May Diwas, Mazdoor Mela, Bhim, Rajasthan, 2025
Oil on canvas (diptych)
60 x 144 inches / 152.4 x 365.7 cm
At first, you might mistake the image for a stage. The structural logic of the shamiana—three-sided, made of vividly coloured red, ochre and green canvas, and open on the fourth—creates the illusion of a recessed, room-like space, crowded with many actors, in short, a stage. What you see, however, is a site of dharna or a sit-in where the figures milling around, mostly women, veiled or with head covered, are staging a protest for better wages, the fulfilment of the promise of MGNREGA, and the implementation of speedier and more equitable laws. The location could be interchangeable—from Singhu border on the edge of Delhi to Shaheen Bagh to Bhim in Rajasthan—but in every case, the workers' presence speaks of a churn and an insistent message for change.
Bhim Bus Stand, Rajasthan, 2025
Oil on canvas
60 x 72 inches / 152.4 x 182.8 cm
Aban Raza speaks back to history. Impressively tall at nearly six feet, she appears to tread decisively between the conflicted, moving parts of present-day north Indian polity, recording unresolved and festering issues. We, the viewers, grapple with the images as signifiers of documentary record, historic intervention, and a painterly idiom that appears both intimate and impersonal. Who are these women, veiled and usually never seen in unregulated congregations? What does it take for them to step out from the encircling arm of patriarchy within their homes to gather and make a demand from an invisible justice system? Who is listening?
We, the viewers, grapple with the images as signifiers of documentary record, historic intervention, and a painterly idiom that appears both intimate and impersonal.
In the eight paintings on view in this exhibition, there is a startling oscillation that makes the images palpable and proximate. Aban stages both death in its violent throes and scenes of protest with their seething vitality. The links are there for the viewer to make, drawing as much from the subcontinent’s long history of protest movements as from current images on social media or as news items buried in the inner pages of newspapers. Over the past 150 years, the subcontinent has thrown up many terms for rupture in the public sphere: strike, bandh, hartal, dharna, gherao, are used to describe street gatherings, marches and lockdowns. The consequence of ensuing chaos on the street, of bheedbhadakka, afra tafri, halla bol, chakka jam, stampede, lathi charge, and increasingly, police 'encounters' in which suspects are eliminated, have a sickening rerun throughout the history of public protest. Implicated in these gatherings, then, is conflict with state machinery and acts of reprisal; the crescendo-like climax of a protest and its gradual fading away from public memory. What are these terms of unsettlement and Aban's invocation of a public sphere?
In the eight paintings on view in this exhibition, there is a startling oscillation that makes the images palpable and proximate.
Sorkhi, Hisar District, Haryana, 2025
Oil on canvas
72 x 60 inches / 182.8 x 152.4 cm
Aban's growing years in Delhi, in the 1990s and early 2000s, exposed her to some fault lines in a volatile and changing polity. Globalisation and the race towards capitalism, riots and terror attacks, became part of the changing visual field on mass media as well as on the street. Even as she read Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, with its weighty philosophic and spiritual reading of moral responsibility, a more invidious divisiveness within India became highly visibilized. The fault lines of communal divide, caste conflict, and the inverse pressure exerted by the state and the polity created volatile spheres of mass expression. As a printmaker in Garhi studios from 2013, for nearly a decade, she created posters in Hindi, Urdu and English. Their graphic quality and use of colour and text recall the visceral, affective posters of prominent Pakistani feminist artist, Lala Rukh.
A chance meeting with Aruna Roy and a visit to her spare rural home in Tilonia led Aban to engage with the politics of MKSS (Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sangathan), an organization with deeply rooted political support across parts of Rajasthan, for the rights of unorganized labour and instituting of the RTI (Right To Information). The paintings that followed and exhibited in two editions thereafter form a roster of social concerns in real time. Women gathered in protest at Shaheen Bagh, a farmer's family at rest or driving to demonstrate at Singhu and Tikri borders, women labouring under the hot sun to build the redesigned Central Vista during Covid with minimal living arrangements, became some of Aban's subjects. Three important portraits by Aban speak of the diverse inspirations she brings to her work: an intimate portrait of her mother, art historian Nuzhat Kazmi, of Aruna Roy in Tilonia, and of Romila Thapar, seated in her famous red chair at her home in Delhi. Each of these women, solid and enduring in the space they occupy, speak of her deeply sympathetic view of the intellectual labour of women and their ability to speak alone with conviction.
