I came to writing the long way around and I think that's exactly what makes my work what it is. I spent 1 years working across hospitality, food and beverage, and events before I ever put a byline to my name. Those years gave me insights from the kitchen pass, the events floor, the supplier relationship, and the brand brief. I understood what it cost to build a hotel, what it took to run a bar programme with integrity, and what the gap looked like between the story a space wanted to tell and the story that was actually worth telling. When I eventually started writing, I brought all of that with me and it changed the kind of access I could get, the questions I knew to ask, and the claims I knew to push back on.

Today, I write about food, slow travel, culture, and the table. Based in Goa, I contribute to various publications across long-form features, travel editorials, and cultural food writing. My work sits at the intersection of community, memory, and culinary heritage with a particular focus on regional and diaspora cuisines, craft spirits, the slow-travel movement in India and the representation of it beyond. I'm drawn to the stories that live just beneath the surface of a place: the indigenous ingredient that never made it onto a fine-dining menu, the community dish that encodes a hundred years of migration, or the distillery run by a family that has been doing things the same way for four generations.

I hold a postgraduate degree in Public Relations, which shaped how I think about narrative, audience, and the ethics of representation, questions I return to constantly in my work. Who gets to tell a story? Who has been left out of it? What does it mean to write about a cuisine or a culture that isn't entirely your own, and what does it mean to write about one that is?

My reporting is grounded in access and specificity. I write from the inside of the cultures and communities I cover, not from a remove. That means primary research, original interviews, and digging deep into the sources. It also means being honest about my own position within the stories I tell whether it is as an insider, as an outsider, or often as both at once.

Beyond writing, I sit on the jury for some of India's and the world's most respected food and hospitality awards: the Condé Nast Traveller Top Restaurant Awards, 30 Best Bars, The World's 50 Best Bars, the Tatler Best Awards, and the NDTV Food Awards. These roles are not incidental to my work but they are in tandem with it. They require the same rigour, the same resistance to hype, and the same commitment to recognising work that is genuinely good rather than merely well-publicised. They have also kept me closely connected to the industry I write about, in ways that keep my reporting grounded and current.

I regularly moderate and participate in panels at food, travel, and culture festivals and events across the country, conversations about where Indian food is going, what we owe to culinary tradition, and what it means to build a hospitality culture that is both globally fluent and locally rooted.

In 2023, I founded WE, a private members' club for women in Goa. What began as a personal response to relocation (I had moved from Bombay and missed the close, sustaining friendships of a city I'd lived in for years) has grown into a community of over 65 women built around mutual support, shared growth, and the belief that belonging is something you have to actively build. WE reflects the same values that drive my writing: curiosity, care, and a genuine investment in the people and places I'm part of.

I write because I believe that food and travel writing, at its best, is not lifestyle content. It is cultural documentation. It is a way of saying that this place existed, these people made something extraordinary here, and it deserves to be remembered with precision and with feeling. That is the standard I hold myself to—whether I'm writing about a Bohra winter dish passed down through my grandmother's kitchen, a feni distiller on the outskirts of a Goan village, or a thali that has been quietly evolving for a century without anyone bothering to write it down.

The long way around, it turns out, was the right way.