PREVIEW
The Life of Prateek
Prateek’s Legacy
(The story of Prateek’s life by his mother Mimi Menezes as told to Ruth Deshpande and published in READER ‘S DIGEST August 1985 India Edition)
Our young son faced death with gentle courage and unselfishness that none of us will ever forget
You have two other children, don’t you? You had better think about them and plan for their future.” Dr. Lawrence Helson’s voice was soft, but his meaning was clear. Prateek didn’t have long to live. Even New York City’s Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, one of the world’s best cancer hospitals, couldn’t save the life of my five-year-old son.
It had taken nearly 18 months for us to discover the dreadful truth. The first hint had come when Prateek was two-and-a-half, after he developed a swelling on his left middle finger. A checkup in Panjim, India, our hometown, revealed nothing. The swelling subsided and was forgotten. Then it reappeared seven months later. Our worried doctor ordered a biopsy, and a tiny fragment of Prateek’s finger bone was removed for examination. Relief flooded us when we got the verdict: osteoid osteoma, a nonmalignant bone tumor that could be readily treated. But the swellings continued, now accompanied by headaches, back pain and weight loss.
A fresh biopsy was ordered at Bombay’s renowned Tata Memorial Hospital. We heard the brutal verdict in numb disbelief: Prateek had Ewing’s sarcoma (a bone cancer that hadn’t been detected earlier because it rarely affects the fingers). “The disease has spread to his lungs,” said Tata’s Dr. Luzito de Souza. “There’s not much anyone can do.”
I passed the next few weeks in a blur of sick apprehension. César took charge — César who’d been so excited when Prateek was born that he’d gone about thanking people before they’d congratulated him.
Prateek had been started on light chemotherapy at Tata Memorial and X rays soon showed his lungs to be clear of the disease. Greatly heartened by this improvement, César and I decided to take our son to New York’s Memorial Sloan-Ketering Cancer Center. Prateek would have received excellent treatment at Tata Memorial; nevertheless we felt that by taking him to New York, we would have done our best for him.
Our large and close-knit families rallied around us. My father-in-law promised financial help for the treatment at Sloan-Kettering, and my mother offered to look after our two older daughters, Divya and Rashmi, while César, Prateek and I were away. We flew out of Bombay on October 10, 1980 — Prateek’s fifth birthday.
At Sloan-Kettering Dr. Helson recommended chemotherapy in far more massive doses than usually administered in India. Now, after every session, Prateek would experience bouts of diarrhea and vomiting. It was an awful time for everyone. Yet it was also a time in which Prateek showed us the gallantry with which a young child can face suffering.
The chemotherapy caused Prateek’s hair to fall out, and without it Prateek looked very much like Brazilian boy with whom he shared a room. The two boys used their similarity to tease the hospital staff. “Which of you is Tiago?” a nurse even would ask. Both would respond simultaneously, giggling at her and confusion. Few could guess how much fear and pain lay behind the merriment.
Between hospital visits, we explored New York. How Prateek loved this high-speed, soaring city so different from sleepy Panjim. Its enormous energy seemed to infuse him with vigor. At the Statue of Liberty, he insisted on climbing right up to the crown with César — after I, exhausted, gave up halfway.
Determined to give Prateek a good time, we bought him everything he fancied. But he soon put an end to such spoiling. “I don’t need all these things, Mama,” he said. “I’m having such a good time here. I think we should buy presents for everyone at home.” On shopping expeditions, he personally selected the gifts — a doll birthday for Rashmi, a game for Divya, a scarf for an aunt, a gadget for an uncle.
After two months we returned to Panjim and a tumultuous welcome. Prateek chattered gaily about his exploits in New York — his doctor, his hospital, his friend from Brazil. There wasn’t a word about the agony he had endured.
