How a Village Painting in Black and White Helped Me Reclaim My Color

Prashant seated at a table adorned with plants, against a backdrop of intricate Warli art.

I used to think growing up meant growing away. I left India for the US with the usual checklist: a tech job, an apartment with good lighting, a life mapped in career milestones.

During the pandemic, that emptiness started feeling louder. My home didn’t remember me. It had nothing of the festivals I’d watched as a child, the temple bells, the mango trees in our backyard. I wasn’t looking for art — but maybe art was looking for me.

That’s when I stumbled upon Warli art — a black-and-white photograph of a red mud wall covered in chalk-white stick figures. Primitive, I thought at first, but I couldn’t stop staring. The Warli tribe in Maharashtra has been painting these scenes for generations — circles of dancers, farmers, hunters, all in motion.

I read that in Warli, the circle is everything. The sun, the moon, life itself — all cycling, never a straight line. And it struck me: my life was a straight line. Always forward, always next. But these figures danced because it was time to, not because they had somewhere to get.

I bought a Warli painting from an artisan collective. When it arrived, I hung it opposite my desk. Between Zoom calls and sprints, I’d catch glimpses of the dancers mid-spin. It wasn’t just decor. It was a nudge — to remember, to reconnect.

Since then, little things have changed. I started cooking old family recipes. I called my grandmother more. I began reading Hindi poetry again. That Warli painting? It reminded me that roots don’t have to tether you — they can remind you how to move.

If you’ve ever felt the same — a longing you can’t quite name — maybe start with art. Not the kind that just looks pretty, but the kind that remembers where you come from.