42 degrees and rising

Between the hype of the IPL cricket tournament ala didi style,  and the sleazy side of it with molestation and violence and unsavoury tweets on the morality of women whose choice to decide who can touch their bodies offends rich bollywood struck kids; I am rather tired  of  the melodrama of it all! 

Today an all India bandh has the streets of Baroda rather less busy, but the scorching heat shows no reprieve to those who are obliged to make their homes on the pavements of the city. As I huff and puff over the heat and the little sweat that I break out into, if I step outside of the cool interiors of my home (!) or the air-conditioned car I  drive (!),....I feel the divide between the privileged and those who are not very acutely.

I am off to Amsterdam on the 10th of June. It is to keep a promise I made to visit my spiritual daughter who is on a residency at the Rijksakademie.  The institution has invited me for a days studio interaction which I am looking forward to. Meeting artists in their studios is always very special. It holds a sort of inherent privilege to it to be invited into the space so intimate and personal. 

I am often perplexed to receive phone calls from people I don't know who assume they can have access to visiting my studio. They in turn poor souls are perhaps equally perplexed at my polite but firm refusal to have them come into the space of my work. I am always polite enough to state that they are most welcome to come over for a cup of tea and a chat, but my offer never has takers! 

I have tried in my earlier years to explain patiently that one does not expect a writer to allow people to flip through their drafts and scripts before they are completed; and that such sharing occurs only between friends and colleagues. I also invite many people into my studio, only they come through the conduit of my mind and don't necessarily enter by the conformity of the front door. These in fact are my favourite visitors, who linger sometimes for many days with me, lounging around in the corners of my studio and engaging me in marathon conversations that are silently exchanged.

One of my teachers has been indisposed recently, and on the occasions when I visit I am enthralled by the delight of his narrations. The ease of piecing memories together and the wit with which a simple story holds your undivided attention, makes you understand the genius of this wonderful octogenarian artist. I sit unashamedly an admirer, as he weaves the magic of his discourse just like he did every Saturday, when I would faithfully attend his open lectures in college as a student back in the 70's and early 80's. The art of communication is not a common one today in the age of abbreviated text messages and social net working sites that become the virtual world of connectivity. If truth be told, I do not think that he needs my visits at all, but nonetheless I go almost every day because I love to hear him speak. Satirical and bitingly sharp he has amassed a universe of observations, that coupled with his perceptions, are like a labyrinth of life lessons that can take you into many areas of discovery that you least expect to find for yourself.

Over the years I have come to realise that I place great emphasis on two things: the manner in which I keep my studio and the diligence with which I attempt to define an honest and articulate space of communication. As an artist I think I view these two spaces to hold the imprint of much of who I am.

One of our spiritual daughters is soon to depart back to her country of origin. Six years of education and a lot of other learning packed into these years, she goes home with a suitcase that is neatly arranged with the mandatory 20 kgs of worldly goods that mostly consist of memorabilia and special personal belongings. All of us are rather teary eyed around the Collective Studio these days as her departure date draws near. She came as a child with a fringe that hid sparkling eyes and a mischievous twinkle, and she leaves as an articulate young woman who has done herself proud with her achievements and her ability to adapt. A fine young artist she stands today at the threshold of a new chapter of her life,  and we wish her all the very best.

We will miss you Hayan!

I look forward to visiting you in Korea soon my love in your studio, where we will sit  as we have done so many times in the Collective Studio, with a cup of hot chai and share time and self discoveries and art together!

Ranjitsinh Gaekwad passes away....

Ranjitsinh Pratapsinh Gaekwad always looked a little bemused and a little lost sometimes; as though being part of royalty would not have been his personal choosing. Dressed mostly in a white kurta and churidhar, he would give me a small wave from across a gallery space, where we would meet on the occasion of other peoples openings; and in conversation he would always tease me that he considered himself more my son's friend than mine. This was because he came back to art school in the 90's as a mature student when Mithun was doing his under graduation  at the Faculty of Fine Arts, M.S University of Baroda at the same time too! 

