Some may presume painting to be about mere brush strokes and a little play with colors. But let me tell you it is so much more. The earliest painting dates back to prehistoric times when the medium used was charcoal and the paintings were made by the nomadic clan mostly about depicting the life patterns and how they went about performing daily rituals.  The first painting dates back to around forty thousand years old. Painted using red ochre and black pigment, they usually depict common animals that they used to hunt.

And today, do we not see painting ingrained in everything?  It is all about visual art playing out there be it product or service marketing.  Be it the Insta Story or be it any kind of advertising, painting is ingrained in every sphere of life. What soothes the eyes, after all, soothes the soul. Isn’t it?

So, when it comes to painting a hobby for me, it began very early in life. I would sit quietly and look at my father draw after work despite his busy schedule and I just loved the splash of colors on the blank canvas. As if colors made the whole mundane world come to life!  And what fascinated me the most was the fact that I marveled when the colors infused themselves, fused beautifully into one another and a new color came into life! That was like a tiny magic for me! I think for this reason even Chemistry remained as one of my favorite subjects because in the lab when I saw the colors mixing and infusing into one another, it was like watching creation coming live.

I clearly remember the day when my father took me to participate in a state-level competition when I was small on a cycle. Yes, on a bicycle! I sat on the rod connecting the handle to the seat and it was far. My father or rather my Baba as I address him, peddled to the venue. So many kids! So many parents! And it was like a big mela out there. My father had beads of sweat on his forehead but he was worried about me finding the spot after seeing my name in the chart showing the names of the participants. 

I ran with my watercolor box set and the packet of sketch pens that my father had bought as was my demand before the competition. It was a big investment back then. And I would often take all the new pens from my father’s pocket because I was fond of them & Baba would gladly give them.  That day too I had a new pen that I had borrowed from him and I gladly wrote my name, my school’s name & the topic given for the competition.  

As I sat there, amongst many other kids of varying ages, my father waited outside.  It was a big hall and we had to sit on the ground, just like in the movie ‘Tare Zameen Par’. Baba was peeping through the windows that were huge and had big railings.  I remember I had my back towards the open window. We were given canvas sheets and the question Paper. Yes, the Question Paper had a list of topics that one had to select to draw. I remember clearly that I chose a topic that said ‘a girl studying in her room’ & somehow, I connected with it. I got lost in creating it for the next few hours. I lost track of what my father did during those moments. Being a parent is such a tasking job and only when we grow up we do understand the importance of it!

And after what seemed like an age, the bell rang. I looked up from my sheet where I had drawn a girl with two ponytails engrossed in her studies in her room. A window and a wall hanging too! The girl had a calm demeanor & somehow, I was content with my painting. I did the outlining neatly which is the most important aspect & was extra cautious while painting those eyes because a tiny mistake can waste hours of hard work. Baba had always made these points very clearly while we used to make paintings together during my school assignments.  Then the second bell rang & we had to submit our paintings & I did so. And then I proudly searched for my father thinking that I had done a good job. I saw his face devoid of any emotion. I packed all my colors & ran outside as did all the kids. As I reached my father, I realized he was angry and he suddenly burst out scolding me. I was taken aback and could not understand. My mistake was I had not shown the final painting to my Baba & submitted it. I resented him then. “What was so wrong if I did not do it?”, was my question. I cried while returning home on the bicycle. We did not exchange any words as well. My father has a very short temper & many times I never understood it during my childhood.

Days passed and one day, I came to know in the school that I had won the competition. The school Notice Board displayed it. I jumped with joy. It was the State Lalit Kala Academy Award for the kids.  My painting had been chosen to be displayed at the Jayadev Bhavan, a prestigious institution in the state of Odisha. And the Governor would inaugurate & distribute the prizes.

It was huge!   A huge moment of joy for me. I came home & shared the news. As a family, it felt like a victory for every single member. My father smiled and patted my back. He did not say much. He has always been like that.

The D-day arrived. I remember, the jubilation of my parents as I went up the stage to receive my prize. I got the certificate & a box of sweets but what made my heart melt was a big bag of colors that was like a treasure for me. There was a new set of watercolors, a new box of Pastel Color, a pack of crayons, a box of pencil sets, a set of brushes, and a color palette. It was the most beautiful gift that I had received ever! After the felicitation ceremony, we were invited to visit the auditorium where the selected paintings were put up for the exhibition.  And then I spotted my painting up there on the wall amongst other paintings. The girl sat in her room & was studying in a serene environment. I smiled & pointed my finger saying “Mo Painting!”  in Odia, meaning “My Painting!”. My mother was elated, my younger sister probably did not understand anything she was looking all around in awe. Baba stood there in front of my painting, crossing his hands, and paused for a while keenly observing all details with a faint smile.

I have grown up.  So much has happened in my life. But Painting keeps popping up in phases in my life! I still paint sometimes, though not regularly.  It is liberating & has a calming effect on my mind. And every time I paint, I feel connected with Baba. As regards painting, he has been my Guru because I have never had any kind of professional training concerning Art.  Now, when I look back, I do understand my father a little better. That day when he scolded me was because he wanted to be a part of the whole process. He was living his dream through me & he felt abandoned when I submitted my painting without showing it to him. Even though kids are a part of their parents, there is so much to learn about each other & life teaches it only if we try to learn it.  I understand his anger, his frustration & the jubilation that he underwent then.  I am closer emotionally to my mother. And there are so many times, I & Baba are at loggerheads, but still, I see a lot of similarities between him & me. We both have the same birth month & somehow there are a lot of traits that we share too. He used to write & Paint too. He does not do that now. How I wish he created more because I truly believe that what we create becomes immortal & that is why I persevere to create through my writing or painting even though there is a paucity of time.

And I have realized with time that I am a giver. A quality that I have imbibed from my parents. I find joy in giving. My parents do a lot of offerings. My Maa thinks it is her duty to feed all the street animals & birds. And my Baba has never opposed it too. He finds joy through Maa’s offerings as well. I am a giver in my relationships too.  Be it friendship or love. I find joy in it. Somehow I feel I haven’t received as much as I should have. I have lost friends with time & I have had my moments of darkness. But my Baba & Maa have taught me the art of having a big heart, the art of forgiving. I might have uttered bitter words and cursed out in rage but I have never wished bad even upon someone who backstabbed me or pushed me below when I had stretched out my hand seeking help. I think the color white symbolizing peace, trust, divinity & forgiveness is a color bond that I have with my creators, my Parents. And last but not the least, I thank Baba for teaching me painting, because how else would have I fallen in love with colours & their magic!

 As I write this, I close my eyes I wish that all the love I have given out finds me, either in this lifetime or in any other & may I along with my family see the beauty of the rainbow, the Indradhanush, the most beautiful creation of nature with colors in our life soon!

Love,

Chinmayee