City Lights 1

(Mumbai -pic courtesy Ketish Kothari)

A city lives in and by reminiscing done by people significant and insignificant, conspicuous and inconspicuous, and finally powerful and powerless. You may be living in a city for a so many decades yet if you do not remember your city in certain ways it ceases to exist as far as you are concerned. Hotel lobbies, airport lounges and such liminal spaces do not leave many memories in one’s mind. They do once in a while depending on what you did in those spaces or places. You must have kissed another man or woman for the first time in hotel room so, the moment you check into a hotel room and close the door behind you, suddenly memories flood in. A hotel room devoid of such memories is not really a space that lives in you. So are the airport lounges or such liminal spaces. Unless you have picked up a wonderful book that has changed your life once and forever, or unless you have met a long lost friend, and yet again, unless you have chanced upon such a beautiful woman, so cherubic that you thought the goddess herself has alighted before your eyes. I am a male writer, hence my views are gendered and I would like to include the female views for there is a female in me who seeks expression in many ways than one. In due course of my writing, I am sure you would be able to see that woman in me.

The city that you live in may have magnificent monuments, historical sites, wonders of the world, too many palatial abodes, dark and stinking street corners, cinema halls, play houses, museums, zoos, railway stations, botanical gardens, memorials, parks, fountains, shanties, skyscrapers and what not. Seeing all these through the eyes of a tourist may help you to remember all of them, perhaps one by one over a period of time since your arrival in the city as a migrant or as a person who grows up in the city. But most of the time we do not remember or reminisce about the sights and sounds of the city where we dwell perhaps due to our own over familiarity with it. We may think more about a distant land that we have left behind when we decided to move. If we do not remember and make our own stories about a city and our relationship with each and every aspect of the city, then one could say for sure that for us that city does not exist even if we do live there. Sometimes I see people living in a city without really thinking much about it. They go to their work places, come back and live a life confined to their own daily lives. They set up families, make homes, buy houses, cars, make babies, send them to school, see them growing up, see them getting married, making babies, and so on until they die. The city, for such people is almost non-existent.

 (Mumbai)

At some point we all are bound to remember the place that we live in. When catastrophes strike, suddenly we remember. We have taken the city for granted. Now the city is in throes and it makes you remember it, think about it and feel for it. Tragedies strike with such vehemence that it makes one and all to remember for their rest of their lives. Writers and all those creative people including film makers, song writers, visual artists and so on, are lucky in that sense because the tragedies make their reminiscing too deep and philosophical. While the rest of the people wail, the writers turn their suppressed tears into ink and write; painters see their blood turning into different colors and they paint. Film makers etch the pangs of the city in their registering mediums. Song writers always capture the pain and wailing of the cities that have undergone tragedies in their rhyming lines so that the succeeding generations could imbibe the pain of the yester years even while jiving and grooving with the tunes of those songs. A city is not city until it is remembered for history is a way of remembering and each remembrance is a history personalized in non-academic fashion. Those people who do not remember and recount their city even when there are no catastrophes to disturb their lives live the lives of the mute creatures that come and go without leaving a trace.

Sometimes, I see people as stories or rather histories. I also see them squandering their stories into the wilderness as there are none to listen or heed to the nuances of those individual narratives. I see people talking over phones or each other either in a very flimsy or in a very grave fashion and in both cases they are not really talking about their city. They talk about their lives caught in the webs of desire and debts. They fritter away the precious moments of youth in casual talks and merry making. They speak about the monuments as the backdrops of their revelries or stolen moments of privacy. May be these are the ways in which they create their city in their own terms. Who knows such frivolity might one day turn into a great narrative of a love saga. Or who knows a person who heaves sighs for his or her losses in life wouldn’t come out one day with a novel or song. Anything could happen. But as far as I know people avoid talking about their city. They stop reminiscing about the world that they live in. The immediate surroundings are taken for granted and nobody notices the changes that the climate or the people facilitate in them. The life goes on, they say. They almost see the city as a backdrop or a huge make believe set which they are willing to accept as something that they need to negotiate on a daily basis. Where do they find time to look at a building being built? Where do they find time to see the skyline of the city has changed? They literally do not notice that something has realigned in the city therefore their lives too have been rearranged. But in the quotidian experiences of very ordinary lives that one makes for oneself helps one to avoid these changes.

 (an urban construction site)

Memories are obliterated deliberately, forcefully and at times almost with a purpose. One does not want to look at the growing city because he/she finds the growth menacing. It is fatal to the ordinariness of one’s own life. The moment one acknowledges the city’s growth both vertically and horizontally he/she has to accept the changes that would automatically facilitate in one’s life. None wants to go through that change. The changes would definitely make them to recount or remember. It is very painful for them. They may casually say that things were different. Why do people refuse to remember? They think remembrance is painful because the bygone days were not good. They were poor then. They did not have the affluence they believe to have now. Or the other way round; they were well off and now they are not doing well in their lives. But that is not always the case. People do not want to remember the city and recreate the city in their minds because they think that it is a futile act. Ironically, contrary to what I said earlier, they are ready to accept all the changes so naturally life fish in the water that they do not find the changes at all. In the place of a two storied building now there stands a skyscraper, the streets that were narrow, dirty and dark are now wider, cleaner and well lit. So what, they ask. That’s how the city grows, they argue. What all have changed with that? They turn their faces away from the question. Or they jog their memories and try to come out with something that makes sense unto them.

It is not necessary that everyone makes sense out of what they say. They speak from the sudden poking or at times they speak like a volcanic eruption; they have been holding so many things about the city back. It would surprise us who are professional day dreamers. I believe that there is a conscious need to make sense of one’s own city. It is not something like joining a cycling club and going to the old historical places which are now almost abandoned even by the tourism department. It is not like becoming historiographer of the city in an academic fashion. It is not even like a know-all of the city. One need not become a living city guide neither unto himself nor for others. One could develop a very special relationship with one’s own city; it could be totally out of the way or out of the mainstream ways of making connections. The orthodox ways of connecting with the city is always by becoming an expert of some area of the city itself or of the city life. I have seen so many people who know everything about the Sufi shrines in a city like Delhi. Somebody is an expert in the eatery trails. Some people are the experts of the flora and fauna of the city. But an ordinary man’s connection with the city may not have such grandeur. His/her may be connected to a very personal memory but it would define the whole city for him/her. When recounted for a wider audience or for the repository of the family saga, these apparently very personal stories become very defining moments in one of the histories of a city.

