Krishen Khanna: Last Modernist Standing

This depiction of the vulnerability of the human figure remains one of Khanna’s greatest strengths. One can see it time and time again in his works, whether he was tackling migration, social upheaval, conflict, the horrors of Partition or any other topic. In his News of Gandhiji’s Death (1948), for instance, a mass of people, across religions, classes and genders, are reading the newspapers in stunned silence. “He keeps going back to the subject of the newspaper readers to show the emotional response of different people, drawn from the anonymous mass of humanity, to news. He did another version 40 years later," says Singh.

A keen observer of the sights and sounds around him and ever sensitive to people living on the margins, Khanna began to bring bandwallas, truck drivers and dhaba owners into his works from the 1970s onwards. “From rural migrants sleeping on the truck bed and exhausted musicians returning home at the end of the day, to huddled groups of refugees and labourers catching a short break at roadside tea stalls, the artist magnified and celebrated the unnoticed populations of Nizamuddin and Bhogal where he lived and worked… those that seldom attract a second glance, the non-persons of the Indian streets, became Krishen’s unlikely heroes," writes art critic-curator Gayatri Sinha in Krishen Khanna: A Critical Biography (2001).

Much of this empathy came from his own lived experiences of Partition when his family moved to Shimla from Lahore. Two works from 1947, Refugees on a Train 16 Hours Late and Exodus, are emblematic of the social upheaval and trauma of one of the biggest events of mass displacement in the subcontinent. In both, by portraying figures huddled closely at a station, waiting for a train—a symbol for a bleak ray of hope—or farmers and cattle moving through waterlogged fields, leaving behind the land that was once home, Khanna creates a mood of melancholia. “To create that tableau of humanity could only happen because it deeply affected him. (Later) The places he stayed became the stage on which he created his characters," says Nair.

In My 100th Year, Khanna mentions seeing hundreds of trucks in Bhogal in Delhi, where many Sikhs migrated after Partition to become truck drivers. “They were victims of Partition and they had no place to live, so they lived in the trucks. The same thing with the bandwallas. They were dislocated like everybody else. I have great sympathies with these people," he says. In the interview to Lounge, Khanna further explains: “They became central subjects in my paintings because, though individually they might be overlooked, together they formed a powerful narrative of community and resilience."

Also read: Hanif Kureshi (1982-2024): Bringing art out into the open

Seventy-three years later, the plight of migrant labourers during the covid-19 pandemic and the subsequent lockdowns affected Khanna deeply. Nair remembers a conversation with Khanna during those recent tough years: “He asked me, ‘What will they do? How will they live?’ His sensitivity to the human predicaments and catastrophes has defined his very being."

Early influences

Born in Lyallpur (now Faisalabad, Pakistan) in 1925, Khanna moved to England in 1938 to pursue higher studies. He had to return to Lahore in 1942 during World War II, after which the family was forced to move to Shimla during Partition. A year later, he joined Grindlays Bank in Bombay (now Mumbai), where he met the artists who would become his lifelong friends—S.H. Raza, M.F. Husain, Tyeb Mehta, F.N. Souza, V.S. Gaitonde—and with whom he would create a new vocabulary for Indian art as the Progressive Artists’ Group,which combined modern techniques with indigenous concerns and subjects.

Deeply interested in art from childhood, Khanna was barely seven when he first tried to replicate Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper from a reproduction brought home by his father, who was a teacher in an intermediate college in Lahore. This theme, along with other Christian elements and iconographies, have remained a lifelong preoccupation with him. In his essay, The Betrayal and Flagellation, in the book Krishen Khanna: Images in My Time (2006), Norbert Lynton attributes this to Khanna’s education at a Christian school in Lahore and then at the Imperial Services College in England. “…his understanding of Christianity took on additional depth, with closer knowledge of the New Testament and of the character of Christian saints such as St Francis, still a favourite," writes Lynton, adding a caveat: that this emphasis on his Christian education must not overshadow Khanna’s grasp of Indian and Asian art, culture and mythology.

