Travel: Art in Udaipur, Rajasthan

“Come in Miss, come in! I show you to paint with a squirrel hair!”

A man stands in the doorway of a tiny art shop, grinning at me. It’s only just breaking light here in Udaipur, the city of lakes in India’s northwestern region of Rajasthan. The cobbled streets are almost deserted and there’s a slight fog, making the maze-like alleyways down near the ghats seem more magical than usual.

I hesitate. Stacked in frames against the front window of the shop are beautiful paintings, none bigger than a postcard. Each artwork is a detailed glimpse into the wonders of Rajasthani culture: palaces, forts, lakes, snarling tigers, and dancing serpents.

But after a month of travelling in India, I am more than a little cynical about grinning men. I start to walk on.

“No sell, I provide you art class!”

They say there’s a sucker born every minute, and when you’re travelling, you are re-born every day. So, I give in to India yet again and turn around, squeezing myself and my backpack through the narrow entrance and down some chipped white stairs.

Rajasthan is famous for its vibrant art and culture, and the miniature paintings capture much of what makes this place so beautiful, harsh and enchanting. The tradition began as far back as the 11th century, and has evolved to reflect the dramatic history of its people and their desert landscape.

The air inside the shop is stale. It smells of dry paint, and the heady chai spices of cardamom and aniseed. The man introduces himself as Sanju, and we sit down at an old wooden school desk.

He begins by asking for my hand; I do as I’m told. Within moments, Sanju has painted a beautiful Queen on my middle fingernail. The word for Queen in Sanskrit is Maharanee, and before my eyes a tiny but immaculate Rajasthani Maharanee holds an emerald green veil over her head.

I am mesmerised. How could he make such a detailed artwork fit onto my little fingernail?

The secret to the technique is in the delicate strokes of Sanju’s paintbrush. Using several fine squirrel hairs on the end of a wooden stick, the artist must keep a steady hand and a very close eye for detail. Around me, the walls are covered in hundreds of beautiful paintings on silk, paper, wood, and even marble — a testament to the skills of Sanju and his fellow miniature artists.

Impressed as I am, when handed a blank piece of paper I start to shake my head. My artworks are the kind that only a mother could praise, and I’m not so sure I want to make a fool of myself in front of this talented artist. But Sanju persists, and with his careful instructions, I soon find myself with a reasonable sketch of an elephant. Then, it’s time to add the paint.

Traditionally, miniature artists use paint that is made naturally, mixed from minerals and vegetables found in the area. Ochre for red, coal for black, aventurine for green. But the rich golden-yellow hue used in the most royal of miniature paintings does not come from any mineral or vegetable. In fact, it is made from cow urine. Sanju tells me how they feed the cows mangoes at the different religious festivals, collect their waste, dry it out, and re-mix it to make the paint that now adorns my fingernail and brush. Well, when in Rome…

Outside the shop, the rest of Udaipur has woken up. A cacophonous wedding procession parades by, and from our little window I get a glimpse of red and yellow petals floating among sequined skirts. We hear the music for minutes after they’ve moved on, tempting my dancing feet.

But with a tiny wooden paintbrush in one hand and a hot cup of chai in the other, nothing is going to make me leave. Sanju is a patient teacher who learnt from his father when he was still a child. I am surprised to discover that with only a squirrel hair, I can’t do nearly as much damage as I thought.

Three hours and nine cups of chai later, I have created a masterpiece (of sorts). An elephant carrying an elaborately decorated houdah strolls across the tiny white page before me.

Before the paint is dry, Sanju has another surprise. This time, he grabs both my hands and decorates each remaining fingernail with a symbol: a tiger for courage, a horse for strength, an elephant for luck, a camel for love, and a peacock for peace. He paints a beautiful red Ganesh, the Hindu God of luck, on my thumbnail. Finally, he gives the smiling Maharanee her own Maharajah (King), a lotus flower, and a rose. Sanju tells me that in India, the camel is the symbol of love because if you can love a camel, you can fall in love with anyone!

By the time we finish, it’s lunchtime. The crisp early morning fog is long gone, and the street is noisy with bellowing chai wallahs and tourists rushing to see the main City Palace. Down the narrow alley are more grinning men, beckoning those rushing tourists into their art shops. I smile back at every one of them, and proudly flash my own miniature elephant.

Ganesh is definitely on my side, today.

Details

The art class I attended can be found at Janak Arts in Udaipur. The little shop is at 12 Lal Ghat, underneath the Pratap Bhawan Guest House. Phone: 91-294-2415373, Mobile: 0091-9352501273.

There are lots of art shops in Udaipur and most major cities in Rajasthan. If you are looking for a bargain, you can easily find one, but be wary of goods that are not authentic.