A creative person is not in control of his urges to paint: Satish Gujral

It is on an unusually warm winter afternoon that I head to Satish Gujral’s residence in Lajpat Nagar. It is not difficult to find the place as local residents seem used to directing people to the house of their famous neighbour. As one steps inside the boundary walls, the din of the bustling marketplace outside disappears. The dust and grime of the street give way to soothing sights of fresh blooms and greens in the garden inside. Gujral’s residence is like a virtual mini-gallery, featuring family portraits, evocative paintings and sculptures — all of which have at its centre the human condition and spirit. The living room also features a series of photographs, one of which is that of Jawaharlal Nehru and Indira Gandhi at Gujral’s wedding reception. “They would usually not go to anyone’s reception, but made an exception for me,” comes a soft voice from behind me. As I turn around, I see Gujral being wheeled in by a nurse. 

We head to a small study overlooking the lawn, which features a spectacular sculpture of a horse, crafted by Gujral himself. While Gujral has already had an early lunch, a warm coffee is brought in for me — a strong brew, with a hint of milk, just the way I like it. Our conversation starts with the mention of Trinity, an exquisite 8.5-ft-tall bronze sculpture, currently being exhibited at the Bikaner House, which marks his return to public art. This takes him back to his days in Mexico, when he saw public art come into its own, with artists expressing their idea of national identity through murals on walls. 

At 92, Gujral’s memory is as vivid as ever, with him citing dates and instances with great flourish. “I had been living in Shimla since the Partition, and Chandigarh was still being built. I was being trained at the YMCA. Many architects had been brought in, one of which was an American,” he reminisces. “He wanted to learn Hindi, but everyone around him spoke English. So, someone pointed me to him as I only spoke Hindi at the time.” Thus, started this unique friendship, cemented during walks to the picturesque Jaku Hill and conversations held in a pidgin language. Incidentally, the architect was in a relationship, at that time, with the famous Indian writer, Santha Rama Rau, who was based in the US. “Every day, he would write a letter to her, and would mention me as well,” he says. 

While all this was going on Gujral got to know from a newspaper that Mexico had opened its embassy in Delhi, and that the new ambassador had announced one scholarship for an Indian artist. “I asked my architect friend to find more about it from Santha. I mentioned my wish to go to Mexico, on this scholarship, to my brother, Inder (who would go on to become the Prime Minister of India in 1997) as well. And he said you are used to having these foolish dreams. You don’t even know where Mexico is,” says Gujral. His knowledge of Mexico found expression in a sketch based on conversations with his friend— “an intellectual Chamanlal” — who had told him that Mexico was the very opposite of India on the map. “One day, my brother said, why don’t you apply. After all, you lose nothing. I applied, but got rejected initially,” says Gujral. “Soon after that, Santha arrived in Delhi. She was staying at The Imperial. There, she met a Mexican, whom she had known in Washington. She was on her way to meet me for lunch, and the Mexican came along.” The Mexican was no one else but Octavio Paz, who later won a Nobel Prize (1990) in literature, and who was to take the final decision on the scholarship. It was not difficult for him to realise, after seeing Gujral’s paintings, that he was one of the artists who had applied. Paz ultimately decided in his favour. 

“Later, when I met him again in Mexico, I asked him what made him choose me. He said, that the panel had found everything negative about me. But he thought that many an artist in the world rose from the negative, and hence he wanted to give me a chance,” smiles Gujral. That stint in Mexico proved to be a life-changing experience for him, with him doing apprenticeships with artists such as Diego Rivera and David Siqueiros. There, he found artists constantly learning — with new mediums, material and style. This zeal for experimentation has remained with Gujral, as he donned the role of a muralist, sculptor, architect, interior designer, and so much more.

As we speak about the many risks that he has taken and the many shifts that he has made, his wife, Kiran, comes in. She translates a lot of my questions for him in sign language. I ask him about the powerful role of “memory” in shaping his work — of the Partition, of his childhood, of his time in Shimla, of Mexico, and more. “An artist is a reposit of memoriesa — a lot of memories will come back to him everyday. Many things I had not thought of consciously, but their memories have lingered in my subconscious and have shaped my thinking,” he says.

Gujral also feels that his life has been “full of incidents” — many of them determining the curves and turns that his career has taken over time. It was happenstance that drew Paz to his door, and it was by chance that he met the attaché from the Belgian embassy at a party, which culminated in him applying for the job of designing the embassy in the 1980s. After having worked with acrylic, oils, automotive paint, wood, bronze and fibreglass, one wonders if there is a medium or material that he wishes to work with next. “It’s almost as if you have asked me what I would like to eat next. Today, I have eaten meat, so tomorrow would I like to eat veggies. If you have a pile of clay in front, you start to sculpt. If I have an urge to paint, I do that. Unfortunately, the intellectuals make a mess when talking about art as if there is a theory,” says Gujral. “A creative person is not in control of his urges to paint, sculpt or design architecture. I faced a lot of criticism when I shifted to ceramics. People said it’s such a foolish idea to make pyaalis. But the greatest harm one can do to oneself is to suppress one’s feelings.”