My first true encounter with art was when I read comics. The characters in the comics had a life of their own, independent of the handful of panels they occupied the space in. I always thought that even after I’ve read the comic, the world goes on for the characters. Characters like Chacha Chowdhary, Sabu, Pinky, Suppandi, Nagraj, and others seemed to keep me entertained with their stories and anecdotes. Then there was Phantom which was as elusive as the character itself. I knew that I had to read all the previous comics to understand what’s going on in Phantom and Nagraj, nevertheless I used to read them and savor the experience – you will not always know whatever your real-life human/being has gone through, you are a passing cloud and not the person whose life you just entered.

Whenever I hopped into the train for a long distance journey (any journey more than 10 hours is a long distance journey), I made it a point to have my mom buy me comics. And, I used to devour it in a couple of minutes and would go on and re-read it.

Then came the era of children’s magazines – it had a healthy mix of comics, anecdotes, short stories, out-of-the-world events, puzzles, and quizzes. One magazine would easily keep me entertained for more than a month, I would read and re-read it – as if to extract the last drop of the nectar. Now that I think about it, it’s funny that I am talking about it all and not include my age. True, in one way, my growth can be measured by the kind of books I read. There was the comic books phase, then came the magazine phase, then came the fiction phase, and so on. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll go chronologically.

With magazines, I found my love for reading articles. Some articles used to be merely half page long, some would run to 4 and 5 pages. I didn’t realize that such articles were simply preparing me to read novels and non-fiction material which ran over 1000 pages at a time. I didn’t bother playing much, and I was good enough for myself. When I used to be bored and didn’t have anything to read, mom would give me a fistful of rice and ask me to count. It kept me occupied. On other days, I used to take a sewing thread roll and unthread it only to re-thread it. I was a cat.

Probably in my high school days, I got myself my first novel. ‘Chanakya’s Chant’, it was called. I got it in the Chennai Book Fair. I loved (still do) the concept of a book fair – books and books, and a child can get lost in the umpteen counters! It was around the same time that I got exposed to non-Indian music. The songs I first listened to are naturally the ones that I still hum today – Wonderwall, Fireflies, what not. Now, here is where the lines get blurred. I went into an experience overload and started gorging on movies, series, music, instrumentals, books, maps, paintings, murals, and anything that I could interpret for myself.

I had the joy of reading the works of giants of humans in their own right. I had the honour of watching movies and series made by visionary filmmakers. These ‘escapades’ immensely shaped me.

I took a dive into the deep ocean, head-first. I tried to find why a movie was made the way it was made. I started to appreciate the background music of movies. I used to listen to the background music, and it had a calming effect on me. The entire experience was so intimate, so personal that I doubt if I’ll be able to type it all and do justice to my experience in the first place.

As I type, my mind is playing ‘Kagome’s Lullaby’ for me. It’s from Inu Yasha, an anime series. I was so deep in the ocean that the soulful voice of Natalia Lafourcade found me. And yet, I feel like I have barely scratched the surface. There are only 7 ragas (notes), yet I’m humbled by the sheer number of original music churned out by the maestros. Whenever an artist exhausts his muse, he or she takes liberty and creates a world of its own. Lovecraft – Octavia – Gaiman – Mary – the list goes on. I realized it too late that I could have made a career in art or critiquing.

But then again, I also know that I write only for the sake of writing. I tried; I tried so hard to write and print pages so that I can sell a good novel and get myself a Wikipedia page. Who am I kidding? The minute I try to write something that I can impress someone with, my pen’s ink bleeds dry. You know about article that got published in ‘The Hindu’? I didn’t even proof-read it. Before that article I wrote on motherhood, I had sent more than 5 articles to the newspaper for publishing. I never got a reply. So, one fine day, my muse took over and wrote the article, and I sent it to the newspaper via e-mail. I forgot about it until it got published.

As I type, I have a fully formed novel idea (replete with character arc, plotline, chapter summary and preface) and 2 nascent novel plots with me. I simply am unable to write them. Yet, I’m able to write what I’m writing.

I started writing this piece in hopes of capturing a few of my escapades with art. Turns out, I’ve merely listed out the reasons why I can’t do so.

I remember the first time I saw the solar eclipse, because it was the first time I ever saw a solar eclipse (or any eclipse) with my naked eyes.

I’ve heard about eclipses ever since the time I started understanding language. Each mythology has its own version of the story behind the eclipse. But, all of the humankind agrees on these facets – that the eclipse is unnatural, it endangers their Gods, it is associated with evil, and it is something humankind will not ever be able to control. Hence, before and during the eclipse, any sentient being does not go with its homing instinct (come on, it is dark, so it’s time to go home?) and instead fervently prays, performs rituals, gives sacrifices, and does anything in its power to help the Gods win over the evil.

Now we know that an eclipse is quite a natural phenomenon, yet, it doesn’t feel right when you witness it. During a total solar eclipse, the entire sky goes dark and a sudden lack of heat is immediately felt. You know for sure that it will last only for a few minutes, but you get the sensory overload anyway. And then there are those folks who stare into the ring of the eclipse thinking that it’s safe.

Never mind the drivel. So, it was the first time Chennai was going to witness a total Solar Eclipse after a very long time. And, I was actually in a position to view it in totality (I wasn’t home that day, I was working). When the time was right, I went out, and I witnessed it. The air around went unreal, as if the surrounding air didn’t know whether to make me feel cold or warm. The sky was semi-dark, and all the crows had already hid in their nests. One solitary guard was manning his post, and I trained my eyes on the Sun, or what was left of the Sun.

The Sun was half engulfed by darkness, by Moon. I knew that even with the Moon fully swallowing the Sun, the Sun’s strong rays were still protruding from the ring and can seriously and quickly damage my vision. I felt my head feel light, I felt dizzy; it did feel quite unreal. My mind said that the Sun is not shining so I can stare back at it, but my eyes were pleading to shut close because it was too much for them. My legs began to give away, and the surrounding air didn’t do me any good. My sense of balance began to waver, as all my sensory organs (eyes, ears, what not) began to give conflicting signals to my brain. I bowed my head, and went inside. Later, I realized that I didn’t witness the beginning of the eclipse, but the end of it. I had already missed the total Solar Eclipse.

That didn’t go down with me very well. I was to blame; I went out 5 minutes late. I reassured myself that I can still witness the total Solar Eclipse in Delhi on 21-June. Little did I know back then that the world will be fighting a pandemic and that I’d be stuck in my own room writing this piece.