Keeper Of The Past.

I was sitting in the veranda and reading a fascinating book and simultaneously enjoying the rain falling in our garden. My bliss was disturbed by a phone call on my mobile. One look at the caller identity and my joy was indescribable. It was from Vijay, my class mate and fellow alumnus, calling me from Mumbai.

Vijay lives and runs his business in Delhi but was on his way to the airport from the Mumbai city after having conducted some business there, to catch a flight to Delhi. He remembered me and called to just say hello and shoot the breeze. I was delighted and we had a long chat on the phone.

My purpose in writing this post is not about the joy of receiving phone calls from my friends. That certainly is among the many joys that I have in my life, but this post is about Vijay and his passion for art.

Why reinvent the wheel? Better scribes than I have written about Vijay and you can read all about him and his passion here.

Vijay, this is to express my great admiration for what you do and your spirit. I look forward to that promised visit to Pune soon.


Welcome to another post of the Friday Loose Bloggers’ Consortium when eleven of us post on the same topic chosen by one of us. Today’s topic has been chosen by Ginger.

Please do visit Ashok, Conrad, Grannymar, Magpie11, Maria, Gaelikaa, Helen, Judy, Anu and Ginger to see ten other views on the same topic. Some of these bloggers may be preoccupied with vacations, examinations, family problems and/or romance, so be a little indulgent in case they do not post or post late.

Please do listen to this song while reading the lyrics.

(M. Jagger/K. Richards)

Everywhere you want I always go
I always give in because, babe, you know
You just say so cause you give me that
Feeling inside that I know must be right
It’s the singer not the song

It’s not the way you give in willingly
Others do it without thrilling me
Giving me that same old feeling inside that I
Know I must be right
It’s the singer not the song

The same old places and the same old songs
We’ve been going there for much too long
There’s something wrong and it gives me that feeling
Inside that I know I must be right
It’s the singer not the song
It’s the singer not the song
It’s the singer not the song

For me, it was the Artist, not her Art. Despite having known her for 48 years and having been married to her for forty of them, I know nothing about Art. Urmeela and her remarkable teacher, told me early on that if it appealed to me, it was good art and if not, it was not good art FOR ME. I was comfortable with that, just as I am now too. My home now has a few of Urmeela’s paintings, one of which is shown above,  and batiks as well as, a much cherished etching of a great artist friend of ours. Just four years ago, one fine day, Urmeela decided that no useful purpose will be served by keeping all her old works and arranged for a grand bonfire in our garden. When I asked her why she wished to do that, she said that the best of her works were already in good collections and on the walls of her home. The rest needed to be destroyed so that she could create afresh. That she was not able to, is a poignant part of my life’s story.

“The function of the artist is the mythologization of the environment and the world.”

“The artist is the one who communicates myth for today. But he has to be an artist who understands mythology and humanity and isn’t simply a sociologist with a program for you.”

“The real artist is the one who has learned to recognize and to render what Joyce has called the “radiance” of all things, as an epiphany or showing forth of their truth.”

– Joseph Campbell, in his book “The Power Of Myth.”

Urmeela succeeded in performing that function admirably. Her art reminds me of her. She is now my myth, her works, what few are left, radiate many things. I am comfortable with that.