(Mysore)

I would call it memory making. A writer is a memory maker. A writer makes memory not deliberately but his very existence is in remembering his/her life in a given space and time. And from that given and from the lived experiences of those given moments, he/she travels beyond those moments and creates a city which is more real than the lived one yet more believable and truthful than the actual one. That does not mean that a writer lives in his/her past. He/she lives in the present and looking at the past is not a deliberate thing for a writer. It happens so naturally that he would not be able to discern from the remembered and lived from the living. This does not mar the beauty of the present or it adversely affects the world view that has to be unbiased to certain extent. This is an interesting journey within the inertness. It is a book read from the last chapter to the first chapter and yet enjoy with the same enthusiasm of a normal and conventional reading course. It is like disassembling a song to its elements for the heck of it and then joins it one by one and sees how the song takes shape into one’s mind. It is a way of reconstructing the city the way one wants. For me, it is not necessary that I see the India Gate always there just at the end of the Rajpath. In reality it is there. But in my understanding of the city, it is in the erstwhile periphery of an old city. Its centrality is a later definition which I could disassemble through my understanding of the city as whole. I could make my memories differently and have a different city for myself.

It is true in the case of the city dwellers. A person who lives in the pavement looks at the city differently than the one looking at the city from the fifteenth floor apartment in the posh locality. Prof.Vinay Lal has devoted one chapter about the city of Bombay as seen from the pavement in his book on the Bollywood classic movie ‘Deewar’. There are ant’s eye view and bird’s eye view of the city. The perspectives are developed depending on the location and economics. A security man in a museum looks at the works of art displayed there and understands it in a very different way than an erudite art historian. Whose view on the work of art is right, could be an interesting question. I believe that the meanings derived by the security man will be much sharper and deeper than that of a seasoned art critic who walks into the gallery with his set theories and prejudices about the artist and the works displayed there. One’s relationship with the city is highly determined by his/her narrative about the city and I am interested in such narratives. I like the way people make their memories. There in Santiniketan in West Bengal I see a lot of rural folk come in hoards by tourist buses and reverently stand before the artifacts exhibited in the Rabindra Bhavan Museum. They are not Tagore scholars or not really worthy of being called the ‘bhadralok’ of Bengal who apparently claim to have understood Tagore better than anybody else in the world. I see people in Delhi metro going to the commercial Chattarpur Temple complexes where everyone knows that god is ‘shown’ for a price and go back with a lot of satisfaction. I see people in Delhi visiting Sarojini Nagar Market, Lajpat Nagar Market, Janpath Market, Palika Bazar and places like that only because they want to experience the market. Nobody tells them that the same stuff could be procured from the markets near their homes. People visit malls, eat at McDonalds or Dominos, or they visit water parks and indulge in ‘rides’ only because they want to relate the ways they understand the city. But there is a different way of connecting with the city.

 (India Gate, Delhi)

That different way of connecting the city is called memory making. You go to place and even if it is not so interesting in terms of glitter and glamour, you connect with that part of the city because you have something to do with that place. You might have lived there or you have been to that place and being that place had changed your life. When that actually happened you were perhaps alone. You and that part of the city had entered into a secret bonding. It is not necessary that you revisit the place again and again. But at times, you make a travel back to that place mentally. It is like a very pivotal piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Once you remember it, the rest of the city fall in place; the whole city makes sense suddenly. That’s sort of memory making and recounting it for the posterity is all about sharing your views about the city which may not be the kind of history that you have learnt about the city so far. I am about to start my journey through different cities and let me tell you that my primary concern is the city of Delhi which I had chosen as my city of living two decades ago. As I said at the outset, everyone has a story to tell. I am not different. But my story is different because my connection with the city is purely on an imaginary plane, which is an altered version and vision of the city. If none finds it interesting, at least at some stage in their lives, my children would see this writing and they would definitely appreciate it for it is a part of their memory making too.

From Rohith Vemula to Chintan Upadhyay and Back: Lack of Steam in Indian Art or Artists?

(Chintan Upadhyay)

How big the contemporary artists are in today’s India? From within the limited constituency of fine arts the cultural influence that the artists could exert in this society seems to be very nominal if not negligible. The naked disavowal of the contemporary artists came in the wake of the terrorist attack in Mumbai on 26^th November 2008, which later on named ‘26/11’ after the infamous ‘9/11’ in the US. The enthusiastic and new hounding media personalities scrambled through the city of Mumbai and sought the response of people from various cross sections of the citizenry, clearly avoiding the voice of the artists who resided in the same city. While the Bollywood actors vocalized their angst, the visual artists were largely neglected. In 2008 November, the global meltdown was only two months old and in Indian art market the effects of it were yet to reflect. Till the day before 15^th September 2008, the day Lehman Brothers applied for bankruptcy status, Indian contemporary artists were page three regulars and they were coloring the city in all the possible ways. Some artists had even claimed, I remember, saying that the boom in the market was facilitated by the hard work of the Indian artists.

One could pardon him instantly for the sheer lack of the understanding of economics and the underlying games that set the market balls rolling. Though not from the fine arts, it was the creative people who mobilized large scale opinion formation in our country since the Indian independence. They were successful in adequately raising barriers against the bulldozers of ideological, political and religious arrogance at various stages in India’s post-Independence history. 6^th December 1992 was one such point when the creative people upped their aesthetical and pacifistic resistance. They were successful to certain extent when the horrendous riots happened in Gujarat in 2002. Once the witch hunting started against the secularists and the rationalists in our country ever since the right wing BJP came into power at the center under the leadership of Mr.Narendra Modi, the writers, scientists, dancers, historians, theoreticians and so on came en bloc against the brutal acts of intolerance by the fringe forces of the right wing party covertly and overtly supported by the core ideologues of the Hindutva. Somehow the artists were missing from the action.

 (Martyr for a Better world- Rohith Vemula condoled by friends)

Was it because the artists do not really cut such large figures in our society or is it because our artists, at least some of them who are having larger than life image in society, are apathetic towards or afraid of the fascist forces? Narendra Dhabolkar was not really known to everyone in India. Govind Pansare was also not a huge figure like M.F.Husain or FN.Souza. M.M.Kalburgi was known only to those people in the rationalist circuit. K.S.Bhagawan became a national figure when he received death threats from the right wing hooligans. But their deaths could have been lost in the wilderness had it not been their work and influence that they had exercised in their own circuits. Akhlaq at Dadri who allegedly had cow meat in his fridge was not a national figure of any sort but he came to represent the helplessness of so many ordinary Indian citizens irrespective of their religion, in exercising their fundamental rights. The Dalit children who were burnt alive (whose death was ticked off as the death of stray dogs by none other than the former Chief of Indian Army and a junior minister in the present central government, Mr.V.K.Singh) became emblematic of our struggle of equal rights and justice. But our artists have completely failed to live up to the times. I have not seen the contemporary artists making bold public statements against such atrocities.