I was now determined to help Prateek live as full a life as possible in the time he had left. I felt none of the fear I’d experienced when the news of Prateek’s cancer was first revealed to us. Then I had spent much of the time in my room, weeping. Prateek had to be cared for by my mother and sisters. Finally, Lisa,my youngest sister, had said to me, “What’s the matter with you? Prateek is fighting; César is fighting. Why aren’t you?” Deeply ashamed, I had vowed to devote myself to encouraging Prateek’s fierce will to live. I was now determined to fulfill that vow.
Prateek found the trips to Bombay for chemotherapy every three weeks so exhausting that we made arrangements to have the treatments in Panjim. Prateek dreaded these sessions. Whenever I told him it was time to go to the hospital, his small face would cloud over and his black eyes widen in appeal. “Can’t we wait until tomorrow, Mama?” But not once did he say, “I won’t go.”
Even in the hospital, he held his arm steady as the needle was inserted. He never had to be held down. Later I learned how deep an impression he had made on the hospital staff. “1 can never forget him,” said Dr. Clovis Pinto, his Panjim cancer specialist. “Whenever I asked him how he was feeling,he always tried to smile. Tears would be rolling down his cheeks, but he’d say, ‘I’m fine, doctor, really I’m fine.’ “
Because anti-cancer drugs also attack white blood cells, Prateek was vulnerable to infection after each session. Our friends and relatives understood. Those with even the faintest suspicion that they might be coming down with a bug didn’t visit. And before coming over to play, Prateek’s friends never forgot to wash. Indeed, I often marveled at the instinctive delicacy of these children. Prateek had been their class monitor, but now that he couldn’t go to school he feared someone else would be appointed. “Who’s monitor now?” he would ask his friends. “You are, of course,” they replied. Why should we have anyone else?” Although we never told Prateek how seriously ill he was, I told him, as simply as I could, how the chemotherapy worked. His body contained “good cells” and “bad cells,” I said, just like the “good guys” and “bad guys” in his favorite cowboy board game, and the medicine slowly killed the bad guys. This didn’t make the treatment any easier to bear, but the answer seemed to satisfy him. Indeed, throughout his ordeal, he accepted everything I said without question, did everything I asked without objection. Once, after I’d told him to have faith in God, he said firmly, “I have faith in you, Mama.” My heart nearly broke.
The chemotherapy’s side effects would recede after ten days, and Prateek’s all-too-brief good days would begin. We made maximum use of this time — César took him sailing, we visited friends, went to movies. We hired a tutor, and, though Prateek never learned to read, he mastered the alphabet and could write his name.
His tutor, Gilda Mendoca, also introduced him to art. He was fascinated by the process of mixing colors to create new ones, of portraying with a few pencil strokes a tree, a house, a flower — anything he wished. Prateek grew so absorbed in art that he even asked for pencils and paper during chemotherapy. Although he was no prodigy, he had a growing sense of line and color.
During his visits to the hospital in Bombay for routine checkups, Prateek had quickly realized he was more privileged than most other children there. Few had the fruit, toys and candy he took for granted; several didn’t even have their parents there. When I explained that most, were from poor families where both parents had to work to pay the huge medical bills, he began giving away his things. Once I even found him taking money from my handbag to give to another child. He never did it again after I explained that this was wrong, but he remained troubled. One day he burst out: “Artists make money by selling their pictures, don’t they? Well, if I draw lots of pictures and sell them, I can give that money away.”
Prateek developed an almost frightening— in one so young — maturity and detachment. On his sixth birthday, he was well enough to go to church. As we came out after mass that morning, we saw some cosmos, a flower he loved for its orange color. Wanting to please him, his grandmother started to pick some. “No, Avo Bella,” he said gently. “God put them there to make the world beautiful.”
In mid-November we went to Bombay for a checkup, accompanied this time by my mother and the girls. Soon after we arrived, an emergency required my mother to return to Goa. I didn’t want her to go. I felt she was leaving when we needed her help with Prateek the most. Deeply upset, I was lying in bed, when Prateek’s small hand softly stroked my head.
