1 Minute at an art gallery in Kochi

When I opened the door at 7am in my government quarters, there stands the compulsive cyclist of an artist, apolegetically snuggled to the wall, armed with that disarming smile - Dinesh R Shenoy again – that incomparable craftsman of monumental buildings in monochromatic sepia ! For statistical purpose, had to invite the Fort Kochi artist who was already in and about to be seated on the dining chair.

I have drawn Dinesh twice earlier and posted down here. But the two you see here were to amuse my deaf, chronically asthmatic AMMA who I could see struggling these days to get out of the trauma of the death of her elder sister, of whom she hoped to become neighbour one beautiful day. Just 2 minutes, and I could make her smile once again at my scribble pad.

I always remind my Siddharth to take care to nudge to his grandma....touch her...and if he can, smile at her while she goes through the obituary columns in the newspaper because she is going through something terrible that millions of old people like her anywhere in this world never wish to share with anybody. I could see my mother heaving heavily while struggling to balance on her weak limbs onway to the kitchen to make coffee for her son's friend.

No one can explain breath better than an asthmatic....

10 minutes later at the gallery where the train 

drawings of Dinesh hung in special frames. 

Perhaps, this simple looking young man would be the pathbreaker to that gallery culture where in you could 

shop for originals worth from Rs.100 to 1,00,000.

The owner of the teashop next to the smallest gallery perhaps in the whole of Kerala. In 20 minutes, I would cajole the 'boy' who brought the black tea with his caricature, futher unsettling the  standoff between the bourgeoisie hotel owner and the younger prolet.

This Infopark engineer with kid in arms who passed by was the first to volunteer. By reflex, I ran my fingers through the back of my head. There was a time when the comb refused to proceed further through the dense black forest. I looked at the young man again with envy but then the baby gave me hope.. HiHo !

Come to Netteppadam Road across Govt. Girls HS, Ernakulam and you will find this effervescent SRK lookalike, more SRKish if he chooses not to bare teeth. Beneath the half a dozen layers of knitwear lies  a panicky, intensely deep prayer invoking the Gods of 6 to 8 packs ...

Typical trade street fare this. Here is  a helper from the neraby

Ayurvedic pharmacy. The red smear in the forehead has been

correctly positioned to square off the villainy on the face :)

Colleague & Senior-in-arms of the above in

Ayurveda matters was exactly not a success.

The traditional cap donned by this photogenic chap 
during special occasions has been not so 
cleverly concealed behind the caricature.

One of the thousands of insecure drivers in the city. 
He was so eager to show the surprise to his kids, 
I was insensitive to ask the names of... :(

An official in the government furniture store. The pefectionist cut short his smile seeing the 'thing' to the right, my 5 second furniture that I decided to display before signing off.

The cricket fanatic boy watched by 
his shy mother from a distance...

The plumber of the bylane

then, the travel agent..

next, the clerk in the courier agency...

followed by the rich son of the teastall owner we met earlier..

My predecided 20 minutes was about to be finished. I had announced, just 2 more, I would be going .... I had forgotten to ask the vocation of the chap. Just seated him in the most unstable wooden bench I created in recent times..

JAYANT, the gallery owner. I only wish he learns the trade of packing his wares the earliest. His son (below) whom I drew on the inaugural day might one day save his father from debts with his exceptional watercolours ...

 

The hotel'boy' I referred earlier suddenly 
flaredhis dental structure without provocation, 
which would be any caricaturists instant delicacy. 




2 days back...

Dines chose 'me' as most suited to fill the smallest gallery

               Akkado Mikkado or whatever, the offeseason tourist                                 who relented while casually ushered in by the artist