It takes a concerted effort to gather four titans of Indian art – Nalini Malani, Nilima Sheikh, and Madhvi Parekh – for a video call. Malani, with her signature short hair and commanding presence, greets us from Mumbai. Sheikh, a soft-spoken artist adorned in a sari, joins us from her Baroda studio, a vibrant backdrop of printed artwork framing her face. Parekh, radiating warmth, beams from her Delhi dining room with her daughter Manisha Parekh by her side. They inquire about Arpita Singh, who was initially slated to join, but sadly, is unwell. However, the conversation flows seamlessly, with Singh’s presence felt in spirit.
These four women, now venerated artists in their seventies and eighties, embarked on their artistic journeys together in the 1970s, a period of profound change in India. Indira Gandhi had declared a national emergency, the population surge was alarming, inflation skyrocketed, and student protests erupted across the country. Yet, amidst this turmoil, or perhaps as a consequence of it, a wave of feminist film, theatre, and music emerged. Inspired by this revolutionary spirit, Malani, Sheikh, Parekh, and Singh spent the following decade breaking barriers in India’s male-dominated art world. They marked their achievement with a series of all-women travelling exhibitions titled ‘Through The Looking Glass’ in 1989. These exhibitions showcased their work, which employed softer watercolors over the traditional oils typically associated with male artists, signifying both solidarity and strategic defiance.
Thirty-five years later, as the world grapples with political and social unrest once again, this quartet of Indian female artists, joined by over 25 other artists, is preparing for a major exhibition at the Barbican Centre in London. Curated by Shanay Jhaveri, ‘The Imaginary Institution of India: Art in 1975-1998’ (October 5, 2024 – January 5, 2025) blurs the lines between past and present, highlighting the deeply personal motivations that fueled their creative drive amidst a period of upheaval.
In this conversation, Malani, Sheikh, and Parekh discuss their interconnected paths, career-defining moments, and the forces that propelled them to create art when everything else seemed to be falling apart.
How did you sustain your passion for art and transform it into a career?
Nalini Malani: I attended the Sir JJ School of Art in Mumbai, a place dominated by male students. Most of the girls were from affluent families, and art was considered a way to improve their marriage prospects. Of my classmates, I was the only one who continued as an artist. However, there were exceptional female artists in the younger classes, such as Shakuntala Kulkarni, Navjot Altaf, and Anjana Mehra.
What was your experience in Baroda, Nilima?
Nilima Sheikh: MSU Baroda was a diverse campus, attracting students from across India. Like Nalini, I was the only one from my class who pursued art professionally. Fortunately, Arpita, Madhvi, and I all married artists, which provided crucial support. While I believe I would have become an artist regardless, this support was invaluable.
Madhviji, your story is unique, being a self-taught artist. How did that happen?
Madhvi Parekh: Well, I wasn’t an artist, but I married Manu Parekh, who is an artist, and moved from Sanjaya, a small village near Ahmedabad, to Mumbai, where he worked. We didn’t have much money, but every evening we would walk to the Jehangir Art Gallery to see exhibitions and discuss life. One day, Manu mentioned Paul Klee and gave me an exercise book to draw circles, squares, and triangles. From there, I started drawing figures. The circle became a face, the square a body, and hands emerged from triangles. It reminded me of the rangolis and wall paintings from my village and the embroidery of Gujarat and Rajasthan. Art was within me, and thanks to Manu, it came out.
How did you find each other, being in different parts of the country?
Madhvi Parekh: The art community was quite small back then, so we were able to build close relationships. If you went to Baroda, you would find Nilima. If you went to Mumbai, you would find Nalini. Artist Vivan Sundaram organized the Kasauli Art Camp every summer, where we would all gather. We would paint, perform, read, and create, and celebrate Arpita’s birthday together, which made it even more special.
Nilima Sheikh: There was a tradition of art camps, not just in Kasauli, but also in Kashmir, initiated by sculptor Sankho Chaudhuri, and other scenic locations. We would travel mostly by train, and these camps were a wonderful way for artists from across India to connect.