“What’s wrong, Mama?” he asked. “Nobody bothers about me,” I said.
“Relax, Mama. I’m here replied gently.
On the morning of November 20, Prateek awoke saying, “My back hurts terribly.” When the doctor came, we learned the pain was a sign that his brave, tired heart was finally to failing.
As we sat by his bed, watching each struggling breath, the sunken, once-bright, black eyes opened. “I’m thirsty. Give me water.” César held him as he sipped a few drops. ‘Sleep now,” he soothed. “When you wake up, you’ll be feeling better. Okay?” There was a world of promise in César’s voice that the little figure on the bed understood. “Okay, Papa,” he whispered.
Moments later, still asleep, he sighed. Then silence. Prateek was gone — to wake as César had promised, in a place where he was free from pain.
Afterward we pondered what we might do to fulfil Prateek’s longing to help children suffering from cancer. The Prateek Menezes Memorial Foundation was registered a month after his death. Part of its funds come from selling greeting cards bearing Prateek’s drawings. The foundation, which provides financial assistance and medical advice, especially to poor children suffering from cancer, is now well established.
My prayers, too, have been answered — even if not exactly as I wanted: through the foundation, Prateek lives and gives hope and life to others.
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The 50th Anniversary of Reader’s Digest in India was celebrated with the “50th Anniversary” Special Edition and Prateek’s Legacy was once again selected for this publication.
A'
Santa Memoria
DO MENINO
(A tribute to Prateek written, in portugese, by Prateek’s Parish Priest Padre Servulo)
PRATEEK MENEZES
10-10-1975 + 20-11-1981
Amor de Jesus pelas crianças
Jesus quando andava pelas ruas de Palestina, ensinando, abençoando e curando, era cercado pelas criancinhas. Quantas vezes no alto da planície brilhava o céu azul e límpido, a atmosfera achava-se embalsamada pela primavera, trinavam as avesinhas e sorria a natureza encantadora!
Um dia, os Seus Apostolos receberam uma severa repreensào, porque afastavam as crianças. Disse-lhes o Divino Mestre. ” Deixai vir as criancinhas a Mim porque delas é o Reino dos Céus”.
A favor de quem se realizam os milagres mais espantosos? A favor dos jovens : A ressurreição do filho da viuva de Naim e da filha de Jairo. S. João, o apostolo jovem, predilecto de Jesus teve a fortuna de reclinar docemente a cabeça no seio do Mestre e escutar as palpitações do Seu coração.
E a predilecção da Virgem Maria não foi pelas criancinhas ? A quem Ela aparece em Lourdes 18 vezes? A’ Bernardette, menina modesta e simples. A quem faz Ela sentar-se no seu regaço? A’ Sta. Rosa de Lima, a Sta. Catarina Labouré, a Sta. Gema Galgani. A quem Ela confia‘a Mensagem da Paz e Salvação?
A’s tres criancinhas, pastorinhas de Portugal : Lucia, Jacinta e Francisco. E tantas outras aparições às crianças.
Estas considerações vem à proposito da morte do menino Prateek Menezes, ocorrida, há um ano – 20-11-1981, de seis anos apenas da idade.
Hoje – 20. 11. 1982 – a sua família manda celebrar – não como sufragio pela sua alma – mas, pelas suas intenções, a Santa Missa, nesta igreja de Sta. lnês, onde no cemiterio jazem os restos mortais.
Em linhas fugitivas vai ser descrita a triplice faceta da sua breve mas edificante vida, como martir do sofrimento, anjo da pureza e apostolo da caridade cristã para a Comunhão dos Santos.
