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Hindustan Times
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Not enough to go to school and learn to paint: artist and centenarian Krishen Khanna
New Delhi, At the age of 100, Krishen Khanna, one of India's last modernist painters and a self-taught artist, advises younger artists to go beyond learning to paint at school and says they should allow their canvas 'to say something'. Not enough to go to school and learn to paint: artist and centenarian Krishen Khanna Age sits lightly on the artist, who shared the Indian modern art space with greats such as M F Husain, F N Souza, Ram Kumar, S H Raza, and Tyeb Mehta and is the last surviving member of the Progressive Artists' Group . 'It's not enough to go to a school and learn to paint. A little bit of it is fine but you have to get out of it eventually. When you talk to each other and people around you, you get to know the truth,' Khanna told PTI on the sidelines of an event on Wednesday evening, four days after his 100th birthday on July 5. The event was organised by the Raza Foundation at the India International Centre to celebrate his large body of work recognised for his treatment of subaltern subjects, including migrant labourers, dhabawallahs, bandwallahs, and truckwallahs. Working at Grindlays Bank in Chennai, the 'banker artist' travelled to New York on a Rockefeller Fellowship in 1962 where he tried to find his expression between the abstract and figurative. It was after his visit to New York that Khanna's works became more figurative, giving voice to the realities of his surroundings. Sixty-two years later, Khanna looks back at that phase of his life. Discussing how he found his expression in figurative art, he said shows where his abstract works were exhibited were very well attended but it did not mean he 'was going to stick to just that forever'. 'It was a step which happened. It's very likely you discover something and you want to grab on to it. You have to take those things as they come and hope they extend. And this extension is really important,' Khanna said. The Padma Bhushan awardee noted that currently there's a 'quiet and unexpected' thing happening in the art world. 'Painting has been given a position of such importance that everybody has something they want to say. So that the painting talks and the attitude of the painter has also become that they paint a picture that people will love. 'I want to be loved'. It's true,' Khanna said. 'More than wanting to be loved, an artist should allow their canvas to say something too, to indicate something,' he said. The canvas cannot lead your work entirely but it does point to something. 'You have to be savvy to take that indication and use it diligently and well. And not get swayed by it and say this is a new art school. There is no such thing,' he explained. The artist, who in his own words draws something and then lets his imagination flow, said artists should let their art lead them to its future. 'If somebody tells you something is going wrong and just throw it away, it doesn't mean you throw it away. You have to find out what is happening with the flaw and what are the indications of the flaw, where is it going to lead me, what's the future. These are very difficult questions because they can paralyse you for a while. But there is nothing wrong with being paralysed for a while,' he said. Khanna, who continues to draw and paint at his Gurugram home, was the centre of discussion on Wednesday evening as art curators, critics, historians and artists discussed and celebrated his vast body of work. The event was attended by art critics Gayatri Sinha, Geeta Kapur, Nancy Adajania, curators Kishore Singh, Roobina Karode, and artist Gulammohammed Sheikh. This article was generated from an automated news agency feed without modifications to text.
