The Moon Who Taught Me Sukoon

I never thought I would understand the true meaning of Sukoon.
It was a word my grandmother used often. She would tell me, “No one can find Sukoon anywhere but at home.”

Her name was Chand — which means moon. And like the moon, she carried a quiet light that softened everything around her. Childhood slipped away too quickly, it’s as if it was only yesterday. I can still feel her hand resting gently on my head, my face tucked into her lap as she told me endless stories of kings and queens from faraway lands.

Her words stayed with me. But more than her words, it was her way of being that has never left me — in the simplest things she did, in the warmth she carried, in the smallest gesture — making churi, humming to herself, reading in her calm, brushing my hair — there was a tenderness that felt like home. Even in silence, she had a language. Among the many words I loved because of her, Sukoon was my favorite.

Her presence still lingers in my days. Years later, when I brought a tiny kitten home, I named her Moon after my grandmother. Every time I whisper her name, I feel my grandmother’s presence — as if she never left. In this way, Sukoon found its way back into my days, gently, without me realizing — through her, through memory, through love.

Now, Sukoon lives on through Sukoon Studio. It is not just an art space. It is a continuation of her warmth, her stories, her quiet. It carries her spirit into the lives of others, through paintings, through letters, through stories that feel like home.

Even the house I live in is called Sukoon Ghar.

Because for me, Sukoon isn’t only a word — it is a memory, a person, a place I return to every day.

May the pieces of Sukoon find their way to you and meet you like home, wherever you are — not just as art, but as corners of calm, where you are held, where you belong. May you find Sukoon here — just as I once found it in my grandmother’s lap, under the quiet watch of the moon.