“How on earth could u do that? How, how, how?”,
he said.
“You like it?”, I asked him uncertain. I was apprehensive about how he might react
and this was not what I expected. Was he annoyed?
“I mean it’s so amazing. Thanks a ton. Ya, it looks like me coz I saw myself in the
mirror 2day”. He said with finality.
It was a sketch of my friend, John, I had made a few years
ago in an attempt to calm my idle mind before it could serve the devil’s
workshop. I had tried a few other portraits
too, but they ended up as disasters. I
admit they looked hideous. Maybe I was
not patient enough. The disappointment
of not getting the supposed end is always bitter. It was my first attempt at making sketches
from colour photographs of people. Until
then I had copied other drawings and sketches.
I had just finished my 12th standard and was
going through the farewell photos. Some
of the solo photos drew my attention. I decided to try out sketching them. The first one I tried had some close resemblance,
though I am saying it with prejudice. The
next was a total disaster. I gave up
half way and did not want to look at it again.
Third was John’s. The result was
quite good. Now 6 years later I found
the long forgotten sketch and sent it over to him and got the above
response.
Then I got into college and for some reason, I stopped
drawing. I had no more inclination. The only drawings were the diagrams of
circuits and apparatus of Physics experiments in my Record Book, or the time
pass drawings you do in your rough books when you are bored in class or while
studying, and in the greeting cards I made for friends’ birthdays. If I came across any of my old drawings, I
looked at them wistfully, even nostalgic, but did not attempt to draw
again.
I wouldn’t call myself an artist, but I can say I do some
fairly good drawing. It has been a
hobby of mine. I am not the type who can
draw a few lines without using the eraser and lo and behold, there’s the
perfect portrait conjured up in a jiffy.
No. I am more an imitator of
stills, simple things. I see a picture
and in case I am attracted to it, I try drawing it. I even try to gauge how far I can succeed and
only then do I get into it.
I had participated in one of the drawing competitions in
school and the theme I attempted from the given choices was the 9/11
crash. I was probably in the sixth
standard. A clear picture had formed in
my mind. I set to work with the water
colours, trying to paint the same picture.
The given time was up even before I had finished the last of the brush
strokes. I knew what I saw before me was
not even close to what I had imagined. Anyway
I didn’t win any prize. But what I had
not expected was the reaction I got at home.
I had some relatives visiting us then, and I showed it to them. They had such a laugh over the drawing I’d
made. They made a scene about not being
able to make any head or tail of it.
Well no one could anyway. “Which
is the top side?”, they asked amidst the jeering.
“What is it supposed to be anyway?”, was another remark.
I explained what it was, tears welling up in my eyes, and
they laughed some more. How could they
laugh at me? My very own people! I had not hoped for applause, but certainly
not the mockery either. I felt hurt and
humiliated and wanted to learn to do better.
I used to draw all during my vacations. I usually spent the vacations with my
grandparents owing to the fact that I would be alone at home if I didn’t. I carried my drawing book along or found some
old papers to draw. Being an avid reader since childhood, I read a
lot of comics and story books. And when
I was not reading, I was trying to copy the comic illustrations into my drawing
book. I did the Tinkle and Disney
characters.
The only time I attended any class was for about a couple of
weeks. I did learn some colouring
styles. But then I was beckoned from my
grandparents’ and off I was sent packing.
I had some Pencil shading books gifted to me by a family friend. I learnt a great deal of shading from the
books.
Recently my grandparents had visited us and had stayed with
us for a while. As an attempt to keep
them entertained, I showed them my drawing books and both of them sat for the
whole evening looking through the pictures and studying and observing them as
if they were some old photo albums, making a remark here and there. I got excited as I looked at each picture and
remembered where it was from, trying to recall what the story was about. I felt a familiar sensation creeping into
me. I wanted to start drawing again. But I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know if I still had it in me. I loved some of the sketches I had made. Could I match them or get better? I tried ignoring the whole idea. I was
tempted when I saw some beautiful pictures.
I saved them hoping to start one day.
Then it happened. My
friend Ashok had sent me his niece’s photo.
A tiny pink bundle, barely a month old, entirely wrapped up but for the
little face, in deep baby slumber. The
innocent and peaceful face drew me as I fell in love with her. I took out my drawing book, sharpened a 3B
pencil and set about making her sketch. I
took the time and went slow and cautious.
Three days later, the result was amazing!
The result was more than the sketch; it was the encouragement
and confidence. I saw it all in a
different face. The touch of the pencil,
the effort and patience it takes, is like meditation. I get transported into a different realm. I feel a kind of peace within myself. The immense pleasure derived after
accomplishing it is priceless. I realize
now how much it is meant for me and how less for others. Of course, the compliments of others are
encouraging and motivating. But the
happiness lies in the entire process of it; from the moment I sent my eyes on
the picture and start the first lines, to the moment of completion of the picture,
every moment is to be cherished. I have
continued drawing and working on improving.
Sometimes I get the praise like John’s and sometimes I don’t. The best being when my very close friend
Ranjana uploaded her sketch as her profile picture. The learning process continues from square
one.
-Nivedita