It does not mean that these artists do not have an opinion. Somehow they are afraid of telling it as it is. Definitely many of them must be expressing their angst through their works of art. But like many of the female artists in India who do ‘feminist’ sort of bold works and at once deny their affinity towards ‘feminism’ (which they detest like a bad word) , most of the Indian artists, though do works that stand against the right wing fundamentalism avoid speaking about it in public. I believe, if people are not heeding to the words of the contemporary artists on social issues mainly because they do not find anything connecting between their works and themselves. Does that show that our artists live in fools’ paradises, totally avoiding people’s concerns and living in ivory towers? The artists need to think about it. If the journalists are not asking questions to the contemporary artists regarding the social issues, then it must not be taken as their lack of awareness about the concerns of Indian contemporary art or artists, on the contrary it should be understood as their awareness that these artists are the makers of ‘beauty’ not always ‘truth’.

 (Martyr of Beef- Akhlaq of Dadri)

One may object citing the fact that artists like Anish Kapoor and Salman Rushdie have come out strongly against the right wing and fascist leanings of the Government of India. One may say that they are living in foreign countries and are safe enough to express their opinions. But it is not so. Anish Kapoor for vocalizing his views on the Indian government has in fact lost a chance to be one of the cultural advisors of the Rajasthan government. Salman Rushdie is definitely not a favorite of government of India for more than one reason. Interestingly, just before the recently concluded Bihar assembly elections, when asked about the political affiliations and the state of the Indian polity, the most recognized artist, Subodh Gupta, in his typical way said that the elections would bring a great change. Yes, the victory of the Grand Alliance in Bihar against the BJP could be seen as the ‘thing’ in Gupta’s mind. But in a different scenario with BJP coming to power in the state, he could have got away with the same statement and remained in the good book of the BJP also.

 (Anish Kapoor)

This ambivalence is the real problem with most of the artist and artist communities in India. The gallerists suddenly moving towards supporting the traditional and tribal art is an indication of how they would like to play the game safely. Also there is a sudden lull amongst the performance art activists. These artists who have been doing bold presentations, social interventions, nude performances and so on under the benevolent regime of the former UPA government, suddenly seem to have gone hiding. I can see a lot of artists incorporating the images of Indian gods and goddesses in their works. Also one could see a strong sense of decoration and voluptuousness creeping into the works of art of the present day. There are works of art by the conceptual artists but they often discuss generic themes like women’s liberation, social equality, spaces, urban locations, migration and so on. I do not say that these issues are less pertinent. But they look a bit misplaced given the political and social climate of our country today. And I have all the reasons to think that there is a strange amount of self-restraint from the artists themselves. While I consider that these are survival tactics that the contemporary artists adopt, therefore should be left alone, there are many of them in the name of economic success and compromised survival, getting headlong into the projects that obviously help perpetuating the right wing ideologies. When I come to know some of the people who organize the biggest art events in this country and vouch for political art go around seeking money and are ready to facilitate the government projects provided enough money is sanctioned.

(Late Hema Upadhyay)

At times artists look like betrayers. When in India, the writers were giving up their awards, the artists were simply keeping quite. There are several artists organizations in our country and SAHMAT is one of the leading organizations in Delhi. But the SAHMAT platform too has become an annual pilgrimage center for the self-proclaimed revolutions and contractors of social changes who do not like people with different opinions joining forces with them, thereby reducing it into a coterie of back patters and mutual sycophants. The artists part in SAHMAT have become a prop in the hands of the organizers and the organization has fallen into the hands of the so called ‘radical artists’. In the safe zone of the annual function, the visual artists actually do the works (revoltingly on flex prints) which do not impact anybody at all. While the writers, historians, scientists, film makers, actors, theatre personalities and so on openly and brazenly come out against the right wing fundamentalism, our artists are still scrambling around to find a safer turf to play the game safe.

 (From Living Museum initiated by Chintan Upadhyay in Partapur, Rajasthan in 2008-09)

People today do not heed to the words of the contemporary artists. Despite the efforts of the journalists who try to popularize the works of the contemporary artists, they remain obscure in the minds of the people because the artist shave failed to touch the human chords with their sensitive works. I do not say that such works are not produced; but they are not seen or discussed. Rather the artists who produce them do not come out in the open and talk. I wish them to talk and take the risk. The recent example that has been haunting me for quite some time is the plight of my friend Chintan Upadhyay. He has been a very vocal artist who somehow has fallen into the bad times today. He has provoked so many people not only through his works but also through his words. If you ask me, I would say his biggest contribution is there in the village of Partapur in Rajasthan where he had initiated the Sandarbh Nature workshop which has now international presence. In Partapur in an old building he started a ‘living museum’ where the museum display comprised of the daily utensils of people which they displayed when not in use and took away when they were needed to be used in farms and other work sites. But Chintan is today in judicial custody for the alleged involvement in his wife’s death. Friends have been campaigning for his release but the campaign has not found a national momentum.

 (From Kalakakshi protest in Kerala- artists drawing portraits of patients in hospitals)

Why, the Justice for Hema and Chintan campaign has still not gained the momentum nationally even like the Kalakakshi, an artist non-profit group that moved against the Kerala State Police, which gained popular support from all over India via social media. The support group that works towards gaining justice for Chintan and Hema somehow could not reap massive support for Chintan should think about why their movement is not yet a large scale national cultural movement or at least a movement that involves a majority of the artist community. In my view it comes from two fundamental reasons; first of all, it is a legal issue now and under the purview of the Indian judiciary, and many would not like to comment openly on it mainly because of the sensitivity of the case not only as a legal matter but also as a case that involves the murder of two people. Secondly, the matter of a contemporary artist’s plight has become confined within the limited constituency of the artists as most of the general public sees the case as a matter of crime and the ensuing punishment. Chintan’s contribution as an artist does not come in between his present plight and the culturally inclined people in this country. Is it because that the work of art done by Chintan or in that case by any artist eventually does not touch the lives of people that they become almost nullified in their social existence?

 (In front of People's Living Museum initiated by Chintan Upadhyay- from left JohnyML, Somu Desai and Lochan Upadhyay)

I have been mulling it over for the last couple of days as the news of Rohith Vemula’s death has hit the national news and has become a focal point for the rallying of dissenting voices against the central government and the right wing fundamentalism. Though there cannot be any comparison between Chintan or Hema and Rohith Vemula, a forcible comparison would deduce the fact that Rohith’s death has touched the conscience of our nation because he killed himself for raising a public issue, a very sensitive issue that touches upon the hearts and lives of a majority of the people in this country; social and caste oppression on Dalits. But Chintan’s incarceration or Hema’s death has not touched the people like the way Rohith’s death has. Hema’s death had shaken up the country exactly the way any double murder involving some celebrities would have done. But then right in front of our eyes we saw how the issue is being pushed to the inner pages of the newspapers and to the personal pages of some friends. Comparing Rohith’s contribution to the social cause when he was alive with those of Chintan and Hema, his must be negligible as this artists-duo together and separately had invoked national and international social issues in their works. But Rohith’s death became a people’s issue whereas Chintan’s incarceration or Hema’s death has not become a people’s issue. Where exactly we, as contemporary artists failed? Have we failed completely in touching the hearts of the people despite our intelligent dealing with the social issues? It is high time to think about it. Even if we have raised pivotal issues, why people could not understand it? Is it because our efforts to evoke a response in the social sphere through aesthetic means were aborted in the galleries? If that is an eventuality which cannot be scuttled, wouldn’t there be a need to speak up using our tongues? Why we shirk and shy away when the pivotal issues haunt us? None in the art community has spoken up against Rohith’s death even after Mr.Ashok Vajpayee has given his D.Litt back to the Hyderabad Central University which had ousted Rohith. Where have we gone wrong? It is imperative that someone has to hang until none comes forward. But if none comes forward, then our art is going to be spineless and tongue-less. 

