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I do not know when I began to draw.

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I guess someone might have appreciated me for drawing well. Maybe my mother? My father never really made a fuss about my drawings. The one thing he admired and often examined closely is how my writing was. I mean, the way I write, the strokes and angles. 

What did I draw as a child? I remember the familiar cliched sunset scene, a seaside with a coconut tree always growing like a graph curve. I have drawn that same scene at least ten times.

I remember the three brightly coloured candles I had painted with poster colours, as a gift for a classmate. And later, a traced-out Tom & Jerry cartoon strip from the Sunday Hindu newspaper. Everytime, I visited this friend it made me so happy to see those pictures pasted in their hallway. They never knew I had traced the entire episode!

I doodled often in my school notebooks. I remember often sketching a woman's profile with a substantially huge bindi. Since it’s a profile the bindi is always a semi-circle. I always have problem with drawing faces that looks to the left side of the paper.

Later I used watercolour cakes which I have always thought of as a substandard medium. To this day they have not improved it at all - it still comes with the same old useless brush that dampens all interest to do art. Sketch pens bleed and hopelessly kill any good work. Pencils and sometimes ball pens were the only salvation one would get. I was never a great fan of crayons - even those oil pastels that came in the later years.

I never complain that I do not have good supplies. Probably because I am afraid of people telling me "you need more practice" or thatI simply lack the skill. It’s better to manage with whatever you have. I never drew anything big. I might have done something rarely but I do not recall anything in particular. With a weak 2B pencil and a sticky ball pen I could’ve never imagined big. Now I am used to drawing in small spaces.

When I joined this free art class one summer, I thought this could be the space for me. I may have been about 13. There was this lean, soft spoken and kind teacher.  I use to show the teacher proudly whatever I drew and he would readily come up with some appreciation. One day in the class, I found a marsh green Garden Vareli shopping bag with a print of the silhouette of a woman's face in black. I was fascinated by its simplicity. Her hand was just below her lips and the parted lips showed a gentle laugh. The face was looking up and the shadow which blackens half of the face runs down her neck to the end of the bag. There is a faint semblance of a bindi and dark patch of the eye on the lighted side. I wanted to draw it immediately. All I need was black paint.

I tried pencil on white paper and darkened the shadow region as much as possible. It did not come out well. I kept the paper in various places and studied it. Something was not right. Proportions, balance, darkenss I was not sure what it is. Overall it looked like a silly mock of the original.

I took it to the teacher, still proud. He studied it for a minute and said I should probably try Indian ink. That’s when I heard of it for the first time. I walked back slowly into the class thinking deeply. My mind is not peaceful and I kept on looking at the bag and at my painting. I felt frustrated. I went to the teacher and asked him whether I could take the bag home for just one day. He hesitated for a while, but I repeated my request. It was a nice and thick bag - I don't think I would have been happy to part with it. But  the teacher agreed and I happily took it home.

That evening, I bought a bottle of Indian Ink. I took a fresh piece of paper. I studied the picture in the bag for a while, took measurements, made guiding marks and started drawing. Once I made the outline with pencil, I dabbed it with Indian Ink. The ink was pitch black. How the dark ink catches the eye! 

The next day I showed it to my art teacher. He immediately took out his pen and wrote ‘good’. I was smiling so much when I walked back to the class. There were these two college girls drawing something, sitting out on the steps, just outside the classroom. They stopped me and asked to see my work. They liked it as well.

I pasted this picture in an old photo frame and kept it on top of our television. It remained there for a long time.