Sculptures 2023
Ma with Voodoo and Mashi on the swing
The ideas behind the work
It was a quiet winter morning in Kalyani. My mom had just finished her chores and stepped outside to the little garden she had lovingly shaped over the years. There was her favourite swing, waiting and with her, as always, were Voodoo and Mashi (Chutki), our two furry companions. I happened to be visiting home, and when I saw her sitting there, the three of them just soaking in the moment, I knew it was something special. I took a photo, wanting to hold onto it forever.
Years later, that memory stayed with me. Both Voodoo and Mashi have passed on, but that moment  that peace, that joy still lives in me. I decided to bring it to life as a sculpture. I’d made a small black-and-white version back in college with epoxy resin, but this time I wanted to go deeper, add more detail, more heart. I used air-dry clay, added the little things that made it real  the design on the swing, clothespins on a line, the coiled water pipe, dry leaves scattered across the grass. I used whatever I could find old brushes, paper clips, bits of wood and wire  because memory itself is built from scraps of the past.
This piece is more than just a frozen moment. It’s about how something as simple as a swing can carry us back  to childhood, to joy, to those we’ve loved. It’s a way to remember, and to feel it all again.
The making of the work
Dada having tea with Mashi
The ideas behind the work
It started with a painting. Ayan my elder brother (dada), was sitting quietly, surrounded by his own artwork, while I tried to capture him in mine. As he posed, something about the scene brought Van Gogh’s portrait of Pere Tanguy to mind, how he sat in front of Japanese prints. I asked dada to stay just like that, in front of his own creations, and I painted him from life. It was simple, but full of something deep, love, pride, connection. I didn’t know then that it would become something more. After he passed, I couldn’t let go of that moment. I needed to hold on to it. So I sculpted it.
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Using polymer clay, wood, foam board, and resin, I built the scene all over again this time in three dimensions, where I could touch it, feel it, sit with it. Ayan is there, like a quiet warrior, sitting the way samurais do, steady, brave, surrounded by the world he created. At his feet is Mashi, our 10 year old female pug, who loved him so much and shared so much with him. Nearby, there’s the mug our mother gave him small, ordinary, and somehow everything. Even the taped over plug point is there, a memory of how we used to protect the pugs.
It’s a frozen breath, a moment I never wanted to lose. It’s about art, and love, and the strange beauty of remembering someone with your whole heart.
The making of the work
Ma with Voodoo
The ideas behind the work
It’s that quiet, golden moment right after my mother finishes her breakfast the kind of stillness that only mornings seem to hold. That’s when Voodoo our 5 year old pug, just a little guy, would leap into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. And in that second, he wasn’t a dog anymore. He was a baby again soft, trusting, completely at peace. No barriers, no fear. Just the two of them, locked in a kind of silent understanding.
The bedroom in Kalyani holds all of this. It’s not a perfect room painted a faded sea blue, with things placed more for use than beauty but it’s real. It’s warm. It’s lived in. On the wall, I sculpted tiny hand-painted pictures: my mom’s wedding day, my grandparents, Voodoo as a pup, and a little dream cottage in the hills we’ve always wished for. Even the old window, now a cabinet stuffed with my mom’s daily diaries, holds stories. That room, every part of it, feels like her.
Voodoo never fought the medicine she’d feed him. In that lap, he just… let go. That moment between them it stuck with me. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. But it was full of love. That’s what I tried to hold in this sculpture. Not just a pose, but a feeling. A memory. A quiet, ordinary moment that meant everything.
The making of the work
Ma Mashi and Hetun resting in balcony in winters
The ideas behind the work
It was just after lunch, when the winter sun poured onto the balcony soft, golden, comforting. Ma would step out first with her diary, glasses, and a small bowl of water for the dogs, always thinking ahead. Mashi and Hetun, our two pugs, would follow close behind. Mashi, calm and gentle. Hetun, just a year old then, full of life, tumbling over Ma with toys and joyful chaos.
They’d lie there together, soaking in the sun Ma scribbling, Mashi dozing, Hetun climbing and playing. The curtains I’d hung swayed lazily in the breeze, and sometimes, a pigeon would perch on the railing, quietly observing.
One day, I noticed a flower had fallen from a pot in the corner. A small thing, but it reminded me of Dada my brother, gone too soon. That delicate drop of color on the concrete, so still, so full of memory.
