’t just a laddoo.It was nectar the kind flowers guard deep inside. 

That’s Honey Bageecha.The memory of a sweetness that stays.The warmth of Ajji’s kitchen.The nectar of one golden summer.

If you’ve ever tasted a memory that never quite left you this one might be yours.

Rang Manjari – Hand Painted Original

I opened my wardrobe today and saw a piece that felt oddly warm.The kind of warmth that makes you pause..the kind you want to re-create.

It was my saree.
My first saree.
The one I wore for my school farewell.

I remember searching for it in over ten shops and when I finally found it, it was exactly what I wanted and within my budget.
It was love.I wore it to every family function after that, like I was in a full-blown committed relationship with that fabric.
Obsessed.

But time did its thing.
I moved out.New town, new life.
The saree stayed back  folded neatly in that same cupboard.
No one wore it.No one even looked at it. And I didn’t either.

It wasn’t like I forgot it existed.I just didn’t bother.Until today.

And when I saw it again, something shifted.A rush of emotions I didn’t expect.
It wasn’t just about the color though I doubt I’ll ever find that exact pink again.
It was about everything that saree had seen with me.

And now?
I’m going to wear it again.Because sometimes, it’s not about trends or fits it’s about honoring the memory something holds.

That’s Rang Manjari a color that remembers.If it brings something back for you too, maybe it’s meant to stay.

Tropical Noori – Hand Painted Original

Whenever I find myself near forest trails whether it’s monsoon, summer, or winter,I always end up looking for wildflowers.

There is something about them.
Their shape is never perfect.
Their colors don’t scream for attention.
But they have this quiet power like they belong exactly where they are.
In the middle of nowhere, growing strong, with a scent that’s part floral,forest,mystery.

I remember once, on a trek, I saw this one bloom just one, not part of a bunch and it held the whole landscape together.

I gently touched the petals, curious about its texture.It looked soft, but had strength like it had survived many rains and harsh suns.It didn’t need company to feel complete.

That’s Tropical Noori.
Not a bouquet. Not a garden. Just one wildflower bold, grounded, and unforgettable.

If you’ve ever paused to admire something that stood quietly, confidently maybe this one is yours.