India Today
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- India Today
Krishen Khanna: Portrait of the artist as an old man
(NOTE: This article was originally published in the India Today issue dated November 18, 2024)One of the most erudite and creative of Indian artists, Krishen Khanna at the age of 99 is as animated and active as ever. He moves around, albeit in a wheelchair, and paints regularly. When asked how he feels at this stage of his life, he says he feels he is lucky that he doesn't have any illness. Barring a left hip replacement surgery that was performed this May after a fall, he seems to have no other problem. While this slowed him down a little, it also made him work in a concentrated there is any regret at all, it is about the absence of his colleagues, most of whom are no longer alive. 'I'm quite short of friends and I miss them. They all stayed with me in Shimla. Tyeb Mehta, Bal Chhabdano one is there any longer.' Khanna's meeting with M.F. Husain was especially important. The artist recalls Husain visiting him and how that left an indelible mark on him.'When I came to Bombay, the Progressive Artists' Group (PAG) was already there. Then I ran into Husain and I remember he came to see me in my little room at Chateau Windsor—which was next to the Ambassador Hotel. I had a room right on top and he borrowed a book from me—Clive Bell's Art. And then he lost that in a taxi. He brought a painting as compensation and left a little note with it. The painting was worth vastly in excess of the price of the book,' Khanna says. 'We became good friends and the fervour with which he painted added fuel to the sparks which had already ignited in me. I saw almost every painting he made and over the next few years, I bought several. His prices were modest. One day I was driving home through the crowded Princess Street. Just as I passed Chemould Frames, my eye was caught by a painting in the window. I went in and enquired and it was Husain alright? The price was Rs 350, which was nearly half my monthly salary. But I had fallen for it and couldn't wait to take it home and share my enthusiasm with my wife. The painting was 'Holi', which has been widely reproduced and it has been on my walls for several years.... To lose it now would be to lose a part of me.' There was no looking back after that. Khanna was part of the famed PAG, which made history by rooting modern art in India. His memory, which is as acute as ever, takes him back to the Partition days. VIVID EXPRESSIONS | 'The Last Bite' by Krishen Khanna In a poignant work made by him, 'Refugee Train Late 16 hrs' (oil on canvas, 1947), a group of men and women wait in suspense for the train which would take them across the border. For Khanna, the Partition remains as vividly alive as if it just happened. 'It was during the crucial monthswe trooped out in two cars and came straight to Shimla where the Education Department [his father was deputy director of education with the government] was then going to be founded. The evening in Lahore would be penetrated by howling cries as area after area would be set afire and it still haunts me and holds me immobile.'Once the family left Lahore during the Partition, Khanna was to work as a banker in Mumbai while he continued to paint, a profession which he devoted himself to solely from 1961. The artist is known not only for his modernist concerns with the language of art but also for his acute vision which highlights the plight of the underdog. The machinations of power and corruption which impoverished many is focused upon in his 'Game' series, the paintings on Christ as well as those of the Mahabharata of the later years. His humanistic concerns drove him to make works like 'Rear View', which express the plight of migrant labourers huddled in trucks like bundles of objects or the 'Bandwallahs', who in their ragged costumes and brassy instruments are a poignant reminder, despite their flashy gear, of the plight of the underprivileged. Khanna has also made murals, the most memorable of which is for the lobby of the ITC Maurya hotel in Delhi and relays the great procession, an epic play of life and than anything else, Khanna's views, debates and recollections have left many a young artist and art lover enriched. He is what one might call a fortunate man. He sits in his drawing room, which is also now his studio, as he is no longer able to walk down to his basement. His wife Renu, who is 97, keeps him company and they share their views on art and life. His two daughters and son visit him frequently. According to Karan Khanna, his son, the children value their meetings with him. 'He keeps us all happy. He is like a banyan tree whose shade encompasses all of us.'advertisementKhanna has stated, 'All great art has to be local. At the same time, great art transcends the ordinary moment and strives to a moment of infinity.' Nothing could be more true of the artist to India Today Magazine- Ends