I Mártir do sofrimento :
Prateek Menezes, veio à luz do mundo aos 10-10-1975 na cidade de Pangim. “Prateek “, significa em sanscrito “simbolo” que é usado nos livros religiosos significando “imagem de Deus”. Quando tinha quase quatro anos foi-lhe descoberta a terrivel doença de cancro. A sua famìlia na ância de cura-lo, levou-o para os especialistas no Tata Hospital, Bombaim, daí para America e de caminho, para piscina de Massabielle, em Lourdes e para o Santuario de Fatima, em Portugal, mas os designios de Deus quenos são insondaveis, eram diferentes. Mesmo criança, era êle duma precoce inteligencia e muito vivo, de olhos brilhantes e fisionomia atraente.
Não parece um paradoxo que Deus, infinitamente born e amável permita que uma criança inocente, de seis anos apenas, sofra uma atroz doença? Não. Para amostra cito apenas um caso, dos inumeráveis,do agiologio cristão.
Falando de Sta. Bernadette Soubirous diz uma senhora Luterana alemã : ” Fiquei chocada ao ler na vida de Sta. Bernadette quanto ela teve de sofrer “. Ela tendo tido a visão de Nossa Senhora devia ser perfeitamente feliz e todos deviam ser bondosos e respeitosos, mas nada disso sucedeu, ela era continuamente doente, incompreendida e humilhada pelas Superioras.
Franz Werfel compreendeu bem o nexo entre o favor de Deus e o sofrimento na ” The Song of Bernadette”. Ele recorda que a Mestra das Noviças duvidou a verdade das declarações de Bernadette. Muitas vezes ela a arguira dos detalhes das aparições.Quando, uma vez ela·perguntou—lhe de novo : ” Diga-me, filha, a verdade : Realmente, a Virgem te apareceu? ” A menina não respondeu, mas, puxando para cima a vestimenta, disse : “Mãe, veja ! ” e mostrou o seu joelho terrivelmente inchado pela tuberculose. Era aquilo um argumento decisivo, o sêlo que Deus apusera às suas declarações. Mas, ela tinha de sofrer com Cristo, porque Deus a escolhera como vítima, para trazer a muitos a redenção de Cristo. E’ a doutrina do Corpo Mistico da Igreja para Comunicação·dos Santos.
Quando, Bispo Urbano McGarry visitou uma aldeia dos leprosos, o chefe e os seus assistentes que vieram recebê-lo, lhe disseram. “A gente do Occidente que tão bondosamente nos fez donativos, viu só o nosso conforto material. Eles nos ofereceram artigos de luxo, mas esqueceram o essencial : as necessidades espirituais. Oque eles nos deram, não tira o nosso sofrimento e a nossa lepra, nem nos restituem os nossos dedos faltantes. Nós precisamos de alguem que nos explique porque é que Deus nos manda sofrimento … O nosso pequeno Prateek é alguem, que pela sua resignação sem jamais murmurar, nos dá uma lição silenciosa da paciencia.
II Anjo da pureza :
Um extranho episodio ou lenda, relativa à infancia de Jesus reza. aesim : “O Menino não tinha feito ainda dois anos, quando o pérfido Herodes, temendo que, com o decorrer do tempo, lhe usurpassem o trono, deu uma ordem aterradcra: os meninos todos com menos de dois anos, fossem massacrados.
José e Maria cumprindo a ordem do Anjo empreendiam a jornada para Egito. A Virgem estreitava ao seio o Menino, envolto numa capa. Era ainda noite. Era dada ordem para não deixar passar nenhum menino. A sentinela deteve Maria às portas da cidade.
– “Ola ! descubra o embrulho,” disse a sentinela.
– Parece-me ser um pequenito … E empunhou a espad a.
– “Ola ! descubra o embrulho,” disse a sentinela.
– Parece-me ser um pequenito … E empunhou a espad a.
A Virgem sentiu-se gelar-se-lhe o sangue, mas obedeceu confiada na intervenção divina. E o verdugo ia desfechar o golpe, quando, de subito, conteve-se admirado : não há menino algum ; há lirios ocultos debaixo da capa .. Lirio Perfumado, nada mais, era o que estreitava ao seio aquela amantissima Mãe. E a sentinela deixou-a passar.
