My art journey began at the age of 10, when I taught myself how to apply mehndi (henna) — one shaky cone at a time. I was instantly hooked by the hypnotic swirls and delicate details. Before long, my schoolbooks, folders, and even the margins of my homework became mehndi canvases (sorry, teachers).

At GCSE level, I was lucky enough to choose Art — and was given the theme “Me, Myself and I.” Naturally, I turned inward, exploring my Indian heritage for inspiration. I photographed intricate patterns from traditional clothing (e.g., lenghas, saris, suits, buildings (e.g., the Taj Mahal) and jewellery — and used them to build something new: a mandala that fused cultural beauty with personal expression.

As I worked, I dipped my toes into all kinds of materials — watercolours, acrylics, coloured pencils — but none of them felt quite right. Then I found drawing inks, and everything changed. Their boldness and unpredictability excited me, but I still wanted more. I became fascinated by negative space — flipping the script by leaving outlines bare and filling in the body of the design instead. That’s when masking fluid came into my life like a secret art weapon. Once the ink dried, I’d peel it away and lace the piece with fineliner to bring out complex details — layers on layers, like storytelling through pattern.

In my final GCSE exam, we had 10 hours to bring everything together. I remember thinking, “This is either going to be a masterpiece or a beautiful mess.” Spoiler: it turned out better than expected.

Since then, I’ve been endlessly experimenting — with colour, form, symmetry, chaos — and I love every second of it. What started as mehndi on hands has blossomed into mandala-inspired artworks, prints, and products that reflect the ever-evolving dance between tradition and creativity.

And speaking of mehndi — that never left. Over the years, I’ve done mehndi for friends, family, pre-wedding events, celebrations, and the occasional spontaneous design at 1AM when inspiration strikes. There’s something deeply calming and almost meditative about the process: the flow of the cone, the rhythm of the patterns, the smell of fresh henna drying. Whether it’s an intricate bridal piece or a casual festival design, I treat every hand like a new canvas.

The photo on the right? That’s bridal mehndi I did for my cousin’s wedding — and yes, I was running on zero sleep and sheer adrenaline (and still loved every second of it).

Art is still where I lose track of time, spill a bit too much ink, and find parts of myself I didn’t know were missing. It is my passion!

(And if you’re wondering — yes, I still draw on the backs of receipts, napkins, and occasionally, my own hand.)

Attractive