A century and little {tangled} feet

Dear Blog{migrants},

I wish to share my happiness with you as I put my 100th post today, yes it's been so long since I started blogging. Today I wish to tell you the story of a man who inspired me in every way and I dedicate my presence here to him. Here's also a sketch I made on Teacher's Day, hope you had a good time cherishing your memories with the person you consider your teacher.
To all the people from distant corners of the world who have been seeing me here, Thank you! There's more to come. Love

There was one person I missed on Teacher’s Day this year, probably the only person I missed. A very ordinary but mesmerizing Late Subhash Mali, my teacher and confidant. I was a very timid child and I had many stories to tell but I dint have a listener. I found a listener in Mali sir and just a night before Teacher’s Day I realized how I had treasured and kept aside some very warm memories. How death gives birth to nostalgia and my adulation for him remains unaltered till today.
Subhash Mali was a very extrovert person; an artist at heart. I on the other hand was shy and I was scared to every draw a line on my own. He would ask me to fill a tumbler of water and then make the brushes jump in and give a magical wash to the canvas. Then he would take a lump of color and surrender to the medium. We never painted ‘beautiful’ pictures that I could hang on my walls or leave behind in my dog-eared sketchbooks; we made conversations and we travelled barefoot in the world of imagination. I never looked at him as an artist rather he was never the stereotype personality. He looked as ordinary as ordinary could be and he came over to my house on a green scooter sometimes on a bicycle. He would take me to garden, hills and temples to sketch and then show my sketches to the people who loitered around. That was the first time someone saw my sketches, my thoughts. 

Subhash Mali never took his lessons in my room, we sat in the drawing room and as I would surrender myself to the canvas he would chat with my mother about everything under the sun. Sometimes about what she had cooked for dinner or sometimes about how I was falling in love with art, never about how I was timid or my flaws. He always drew a house, a fence and a tree. It showed how rooted and elemental he was in his late fifties.
I could never find a teacher after Subhash Mali and I never looked for one. If a teacher cannot inspire, he cannot really choose to be a teacher. Teacher is a 'title' according to me, not a profession. It’s not a habit.

Happy teacher’s Day sir and whatever you gave me is with me, unaltered. Help me keep it that way! I miss your presence and your smell.


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