I was born in Mauritius. It’s my dear Island. I grew up surrounded by people of different religions, ethnicities and beliefs. I went to kindergarten, primary school, college and university. I kid you not - I never crossed paths with a Franco-Mauritian. We were living on the same Island but inhabiting parallel realms. I was from Mercury; they were from Neptune. 

I sensed this book was a mirror ball - one reflecting our island’s wounds and painful heritage.

It's been weeks, turned into months, and a year. Writing my thoughts and feelings anywhere but in my journal feels so new and eerie. Words used to flow like the Sailor Song. Words used to appease me.

I met Shenaz Patel, the explorer of words and ideas, several times on the tight rope. Until she was out of sight, too far away. She writes with depth - in thought, perspective, and reality.

No Story is an Island is a beautiful exhibition that stayed with me long after I left the gallery. This long-form essay is a personal letter where I explore history, art, memory, and colorism. It's my personal interpretation of the paintings.

Arteco was a beautiful human experience. A firework of colours, mixed with generosity and chapters of storytelling.