There’s a room in Kallakurichi where art happens. Not in galleries or glossy studios, but within the four walls of a modest home. A camera. A desk. A phone. And Varshitha Venkatesan — pencil in hand, paint and canvas ready, Tamil calligraphy flowing between brushstrokes. The 26-year-old artist was recently recognised by the Government of India’s MSME Startup Mission.
That recognition didn’t come overnight.
Engineering was Varshitha’s plan. Art was the detour. “None of my family members have a trace of interest in drawing,” she says. Varshitha came from a place — both geographically and ideologically — that didn’t imagine a girl with a pencil could build a future.
But in her final year of engineering, Varshitha listened to herself. “I thought engineering and coding is not my stuff. I wanted to do fashion designing,” she says. That door closed. So she made a window — into realism art. And then calligraphy.
It wasn’t Kerala that first introduced her to Kerala mural painting. It was a temple in Tiruchy. “A Krishna temple,” she recalls, where the walls, unlike the stone-carved ones she was used to, held paintings. “I was really mesmerised.” Today, she works on 4x3-foot canvases, dedicating hours to a form steeped in ritual and reverence. “People think it’s very auspicious, especially for puja rooms,” she adds. This, too, she learnt online. “We don’t have much exposure here in Kallakurichi. So I learnt from online resources.”
But before the brushes came out, the resistance came in.
The first Yes!
The first yes didn’t come easy. Certainly not from her relatives who were trained to believe that a girl’s earnings diminished a man’s pride. “They said, ‘Do whatever you want, but don’t go outside the house.’”
So she stayed in. And built a world.
A few friends pooled money to help her join her first course. Her mother gave quiet permission. She took it all — the resistance, the small kindnesses — and started painting, posting and teaching.
Slowly, the students trickled in. Then stayed.
The digital classroom
Instagram. WhatsApp groups. These were her galleries. These were her CV. She called her page @varshi_art on Instagram. No degrees. No BFA. Just relentless documentation of skill.
When parents started asking if she could teach their children, she hesitated. Not because of skill, but the camera. “Speaking to a person is different. Speaking to a camera, you need to come out of your comfort zone,” she says.
She practised. She stammered. She learnt to perform.
Today, her batches wait. She sends kits complete with brushes, paper, ink. “All they have to do is open the box and switch on the video.”
As the work grew, so did suspicion — from customers who’d been scammed elsewhere. She didn’t blame them. So she sought legitimacy.
Now, Varshi Art is recognised by the Government of India’s MSME Startup Mission. “It adds authentication,” she says. A government stamp on a handmade life.
Giving Back
Two years into her practice, profit finally arrived. She chose not to pocket it all.
In 2023, she taught calligraphy to 120 girls from the Government Girls’ High School in Kallakurichi. Free of cost. Materials included. But with one condition: “Only the ones who are truly interested should sign up. Art should be respected.” The Inner Wheel Club heard of it and arranged a certificate ceremony.
Let the work speak
Speaking about the challenges she faces, Varshitha says, “It’s not a recognised business here in Kallakurichi — art. Still, people ask: can you really earn from it?”
She doesn’t say yes. She lets her work answer. Ten art forms later — from Tamil and Devanagari to Gothic and Greek calligraphy, graphite to pastel realism — she’s still not done. “I want twenty art forms under my name. But not just basics. I should be thorough. At least 95%,” she says. She is now preparing to attend Mazda Art Festival for the second time in Hyderabad.
Varshitha speaks through murals, brush pens and students. Through that quiet but undeniable decision to stay in her room and make something no one thought possible.