Scroll.in
06-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Scroll.in
‘Inside the Mirror': A coming-of-age novel set in the 1950s gets women's desire for true freedom
Can a young woman shape her own destiny without fracturing the roots she springs from? This question underlies the emotional current of Parul Kapur's novel, Inside the Mirror. As India shook the dust of colonialism from its shoulders, everything shimmered with possibility. Set in the vibrant times of 1950s Bombay, the novel follows 19-year-old twin sisters Jaya and Kamlesh Malhotra as they stand at the intersection of obedience and individuality. Born into a respected Punjabi family, the girls are offered what many would call privilege. Kapur renders the Malhotra household as a microcosm of a nation in flux, bruised but hopeful, aspiring towards progress while still shackled to propriety. The father is emblematic of this paradox. Forward-thinking by most measures, he has mapped out their futures – one in medicine, the other in teaching. These are professions that promise security and respect. He does not question whether the ambitions he permits are his daughters' own, because he does not need to. He believes that education equals emancipation, that opportunity is freedom. But ambition handed down, however benevolently, can bind just as tightly as any prohibition. Portrait of two artists in becoming Jaya Malhotra enters medical college not out of desire but with a sense of dutiful inertia. Inside, she harbours dreams of becoming an artist. The hospital compound, dense with the scent of formalin and suffering, alienates her from the very profession her father deems noble. They say artists are sensitive beings. For Jaya, this sensitivity becomes both a burden and a compass. It is through art that she begins to recover herself. Amidst this, a romance also blooms for Jaya. Kapur treats this thread with a light touch. Kirti Dasgupta, a charming senior whose presence at first seems to promise both mentorship and affection, but is also casually steeped in the kind of entitlement that often passes unnoticed in men of ambition. He admires Jaya's intensity but doesn't quite know what to do with it. Their love is not any destiny-altering epic but it does shape Jaya's own longing to not just create art but who she must insist on being. She gets to know about Group 47, a fictional version of the Progressive Artists' Group that was founded in 1947. This collective, rooted in post-independence urgency, speaks of reinventing Indian Modern Art. Jaya finds resonance in them, but more importantly, she meets her mentor – Sringara. Through Sringara, both the reader and Jaya get a glimpse of the figure of a woman who has chosen art as her existence. She is unapologetically herself, assured in ways that Jaya aspires to be. 'An artist,' Jaya thinks, 'had to be an extremist.' This thought isn't romanticised but rendered with quiet conviction as the story unfolds. To be an artist is to risk exile, from family, from respectability and from comfort. Kapur does not glamorise this transformation. Instead, she allows it to build slowly through sketches, conversations, and Jaya's restless inner gaze. If Jaya's rebellion is painted on a canvas, Kamlesh's unfolds in measured rhythm. While she pursues a BA, her heart beats to the cadence of Bharatanatyam. She is excited for her upcoming arangetram, her debut solo performance. She spends hours refining her posture, her expressions, and the intricate mudras of the dance. It is clear that she genuinely loves it. In these moments, Kamlesh isn't fulfilling anyone else's dreams. There is a humming urgency in her desire to be seen, not just a daughter or twin, but as a performer, a woman who can hold the gaze of a room and decide what it sees. But in a Punjabi household unfamiliar with the cultural vocabulary of South Indian classical dance, its declaration feels rather scandalous. 'No respectable girl displayed herself like that in public,' the family frets. It is less about the dance and more about the questions, whispers, and judgment it will invite. We witness the events of her journey, but rarely are we allowed to enter her mind with the same intimacy that is afforded to Jaya. While the novel sublimely lingers in Jaya's uncertainty with her slow-burning rebellion and her inner struggles, Kamlesh is often glimpsed in motion. In many ways, she functions more as a foil than a fully fleshed-out counterpart. It is a loss, because it is a novel invested in female coming of age, and Kamlesh's partial opacity feels like an opportunity left only half-realised. In the shadow of history Kapur captures the post-independence mood, bearing its wounds from Partition with a steady hand. The Malhotra household is not untouched either. People arrive at their home seeking