I walked the cobbled streets....

I am not governed by any faith or superstition .....but when my girlfriend recently joked that in my last life I had obviously been rather bad, therefore making this life have circumstances that are sometimes difficult.....I was almost ready to start believing it maybe true!!!! I have returned from my trip to Amsterdam just a few days ago only to be swallowed up into a series of difficult situations. My mother-law in Kerala is ailing and in an advanced state of geriatric senility , my mother fell down and has badly bruised her muscles in her left leg, and my best friends aunt is terminally ill. However  this is the reality of life and each day brings with it tests that will challenge ones capabilities.

However the seven days in Amsterdam were a great get away before this.  As travel always does, it teaches one many things. I have come to believe that political correctness has its benefits, sometimes. In Amsterdam I found that the general population of people choose to be very courteous and extremely warm and friendly. The city has a consciousness about their environment, and the sight of men in black whizzing past on bicycles, and women with zanily decorated bicycle baskets in office attire who pedal a mean mile, makes our over crowded Indian streets crammed with private vehicles, seem utterly stupid in comparison.

The trust invested in a citizen over there, to be honest and ethical in their support  of a public system, to enable it's efficient functioning,  talks highly of the values people hold about self dignity and their own role within defining the type of country/state their wish to have for themselves. Trams and metros, trains and buses all ply people back and forth within the Netherlands, making it so easy to travel without endless planning and concern about availability of transportation. No one ever cheats and people in authority are very helpful and accommodative to the bumbling of those who are new to their rules.

However public toilets are not found easily which had me having to do my "hotel act" on a few occasions. This act has been perfected by me since I was a teenage traveller. Private hotels are not very encouraging of outsiders using their washroom facilities, especially in Europe. So I would walk up to the reception with great authority and purpose in Amsterdam or any other city we were visiting that day( a full bladder in the cold can be a good motivation to turn up the purposeful quotient, trust me!), and charmingly (interpret that as a sweet smile hiding genuine agony to use a loo desperately!) tell them how I was over from India in their lovely country and needed to pee! Well I like to believe its my 40 watt smile that always worked and not them avoiding the potential disaster of a puddle on their pristine designer carpets of four weary desi women that made they toilet doors swing open in our favor! 

The museums had many gifts to offer as visual treats.....a chanced upon room with large paintings of Francis Bacon that held translucent orange and carnation pink, an imposing landscape of Anselm Kiefer that brought alive Elliot's wasteland, the portrait of his wife by Egon Schiele that is hauntingly tender, impressive paintings of Rembrandt and Frans Hal that hold the magic of light and observations that reveal beyond the exterior descriptions of their subjects,   the museum of Vincent Van Gogh brought to the public by the commitment of his sister-in-law and his family where his paintings offer you a purity of color that stuns you into silence to confront his passion for his art which is truly  humbling....  and for those who haven't seen the works of Hans van Bentum....then do so right away. 

The curation in all the museums was stunning.....despite massive cutbacks of funding for the arts there still remains a clear comprehension of the need to support and make available art to a society. Individuals step in, and endowments  from benefactors  create alternative methods of viable sustainability to the cultural continuity and production of art. 

But the city of Amsterdam, enchanting as it is, has most of it's architecture sinking. As a result far too many homes that line the canals leave you with a feeling of imbalance as they tilt and mess with the alignment of your vision. Inside too the homes follow the tilting that comes from the foundations sinking, and have death defying staircases that are more vertical than inclined,  narrow and small treaded leading to many a fall with consequences that are bruised ribcages and busted knees. Many of these old narrow structured homes have been converted into hotels, and the Orlando Hotel where  we stayed was one such hotel. Nothing to write home about with a grumpy owner and rather depressing rooms to its credit, the Orlando could do well to improve on its infrastructure. However Rose the caretaker was very sweet and accommodating. Mr. Lodder the owner should thank his stars that he has her, because most people would otherwise pack up and leave with his surly ways.

And for a tourist destination they could well improve on the restaurant culture of their city.  Restaurants close mostly by 10 pm....and those that have a few more minutes on their timings will turn you away in favor of shutting shop early for a football game! Well Holland lost, so I feel vindicated!!!!