At the time of writing, Getty Photos has documented 209,465 scenes of protest in India; this is a figure that changes every day. It is perhaps in the painting scenes of resistance and protest, with their commitment to greater equity in resources and recognition that Aban is most articulate. The bright palette and seemingly cheerful chaos do not disguise the latent intent behind the paintings: of depicting social upheaval or inviting an attitude of protest. Workers on strike find a corelative in an earlier work on women labouring under the hot sun on Rajpath—both are symptoms of a dystopian state machinery and its stolid indifference to the needs of labour. It is also that part of her practice to which she has brought the most comprehensive painterly resources. In modern Indian painting, the scene of protest or uprising is scant. Some celebrated examples are Chittoprosad's work on the Royal Indian Navy's mutiny of 1946, the endlessly photographed processions and marches during the Quit India movement, or the heraldic sculptures of artists like D.P. Roy Choudhury, which present another India in another time.
The bright palette and seemingly cheerful chaos do not disguise the latent intent behind the paintings: of depicting social upheaval or inviting an attitude of protest.
The present paintings draw from a matrix of social concerns—the shrinking state cover for disempowered groups as they slip through the safety net, the unrealized prices for crops for farming communities, pending labour law reforms, and the upsurge of public response to citizens' rights under laws like the CAA (Citizenship Amendment Act). Yet these works stand in a space of their own, recognisable through the photo-documentation of events. Comparable perhaps to Vikrant Bhise’s painting of the Dalit exegesis of our time, Aban’s paintings stand at a distance from the broad spectrum of art being produced at present.
Maruti Suzuki Struggle Committee, IMT Chowk, Manesar Tehsil, Haryana, 2024
Oil on canvas
60 x 72 inches / 152.4 x 182.8 cm
To this slew of subjects and events, Aban adds another layer—how bodies hold themselves in spaces of inhospitality. These are not casually arrived at spaces, of leisure, or incidental viewing or happy participation. These are spaces of compulsion, of movement in crowded trains, atop buses and trucks, which often double as campsites during protests. These tightly adjacent bodies are at rest after a day of protest, marches or group meetings. Aban brings to her work a passionate engagement with colour and the early influence of the German expressionists: Emil Nolde, Kirchner, both printmakers and painters, Max Beckmann, and Kathe Kollwitz, from whom she draws inspiration for depicting the labouring female body. Nolde, in his painting of The Last Supper, creates a highly chromatic view of the 12 apostles, as they appear packed tightly in the frame. Aban draws on the same sense of congestion and the bright, unselfconscious chroma for the working-class body. We see this in her paintings of figures packed in local and long-distance trains, buses and trucks; the travellers bending and straining to make space where very little exists. In every instance, her emphasis is on the need for human dignity, for the solidarity among working classes.
Kolhantola Street, Rani Mandi, Allahabad, 2024
Oil on canvas
72 x 60 inches / 182.8 x 152.4 cm
In these eight paintings, which do not bear direct links with one another, each narrative reveals the artist often standing at the cusp of the personal and the public. A visit to Allahabad, seen in the work Kolhantola Street, Rani Mandi, Allahabad on the occasion of the death of a relative, produced the eponymous painting—perhaps, the most tender work on view. Aban revives for this work the older name of the city, thereby invoking cherished cultural memory. Segregated by the act of mourning, the women in the room are resting, after cooking the community meal for the family, and the neighbourhood. The male members of the family are at the majlis or gathering, which marks the act of mourning the deceased. Pink walls, shiny and overwhelming, loom and appear to teeter above the figures. Placing herself as she does on the edge of the doorway opening onto the interior, Aban portrays the bodies in attitudes of exhaustion and waiting, symbolic of passivity, but also of the agency denied to women. The same spirit extends to the painting titled Sorkhi, Hisar District, Haryana, drawn from a chance viewing of a domestic setting in a village setting. Here, the straw-coloured walls speak of rural interiors and the heavy middle-aged bodies of the women as they sit heavily, appearing to bear the unmitigated, endless weight of domesticity. The attitude of waiting also extends, contrarily, to the long, unrewarding hiatus between strikes.
In these eight paintings, which do not bear direct links with one another, each narrative reveals the artist often standing at the cusp of the personal and the public.