shelter as they attempt to rebuild their lives from the rubble. It reminds us how history forms an important part of our being. Bebeji, the twins' grandmother, is one of the most compelling links to this past. She was a local leader at the Lahore Congress Committee and participated in the independence movement. She even witnessed its bloody aftermath. Yet, the scars do not quiet her. Infused with the spirit of doing good, she runs a program for a slum colony. Her social consciousness becomes a kind of unspoken inheritance, one that both Jaya and Kamlesh absorb, even as they try to shape their own. Bebeji's presence deepens the girls' arcs. She has already pushed the boundaries of a woman's place in society in her own ways. And, survived it too. The legacy she offers is a living reminder that independence, whether personal or political, is never without cost. In the acknowledgements, the author writes that this book has undergone a long journey, written and rewritten until it found its final form. That journey is visible in the novel's bones. It bears the marks of careful research. The social fabric of 1950s Bombay, the post-Partition tensions, especially the evolving conversations around art, painting, and classical dance, are rendered with care without feeling like a lecture. Kapur strikes a rare balance when lyricism enhances the prose rather than making it feel ornamental. The passages detailing the social work and issues of the slum colony can feel like a detour from the story but, their effect is undeniable in hindsight. They add an emotional layer that grounds the story in lived socio-political reality. The novel would have been flatter without them. The story plays on a timeless conflict of self versus society. The girls want to find their own identity and purpose, while the family holds on to their reputation in society like fragile currency. 'A girl pulling herself out of the web of her family could cause the entire web to tear and collapse' That web is made up of duty, obligation, and the ever-present weight of 'log kya kahenge', whichis the real antagonist of their world. In different ways, both sisters push against what has been chosen for them to pursue lives of their own making. The novel doesn't pretend that making such a choice is easy. The slow drift between the twins, resulting distance from family, becomes a quiet but aching sign of what is risked when one refuses to stay within the lines. By its end, Inside the Mirror asks us not only to witness this transformation but also to sit with its cost.
Hindustan Times
06-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Krishen Khanna, painter of bandwallas, turns 100: Modernist icon and India's greatest living artist celebrates a century
When he came out of the ritzy bank office on a balmy November afternoon in 1961 after serving out a six-month notice period, his friends were waiting outside. M F Husain, Bal Chhabra and V S Gaitonde told Krishen Khanna they wanted to celebrate his "liberation". They did so in style at the Bombelli's restaurant in Mumbai's Churchgate and Chhabra presented him with a gold tie pin in the shape of a palette. Their other friends like S H Raza in Paris gathered whoever they could find to mark the moment the banker Khanna became a full-time artist. Celebrated artist Krishen Khanna turned 100 on July 5 creating a landmark in the history of Indian art.(Courtesy of Artiana) More than six decades later, his friends Husain, Chhabra, Gaitonde and Raza are no more, but the world of Indian art is together this time to celebrate yet another landmark in the life of Khanna---his 100th birthday. Master painter, elegant orator, lover of poetry, man of witticisms and a stickler for detail, Khanna is the most active of modernist painters India has ever seen. On July 5, he turned 100, etching a landmark in the history of Indian art. Khanna, who lives in Gurgaon, Haryana with his wife Renuka Chatterjee, 98, and son Karan Khanna, a well-known photographer, welcomed visitors who arrived at his home to offer him wishes. This weekend, several art galleries across the country have joined Khanna's fellow artists and art enthusiasts in celebrating the birth centenary of the greatest living Indian artist. Calling of canvas Born in Faisalabad, Pakistan in 1925, Khanna still wakes up everyday to the calling of the canvas, carrying on a creative spirit and energy that has built a grand repertoire of formidable works in a span of seven decades. Khanna's works are conversations between himself and the characters on his canvases, mostly people with aching bodies and minds. No other Indian artist has brought alive the beating of the hearts of the invisible workers, the real builders of the country, like Khanna has been doing. He has documented the workers of Delhi in such paintings as Black Truck (1974), a construction lorry filled with labourers. There