Threads and Theories: When Art Becomes Investigation

 Every story, every painting, every song begins with a question.

What happened? Who is she? Why does this feeling cling to me like smoke?

In our last post, we stepped into the mysterious world of Uttara Iyengar, guided by our very own investigator, Dilip Shah. But the deeper we go, the more it becomes clear — art itself is an investigation.

Whether it’s a detective following clues or a painter chasing light, we’re all trying to find something. Meaning. Emotion. Truth.

This week, Scribbles dives into that pursuit. 

What does it mean to be a seeker through art? To uncover, to question, to create?

Speaking of mysteries, Veena’s back with Chapter II of The Disappearance of Uttara Iyengar — and things are getting darker.

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Chapter II

I woke up from my slumber, feeling more tired than ever. As I trudged to the kitchen to boil some milk for my morning coffee, living alone felt more desolate than usual. I missed my mother’s comforting morning coffee terribly. It was 7 a.m. on August 21st, and I needed to get ready for work.

I gulped down my coffee, had an average homemade dosa, and got dressed. By 8:30 a.m., I was in the car, heading to work. The Bangalore traffic can be a real headache, so to make the drive more bearable, I played some good music on the radio. The tunes made the time fly by, and before I knew it, I arrived at work by 9:30 a.m.

Working as a Forensic Pathologist in this city was not the best choice, I tell myself as I cut open my first body for the day, to survey my field and report on the cause of death and time of death. My air pods blasting music into my ear drown out my surroundings and for now, it is only me and the cadaver. This person who was alive and breathing at some time period, which I should determine, was now giving me company while I listened to the most romantic duet.

Cutting it open, feels almost therapeutic.

As this thought struck me, I immediately came back to my senses, wondering just how that thought even entered my mind. Now, thoroughly uncomfortable under my own skin, I continued to examine the body for other clues of cause for demise.

Strangulation?... The rope marks do suggest that, but this stab wound… that tells a different story… Maybe, he was stabbed to death and then strangled just to make sure he was dead… Anyway, the lab results will tell me exactly what I want to know…

With this, I finished up my examination of one Mr. Shenoy’s body and cleaned up for lunch.

Lunch, was interesting today. Everyone was talking about this missing person, “The famous dancer Uttara Iyengar was reported missing! , Meera? Are you even listening to me?”, spoke Sharvari, while munching on a spoonful of what I assumed was some non-veg biryani. As I quietly ate my aloo paratha, I took in all this information, wondering to myself…

I just saw her yesterday at Levels, we met after so long, my dear friend Uttara. She told me she had a performance that evening at 7:30. With her engagement coming up, her disappearance is a disaster…

After lunch, I resumed my routine, with my second autopsy for the day. This one was quite a simple case, 76-year-old female, reason for death, poisoning. Mercury to be specific. Motive, most probable one being money, some will she had drafted earlier coming to take her life.

Who doesn’t kill their own family members for money these days?  People are really losing it, mercury, something so basic and detectable? It’s like they’re asking to be convicted of murder… But then again, who am I to judge… At the least I get to finish work early today and head back to my den of solitude…

I awaited the officials’ arrival who had requested the autopsy results for the murdered Mr. Shenoy. I continued listening to the same duet from that morning as I did so and sipped on one more delicious cup of coffee.

Strangulation after death by blood loss through the stab wound! … Just what I had anticipated…

I knew it was strange, but I derived a certain joy from such trivial discoveries that my job allowed me to make every day, as it was one of the only things that kept me from quitting this darn job.

Inspector Kamal steps in with the case file and I usher him to take a seat in front of me. I present the details of the report and much to his delight, he had all that he needed to convict the criminal of murder. He thanked me and left with a brisk stride of one who has just triumphed in a war.

It was around 7:30 pm when I left work, exhausted now more than ever, I drove myself back home on my Thar. After making myself something simple for dinner, a smoothie and sat to assess some case files that were sent to me late this afternoon.

Uhuh…hmm…alright… Oh no he didn’t!... Kettle?!...

It had slipped completely out of my mind, that I had kept the tea kettle on the stove. It whistled loudly for someone to turn it off.  As I ran to turn the stove off, I heard something fall in my room.

Uttara loves to drink tea.

Completely startled, both by the thought and by the sound I walked slowly into my room and turned on the light. Nothing. An empty room…

I should really just retire for the night…

With that thought I finished writing my daily diary entry and went to bed.

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✨ The Artist’s Corner

There’s something hypnotic about this chapter, isn’t there? The sterile calm of the morgue, the loneliness of the pathologist, the faint echo of Uttara’s name in the silence — it all feels like standing inside a painting mid-brushstroke.

This week, let’s play with that same feeling — the eerie stillness before revelation.

🎨 Painting Prompt: “The Place She Vanished”

Paint, sketch, or digitally create a space that holds a secret.
It could be a theatre after the lights go out, a half-finished cup of tea by the window, or a road glimmering under the 7:30 p.m. streetlights.

Don’t show the disappearance — show the moment after.
The silence. The waiting. The ghost of motion that’s already passed.

✍️ Writing Prompt: “The Object That Knew Too Much”

Write a short story, prose piece, or poem from the point of view of an object that witnessed something it shouldn’t have.
Maybe it’s the kettle on Meera’s stove.
Maybe it’s Uttara’s missing earring.
Maybe it’s the diary on the nightstand that knows far too much.

Keep it original, keep it under 300 words — let every sentence feel like a secret being confessed.

Every creation starts as a question — a whisper in the dark asking to be understood. Maybe, as we write, paint, and share, we’re not just searching for answers… we’re finding pieces of ourselves along the way.

Until next time, keep scribbling, seekers. 🕯️

Credits :))

 🎨 Theme Page Art: Sowmya