My Tattoos, My Stories - And Why I Still Love Them

Reflecting on nearly two decades of body art, an author explores the memories, pain, and addiction behind getting tattoos

I got my first tattoo sometime in 2006 or 2007. I don't remember the exact year, which probably tells you how carefully planned the whole thing was.

It wasn't.

Like many decisions I've made in life, this one was rather spontaneous. Tattoos weren't nearly as common in India then as they are today, and tattoo studios certainly weren't everywhere. I landed up with Sameer Patange in Mumbai, who worked out of Hakim Aalim's salon in Bandra West at the time. Sameer was among the relatively few established tattoo artists around then and would later become a well-known celebrity tattoo artist.

There was only one small problem. I didn't actually know what tattoo I wanted. Sameer patiently helped me choose. For reasons I can't completely remember now, I had a fascination with Native American culture and its relationship with nature - the sun, moon, mountains, rain, eagles and wolves. The eagle particularly appealed to me as a powerful spiritual messenger connecting humanity with the Creator.

So, an eagle it was.

An eagle's head on my right upper arm, close to the shoulder.

Boys Don't Cry. Apparently.

I remember being far more anxious about the expected pain than about getting something permanently inked onto my body.

And yes, those first 7 or 8 minutes hurt.

Then something strange happened. I gradually settled into the pain and adopted that highly sophisticated male coping mechanism known as boys don't cry. Sameer took around four hours to finish the tattoo. There was quite a bit of detail - the eyes, feathers, sharp beak and all those little elements that gave the eagle its character. Once he was done, he applied ointment, wrapped my arm in cling film and gave me a fairly strict set of instructions for looking after it.

One thing he said has stayed with me all these years:

Treat the tattoo like a wound until it heals.

And that's exactly what I did for the next 7-8 days.

Once it healed, however, another transformation took place. I started wearing sleeveless T-shirts. I finally had something to show off. Why wouldn't I?

One Tattoo Became Eight

What nobody had warned me about was how addictive tattoos could be.

By around 2010, I had eight tattoos covering both upper arms, my left forearm, practically my entire back and, perhaps the most personal of them all, a portrait of my younger daughter on the left side of my chest.

I was rapidly running out of available real estate.

Looking back now, though, some of my fondest memories aren't only about the tattoos themselves. They're about the hours spent getting them.

The tattoo on my back took two days, with sessions of around eight hours each. During another session, while I was getting a dreamcatcher tattooed on my arm, Sanjay Dutt happened to be getting tattooed on the bench next to me.

I was too shy to ask him for a photograph.

Yes, I regret that now.

I also remember the atmosphere of those studios. Heavy metal playing in the background. Superhero and dragon figurines sitting on the shelves. The constant buzz of tattoo machines. Long conversations while somebody repeatedly stuck needles into you.

Strangely enjoyable memories. Then came the compliments, particularly when I was holidaying somewhere with a swimming pool. That's one minor disadvantage of where most of my tattoos are located. The only time I can really show off is when I go swimming.

"Does It Hurt?"

This is easily the question I've been asked most often.

Yes.

Of course it hurts.

Anyone telling you otherwise is either exceptionally pain-tolerant or trying to impress you.

The first few minutes are the worst because every prick registers in your brain. After a while, your body seems to reach some sort of agreement with the process. The pain hasn't disappeared. You've simply become accustomed to it.

And then comes the particularly delightful bit nobody talks about enough.

After every few strokes, the artist wipes the freshly tattooed skin with a paper napkin.

Imagine having your skin repeatedly punctured and then somebody rubbing paper across the same area.

Lovely.

I've watched big, well-built young men almost faint during those initial minutes. Muscles, apparently, don't negotiate with tattoo needles.

But it isn't unbearable either. If it were, I wouldn't have gone back seven more times.

Painful? Absolutely.

Pleasurable?

Oddly, yes.

Would I Do It Differently Today?

One thing I understood from day one was that these tattoos were for life.

I knew there might come a time when I'd be approaching 60, looking at them and wondering what on earth my younger self had been thinking.

Well, I'm getting there.

And I still love them.

They have faded over the years. Some of the colours aren't as vibrant and some of the details aren't as sharp anymore. Quite a few could use a good touch-up.

Believe me, I just need one small push and I might find myself sitting in a tattoo studio again, beginning what would probably be an enormously time-consuming and equally expensive restoration project.

But nearly two decades of living with tattoos has changed the advice I'd give someone considering their first one.

Unlike me, don't walk in without knowing what you want.

Think about the design. Think about its size. Think carefully about where you want it. Do you want something visible to the world every day, or something more private? Do you want monochrome or colour? Remember that colours can fade over time.

And if you're getting words tattooed in a language you don't understand, please find out exactly what they mean first.

That beautiful Greek sentence you think means Strength, Courage and Honour might actually translate to To hell with Trump.

Just kidding.

But you get the point.

The artist matters enormously too. Different tattoo artists have different strengths. Someone who's brilliant with a particular style may not necessarily be the person you want doing a portrait. The really good artists can be expensive, and appointments with some of them can take months. When somebody is going to put something permanently onto your body, doing a little research seems sensible. I certainly did much less of it the first time.

Apparently, It Runs in the Family

Both my daughters now have more than one tattoo.

I'd like to believe I was their inspiration. There's an equally good chance they simply followed the trend and Dad had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Then my better half joined the club.

She now has a couple of tattoos herself, including an enormous dragon that extends from her back, travels over her right shoulder and reveals its magnificent head, sharp teeth and fangs on her chest.

Thankfully, it doesn't spew fire.

So perhaps tattoos have quietly become something of a family affair.

Nearly twenty years after that spontaneous afternoon in Bandra, when I look at my tattoos today, I don't just see ink.

I remember the studios. The music. The artists. The conversations. The hours on those benches. The anticipation before the needle first touched the skin. The pain. The compliments afterwards. And different periods of my life that somehow became permanently attached to my body.

Would I choose exactly the same tattoos if I were starting all over again today?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But I don't think that matters anymore.

They're part of my story now.

And if I ever finally get around to those touch-ups, my only concern is that I'll notice one tiny patch of empty skin and think...