But for a traveller it is the many unexpected moments that make a trip memorable. Chanced upon conversations, the color of the sky, the delight of trying a new cuisine. We walked from morning till late evening with the occasional stop at a cafe. Hot chocolate on a cold day is heaven!

I also spent a day in conversation with five artists at the Rijksakedmie. Inside the intimacy of their studio, with an hour and a half to structure a meaningful encounter with each artist, those with the passion of belief brought their hearts to the table. 

Now back in my own studio I have brought my mother to recover, into the studio with me. Her sofa-bed has bright cushions and the black cat with a crocheted cape, gifted to me by Karishma. I re-arrange my physical space as I do my mental space to accommodate all that I know I need to, each day.

What did I bring back from my trip this time?

The color of the night sky of Amsterdam....such a magically intense blue, that it makes me shiver in the mere  delight of recollection!

Four corners make a universe....

The Collective Studio has a life of its own that is really very special. The various corners of it hold surprises each day for me as I make my "cup-of-tea" round in the morning. In fact I love it the most when the artists are not around at this time and I can just roam around quietly observing their work. It is also the details that clutter their personal spaces that tell me the most interesting stories about them. Today it is travel and reading, looking and feeling and continuously shaking oneself out of the comfort of the familiar that these young people are encouraged most to do.  Talking with my own teacher last evening we spoke about how age determines the curiosities of pursuit.  How there is a vital need as a visual artist to swim in waters of a certain type of exposure and learning, especially in relation to cinema and literature, where everything must be viewed and internalised. There is both the past and the present that needs to be contextualised when we are younger, and the processing of information that should leads us to substantiate the positions we take.

But as time goes by many of these things start to become obsolete in some strange way. The antennas of perception get trained onto other nuanced areas of life that then become  the  provocateur of stimulation to ideas and visual articulation. Sometimes time alone in my studio is far more valuable that sitting with the Collective Studio artists to watch a film screening. Our library is filled equally with theoretical books as well as sumptuous books of visuals. However today I have finished my quota of theoretical reading and my need  now is much more to spend time delighting in visual conversations, where my curiosity is not about the how or the why, but more of a sensual pleasure of knowing and understanding from the culmination of information and experience blended together. Therefore a museum (a place I can lose my self for hours) visit these days becomes like a walk with a friend. A time of quiet conversation and reflection.

Which brings me to my reading these days. I was gifted, by a wonderful girl friend of mine, William Dalrymple's The Last Mughal. I am excited to sink my teeth into this inviting narrative of a passage of history that I have wandered through so often over the last thirty-five years as a painter. A story of Bahadur Shah Zafar, and the consequences of the East India Company's wresting of political power; and the city of Delhi from its pinnacle to its destruction in 1857. I think from what I can gauge from the samplings that I steal a read of from the voluminous pages  of this historical saga, is that the writer has a crisp and simple style that allows you not to get buried under the weight of the topic itself. I contemplated taking it on my trip to Amsterdam, but have decided to wait as it weighs a ton and I can imagine my spine protesting with the over load! 

Instead ( I am sure this will raise many eyebrows) I bought Jerry Pinto's co-authored biography on Leela Naidu. Both these individuals intrigue me. Leela because she represents a type of woman from an era that my mother and my maternal aunts come from. One of my aunts died of alcoholism and holds a story of similar tragic consequences where dreams become nightmares in ways that are sad to perceive. Jerry Pinto on the other hand is someone who I have observed over the years from a distance.  And on too many occasions he shoots his mouth off in public in ways that leave you wondering whether the energy tablet he takes perhaps has expired. Wired up and always more defensive than is necessary, the last time he made me  wince was on a program with Niddhi Razdan where she finally blocked him out! Well Leela can well be termed as a collaboration of  beauty and the beast perhaps, so let's see! I hope it holds a narrative that explores a society which reflects the political and historical times that frames her life.  

Rowdy Bawdy and Terrible!

