From the womb of her imagination all the Rajasthani girls are finally born. Resplendent in their vibrant dresses ready to live a life of their own waiting for the final coat of their glossy completion.
With the brush ready for the finishing glaze, the creator hesitated. The pain of separation already keenly felt. How can she let go of her babies whom she nourished with ambrosial hues in every stroke. Her brows contorted worrying about their destiny. Would they end up with an art loving couple or at the hands of a cold heart art dealer.
In what kind of house would they reside, she wondered. Would they hang comfortably above a warm fireplace to be contemplated upon. Or neglected gathering cobwebs in a dusty corner. Heaven forbid that they be nailed to a wall in a busy restaurant. Not a glimpse would come their way perhaps only absentminded stares accompanied by a cacophony of chomping jaws. She dreaded to think her girls displayed among the ornaments in the cold walls of a hotel. Just another piece of furniture.
A museum would be a fitting home for them where eyes who can, will really see them. But that’s too grand a dream for such humble beginnings. No, she can’t predict what kind of life her girls would live. Sighing, she abandoned the final stage of creation for the time being, trying to hold on to her girls a little while longer.