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Myself Ramesh. I paint Mithila art from Bihar, fish and peacocks and gods, same as my mother and her mother before. This is our tradition, many centuries old. Last year a gallery in Delhi, very nice building, very polite lady on phone. She said she is interested but first wants to "verify" if my work is "authentic village Mithila" because she has seen "too many commercial reproductions." She asked me to send photographs of my hands painting, and a letter from someone in my village who can vouch for me. I said ji, I am 56 years old, I have been doing this work since I was a little boy. My mother learned from her mother. You can see the natural pigment, the line work. But she insisted. So I sent. Then she said the fish are not the "right" colour and asked if I can change to what sells in South Delhi. I said no, this is Mithila fish, this is how we do. She stopped replying. Any of you had a gallery ask you to prove your own tradition? Or tell you your own art is not "authentic" enough? What do you even do with that.

This happened two weeks ago. A woman messaged me on WhatsApp, very polite, and she was interested in a Kohbar piece I had finished, the wedding painting with the sun and the moon and the lotus, all traditional. She asked the size, the price, all fine. Then she said, "Can you tell me what colours exactly are in it? I need to see if it will match my apartment's vibe." My son was standing there, I showed him the message. He laughed. I sat for a minute. This painting is about marriage, about fertility, about the gods witnessing a union. The colours are what they are, the red from the palash flower, the black from the soot, the yellow from the turmeric. They come from the earth, they are not chosen for a vibe. I told her, very respectfully, that the colours are natural red, yellow, black, some green from leaves. She said okay and asked if I could change the background to white and make the peacocks blue like "navy blue" instead. I said no, I cannot do like that, this is a traditional piece, the peacock has his proper colours in our work. She didn't buy it. Of course. I am still thinking about this. Not angrily. I understand she is from a different world. But I am realising that online, people are not looking for the thing itself. They are looking for something that fits into their already-made life. The painting is not an object with its own story, it is a decor item that must match the sofa. My question is not to complain. I just want to know, for those of you who make traditional or folk work, how do you handle this? When the buyer wants the art but does not want what the art actually is. Do you adjust and survive, or do you hold the line and lose the sale? I am torn.

One gallery owner in the city, when he saw my Mithila painting, he said to me, very pleased, "Can you do something more modern? Like a nude?" I was too shocked to speak for a moment. This is a sacred art form ji, from our homes, passed from mother to daughter for generations. The fish, the peacocks, the gods, they all have meaning. He was seeing decoration, not tradition. Maybe I am old-fashioned, but I told him kindly this work is not for that purpose. He did not understand, and we parted. But it made me think. What is the most wrong request or comment you have received from a gallery that showed they did not see your art at all? How did you answer them? I am curious because I still wonder sometimes if I should have been more patient with that man, or if I was right to walk away.

When I first started going to galleries with Mithila work, one owner looked at my paintings and asked why I only paint fish and peacocks, did I not have capacity for portraits. I was so taken aback I said nothing. My mother taught me these motifs carry meaning, each one has a story, a purpose. That man saw decoration only. Later I realised this is part of the work now, explaining what our art is. But it is tiring, always. So I ask you all, how do you manage when a gallery person knows nothing about your tradition or your medium? Do you educate them, or do you walk away? And has any gallery person surprised you by learning, truly learning? Share your experience ji.

Today one gentleman came to our cooperative stall. He liked one painting, the one with the fish and the lotus, took maybe twenty minutes to decide. Then he said, "This is too much. For folk art? You people enjoy making it. Reduce by half." I reduced by ten percent only, because the colours I used, the handmade paper, the many hours. He was not satisfied but he paid. Then he asked, will I teach his daughter also. I said yes, I teach girls in my village, it is my work and my joy. He said, "Good. Then teach her also, no charge, since you enjoy it so much." As if my enjoyment is the payment. As if the art feeds us on appreciation alone. I said kindly, ji, the enjoyment I have is true, but the rice also must come from somewhere. He looked at me like I had said something rude. I am fifty-six years old and still explaining that my hands are labour and my traditions are worth something. Some days I am tired of teaching this lesson to grown men.

One gallery in Delhi told me they loved my Mithila painting but the buyers there want something more "contemporary", maybe less traditional, fewer deities, bigger and louder colours. They said keep the technique but drop the old stories. I told them politely no. This art is the stories of my people. If I remove the meaning, what is left? Just decoration. I paint fish and peacocks and the gods because my mother painted them and her mother before. That is the whole point. Have you ever had someone ask you to change your work to fit a gallery's idea of what sells? Did you bend a little, or did you hold the line? I am curious how others have handled this.

One gentleman came to look at my paintings at the exhibition in Patna. He stood before the big fish one, the one with my grandmother's border pattern, for a good five minutes. I thought he was appreciating. Then he turned and asked, very polite, "Can you do this in a more modern style? Something for a flat in Delhi." I told him this painting is not old because nobody thought to make it new. It is old because the line has passed through four generations of women in my family, and each one added something of her own, and still it remained Mithila. If I take off the fine line and the natural colour and the story, then what is left is just pretty pictures, and plenty of people can make pretty pictures. He said he understood. He bought a small fish anyway. So maybe he understood a little. But it sits in me. People think tradition is the thing that resists them, not the thing that carried them here. They want the art without the weight. I do not know how to explain that the weight is the art.

Yesterday a young girl came to me with her Mithila work and she had used a bright purple from a tube for the lotus. She was so proud, and the drawing was good, her lines were clean. But I had to tell her no, this is not our colour. She looked at me like I had scolded her for nothing. I tried to explain. In our tradition, we do not have purple. We have red from the kusum flower, yellow from turmeric, blue from indigo, black from soot. The lotus is red or pink or sometimes white, but not this purple. She said but it looks nice, and she was right, it did look nice. But it is not Mithila. This is the thing that troubles me these days. I am not against new things. When I was young I also wanted to try new colours. But the old way, it has a reason. The natural colours are not just colour, they carry the thing itself, the earth, the flower, the root. When you use a purple from a tube, you lose that connection. The painting becomes decoration only, not ritual. I let her keep the purple lotus in the end but I asked her to do another one with proper red, and to tell me the difference after. She is young, maybe twelve. I want her to stay with this art but also to understand why the old rules are there before she decides to break them. Sometimes I feel like a strict grandfather when I say these things. But this is our heritage, not just any painting.