Re- / Introducing Jain of All Trades

… and no, I’m not spelling “Jain” wrong

Well, 2025 is off to a shitstorm start. Here in Brooklyn, NYC, hell is freezing over while on the other end of our beautiful country, it burns out of control. Fitting allegories for the various and diametrically opposed directions in which our country is headed. {sigh} I find myself thinking of Mary Oliver’s quote often as a sliver of hope on the days I need it most.

Well, it’s been a minute since the new year started, and even longer since I began writing as Jain of All Trades. I’m grateful you are all here to join me in this thing called life, and with new readers joining every day, it’s probably time I introduced myself, don’t you think?

My first name, Sandhya, means “twilight” in Sanskrit — that liminal space where day dissolves into night, belonging fully to neither. In the Vedas, sandhya indicates the threshold between two opposites, signifying a space that is neither and therefore infinite. I don’t think my parents intended me to fulfill the prophecy of my name with infinite possibility. As with most immigrant parents, they had envisioned a clearly defined path for my life, with only a few choices between very similar things. Profession (doctor-lawyer-engineer, the Indian trifecta of acceptable vocations), marriage (to an Indian boy), family (two kids, maybe three)… preferably in that order. It was my parents’ deepest wish that I become a doctor. In my attempt to honor their wishes, I studied biology and became a scientist, but I also snuck in art history and, later, an advanced degree in fine arts conservation. I suppose this was my attempt to find the black and white by navigating through the gray. My father, an engineer and Jain-turned-atheist, places his faith in absolute truths, in mathematical equal signs and single right answers, with no room for error. It took years to learn that two things can be true at the same time — trees and their flowering branches reaching for the sky can symbolize a deeper meaning (as in sandhya-bhasa, a polysemic language). It makes me sad that he has closed himself off from a richer, deeper living experience by limiting his possibilities to only those absolutes which he can prove to be correct. Yes, it makes him feel safe, but leaves his world colorless. When I contrast our worldviews, I’m grateful I’ve moved past his boundaries. (Hmmm, does that sound a little bit schadenfreude-y, do you think?)

I’m happy with the intentionally unprescribed life I’m leading, and with the the various hats I wear as “Jain of All Trades,” I’m never bored:

Posing with a gilt beauty from one of our exhibitions of Indian, Himalayan, and Southeast Asian art at Christie’s, NYC.

I’m a world-renowned specialist in Indian, Himalayan, and Southeast Asian art. I was a specialist at Christie’s auction house for many years, where I handled the best works of art in our field, and regularly pulled in multimillion dollar consignments. I left when my white European overlords refused to give me a raise for three years straight — I think it had to do with my maternity leave, though they were too smart to say it. Now I’m an independent arts appraiser and advisor, which is far more satisfying than jumping through hoops for them. Whether due to “debt, death, or divorce,” I help my clients care for their collections and plan their estates. It’s satisfying to ensure these works are cared for by successive caretakers, and continue to tell our stories long after we are gone.

The banner (literally) under which I ensure good storytelling encompasses the breadth of the human experience.

I’m a Multicultural Content Advisor. As a child of two cultures, I grew up with stories from either side of the world. The Indian mythologies I devoured in my childhood has stayed with me. Tales of Shakuntala, Draupadi, the Pandavas — the illustration style of Amar Chitra Katha is what I call up whenever I hear these stories. The contrast between this narrative foundation and the American stories, largely created by Disney in my childhood, left me feeling like an outsider, but it also gave me a unique lens. I’ve learned the importance of honoring and incorporating world storytelling. I love to help clients weave more inclusive narratives, bringing global perspectives to stories that need them.

The Ladies of Baat Cheet at our Diwali Party, 2024.

I am a partner, caregiver, community builder, nurturer, and good friend. I describe these all in the same breath because the skills needed to do them well are the same: be curious and ask questions, listen with intention, deliver on promises, and demonstrate thought with “care pebbles.” I’m always striving to be better at this but I'm also happy with my progress so far.

I’m a writer…

Whew.

It’s taken me a looooooong time to embrace that. Writing is something anyone can do — no special skills required — but not everyone can do well. Writing is hard, it forces you to be vulnerable, to take a hard look at yourself, and confront it honestly. It’s also made me examine my relationships, not just with family or friends, but with myself and how I use my brain. For example, because I’ve set some ambitious writing goals, I’ve stepped away from social media's constant comparisons and the pressure to match my peers professionally. By removing constant comparisons of myself to others, I’ve reestablished my own value. I’ve embraced Annie Dillard’s “How we spend our days is how we spend our lives,” and I want to spend mine reading, writing, and connecting deeply with others.

Currently I’m crafting a sci-fi fantasy series that reimagines Indian mythology, and a road trip comedy feature that challenges western appropriation of South Asian culture. Both stories, like myself, live between worlds, in the liminal yet infinite space of twilight possibility. It’s quietly thrilling to play here.

And because I’m curious, I want to know more about you, dear reader. What parts of yourself have you been afraid to claim? Which stories are you ready to tell? Please share in the comments… after all, each of us contains multitudes — and sometimes the most meaningful moments happen in the indefinable space called twilight.