In the Memory of a Master

1st September 2010, a chilly evening in London was when I first

heard his name.

I had bumped into Yogesh sir after a year or so, near Kings Cross.
We both immediately cancelled all our plans and walked in to a caf
in nearby Pentolville Road.

After a few updates, I opened my laptop and asked him to see a

painting, which had completely changed my views on traditional
Nepali art, - an elaborate composition of Vajravarahi inked in black.

This is Gyankars work!, sir looked into my eyes and immediately

pointed out.

* * * *

Whenever I visit Nepal, I generally have a few people in mind, whom

I must meet. Gyankar is always a prime name for me.

For me, spending days observing the curved lines he painted and
learning to appreciate them, is normal. Ditto with spending months
trying to decipher his compositions and failing uncountable times.

There is something about his works. They reflect his deep

understanding of compositing various elements of a super structure
together, in a way that resonates perfectly with what is seen in the
ancient manuscripts of Nepal. The school of iconography that his
works belong to, comes straight from the local bahas and bahis that
have preserved till date the only living Buddhism from the ancient
world, that of the Newars.

On 19th June 2013, I took a local bus to Bhaktapur Bus Park where I
met Yogesh sir, years after our last conversation on Gyankar.
Keeping his promise, sir took me to Gyankars paubha studio at the
eastern corner of Bhaktapur Durbar Square.

My heart pumped quicker as I climbed the three steps leading to his

studios door. With every step, I felt I was growing smaller and
lighter. I was leaving behind what I had already learnt about
paubhas.

So this is the young lad from London who considers you his guru. I
told you about him, didnt I?, Yogesh sir hinted Gyankar.

Gyankar was a tall man in his late fifties, lean and not-so-fair with a
few grey hairs. His eyes had a shine in them and his face was a
glowing expression of life. Very calm and cautious about what he
would say next, his hands were the most active part of his body all
the while.

I realised I never took time to imagine how he looked. He was a

name for me and his detailed works always had enough to keep me
engaged.

The moment he asked me to sit in front him, I felt he accepted what

Yogesh sir told him about me. That moment, he wiped off the
biggest regret of my life from the deepest corner of my heart. That
of not having been to an art school.

Hanging all around me, on the three walls as well as outside the
three doors of the studios front faade, were his paintings. Some
coloured, some not; but all in his distinctive style, depicting the
mastery of Nepals art in its original best. Time stopped ticking for
me.

Do people do these kind of works in London?, Gyankar asked me

in awe.

No. My first word.

But the museums, galleries and libraries are full of our ancient
works. I added.

He smiled.

I dont know why I couldnt gather the courage to actually call him
guru-ji but I never felt a need to address him throughout the
conversation.

His wife was leaning on the inner door of the studio. He asked her to
bring some tea for me in a way that I wouldnt understand.

When I walk about in London, I am the one who advises my family

not to eat or drink if its not organic or check nutrient contents etc.
However, this cup of tea was so much I could ask for, as I knew I
would never get to live a piece of life with him. By then, I had
completely surrendered myself to the aura of this great artist.

Go on now, ask him all that you always wanted to ask!

Yogesh sir made it easy for me to carry on, as we both sat facing
each other exactly like many of the deities around us, in a perfect
padmaasana.

Those days, I was researching about the door art of Kathmandu. So I

started with the meaning of a small comma-shaped symbol often
found in the doors. I knew I could never discuss advanced level of
iconography with him so I would just ask only the simplest of
questions that one could ask.

Why is this colour used here?

What is the meaning of that shape?

Are we allowed to do this symbol here and that symbol there?

This was how I would sound for the next couple of hours pointing
everywhere around me while his level of energy remained
unchanged. Until it got dark outside and less people were seen
walking in the street, and Yogesh sir started looking at me more
frequently than before, hinting we should then let him rest.

On my leaving, I invited him to London and he smiled but didnt turn

me down.

Unaware of what he had already given me all these years before

even meeting me for once, he gifted me a print of one of his recent
paintings. It was an outstanding composition of Vasundhara
mandala, something I could spend years trying to learn from.

Walking the three steps down from his studio, I was unsure if I would
ever be able to make the best use of what I had just learnt. I was
but sure that my fundamental knowledge of Nepali traditional art
was redefined for the rest of my life.

* * * *

On 22nd February 2017, I emailed Yogesh sir just to say I am not

feeling good.

Two days later, I woke up to read that Gyankar is no more. I wish he

had not stopped me when I wanted to touch his feet.

Gyankar Bajracharya passed away on Friday 24 February

6:00 PM (NST) at his Bhaktapur residence at an age of 62
after years of suffering from sugar and blood pressure. He
had already dedicated 50 years of his active life in
producing highest standard of traditional Nepali art.

2015 Nepal earthquake came in the way of his plans to

exhibit his works of which even a catalogue was already
printed. Art lovers around the world have collected his
works but he also deserves the proud audience from his own
countrymen.