I grew up watching sarees be quiet companions to the women in my life. Soft, lived-in cottons draped without much thought on hot summer days. Starched sarees with pleats sharper than a knife, holding their form as if to steady everything else. Grander silks threaded with glistening gold zari, reserved for special celebrations, heavy with the weight of all emotions. All of them worn, re-worn, passed down in different forms - some folded into a daughter’s hands like a secret, some aged so tenderly they soften into a swaddle for the next generation, most holding entire lifetimes without ever asking to be noticed.

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Arakku begins here.

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It translates these stories into pieces meant to carry decades of legacy.

Unhurried. Painted by hand. Until the canvas holds the same quiet weight that they did.