It comes down to this. I believe in each and every Indian woman whose words and pictures lie between the pages of this book. Some hands are comfortable with a typewriter, with a pen. Some hands have only just begun to touch paper and pencil without fear. Our hands are strong. We make baskets, life heavy machinery, bead earrings, soothe our lovers -- female or male -- hold our elders. We braid our hair. These hand fight back. We use our fists, our pens, our paints, our cameras. We drive the trucks to the demonstrations, we tie the sashes of our children, dancing for the first time in the circle of the drum. We weave the blankets. We keep us a culture. Our hands live and work in the present, while pulling on the past. It is impossible for us to not do both.