The fledgling portrait artist

I WOULD draw sketches at Sayaji Baug in Vadodara as part of my daily academic routine. One day, I decided to make portraits to supplement my financial condition, which was always precarious. I put up a portrait on display with a Rs 100 tag and waited for my first ‘prey’. And lo! She happened to be a beautiful girl. She was impressed and paid me for my work. Encouraged, I awaited my second client, but this time, I was the ‘prey’.

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A man in his sixties, out on his morning walk, spotted me with my sketchbook and asked me sternly:  “What is this?” I answered politely that I was making portraits.

The old man yelled at me: “Who told you to make portraits here?”

“I am a student of fine arts, just making an extra buck. What’s wrong in this?”

“If you are earning money, this is business, not art,” he remarked.

Meanwhile, a group of septuagenarians — perhaps familiar with his fickle temperament — pacified him to not create a ruckus. But they left me to my fate as they had to get on with their walk.

I thought counter-offence was the best form of defence. “Yes, this is business. If you want me to make a piece of art, give me paneer bhurji and butter naan. I will then make portraits free of cost,” I retorted.

The old man wouldn’t give up. “How can you run your business from public property? You have to clear this place right now else I will call the police.”

“I will not budge from here. You may call the police,” I dared him.

He reached for his phone, stole a glance at me, and paused: “Oh! My phone is not getting signal.”

He sat beside me. “Let me see how you will make a single drawing here.”

I was adamant, too: “It is all right if I can’t draw here, but I am certainly not leaving.” 

Now, like two stubborn children, we sat there. Suddenly, the old man said in a conciliatory tone: “Can you make my portrait?” 

Hesitantly, I said yes, but gave him two options: “Sir, paneer bhurji or Rs 100? The choice is yours.”

“Ok. Go ahead. I will pay you Rs 100.”

“First payment, then portrait,” I said firmly.

He again argued: “How can you ask for the money first?”

“Sir, the way you have behaved with me, I don’t trust you. If you want your portrait, pay me first.”

He offered me Rs 60 and requested me to adjust. I reasoned Rs 60 was sufficient for paneer bhurji, but what about the naan? 

After some negotiation, the price was settled at Rs 90, which I took in advance. “Tu to mera bhi baap nikla!” he remarked.  

While I was making his portrait, the septuagenarians crossed us again. They were surprised to see me making his portrait and burst out laughing. I gave them a thumbs up.

The old man admired my drawing honestly and gave me a pat on my back.

“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled, humbled.