Sunil Sethi: Husain & the memory of elephants

AL FRESCO

"Ah, critics! Pay no attention to critics! They are but insects with a life span of one week." So the French philosopher Voltaire expostulated, each time his prolific outpourings threatened to divide 18th century France. Like M F Husain, Voltaire was an itinerant man; he often had to flee from official writs and enraged adversaries. He criss-crossed Europe, but, for every antagonist who hounded him, the powerful everywhere""Frederick the Great of Prussia, for instance""eagerly befriended him and give him sanctuary. In fact, the entire M F Husain controversy can be summed up in a string of Voltaire dicta: "Successful works (of literature and art) are almost everywhere attacked," he wrote. "We must make intolerance intolerable but we must respect prejudice ..."

It is with some relief therefore to find that the Supreme Court, in Voltaire-like mood, has at least thrown out the charges of obscenity brought against Husain's artworks. Given that the artist's prodigious output spans most of the 20th century (he was born in 1915) there are bound to be a few works that are less likeable than others. Some are bound to provoke. What good is art if it cannot challenge the norm?

But if art is indivisible from the artist, I find M F Husain irresistible. He is a wonderful companion, entertaining, opinionated, generous""and always unpredictable. His knowledge of history, art and the world is deep and wide""and entirely self-taught. He can be tiresome and often maddeningly unreliable""but he is always himself. In an acquaintance of more than 30 years I have a few first-hand stories about him. But let me recount a few anecdotes that surface as I write.

The other day, his co-artist and old friend Anjolie Ela Menon recalled two encounters she had with him in London during the past year. On the first occasion, she felt rather sad: the old lion had broken his arm and it was in a sling. Nothing daunted, he was continuing to paint with one hand. He was painting elephants. Some weeks later she visited him again. "Where are the elephants?" she asked, noticing a change of theme on the canvas. Between guffaws he said: "Haathi bhaag gaye." Anjolie made a mistake on this visit; she had brought along a friend. After a polite interval Husain asked to be excused. Forty-five minutes later, the ladies discovered that he was to be found nowhere in the flat.

If this is like stories from the nursery books, Husain's moods can be as changeable as a small child's""evaporate into sudden boredom. But he can also be as shrewd as Ole' Man River. The late hotelier T R S "Tiki" Oberoi had some Husains of superb quality: circa early 1960s, of a colouring and exploding energy that I have seldom seen. I asked him how he had acquired them. "Well," said Tiki, puffing at his cigar, "there was this artist who used to haunt me at the Maidens Hotel. He wanted a room but of course he couldn't pay. He was polite but persistent. So whenever we had a room free we would give it. From time to time he would send a picture to my office. I thought it was wrong to take free paintings from a struggling artist. So I would always send some money down."

There are so many memorable Husain stories""perhaps as numerous as his artworks""but among my favourites is told by our mutual friend Mani Mann. One day she was sitting in her office in Connaught Place when in walked Husain. "Can you lend me twenty-seven rupees? I don't have the money to pay the taxi." She gave him the cash and forgot about it. Many moons later he walked into her life again, unwrapped a newspaper parcel and said, "Here is a painting. Remember I owe you taxi money." It still proudly hangs on her wall.

He has the memory of elephants. And I can't imagine India without elephants or M F Husain.