I found him unpretentious and with a rather mischievous sense of humour. He would love to quietly slip in a one liner during some solemn or ponderous moment at an art gallery in Baroda, and have you biting your lip to control your laughter! He never indulged in any petty politicking and maintained a space around him that did not encourage over familiarity. He took his art practise very seriously and his figure studies reflected the stylistic influences of the British royal academic school of art. I always found him his most abandoned in spirit, when in conversation about his art. He was also passionate about music, and on the only occasion many years ago when I had tea at the Palace along with other artists who were also invited, he sang for us with his eyes tightly shut and lost to the world around him.

You cannot live in Baroda for all these many years that I have without the sense of attachment towards the Gaekwad family. Contributing to the education that has given direction to thousands of careers, this erstwhile family becomes part of each of our personal ancestries in subtle ways. As a child I would be driven to school each day passing by the Laxmivillas Palace. It's beautiful fence and numerous imposing gates that demarcated the sprawling estate, where at the epicentre this beautiful palace stands tall, became a remembrance entrenched as vividly belonging to my personal world of memories.

Ranjitsinhji with his grey slightly dishevelled hair and crumpled kurta pyjama became an ordinary citizen in many ways with his disdain for snobbery and elitist rituals. He will, I am sure, find a quiet spot up in the heavens now that he is no longer with us, and park himself with the minstrel angels. He will also carry his jhola around with him in which his drawing book and pencil case will be handy. I believe finally he will be able to do what he has always desired to do: leave behind all the unnecessary earthly responsibilities and devote himself to his music and art without compromise or disturbance.

I commend you for the courage you possessed to be the kind of man you chose to be: different and true to your own beliefs. The city of Baroda mourns your passing away, and we will all hold your memory as special for many years to come.

Sandesh and Kentucky fried chicken.....

Ok this is how it must have gone in Kolkata recently ....

Baby's day out! Choo chweet !

First things first.  Didiji's appearance for meeting Hillarydi was looked into...carefully. Important no?!

Jet black dye for hair....purchased. Only Indian please. No L'oreal nonsense. Apply liberally. Now this comes under D'da's department. After all, curly haired babu-baba has truly best experience to advise here on matters of progress and development of hair. Also no need for mirror for didi no?! (see good budget costing). Only have to peer into HUGE specs to see reflection as Dereck baba skips along side for providing quiz questions, so that didi will dazzle foreign guest! Also will give free Bournvita  if Hillarydi starts looking sleepless over bong-bong razzle-dazzle tamasha of we are better than the Karat-carrots who did not have diamond value anyway, only carrot stick tricks. Silly-silly big bindi-bindi can not make you have people power na?!....what you need is boom-boom voice and muscle power of thuggies so that others wear huggies because they are scared shitless! Practical common sense our didi has no?!

Chalo-chalo...now lets not waste time on altu-faltu digressions.

How does our foreign didi manage things. Comparisons make us feel equal no. That's why new vagina creams and washes to make us fairer down there no?! It is all for I-show-you-you-show-me cultural exchanges that make global-wobal real-real for us. Now Hillarydi will always look like she took her clothes out of Billji's closet, and then scurried away with whatever came into her grasp because too many skeletons were rattling  about when she opened the cupboard! So ill fitting pants and ugly shirts with bad hair days will be the photo album of memories for grand children. Becharas! 

Hillarydi should also learn to do genuine-genuine smiley-smiley. Really I am telling you, don't mind please. Learn no from Kateben who gave such nice photo opps from Palace balcony, wearing white wedding dress even though already doing naughty-naughty before marriage! Now our didiji she wears white sari no?....because our didi is PURE. No hanky-panky, sexy stuff please! We are serious Indian politician lady in pure Gandhi Khadi sari who wields a cat-o'-nine to quell any dissent! Ooooh....no wonder Dereck babu-baba looks blush-washy after behind the doors session with CMji! 