Rohith Vemula’s Suicide: No Longer He a Game Changer in the Dalit Struggle

(late Rohith Vemula)

We need a death to value life. We need a suicide to demand equal rights and justice. Today, the others’ death is an occasion for the living to show outrage. Somewhere I read, amidst the growing angst against the authorities of the Hyderabad Central University and one of the central ministers all over the country, seeking justice for the Dalit research student, Rohith Vemula who committed suicide as a protest against discrimination, some artist presenting a work of art about ‘death and the effects of it that leaves on the living’. I could not help thinking about the famous title of Damien Hirst, ‘the Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living’. The more we think about it the more we get into the zone of absurdity. Death, as we all know puts an end to one’s life, leaving the rest to cope with it; and sooner than later one comes to know that none is indispensible. Rohith Vemula will be forgotten sooner than later though the cause for which he sacrificed his life perhaps would continue unabated.

With due respect to the deceased, I feel like telling the world that it was not needed. He could have lived on, fought against the discriminations that he and his ilk face on a daily basis. The moment he took the decision to commit suicide, I am sure he had forgotten his idol, Dr.B.R.Ambedkar. The architect of our Indian Constitution could have committed suicide several times for it was he and the millions of his Dalit brothers and sisters who had suffered at the hands of the caste system in India much severely than what Rohith had faced. Each Dalit leader in this country could have chosen the path of self-annihilation instead of fighting it out violently and non-violently alike. The history of the Indian Dalit movements could have been different had it been so. Rohith failed to understand the larger picture. But yes, he must have been led to such a dead end where he found it difficult to turn back and fight. He chose to hang himself.

 (when Rohith was thrown out of hostel)

Who in this world has not contemplated once the act of suicide? Everyone living on this earth today, for right or wrong reasons, has thought about it; either as a solution or as an escape. People say that committing suicide is an act of cowardice. But it could be an act of bravery also. So many Buddhist monks in Tibet and elsewhere choose to burn themselves against the political authoritarianism of the other countries or even to show protest against the mid path of their own socio-political and religious leaders. Their society has accepted this way of protest, though painstakingly over a period of time. But it was not the same case in India. However, thanks to existential literature and the overt romanticism around the existential creative creature many have chosen the path of suicide and almost all of them have gained the status of eternally young bards. Suicide then was a choice but not a protest. With the thickening of the politically oppressed climate around us has facilitated suicide as one of the options to show protest; Perumal Murugan killed the writer in him when his ‘Madorubhagan’ was banned and his life was under threat as a writer. He made the writer in him to commit suicide.

I ask myself again and again whether this Rohith’s act is justified or not. I am nobody to pass a judgment over his decision. I cannot feel what he had felt as an oppressed Dalit student. But if he was a leader with the guts to stand up against the oppressors, he could never have thought about committing suicide. He was obviously not a guerrilla warrior like the Tamil Tigers who used to carry cyanide tablets around their necks. Rohith failed many and perhaps made many others bold to speak up. He forgot the fact that protests these days have become a vocation for many. Anybody who has faint acquaintance with the deceased one would come out as a living martyr and claim the space that the dead one left without shedding much tears or sweat. This is a vulgar scenario created by the social media. Everybody tries to step into the shoes of the dead without once asking whether the death of this young boy did create a new avenue to fight? Like the films change every week end, the causes for social protests also change these days. Depending on the trending in twitter and in the news channels, deaths of the oppressed also have become the changing locations of protests.

 (Rohith's mother)

I am not against Rohith or the people who support his cause. Nor do I support the University authorities or the minster who is allegedly the culprit. But I am definitely not with the people who go all over the city thumping their chests in the name of Rohith Vemula. Is his death going to cause a series of deaths? Or is it going to create a social stir that would last till a solution is found to the problem for which he had submitted his life? Or is it going to be the fad of the week and would be pushed into oblivion? Rohith’s death is a loss for his parents and immediate family members. It is a loss for his friends. It is a loss for the cause that he was fighting for. But his death is not going to change the game for the players are not going to stick to the same game for long. They will find new games to protest; they will find new petitions to sign. Like a political party that cannot strive only on anti-corruption plank, protests cannot survive on only one issue. So it is obvious that as days would pass by, Rohith will be forgotten. But we should not let that happen. However the question remains, are these protestors going to remember him for long? Or are they going dip their angst in coffee, drinks, facebook and other distractions with a revolutionary edge?  

Death of a Hermit- Jeram Patel (1930-2016)

(Young Jeram Patel, pic by Jyoti Bhatt)

I was a jealous lover; and still I am. Jeram Patel was not. He had learnt the method of letting everything go without pining for the lost. When I stood at the Sakshi Gallery, Mumbai holding the hand of my beloved and looking at the photographs of the veteran artist, Jyoti Bhatt displayed there, I came across this handsome young man’s black and white photograph; intense and brooding eyes, thick mop that fell on his forehead and the ‘don’t care’ attitude  of the man attracted me. I was about to fall in love with the image and the time of that photograph was taken. Being a radical existentialist looked so attractive in 1950s. I thought my woman also felt the same and I was so jealous of that man in the picture. The caption read, ‘Jeram Patel’. I just could not believe it. The ‘Jeram Patel’ whom I knew was different. If Jiddu Krishnamurty was given an artistic garb, he would have looked like Jeram Patel. May be I was wrong then in the gallery because Jiddu too was so dashing that none could escape his charisma. I did not know whether Jeram Patel exuded the same charisma as was seen in the photograph taken by his friend, Jyoti Bhatt in those days. A terror for many of his contemporaries and students, Jeram Patel seemingly lived a recluse’ life and died like a hermit.