Nair mentions that Khanna held his first major exhibition in 1949 and sold his first painting, Spring Nude, to Dr Homi Bhabha of the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research for ₹225. Even though his job required him to shift to Madras (now Chennai) in 1953, his friendships with Husain, Gaitonde and Bal Chhabda endured. “In 1961, I quit Grindlays. On my last day at work, Husain, Gaitonde and Bal Chhabda were at the door, waiting for me to emerge. The moment I came out, Bal Chhabda took my tie off, saying I won’t need it anymore. We went out, had tea together to celebrate and then dinner at a place called The Coronation Durbar. Raza threw a party in Paris; they had all wanted me to quit," Khanna is quoted as telling Nair in My 100th Year.

He moved to New Delhi, and soon after became the first Indian artist to be awarded the John D Rockefeller III Fund to be the artist-in-residence at American University, Washington, between 1963-64. Later he would go on to become a curator of sorts for the art collection built up by ITC Maurya in Delhi, using it as a platform for fellow artists. “That includes the wonderful Meera Mukherjee sculptures such as Ashoka at Kalinga, besides prolific works by Akbar Padamsee, Tyeb Mehta and M.F. Husain," says Singh. As the first Rockefeller fellow, Khanna became the contact for other artists and recommended many others for the same. “Khanna began to weave some kind of an influence, becoming more than just an artist at that point of time," he says.

The heart of the artist

Khanna was not always a figurative painter. In fact, between 1964-65, he created a number of abstract Sumi-e paintings in black ink on rice paper.. “The paintings were instinctive, as opposed to considered … For some time, Khanna chose to stay close to abstraction, partly under European and American influence but his instincts and his need to speak about the world more directly led him back to representation art on a very wide front," writes Lynton in Images in My Time.

It is interesting to see how figuration slowly emerged from abstraction, with figures being depicted in two or three shades of brown and orange initially. This is visible in his 1978 work Rear View, which depicts the harsh reality of figures packed into the backs of trucks like cattle. “The truck driver series from the 1970s is harsh, showing road workers in the back of vehicles, coming to work at night so that the traffic was not impacted during the day," says Singh. “He draws your attention to someone who is supplying a service, contributing to the development of the city, but is not being taken care of by anyone."

Also read: ‘Mahanagar’, Satyajit Ray's feminist masterpiece

The other key theme in his oeuvre—versions of The Last Supper and of suffering, persecution—may have been Biblical in narrative but the characters were often people who would frequent places like Nizamuddin in Delhi. “Imagine a fakir becoming Lazarus," says Nair. “While he loved looking at Old Masters, his integrity of purpose was to create his own unique identity. He believes that we see the enactment of the holy books all around us. Suffering is an emotion that touches a deep chord in him, and he always says that ‘All great art has to be local’."

Within the Progressive Artists’ Group, different artists responded to the story of Christ differently. F.N. Souza’s engagement with the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ in works such as Resurrected Christ and Crowned Christ are tinged with a sense of violence and aggression.

"With Krishen Khanna, it was very different. He responded to the idea of koinonia, or the Christian idea of fellowship, in his own way. So you see the artist exploring what it means to achieve communion by eating together; the connection between betrayal and transcendence; the depiction of those who are a part of society and yet removed from it in the form of the Christian saint, kalander or a Sufi," explains cultural theorist and curator Ranjit Hoskote.

Khanna has also engaged with characters from the Mahabharat, especially Dhritarashtra, Gandhari and Draupadi, in significant works such as the monochromatic The Blind King and Blindfolded Queen (2006), the bronze sculpture Gandhari (2006) and the oil on canvas The Humiliation of Draupadi (1986). “He does not paint a heroic Draupadi but an extremely vulnerable one," says Singh, who had shown the painting in the 2021 DAG show, Navrasa: The Nine Emotions of Art.

