Tuesday, November 18, 2014


Winter is a strange dream, monochromatic, abstract, bleached of all inessentials. Unusual images, alternate textures, pieced together on white paper. It is dark at noon and snowflakes fall. Flurries. Oh, the utter absolute frightening beauty of it all.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The Congregation

Once upon a time, long ago in another world, I used to go to a place of worship. Sometimes I would be asked to read from the Holy Book. When I stood at the lectern, ready to read, I would glance up for a moment at the faces before me, and this drawing above is what I saw.What terrified me was that once I finished reading from the Holy Book, I had to step down, walk towards this congregation and be a part of them.

I have done this drawing with giant sticks of Senelier Oil pastel. They provide a kind of knobbly resistance when used on Moleskine sketchbook paper giving a strange crude texture which is appropriate for this image. 

Monday, November 3, 2014


Crowded cafes, beautiful people, green hair, red cups, I set time backward...I am turning the pages of a glossy magazine I am inside photographs watching unreality around me. Shops sell diamond salt from the mines of Kashmir, there is a Papier-mâché table before me, black chandelier above me, person in front of me eating a donut, he dissolves into an artist in Mont Royal eating pumpkin cheesecake who crumbles into an architect from Mile End drinking cappuccino, they have silver hair, their faces are paper white, they wear coal black, they look alike and multiply...then their faces melt, like pumpkins after Halloween, there is a deer skull on the shelf.

Autumn. Flowers like my dreams at night retain their structure, the desaturation button moves slowly, slowly to the left.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

The Mushroom Hunter

The thoughtful amongst you might think that this serene picture is one of a poet out for a walk in the woods in search of inspiration, at one with nature, in touch with his inner soul. But think again discerning readers, look again! This picture has a far more chilling undercurrent to it than what seems apparent on its warm, dappled surface; clutch your hearts and hold your breath, this here is a picture of a hunter, the most lethal of them all – A Mushroom Hunter.
Before I detect the slightest smirk on your faces allow me make my point. Hunters of wild beasts saunter around the jungle with large guns and upon sighting prey in the distance, merely lift their guns and pull a trigger, BANG, the prey staggers and dies, the hunter walks up to the bloody carcass, takes a selfie with her foot on the body, drags it over to the jeep and drives away. Yawn. Anybody can do that. It is The Mushroom Hunter who is far more dangerous. One moment he is merrily driving along peaceful country roads chatting about graphic novels and ground coffee and the next moment he screeches the car to a halt much to the surprise and consternation of his passengers, “Good heavens! Is something wrong? Why did he stop?” And that is the instant when you see a Mushroom Hunter in action. He darts across the road to an empty field, unsheaths his sharp, special mushroom dagger, swoops down with a yowl of delight on helpless, quivering little shaggymane mushrooms huddled together, swiftly chops off their heads and places them in his trophy basket. If that isn't chilling enough there’s more mind you! A mere walk in autumn woods is fraught with action. You might have had a meditative stroll in mind, that moment of getting in touch with your Shakti that your Guru so recommended, that you were so eager to experience, you are admiring the colors of the trillion, zillion autumn leaves on the forest floor, you are just about to attain nirvana through peace and happiness when the Mushroom Hunter screeches to a halt before you and plunges his dagger into gazillion leaves on the ground and comes up with a teeny weeny quivering mushroom which he is ecstatic about and which he holds aloft before your bewildered eyes. “See? See!” And then as you sit trembling in recovery at the dining table, these mushrooms are fried in butter and brought before you to be eaten. No blood and gore of animal killers mind you, just swift, lethal, ruthless decapitation and dinner. Takes nerve to be the guest of A Mushroom Hunter I tell you. Phew!

And yes, well, here is the photograph of one of them.

Thursday, October 9, 2014


A weekend with friends in Sutton
A constant downpour of nature
An endless overflow of all of life’s good things
How does one process so much beauty?
How can one truly give thanks for this much blessing?
I am not yet ready to know how to make my palette
retell this abundance of new colors and emotions.

A beautiful blog >

Thursday, September 18, 2014


‘You look well-settled’ is the phrase I hear most often for the pictures I post on Facebook. There are others, less gullible, more curious, who want to know what the immigrant experience is really like. To give the right answers, I can perhaps do best with drawing out the series of images that keep recurring in my mind. These days my experiences are images and emotions which I know will fall apart completely if described in words. Maybe these drawings will become proper complete works one day, but for now, they are within the pages of a sketchbook, a visual record of a slow careful transition from one world into another, where every decision has to be weighed carefully before it is acted on; putting down roots takes time, the past has wiped itself out, the future is hazy, my goal is clear.

