I never buy coffee table books, pricey and pompous, there is little to read and mull over. I took out yours from the shelf only because of the freak recollection of a review in an airline magazine.

The riveting cover painting and Husain’s words, ‘Poetry to be seen, Images to be read’ made me all the more wary. ‘Yet another slick piece of packaging, and marketing...’ the thought flashed through my mind. Cynically I flipped over to the first poem Benares. And lo and behold! The incisive observations made through the words and images impacted me so much I could smell the damned place in my mind; could almost hear the babble.

This prodded me to go over to the next poem, Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary. As I read these lines ‘The world here ends where your vision ends. / You are in its lap. / And it is in yours’ my mind instantly recalled those serene moments of connecting with nature during my years at sea.

By the time I hit the sixth – or was it the seventh painting-poem, I was trying to recall the last book that overwhelmed me with the delicious sensation of having a grand secret feast spread out all for myself.

Just when I was beginning to believe that this really was going to be one long caress to the senses, you come up with this poem, His Daughter After all! I slammed the book shut. From a state of near ecstasy, my mind was plunged into turmoil…I have a daughter, you know!

At that moment, I almost stuffed the book back into the shelf. Then I bought it.

I bought a book but took home something much more precious. The power of poetry (Or whatever you call it) - I think I began to understand it that day. Come to think of it, the paintings helped me learn most of it! Or was it the other way round? I swear the colours and forms and words actually come together into one seamless continuous intense experience.

The content! The heart brims over with love, pride, awe for this magnificent land. All the ironies, the contradictions, the tragic consequences of centuries old social weaknesses, merely add to the richness and depth of the experience of Indian reality, your wry humour making even the most painful of realities easier to admit. And it is all so honest; I think I know you already! I’d like to meet you some day. thank you for taking a perfect stranger like me along on your journeys. For reconnecting me to the multiple realities of India so intimately I can actually feel their pulse.

Sincerely,
N. Khot

P.S. – I wish we wouldn’t speak of this book and coffee tables in the same breath. This is a real work of art if there ever was one, and never mind what those publishing people tell you…”

That a complete stranger could become a co-traveller in my journeys and also tell the difference in the fullness of an experience when two forms of expressions come together, was indeed rewarding. In a way, the book celebrates the combined power of images and words, ‘jointly creating meanings, which are not accessible through either of the two’. Also demonstrating what they can evoke when ‘this togetherness is not coincidental - but is the very structure of their being’, an occurrence apparently uncommon enough to elicit wonderfully warm response from painters and littérateurs. I would like to quote Tyeb Mehta, the renowned painter. “It is indeed a gift to be able to bring together painting and poetry in such a wonderful fusion. Neither medium imposes on the other and since both flow from the same artist they compliment and enhance each other. Going through the book is like taking an artistic look at the very soul of India that has been captured beautifully on paper and bound together by words and images that lingers on even after putting it down”.

Each of these intimate musings in Returning …An Indian Odyssey was a spontaneous expression; a page from my personal diary where the impressions and insights, experiences and anxieties gathered at different places were jotted down through images and words. There was no conscious attempt to say something specific nor did I pre-decide that I would paint and write on the same page.

I am a painter and whenever I go to a new place I carry my sketch pen, water colour box, brushes and a sketch pad. Entranced by the joyous tranquillity, and the sense of ‘Now’ of Bharatpur Bird sanctuary in Rajasthan, I had just taken out my watercolour box when I felt like saying it in words instead. But the words alone looked inadequate; I had to capture in forms and colours, the ‘world’ I was speaking about, and painted around the words. This was the beginning of this series. I did not choose themes. Vulnerable, willing to get impacted, they chose me.

The painted poem His Daughter After All Mr Khot refers to is based on a real-life incident. A girl in her teens did throw herself in the lake Pichola, but no one was willing to tell me the whole truth. Based on the sketchy details I got from the mourners I wrote this poem, the face of the dead bride ‘decrying in death what she could not when alive’ stamping the narration. In Benares, writing and sketching happened almost simultaneously. There were moments when my observations unconsciously metamorphosed into pictures and at other times words took over, to give voice to the images – the switch facilitated by the use of the same tool to write and sketch. I reproduce one of the pages from it.

I had no target reader in my mind nor did I have an aspiration that the diary will be published some day. Consequently there was neither concern for approval nor fear of censor as I spoke of sights that stirred me, sudden insights that illuminated my understanding of reality and incidents that provoked me to look within. I spoke fearlessly, whether the painted poem was personal in nature or dealt with social issues. And I believe that readers are able to distinguish between the doctored and the real, between the spontaneous and the laboured.

While the book portrays the changing ethos of India in the last three decades it also mirrors my changing perceptions and concerns and change is the most enduring of all realities and everyone identifies with it. I would like to reproduce a page from the painted poem Udaipur in which I attempt to approximate the realm that lies between the concrete and the abstract; give words and forms to my emotions, aroused by the changed tenor of the times. Designed by Subhadip Mukherjee

Author's Choice

Lust for life by Irving Stone - As a teenager and a struggling painter I read Lust for Life like one would read Bhagwad Gita. I must have hoped by repeated read, that Van Gogh’s passion to paint would be rubbed on me, that the same fire could be ignited in me.

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand - In the flush of youth, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand appealed immensely to me. As I look back, Roark for his betokened defiance, challenging establishment and Van Gogh became my role models.

The Collected Poems 1957-1987 by Octavio Paz - I admire the great Mexican poet Octavio Paz for his imagery; saying so little and yet so much. Whenever my writing comes to a grinding halt, I most often turn to his work.

Under a Glass Bell by Anais Nin - I am dazzled by Anais Nin’s analysis of characters. I especially like her style in another book, Cities of the Interior and would recommend it to one and all.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera - I like almost all books of Milan Kundera. The élan with which Milan Kundera takes liberty with the plot, and the brilliance with which he brings together the fragmented pieces is remarkable.

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