Porque é que S. Luis Gonzaga, S. Gabriel das Dores e tantos outros jovens não tiveram longa vida neste mundo? E’ um insondavel designio da Providencia ! Perto de Turim vivia um fervoroso religioso que era muito devoto da Sagrada Eucaristia. Depois de morrer multiplicaram-se os milagres na sua sepultura. Organizou-se o Processo da Beatificação e foi beatificado, como Beato Querobino. Ao abrir-se o túmulo, os presentes observaram um espectaculo gracioso : do coração dêle tinha brotado um formosíssimo lírio.
E não teria Nosso Senhor, Sol Eucaristico florecido o lírio no coração de Prateek ? Ele sabia quem era Jesus Eucarístico. Sabia tambem que ia partir para eternidade e, porisso, pediu ao Sacerdote que assistia àmorte, para dar-lhe a Sagrada Comunhão, mas o Padre achou que não podia administrar-lha. Omeu coração sangrou de dôr ao ouvir esta informação. 0 pobre Prateek contentou-se em obede cer-/he e a sua obediencia foi melhor do que sacrificio, segundo as Sagradas Letras.
Dizem que a morte é o eco da vida. E, já que a vida do nosso pequeno Prateek foi cheia de virtude e heroismo, a sua morte não podia deixar de ser santa. Quando perguntei a sua mãe, que ta/ foi a sua morte ? Ela respondeu com ênfase ; ” very, very peaceful” ( muito, muito pacífica) e eu acrescento sem minimo exagero que êle não sofreu os estertores da agonia.
Maria, Mãe de Boa Morte deve ter vindo receber a bela alma do Prateek. Neste momento o mais importante da vida do menino Prateek, curva-se a fronte e dobra-se o joelho perante a Rainha do Céu e Terra. Que valem a Lua, as estrelas, o mar e as mortanhas, a fonte, o vale, a flor e os passarinhos perante uma alma em graça? Esta deixou este vale das lagrimas no meio dos canticos angelicos para gozar na eternidade., enquanto os seus, rodeados no leíto da dôr, choravam as lagrimas de dôr.
Poderá alguem duvidar que as delicias de Jesus e Maria não eram por Prateek ? Depois de tanto sofrimento e depois de a ciencia medica e as aguas de Lourdes e Fatima se provarem ineficazes, Nossa Senhora quis transplantar esta mimosa flor no jardim celestial, precisamente na vespera da sua festa da Apresentação – 21 de Nov. para ser festejada por êle no céu !
Segundo o sentir comum dos homens não é delicado falar da morte, sem motivo grave, mas a lição, a verdade mais impressionante, a realidade mais iniludivel da vida é a morte …
“Beati qui in Domino moriuntur” dizem as palavras da Sagrada Escritura. Estas palavras significam o fim da carreira, a coroa após a luta, a paz depois do combate.
III Apsotolo de caridade :
Há na Sagrada Escritura muitas coisas sublimes e belas, nenhuma, porém mais comovente enecessaria do que a preceito da caridade. ” Dou-vos um mandamento novo, amai-vos uns aos outros. Amai-vos mutuamente, assim como Eu vos tenho amado. Nisto conhecereis todos que sois os Meus discipulos, se tiverdes amor uns aos outros “.
Sim, o sinal certo de que nos amamos a Deus e Deus nós ama é a caridade para com o proximo.
Prateek vendo a sorte de, muitas crianças pobres a sofrerem, mostrou o seu desejo de ajudá -las. Quando alguem, por gracejo, observou-lhe como poderia ajudá-las, se não tinha dinheiro? Ele disse seriamente : eu posso pintar quadros e vendendo-os posso ajuda-las. Não é isto sublime?
