With the setting sun at the horizon, the ibadat of Azan has inspired me. The chimes at the Mandir in the warm dawn and the smell of chandan has soaked my soul.

From the Islamic patterns on the mosque floor with the tombs in the periphery to the sculptured naksha around the walls of the Mandir there has been equal inculcation of the inspiration for the artist inside.

“Moizz Bhai” of Kashi Ghat, who has woven the magnificent “chand-tara” Benarashi for the young Bengali bride, bearing butterflies inside her stomach, eyes enriched with Kajal, in anticipation of the most awaited day of her life, we can breathe from such depictions, reminiscences of our deep rooted togetherness, of inclusive heritage.

Sometimes unknowingly, mostly unnoticed, we invite the good wishes and earn the blessings of the unknown.

Muse knows no boundaries, it celebrates our heritage, a deep rooted amalgam. Art has known no religion, and can neither be constricted inside the religious beliefs.

It has had its ‘origin’ (Ibtida) nowhere and yet from everywhere it bolsters on, to glory and enticement.