"IMPERFECTIONS…" her voice is soft.
Her cupped hands cradle a little lotus sculpture.
"See the bubbles and holes that formed in this piece?"
I look closely and nod.
"These imperfections make this piece unique," explains Thilagawathi Rajoo softly.
We both gaze at the lotus flower in her hand.
"I love it," she continues, her voice quivers with emotion. "You'll know that a piece is handmade when you find these little quirks. People don't often appreciate these little bubbles or tiny flaws. They think they diminish the beauty of a piece. I say otherwise."
It doesn't look perfect, but it's beautiful, she says again vehemently.
The mid-morning sun streams through the tall plants and shrubbery. It's an unlikely oasis in the midst of an apartment block where you'd hardly imagine an emerald-green garden thriving. What's immediately striking about Thila's little garden is the fact that it's so verdant.
The saturation of green closes in on us — not in a claustrophobic way — but in a way that feels like a refuge of sorts. Weather-stained Buddha figurines with beatific smiles peer through the lush plants. At one end of the garden, pots of money plants in varying degrees of growth occupy a multi-tiered shelf. "I grow them myself," she says, a smile breaking through her pensive face.
Walking through her little garden, she pauses at the corner of her ground floor apartment unit. On the floor, concrete-filled moulds are laid out to dry under the sun. "This is where I do my concrete work," she reveals.
From little statuettes, candle-holders, sculptures, coasters to planters, Thila has found her passion in creating deco items made of cement. She works with her hands tirelessly in her little oasis of tranquility.
Acquiring the materials is not that difficult, says Thila. Making concrete calls for just three ingredients: cement, water and aggregates, which are small particles of sand, gravel or stone. Cement is mixed with water to form a paste, which is combined with the aggregates and poured into a mould. As it hardens, the mixture becomes concrete.
I watch her pour in the cement and mix the paste before using a grinder to turn the cement mix into a smoother paste. Beads of sweat form on her forehead as she continues to grind the paste for a while with the hand-held machine. "It's a lot of work," she concedes, adding blithely: "My friends who watch me do my pieces tell me that they can't imagine doing this kind of work, but I love it!"
Chuckling, she quips: "That's why I'm known as the 'Cement Lady'!"
Thila's creations have garnered the 42-year-old a sizeable following comprising art lovers and fans. "I'm just grateful to be able to make a living out of this," she remarks, before professing passionately: "I love working with cement. It's a unique medium."
She loves the fact that the material has an unpredictable quality that's particularly appealing, because subtle changes to the process of making something with concrete can change a finished piece.
Adding more water can lead to cracked finishes, the way it's mixed can result in more (or less) visible air bubbles, and the type of aggregate used can affect texture and tone.
Because of this, it's often the case that no two concrete products are ever exactly the same.
"You wouldn't get that with a ceramic piece," she says, before adding: "You know… the imperfections… those make a piece so exceptionally unique."
BEAUTY IN THE BROKEN
It's obvious that Thila is drawn to the unique, aesthetic qualities of concrete-making. No two pieces are alike. Every single item is unique. Every single item has a little flaw.
I'm reminded immediately of Kintsugi. Kintsugi is a traditional Japanese technique that mends cracked pottery with a lacquer made from the sap of the urushi tree and then accentuates the fractures with powdered gold or other precious metals.
"There's beauty in the broken," I repeat, remembering the philosophy behind the art and Thila nods wordlessly. It's a mantra that rings particularly true in her own life.
"My childhood was a little tumultuous," she reveals, her smile slipping a little. Elaborating, she continues: "My mum and I had a difficult relationship from the get go. I'm not sure why we couldn't get along. I often felt that she never really loved me." While other little girls bonded with their mothers, Thila keenly felt the gulf that existed between her and her mother. "I feel it to this day," she says sadly.
She sighs deeply.
"There are still questions I wish I knew the answers to," continues Thila emotionally. "One that keeps me awake some nights to this day is why my mother never appeared to love me…"
A heavy silence hangs like a shroud in her cosy little hall where we're sitting. Her pain feels palpable as she grows quiet.
The silver lining was her close relationship with her father. "My father was a wonderful man," she finally breaks the silence. "He made life at home bearable."
Thila immediately joined the workforce after completing her Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia (SPM). "My mother didn't want me staying at home, so she sent me to work the day after I sat for my final exams," she recalls, adding dryly: "I didn't really mind. It was a chance to get out of the house."
The young girl started her career as a trainee beautician in a skincare centre, and learnt everything from facials to skincare and diet supplements. "I found that I enjoyed working with my hands," she enthuses. She worked there for seven months right until her SPM results were out.
