Guest Post

THE ART OF GOD:

An unusual holiday I thought it would be. Peeping out of the Scorpio window, I had expected to get some countryside view but then I thought I was expecting way out from a fast growing nation- all I could see were “concrete forests”. It was “Kurud”, a small town in central India. So, as it had turned out to be totally different from what I had expected my days were generally spent sulking in the hotel room, checking out all the cuisines that it provided.

Yet another afternoon, I sat considering what new dish to try when I came to know that it was decided that we were going to visit a local artist, Basant- a small town guy who had caught international attention.

“Finally I’ll be seeing some intellectual dude”, I thought.

So when I finally reached the place, I was quite surprised to see a humble abode in front of me- quite simple for an international personality. Expecting to see some professional painter, confident strokes, absorbed in yet another creation, flaunting away his locks and everything fit to make him grab the protagonist’s role in Mills and Boons, I slowly made my way into his small room.

Yes, he was there, behind the canvas. But there was some mistake! What I saw next made my very soul wince as if I was falling into some abyss. My whims disintegrated, crumbled by the weight of reality.

A thin lean fellow, sitting on a wheel chair, his whole body paralyzed. He had stuck the paintbrush between his index and middle finger. Just so miraculous it was, the deftness with which he made those fine strokes-the warhorse already set into motion.

A mechanic by profession, he was the sole earner in the family, the only hope. But the gruesome twist of fate, a road mishap and his whole body paralyzed. Now the pillar had collapsed.

But from here the story actually begins. He was now born as an Artist. The physical disability was suppressed by eternal ability.
The magic began as he discovered solace in art.

We took a stroll in his art gallery, painting after painting, more cheers with each battle won.

“Gift god”, somebody uttered absent mindedly causing the other to make the correction.” You mean God gift,” he said.

No he was right, it was a “gift god” indeed. God had handed himself out to the artist. The divine creations still remind me of the enriching experience, slowly whispering in my mind of “the art of god.”

- Tulika Singh.

(Tulika is a good friend. She is a special friend of Anirban, the guy who knows a lot about me actually.)

*based on a real-life story.