The art of portraiture seems much more enticing today when we live in a world where ‘portraits’ can be created at the click of a button with a single handheld device. There is something enigmatic about how artists in the past captured personalities with strokes of the brush and immortalized them in portraits. There is something romantic about the notion of portraits themselves, and how a sensitive artist could capture the physical characteristics as well as the psychological aspect of the subject of the portrait. 

My earliest memories are swathed in the scent of mountain pines and a constant leitmotif of a rattling train that would carry me back to our home in Dehradun named Mitali on Rajpur Road – my magical El Dorado – where I spent my childhood with my mother, Meera ma, my maternal grandmother, Lal dida, and my Jethu and foster father, Rathindranath (Tagore).