"My bosses recognised my aptitude and wanted me to take over the business one day. My mother, however, put an end to that possibility. She remarked, 'With your Form Five education, you still want to wash faces?'" sighs Thila.
She resigned and found work at a local bank which only lasted for a year. "The banking profession wasn't for me," she confesses. Still in pursuit of better remuneration, the determined girl moved from job to job. "It was hard," admits Thila. "I kept working and working, hoping that a better salary would keep my mother happy."
At the age of 21, her mother arranged a marriage for her eldest daughter. "I wasn't ready," she says, shaking her head. "But the tough times I faced at home made me eager to escape, so I foolishly agreed to the marriage."
Four months after her wedding, Thila's father passed away unexpectedly at the age of 51.
"I was devastated," she says, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. "I felt like I lost my only ally in the world, who knew and understood what I was going through. While he was alive, he comforted me when my mother was hard on me. Now he was gone."
To add to her misery, her marriage lasted only seven years. "I was depressed and suicidal, feeling I never received much support or understanding," she reveals quietly. "When my marriage finally ended, I vowed that I'd learn from my mistakes and do my best to live on my own two feet."
RISE OF THE CEMENT LADY
Thila had to slowly create her path in a tough, unforgiving world. For almost two decades, she kept her nose to the grindstone and pursued a career path that would keep her independent. She continued to move through a series of jobs until she managed to reach the position of a business development manager.
"I was so proud of myself," she declares, her eyes sparkling. "I really worked hard for that position."
But in 2017, Thila got retrenched and was jobless. "It was a difficult period," she recalls. "After working so hard to reach the position of a manager, I now found myself back at zero. I was devastated."
Jobs were hard to find, so Thila decided to find a different route to earn money. "It was timely because I also felt exhausted and burnt out. I'd been working non-stop since I was a teenager. Perhaps it was time to find something that offered me a bit more flexibility," shares Thila.
She sold off her bigger car, got herself a MyVi and became a Grab driver.
"I wasn't ashamed of being a Grab driver. It paid my bills," she tells me matter-of-factly, adding: "In fact, I enjoyed it. Being a driver wasn't without challenges, of course. I met rude passengers, encountered some who tried to take advantage of me just because I was a woman and, of course, I had relatives who looked down on me because I was driving a car for a living. I just gritted my teeth and took everything in stride."
After a long day of ferrying passengers all around Klang Valley, Thila would turn to arts and crafts to unwind. "I always loved arts and crafts since I was a child. Now, art helped keep my depression at bay," she confesses, looking downcast. "My family issues continued through the years despite my attempts to reach out and make peace with my mother."
She chanced upon concrete art one day while scouring through the Internet for ideas and inspiration. She was drawn to the material by its muted tone, which she says helps make spaces "feel airy, bright, and light". The inexpensive and easily accessible material sparked her interest further. "I began dabbling in it as a hobby for a few years," she says.
Thila's Grab driving stint came to a screeching halt when the Covid-19 pandemic hit. "Trust me, it was so hard to sit at home and find myself without a steady income again."
Through the encouragement of a close friend, she slowly turned her hobby into a business. "It wasn't a smooth journey," she admits. The self-taught artist learnt and perfected her craft through research and YouTube tutorials until she found a method that worked best for her.
"My friends gave me the title 'Cement Lady'," she reveals, smiling.
It's a title befitting you, I remind her, pointing out that tough times has made her stronger.
"I don't know about that," she sighs, her voice tremulous with emotion. "It still hurts my heart to see how close my friends are to their mothers. I never had that. I'm not sure if there'd ever be a chance that our relationship could be repaired."
Are you happy? I ask her.
She takes a while to answer.
"Art makes me happy," she replies simply. Her hobby turned vocation has long brought her peace: making art. "I never really felt connected until I started working with cement," she remarks candidly.
In a little room at the end of the hall, Thila has created a space for her to polish and paint her works. Rows of her creations from planters to figurines are neatly arranged on shelves. Most have been made to order. Business must be good, I comment and she nods, telling me that concrete's evolution from an industrial material to one used to make decor coincides with a growing interest in architecture and design.
"I don't know if it's Instagram or something else, but everyone has much more of an interest in cement," muses Thila.
She believes that this interest also comes from an increased desire to connect with objects placed in a home. "People really want a story behind the product," she avers.
Like her story, I suggest. Beauty amidst trials. Perfection in flaws. She agrees, her face brightening.
"I'm not ashamed of sharing my story," she declares. "The imperfections, the flaws, the mistakes… these have made me who I am today."
I can't help but agree.
Later, as I examine the little concrete bear she gifted me, I find a tiny crack at the side. Ah, there's an imperfection!
The bear has never looked more beautiful.
To learn more about Thila's beautiful creations, go to