Instead of portraying the disrobing of Draupadi, he focuses on the public shaming, evoking a sense of revulsion and anger against this act of violence against a woman. “He asks if this experience is heroism or valour as our storytellers like to portray. He does this with the Christian series also, this questioning of powers that be and holding to account the stories that are passed on to us," says Singh. These images of persecution became even more pertinent when painted in the backdrop of the Emergency.

Hoskote is fascinated by the way in which Khanna blurs the lines between the secular and the sacred in works such as the Dhaba and Last Supper in which the apostles are working-class figures. “They are touched by an inner life and a possibility of transcendence. There is an interplay between the worldly and the sacred…. His imagination spans millennia," he says.

Also read: ‘Aboriginal Cry’: A play about voices waiting to be heard

Khanna’s practice also highlights the importance of having an art scene that is multigenerational, rather than focusing only on the present generation of artists. “Each generation is experimental in its own way. That struck me very forcefully with Krishen. If you place him in the generation of the Progressives, he would be seen as defying the logic of that generation," he says. “For instance, with the Bandwallas and the truck driver series, he ushered in this centering of the figure of the margins in his works. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, he was exploring the same protagonists that younger artists like Sudhir Patwardhan and Vivan Sundaram were doing. This is a lesson to not being committed to a watertight generational approach to history," explains Hoskote.

Friends like family

Khanna’s life and practice cannot be viewed in isolation; rather his journey is enmeshed with the lives and times of his fellow Progressives. “These friendships were not only formative but also deeply sustained all the people involved," says Hoskote. “S.H. Raza once said to me that ‘My friends were strange and powerful animals’. And that phrase is stuck in my head because it is so true—these artists had powerful energies."

Stories about Khanna’s generosity are well-known. Tyeb Mehta, in interviews, had talked of Khanna finding a place for him to stay when he came to Delhi. He did the same for Ram Kumar and many other artists. Tanuj Berry, who has been a friend of Khanna’s since 2002, has worked on four publications about him, and has written an introduction to In My 100th Year with Saman Malik, states in an email interview, “Himmat Shah had started living in Garhi studios, which is not a space to dwell in but only to work. The artist was soon asked to vacate the studios. However, Krishen, recognising his talent and need, fought for him to be allowed to live in Garhi for years, preserving the possibility of one of India’s most celebrated sculptors to continue to survive and work."

Even though the Progressives artists hailed from different cultural backgrounds, they found common ground. Hoskote elaborates on the differences—Raza, who still carried the baggage of his family being splintered by Partition; Husain. who grew up in the art deco capital of Indore and was transitioning from being a billboard painter and toy maker to a fine arts painter; and Khanna, who came from the “professional bourgeoisie". “I find myself intrigued by how these incredible friendships were formed across lines of region and religion. The one aspect that bound them together was that they were committed to something more than the visual arts—and that was their deep immersion in literature," says Hoskote.

For instance, Khanna, who is multilingual, studied literature in Persian, Punjabi, Urdu and English. Husain too was a voracious reader in several languages. Ram Kumar wrote fiction in Hindi, and Raza engaged with writings in Sanskrit, Hindi and English. “I think this participation in a larger literary culture brought them together. Each of them expressed this engagement in different ways in their work," he adds. Among the Progressives, Khanna and Raza were prolific letter writers and much of their correspondence to each other is now with the Raza Foundation.

They didn’t just write to each other about exhibitions, forms and techniques but also about their personal lives. “It was very charming how they included family in their conversations. Their relationship embraced a wider, more inclusive world. This ability to share stories came naturally to Krishen as he is such a raconteur, and to Raza (who later lived in France) because he missed home a lot. That connection and contact was important to them," explains Singh.

