Painting horses, in exile

London is no longer a white city. From Oakwood to Knightsbridge on the Piccadilly Line, I could see all skin colours — deep gorgeous black to shades of grey and what the Brits call “yellow skin”. The empire has really struck back. But apart from Asians and Africans, a whole lot of east-Europeans — Romanians, Czechs, Poles etc. — have also invaded London whose fair complexion doesn’t hide their poverty. Thus, in a way, London has become a city of exiles. Maqbool Fida Husain is one of them. But unlike other exiles, M.F. Husain is not poor. He lives in a flat in a very posh area of London.
Amir Hasan had instructed me to get down at Knightsbridge Tube Station and then walk to Husain’s flat in Lowndes Square. Amir has looked after Husain in London for more than three decades. During the late 1950s, Husain lived in Delhi’s Jama Masjid area, close to Amir’s ancestral home. Once Amir’s joint family split and he became unwelcome in his own house, Husain helped him settle down in London. During my three years of close association with Husain, in the course of writing a book on him, I discovered that Husain never gives up his old friends.
I buzzed Husain’s flat from the main door. In response, Husain’s familiar voice reached me, full of warmth and affection. “Aaiye janaab, aaiye. Khush-aamdeed.”
We were meeting exactly after one year. I had last met him in Dubai in October 2008. He personally opened the door. He was wearing a black pullover and black trousers that created what painters call “a negative space” for his white beard and white hair. He wasn’t looking any older than what he had looked to me in Dubai. Can one really make out a difference between 93 years and 94 years of age?
The living room was spacious. Along a wall on a side-board were a large number of books on Indian and Arab history and culture. On the opposite wall was a huge canvas on which Husain had been sketching. It was a sketch inspired by Benaras which he had first visited with Ram Kumar in 1960. Husain believes that Benaras is one of the most important seats of Indian civilisation and culture. The preparatory sketch was for a mural-sized painting that would form a part of his series on Indian civilisation. Originally, he was supposed to make this series for Laxmi Mittal. But because of the recession, Mr Mittal’s interest flagged. Nonetheless, Husain was determined to complete the project.
Another thing that I have noticed about Husain over the years is that he rarely talks about the past with regret. A huge installation — comprising five iconic cars, seven glass horses and music to be specially composed by A.R. Rahman — that he was supposed to erect in Dubai and the sketches for which I had seen during my visit to Dubai, has also got derailed. But Dubai’s loss has become Qatar’s gain. The Shekhani of Qatar wants this unique installation for her Museum of Islamic Art in Doha. Some models of the cast-in-glass horses for this installation were lying on the centre table. These would shortly be cast in full size by the glass artists of Murano in Italy, under Husain’s supervision.
Suddenly, Husain said, “Would you like some tea?” Without waiting for my reply, he got up and went over to the kitchen. I had assumed that he would have some full-time help in his flat but discovered that even Husain cannot afford such luxuries in London. It was a service apartment that Husain had rented for a year and a maid came to clean-up at a fixed time. For the rest, you were on your own.
I joined Husain in the kitchen where he started telling me about a book that he wants to write on his days with the Progressive Artists’ Group (PAG). We talked about Akbar Padamsee and Krishen Khanna, both of whom I know rather well. He told me some juicy unprintable stories about Francis Newton Souza, the founder of PAG. I had known Souza also but not too closely. It should turn out to be an interesting book, if Husain ever gets around to writing it.
Over tea he told me that Tate Modern has asked him for two of his paintings, one old and one recent, for its permanent collection. He has given a new one to the gallery but decided to give his landmark — Between the Spider and the Lamp done in 1956 — only on a long-term loan basis. He still wants that it be permanently housed somewhere in India.

Husain’s love for India is obvious even though he rarely talks about it. At the same time, he also wants that his work should find a place in the history of world art and in the hallowed art museums of UK, Europe and the US. Later in the week, I visited Frieze Art Fair in Regent’s Park. There was no presence of Indian art at the fair, not even that of Husain.
Three days later, I met him again at his flat. The Benaras sketch on the wall was already full of colour, though not yet complete. Husain still retains his prodigious capacity to work.
He had spent Diwali with some Indian friends in London and had gathered that there was some talk in the media about his return to India. I asked how he felt about this. He said that the government did not appear to be serious. His return is not just a legal issue. It has to be tackled politically also. If the Congress Party really believes in secularism and in his secular credentials, why didn’t it take a political stand? This response came in a passing moment, and the next moment he smiled and recited a couplet of Iqbal, “Hum azad bandon ki na yeh duniya na woh duniya, Yahan jeene pe pabandi wahan marne pe pabandi (We free spirits belong neither to this world nor to that world. We are prohibited from living here and we are prohibited from dying there)”. A few days later, Husain left for Dubai and Qatar.

On return, I spoke to Akhil Sibbal, Husain’s advocate who has been fighting the court cases filed against him. In the meantime there were more unconfirmed reports in the media about the Government of India trying to do something to enable Husain to come back. Mr Sibbal’s response was simple, “If the government really wants to do something, why can’t it come out with an official statement confirming these reports. Why can’t it announce that we will not allow any threats or attacks on Husain. We will uphold the law and give him whatever protection is possible within the law”. There is, of course, no confirmation of the media reports from any government authority.
After all, what does Husain, who has built a new life in exile, really want at this stage? Just the freedom to come and go because he also knows he can never live in peace in India of our times.

n K. Bikram Singh, a former civil servant, has made several documentaries on Indian art and published two books on art and culture. He has known Husain for over four decades and published his book on M.F. Husain’s work late last year.