The Rajasthani girls are impatient to be born. But the creator pauses, arms tired and fingers aching. Outside a torrential cloudburst is pouring. The dog wakes up and begs for a tummy rub. The kettle is whistling. The brush goes back in the bottle and on the table the palette is discarded. The dog stretched and followed the creator in the kitchen. The unpainted Rajasthani girls grumbled seeing that they are now forgotten. ” Always the pretty ones get chosen first in everything.” With arms akimbo the girl in the center complained.