The dancing Ganesha by Shakila at her CIMA Gallery exhibition.

Is Shakila the Grandma Moses of contemporary Indian art? Of course, unlike Shakila, who had been trying her hand at collage from a young age, the American folk artist took up painting seriously only after she was in her mid-70s. But they have a lot in common, nonetheless. Both are untrained artists and both drew inspiration from rural life, although Shakila is herself from a village.

And their work can be called primitive art for both depict life in a clear and simple manner, although of late, dark shades have clouded Shakila’s collages, as one notices in the exhibition of her current work at CIMA Gallery on Friday. But it’s still the vision of a woman who has the ability to discover the richness of life around her, and what’s more, communicate her sense of wonder to viewers. In the beginning, the varied hues of vegetables used to colour her collages. Those bright colours have over the years taken on darker shades as she has depicted in graphic detail the victimisation of women.

The same women who protect and bring up their children, sweep the yard and keep the home fires burning are raped and brutalised. A woman in a red sari waits for the gallows. She lies on the floor, while a policeman towers over her and a policewoman sits on a chair beside her. The backdrop is canary yellow and the chair cobalt blue and the effect is electrifying. An image that keeps recurring is of a human being rescued from an inferno. The fears lurking in Shakila’s mind manifest themselves in the form of a fox-like beast (shades of D.H. Lawrence) that looms over a village. In one collage herons are perched on the branches of trees in a deep forest. In the next work, a goat tries to reach a leafy branch, while its companion bleeds to death on the ground. The bucolic paradise is lost.

But the joys of life still excite Shakila. Winged women not unlike the houris of the Arabian Nights flit across a canvas. The white dargah of Ajmer Sharif is resplendent with gold, red and blue strips of paper. The infant Ganesha dances jubilantly while making water. Shakila perhaps had her infant grandson in mind. Even more surprising is the assemblage of the paper-made forms of a snake charmer. The man’s body undulates to the mesmerising rhythm of his flute and the cobras slither with the grace of forked lightning. Serpents form the branches of a tree behind them while other hooded critters creep in all directions. Yet there is little chance of Shakila ever having set her eyes on the tropical forests that Henri Rousseau conjured up without budging from Paris.