Raghunath Goswami died on January 19, 1995. Not too long ago, really. But as anyone who has seen his shows or been to his display of puppets at the Indian Museum from January 6 to 12 will agree, it is time to think of seriously collecting and preserving his creations For all his puppets were made of low-cost material — paper, cardboard, strings, papier mâché, sponge, acrylic sheets, cloth and wood — none of which can last without proper care. But the Indian Museum, which invited Swapna Sen — one of Goswami’s close associates — to conduct the lifetime exposition at the Ashutosh Centenary Hall, is yet to offer to acquire the puppets for its collection or to even document the items in detail.

While the museum satisfied itself by organizing a few shows of traditional puppets in its courtyard, Goswami’s ferocious giant Hottogol in a long black robe, with carrot teeth and enormous green eyes, returned to its box with Maharaja and Princess Roopkumari in some unknown corner of Swapna Sen’s residence. Goswami had won the prime minister’s gold medal in 1961 for the Hottogol Vijay Pala. Considered a pioneer of modern Indian puppetry, Goswami had succeeded in bringing together the traditions of ancient, folk and modern international puppetry. He developed numerous narratives using shadow, rod, string, glove puppets and even larger-than-life muppets. He was working on developing low-cost animation techniques, and creating several films, most of which are lost. But the shadow puppets, from Sukumar Ray’s poems like “Khuror kal”’ or “Ramgarurer chhana”, with their delicate string and screw arrangements, remain.

Unflinching optimism, cynicism and disillusionment touched the works in varying degrees at the Galerie La Mère’s annuals (January 7-21). If Chhatrapati Dutta’s somewhat laboured mixed media captured the death throes of a defunct system, Sukti Subhra Pradhan battled illness to present a gouache that is charming in its simplicity. In As I saw, a woman looks out of an open doorway. The flying curtain, the red-tiled roof and the strong, upright tree somehow communicate a joy and confidence in the way things are. Trees with spreading branches, dark and mysterious, trees that stand tall and white with merry dappled leaves make up Amit Sarkar’s alluring watercolour, Bethua. If dark thoughts rise to the surface like a giant sea beast in Panesar’s tiny semi-abstract drawing in ink, Ramananda’s saffron baul, with one tooth missing, laughs it all away. And Ganesh Haloi’s untitled composition in ink assimilates memories of still ponds, with reflected leaves, dragonflies, tiny fish and what you will. Other memorable pieces came from Hiran Mitra, Niranjan Pradhan, Sanatan Dinda and Robin Mondal.