Artist

My father, the late, great Rashmi Thakrar, who passed away too, too soon, believed that “for something to truly succeed, it must have a little poetry at the heart of it.” This idea steers us in perhaps every single one of our endeavours.

The price we pay for dreaming is the possibility of drowning; the price we pay for not dreaming is the surety of coasting through life in a stupor of autopilot, landlocked in the givens of our time, place, and culture. The dreamer, then, is the only one fully awake to life — that bright technology of the possible the universe invented to prevail

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