When he shifted to Delhi, artists who lived in and around Nizamuddin would get together at a local dhaba in the morning for chai. “Or they would split a bottle of rum at each other’s homes over long conversations," says Singh. Many of his friends ended up as subjects in his works. Take The Last Bite (2005), his version of the Last Supper, featuring Padamsee, Mehta, Souza, Bhupen Khakhar and Manjit Bawa gathered around Husain in a restaurant. Then there is Portrait of Husain (1954), which once again featured his dear friend. In My 100th Year features a lovely anecdote in Khanna’s own words: “I recall many years ago, he (Husain) bought a Volkswagen when he was in Germany. He drove all around and then went to Paris to meet Akbar Padamsee. When he was coming back to India, he wanted to sell the car and told Akbar to find a buyer. Akbar said he could buy the car. So M.F. promptly handed over the keys to him. No money dealing was ever done…"

Also read: ‘Avan Lapli’: Reframing sites of history along the Indian Ocean

Memories such as these have continued to inform his work though he does not live in the past. “When the covid-19 pandemic struck, he remembered his friends together. He was filled with nostalgia and said, ‘They’ve all gone. I am the only one left’," says Nair. Khanna often refers to himself as an “Ancient Mariner", who has remained behind to tell the stories of his friends. Nair recalls something he said to her in 2010 at a Grosvenor exhibition in London: “He said: ‘Painting from my sitting room, I am surrounded by all my friends; Husain, Gaitonde, Raza, Tyeb, Padamsee... their paintings are all around me and have become a part of me. I feel that they are all still with me and that is a happy thought’."

FINDING INSPIRATION IN EVERYDAY FIGURES

In an interview, relayed to ‘Lounge’ by the artist’s daughter Malati Shah, Khanna reflects on all that continues to drive his art

‘The Last Supper’ has remained an enduring subject for you. What drew you to the subject at such a young age, and how has your reading of the painting changed over time?

As a child, I was deeply captivated by the solemnity and human drama of The Last Supper. Even at the tender age of 7, I could sense the weight of these moments, and it ignited my desire to capture such profundities on canvas. Over time, my understanding of the painting has evolved. It’s no longer just a Biblical depiction; it’s a reflection of the human condition, the complexities of relationships, and the universal themes of hope and despair. Every revisit is a fresh exploration, a deeper dive into the unending layers of human emotion and narrative.

Be it Partition, protests during the Emergency, or scenes around the studio, how does the figure on the street become a protagonist in the depiction of major historical events?

The recurring presence of figures like the bandwallas, dhabawallas, and truck drivers in my work stems from their omnipresence in everyday scenes around places like the Red Fort and Jangpura (in Delhi), where I lived. These individuals, often seen in groups, represented a collective strength and identity that resonated deeply with me. They became central subjects in my paintings because, though individually they might be overlooked, together they formed a powerful narrative of community and resilience. It always intrigued me that such rich subject matter was rarely explored by other artists, with notable exceptions like Mickey Patel, who also found inspiration in the everyday lives of these unsung heroes in figurative art. For me, these figures are not just background elements; they are the true protagonists, embodying the spirit of the streets and the everyday reality of major historical events.

Could you look back at the most cherished moments of camaraderie, support and even positive criticism by fellow artists?

Let’s start with a younger me and my friendships at that time. Take, Pran Nath Mago, for instance. At that time, I worked with a printing press, but was interested in art probably with the same intensity as now. His work fascinated me then and still does. The way he worked like a miniaturist but was not held back by the so-called dangers of being imitative. After all, even those original miniaturists savoured the procedure. In art, other people’s experiences become one’s own.

In the age of new media, AI and tech-based art, what does the act of pure painting mean to you?

Painting is not just about creating; it’s an investigation—a continuous exploration of what lies beyond the familiar. Just as a doctor investigates a body, I approach each canvas with the same intensity and curiosity, searching for something that hasn’t existed before. This process of discovery and the potential to bring forth something new and different is what drives my art. It’s about the intensity of seeing, feeling and translating those experiences on to the canvas, irrespective of the technological advancements around us. Pure painting, for me, is the pursuit of a deeper truth and the relentless exploration of possibilities.