Sakina Mehta, wife of late artist Tyeb Mehta, recalls the close friendship the Mehta and Husain families shared, and the even closer kinship her husband shared with Husain
Sakina Mehta, wife of late artist Tyeb Mehta, recalls the close friendship the Mehta and Husain families shared, and the even closer kinship her husband shared with Husain
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Memories are the most inaccurate way to sum up a person's life neatly, with all his years following one after the other obediently. Memories are hardly ever orderly ufffd sometimes, the oldest memory can seem fresh, and those of recent events seem like they were gathered a lifetime ago.
For Sakina Mehta, wife of iconic artist Tyeb Mehta, who passed away in 2009, years are mostly immaterial; what is important is the fact that memories remain. So, when she speaks of 'Husainsaab', you know you can walk down memory lane and encounter several Husains ufffd some black-bearded, some graying, some in Mumbai, and some, like a page straight out of a magic realist novel, in cities as distant as London, New York, Paris and purani Dilli.
Much has been written of Maqbool Fida Husain's friendship with Tyeb Mehta that began when the latter was still a student at the JJ School of Art. MF Husain, of course, was 10 years older ufffd he had spent a year at the School but had dropped out, because of monetary constraints, according to some accounts, and because he didn't like formal training, according to others.
Either way, our story begins when Tyeb and Husain ufffd the names the duo were known by ufffd were already friends.
"It was 1946-47. The first time I saw him was when he came to our home in Mohammed Ali Road. He was wearing a long sherwani, a long cap and had a long beard," says Mehta, sitting in her silent Lokhandwala residence that faces a bustling Caf ufffd Coffee Day. The sky is overcast, and Mehta is thinking of the photographs in her chest of drawers. Perhaps she has one of him like that, she says.
"He was very shy. He never came near our door. He stood near the neighbour's door and called for Tyeb." A young Sakina would have caught her first glimpse of Husainsaab through her window and smiled her open, charming smile.
You imagine that Husain and Tyeb would have gone for a Mumtaz-starrer, and Husain, after an hour of staring at the beautiful actor, would have got up and left.
"He often did that. Tyeb, Husain, and Gaitonde (VS Gaitonde, a famous abstract artist) were Mumtaz fans. But Husainsaab was very restless. He'd leave in the middle of the movie," says Mehta.
Where would Husain have gone? To his favourite chaiwala for a cup of malaidar chai? Or back home to his soft spoken wife and five children living in a one-room house in Badar Bagh, in the red light district of Grant Road? Would he have climbed the stairs of the loft in his house and fallen to his knees ufffd for he was too tall to stand in that loft ufffd to drawn a sketch of Mumtaz's naughty smile?
When the Mehtas lived in New Delhi from '65 to '78, Husain, who was based in Mumbai, went over several times to discuss paintings, films and poetry with Tyeb. The Mehtas were known for their open house ufffd people dropped in at all hours, and artists like Krishen Khanna, Ram Kumar and Husain were regulars, as were Vivan Sundaram, Gaitonde and art historian Gita Kapoor.
The families of Husain and Tyeb would also visit purani Dilli on Sundays for Nalli Nihari. Sometimes Husain would stand them up.
"We'd all be dressed, waiting for Husain to pick us up in his car, and even at lunchtime, there would be no sign of him. Then the children would start feeling hungry, so I'd cook something and feed them. At night, Husain would suddenly land up at our doorstep apologising profusely, saying that the morning plan had slipped his mind," says Mehta, without a trace of irritation. Her children Yusuf and Himani are now grown up, and Mehta's grandson, Ali Akbar, is an artist too. He followed his grandfather's footsteps and studied at the JJ School of Art.
In 2005, he did his final year thesis on MF Husain's film Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities.
"I followed Husain uncle around for six weeks and everytime I'd come up with a particularly well-thought out statement about the film, Husain uncle would chuck it out of the window and approach my question from a different perspective," says Akbar.
"Husain uncle had clarity about things, including himself. He would tell me, 'Maqbool was a boy, who was a painter; Husain is the artist; MF Husain is the brand'."
"Really?" says Mehta, who has been silently listening to her grandson's memory with rapt attention. "You never told me that."
"Well, I'm remembering a lot of it right now," says Akbar.
'The brand' was particularly prolific. Much has also been said about Husain's competitiveness and how he had a hand in spiking the price of art in the market, but Husain also gave away his works free of cost. An lady from Prague received a whole stack of drawings; a newly-married couple received a sketch drawn on the back of their wedding invitation; a wall outside the Pundole Art gallery in Fort received a few furious strokes out of which horses emerged; and Arun Vadehra's gallery in New Delhi got its logo after Husain ran his brush over the clear glass door that he had been unable to see through.
Mehta's Lokhandwala house too had received a sketch on the wall ufffd but it got painted over, much to her disappointment.
"He'd come here several times, during the making of Gaja Gamini, and tell me, 'Sakina, ek roti ka sawal hai'," says Mehta, who'd make him a hearty meal.
Later, when he made Meenaxi, he jotted down a few lines in Mehta's telephone diary. It went on to inspire the title of the film and a song in the film.
"Do kadam chal ke dekho,
zindagi zindadili ka naam hai
Ek sheher ka naam ufffd poochh ke dekho
Do sheher ka naam kuchh na poochho
Teen shehero ke naam reh ke dekho"
Mehta reads out the poem in a shaky voice.
Husain did more than inhabit three cities ufffd he inhabited several memories.
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