are labourers sleeping under a truck in Nocturne (1979). In an untitled work from the '90s, a truck filled with workers is seen transporting metal pipes. At 100, Khanna continues a mission he began with fellow artists Raza, Husain, Gaitonde, Tyeb Mehta, F N Souza and Akbar Padamsee, all members of the Progressive Artists' Group, founded in 1947 to give a new direction to art in a newly independent nation. Khanna's deep bond with his friends and fellow artists is legendary. Husain would visit him at his Nizamuddin studio in Delhi where Khanna would paint while his famous friend kneeled down for the prayers two feet away. "It was beautiful," Khanna would recall later. Krishen Khanna's canvases and sculptures reveal the struggle and suffering of the workers and the poor.(Courtesy of Artiana) In Raza's Paris studio, Khanna would complete his friend's unfinished painting. When business tycoon Ness Wadia brought two paintings from him, he quickly introduced the millionaire to Chhabra, Padamsee and Gaitonde. Wadia happily obliged and bought from them too. The whole group commented on each other's works and there was plenty of gossips to go by. They were a closely-knit group. Each had a distinct style of practice. Yet they influenced each other with ideas. Khanna is the last surviving member of the group after Ram Kumar passed away in 2018 and Padamsee five years ago. Prolific and profound After leaving his job at the National Grindlays Bank - a long 14 years -- in Kanpur and Mumbai, Khanna has led a prolific professional career weaving his brush on small and large canvases for several decades. There were the Mahabharat series in the '80s and the Exodus series later that produced some of his most-remembered works. Even as he achieved dizzying heights in the art world, he has been rooted to the ground and dedicated forever to his family and friends. Born in Faisalabad, now in Pakistan, Khanna grew up in Lahore. He went to a public school, the Imperial Service College in Windsor, London, where he refused to go home for holidays, instead staying back to visit the National Gallery. He returned to Pakistan to enrol at the Government College, Lahore. After graduating in English Literature, he had a day job at a printing press and attended evening classes at the city's Mayo Art School. "I had to leave the press one day and never went back," he used to say years after the Partition uprooted his family and sent them hurtling to Shimla and later to Delhi. The bloody Partition left a deep scar in the mind of the young man, who would go on to reflect human struggle and suffering in his works for years to come. One of his paintings in the '70s is titled Maclagan Road, New Delhi, fusing the street near the iconic Anarkali Bazaar in Lahore with his adopted city of Delhi. Flight from Pakpattan, another painting of a chariot with passengers was his response to his family fleeing Pakistan with meagre belongings. Another, At the Railway Station, is about the long journey from Lahore that culminated at the railway station in Shimla. Street Quartet (Bandwallas), a 1988 oil on canvas by Krishen Khanna.(Courtesy of DAG) He sees Pakistan in the streets of Delhi. And he never grew old. Probably the Partition stopped time for him. The wars India fought with Pakistan and China left him distressed and he was always ready to join his friends in selling their works to contribute to the Indian Red Cross. Angry at India and Pakistan calling themselves enemies of each other, he believed that educated and reasonable people were few on both sides. Chaiwallas and dhabawallas Once he was settled in Delhi, Khanna began to paint the city' bandwallas, chaiwallas, dhabawallas and truck drivers and never stopped. There are scenes of baraat in the city's streets and evenings at dhabas in works like Ramu ka Dhaba (1979) and Bandwallas in a Tempo (1991). In an untitled work of 2011, angels are seen watching a baraat from above. Khanna has always made sure all his characters in his works retain their individuality. The author Khushwant Singh appears in one of his paintings on Delhi in the '60s. A bronze sculpture from the artist's Bandwallas series(Courtesy of Vadehra Art Gallery) The spirit of community continues to contribute to his works. In Memoriam, painted four years ago, he places himself and his artist friends inside a dhaba. Working in his studio in Delhi and later in Gurgaon, he would write letters to his friends and welcome them warmly whenever someone paid him a visit. Between discussions over the latest show at galleries in Mumbai, London, New York and Paris, his letters reveal his inimitable humour. When Raza once wrote to him that he was working long hours, Khanna retorted: "This sounds worse than banking." He paints every day and brushes away suggestions that he might be tired. Sometimes, he even steps out to see the massive mural he painted at the Maurya Sheraton hotel in Delhi. For Khanna, his over seven-and-half decades as an artist has been a breeze. "I never thought I would do so much work," he says. 'There is not a moment of dullness.' ALSO READ: Artwork not looking good on your walls? Expert reveals what's wrong, shares 5 tips to create visual harmony at home