 (Jeram Patel)

When the news came as a whatsapp message (these days the news of a death travels faster than the news of a birth via whatsapp), I should admit, I did not feel bad. Here was a man who had lived his life fully and also the way he wanted and had done the works of art despite the kind of criticism and scorn that they had hoarded, and passed away at the age of eighty six. There was nothing to complain for anybody. In his long life, like his senior and junior contemporaries namely Jyoti Bhatt, Nagji Patel, Haku Shah and so on, Jeram Patel too did not get the opportunity to be a celebrated master the way the Bombay Progressives were celebrated. Though he was one of the initiators of an art group called ‘1890’, Jeram Patel did not become a master artist or a genius modernist. But like the above mentioned artists, Jeram Patel also held on and believed in what he did. There were many attempts during the boom years to bring the works of Patel into the mainstream market. But the market was not prepared to take the brooding sort of dark patches that he consistently made. Most of the art world people wondered what was there in those paintings other than the black patches that the artist did at his will.

 (A work by Jeram Patel)

Looking back, Jeram Patel was not an artist who just did the black swirling patches on paper or canvases. He was more than that. There was a figurative phase in Patel’s career and also a transition of them into the black splashes that most of the art people still do not know. Patel did a lot of experiments with his works. Even in the black series, he had used the blues and greys to add an element of surprise. He was an accomplished relief sculptor who used blow torch as a technique to develop abstract forms and textures on the wooden surfaces. Towards the end of his life, facilitated by an industrialist in Baroda, Jeram Patel did a series of steel cut works, heavy and massive. As usual, our mainstream art historians and critics were blind enough to overlook them while ululating on the works of Jeff Koons and Anish Kapoor. It is not complaint for the simple reason that I could have done if none had attempted it in the same lines. But I had really did an attempt to bring out this contemporary element in Jeram Patel’s works in a different medium; a video documentary on him. That’s a different story which I would recount a little later.

 (JohnyML talking about the documentary he has directed on Jeram Patel)

Certain accidents or striking jackpot bring those forgotten people back into the attention ken of the public. Jeram Patel, whether he wanted it or not had hit the news for hitting the jackpot quite unexpectedly when Kiran Nadar, the director of the Kiran Nadar Museum in Delhi bought a bulk buying of most of Patel’s works for a whopping sum of six crore rupees. May be buying an artist’s oeuvre of a life time for that amount perhaps would raise certain questions about the value of an artist’s life and works. Does it cost only six crores? That’s a different issue. Perhaps, Patel himself was trying to lighten himself up by offloading all his works for that amount. A person who has already shown the symptoms of detachment for more than a couple of decades, might not have thought much about the money that he would get from such a dealing. Most of the artists of his age, I want to believe, show such detachment and they really do not care what the gallerists or dealers are going to do with their works. Jeram Patel underlined his detachment for the worldly riches by giving away one crore rupees to his man servant of forty years as a gesture of love and gratitude. Interestingly, this servant had hit the news more than Patel himself when this bequeathing of wealth took place last year.

 (Jyoti Bhatt releasing the dvd of the documentary, Asit Shah, Jeram Patel and JohnyML)

I am sure Patel knew what was coming. He knew it always. He had withdrawn from active social life for a long time. Even when he was a faculty member in the Fine Arts Faculty of Baroda, Jeram Patel was indifferent to so many things including the artistic pomp. When I interviewed him extensively in 2008-09, he told me that he used to spend his days in the college and night in the cinema theatre. He would see the same film again and again till he got detached with the film’s narrative or a new film hit the screen in the next week. He did not divulge much about his family life to me. Nor did I want to press on with my questions regarding that department. I was only told later by a common friend that his son was taking interest in the commercial dealings of his works, which Patel himself did not perhaps want to happen. The bickering of family is not really the concern of an art historian unless he is trying to find some Freudian or Lacanian connections of the family life with his works. Here my interest is not and was not really the same during the time of interview. When he grew tired of going to the film theatres, he was blessed by the advent of television. Patel confined himself in his drawing room, painting on paper. When the Ahmedabad based artist, Hindol Brahmbhatt visited him on request, they together did the sculptural reliefs using blow torch for Hindol was his trusted assistant in using the blow torch on wood. Hindol pays his tribute to the master by making his works on wooden planks with images burnt by blow torch.

 (Inaugural screening of my documentary on Jeram Patel in progress in Baroda)

Now it is time to talk about my association, though brief but simply interesting, with the departed artist. Thanks to certain friends, the frequency of my visits to Baroda was gradually increasing and in due course of time I came across some people who collected Patel’s works and also facilitated him in doing a massive project with steel. There was a very definite commercial angle to it for the people who invested in Patel and supported him in doing those works. They wanted me to write a book on him and also ‘direct’ a documentary on Jeram Patel. Book was rather an easier proposition but documentary was not. I am blessed with an attitude to make the adversities into opportunities. When I submitted my budget to the industrialist friend, it was thrown unceremoniously into the dust bin and he offered me a flat Rs.15000/- (fifteen thousand). I was supposed to make a documentary on Jeram Patel with that amount! I could have left it there but I had my interests in maintaining the friendship with that industrialist friend so I readily agreed to do it. I was travelling mad in those days and one day I landed up for shooting Patel in Baroda. My friend had assured a cameraman, sound recording equipments, lighting and trollies. I had already done my basic research and interviews with Jeram Patel.

(artist Rekha Rodwittiya speaking on the occasion)

On the day I reached, to my shock I found that the cameraman who came for the shoot was absolutely a novice with no experience in shooting anything related to art. But as an accomplished marriage videographer he had the enthusiasm to follow my cue. The display of the new body of the steel works was done in the factory space of my friend which resembled an actual cinema studio. Jeram Patel came and was wheel chair bound. I started taking shots. I wanted a three sixty degree shot. But no trolley was arranged. Upon seeing an office chair with wheels, I made the cameraman sit on it and I pushed him around Jeram Patel and we got a perfect trolley shot. I got the film edited by Sarat in Delhi for some paltry amount and the film was formally released in Baroda, a function which was attended by all the who is who of Baroda. Perhaps, it is the one work in my life that had amassed severe criticism for me and most of the senior artists told me that I should have taken much care about voice recording and the actual voice over narration. I took the criticism with all humility because I did not want to tell the budge (Rs.15000/-) of the film was abysmal. People were floating in the pool of money in those boom years but when it came to the work of an art critic (even if he doubled himself up as a documentary maker) the sources of dried up like the river Saraswati without leaving a trace of it. Jeram Patel held my hand after watching the movie. His eyes smiled, perhaps to console me and save me from the shroud of embarrassment.

