Thursday, 20 March 2014

An Artist's Plea....

An Artist's Ordeal in the form of Poetry , Raghurajpur , Odisha  ( Indiblogger.... HalfStories , Doing It Right )


Years ago I was welcomed ,
With cuddles and hugs and love ,
As a newborn ,
In this village of art ,
Whose history travels decades back .
With innocent eyes I looked around ,
To get amazed and astound ,
By the vibrancy ,the vigor ,
By the art and the artists in store .
My little fingers mingled along ,
Hesitantly with colors , brushes , paper and sketches spread on the floor ,
I went back again and again wanting more .
With time as my hands were able to clutch ,
It chose a brush instead of slate ,
To dive inside an artist’s palette .
Tangy yellow or divine white , glossy red or lustrous green ,
Shady black or dull grey ,
My love for them never frayed .  

When and how I fell in I never knew ,
But each time my feelings renewed  ,
Never letting me go off ,
In search of an alien land or unknown stuff .
These colors held me tight in it’s arms ,
Mixing blending mingling fusing ,
Mesmerizing me each day ,
With new undiscovered charms .

The wheels of time passed on fast ,
And as a full fledged artist my journey was about to start ,
Every day as the sun arrives with a new day ,
I bent down for hours ,
Filling in colors , decorating my Lord ,
Bringing him alive on  paper blocks .
The shells of coconut sometimes serve as canvas.
Bathing in colors of black and ash ,
Expressing the lives of RadhaKrishan ,
Conveying love evincing  heavenly feelings ,
Beautifying those Gopis devoted to Lord .

I took a pledge to commit my life ,
As an artist worshiping art .
My dusk my  dawns got coalesced together ,
Drawing painting filling in colors ,
Giving final strokes even when the clock struck mid night ,
Neither searching nor remembering the comforts of a fertile life .
Then , one fine day she too stepped in ,
Into my shoes to help me paint ,
Wiping off strain reducing my stress .
Together we dwelt deep into this world ,
Of art of artists build with a distinct mold ,
Caring sharing looking into each other’s eyes ,
My love for art and my better half ,
Satiated my inner self with reasons to strive .
Things went on fine for months , for years ,
For  decades and some more .

When one unfortunate event opened my eyes ,
Compelling me to look otherwise .
With few bucks in my pocket  I couldn’t provide ,
A good treatment to my wife ,
When in pain she strived .
Her heart wrenching wails stopped my hands ,
To paint to brush to mingle with those colorful strands .
Dejected dismayed I sat near my door ,
Watching the wind swing along the coconut trees ,
When someone’s hand touched my shirt’s crease .
It was my son who had come to talk ,
About questions in his mind ,
Whether on a new path we need to walk .
What has this art given us father he inquired ,
Aren’t you simply tired .
Your devotion your dedication nothing matters much ,
When you have to face the realities of the world as such .
Putting aside other things just think about us once ,
Is this art a blessing or an obscure curse .
Which snatched away our mother in front of our eyes ,
But didn’t grant us enough to help her survive .
What is this art which snatches away your loved one ,
Because never ever did enough it let you earn .
A doubt too then sneaked into my psyche ,
Searching it’s real worth behind it’s hype .
What if tomorrow again my kids face the same ,
And lead the same life as me ,
Getting underpaid by those middlemen .
What if again fate deceives them ,
Handing them nothing more than appreciation letters ,
No , I can’t let someone else’s dream shatter .
So , here I am today in front of you ,
Asking for some time ,
Asking for a generous thought ,
As a long battle we have already fought .
To help us live a life of respect and dignity ,
Never losing our focus  from our art ,
Never diluting it’s sanctity .
It won’t cost much if you would really care ,
Coz it’s a battle to be won ,
Playing honest  and fair .
An artist may not demand for money name or fame ,
Still he has to play the so called ,
Life’s game .
So help me grow , help me survive ,
Help me today as I need your support to fight ,
The big bad world which doesn’t understand ,
That a piece of Art ,
Deciphers a million words .

Raghurajpur “ The Heritage Village is near Puri in the state of Odisha ,where every villager is an Artist and every home a Art Studio .

But unfortunately these talented artist’s are deprived of the deserving value of their  art work. They toil for hours , days , months , years and decades together to help this legacy continue .
Now , it’s time we share our part and contribute some amount for the betterment of these gifted artists who are born with the identity of an Artist and die in the same .

Click here to know more ….

This post is for Indiblogger’s Half Stories …The Journey Of Doing Right  for the Artist’s of Raghurajpur  an Initiative by TATA Capital .




  1. Loved the poetry, shares the plight and gives an insight to these artist's minds. Full justice done to the prompt!

  2. Very nicely expressed, Sushree. You have shared the real story through a touching poem.
    Our hearts go out to the plight of the talented artists of Raghurajpur.
    Luckily, a website will soon be in place and make things better.
    Best wishes.

  3. Thank you so much Midnight scribbles and Anita for your lovely comments. I am glad that you liked the poetry :)

    I originally hail from Puri district and my ancestral village is nearby the heritage village of Raghurajpur ....

    I was elated to see the initiative taken by Tata Capital and Indiblogger for these artists.
    Hope they get the due worth for their hard work and dedication .
    Long live the Artists and long live the Art ....

  4. A lovely poem for an important cause. And beautiful pictures too. Very well done, Sushree!

  5. Thank you so much ....Beloo :)


Do scribble down few words motivates :)

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