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My steps are inaudible, as I glide through the gardens of this Indian paradise.
The morning is blue and whispering; the sounds of birds waking can be heard, but only a few.

The slither and hopping of creatures in the green, sound like elephant hoofs against this silence. There once lived an actual elephant on these grounds;
Majestic was he, so the story goes. But wild and dangerous were his tendencies. I move along the path, that guides me to the secret corners of this life of silent celebration.

I leave my slippers at the entrance, for the statues and temples. My golden sari is bathing me, in what feels like warm sunlight. I go in where the lamps are bright, and the voices are heard. There I sit and sing, and honour the Goddess within.

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The number 67 is included on the surface of this painting, in memory of my father. Growing up I often heard the story of how he just barely made it into Montreal’s Expos ‘67. At the time, he was living in Mexico and had heard about this exceptional thing that was about to happen in Quebec. There was going to be a world fair, with numerous pavilions, including a youth pavilion, which was open to artists under 30. He was humorously rattled by the notion that 30 was supposedly the end of one’s youth. If that were the case, then he planned to punctuate his youth with a BANG, by getting into this Expo. Problem was that he was in Mexico and the application deadline was quickly approaching, so he packed up his things and hit the road, driving north, 5 days straight. On arriving, he managed to hand in the application in the nick of time, and was accepted into precisely the Youth Pavilion, where apparently the party and big buzz was at.

In 2011, my father past and a year thereafter, I walked into a shop and found a ring with the number 67 on it, which brought that story, I had heard so often, back into the forefront. Many a times I’ve had the chance to share that story, as the ring stops people who catch a glimpse of it and they ask me, ‘Why 67?’ They often have their own amazing recollection of that very special year In Montreal.

In painting the series ‘Absence and Presence’, a homage to my father’s passing, I thought it appropriate to include the number 67 on one of the pieces. And as I felt his presence profoundly, while I was staying in India, it landed on the painting, Yellow Sari.