A doença não lhe causava dôres? Sim, mas talvez era mais forte a sua esperança. O pensamento da morte feliz devia ser a sua maior consolaçào e, porisso a um medico eminente que assistìa a sua morte e que sabia que os seus sofrimentos, eram atrozes, êle respondeu à pergunta : como se sente?
“Fine, doctor” ( muito bem, doutor ).
Ele sabia que a nossa pátría é o Ceu, aliás não se explica porque é que êle constantemente pedia as orações. E quando os seus irmãos paravam de rezar, êle insistia nas orações. Ser padre foi o seu desejo ardente, como muitas vezes, espontaneamente, manifestou.
Estou convencido de que a crianca Prateek era escolhida como exemplo para juventude de hoje. Nossa Senhora numa aparicáo· de 31 8 1953 a Teresa Musco, mistica e estigmatizada, falecida com fama de santidade aos 16 8-1976 leve estas expressivas palavras : « Minha filha reza e faca penitencia porque os homens vao precipitando-se para o horrivel abismo. Aproveita de pequenas criancas para orarem porque as suas oraçóes sáo mais eficzes do que as oraçóes dos adultos »
A Comunhão dos Santos é um dogma mui consolador.Quantas vezes Doutores, Martires e grandes Luminares da Igreja são devidos à oração e sacrificio duma alma escondida !
De olhos vivos, semblante atraente, palavras meigas e inteligencia precoce, Prateek encerrava, sobretudo, um coração delicado e generoso, a ponto de ficar uma vez maguado com alguem que arrancara uma flor dum jardim porque isso,peosava êle, roubava a gloria de Deus !
Embora não sonbesse escrever mas só assinar, êle pintava desenhos tão maravilhosos que os artistas entendidos acharn que o Prateek viria a serum artista de genio.
Terminarei esta consirleração da Cornunhão dos Santos citando o seguinte facto: Um Cardeal da Franca derigindo-se um dia a um grupo dos seus conterraneos fez a seguinte confidencia: eu conheço muito bem um rapaz que desejava muito ser padre, mas os seus pais eram completamente destituidos da fortuna e morreram cedo. Um dia este pobre giosas rapaz tendo entrado na Catedral de Poitiers ficou encantado pelas cerimónias religiosas e saiu cori1 lágrimas nos olhos. Aí, perto na praça uma mulhersinha, vendedora de flores que o viu a chorar, pergunta-lhe: «Porque choras rapaz? – “Quero ser padre, mas sou pobre e orfão dos pais” – responde-lhe. A·mulher consolando-o prometeu auxilia-lo. Dai para diante a boa mulher passa longas horas de noite a costurar a fim de ajudar o seu futuro padre. Passarn anos e – conclue Cardeal com comoção e lagrimas nos olhos – a mulher morre; aquele rapaz devido ao auxilio financeiro daquela heroica mulher fez-se: padre, bispoe Cardeal. Senhores, continua o Cardeal, aquele rnenino pobre sou eu que vos estou falando » Ele foi O celebre Cardeal da Franca, de nome Pio.
IV As minhas ultimas palavras:
Jovens da minha terra, tomo a liberdade de dirigir-vos um apélo: procurai sempre viver na GRAÇA de DEUS, imitar as virtudes do pequeno Prateek e obter a graca de Boa Morte, que é o fruto da graca de Deus e da nossa cooperação. S. Joao Crisostomo exprimiu admiravelmente este pensamento: «Se a nossa salvação dependesse unicamente de Deus, ninguem salvaria; se dependesse unicamente de Deus, ninguem se perderia; como depende igualmente da vontade de Deus e da nossa cooperação acontece que alguns se salvam e outros se condenam ».
Enfim, as minhas preces por que a família do Prateek, sobretudo os seus desolados (humanamente falando) ‘pais tenham muita coragem e resignação pela separaão do seu querido filhinho.
Adeus, meu paroquiano pequ no Prateek, até o Céu !
Sta. Inês 20 de Nov. ( Vesp. da m. Orden. Sac.) de 1982.
