Dear Asheshji,

I am still in Amsterdam. I had planned to return this winter. But I’ve got into something else unexpectedly. My boyfriend, Jan, has been offered a handsome scholarship to work in Japan for a year. He is very keen that I should go with him. I was in two minds about it. But I’ve decided to go. It’s going to be a great year for us with two weeks in Korea thrown in. You know what a lot of good work is happening there. But this letter is not about me. I’ve been waiting to tell you about something that’s been weighing on my mind. I’d expected to do it face-to-face, but since I’m not coming back just yet, I’m forced to do it by letter. I hope a handwritten letter will carry some of the warmth of a personal meeting.

This letter is about Yogesh. It is two years since he died. He had come to meet me in a very disturbed state of mind before he left for India. He stayed with me for a week and just before he returned to London he came out to me. We, his close friends, had suspected for a long time that he was gay. I don’t know how you’ll receive this, but he also told me that he was deeply in love with you. In fact, obsessed. Perhaps his hopes in that regard might have been kept alive by the whispers all of us had heard in the art world about you. Naturally, it was through this prism that he saw your words, looks and gestures. There were times when he came to meet us after he’d met you, his face glowing with joy. At other times he would look so depressed, we didn’t know how to bring him out of it.

When he came to Amsterdam, he told me he’d written several letters to you from London, but torn them up. He was extremely lonely there. One night after he returned to London, his room-mate called me in panic. Yogesh had tried to commit suicide. Fortunately he was rushed to the hospital in time and he survived. We were all terribly worried. We called him every day to talk to him, but he wouldn’t say much.

When he was back in Mumbai, he seemed to be a changed person. He called us cheerfully about the large work he was doing. All the hopelessness that had filled him in London seemed to have vanished. He was working feverishly. He kept emailing me about the work every day. He said it was something in praise of Man. He wrote his last mail before he completed the painting. I am enclosing a printout of it. Please let me know if he called you, and whether you saw the work. I want to bring a closure to this terrible thing that happened to my lovely, gentle friend, though I will always feel guilty that I didn’t tell you about him before it happened.

If you could confirm the email ID I have for you, I’d love to email some of my work to you if you’ll allow me to. You used to look at us young people’s work with a lot of interest and respond with rare generosity. I would be very eager to know what you think of my latest work. My email ID appears on this letterhead.

Sincerely

Shilpa

Hi Shilpa,

The picture’s done. Or almost. Last touch-ups, that’s all. It is H-U-G-E. I’ll email a pic once I photograph it. I’m going to invite him to see it as soon as it’s done. Feeling terribly nervous. Don’t know if he’ll come. Don’t know if he’ll like it. Don’t know if he’ll give me a sign. How will I have the courage to call him? What should I say and do when he comes? I don’t know. I’ll mail you.

Yogi