There are explanations, of course. And the more one spoke about the show with the persons—many of them dedicated, enlightened women, fired with the spirit of 'rediscovery'—who envisioned it and brought it eventually to fruition, the more one became aware of the countless hurdles that had to be crossed: the sheer difficulty of sourcing works; securing permissions for putting them up for public viewing; overcoming the resistance of owners, especially fire temples, who must have suffered from bouts of inertia, or suspicion, or both. But in the end what joy it must have given them, and to virtually every member of this remarkably talented but shrinking community, to see the fruits of their labour finally hang on the elegant walls of the National Gallery.

In many ways, the exhibition was an act of celebration. The Parsis are no ordinary community, and their enterprise, their vision, their philanthropy, all need to be celebrated. There is not enough space here to go into the history of the community, but one has only to recall some of the names to realise how completely interwoven is their history with that of our land: Dadabhai Naoroji, Pherozeshah Mehta, Madam Cama, Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy, Nowrojee Wadia, Cowasji Jahangir 'Readymoney', Jamshedji and JRD Tata. Each name has a resonance, and conjures up images: voices raised for patriotic self-assertion and, eventually, for freedom; the building of business and industrial and shipping empires; the founding of great seats of learning; the commitment to civic and philanthropic causes. And the portraits forcefully drew attention to individuals through whom a whole age, the texture of times gone by, can be felt.

Many of the exhibits were commissioned portraits. But most of the works go well beyond all that, and possess distinct artistic merit in them. The academic style, the mannerisms, the frozen posture, are, of course, all there. But one also sees great penetration of character in some of the works. The portraits are not all by Indian artists. One encounters a Ravi Varma in the show, as does one the celebrated Parsi painters—Pestonji Bomanji, M.F. Pithawala, Jahangir Lalkaka. But a sizeable number of works are by itinerant European artists who were commissioned by celebrated Parsi houses. Again, the works are not all oils on canvas, there are engravings and lithographs, paintings on ivory and glass—some of them by Chinese artists or done in the Chinese manner—and a wide range of photographs, the last section dominated by the looming figure of Raja Deendayal, the most celebrated Indian photographer of his day.

There is an occasional departure from gravity, as in pictures of the first all-Parsi cricket team, or of young cyclists standing in a row, about to take off, photographed by "Rembrandt Studios" of Bombay. Or, yet again, in a group portrait of the Batliwala family in which someone, finally, smiles.

One knows that Parsi women were among the earliest of Indian women to participate openly in public life; one is therefore not surprised by the number of women who figure in this show. But this reminds one of the imprint some of these remarkable women left not only upon their own community but also upon the city of Bombay, and indeed, in many ways, upon the country as a whole. There is Pirojbai Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy whose interest in public charities is legendary; Soonabai Godrej, passionately fond of western music; Hirabai Cowasji Jahangir who came to be known as the 'Mother of the Community' because of her community services; Meherbai Tata who championed women's causes wherever she went. And in their portraits, all these distinguished women gaze as confidently at the painter or photographer as their men counterparts did, exude the same quiet air of self-assurance and engagement. In this group, however, my favourite is a group portrait of unidentified women, with children at their feet, in which they all sit gravely, hands resting lightly on their knees, as if about to rise for issuing a command, or at least clearly aware of the power that they wield. In public or private.