A striking Banjara woman forms the subject of this oil. She
is tall, as could be made out from the length of her decolletage and torso; and
dressed in minimal clothing to beat the merciless North Indian heat as she goes
about her chores around the house. Her roseate skin, as much of it as is
exposed, shimmers in the sun.
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| striking Banjara woman |
She stands at the threshold of her bamboo hut, moments
before stepping in after a round of chores in the courtyard. Something has
caused her to pause, as she looks out into the distance with those intense,
kohl-rimmed eyes. Perhaps she is waiting to watch her makeshift fields crop before
her eyes (makeshift, because jhuming or slash-and-burn cultivation is how
Banjaras subsist), a surreal prospect; or her husband is working on the
cultivated patch, and she is trying to gauge from his body language whether he
is returning to her any time soon. How realistic is the stance of her fingers -
especially as she grips the shoot next to her - and the fold of the loosely
knotted ghagra against the raised thigh, with its exposed sweep of skin.
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