Yusuf Arakkal grew up surrounded by colours so perfect that they would only look at home on a postcard. A native of a small town in Kerala, there is a dream palette in every sunrise and sunset, from dawn to dusk. So, you would think that his canvas too would look like the collected works of Matisse. Au contraire. When he starts working on a canvas, invariably, the tones that dominate are shades of black. "Often, I am forced to douse the exuberance of flaming hues with the dictates of an inner force. Darker the colours, the more alive they become to me," he says.

Fifty two this year, Arakkal has still held on to childhood angst. And the inner demons that he continues to battle, work their way out into his canvas. In spite of the fact that most of his dreams have come true. Living in a sprawling house in Bangalore with a dream studio -- 2,300 sqft in size -- a library stocked with 15,000 books, a wife and a son -- in that order -- Arakkal is free to choose the colours of his kaleidoscope. "On the factual side, I have no complaints with life. I've always wanted a huge studio and I finally have it," he says. If `it' is his id, Arakkal has been in search of it since the age of six -- when he lost both his parents. Born into a wealthy family, he did not suffer from neglect but no amount of indulgence could bind him to his conservative Muslim joint family. At the age of 15, when he put together the princely sum of Rs 30, Arakkal ran away to Bangalore, where he planned to live with his elder step-brother. Only to find that his family had forgotten to mention that his brother had moved to Bombay. "There are a few points in my life when I have taken a decision which has been very significant, and that day I made up my mind that there was no way I would go back," he says.

For the next year-and-a-half, he saw the worst of urban decay -- what cities do to people who live outside walls. And it is memories of these months that still flow on to his canvas. Memories that are always coloured in black.

When he was around 17, a distant uncle managed to hunt him out and took him in. "But I was adamant that I would stay with them only if I was working," he says. His uncle got him a job in Hindustan Aeronautics Limited where he worked in the technical department till 1984. "Work in the night, art school in the morning. These years disciplined me and now I always paint in the morning," he says.

Initially, he learnt academy painting in the European tradition from an old portrait painter. Then in the late '60s he joined the Chitrakala Parishath College of Art in Bangalore. It was then that he followed convention for the first time -- he lived like any college student would. "I had my motorbike and I was zooming around picking and dropping girls," he says. One person who did not quite approve was his cousin, Sara. His uncle and aunt wanted him to marry her but knowing that he was a free spirit, she was wary. So was he. "I had no objections to marrying her but at that time I thought it would take away from my work. Now I realise that it has filled a gap which would have hurt otherwise," says Arakkal. They finally tied the knot in 1973 -- the same year he passed out of college and next year, Arakkal informs you excitedly, they complete 25 years of being together.

After his marriage, during the late '70s, he painted and sculpted a series called Wheels which got him commercial and critical success. His style was in perfect sync with the abstract movement predominant at that time. In his next series, however, his street experiences surfaced. Huge paintings of gaunt, paper-skinned people that were ripped apart by critics. But he couldn't care less, "At the end of the day, other people's opinions don't matter." He dug his heels in and painted realistic themes and soon became a force to reckon with when the figurative movement started. Once again, the critics were his slaves.

His latest series, which was exhibited in Mumbai last week, received a very good response and is an expansion of a theme he had worked on in the late '70s. "Urban uncertainties had been stuck in my mind for a long time. In every city of the world, along with development, there is a corresponding decay - in thought and attitude. The size of my paintings are too big to be commercially viable but this is what I want to paint," he says. So, he is doing just that. Today his defiance or rather his canvases can demand as much as Rs four lakh.

Early next year, he is also releasing a book on poetry. But he is not satisfied. "I haven't done my best painting yet. And the day I think I have, that will be the end of me. It's the discontent which keeps you going."