Inner voice, outer voice.

My journals are filled with words and art, a series of soul scrapbook pages filled with experiments where my hands coalesce the many facets of my ever-changing identity. Yet this blog, in the visible cyber ether, remains neglected. I find myself bridging cultures, generations, individuals, groups in such varieties of settings, and still patiently attempting to integrate the material and immaterial.

Being born in Denver, Colorado was a privilege with challenges, a scenic landscape with mountains as high as the barriers against minorities. I moved over 20 times and experienced 14 schools mostly in Colorado, California, and New York (Long Island and later Manhattan). My education and work experience were fortunate, as the foundation for true evolution beyond the conventional. Three years ago I decided to leave the perceived luxuries of the West to reinvent my life while mingling and reconnecting with my ethnic roots in the East. At the same age my parents married and moved from Gujarat to Colorado, I left NYC to survey over 80 locations in India and Nepal for potential applications of art therapy.

Now facing the daily challenges of manifesting my dreams, I am reflective about the ongoing transformation since I left the US. Physically, my body has struggled to adapt to new environments, recently recovering from a month of typhoid fever. Emotionally, my inner state has changed an infinite number of times, but spiritually, I have found peace and self-awareness in solitude and through interactions with others. Mentally, I am continuously processing the path in my journals, and occasionally transcending the limitations of the mind through writing, art, and meditation. While recently traveling outside of my latest comfort zone, I found invaluable perspective and realized the importance of sharing this journey.


Death, disintegration, exhale, ending, fire, Shiva and Kali (both forces of destruction and change).

The broken glass and mirror parallel the disassembled state of inner being that one experiences in ending cycles and patterns. A purging of the darkness I witnessed in everyday life filled with humble and routine sacrifice. Oddly enough, I found very small eggs emerging from the red surface of the handmade Nepali paper, just as I finished re-reading Kafka’s Metamorphosis. A synchronistic (and slightly horrifying) reminder of the rebirth that follows soon after destruction occurs.

I felt this phase strongly while traveling through Calcutta and Sikkim, during which time my grandmother also passed away.