I spent formative years of my life in Uttrakhand, foot hills of Himalayas. The main involvement of the folks was spinning sheep wool. Almost every home had a handloom to weave cloth. It was great fun to observe wool being processed and died in striking colours. I was hardly seven or eight years old. Life as such was hard but the direct contact with nature made it quite comfortable. As the time passed by I had to move away from this beautiful adobe of nature for my education and future prospects. Finally I landed up being a painter. Although I had received the formal training of art but for exposure to wide spectrum of visual arts I started travelling. I studied the creations of great masters of art, their style, manner & technique but there was something inherent in me. I was unaware when the wool fibre, thread & texture of course woollen cloth got deeply imbedded in me. It was after many years a sudden touch of course cloth created a strange sense of pleasure. I felt, as if I got back something which I had lost earlier. I was literally alienated into my past. The feel of the soil and the touch ruff textured cloth gradually started creating spaces on my blank canvases.

Rajasthan now being my residence and work place had shaped my personality. The wide open spaces and vibrant colours of Rajasthan are integral part of my canvases. Blending with the elements of my past memories of the images emerging from the hilly rocks, the bark of the pine tree and the dried leaves transcended into a world of my abstract imagery.