Enfim, as minhas preces por que a família do Prateek, sobretudo os seus desolados (humanamente falando) ‘pais tenham muita coragem e resignação pela separaão do seu querido filhinho.
Adeus, meu paroquiano pequ no Prateek, até o Céu !
Sta. Inês 20 de Nov. ( Vesp. da m. Orden. Sac.) de 1982.
Pe. Servulo da Piedade.
Chegaram os discípulos ao pé de Jesus, dizendo : Quem é o maior no reíno dos Céus? E Jesus, cha mando um menino, o pôs no meio deles, e disse: Em verdade vos digo que, se não·vos converterdes e não vos fizerdes como meninos, de modo algum entrareis no Reino dos Céus. Pprtanto, aquele que se tornar humilde como este menino, esse é o maior no Reino dos Céus.
Estão a circular-se os cartazes com desenhos
coloridos do Prateek, patrocinados por
Prateek Menezes Memorial Foundation
1. P.Box No. 23 – Panaji
Goa -403 001
(India).
Entre outras coisas lê-se ai o seguinte :
« While braving the continual pain and disconfort
of the disease with a remarkable spirit of cheer
fulness, love, and faith, he worried
incensantly about the helpness of the
“sick children who are poor”,
and was determined to
care for them …».
Prateek’s art
Back in 1980, Prateek’s art teacher, Guilda and his friend Malcolm introduced him to art. From then on, he was absorbed in art. He was no prodigy, but he had a growing sense of line, form and colour.
He was fascinated by the process of mixing colours to create new shades and portraying with a few pencil strokes a tree, a house, a flower – anything he wished.
During his visits to Tata Memorial, Prateek instantly understood that he was more privileged than other children at the hospital. In his child’s mind, he must have reflected deeply on their plight and got the idea that if artists could make money by selling their pictures, he too would do the same. This inspired him to draw, so that he could help these children. In all that time he made no mention of his determination to become an artist as he believed he was an artist with a special mission. The mission, he would soon define, was to draw and support children in pain and suffering.
To fulfil Prateek’s wish the Prateek Menezes Memorial Foundation was registered a month after his death. Part of the fund came from the sale of greeting cards with Prateek’s drawings.
Prateek lives through the Foundation and gives hope and life to others.
INSIGHTS INTO THE MIND OF AN ARTIST
The Stormy Sea
“However skilful an artist may be, and however perfect his technique, if he unhappily has nothing to tell us, his work is valueless.”-Jacques Maritain (1882–1973)
This drawing by Prateek gives one the feeling of the energy of the storm. However imperfect Prateek’s technique may have been here, but his intense experience while battling his cancer gave him a story to tell. And therein was the value of all his drawings.
Bombay Bus
In the words of John Ruskin, art critic ( 1819– 1900) ‘ all that is good in art is the expression of one soul talking to another’…
The Bombay Bus was Prateek’s 1st drawing when he was admitted at Tata Memorial, Mumbai. He was thrilled with the Double Decker Bus and traffic lights all new to Goa.
Prateek had a vibrant imagination and during the time of his treatment, he occupied his mind with drawings and colored his thoughts through his drawings. He continued drawing while in therapy and between sessions. The more immersed he got in this form of expression, the clearer his ideas crystallized. He optimized his own talent towards achieving the goal of helping children by raising funds through the sale of his little drawings.
Preserving most of his drawings – some on plain pieces of paper, some just scribbles, some completed, some incomplete; family and friends then decided to print his drawings on greeting cards.
This, we believe, was the seed money to carry his vision. The cards were promoted among family and friends across the globe and his aim was fulfilled on his own terms.
Prateek’s Art woven into a Tapestry
Prateek’s drawings were shared with the weavers of Kashmir so that they could design tapestry with these drawings/paintings. One such drawing of a peacock by Prateek has been meticulously and beautifully reproduced by the weavers in a wall hanging tapestry.