(in his Delhi visit- Jeram Patel seen with Murty Ahuha, Vidyasagar Upadhyay, Mrs.Dhoomimal, Sudhakar Sharma, S.Kalidas)

When I write this obituary, I remember Jeram Patel as a person with whom I did not have much to do as an art critic. I had visited his show in the Palette Art Gallery in New Delhi. One gallery where people go to the terrace first to drink and socialize than to see art, Jeram Patel’s works stood in clear detachment exactly the way he would have stood had he been visiting the opening. His black patches did not make any meaning for many. May be Patel never intended to make any meaning. Art making itself was a meaning for him. He had his share of search and I think at some point he even stopped searching. When one realizes that there is nothing to find out, then what is the point in searching? Patel’s eyes always showed that sense of detachment. But I don’t know why he remembered all of a sudden? By the end of 2014, I got a call from Baroda and it was Patel’s namesake, Jayaram Poduval, the art history professor in the fine arts faculty. He wanted me to write a piece on Jeram Patel for the forthcoming Vad Fest 2015. I asked him who suggested my name; he said, Jeram Patel himself. I did not know he remembered that much. May be he remembered me for making a documentary which really did not work as a documentary. When I think about him, I remember the smile in his eyes, sparked for a moment on that evening of the documentary screening. Did it say, it’s alright, this too shall pass?

PS: The sad thing is that I do not have a copy of this documentary with me. Hope someone in Baroda would upload it in youtube.  

Art and the Art of Walking

(Subodh Gupta's work at the NGMA, New Delhi, at night)

A city is many cities. Depending on where you stand your view of the city is changed. Barbizon School painters and the Impressionists painted rural areas in different hues based on the changing effects of sunlight on things. But cities are the dreams of the Impressionists. It is not just about the light and its various shades. It is not just about the people, streets and the architectures. It is about many things including locations and economics. Even the vehicles that you choose to travel could bring in a new city within the city that you dwell in. A poor man’s view of the city is different from that of a rich man. A person who lives on a high rise would see the city differently unlike the one sees it from a hamlet in a shanty town. City is different for a late night reveler and a pavement dweller. The lonely man or lonely woman in cold city street in the dead of night experiences a totally different city. A walker’s city is different than that of a person in a vehicle.

A walker, not really the flaneur, sees the city differently provided he or she keeps the head high. Some people walk with their head hanging. Those proud people who scan the city with their eyes see so many things that most of us miss out. A walker maintains a different relationship with his city. A regular walker even knows the count of steps that he uses to cover a particular distance. He grows friendly with the street dogs, hawkers, trees and birds. He gets a smile and a few goods words from a bored security man at a rich man’s gate. Perhaps, only a walker experiences the city. In a city like Delhi, a cyclist cannot really focus on the scenes around him.  A biker, for the fear of his life veers through the traffic until he reaches home safe. A man or woman at the wheel distracts himself either with music, idle chat or the FM radio ramblings. The people in the buses are saving their pockets, bodies and souls from others’ incursions. People in the metro are focused keenly on their smart phones. A walker sees everything.

As a walker, you get people asking you for directions. You will be really happy to show them the right direction. Suddenly from nowhere, another walker appears who might have seen you in social media and introduces himself to you. It is good to know a stranger reads all what you write and all what you paint. When you walk you can hum a tune, you can talk to yourself and laugh at the people who are in the vehicles hurrying to some destination. While walking you cannot be really show off your self-importance. You are one of those few people who walk. And you are often seen as either lacking in money to hire an auto or who cannot afford a car or taxi. But you don’t know that a walker, like God sees everything.

Today, while walking in the India Gate circle, I saw this beautiful sight (which is in the picture). It is a steel banyan tree inside the premises of the National Gallery of Modern Art. It is a work of art by Subodh Gupta permanently displayed in the NGMA. I do not know whether anybody notices it while speeding around the India Gate. It is like a full moon on a very dark night. It is lit up from all the sides. It suddenly appears before me not as a work of art that is encountered by an art critic; but as a thing of beauty before an ordinary human being. I have seen this work in different contexts and in a different day light. But today it looked heavenly. I have seen, while walking in Connaught Place, the glimpses of the India’s national flag (the proud tricolor), a huge one fluttering in the night sky, all lit up in LED lights from down. I take it in me not as a patriot but as a thing of beauty and immensity. I don’t feel any nationalist sentiments while looking at the flag paying with the night breeze. I have seen huge and thought provoking public art murals behind the rows of cars and the Pollockian stains of public urinating. One has to walk to see all these. And I wish more and more works of art come in the public space, in the open, lit up in heavenly lights so that people could see and wonder at the beauty of their city. Let’s walk. 

Should Salman Khan’s Enigmatic Nature be a Problem to Us?

(Latest book on Salman 'Being Salman' by Jasim Khan)

The most famous celebrities are the most lonely people on this earth. The more they are talked about, the more they are seen around via various mediums, the more their private and public relationships are made into gossips, the more the people enjoy the secret lives and the popular lives of the celebrity stars and star celebrities, the more they remain enigmatic. There is always something about their lives that escapes our scrutiny or grip. Paparazzis wait at the airports and party venues to get a glimpse of the celebrity stars so that they could quench the anxiety of so many fans waiting out there in the nebulous world for the glimpses of their personalities. It has always been like that; from simple ‘star’ gazing to the frantic calls for the star’s attention, the desire of the fans for the attention of the stars varies from devotion to pure madness. The star gazing that amounts voyeurism has now migrated to the virtual space where eyeballs gather maximum where sex, food, fashion, money and stars are given a flash. A sign of any degenerating society, India too shares it with many other world societies/countries. However, stars remain elusive and nobody knows why they seek to know more about these elusive stars.

 (Bodyguard with bodyguard, Salman accompanied by his personal body guard Shera)

Salman Khan is an elusive star; or so says the author Jasim Khan in the latest book on Salman Khan, titled ‘Being Salman’. One need not think twice to know from where the allusion for the title comes. It comes from the now famous global brand, ‘Being Human’ by the star himself. According to the author, Salman Khan is the most enigmatic Khan amongst the three Khans, namely Shah Rukh Khan, Aamir Khan and Salman Khan, who rule the Bollywood film industry and the entertainment industry in general in our country. Published by Penguin Viking, this book is said to be the outcome of three year research conducted by the author who is a journalist with the ABP Television channel. Perhaps, this book does not claim the status of an official biography for Salman Khan, despite several attempts did not speak to the author during the researching and writing of this book. That should be one reason why the author says that this question of elusiveness or enigma is in every body’s mind about the star. May be true or may not be because I am not a hardcore fan of any kind of stars in the world and I never lose my sleep over thinking somebody’s enigma. If at all I have thought about the enigmatic nature of someone, it is that of a girlfriend who in fact walked up to me when I was in some other land, smiled at me, held my hands, listened to me with rapt attention and walked out into the rain. It took some time for me to realize that it was a dream. But I am still curious about that person who apparently exist somewhere in the world.

