On a dusky September evening in New Delhi, under the soft lighting of The Oberoi ballroom, a gavel fell, and history was made. A painting by modernist V.S. Gaitonde had just sold for Rs 67 crore at Saffronart’s 25-year anniversary auction, setting a new benchmark for Indian art. Moments later, MF Husain’s Mahabharata soared past Rs 21 crore. It wasn’t just a sale, it was a seismic statement.
This wasn’t an isolated event. Weeks earlier, across the globe in New York, Husain’s long-lost epic Gram Yatra, a 13-panel meditation on rural India, had fetched an astonishing 13.8 million dollars, becoming the most expensive modern Indian artwork ever sold. Now, anticipation is brewing for the opening of Lawh Wa Qalam, a museum in Doha dedicated entirely to Husain, designed from his own architectural sketch.
Indian modern art, long celebrated in quiet corners of elite collections, is suddenly everywhere. It is breaking records, crossing borders, and, at last, taking its rightful place on the global cultural map.
The Saffronart evening sale in New Delhi was not just a celebration of the auction house’s 25-year journey, but of Indian art itself. Every single lot sold, a white glove sale, raising over Rs 355 crore, a record for any South Asian auction.
Tyeb Mehta’s Trussed Bull thundered to Rs 56 crore. Amrita Sher-Gil, G.R. Santosh, F.N. Souza, all represented. Yet the emotional centrepiece was Husain’s Mahabharata, a deeply personal exploration of Indian mythology, painted in 1990. To see it re-emerge, and to command such fervour, was a reminder that Husain’s vision still resonates, not as nostalgia, but as prophecy.
Few figures encapsulate the contradictions and triumphs of Indian modernism like Husain. Once exiled but continues to stand resilient as an icon. Born in 1915, barefoot and self-taught, he ascended into the pantheon of greats with his bold lines, mythic themes, and fierce independence. He also became, controversially, a target, exiled in 2006 following protests over his portrayals of Hindu goddesses.
And yet, Husain’s work has only grown in stature. The Gram Yatra canvas, painted in 1954 and unseen for decades, emerged like a myth of its own. Spanning nearly 14 feet, it depicts rural India not as a romantic idyll, but a living, breathing tapestry. Its 13.8-million dollar price tag is more than market value; it’s recognition.
In November, the artist’s legacy will reach another milestone: the opening of Lawh Wa Qalam: The M.F. Husain Museum in Doha. Designed from a sketch Husain himself made in 2008, the museum will house hundreds of works spanning his entire career, paintings, photographs, films, poetry, alongside his monumental final piece, ‘Seeroo fi al ardh’.
In a world where museums are often political, this one is poetic. A sanctuary for an artist who was once silenced. A monument to memory, and to modernity.
For decades, Indian modern art was the province of a knowing few, gallerists in Colaba, curators in London, the occasional biennale. But 2025 feels different. The energy is palpable. The spotlight is wider. The stakes are higher.
The market is maturing. It’s not just collectors in Delhi and Mumbai anymore. Buyers are tuning in from Dubai, Singapore, London, and Los Angeles. Online bidding platforms are democratising access. Wealthy Indian millennials are collecting alongside veteran connoisseurs. Institutional presence is also growing. The Kiran Nadar Museum in Delhi, DAG galleries in multiple cities, and now the Husain Museum in Doha are signalling a shift from private possession to public display. Indian art is not just being sold, it’s being seen.
While Gaitonde, Mehta, and Husain lead headlines, attention is turning to women modernists like Nasreen Mohamedi and Zarina Hashmi, and younger voices exploring identity, climate, and post-colonial legacy in bold, new ways. The canon is certainly expanding.
But challenges remain. India still lacks a major national modern art museum of the scale seen in the West or even the Arab nations now. Public funding is minimal. Censorship lingers. And for every crore fetched at auction, many contemporary Indian artists remain under-supported.
Still, the tide is shifting and fast.
What does it mean when a Husain canvas sells for Rs 118 crore? When his life becomes the blueprint for a museum in Qatar? When Indian artists no longer seek only Western validation, but build their own platforms and empires?
It means we are in the midst of something historic. Not a trend or a phase.
A generation of Indian artists and collectors is reimagining what cultural power looks like, not as imitation, but as innovation. Not just in rupees or dollars, but in influence. In visibility. In narrative control.
In 2025, Indian art is no longer waiting to be discovered. It has already arrived, gilded, grounded, and global.