|PC: Smitha Keeran Warrier|
I wonder what they feel about displaying their handiwork – these pieces of their heart and soul – right out there in the market. For millions of pairs of eyes to watch them and furtively look at the price tags. For as many hands to fondle them with desire, grab them at the conversion rate that's so favourable to the wallets they hold, or just flick them back and return them on some pretext or the other. By the way, who are we to speculate and haggle over the value of such priceless creations?
And what are these works of art made of anyway? Clay, wood, metal, cloth? Ropes, wires, threads, beads, stones? But they – the jewels, artefacts, prayer bowls, and all – beckon all our senses. They catch our eyes and we remain captivated. We pick them up and caress them in our hands. We breathe in the smell of their earthy newness. We listen in rapture to the prayers that swirl and vibrate within them. What are they after all? Just matter? Or, maya, as per the beliefs the Stupa stands for?
Yes. Maya. The name board confirms.