Dr BN Goswamy: Scholar who strode art world like a colossus

Ira Pande

When asked to introduce famous Carnatic singer MS Subbulakshmi to an audience once, Jawaharlal Nehru is reported to have said, “Who am I but a mere Prime Minister to introduce the queen of melody?” Sitting at my computer to pay homage to a scholar, teacher and human being who strode like a colossus over the art world and remained a dedicated teacher, mentor and scholar till literally the end of his life, Dr BN Goswamy was like no other I can compare him to. Readers will remember his ‘Art and Soul’ column that came out like clockwork on Sundays regardless of his scholarly pursuits, travels and personal preoccupations. So it should come as no surprise that he wrote his 707th column last Sunday on the Kasauli art retrospective hours after coming out of hospital.

The past two years were particularly hard on him. His beloved wife and soulmate, Karuna, passed away after a battle with Covid and just a few months ago, he lost his son, Apu, to cancer. I wrote to him to express my grief and never expected a response. After all, which parent can come to terms with putrashok (the loss of a son/child)? And yet, he wrote me a personal mail, deeply touching and full of the affection he always displayed when we met. So, what can I, a mere mortal, say of this extraordinary man?

I’m trying to remember how we first met, and my memory plays tricks. Was it when I was a research scholar in the department of English next door, or at a music concert? Was it at a lecture that he was giving or where he was presiding over? I cannot say but this I clearly remember: he was a mesmeric speaker. Later, whenever I heard he was speaking at a public lecture, I would drop whatever I was doing and sit totally absorbed in his words. I always came out richer, more smitten. His meditative pauses as he answered a question, or his stance as he showed us a slide and drew our attention to something we would have never noticed — these were his special gifts. His eye for detail and talent for knitting together a series of images, colours and a broken script to bring alive a painting were an education in aesthetics.

A few years ago, Dr Goswamy came to the Jaipur Literature Festival, where I was also invited. Seeing him in the audience, I turned a stammering idiot. At his lecture next day, with William Dalrymple presiding, I realised that many of us sailed in the same boat. Dalrymple became his most devoted admirer and his conversations with BNG (as he was popularly called) were the highlight of the fest each year. It was because of Dr Goswamy that we heard of such luminaries as

Karl Jamshed Khandalavala, Saryu Doshi and so many eminent art critics and historians that it is impossible to list them here. Like so many who were in Panjab University in the 1970s and 1980s, we owe our initiation into art appreciation to BNG.

His efforts at building a museum in the university will surely be regarded as one of the most important initiatives as will his support to the artists of the Kasauli Art Centre, located at Ivy Lodge, Kasauli, set up by late Vivan Sunderam. The Calico Museum of Textiles that he helped the Sarabhais with is a stunning place to visit and his book on the collection there a fund of information.

However, what he will always be remembered for is his pioneering work on Pahari paintings of hill states. His passion for unravelling the lineage of these hitherto anonymous artists is his greatest discovery. It was his dogged research into the genealogy records of the Pandas that led him to the atelier of Nainsukh of Guler and his uncle Manaku. The two volumes on the subject that he put together are no less than a discovery of the journey of colours, themes and oeuvres through miniature paintings. His work will live on through the colours of such painters. I may never meet someone like BNG again, but I can confidently say I have met one genius in my lifetime. Farewell, BNG! You will live on as long as we have your books and voice with us.

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