Now what gifts do you think these ladies exchanged....? 

I heard that didiji got the pandalwalas to make BIG  statue  (so that other didi of UP fame understands that she too has got good cultural knowledge of sculpture OK?!) of Hillarydi sitting on a tiger. Only this tiger was really a pussy cat  with Billji's face.  So clever no?! 

Hillarydi from her side got didiji some perfume to cover-up the sweaty-sweaty smells of too much dadagiri in prisons.... Real asli Channel to channel energies into more constructive purposes like supporting nuclear deal.....wah-wah...such clever strategies ....

I am thinking both sisters cried when leaving each other. Strong outside.....but soft-soft inside no....nobody understands these girls. They got on so well, plastic smiles and all, that they have plans to vacation somewhere together, I heard. Toy-boy fun time....sssssh don't tell, no. Secret-secret. All hush-hush and no puppies.  FBI are now searching for tall dark and handsome recruits under 25 years of age. Body guards man. No chance for Schwarzenegger to get secret agent role here unfortunately. Shriver baby may become part of toy-boy sisterhood where no nannies are allowed, and Oprahji will make interview with blessings of Deepakbhai! I also heard that didi has already packed the cat-o'-nine in her new Louis Vuitton  luggage....and Hillarydi is taking the starch out of her panties!

I think the Bermuda triangle will have another meaning very soon!!!!

Shelf-life 30+?

Men and the antics they go through to have a head of crowning glory, namely hair is an amusing preoccupation to observe. The hair-factor logic is all skewered when it comes to what they desire. Where it grows in abundance, like on their chest and the legs, they will wax it wanting the bald-babies-bottom look for open shirted machoism. And where they  are truly bald, they do comb overs, weaves, extensions, transplants....the works....ending up with Sunny Deol type dead-dog mop hair styles!

Good old Saurav Ganguly had no idea why the stadium was erupting with pandemonium at a recent IPL match when he was playing. Minus his cap he was racing around like a raving lunatic looking like a lab experiment on steroids that had gone terribly wrong! With one side of his hair standing perpendicular to his head, and the other side in varying lengths bobbing about like a Mexican wave with no rhythm; the crowd just got the jeepers-creepers and felt terribly embarrassed for this ageing hero of cricket! The cameras kept giving us eagle eyed shots of his scalp that looked like Frankenstein's head out on a stroll! What an indignity! At home I sat transfixed wondering why no team mate made any effort to get his messy head covered quickly. Finally a colleague came to his rescue with a cap! I think there is nothing more dignified than the acceptance of the natural state of one's body and  embracing  change with a positive attitude  that allows you to be comfortable with age.

Goldie Hawn, on an episode of the Graham Norton show, genuinely looked scary. A caricature of her former self, she kept flouncing her hair and pouting her cosmetically reconstructed lips fish lips in the attempt to look young and sexy! In comparison a Meryl Streep looks enticingly beautiful as she grows older. 

It isn't that vanity doesn't tempt one into fantasies of radical alterations to one's body. But the delight of a fantasy is that it is a wakeful state of dreaming, that allows one to be self-indulgent, and have out of character  episodes in the secret spaces of ones mind. Acting them out however is what becomes the stupid quotient and leads to the lunacy of people believing in myths. 

Celebrities who are constantly under public scrutiny must find it difficult to be themselves. Yet those who have attempted to remain more realistic about how the progress of time alters their physical appearance, lend elegance to the spotlight their receive, like Waheeda Rehman and Gulzar. 

I am always fearful  of putting chemicals on ones hair for protracted periods of time. Peroxides in hair colour and other such chemicals in these products have a slow but detrimental effect over the years. Pigmentation discolouration is a common side effect of frequent users. But then common sense and vanity don't always go together unfortunately. The excessive desire to look air-brush perfect in real life attributes for many to attempt to defy their natural ageing process. Cosmetic surgeries become their life saving priority to feed their feel good needs that most often roller coaster out of control.

