Drawing a house with a tree and an ocean (actually a
water body, thanks to my poor sense of scale and perspective as a kid) was my favourite
sketch during art classes and boring Sundays all through my school days. Later
I convinced myself that maybe deep inside I always knew I would become an
architect someday. I wonder what my concept of a home was, as we literally
lived out of suitcases, packing and unpacking, shifting to close to a ten
houses spread over five states, before settling to life in hostel for close to
a decade.
May be it is a human instinct, for most of us , this would have
been our first piece of art work or rather the only piece, which lay stuck
above our study tables over ages. The raising sun over the hills, sometimes the
shining sun above the roof, the inevitable “v” shaped birds hovering over the cotton candy clouds, the
clover shaped trees, grass detailing, the flowing river with me fishing, the
laid path to the door of the sloped roof house, the windows with curtains on
sides, the smoke from the chimney, sometimes I used to add books and a swing to
the sides…ah pictures made truly from the heart, they speak, so much, even today. A perfect home with a garden and a
library along the beach, I don’t think beyond it for a dream house even today
after years of architectural training.
I never realized the connectivity, memories and sense
of place and security this picture holds in every person’s mind until today.
The talk by a architect cum volunteer working with Syrian refugee children in
Austria said it all. The images she showed about the drawings made by children
during an art therapy session was heart wrenching. It was all the same. Later drawings
made by the refugee adults who joined these children were shown. It was all the
same, again. Everyman had a child inside him, which came out as art, as an
expression of pain, loss and longing. Most of them drew what they loved the
most, their home. It was more than a mere drawing of one’s home, homeland and
memories. It was an expression of life. Period.
I guess I can never again look at a child’s sketch
of its house just as a drawing. It’s going to haunt me for life. House is not
just a place to stay, stories begin and end here, nothing can be like @ HOME.
கல்லும்
மண்ணும் வீடுகளில்லை
அன்பின் வீடே அழிவது இல்லை
அன்பின் வீடே அழிவது இல்லை
