Gubendran

I was born as the 7th child to a fishing family in Veerampattinam, Pondicherry. When I was 5, my father taught me how to swim. When I was 6, I went out fishing for the first time with my dad. We had a kattumaram, a manually handled wooden boat. My dad could even spot fish five feet under the water, but I could not. He always told me fishing was about patience. His day began at 2:30 AM and he’d be back from the sea by 8:30 AM. My mother would then go to sell the fish in the market and bring things
home to cook. We’d get somewhere between Rs. 500 and Rs. 1000 a day, except during bad weather. Then we had to depend on our savings. My parents never had enough money to send all eight of their children to school, but I desperately wanted to study. They admitted me into the government school, maybe because I was the youngest son. I was an average student, introverted and shy. Most of the time, I used to be by myself. After Grade 10, they told me I couldn’t study further because of our financial circumstances. They said I should either go to work, or go fishing. I didn’t want either. I told them I’d manage my own education, but needed their support for admission.
Around this time, I realized that there was something about the ocean that always intrigued me. It called out to me, and I did not know how to respond. One day, I just grabbed some water colours and poster paints, and began making boats and fish. I felt like I had found peace. I knew this is where I ought to be. I enrolled in the Fine Arts college in Pondicherry. For four years, I learnt the skills behind painting.
One day, in 2004, as I was getting ready for college, I heard people yelling that the sea was rising and we were all going to die. The tsunami hit us. Thankfully my village was not too badly hit, but some others were. I really wanted to do something to help, but couldn’t. I worked hard and the next year, for the first year anniversary, I set up a tsunami memorial at the beach. There was a huge crowd of visitors and press, but I was still finding my feet professionally. In 2007, I made a 60-painting series inspired by fish. On the first anniversary of Dr. Kalam’s death, I made a sand sculpture and 100 different portraits at his
samadhi. My first painting got sold for Rs. 1.15 lakhs by an American client. But there are times that for months, a painting does not get sold and it’s a struggle to meet ends. I still live in the same house and go fishing with my brothers. People ask why I cannot just move out and focus on my craft, but my village is my canvas and the sea is my inspiration. If I leave here, what will remain in my paintings? What would they reflect? I hope to keep the voices of my environs alive in my paintings.