 (Shah Rukh Khan in his early film Darr..filling the cultural void)

Star value is not always based on the kind of aesthetic finesse that the actors show in the field of their work; it is based on several other things. To me, star power is based on the vacuum in time, which I would perhaps qualify as temporal cultural vacuum. It is to this vacuum many aspiring actors come and those who fit the bill with all the qualities capable of filling the void become the stars. There can’t be too many; but there are some. The society as whole desires some cultural need, some kind of a narrative structure, or a vehicle that is often manifested as a human body, dynamic, persuasive and seductive, to fulfill it’s some inexplicable needs. These needs are like the disembodied itch which only a certain sensation can quell, not really by a physical intervention. Stars are such people they give this pleasure of ending an itch and beginning another one in a disembodied fashion. Born in that act of mediation, the stars leave that one part which remains still unfulfilled and the public’s desire to know more about them comes from this unfulfilled part. It is not the curiosity of knowing closer but it the curiosity of put an itch into rest, which these stars have generated in them. Being normal people but very cautioned about public incursions into their private domains, the stars in due course time become bit guarded about their lives and remain elusive. I do not think that there is some enigma in it.

 (Govinda and Salman in David Dhawan's Partner. Children's favorite)

Salman Khan is tipped to be the rudest and most benevolent amongst the Khans. His reticence to speak to the public media or his ability to confuse it with wise cracks add to his enigmatic personality, says the author. And his star value is equally enhanced by the controversies that find him in regular intervals, the abundance of girl friends around him, the falling in and falling out with starlets who would later on become super heroines, the court cases, alleged homicide of pavement dweller as a result of his rash driving of which he was absolved recently, his spat with the other Khans, his charity works, his painting, his bad boy image etc. These things may be very natural to him and the kind of monetary power that he has amassed over the years also might have made him to believe in his own invincibility. The author seems to be a bit overawed by this enigmatic personality. But I would say, that this enigma is a carefully cultivated strategy to be always there in the market for the class and the crowd that endorse his works mostly are constituted by semi-rowdy, happy go lucky, care free people who belong the lower income groups or the groups that recently started earning for their own living and single with a girl friend or boyfriend. A lot of children like the nonsensical comedy and low level repartee which Salman Khan belts out in equally nonsensical fashion and they insist their parents to take them to the movie hall.

 (Rajnikant)

There is a comparison in the book between Salman Khan and Rajnikant, which I find a bit stretched. While Rajnikant shows the possibility of making it real (except for his anti-gravity fights) despite the nonsensical comedy and punch dialogues, Salman’s movies do not work out the character having a possibility of becoming real. The impeccable personal track record of Rajnikant cannot be compared with a controversy ridden life of Salman Khan. But what makes Salman click is that there is no archetype for his acting style; in fact Salman does not know how to act. What he knows is to follow the cue of the director, stunt choreographer and the choreographer and improvise upon it in his typical nonsensical way, that too within the limited possibilities of his allegedly well-built body. Salman’s inability to act or emote, makes a novice in everything what he does that imparts some kind of innocence to his ‘acting’ which is very unique and appealing. Each actor has an archetype in Bollywood; Shah Rukh Khan has Dilip Kumar, Amitabh Bacchan’s dance had Bagwan Dada’s steps, Aamir Khan got a bit of Sanjeev Kumar in him, Akshay Kumar is a refined and macho version of Raj Kumar, needless to say that the Deol family has got all what Dharmendra has. Salman does not have anything to showcase in his body including that of his father, Salim Khan’s short lived acting career.

 (Poster of Maine Pyar Kiya, Salman's debut film in lead role)

In Maine Pyar Kiya (1989), Salman followed the director. In ‘Hum Aap Ke hai Kaun’ (1994) too he agreed to ‘act’. In other films that followed especially in the new millennium, we see a Salman Khan who is actually defying all logic of acting. He just does not act. He is just awkward when he faces the camera. But the assumed macho image is something that gives him confidence. Nowhere in Salman’s career we see he is praised for his acting talent except when he received the best supporting actor award for Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1999). People will never say about him what Barry John had talked about Shah Rukh Khan: if one asks for one emoting response for a context, Shah Rukh will give hundred different responses sending the one who asked for it in confusion. But no acting talent helps Salman to be in the business because the people who watch him do not know acting in their own lives either; they are simpletons who seek justice or children who will laugh when Salman plays the role of a love Guru or throws his punch dialogue in Dabaang.

 (Akshay Kumar in Rowdy Rathore)

There is a problem with this book. The author largely invests his energies in establishing the ‘Khan’ khandan (family/lineage/gene/hereditary etc) in Salman’s blood. The first quarter of the book is actually a justification for why Salman is like this because he has got a warrior’s blood in him, that too comes from the Afghan Pathans. Throughout the book, I was thinking of this folly of writing about stars as descendants of some famous king or tribe which actually gives them this ability to be ‘there’, which Akshay Kumar had to break his throat and sing in one of his films that ‘Na hum Amitabh, na Dilip Kumar, na kisi hero ke bacche, mein seedhe saadhe Akshay akshay’ ( I am not Amitabh Bacchan, I am not Dilip Kumar, I am not even the son of some hero, I am just a normal Akshay Kumar). Of course there should be a justification in any book that has a semblance of biography with the lineage of the person in question. But somehow, in the attempt to establish the enigmatic nature and also the boorishness of Salman, the author has to invest a lot of energy in bringing the story of almost five generations of Khan. I was at pains to come to terms with the story of Shah Rukh Khan recently when he was attacked by the right wing fundamentalists for his free opinion, there was a spate of postings in twitter and social media citing his father’s contributions to the Indian army, therefore in the Indian nation state. Does one need such a justification for the King of Indian entertainment?

(Salman as a Television program anchor)

In of the television interviews Salman Khan says: “I still dream a better car, a better house, an aeroplane. I want to come out of these torn jeans and Being Human T-Shirt. Right now, I am doing everything that is not being human. I have become a contradictory personality. I like to go out and party. I like a good life style. But I have another side of not being able to afford all these things.” (quoted from the book . page 183). The context is that he has to make a lot of money to do his charity work. That’s good so long as a lot of people get benefitted (though it is not an issue to be taken lightly in black and white but I am leaving it for the time being). But looking at this statement, I clearly believe that Salman Khan’s enigma, at the age of fifty (he turned 50 on 27^th December 2015) is his inability to be resolved. He still needs a better car (you may ask why not, but why is the counter question, why should at all?). Charity is voluntary; it is not imposed upon him. He can reduce the amount of charity and be less focused on money. He says he is a contradictory of personality (we are about to believe it) but he says he wants to party but he cannot afford it. He sounds almost like an Indian artist who once said on record that he was a ‘communist capitalist’.

 (Salman Khan as the brand ambassador of his own brand)

Should anti-social behavior be called enigma? Once he was absolved of the drunken drive case, suddenly we saw a lot of ‘bhai activities’ in the media. Bhai here means ‘Salman Khan’. He is suddenly a pro-human being and sensible human being. I agree with the fact that Salman also has the right to reform himself even if he is not expected to spoil his career by improving his acting skills, and become a good human being (which he must be), my doubt is why the poor people should pay the price for him being ‘human and enigmatic’. If Salman ever reads this essay, I would like him to know that the day he came out victorious in the homicide case, I decided to stop watching his movies because his films no longer gives me a ‘kick’ or entertainment because behind it, I see only blood of the innocent. 

