“In the silence of the hills, we often hear what the noise of the world drowns out — our truest selves.”
This past week at Kaaya, I witnessed that truth again and again.
From June 17 to 22, our small world here in Tilwari was gently stirred by the presence of 24 emerging artists — participants of the Padav Art Mentoring Program 2025, a collaboration between Kaaya and the Bangani Art Foundation.
Our land has hosted many gatherings over the years, but this one felt different. Deeper. More aligned. More rooted.
What Padav brought into our space
Padav, at its core, is not just a mentoring programme — it’s a pause with purpose. A space to catch one’s breath on the steep climb of becoming. For a full week, our studios, trees, and trails held the quiet intensity of brushes in motion, of self-doubt unravelling, of questions being born, of stories being re-stitched into canvases.
Everywhere I turned, something quietly beautiful was happening — an artist alone on the stone ledge, sketchbook on lap, eyes scanning the forest canopy; a group huddled under the mango tree in post-session reflection; the clink of tea glasses, the hum of late-night conversation, the comforting rhythm of artists stretching their own canvases, some for the very first time.
Mentors who taught by being
Padav would not be what it is without the wisdom and generosity of Jagmohan Bangani and Poonam Sharma. Watching them guide, question, nudge, and simply listen was an education in itself. This year, we also had Himanshu Trivedi with us — his eye behind a camera lens, his heart fully with the fellow artists.
They brought more than knowledge. They brought their own journeys, their insights, their vulnerabilities, and a refusal to offer ready-made formulas — choosing instead to trust each fellow’s own evolving path. As a host, it was humbling to watch how Kaaya’s earthy, slow, raw energy responded to their grounded presence.
For the artists who came with open hearts
To the twenty new fellows and four core artists — thank you for choosing to arrive, not just physically but emotionally. You trusted a space you’d never seen, people you hadn’t met, and a process you couldn’t predict. You shared laughter, tears, unresolved questions, and bold beginnings. You brought colour into our walls, and left something behind in return.
I hope you carry Kaaya with you in small ways — in your next painting, your next pause, your next doubt.
Why Kaaya exists
When I left a career in development consulting and founded Kaaya in 2011, it was around one quiet question: can we create a place where people reconnect — with nature, with each other, and with themselves?
Programmes like Padav keep affirming the answer.
Kaaya isn’t a venue. It’s a living ecosystem — a slow space in a fast world, where time doesn’t rush, ideas don’t compete, and art isn’t packaged but allowed to emerge.
Until the next Padav
As the exhibition closed on Sunday evening, and we watched visitors take in the fellows’ work — some proud, some still unsure — I felt a deep gratitude. Not for a job well done, but for a space well held.
Padav will return. And whenever it does, Kaaya will be waiting — with open skies, open courtyards, and open arms.
— Santosh, 22 June 2025
