Home is often not a space but glimpses of experience.

As we grow up and leave our cities, we realize we don’t belong anywhere. The ever-familiar Home disappears on us. The fields, the favourite spots which held our memories are long gone, turned into a multiplexes or some high-rise building housing offices or posh stores.

Home is the whiff of butter and garlic; it is the smell of fresh laundry. It is the sight of clean white linen bed sheets. For me, home is an amalgamation of all five senses. It is a feeling, a feeling to remember the bygone.

I remember when I was around six, my dad had bought me talc from Avon. I remember the floral scent distinctly. I don’t get it anywhere anymore. There was a beautiful illustration on the packaging, and that feeling is Home for me.

So, through my art, I try to go back to the childhood where I once found my Home, the time where I belonged.