The most endearing part of the book is on the series called Autobiography, painted by Husain at Siddiqui’s request in ’89. These are poignant caches of memory of his childhood in Pandharpur and then in Indore as son of a poor timekeeper in a textile mill. In one canvas a boy seems to be flying out wearing a large shoe on one foot while a faceless woman tries to hold him from behind. That woman is his mother who passed away when he was two years old (it seems that when he was very ill she prayed that her life be taken instead and while he recovered miraculously she passed away the next day).
Living near Jama Masjid in Old Delhi in the ’60s, Husain would spend time with people here and paint them. The evenings would be spent with painter friends Gaitonde and Ram Kumar reciting poetry and eating kebabs. This moving theatre follows Husain wherever he goes, for there are no private spaces in his Bombay apartment with its painted walls and flying gods on the ceiling. From painting The Ramayan for villagers to reflecting global reality in his later works, Husain has his pulse ticking.
