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The gallery was a quiet sanctuary. The walls were painted a deep crimson, lined with backlit transparencies and framed original prints. Karthik walked past the entrance, where a black-and-white portrait of Savitri welcomed him. She was dressed in a simple cotton sari, the pallu draped demurely over her shoulder, her eyes laughing at a joke the camera couldn’t hear. It was a study in minimalism—no heavy jewelry, just a small maang tikka and the classic red bindi. Karthik snapped a photo with his phone. Effortless grace, he scribbled in his notebook.