I never could have thought my keyboard transforms so naturally into a grand piano every time I write. The prelude, the exposition, the recapitulation: it's my mind that creates; the fingers execute.
I started working on this idea and the drawings mid-flight from Mumbai to London early this year, missing both my daughter who was away at University in Durham and my mother whom I had just visited and left behind. So much has been said on this subject of mother-and-child that it has become tired in its overuse – yet despite this triteness, there’s a primal urge that draws one back to it all the time. Love, hatred, anger, disappointment, expectations, heartache, hope, pain, worry, comfort, safety… the list could go on. This never-ending circle has no beginning, no middle, no end. How does one know where the mother’s body begins and the child’s ends?
a circle of whys –
when can I free myself of
pains you feel? will I?