Mashi is gone now. Hetun is five. But in this sculpture, that moment lives on. A patch of sunlight, a tangle of presence, love, and quiet joy held forever in clay and light.
Hetun with mask and Mashi with her ball and toys on bed
The ideas behind the work
It started with a memory little me, knees scraped, action figures in hand, lost in made-up worlds. That joy, that pure play I thought I’d left it behind. But then came Hetun.
She was just a pup, barely a year old, and obsessed with face masks. Of all things. Maybe she saw us wearing them, maybe she thought it was our toy. She’d drag one to the bolster, plop down like a queen, proud and playful. And then there was Mashi my sweet old girl. Fifteen, slow and soft, but never without her ball. She’d bite it gently, fall asleep mid-chew, roll over and drift into dreams. It was her comfort, her ritual.
This sculpture is them two pugs, a pile of toys, and all the stories in between. You’ll see Pepa, Neelu, Dino, Leju each one named, each one loved. I shaped them like memories frozen in mid-laugh.I didn’t realize until I was done: this isn’t just about them. It’s about me too. About how we lose play as we grow, how we trade wonder for routine.
This is my way back to softness, to silliness, to joy. Through Hetun’s masks and Mashi’s ball, I found a little piece of my childhood again. And I hope you do too.
The making of the work
Ma feeding Mashi and Hetun
The ideas behind the work
It’s 8:30 pm I feel the stillness before the ritual begins. Ma lays the cloth on the bed, and like clockwork, Hetun springs up, tail wagging. Mashi stirs slowly, her frail body heavy with years. I hold them both in my form one hungry and sharp-eyed, the other fading but dignified. Â
Ma kneels, bowls in hand chicken, liver, rice, vegetables the aroma is love. Hetun devours hers, then watches, waiting for Mashi to falter. Ma sits nearby, silent referee, her presence patient and firm. Around her, the chaos of care: medicines, beauty creams, books, water, snacks her world within reach. She takes her own dinner toast and tea humble, warm. Behind her, a watercolour of her and my brother watches over us. Â
The sculpture, hold this pause, this symphony of love, aging, routine, and care a small, sacred epic told every night.
The making of the work
Ma treating Hetun
The ideas behind the work
I shaped this piece from memory, from nights wrapped in silence and care. Hetun, our young pug, had just been spayed. Soon after, her tiny body was covered in painful skin infections. She was only eight months old. My mother, every night after dinner, became healer and comforter her hands steady, her love unwavering.
The sculpture captures one of those quiet rituals. My mother kneels, focused, holding a bottle of lotion. Hetun sits still, utterly trusting, her gaze locked with my mother’s. Around them, the world dissolves. There is only tenderness.
As I sculpted, I felt their bond wrought from pain but sealed in trust unfold beneath my fingers. Each stroke of clay was a prayer, a memory. In this piece, love is not loud. It’s gentle. Patient. Healing.This is their story. A wound tended. A trust earned. A love that grew in the hush of nigh
The making of the work
Hetun resting on sofa
The ideas behind the work
One quiet afternoon, I caught a fleeting moment Hetun, our one-year-old pug, resting on her favourite sofa, eyes open but dreaming. She wasn’t asleep, yet not quite awake. That in-between state felt like a secret world, and I had to hold onto it.
I first painted her pose from life, then sculpted the scene to crystallise that liminal breath. The chair is hand-built from wood and fabric, painted with every worn print and details intact. Hetun rests on it, sculpted mid-drift her body still, her mind elsewhere.
This work is a pause made solid. A question in form: *what do we see when we dream with our eyes open?*
The making of the work
Mashi sleeping
The ideas behind the work
She slept more than she lived, in those final months.  Mashi my 16-year-old pug frail, nearly blind, barely walking, yet full of silent fire. In her sleep, she ran. Barked. Forgot to breathe. I’d watch, torn between awe and worry, knowing her spirit outran her body.
*Dreaming Still* is sculpted in polymer clay, small and tender just like her. Curled into herself, one paw stretches mid-dream, as if chasing something just out of reach. Her body, soft and sunken, is wrapped in gentle folds like bedding, while wisps around her form capture her drifting dreams alive with movement, though she lies still.
I shaped her from memory. From the way she’d crawl toward me, even when her legs failed. From her scent-seeking snuggles. From love. She’s gone now. But here, she dreams on.