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Sunday, May 31, 2009

Journey of an Artist-16

Her smile had the fragrance of the dancing joys of peacocks in monsoon rains, it was like the elixir of raindrops that fell on the oven-heated body in summer, and it was like the rainbows that appeared in clear sky after the dark clouds had their play.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Journey of an Artist-16,

<“Hello,” I uttered not knowing after how long a time.
“I like this work,” she cooed in musical sonority. Are you also an artist? She queried.
“Yes,” I felt a primeval energy in her; I extended my hand as I introduced myself. Her long-fingered warm hand lingered in mine for a longer time as if transferring some sweet energy; may be so I felt or may be so it was.
“What do you do?” I asked.
“Well, I am final year student at art college and my name is Ruhi” she was sizing me up with her bright, electric, lively eyes.
“Oh! That’s great! I pressed her hand softly introducing myself and asking if she would have some wine.
“That will be nice”
I picked two glasses, proffering one to her.
Together we explored the whole exhibition, discussing the fine nuances of each work. People were talking animatedly; the gallery overflowed with life, all existed in the moment. Sounds of rustling clothes mingled with that of glasses, peoples’ voices with smells of different perfumes they wore, aroma of snacks with wine, and all this with the drama of life. I became oblivious to the life around me, other than the joy of the company of this sunflower-girl. She smiled often as we talked. Her smile covered the whole space and floated beyond.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Journey of an Artist-15,

As I looked around through the evening crowd of artists, critics, connoisseurs and people in general, I noticed a young lissom girl. Standing in front of a painting, she was totally absorbed in it. Her face was radiant with joy and she exuded exuberance and energy akin to electrifying, fresh forest winds. Her skin-kissing dress held her slim, perfect body like a dainty vase holding soft, fragrant narcissuses. Like full-bloomed blossoms, her breasts tugged impatiently at the material of her dress. Her long dark hair, framed her light round face in liquid softness as if morning emerging sun was pushing back the surrounding darkness. I felt suddenly a silence. I walked up near her and appraised the painting. It was a warm sun-lighted landscape with a profusion of flowers. Standing entwined in the landscape were the silhouettes of a man and a woman. Magical silence pervaded the landscape and subtle joy emanated from it. Time seemed to be resting in peace; frozen embrace held the love constant—no before or after—only the sunshine, the silence, and the endless space. Just then, the girl turned her face a wee bit, our eyes met and stayed frozen for a while. I felt the same music of fathomless joy as was flowing from the painting rush to me from her eyes. She smiled and I felt drops of honey float in the air. All was fragrant. Her full, sensuous lips quivered in the light and I stood captive.

Monday, May 25, 2009

In search of Blue Sky

'Sing for me O song eternal, I waited in vales and in deserts burning, you are the fire love's yearning. Your lotus eyes bloom and the time withers. Blowing wind I settle in you, blow me to the shore unknown. I walk but not, yet your distances I close. I look in your rose fragrant eyes and my soul in your music grows. Hold my hand outside of ageing time; kiss me so that our souls coalesce. I waited for you before the beginning of time, till your fragrance I find it shall incubate an unborn child.'
That is how I loved him. Love that is in the order reserved for gods. Gods who are gods because we keep them on a pedestal. He was my ship in which I sailed. The cargo of my virginal love I packed as to different ports we departed.
The hot dusty gusty summer wind blows. The clouds of brown powdery dust loosened from the earth rise and whirl carrying the yearning for a little liquidity. It is so much like my own inner landscape, dry and water-starved. The sky was veiled by the revved up hot piercing sand that accelerated in all directions. The hot particles hit like arrows of fire. Though my body was covered in the long cloak that I wore, my eyes and portion of the face that was exposed cried in the hot blast of the wind. The stray sturdy thorny kikar the cynosure of the desert fought the parching clime, though bereft of its tiny leaves. On the hot burning sandy surface it drew a drawing in shade on the ground with its leafless thin branches and trunk. It fought on, starved of food and water. It had only the dust and the sun for company. The song of the whizzing dusty wind it heard and nodded its dry branches in appreciation. The songs of fiery pain are no mean music for the soul.
It was an orange yellow-red landscape. While the winds gathered their breath to blow again with redoubled energy, I could see electric threads of heat rising in the distance

Friday, May 22, 2009

Journey of an Artist-14

My childhood comes flashing to me whenever it desires, for the innocence has no time table attached to its recall. As I stayed in chair the sunshine of my childhood lighted up my present. I did not feel the chasm that separated my childhood from my flowing present. The time has melted away with such vehemence yet the lived elements of childhood appear to be a just a touch away. I am in front of the canvas in my studio. I am mixing colours on the palette; the fierce intensity of orange is vibrating against the cerulean blue. The unspoken colours are having a dialogue of silence and explosive energy. Fathomless blue of sky, of endless golden landscapes, and resurgent cosmic energy of orange, fiery sun seem to be playing my childhood rhapsody. All this seems to stem from the little honey drops that dripped incessantly in my days of joy when life was an endless feast. This is the continuous churning of time that brings up sparkling diamonds of matchless beauty from the deep ocean of resurgent soul. It is these gleaned at will, lighted scraps of time through which soul resurges and creates oasis of beauty.
“Your coffee’, I hear Ruhi call in her singsong voice.
The aroma of south Indian coffee invades me. “Thank you darling,” I say almost caressing her through my voice. She takes a chair next to me as she surveys the painting.
“Dazzling energy oozing from the painting, celebrates the rose garden of life.”
“I am still working on it,” I say as I take her hands in mine, while my childhood still held its discourse going in whispers. She has such soft warm hands. I run my hand over hers, and I feel that I am caressing the jasmine branches that swayed happily in the courtyard of my house in the village. She leans over me in repose of contented thoughtlessness. I sip my coffee slowly. Ruhi's fragrance wafts alongside aroma of coffee and I put my arm around her, feeling her soft voluptuousness course through me. I recall the first time we had met in the vernisage of a friend’s exhibition.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Journey of an Artist-13,

It was here that I learnt my initial lessons about beauty and love, to develop my aesthetic sense later. Changing seasons taught me a substantial number of these lessons. They imbued in me refreshing feeling for beauty of landscapes, unsullied virginal nature, singing birds, buffaloes wallowing contentedly in village ponds, snakes scurrying in the thickets and startled hare suddenly jumping from their hideouts. As goes the feminine love my teacher covered very good ground, unknown to him. He was the ultimate role model for all of us.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Journey of an Artist-12,

Villagers thanked the gods who gifted them such precious bounties. They made offerings by burning corn in the fire, to thank gods for their benevolence. They danced in the temples to share their joys with the gods. For the gods were also happy gods, they liked music and dance and the colourful attire villagers put on the festive occasions. But that did not mean the gods gave only what the villagers desired. Sometimes they made the blizzards roar through the valley and trample the golden crops that were waiting to be harvested. At other times they sent rains that would loosen rocks from the mountains hurtling them down heartlessly.

It was one such night gods seemed to be in foul mood, and it had been raining. Lying in bed, I was hearing the pleasant pitter-patter of the rain drops rushing to meet the earth with a yearning that echoed in the ferocious wind and the lightening that lay seize to the little village. A primal rude fear hurled me to an unknown discomfiture generated by the sound of thunder and blinding crash of lightening. The dark clouds forebode hell's arrows and I shivered inside and outside. As we grow, we learn to fear but the reasons change over time. Our journey through the life is infested with fear at every turn every corner.