I look in the mirror each morning and see myself growing older. I too have many a fantasy that wishes away the truth of my aging body......but with one eye on the clock to get myself into my studio on time, and the other eye on the multitude of things stacked up in my daily routine of living, these fantasies disappear before I can revel in them with self indulgent whimsy! All too soon my day seems over and as I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror way past the witches hours of decency; I am really too doggone tired to bother about air- brush ideals of perfection! 

Bubble gum promises yet again....

Promises of change during election campaigns are perhaps what erotic fantasies are like. They remain unreal and nobody talks about them openly after the act of seduction is over! I keep believing I am past the stage of anything shocking me anymore and then wham I'm knocked down in sheer amazement at the audaciousness of political stupidity all over again! This time it is Mamta Banerjee who has me with my jaw  dropped down in hell!  What is this lady all about! Does "didi" not have a clue about leadership and governance ? Suheil Seth quite aptly pointed out that perhaps she hasn't completely understood that she is not the leader of the opposition any longer, and should start governing her state as it's chief minister now! As for Derek O'Brien.....curly hair and all, he should comprehend that the violence his "didi" is orchestrating on the streets of Kolkata is for real, and not a street theatre production that will get a polite round of applause at the end of it from the citizens. However  I would certainly say that Mamta thy name  is Drama, without a doubt!

You also merely have to look at Mamta's face to realize that compassion and humaneness do not really sit as the mantle of wisdom on her scruffy white-saried shoulders. Lynch men and goons parade as party workers, and autocratic leftist practises are continued without apology by the Trinamol Congress party, so where does an electoral change evidence itself in all this. However as part of the Comedy Club that indian politics has become, what I find comically funny to watch is the "politicians walk"! Especially practiced by woman politicians,  it is a style that incorporates striding and power walking along with swinging your head from left to right to involve talking to your chamcha brigade that scuttles along with you. The surrounding fat men who form the supplicating entourage must all be sweaty, jiggly and skippy (generation Y takes on a new meaning!), to keep pace with "the leader" of the pack! These days Mamta dearest does this walking act proud! Maybe she feels that in doing this alone qualifies her to be the CM of West Bengal!

As India turns more medieval with horrendous atrocities continuously heaped on helpless female infants, we have the flip side where women in power like Mamta and Mayawati  make us hang our heads in shame with their violent and twisted ways. Can't we ever get it right? 

Capability versus opportunity....

In conversation with the students and artists working within the Collective Studio I recently discussed the difference between capability and opportunity. Perhaps it is because I hear too much being made of the limitations that people desire to focus upon within themselves, and in the process disregard the opportunities that are within their grasp, that I thought it prudent that we examine what this difference is.  It may well require great effort and endeavour to utilise an opportunity, but this is precisely what challenges personal capabilities and raises the levels of our competence and enhances our performance. 

I still come from the old school of thought that chooses to view my life through the context of my existence, and to acknowledge the privilege of opportunities that have provided me a space to grow in every aspect of my life. I was not special at all in any way whatsoever. Yet opportunities recognised and used well have offered me the the scope to hone my abilities over the years and to push myself to learn and grow through  exposure and circumstance; to cultivate methodologies that accommodate time management so that I can maximise and multi-task efficiently.

The body is like all machines. It breaks down and creaks and protests in various places at all times; never being "perfect" as time proceeds, and with age thumbing it's nose in ones face to boot! I have long ago stopped letting my body dictate to my mind. I married my spirit to my mind at the early age of eighteen and thankfully this relationship remains as solid as ever!! When my body protests at times,  my mind treats it like a pesky kid and shuts it up!!!  So at fifty-three I can out do most on the gruelling schedules I maintain, and what this offers me is  the knowledge that I am utilising effectively both my capabilities and opportunities equally. The disciple of such a way of living has resulted in time holding great value.

