In a lot of ways, this work is about material-play. In other ways, this work is about Baroda, specifically about my years spent in Baroda. A lot of the visuals are anchored within my house, my childhood home of so many complex years spent in the city, growing up in that house, living with those tiles, that plant, the ledge on which when I was child, I could fit and sit with ease, by the window. Not smiling and looking down at my hands then-- as a hand pokes me while I am lost in thoughts I don't remember at all-- not smiling and looking at my hands now. The materials behave the same way-- they are layering literally, heavy textured, with cuts, pastes and band-aided, patched up papers making one painting, sort of. A painting of many moving pieces, which come together, solely because I made it so, because it is about my one life. Like the hands are juggling the eggs, trying to hold them all, the painting is juggling, sifting and balancing many-a-thing, moving back and forth.