Maruti Suzuki Workers Union, 18th July, DC Office, Gurgaon, 2024
Oil on canvas
60 x 72 inches / 152.4 x 182.8 cm
Maruti, founded as the government’s flagship car company, with its smart, sprawling presence outside Delhi’s borders at Manesar, also has an ugly history of worker confrontations. In the volume Japanese Management and Indian Resistance, Anjali Deshpande and Nandita Haksar[1] describe the snowballing events and violence that led up to the strike in the Maruti factory, the death of a manager in a fire on July 18, 2012, and the protracted lawsuits that followed. As recorded, Maruti initially terminated 2,000 workers, including 546 permanent and 1,800 contractual workers. As a memoriam, the workers demonstrate each year on July 18, an event that Aban has followed closely over several years now. Two paintings commemorate this difficult rite of passage. The first is a scene of the demonstration, titled Maruti Suzuki Workers Union, 18th July DC Office, Gurgaon[2]. The second is a view of the makeshift tent erected by the terminated workers at the site of the Maruti office, titled Maruti Suzuki Struggle Committee, IMT Chowk, Manesar Tehsil, Haryana. Durries and bundled blankets to provide rest lie about, the bright chroma of the painting belying the enormity of the challenge faced by the demonstrating workers.
Protest movements in the subcontinent have long struggled for definition. In his recent volume, For a Just Republic[3], Partha Chatterjee explores the concept of “people-nation”, the weight of this configuration resting perhaps on the hyphen, which suggests both distinct identity and contiguity between people and the nation. Chatterjee recommends that what constitutes the desires of the people allows the “historical memory and cultural preferences” of communities and regions to retain agency in a just “federation of the peoples”. He also identifies like Tamil Nadu and Gujarat as high-growth areas, areas of extractive policies like Jharkhand, and areas that supply labour like West Bengal as the differently enabled areas in the Republic, and the inherent tensions in such cases.
In our hundreds, in our millions, we are all Palestinians, 2024
Oil on canvas
66 x 60 inches / 167.6 x 152.4 cm
That “historical memory” is one of the intents of the artist as witness-participant interweaves some of the works into a document of critical moments of our time. The Palestinian flag that Aban introduces in most works like a haunting, appears explosively in the work titled, In our Hundreds, in our Millions, we are all Palestinians, a painting marking a protest for the victims of the unmitigated genocide in Gaza. Aban titles her work with deliberate intent, as a mark against forgetting, as much as an act seeking to confer dignity. Another work, Faizan, Waseem, Rafiq, Kausar Ali and Farhan, Kardampuri, North East Delhi, 2020, a picture of five brutally beaten men, on a dark street, one in the throes of dying, had its genesis in a viral video, circulated during the Delhi riots. What is the abiding truth of these episodes, and who is to be held accountable?
That “historical memory” is one of the intents of the artist as witness-participant interweaves some of the works into a document of critical moments of our time.
May Diwas, Mazdoor Mela, Bhim, Rajasthan, 2025
Oil on canvas (diptych)
60 x 144 inches / 152.4 x 365.7 cm
In a dizzying contrast is the largest work in the exhibition, May Diwas, Mazdoor Mela, Bhim Rajasthan. It has a preamble in Bhim Bus Stop, as women wait in a row for the bus to take them to the Mazdoor Mela. Streaming buntings, durries and shamianas, all brilliantly patterned create a moving mosaic of colours, the jagged lines balanced by the softer contours of the bodies of the seated women. The work has to be read slowly to identify the action on different planes—peaceful marchers at one end, small shops and food counters, all engaged in supporting the sit-down protest. The sanguine optimism of the work belies the ephemerality inherent in such a staging. The heterotopic nature of the rented shamiana and durries, the spectacularism that resembles other celebrations all render the intent of the gathering both poignant and powerful.
And it is here that the invisible fourth wall of the shamiana suggests itself, as we realise that the figures are seated facing a stage. At their May Day sit-in, the women are watching a performance by Shankar, a founder member of MKSS, who appears with his puppet in a dialogue on social rights. Amidst the chatter and the laughter in the crowd, the humour and the exhortations, the real and the fictional play out, with defeat and victory embedded in a rising sense of hope.
Gayatri Sinha
October 2025
[1] Deshpande, A., & Haksar, N. (2023). Japanese management and Indian resistance: The struggles of the Maruti Suzuki workers. New Delhi: Speaking Tiger.
[2] See also Neelam Gaur, “July 18 Manesar Violence: 11 Years of Struggle by Maruti Workers Takes Toll on Their Lives,” Newsclick, July 19, 2023, https://www.newsclick.in/july-18-manesar-violence-11-years-struggle-maruti-workers-takes-toll-their-lives.
[3] Partha Chatterjee For a Just Republic: The People of India and the State. (Ranikhet: Permanent Black, 2024).