I made the mistake of going to see Rowdy Rathod believing, idiot that I am, that "Don't Angry me" was an indication of the film being a spoof -fun- action type James Bond/Jackie Chang kind of cinema. Well what I was subjected to was a tawdry trashy film that transported me back to the worst examples of popular cinema of the seventies! Everything about the film screamed retrogressive and cheap! With Sonakshi Sinha looking like a yesteryear Reena Roy rather paradoxically,  right down to swinging hips and over mascaraed false eyelashes; plus pouting village belle stereo-typed virgin girl who is both dumb and wide eyed in big bad city; made me want to instantly throw up my chewy popcorn and flat coke! Worse still was the senseless violence that went on unendingly through the film till one felt completely jarred and violated by it all. 

The film should have not been given a U certificate. I was aghast to see the theatre full of children ranging from infants to nine and ten year olds. The result was that many toddlers and primary aged children were crying from the vicious depictions of villainous men and gory scenes of mutilation and revenge. I was reminded of the Godhra atrocities and wondered how "entertainment" can be visualised through carnage!

The idea of good versus evil becomes warped when we believe that stringing up human beings after slitting their throats is emblematic of virtue, and is somehow morally correct. The reactions of the adults in the audience was perhaps more chilling for me than the debacle of the movie itself. A delight that was almost palpable amongst most of the onlookers was horribly unnerving. One felt as though there was some secret identification occurring to act out such portrayed feats of heroism which takes law and order into ones own hands, and that valorizes brutality and dehumanised behaviour as a societal circumstance of acceptable choice. If this is the sensibility of the film fraternity whether from the south or otherwise, I am appalled and horribly ashamed.

Cinema must certainly incorporate reflections of life and society that may very well be intolerable and often unpalatable; and which definitely  needs to be examined and depicted.  However let us not confuse serious cinema with that which trivialises, sensationalises and denigrates the norms of calibre and standards of excellence and intelligence, all in the name of charanna  ki entertainment!

Actors like Akshay Kumar and Sonakshi Sinha do a great disservice to themselves if this is the legacy they desire to leave  as their imprint within the film industry.

Dr. is the beginning of dread!

On the phone with a friend in Bombay today, we both lamented over the greed and ignorance that comes as a heady cocktail as medical care in India today. Horror stories abound of people having their organs removed without their consent, of deaths that get covered up, or simple negligence that has cruel consequences that are irreversible. People I know have been treated for ailments as serious as cancer only to find out that biopsy reports have got mixed up. My mother was often like a dervish in a twirl of endless medical tests, until I put a stop to it after I received a feeble explanation from a well meaning physician that he thought it comforted her to do the tests! 

The most empowered of people become intimidated by hospitals and medical procedures. I myself always dread any surgeries as my body does not respond to anaesthetic and requires a much higher dosage. So regaining consciousness during operational procedures and the panic it causes emotionally is rather a harrowing memory. A simple dental surgery that others need a single injection for has me needing seven before it takes the required effect! Anaesthetic junkie...thy name is Rekha!

Being informed is of course vital. Being enquiring absolutely necessary. And above all being comfortable with what is being decided as the proceeding medical intervention is always a must. But finally the most important factor is always the sense of trust we repose in our doctors that is what finally makes us compliant with whatever medically needs to be done. Also as a woman it is imperative that I feel comfortable with the physical touch of my doctors, either men or women. I often am appalled by the transgressions of doctors through their the gaze, or the smirk that holds power over ones vulnerability, or the the desire to become over familiar and personal in areas that are not connected to the consultancy of the issue the at hand. 

I hope that a time can come where spare parts can just replace the old worn out bits of our bodies, and that DIY instructions come with the pack.  So bye-bye doctors and by pass the by-pass.....oh happy day!

As for now I sort of put my practical cap on and march around doctors and hospitals with my focus on the immediate and scuttle out as fast as I can. However the bunch of doctors whom I frequent: a physician, a gynaecologist, an ENT specialist, a surgeon  and a pathologist are really amazingly sensitive, informed and caring medical practitioners.....but not everyone is as fortunate as me. I also believe that a city like Baroda still preserves an intimacy that allows for people to perform service with greater accountability. 

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!!!!