Try These New Year Resolutions: Exclusively for Artists and other Art Players (2016)

Let me start with a cliché: New Year resolutions are broken sooner than later. It is exactly like the proverbial drunkard’s promise unto himself that today is the last day. “Tomorrow onwards I am going to be a different person. I will have a healthy life. I will eat moderately. I will sleep early and wake up early. I will keep a lot of positive attitude towards like. I will not get angry. I will not beat my wife (husband). I will hit gym. I will spend more time with my family. I will spend less time in social media. I will make real friends. I will …I will.. I will..” Remove the word ‘drunkard’ from the initial statement and keep our own image there, things will fall in place.  We never come to know how 365 days run with us, taking us along, and at times overtaking us. I would like to talk about the possible resolutions and workable decisions that one could think about on this New Year eve. 

In fact who said drinking liquor or smoking tobacco is a bad habit? We know that the companies that make these products exhort us to be the consumers (of these). But the governments tell us not to consume at all. There are rules and regulations for the selling and buying of these products and rules and regulations are always meant for restricting people from consuming harmful things. I don’t get into a moral discourse on whether alcohol consumption is good or bad. But I would like to say this much: If you want to stop drinking or to drink moderately then start it now. If you want to quit smoking do it now. Many say, it is difficult to quit things that easily because they have become a habit. Habit is the catchword here. Habit is man-made while nature is not man-made. Human beings are naturally capable of being intoxicated. That’s why there are poets, artists, writers, fashion designers, film makers, musicians, actors and revolutionaries in the world. They are intoxicated by both life and their own need to express. All what is taken externally are part of habit formation than natural outcome of living.

In fact, I do not consider drinking or smoking as vice. But I could stop both when I decided one day. People say it you need will power. You don’t need will power to stop drinking or smoking. You just need to shift the perspective. If you love everything natural to you, including your spouses and kids, friends, houses, garden and so on, then you do not need any other diversions in this world. You may call it selfishness. But drinking or smoking is the real selfish activities. With those activities none other than you derives pleasure. When you sing, or draw, or write a piece of poem, all those who could have a look at it would enjoy your creativity. Then you may ask why everyone drinks. Everyone drinks because they think that they will be excluded from an imaginary world of pleasure if they do not drink. A scientist is not seen drinking while at work. A doctor does not come to the operation theatre drinking. Creative people drink because they believe that it helps to say things without social constraints. But if you could liberate yourself from all social constraints then why should you drink at all.

Anyway, I do not want to be a moral preacher for anyone here. But what I could say is that I am not excluded from the world of pleasure only because I keep myself away from drinking, smoking or partying. You may say that I have turned spiritual which most of the forty plus men do as they find out health problems. I have a very considerable amount of contempt for the ‘spiritual seekers’ for the sheer belief that one need not ‘seek’ your spirit because it is right there with you; you just need to open your eyes and see it. I detest the idea of going to hills for peace for I can stand right in the middle of a mall and feel absolutely peaceful and happy. I hate the idea of traveling for gaining experience because when I read a book I could travel the world that the author shows me. I do not think it is pertinent to attend some Kumbh Melas to feel or know Indian spirituality. If I were photographer I would have definitely thought of going to capture the demented, perverted and the hypocrites there. Also I might have come across real gods too. Who knows? However, I have been to holy places but never did I think that I needed to go there to gain peace. May be I will go there if I find that I could get food and shelter without working for it and a good computer with high speed internet connection. I will be perfectly okay there too.

It is my humble suggestion to all the artists in India that they all should make the following resolutions (you may break it but try it before really leaving it aside): 1) Every artist, except senior citizens, differently abled and also ill in certain way, in this country should decide that they should drink water from home and carry water from home. They all should take the vow that they will not buy a bottle of water from the shops (if there is no other way, one could). India is a country where water is given for free. But now in the urban spaces (also in most of the small towns and developing villages) you could not get a glass of water for free. The decision should not be for defeating the companies that sell bottled water but for reiterating the belief that we have the human kindness in us to carry water with us and also share it with those who need it.

2) The artist friends should also decide to leave their cars and scooters in their garages and use public transport. The abovementioned categories are exempted.  It is not just about Delhi; anywhere in India. Walk if possible, pedal around if need be, use public transportation it the first two options are not viable. As travelling by vehicles has become a habit, like drinking one finds it difficult to kick it. But it is not nature. In the beginning there were no cars and buses. People walked. The pathways and roads all over the world that we see today as huge highways are the same places where primitive men walked and cleared the paths.

3) The artist friends should also take a vow that however rich they are, they should avoid eating fancy food outside. Once in a while yes. The idea of weekends is the import from the western countries where the working people were treated ruthlessly by the systems so that they wanted weekends to unwind. In India people are not so hard pressed to work. In winters you could see people basking under sunlight in the lawns not in the pubs. Eating and drinking synthetic food or exotic food again is a habit; it is not nature. None ate pizza a few year before. Eating pizza is not a problem but making it at home may be more interesting. Many youngsters drink soft drinks and chips even after they know that it is unhealthy. They risk their lives just to appear cool. It is foolishness.

4) I request all our friends to make a vow unto themselves that they would promote the local grocer than the super stores in the malls. The local grocer sells the same thing. The local vegetable vendor sells the same thing. They look unimpressive because they are operating from the small shops. But if you start buying from they will start stocking what you need. You can save your petrol, effort and money. The local man or woman would serve you with a smile. I go to the local shop. I need not even say anything. He picks up the things that I want and I need not ask how much for I exactly know how much does it costs. We exchange a smile and feel good about it. Promote everything local. If you want ‘desi’ things go to a Khadi bhandar; you will get everything you want for affordable price.

To do all these, one needs to think a bit deeper. The primary lesson is this: We are not that important. We are just like any other being on this earth. We do not have any privilege. If we believe we are better than the other, then it is only in a limited context. Take a metro coach or a bus. The man or woman sitting next to you may be a Sahitya Akademi prize winning novelist but with a latest book in your hand you may think that you are one supreme being on a metro ride. Every human being is important in certain ways; the unfortunate thing is that most of them do not realize it. Instead of recognizing their own importance and relevance in the larger scheme of things, they try to accumulate all what they are not, which is called habit. That’s why people think that if they eat out, shop big, travel by big cars, pretend importance, do a lot of socializing and so on, they will be seen/taken important and seriously. It is foolishness. The moment one recognizes that we are just one of the beings in this universe, the world will definitely look much simpler and beautiful than ever. Let our New Year resolution be this that we are going to be very simple people with no pretensions. Are we ready?  

PS: Once you become simple, all the complaints in the world cease to exist. How can you complaint about the things you yourself have discarded?