I spent a huge portion of my childhood working with colors - color pencils, collages, paints, textiles, rangoli and much more.
For the sake of this post, if you ask me to go back in time and think of the very first influence, art or color, had on me, I’d say it had something to do with my Mom’s wardrobe. When opened it expanded in all directions with vibrant colors like a beautiful color pencil box taking you into the forest and leaving you there. Or like Narnia, driving your imagination wild. It was filled with hundreds of saris and duppattas- made of silk, pure silk, Mysore silk, cotton, and what not. Let me remind you about the simple but beautiful net duppata studded with stones like stars in the sky that Aishwarya wore in Chand Chupa Badal Mein. Now, that was a work of art. Stunning. That was the kind of stuff hidden away in this closet of hers. Oh, how I love the movies from the 80s and 90s that revolutionized and inspired the way people dressed with its music and dance. Mom’s closet also had an entire section dedicated to pastels - her chikan and georgette salwar and kurta collection. I remember giggling away when she wanted to buy “chicken” kurtas at the pakistani and Sindhi markets, always buzzing with impatient and hungry shoppers and where the air was heavy with the smell of falafel and grilling kabobs and the sound of the night time namaz or prayer drowned in the everyday noise. So much happened on the streets then, as it did when I looked into that wardrobe. I would like to go back and on an idle morning, open that wardrobe and take one hard look at it again. Inshallah.