For Shamshad, it wasn’t easy being his father’s son

It is not easy to be your father’s son, especially in the Indian context where one is expected to overtly uphold tradition and yet covertly retain one’s own individuality to colour a sky that is yours alone. Can one soar higher than the previous generation and yet not break the established icons to go beyond the Laxman rekha of propriety to speak a language that is yours alone Can one slay the shadowy demons of yesterday to emerge into today These lines wafted into my mind’s eye when I heard that a dear friend and fellow artist, and M.F. Husain’s eldest son, Shamshad Husain passed away recently.

Many years ago when I had brought father and son together for a freewheeling conversation on art, his father had described him as “Allah mian ki gaiya” for he was so gentle. “A little introvert – the exact opposite of me! And I think freedom is very important to grow and find your path that is why I left him alone – murder chod ke sab kuch kar sakte ho!” Shamshad was undoubtedly one of the nicest people I have known, even though he used to claim that before he became an artist, he was a “local dada type” in Bombay – a claim that I never believed. A complete antithesis of his father, who would go out of his way to court controversy, Shamshad stayed away from controversy in his easygoing manner, but never shied from calling a spade a spade.

In the early 90s when I was indulging in some media bashing of Husain senior, Shamshad just smiled enigmatically and poof went my story, but I won a friend for life. I had spoken to him about two weeks ago in connection with a show and he told me he was sitting in the car to go to hospital. I never imagined that it would be the last time I would speak to him for he had gone through worse and recovered.

He would often attend exhibition openings and gently encourage younger artists. I have never seen him drink anything else except rum in the last at least 35 years! But in true Indian tehzeeb, he never openly smoked or drank in front of his parents, even though they knew he did. I remember when we were going up to his father’s suite at the Oberoi for an interview, he quickly stubbed out his cigarette and popped an elaichi into his mouth! I found the gesture so endearing and respectful.

Yet in typical banyan tree syndrome, it couldn’t have been easy being his father’s son. I remember Shamshad saying, “Unlike Indian music and dance, there are no gharanas in contemporary art. In fact if they happen even unconsciously, it is considered negative. If I used red I was accused of copying you, if I used blue, I was copying you! It took me 20 years to establish myself. There is bound to be automatic influence. I learnt so much from you and Ammi that art school was merely an exercise. Still I am very much in awe of you.”

To which M.F. Husain had quipped, “You have to be like the Mayan civilisation — metaphorically kill your father to find your way! It takes years to break the style of one’s teachers, so it is in the father-son equation. That is why I used to tempt you with a prize if you failed in art college!” Pat came Shamshad’s reply, “I never disappointed you by always managing to get your prize! You know I still feel jealous sometimes of your energy! The amount of travelling you do so effortlessly! The fact that you don’t necessarily need a studio to paint and can paint even in the open!”

Shamshad had to struggle against the immediate and powerful influence of his father to create his own distinct style. But what he imbibed from the art milieu at home was the pictorial significance of the human figure both as an artistic expression and a statement of faith in man’s social existence. This was later reinforced by the prevailing art ideas and ideals in the academic circles in Baroda during his sophomore years. At the Royal College of Art, his exposure to what was emergent in western art could have broadened the range of his imagery, but his concern in man as a social being left a permanent impress on his art. It was there that Shamshad adopted the graphic clarity and the essential flatness of the painted surface as important elements for his paintings. Shamshad paints people with a restrained palette and people on everyday social plane appear pictorial space uncluttered with “realistic” details of the “place.”

Shamshad got his break in the 80s when “my work emerged on its own terms, without my father having to say ‘yeh mera beta hai, isko show do!’ My one year London stay taught me so much. All those people who didn’t consider me an ‘intellectual’ as I went to a Gujarati medium school, were so shocked when they found that I was the one meeting Howard Hodgkins and the like and not they!”

To think that Shamshad’s gentle and comforting presence will not raise the level of an opening is almost hard to imagine. I for one will surely miss him but wherever he is, I am sure he will be drinking rum!

Dr Alka Raghuvanshi is an art writer, curator and artist and can be contacted on alkaraghuvanshi@ yahoo.com