Indian Express
06-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
How Krishen Khanna's signature ‘bandwallas' became enduring emblems of othering
Krishen Khanna, one of India's foremost modernist painters and the last surviving member of the Progressive Artists' Group, turned 100 on Saturday (July 5). Khanna is renowned for his sensitive observation of society and unwavering compassion for the marginalised, as epitomised by his signature motif of bandwallas (musicians in wedding brass bands). These figures first appeared in his art in the 1970s, and have continued to feature prominently ever since. One evening, as he was on his way home from Garhi Studios in Delhi, Khanna got stuck in traffic caused by a wedding procession. He witnessed the wedding party dancing to tunes belted by the bandwallas, and was struck with the irony of the situation. 'They [the bandwallas] dress up but are actually in tatters. It's grandiose and comic, but also tragic at the same time. They are poor chaps…. It proves that life is neither comedy nor tragedy all the way through, it's Chaplin-esque,' Khanna said in an interview to The Indian Express in 2015. Established in Mumbai in 1947, the Progressive Artists' Group was an art collective which aimed to discover a vocabulary for the modern art of Independent India. Stalwarts such as F N Souza, S H Raza, and M F Husain were all members of PAG. 'They created a unique Indian modernity that was full of plurality, bearing comradeship with the West, but remaining deeply Indian,' cultural critic Ashok Vajpeyi told The Indian Express in 2022. Art critic and curator Kishore Singh said of Khanna's choice of protagonist: 'They are an essential part of one's festivities and look celebratory. At the same time, they are never invited within the venue: once their purpose is served, they just melt away in the backdrop'. 'This level of marginalisation where we can overlook a group of people so vital to our celebrations struck him [Khanna] hugely, and that's how the bandwallas series emerged,' Singh stated. This is at the heart of the appeal of the series. As Singh put it, 'Bandwallas serve as his emblem for othering… Most viewers will look at the bandwalla and smile, because they look so joyous and colourful, but the discerning viewer who can decode its deeper meaning can actually stand in front of a bandwalla painting and cry.' Legacy of British rule Born in Faisalabad, Khanna was among the millions of refugees to have been displaced during the Partition. Like many of his peers, Khanna has frequently explored the subject of Partition and the enduring legacy of British rule in the subcontinent. Bandwallas are also a part of this story. During the Raj, brass bands were employed by the colonial rulers for grand public events and parades. After Independence, several of these bands pivoted to belting out filmy tunes at weddings in order to make ends meet. In an interview in 2022, Khanna said: 'In a way, bandwallas are a relic of the past, a legacy of British rule… The uniform adds grandeur but also gives them a kind of anonymity. Now, of course, they have moved away from the British regimental marches to belting out film songs.' 'When the Partition happened, they too had to get out, like the rest of us.' Usually seen playing their instruments, every iteration of the bandwalla in Khanna's works is unique. In his earliest portrayals, Khanna's bandwallas are depicted in small isolated groups, appearing melancholic despite their flamboyant appearance and faded red uniforms. Later on, however, Khanna's palette became more muted and the contours of the figures began to disappear with the artist lending them semi-abstract forms with thick strokes. By the 1990s, Khanna's focus shifted to solitary figures. But more recent works have seen bandwallas appear in overlapping compositions in bold colours, and also as arresting figures standing in bronze. The titles are usually descriptive. Some notable ones are: Untitled (Bandwala with Dog), Bandwalla With French Horn, Untitled (Bandwalla playing the sousaphone), and A Bandwalla Dozes While a Monkey Lifts His Headgear. Singh said, 'Initially full of gestural abstraction, as the figures became more popular, the colours became more primary.' 'Each bandwalla is an entity with a distinct personality. Even though the subject remains the same, the story of each work is different,' Sunaina Anand, Director of Delhi-based Art Alive Gallery, said. 'Its a unique subject extensively explored by Khanna, and draws constant enquiries from collectors.'
