Swarna Chitrakar barely looks up from her table, her hand dancing over a thick sheet of paper as fine brushstrokes bring a tiger to life. The scene she is painting is from a recent trip to the Sundarbans—a journey filled with mangroves, tigers, salt-touched fields, and stories of resilience shared by villagers rebuilding their lives after storms.
She is preparing for the Tramjatra festival of 2025, called Sundarban Tramjatra, and her scrolls are running late. “I just came back two days ago,” she says, not pausing from her work. We travelled across the Sundarbans. It was beautiful but seeing everything made me think a lot. People shared stories of storms, of how they rebuilt.”
Beside her, her husband, Sambhu Chitrakar, carefully outlines the borders of the painting she has already sketched, following her instructions with quiet focus. Their table is full —tigers, trams, mangrove forests, gods, and goddesses spill across the paper. Among them are small hand-sized paintings that will be reproduced as printed tickets, specially designed for the Sundarban Tramjatra celebration. Half-done, half-dreamt, like everything else in this room.
Swarna Chitrakar painting the pat / scroll for her nightly storytelling performance during Sundarban Tramjatra at the Esplanade Festival Hub
Sambhu Chitrakar painting artwork for a series of tickets for Sundarban Tramjatra
Sambhu Chitrakar painting the pat/scroll for Sundarban Tramjatra 2025
Swarna Chitrakar painting artwork for a series of tickets for Sundarban Tramjatra
Swarna has been part of Tramjatra for over twenty-five years now, and her affection for trams is fierce. “They don’t spit smoke into the air. They’re gentle,” she says. You can open a newspaper and read while travelling. You are not rushing anywhere. Why stop something so good?” Her art and her activism have long moved together. She learned the art of Patachitra from her parents in Naya village, nestled in West Midnapur, West Bengal—along with the tradition of storytelling. Her early scrolls were filled with Ramayana and Mahabharata tales. Now, they carry stories of climate, displacement, and resilience — tales gathered from life, not just legend. She has already finished one scroll for this year’s event. Along with it, she has written a poem — simple, rhythmic, and full of conviction. She shares the few lines, softly.
“It is a beautiful tram, it is beautiful. If the service continues, it will be good for Kolkata— Because it is kind to the environment. Just as beautiful is the Sundarban forest, And we must protect its rich biodiversity. If we keep them alive, it will be good for us— They are the ones who give us oxygen.”
Her painting, like her words, carries a quiet precision. She paints with acrylic now — fluid, bold strokes on thick paper. The control in her hand is striking. Each line bends with intention, the figures shaped not just by colour, but by memory. She also keeps her older scrolls with her, coloured with traditional natural pigments, rich with earthy reds and deep blacks.
Colours waiting to speak — the brushes and paints of Swarna Chitraka
Amidst the rush of preparation, Swarna’s calm is luminous. There is urgency, yes —but not chaos. She paints not just to meet a deadline but to make a statement. And as her scrolls dry, they carry forward not just her art but a moving archive of people, places, memorie, and the will to resist.
A panel for the final Sundarban Tramjatra pat/scroll, still unfolding — a story waiting to be completed
