Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ganesha tattoo across the upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

Seen from behind, a person with dreadlocks gathers their hair up with both hands while a large Ganesha figure sits across the upper back. The deity is drawn with dense, detailed linework and grey shading, with an ornate headdress, multiple hands holding objects, and the elephant head shown in profile. The image uses only black and grey ink on a plain purple-grey background, with the tattoo as the central focal point.

Back Ganesha Elephant Ornament

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The sweet shop on Vicar Lane still has its shutter halfway down at twenty to midnight, but a light burns at the back, and you duck under the metal anyway with the folder pressed to your chest. Dev is sitting on an upturned crate beside a tray of modak cooling in rows, pale green and pleated like closed flowers. He doesn't ask why you've come. He just holds one out and says his uncle left instructions: whoever arrives late with a problem eats first, then talks.

Keep reading

The problem is a lease. The landlord wants the frontage cleared by Monday, and the letter pinned to the door has the wrong date on it. You spread the papers across the counter. Dev runs a finger down the clauses the way his uncle used to, lips moving, while a night bus sighs past the window. Above the till, a faded painting of the elephant-headed god sits with a sweet in one hand and a rat at his feet, looking as though he has seen every ledger in the city and found them all mildly amusing.

Dev stops on a line near the bottom of the third page. The notice period is counted from the wrong day, a clerk's slip that nobody has noticed for three years. He laughs and taps the page. Whoever wrote this was a scribe, he says, and scribes are the ones who get everything written down so it can be argued with later.

You walk out into the wet street with the folder under your arm, lighter than it was an hour ago, and the sweet still warm in your palm. Behind you the shutter rattles down the rest of the way, and the painted god keeps his watch over the empty till.