Where my stories began
I grew up in India. Mangoes, peacocks, and kites over rice fields are some of the images I still carry from childhood.
At twenty-two, I came to the United States to continue my studies. I wanted to understand structures—how they stand, how their pieces work together, and what makes them strong.
Years later, becoming a father brought picture books into the center of my life.
Reading with my children showed me how much could fit inside a small book. A few hundred words could hold a joke, a difficult feeling, a question, and sometimes a whole world. Those books—and the conversations they started in our family—made me want to write stories of my own.
What I write
I write for children who ask big questions, notice small things, and try again when an idea does not work the first time. I want them to laugh, stop and think, and sometimes see something familiar a little differently.
Some stories begin with a question. Some begin with a family memory. Others begin with a strange idea or a funny problem.
I’m drawn to characters who are curious about how things work and thoughtful about how people feel.
Whatever the starting point, I want the story to belong to the child—not to a lesson an adult has decided to teach.
The places and people I carry
India and the United States are both part of how I see the world. So are the ordinary moments of family life: questions at the dinner table, memories passed between generations, misunderstandings, laughter, and the quiet ways people show that they care.
That is how culture tends to find its way into my stories: through the details of daily life. I want a child who recognizes those details to feel at home. I want a child encountering them for the first time to lean closer and become curious.
What engineering taught me
Engineering taught me to look carefully, ask why, and try another approach when the first one fails. Those habits followed me into writing.
Like a structure, a story depends on how its parts hold together. But stories leave room for surprise.