Satish Gujral: a man of colours, textures, love, longing, humour and home

“Vo aaye ghar main hamare Khuda ki kudrat hai

Kabhi hum unko, kabhi apne ghar ko dekhte hain”

Satish Gujral would always break into this sher by Mirza Ghalib the moment I would enter his home at 16 Feroze Shah Road, Lajpat Nagar, New Delhi. Flashing a naughty smile, he would hold my hands and break into an ear-to-ear grin quite naughtily…Kiran Gujral, his elegant and adorable wife, an ace painter, sculptor, interior and jewellery designer, decked up in the best of saris and sleek jewellery (she knew we would shoot a few pictures too) would say, “Lo ji,I will leave you with him. I know I am not required when you are with him…” and we all would burst into laughter.

We three had made good friends. The reason Kiran would say this is because she would always be present during all my earlier, and his interviews with every scribe. She would repeat questions asked by the journalists to her longtime friend and husband - a partial speech and hearing-imparied Satish, he would read her lips and answer, and the journalist would write or record as the case may be.

But with a long association with him, I wouldn't need Kiran as an interpreter and she used to be happy leaving us to chat. I would talk, sometime in gestures and sometime by writing questions to him on a piece of paper that he would answer. His voice was audible but he wasn't able to hear his own answers but in his own mind, he knew what he had said. Every word used to be perfect, and replete with awesome similes, anecdotes worth a record, experience inspiring, struggles unbelievable and philosophy worth emulating. We would joke and he would tell me countless ashar (Urdu couplets) he remembered from poets such as Ghalib, Meer, Faiz Ahamd Faiz, Faraz Ahmad, Nasir Kamaal, Firaq Gorakhouri, Allama Iqbal and more. His answers would be laced in such couplets, numerous anecdotes, lessons and jokes.

But, who was Satish Gujral actually? What constituted his life, his philosophy, struggles and dreams? He was a die-hard romantic, a lover of music and musical instrument, songs and poetry that spoke of love, longing and humanity.

Satish was fine till the age of nine when he was hit by an accident leading to meningitis that took away his hearing and speech capacity after being in bed for nearly 2 years. It is imperative to note that he got his sophisticated hearing machine from Sydney in 1996. But by 2007, he had discarded it. Kiran ji told me. The constant sound in the ear emanating from this machine was disturbing for him. It interfered in his concentration. He was back to the soundless world and was happy with it.

Notable is when he lost his speech and hearing capacity, the soundless world bothered him so much that he started doodling and reading Ghalib and Meer. His father had introduced him to poetry and poets at an early age to him. Seeing his deft drawings, brother I K Gujral, who later became the Prime Minister of India, advised him to take visual art for a career. So, Satish joined Mayo College in 1939 and got himself completely immersed in his training that included metal smithery, clay modeling, woodcarving, drawing design, copying of the ground and elevation of an old building. Fighting constant illness, he joined J.J School of Art, where he met the members of the revolutionary Progressive Artist Group. And rest, they say, is history.

It is interesting to note that despite his constant illness, his sense of humour, wit, juvenile jokes and naughty smile would never leave him. An incurable optimist, to quote Khushwant Singh who wrote his first biography, he saw only one thing driving him -change, change in art experiments, medium, textures and symbolism. That's why Satish could never sustain his interest in cubism that his contemporaries like M.F Husain. S.H Raza, F.N Souza, Jahangir Sabavala, Gaitonde, Akbar Padamsee and many others endorsed by joining the Progessive Arts Group…So when most of them went to Paris and the US etc, Gujral went to Mexico in 1952 which became a “turning point” in his life.

He credited this to Octavio Paz, the then Mexican Attaché and a Nobel Prize Winner later. “He taught me to look at my own courtyard. He cleared my name for scholarship to Mexico,” being intensely impressed with his skills.

Satish told me the reason for his enchanting works, bright colours, symbols and allegories brought from Indian traditions, music, arts and folklores. His medium ranged from oils on the canvas, to burnt wood, terracotta and metals in sculptures, to designing architectural marvels by designing embassies. The Belgium Embassy building that he designed is now hailed as the world's best architectural designs.

His creations were lyrical due to his love for poetry and music, colourful because of his romantic streak, heavily textured and measured because of his training in preparing textures and architecture. He used to hear songs and ghazals by K.L Segal, Shamshad Begum, Begum Akhtar and K.C. Dubey. After losing his hearing power, he would still connect with music and musical instruments by attending qawwalis and see their lips crooning and musical instruments playing. They become his muse in countless of his works - the flute, the sitar, the bull and a dear falling prey to flute power and much more.

The Satish I knew always carried wounds of Partition in his heart. His first painting (1952) on Partition of three women wailing, and sitting in mourning, was a telling statement of his mental state. It was done in dark brown and grey tones. “I saw three women, near a hamlet somewhere in my journey, quiet like dead and they bonded like sisters. They had lost everything,” He couldn't go and speak to them but, “This image haunted me”. Incidentally, this image was sent for the National Award - his very first work. And it won the award too in 1954.

His dream was to make his own museum of sculpture, for which “work had started long back but has slowed down because of my health. There is so much to do. I want to see it made in my lifetime”, he told me, his daughter and son-in-law were looking after it, in whatever time they could spare.

And in my meeting last year, he hinted to me that he doesn’t want to meet more people anymore. He felt tired and it was difficult to change and get ready to meet journalists who also wanted to video shoot. Some of the shutterbugs, being much insensitive, would attempt at making the frail man stand without his stick for that “picture perfect pose”. But I was fortunate. “Aap aa sakti hain, ye ghar ka mamla hai”, he had said to me warmly. Much for a ghar ka mamla, I couldn't even attend his last day at home, his funeral at Lodi, thanks to the Coronavirus pandemic.

The legend, whose shows adorned the walls of all prestigious galleries across the globe, went quietly without his admirers. Can it be more unfortunate that we couldn't see him on his final journey?

He wasn’t well, physical ailments had weakened him more and he internalised it. For instance, when I asked him fondly in my last meeting, “Hummm! Kaise hain aap?”, he answered what his genuine admirers and those who knew his internal unreflected pain, would understand. He uttered smilingly this Ghalib’s again, holding my hand

“Unke dekhe se jo aa jati hai muh par raunaqi

Vo samajhte hain ki bimaar ka haal achcha hai”

(If my face brightens, seeing her, she thinks I am all right)

All his life, he had Kiran as his shadow - everywhere. She always carried herself with immense grace and elegance. All his shows would have the who’s who of the city, from political to artistic to fashion fraternity and more. It would be mean, even cruel but I must say. It was time for Gujral to bid goodbye - and before Kiran, because Kiran for his 24x7 friend and aide he needed the most. As a wife and beloved, she has been exemplary. Taking care of him at 96 wasn't easy as she herself is immensely ill and weak too.

It's a bonding I relished to witness as an old world ethics’ admirer. Words fail me to console Kiran who almost gave up her career and life for her husband, guide and lover Satish Gujral. As much as today I celebrate his life and works, I celebrate and salute Kiran too.