I lucked out. To know Maqbool Fida Husain saab was not like knowing an artist or a film director. He was a very evolved human being, he inhabited another mind space. Whoever collaborated with him was sure to widen his/her own mental bandwidth.

Undoubtedly, Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities stands out prominently in my career.While shooting in Hyderabad, Jaisalmer and Prague, I saw an artist investing his soul and spirit into every frame. It was plain that he throughly enjoyed the process of filmmaking, he set up a world of fun and laughter around him. He enjoyed people, the atmosphere was that of a wonderland picnic.

When a producer-director conveys that sense of teamwork and joy, it infects every member of the unit. No scene or shot would faze him, he would extract the best out of all of us, inspiring Santosh Sivan to create a work of visual beauty. So many of the frames can be put up on the walls just like his paintings.

His son, Owais, set designer Sarmishta Roy, Raghuvir Yadav and A.R. Rahman were integral parts of the artistic pageantary. In terms of self-expression as a filmmaker he was at the pinnacle, he knew exactly what he wanted and extracted it from every one of us.

I was playing multiple roles – of his grand amour Maria; of Meenaxi the muse in a writer’s mind who served as his conscience and critic; and of an activist. Subtly, through the character of the activist, he made a point about the water situation in the far-flung stretches of India.

Contrary to what people may think, there were no issues in understanding his flights of imagination. If certain elements were abstract they were also easy to grasp because he never lost sight of the human element – much like a major part of his art oeuvre, which is figurative as well as open to diverse interpretations. He narrated a story, which was woman-centric, but few gave him the credit for that. Meenaxi was a woman of strength, part real and part fantasy.

I first met Husain saab when he came over to my house one afternoon, wearing an elegant black sherwani. He was barefoot as always, the ground he walked on didn’t affect him at all. In Rajasthan, he walked barefeet on the blazing sand dunes and would say that he derived energy from the heat. “That’s why I have lived so well and for so long,” he said quietly.

He didn’t speak much, using only a few quick sentences. And yet there was also an endearing quality of showmanship about him. Before the film’s shoot began, he hosted an event at the Mehboob studio to paint my portrait. It was the first and my only experience as a model for an artist.

I had to sit still for half a day almost, with a clay pot beside me. That was tough because usually, an actor has to relate to the camera for a few minutes for each shot. He finished the portrait with a flourish. I would love to have a look at it again today, I don’t know where it is.

After his brief visit to my house, we met a few days later at the Taj Lands End coffee shop. He loved his cups of chai and biscuits. And as was his habit he was more than punctual. By the time I reached there on the dot of time, Husain saab was already on his second cup of chai. Very bashfully he unwrapped a painting – with Arabic calligraphy – and gave it to me. “It’s just a small gift,” he said.

And of course it’s my most prized possession. It is a part of me, a part of my house. And then one day during the film’s shoot, he suddenly asked for a sheet of butter paper, did a painting of Mother Teresa, and handed it over to me generously.

After the film was over, we stayed in touch. He would always invite me to the Eid lunch he hosted every year. And once we went over to meet Gulzar saab. Since both had a sweet tooth, there was a virtual feast of gulab jamuns.

Husain saab felt at home with the film industry. He was fascinated by cinema, stemming from his beginnings as a painter of film hoardings. His mind was constantly active, his thoughts ran on multi-tracks but there was never anything complicated or innaccessibly cerebral about him.

A year after he has gone, he’s a major, leading presence in the Indian artscape and always will be. I can take some delight in the fact that when I met him last, he gave me a paintbrush – which is taller than me. When I asked, “What will I do with it?” he had replied, “Just remember me whenever you see it.”