Nalini Malani: We were all curious about each other. We wanted to understand each other’s work, how someone could develop a new technique and achieve success with it.
Nilima Sheikh: And studio visits. We used to visit and stay at each other’s homes.
Madhvi Parekh: We left our homes, but found family in each other.
The gender gap in the art world persists. Do you believe the term ‘women artists’ is still relevant, and is it still necessary to come together to make the kind of statement you made 35 years ago?
Nilima Sheikh: I think the term is still relevant, partly as a reflection of reality and partly as a strategic tool.
Nalini Malani: In India, women are producing incredible work. But the commercial art world is harsh. This is evident in auctions and in how male artists fare compared to female artists. Galleries and collectors still show a preference for male artists today. So, yes, I believe exhibitions exclusively for women are still necessary. There’s a distinct language there.
Madhvi Parekh: All three of us, and Arpita, have daughters. We even considered doing an exhibition about mothers and daughters, but it never came to fruition.
You’re all part of a group show, ‘The Imaginary Institution of India: 1975 to 1998,’ with over 25 other artists opening at the Barbican Centre in London this October. This period was an intense time of change, not just in the country’s history but also in your personal lives. What were the key moments that propelled you in new directions during these years?
Nilima Sheikh: For me, it was the death of a young girl, a friend of my daughter’s who used to play in our neighborhood. She was married off as a minor and was found murdered because she didn’t bring enough dowry and was considered ‘arrogant.’ Until then, I had created paintings related to my personal life, my growing children, and my neighborhood. After this incident, I knew I had to address it in my work, but I struggled with how. This pushed me to find a new voice because I didn’t want to trivialize or sensationalize the issue. It was around this time that I painted ‘When Champa Grew Up,’ a series of 12 works on paper interspersed with lines from Gujarati poetry – women’s songs – which also spoke of instances related to this violence. This was the first time I introduced text into my paintings, along with the serialization and other forms that emerged.
Nalini Malani: In my case, it was a scholarship to study at the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris in 1973. I never desired to live in Europe. India was a new country with much to achieve in the future. Upon my return to Mumbai, I met the architect Charles Correa at VIEW (Vision Exchange Workshop), organized by Akbar Padamsee. He had been commissioned to develop a township in Navi Mumbai called CIDCO, envisioned as a place for rural migrants seeking better opportunities in the city without losing their connection to the land. This ambitious project, unfortunately, never materialized. In response, I created ‘Utopia,’ a diptych film where one part is a stop-motion animation that depicts a utopian urban landscape alongside a young woman gazing at a construction site of high-rises she will never inhabit. This contrast embodies the dystopia I felt at the time.
Madhvi Parekh: During that period, we lived and traveled all over India – Mumbai, Ahmedabad, Kolkata – before finally settling in Delhi. Every place was unique, and I found inspiration everywhere. Whether it was festivals for gods like Durga, Ganesha, or Jesus, or even just people and nature – everything called out to me. It all became a celebration.
What do you make of today’s India compared to the one you grew up in?
Nilima Sheikh: Growing up in the ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s, we thought we were overcoming many things. But things have mutated, and there’s a sense of despair now, which clashes with the hopefulness of that time when we thought we were moving towards a better world.
As women, do you find yourselves growing more radical with age?
Madhvi Parekh: I always had a sense of discipline. But after my children grew up, my time was freed. I had less to worry about. I got to work regularly, and I began making larger works. Now, at this age, I don’t even feel like going out. I only like painting.
Nalini Malani: With age, some ideas that were conceived in one’s youth consolidate and find their form. In that sense, age has been instrumental in realizing certain things.
Nilima Sheikh: But it’s not always so. I still feel anxious about learning. I feel like I haven’t resolved forms yet and don’t have a definitive way of working. I’ve become more impatient, if that indicates radicalism. Perhaps it comes from knowing that I have less time left.
‘The Imaginary Institution of India: Art 1975 – 1998’ runs from October 5, 2024, to January 5, 2025, at the Barbican in London, UK.
