Inside the homes of India’s collectors

There are homes where art adorns. And then there are homes where art breathes quietly, like a second soul. In these spaces, canvases don’t merely hang on walls; they hold stories. Sculptures hum with memory. These are homes where a Husain shares space with a feminist textile, a pop art butterfly coexists with meditative geometry, and no piece takes up space without a reason. This isn’t collecting art as a commodity—it’s a way of seeing, living, becoming.

Across India, a constellation of discerning collectors is reimagining what it means to live with art. For them, an artwork must do more than dazzle. It must anchor, provoke, and stir something deep. And just as meaningful as what they own is what they yearn for—the works that live not on their walls, but in their imaginations.

Michelle Poonawalla: Legacy, Instinct, and the Art of Becoming

Michelle Poonawalla’s collecting journey began in the art-rich avenues of London. As a student of interior design, she wandered the halls of the Tate and V&A, and spent weekends trailing her father through Sotheby’s and Christie’s. But it was also shaped at home by her grandfather, artist and architect Jehangir Vazifdar, whose friendships with Husain, Raza, and Souza left a mark on her. “He had an incredible eye and a quiet discipline,” she recalls. “His sensibility shaped mine.”

 

Her collection is a striking balance of heritage and individuality. In one room, M.F. Husain’s horses gallop, a reflection of her family's equestrian history, while in another, a vibrant Raza canvas anchors her space with its quiet, centripetal pull. Then there’s a playful graffiti piece by Mr. Brainwash that lends a pop of street-art energy amid refined interiors. “What I place in my home is deeply personal. These works create flow, energy, a kind of emotional rhythm,” Poonawalla says.

Today, her wish is to live with something from Yayoi Kusama’s cosmos—an artwork that, in her words, “would feel like stepping into another dimension”. It would join her home not as a centrepiece, but as a portal—immersive, precise, endlessly alive.

Sahil Arora: Romance, Rebellion, and the Art of Surprise

 

Sahil Arora’s first act as a collector was impulsive and full of charm. “I stole the piece off my wife’s wall when we were dating,” he laughs. “She didn’t want to give it to me. Now she hates it—but it’s still my favourite.” That early act set the tone for his collection which is unconventional and fiercely personal. At his home and at his gallery, Method, art is a conversation between rebellion and tenderness.

 

During his travels abroad, when Arora walked into galleries and saw price tags he couldn’t afford, he realised that art doesn’t need to be inaccessible. “Once I understood that great art exists at every level, especially among younger, experimental voices, I started building a collection that felt like me.” That includes Rohan Joglekar’s haunting Rebellion, Priyesh T.’s darkly comic Spliff Personality, and Gargi Chandola’s surreal Massif Attack, acquired after letting it slip away once before.

What’s on his mind now? A larger Joglekar work or something from Czech artist Jan Kaláb.

Ayesha Parikh: Where Art Speaks Truth to Power

 

Ayesha Parikh doesn’t collect for prestige. “I collect living, mid-career, and emerging artists—those whose voices demand attention today.” The founder of Art & Charlie, Pariskh, sees collecting as active participation—a feminist, intersectional, and emotionally engaged form of living. “Each piece is a reflection of what I believe, what I question, what I’m still learning.”

 

Her collecting began in London, where spending hours at the Tate Modern, seeing the works of Mona Hatoum and Bhupen Khakhar, became something of a ritual. “Those exhibitions felt like conversations with the world,” she says. “I would walk out feeling more awake.” In her home, Jugni by Varunika Saraf reclaims womanhood through thread and rage, while Yogesh Barve’s LED-based I Am Not Your Dalit returns revolutionary texts to the centre of domestic space. Ghulam Mohammad’s Kulfat—composed of cut-out Urdu letters—speaks of loss and refusal, language and identity.

The work she longs for? Something by Rithika Merchant. “Her pieces feel like they were drawn from myth and memory—I think they would bring stillness and strength into the room.”

Priyanka & Prateek Raja: Collecting as a Way of Living

 

 

 

Image courtesy: Experimenter & The Estate of Kanishka Raja, Juli Raja

For Priyanka and Prateek Raja, art is not decoration—it’s dialogue. Their collection, like their work at Experimenter gallery, is both thoughtful and emotionally charged. One of their most quietly powerful works is Ayesha Sultana’s Untitled (Seascape), which opens each day with its tranquil, endless blue. “It marks time while defying it,” Priyanka says. “There’s something infinite about it.”

 

Image courtesy: The artists & Experimenter

Their journey as collectors deepened once they realised that the art that lingered in their minds after exhibitions—the works they couldn’t forget—were the ones that needed to come home. “The conceptual ideas began to live with us, long after we’d left the gallery. That’s when collecting became inevitable,” Prateek reflects. Their home also holds Bani Abidi’s The Man Who Waited for 45 Years, a portrait of Prateek himself imagined as an absurd act of resistance, and two pastels by Sohrab Hura—intimate, offbeat, and deeply personal.

Their list of dream acquisitions includes names such as Doris Salcedo, Etel Adnan, Meera Mukherjee, and Arthur Jafa. “Some of these works may never find their way to us,” they admit. “But that’s okay. Even imagining these works at home is part of the joy.”

In these collectors’ homes, art is not simply acquired—it is adored, remembered, lived with. Each piece marks a chapter: a turning point, a quiet rebellion, a moment of stillness, a dream not yet realised. For these aesthetes, art is not about ownership—it’s about intimacy. And perhaps that’s the future of collecting in India: not transaction, but transformation.
 

Lead image: Michelle Poonawala

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