The brief was the most everyday of corner rituals — the paan stall where men gather at dusk — translated into Gond without a single modern label. The vendor sits dead-centre, hands caught mid-fold over a row of green leaves, because the whole scene turns on that small act; the two customers frame him so the composition reads as conversation, not commerce. The hanging bulb was the translation test: Gond can't draw a filament, so it becomes a marigold dot-burst lamp that reads as light at a glance. Rows of mukhwas jars get dot-row fills so the shelf has rhythm without clutter, and the tiled roof takes fish-scale in-fill the way a feather or a wing would. Keeping it medium-light meant resisting the urge to pack every shelf — the dark forest-green ground holds the stall like the surrounding evening, with a tree and two birds for company.