Performance

Malkani Family Portaits

Older Works - 3

Older Works - 2

Older Works - 1

Malkani Name Plates

"My mood also depends very strongly on my earings"

''money is laughing gas for me''

''gobs of money thrown at handbags ,shoes ,interior decor ,and even the most minor of celebrations"

There is something narcissistic and morally questionable about the inflamed level of expenditure the elite do ,we believe they are selfish ,unaware of the sufferings of poor ,"Let them eat cake" perhaps at heart non of us believe money can't buy hapinesss ,we believe elite are generally cushioned from ordinary suffering,money provides certain comforts that make emotional pain easier to bear ,surely it is better to be depressed and provided for than depressed and also tormented by the stress of paying bills or rents.


Money ,what about it ?we envy it when we dont own it ,people kill for it,we know its power still we hate it ,the lives of those who own it intrigues us,its a dream .a luxurious fantasy ,,they have cooks ,nannies ,laundresses ,chauffeurs,cleaners ,tutors,tailors designers ,gardeners ,telephone operators, event managers ,you name it they have it ,they have the power to buy anything and everything ,the have a social lives .


The rich and the poor have a dynamic love -hate relationship.

Not Black, Not White, We are Grey

Nobody Dies of a Broken Heart - Part 1

And her eyes opened in extreme dark. There was silence everywhere. Her head, oh it was heavy, it felt as if someone had opened her brain by cutting through the skull and now, someone was beating it with a mallet, beating it so hard that it seemed it would only end when he thrashed it finally, when the last drop of blood has flown out, and the brain was stripped off of all its senses, had completely become numb.
Oh, if only this was real, if only someone could really kill her senses, if only someone could make her forget what happened. She wanted her sanity to be washed away for once and for all.
The thoughts, the memories were making her breathless, she got up from bed, her head weighing a ton, her heart drenched in the deepest sorrow, if only it was a night more and it could end, if only this wasn’t real, if only. She switched on the light, and all she could see was broken glass- all around, shattered fragments of glass filled the floor like honey bees on their honey comb. She got up from bed, went to the table, had a glass of water, then another, and another, and another, till the water finished, yet she was thirsty. She wanted more and more to drench her thirst, but her thirst was not for water.
She started walking towards her bed. She didn’t feel the energy, she became breathless. The room started revolving around her, the ceiling touching the floor, the tube light merging with the fan-she had to make it to her bed and so she did at last.
She lied down, raised her head to see the clock on the wall but found herself unable to do so, she couldn’t lift her head high enough to reach the height of the clock, instead her eyes looked down, her vision was of shattered glass-but not sparkling glass, it was now tinted with crimson red, for a few seconds it didn’t make sense, but then-she raised her feet, turned it towards her-and ah, her doubts were right, there was blood flowing from colourless skin. She had walked on glass, but not felt it.