How to make a pattern of love from colour

I watched as the lady smiled on the screen. “Go on. Try it”, she urged as her gaze shifted towards the beautiful art she was indulging in. A warm glow spread through my heart while she moved her hand expertly on the floor. Her fingers were adept as they squeezed out white chalk powder from the tips.

The dots lined up neatly in one straight line and as she continued to graph the dots, I saw the pattern emerge — a neat triangle. “Phew”, I sighed.

Many moons ago, in my remote village, my friends and I had indulged in this ritual. Popularly called ‘Rangoli’ this floor art was the one we woke up to. On cool pristine mornings, as the radio belted classical music interrupted by static noise, I hopped out to watch mum kneel on the floor and draw out the most intricate design at the doorstep. I sat mesmerised as she created motifs of flowers, wheels, leaves, geometrical shapes with chalk powder.

I still remember the day when I started out as a rookie. The chalk powder didn’t sit well between my fingers and the lines turned out to be lumps of white rather than simple lines and curves.

“That’s how every one starts”, mum smiled encouragingly even as I struggled to draw out a flower with eight petals overlapping each other. “I will try this tomorrow again”, I shook my head.

It was hard and riddled with roughened edges and crooked lines. My hands shook badly while my eyes strained over patterns of loops, serpentine curves and many shapes. “Keep practising”, mum said even as I managed only twisted and contorted rangolis.

I drew patterns on paper, on mud tracks, — any space available till the day, I was finally able to dip my little hand into a box of white powder and take out a pinch and draw a pair of parallel lines. I smiled gratefully as I drew a few more lines to make a nice little design.

Very soon, my friends and I in the neighbourhood indulged in this little ritual in the mornings. We compared, took notes and tried to best each other.

On festive mornings, the whole neighbourhood would be drenched in a riot of colours with bright floor arts and I would go from house to house simply to look at each decorative work. Sometimes, we even challenged each other to create the largest motif. It was on those occasions that we would sit with a paper days before to come up with creative ideas to brighten up the craft.

I don’t know when it happened, but as I spread my wings to explore the world, my interest in the floor art declined. I didn’t crouch on the floor to come up with patterns and the act of welcoming each fresh day with a ‘rangoli’ got lost in time.

The very ‘rangoli’, that I used to be proud of creating strangely became drudgery and I simply hated kneeling on the floor and dipping my hand in chalk powder. “I don’t have the time”, I told my mum one day when she asked why the floor at the entrance to our house was a blank canvas. I only cared about clean floors — until the year that went by. Yes.

The year changed all our lives in more ways than one. One hot summer afternoon, as I lazed around with my phone, my ears pricked when I heard a lady say ‘kolam’, the Tamil word for rangoli. Suddenly, without my knowing, I began tracing and copying her artwork in scraps of paper. In a matter of days, I began to dip my fingers in chalk powder and just like that, I was transported to my little hamlet with music in the background.

Turns out, some things in life never go away. They simply dip into hibernation. I may not be that little girl with pigtails coming up with intriguing patterns. But, I love the fact that I still remember some of the most intricate rangolis I used to draw back then. Most of all, I get to relive my childhood all over again.

Sudha Subramanian is an author and writer based in Dubai. Twitter: @sudhasubraman