She is a strange woman. Perplexing really... The artist, the poet, the story weaver, the activist and the professional. Somehow, she manages to charm people with her toothy grin and somehow she manages to keep her sanity in this insane world. She is one of the few women I know, who thinks from only her heart, the brain refuses to interfere.
One day, she was sitting next to the Sukhna Lake, sketching an old banyan. It was nearly sunset. Winter was setting in so her hands were shaky, yet the charcoal strokes were flawless. The leaves seemed to curve mysteriously. And the bark looked like an old wilted man. How she sees a face in everything is beyond anyone else’s comprehension. Her mother told her once “you will never be able to make money out of your art because you love it so much that you won’t sell it”. That is the reason she advocates for a living instead.