Step into quirky home of Dubai 'Wedding In The Sky' planner with stunning Museum Of The Future views

Dubai: “Your home should be your comfort, your safe space. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

That’s how wedding planner Chimoo Bhattacharya Acharya (remember the whimsical marriage atop an aircraft in Dubai) sums up her philosophy on living.

Sitting in her apartment on Sheikh Zayed Road, overlooking the glittering Museum of the Future, you can see how every corner of her home embodies that belief. Her space isn’t styled to impress; it’s designed to breathe.

What struck me most about her living room is that there’s a method to her chaos. It’s not clutter for the sake of clutter. Her tall candle stands stretch up dramatically, big vases anchor corners with their heft, and the asymmetry gives the room a rhythm. It feels artful and alive.

“I like to see my things,” she explains. “I haven’t bought them to put away in cupboards. They’re here for me to enjoy.”

And enjoy them she does. Every shelf, every table is crowded with memories.

“What is very important for me is my home has me in it,” she says. “When I come here, I should be able to touch things and feel, yes, this brings back a beautiful memory. I’ve got pieces of my father, my grandmother, and of course, my grandfather, the legendary filmmaker Bimal Roy, though I never met him. Every little thing I’ve kept has been picked up not because it’s pretty, but because it’s attached to a memory.”

It’s a philosophy that cuts through Dubai’s obsession with branded, stylist-curated homes.

“A lot of homes here are done by interior designers, and they reflect the person who curated it, not the people living in it. You walk into many houses and you feel the personalities don’t make sense in that space. It doesn’t seem lived in. It’s a showpiece, not a home.”

Her home, by contrast, is unapologetically hers. “Because it is my corner, my space,” she says with a laugh. “I’m a woman. This is my space, and it has to be all about me.” Even her son’s “man cave” carries her touch. “It’s a man cave done by a woman,” she admits. “It still has those feminine sensibilities.”

Chimu grew up in a house filled with antiques and stories, so this approach feels natural.

“Even when I thought of making a contemporary home, it didn’t work. I had furniture from my dad’s home in Mumbai after he passed away. Once I brought those pieces in, I had to build the house around them. They wouldn’t fit in a modern space. I’m happy I stuck to what gives me comfort.”

Comfort, for her, isn’t about clean lines and empty corners. It’s about layers. “I want to see my things. When I come home, I sit down and look at everything. I go into retrospect — where did I buy this, what happened? And that makes me happy.”

Her art collection adds to that warmth. One painting of ravens is especially telling. Traditionally, seven birds hold symbolic meaning, but she insisted on adding an eighth. “Eight is my lucky number,” she says. Her daughter once told her it wasn’t really “her,” but Chimu followed her instinct. “There was something about the bursts of colour. I love Tiffany blue — it’s one of my favourite colours — and that was enough for me.”

Another favourite hangs in a corner: a Chinese painting of an emperor blowing bubble gum. “That is a little bit about me,” she smiles. “I come from a certain legacy, but there’s this mischievous, crazy person that resides in me. That’s why I do things like weddings in the sky. It’s about breaking the mould.”

The view outside is just as much a part of her story. “I actually chose this apartment over a villa in Jumeirah,” she recalls. “I walked in, the Museum of the Future lit up at sunset, and it was spectacular. I said, I’m sold. That was it. Waking up to this view, especially when the lights come on, it’s magical.”

Her philosophy is simple but radical in this city: do what makes sense for you. “Have the grit and the guts to go out and create a space that’s yours, that you can own,” she insists. “If you really want that giant panda in the middle of the living room, go for it. Your home should reflect you. Otherwise, it’s not a home.”

That joy and gratitude colour every word she speaks. “I might sound strange, but I’ve never bought anything when I was sad,” she tells me. “The only time I was truly sad was when I lost my dad. Otherwise, I’m a very happy soul. I wake up every morning and think, how lucky am I that I get paid to live my dreams? How many people get to do that?”

Her apartment, unsurprisingly, has a cinematic quality — perhaps inevitable when you’re the granddaughter of Bimal Roy. The layers, the textures, the mix of grandeur and mischief make it feel like a film set. Chimu doesn’t resist the comparison. “I always wanted to work behind the scenes as an art director and create sets. Maybe this is how I brought that dream to life.”

As the Museum of the Future glows outside her window, she circles back to her mantra. “I just believe a home should be your comfort, your safe space. You don’t need to overwhelm it with branded things. It has to be yours, or else you’ll never connect.”

And that’s why her apartment lingers long after you leave. It’s not polished perfection; it’s layered, soulful, and unmistakably hers.