As the sun sets in Kolkata, amidst the bustle of south Kolkata, in Golpark, an artist nurtures his passion on the footpath. His muse is sometimes the city, and sometimes anything from his memory. Outside Ramakrishna Mission, with a few scraps of used paper, a stub of a pencil, and sometimes even a broken brick, 48-year-old street dweller Sagar Das begins his nightly ritual — not of rest, but of creation.
Sagar is a ragpicker. You’ll find him combing the streets for anything recyclable — plastic material, metal objects, discarded glass bottles and such. He moves quietly, unnoticed by most. But come evening, he becomes something else entirely: an artist with a story inked in struggle and survival.
“I’ve been painting since I was a child. Even when I was small, I would draw on walls with chalk or whatever I could find. That has never left me,” Sagar told My Kolkata.
It has been 24 years since he left home at a south Kolkata slum. Back then, he was a young man, a college student. But addiction crept in, and alcohol slowly took over his life. He left behind a family — a father who served as a police officer, a wife, and a young daughter. He doesn’t talk much about them, but there's a softness in his eyes when their names come up. “I couldn’t stop drinking back then. It ruined everything. But sketching, that’s something I never gave up,” he said without bitterness.
Despite the hardship, there’s a sense of peace in Sagar’s presence. He doesn’t beg or complain. His days are spent collecting waste, his nights drawing scenes from his memory and imagination.
His inspiration comes from the city that now shelters and somewhat sustains him. He picks up torn posters, magazine pages, bits of packaging — anything with an image that sparks something inside. He keeps them safe in his ragged cloth bag until evening, when he brings them out and carefully redraws them on his sketchbook. Sometimes he uses pencils, brick fragments, and sometimes even just his nails to etch out his art.
Each piece is raw and deeply emotional — reflections of the life he lives, the people he watches, and the dreams he once had.
Surprisingly, some passersby do stop and take notice. A few pause, ask about his work, and sometimes buy a sketch or two. He uses the money to buy sketchbooks and pencils.
Golpark may know him as just another homeless man on the street. But every evening, the pavement outside Ramakrishna Mission becomes his gallery — a space where broken past finds healing in art.
