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