Drying and chipping paint that once spoke of poverty that compels mothers to deprive children of their birthright of childhood
Even today, around the wrinkled body of my beloved India,
reverberates cries of "Give us this day…"
But pseudo-shelters rumble again, as mother earth squirms underfoot, unashamed…
Yet again, with faltering steps, I dance around my own space, my canvas…
Because the cities where I now dwell have failed to feel that dance of vibrant life
which can still thrive amidst natural of man made calamities…
I would rather go out and match steps with that strife…
I would rather dance to the rhythm of threatened existence…
To that rustic rhythm of life…
After all if God created man in his image
man too has created God in his vision, in varied forms and situations.
And I have seen, with faith, how God becomes human.
I have danced around man, sculpting his joy and sorrow, his pain and pleasure,
his faith and folly… his struggle and serenity…
That's how. I could look at a cowherd boy playing the flute as though he is
Lord Krishna in disguise…
And Loard Ganesh too could become utterly human playing the dholak or the Khol…
And that's also how, these visions have liberated me from the bondage of
just one typical style or technique…
So I can say this without prejudice and with deep humility,
that I strive to expand and excel with every step and every stroke of mine…
Evidently, as a chronicler of human existence, I have been experimenting…
With a variety of styles, techniques and forms – in linework, graphic design…
In drawing and painting…
In oil, acrylic, marker, pastel, charcoal…
Here then, I present a chosen few from that inexhaustible theme of Music Makers,
which has fuelled my passion, recurrently, for well over two decades…
And as that passion spills over, it's over to you…
