Our conversations have largely revolved around Hindi literature, especially poetry. They have a deep interest in poetry. They have many poet friends and their world is brimming with literature. We often discuss poetry, and whenever we talk on the phone, apart from other topics, we definitely talk about which new poems are being written or which new books of poetry have been read. This is their internal creative hunger that they share with their friends. They naturally discuss many things. Husain’s prose is that of a painter. Many years ago, for Swami’s magazine Contra, he wrote a poem. The language of the poem is that of a painter. In the poem “Cracks in Rembrandt,” there is a line: “whose brown burns in me.” This is a phrase that only a painter could create. This poem, published in 1966, goes as follows:
I am aware of
Cracks in Remebrandt
Whose Brown Burns in Me
Though
Rock-rust boots Are ditched – deep
Yet
The silky sun there Shrills me
In Husain’s prose, his experience shines through rather than an attempt to establish an ideological or theoretical stance. I believe he understands that there is no particular notion that needs to be established. Rather, he has expressed the same desire for his paintings—”I want to burn my paintings before I die.” This reflects his view of the creative world, his perception of its futility or meaninglessness, or the intensity of the fleeting brilliance of existence in the presence of infinite time. This is his approach to his prose as well. He treats it in the same way: immediate, spontaneous, and written as it comes to him. Recently, he narrated a new chapter of his autobiography to me in London. The chapter is titled ‘Two Roti’. The chapter is not an explanation or depiction of the struggles he has faced over two roti in his life. Instead, it reflects his personal experience of the importance of two roti in a person’s life—whoever they may be—with complete honesty in his prose. It also reveals his humorous nature—he does not focus on the grand mysteries of life, but rather on the small, everyday details and their truth. His writing is an expression of the sour and sweet fruits of the life he has lived.
A distinctive aspect of Husain’s writing and character is his ability to laugh at himself. He can make fun of his own statements and is very comfortable with himself. Meeting him, you wouldn’t immediately feel that you’re interacting with one of the century’s important and great painters. His presence makes you feel at ease almost immediately. He has a talent for creating an environment around him where a new and unfamiliar person can feel comfortable and normal, allowing for conversation to flow. This quality also reflects in his prose. He is conscious of what his writing can convey and writes well—his prose is as rich and engaging as his paintings. His writing is not dry but rather lively and flavorful.
Whether it’s his autobiography, a few lines written about a new exhibition, or thoughts from a particular series or during the process of painting, his writing is extremely polished, interesting, and captivating. Although there’s a noticeable immediacy to it, like the long poem he wrote about Gaja Gamini. This poem relates to his mother and Madhuri Dixit, suggesting that since the image of his mother is incomplete in his mind, Madhuri fills that role: the relationship between Madhuri and his mother is beautifully rendered. Husain created this connection in his mind. He was six months old when his mother died, and when he meets Madhuri, she is the same age his mother was at her death. He does not remember his mother’s face and never painted her. The images of women he has painted do not have faces. His mother’s image is absent in his memory, so he does not create it.
For instance, in the portrayal of Mother Teresa, though he met her, traveled with her, and visited the streets of Kolkata where she worked, he never painted her face. The blue bands in his paintings represent her, and through these, Mother Teresa is depicted. Even though he could have painted her in the traditional manner, he sees his mother as a universal figure and thus does not depict her face. This understanding or unconscious tendency is deeply ingrained in him. His mother is present in her absence. She is there, but her identity is missing. This is also evident in his poetry.
Husain’s language is deeply enriched by various influences, including poetry and couplets, particularly from Urdu and Persian. He has a strong grasp of these languages. Once, when a painting of his was featured on the cover page of The Times of India for New Year’s, I discussed it with him several days later. I wanted to understand more about the painting. He mentioned that the painting was inspired by a line from Shamshur Rahman Faruqi’s poem ‘Patjhar’: “A yellow evening / A leaf of autumn slightly stuck.” Husain could identify the subtle nuance in this line, the slight ‘stuckness’ it conveys. His visual language deeply connects with literature.
In casual conversations, he often quotes Persian couplets and provides translations. His language is elegant, refined, and at the same time, humorous. He uses contemporary references and doesn’t miss out on any topic, whether it’s a seldom-used word, cinema, politics, sports, or any other subject. Husain’s sophistication is remarkable, and his sense of refinement is profound. He never seems to fall into a superficial level; his sentence structures, topics of conversation, and discussions about his art are always elevated and meaningful. His presence embodies an entire century, deepening his experiences and providing meaning to his observations, readings, and understanding. For listeners or viewers, this becomes engaging and polished. Husain’s poetry serves as a testament to this.
(1)
Send me a snow-covered blanket of the sky, without a single stain. How can I depict the circle of your endless melancholy with white flowers?
When I start painting, hold the sky in your hands, for I am unaware of the expanse of my canvas.
(2)
The marks of my letters, with their burning voices, might extinguish the icy cold of the whole month inside your carved door.
Lock your door and throw the keys away. Let my letter remain unread.
(3)
Now, young leaves melt in the smoke of chimneys, and the wet paper of the sky leans against the poles with lanterns. A gleaming milk cart illuminates the road, and a boy, walking barefoot up the temple steps, begins to cry out in the empty city.
There, the echoing voice of existence bursts forth in laughter.
(4)
The blue night slips off her blanket, leaving a mark on her thigh.
Far away, the yellow-brown hues of bodies quiver behind the boats.
Suddenly, a white colour cuts across the horizon, leaving the scene below stunned.
Slate-coloured sand remains covered by her blanket.
Feature Image: Law Of Attraction, MF Husain – Canvas Prints| Courtesy: allengestore
The original chapter in Hindi was translated into English from the book Unke Baare Mein authored by Akhilesh.
Why did MF Husain Include a Curse in His Painting?
Born in 1956, is an artist, curator and writer. He has gained worldwide recognition and appreciation for his works through extensive participation in numerable exhibitions, shows, camps and other activities.