"You will find your own ethical dilemmas in all parts of your lives, both personal and professional. We all have different desires and needs, but if we don’t discover what we want from ourselves and what we stand for, we will live passively and unfulfilled. Sooner or later, we are all asked to compromise ourselves and the things we care about. We define ourselves by our actions. With each decision, we tell ourselves and the world who we are. Think about what you want out of this life, and recognize that there are many kinds of success."
 ~ Bill Watterson

Wednesday, August 27, 2014


Long ago I watched an Antony Bourdain show where he was invited into the home of an Inuit family in a remote part of Greenland in Quebec, Canada. They killed a fresh seal, brought it home, gutted the seal on the floor and proceeded to eat the innards of the seal. Then the host reverentially handed over the seal’s  eyeball to Bourdain who partook of it. The raw seal eyeball was delicacy, the best part of the seal. It was given to the guest as a gesture of friendship. The point was not so much in whether Bourdain ‘liked’ the eyeball or not but that he accepted that gesture. The offer of the delicacy and its acceptance was a bridge across cultures, a symbol of respect and friendship.
Here in Montreal, a lovely couple invited me, a newcomer, to their beautiful home. The hostess had earlier been to Marche Jean Talon and procured fresh food for the meal. She had also thoughtfully bought for me a particular food that I had once mentioned I had never eaten before. There on the balcony, in the soft evening light, over wine and beer, she placed plates of this food in front of us and showed me the unusual way of eating it. When I thought I’d finished eating I was told that within the remnants lay the best part of all – the heart. Then my host took my plate, helpfully cut up the core, speared something on a fork and handed it over to me.
“Here it is” he said, “Here is the heart”.
At that moment I remembered Antony Bourdain being given the seal's bloody eyeball. Because I was in Montreal I was given to eat an unusual flower with a heart in the centre, in another country erm, part of Quebec, I would have been offered something quite different. But whatever it was that was offered to me that evening, it was a beautiful gesture of friendship, a bridge between cultures and an invitation into a different world.

An excellent blog by a Montrealer >

Thursday, August 21, 2014


 ‘How do you say your name?’ they asked, looking at me curiously,
‘Is it Prr eye ya?’
‘It is Priya’ I said
Pwwrrrreeeya!’ they gasped delightedly, ‘Pwwwrrrreeeya!’

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

The Leap

Everything works the reverse  in this strange and friendly land. I feel like I am surfacing from underwater. On the 3rd day, I stood in front of Place des Arts and watched the inhabitants, unusual faces, different clothes, other colours, smoother sounds. From the glass reflection in the building, a giant inflated octopus waved at me in reverse. Large spheres from Bubble Tea that I was drinking descended down my throat. I am not a tourist, I am not an overseas student, I am a Montrealer now. A brand new one.

Friday, July 11, 2014


I ordered my horse to be brought from the stables. The servant did not even understand my orders. So I went to the stables myself, saddled my horse and mounted. In the distance I heard the sound of a trumpet and I asked the servant what it meant. He knew nothing and had heard nothing. At the gate he stopped me and asked: " Where is the master going?" "I don't know," I said, "just out of here, just out of here. Out of here nothing, else, it's the only way I can reach my goal." "So you know your goal?" he asked. "Yes", I replied, "I've just told you. Out of here- that's my goal".

~ Franz Kafka
The Departure

Wednesday, June 11, 2014


Sometime ago, a friend tried to take some pictures of me for an interview.We went out into my garden where he aimed the camera at me and said "pose" shortly after which it occurred to both of us that I had no idea how to pose so we went to my studio instead, where I  just did my thing while he clicked pictures. Here they are -

Some of the black and white pictures are dramatic, so please allow me to indulge myself and post these on my blog, because where else can I post them if not here?

When I first started drawing with charcoal, I remember that I posted the drawings on my old blog where a former teacher chanced by them and emailed me; 'these are the best drawings I've seen of yours so far.' he exclaimed much to my bewilderment, 'this is what you are all about! You can forget about drawing fairies and cute little bunny rabbits forever...' 

Sometimes I have been asked how I do what I do with charcoal, how I get all those strong lines and textures. I feel a hundred years old when I am asked that and I have been chided for fumbling for an answer during such moments. How can I ever put process into words? 

When you have reached a place in your life where you have it all, everything that you worked so hard for, you have only one thing left to do – dismantle everything that you love, give up everything that you hold close to your heart and begin all over again. So that new adventures and mysterious emotions will reflect over and over in your art and there will be progress in this one life that you have been blessed with. 


I sang because I knew that singing is testimony to the gratitude we owe God - but not because I knew how to sing. I was so deeply committed to this task right from the first note that the peals of derisive laughter that broke out had no more effect on me than a distant breeze in the eastern mountains...I was standing there through the power of things which were so high above me that I no longer mattered.

~ The Fish Can Sing
Halldor Laxness

Erm, many thanks to S for the photography.

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