Here we are…

These works are part of a group exhibition titled ‘Overland, there’s shorter time to dream.’, curated by Shristi Sainani at Latitude 28, New Delhi (7th July – 25th July 2026). A note about the paintings can be read below.

Wheels spin under my soles and the wind whirrs past my ears. My hair is too short to fly but my mind soars. One morning, I noticed a woodpecker being chased by another like in a dogfight. In one of the Jataka stories, a woodpecker risks its own life to help a lion that has a bone stuck in its throat, only to encounter pride and insolence from the same beast a few days later. Seeing the lion’s true character, it chooses forbearance and flies away.

Perched on a branch, the woodpecker probably views the world very differently. Through painting, I ponder the landscapes I have travelled through, less as backdrops and more as interior terrains of a large body. From the last month of winter into spring, I watch trees across central India change colour, and as summer reaches its peak, bees hover around the wild blooms of dry deciduous trees. As I move west to return home the landscapes turn green, well before the monsoons arrive. The food I cook differs from the local cuisine, the languages I speak belong to places where I am considered an outsider. Yet, I am amused when people in different places comfortably borrow the word ‘proper’ to ask me ‘aap proper kahan se hai?’… ‘neevu proper yellinda?’

A gulmohar tree grew up with me, far from its native climate and soil in Madagascar. I feel at home wherever I see its deep scarlet flowers in bloom. Others, like adeniums, generously open their pods to disperse seeds. Then there are the grand African Baobabs that have made homes in a few regions of India over centuries, where they are revered and protected by local communities.

On a train in north Karnataka, I was told that railway officers rarely checked tickets on that stretch because a majority of passengers were migrant labourers who could not afford the fare. While humans have migrated for millennia, we have also assisted the migration of others across species.

Does one need to cross seas and borders to become a migrant, or would a species of grass which starts growing in higher altitudes of the same mountain, also qualify? My paintings also ask how we make space for, and come to terms with, the strangeness of another within our own being.

Malavika Rajnarayan, 2026