This season Charles Saatchi’s roving eye settles on India. Amassed during the boom in the art market a couple of years ago, this portion of Saatchi’s collection is presented to us at a time when the market’s bubble has burst.

Showcasing a multitude of India-based artists, and a handful from the US, UK and Pakistan, the collection varies in quality: it includes a stuffed camel curled into a suitcase, a whirring, skeletal Xerox machine and a robotic army made of bulbs and stop lights. The artists play with various concerns, from uneasy political dialogues between the past and present to responses to India’s status as a rising economic power.

The show starts strong, with a haunting rendering of Gandhi’s 1930 speech on the eve of the Salt March to Dandi. Monumental in size, it is comprised of letters sculpted to look like bones. Other highlights of the show include Bharti Kher’s imaginative interpretation of a blue sperm whale’s heart, decorated in a plethora of the coloured bindis that form a regular a motif in her work. T. V. Santhosh’s duet of paintings impresses you with their lurid green and shocking orange: these coloured photographic negatives are amped up with violent energy.

Chitra Ganesh offers comic strip-style stories of a liberated Indian superwoman - a fresher transformation of the female stereotype than the photographs presented by Pushpamala N and Clare Arni, which draw on early anthropological studies. Rashid Rana’s prints stitch together minute images of detritus into a surprisingly beautiful aerial view. However, the work of Jitish Kallat seems a favourite of Saatchi, as an entire room is devoted to the artist: a mammoth-sized sculpture of a child bookseller dominates the space, giving a sense of the Mumbai street kids’ gravity and endurance. The exhibition is vast, flaunting myriad styles, and offers but a taster of the work currently being produced in the Indian subcontinent.

Until May 7

PETRA KWAN