Today we encourage our adopted granddaughter Aditi to be as holistic as possible. To not look at age alone as determining her abilities but to understand what she wishes to achieve and to take the required steps towards acquiring and honing her capabilities. As a result she uses every opportunity and recognises the rewards of such an approach. If only we had more children growing up with such an understanding, there would perhaps be a greater sense of fulfilment and achievement that individuals would feel in relation to their personal worlds of existence.

To Paradise and back!

I have been away from my blog longer than I intended. An amazing holiday in Thailand and Vietnam left me with a back log of work. Burning the midnight oil I am still with self imposed deadlines that keeps the work where it needs to be going but has my sleeping at normal hours still a distant dream!

I was visiting Thailand after thirty-something years. On that occasion I was only a few days in Bangkok, and my memories are of a polluted and chaotic city with far too many two wheelers and traffic jams! The Bangkok of today however stands in sharp contrast to that memory, and the city can teach us a thing or two about urban planning and development. Bangkok has and become a city of flyovers and well orchestrated traffic that makes travelling long distances very easy.  The most striking fact of this tourist destination is that it is CLEAN in capital letters!  Considering it is also a street-foodies paradise, there  appears to be a very efficient system that is maintained by the local people where no littering occurs, and the garbage disposal is well coordinated.

However  the sex trade remains very close to the surface at all times. As a feminist this made me question what the ideas of female representation are within a society that is allowing so blatantly for prostitution to be part of the agenda of attracting foreign tourism. I also found that the myth of it being a shoppers haven was not lived up to. I discovered the Thai traders to be very aggressive and rude. Loud and in your face, they lack basic  courtesy and treat Indians with discrimination, despite the courtesy I extended from my side as a client.  My experiences at the malls recommended by local people was disappointing and sometimes quite unpleasant.

But what was a delighted were the many cultural sites that we visited. Ayutthaya was also a day trip destination that lived up to its expectations, and despite the heat and humidity was transfixing in its historical grandeur. However the greatest visual treat was going to the Parliament house, where there is  an extraordinary permanent display of artifacts, that has been commissioned to commemorate the various special occasions within their monarchy's history. Mind blowing, these works employ the local crafts people and are done to keep the traditional craft practises alive. A project initiated and monitored by the Queen, each piece is exquisite. It is world class museum quality artifacts that I would strongly recommend as a "must see" to any visitor going to Bangkok.  

Staying at the Banyan tree hotel was a beautiful experience. Lying under the stars at their roof top bar on a huge circular seating was a moment of decadence to last me a life time! I had a foot massage to sample the legends I had head about the massage culture of Thailand. It put to shame any other endeavour that had passed off as one before. 

Vietnam, the second destination on our trip,  is a country where the people are genuinely respectful to all tourists. A much less visited destination, this country like Cambodia, is yet to become spoilt by the typical touristy  nonsense that one sometimes encounters elsewhere. Hanoi with it's winding streets and old quarter is quaint and endearing. It has hints of an old "Indian colonial" flavor that is reminiscent of  our cantonment   areas. Life spills out onto the streets. The Hocchi men mausoleum had too long a queue that wound around like a giant serpent. Disrespectful as it may sound, none of us felt that inclined to wait hours to see a dead man's body on display!

Perhaps the highlight of this trip was being on a luxury yacht that was hired only for the five of us.  It was magical, and though I left behind my newly acquired paper parasol that I had great plans on flaunting in the Baroda heat, nothing can detract from the memories of this place. The chef who was this beautiful young girl made the best sea platter I have ever had in my entire life. The five of us indulged in the desires of our palates and stomachs rather like old roman soldiers out on a binge! The extra baggage was not in our bags but as personal luggage as a result!!!!

I have many other stories from these seven days. But like good wine, even memories need to percolate and stay for a while before being shared. I am off to Amsterdam in June and already my excitement is building up!!!