Back to the roots

Getting back to the city is always so difficult. You know you are soon in for several traps that include human desires, loss, petty politics, broken relationships and even broken sense of self. You sense these ominous cycles more so right after you are back from a trippy visit to a small tribal village in the hinterlands of Bengal.
Jhilimili village, in Bankura district, around 12 hours drive from Calcutta, was a perfect getaway for my jaded, depressed mind. The village was captured by Maoist insurgents some years ago.
The entire region seemed to be perennially intoxicated with its dense cluster of mehul trees, from which a local alcoholic drink — mahua — is brewed. I sensed that intoxication everywhere — in the way the local tribal women in their cheap colourful sarees flirted with tourists in local haat; a herd of goats jumped around the cliffs; and also in the way a group of urbanites from Calcutta smoked up mariuana by the side of the river and gradually lost themselves in its universe-winning beauty. There were vast tracts of green farm lands on all sides; forest of shaal, shegun and mehul trees; lakes with tranquil, pellucid water; and beyond all this, green hills.
At some areas, the roads laid with red soil had beautifully painted mud-houses on either side. And at some other areas, the winding roads bordered with huge colourful trees looked like the illusory road to renunciation.
The air had a faint nip and was fresh. We lived in a beautiful bungalow at the corner of the village. Everyday we woke up to chirping of unknown birds and rustling of leaves. The cook delighted us with homemade rural breakfast of luchi (deep fried flatbread) and vegetables. The villagers seemed to have everything in their favour — the vast intensity of nature, calm and peace and love.
“Then what is lacking in your life?” I asked a 65-year-old farmer on a rain-soaked morning. “Paper notes. We do not have cash,” he said quietly.

Meghna Maiti

Unsafe Zone

Have you ever felt a sense of loss — a sense of losing everything, including your integrity, reputation, wealth, friendship, relations and pretty much everything that defines you as an individual? Have you ever had the fear of falling or the fear of burning? If so, then perhaps it is the right time to shut your eyes, trust your instincts and throw yourself with a greater force into an even dangerous space.

It is also the time to tread on the edge of surface with ‘pure awareness’. Just as you are writhing and wriggling with an intense sense of pain and suffocation, you need to come out of your shell into the bigger, brighter world. When you don’t try to break the shell, no new possibility will ever come. Also, unless you expose your vulnerable self to the attacks of the outside world, you do not grow as an individual. This is also a process of breaking our karmic cycle or habitual pattern of existence. Whenever you feel hemmed in or disgusted, you must pause and try to think about your way of leading your life so far. And in case you are seeking revolutionary changes or great transformation in life, you must change your way of doing things in a radical manner.
Maa Kaali, an avataar of Parvati, is considered to be a great anarchic and taboo-breaking force in the universe. She is supposed to be the slayer of all illusion and the harbinger of transformation. In mundane terms, when you discard your, say old, ragged phone, the possibility of getting a better one increases.

Or, when you have an extra-marital affair with say, a socially-disapproved person, you might be liberating yourself from all the conclusions and notions you had set for yourself. And living in an unsafe zone with all sense of awareness is perhaps far more fulfilling and intense than any other kind of emotions. You start living with a higher sense of purpose. And such level of consciousness leads to creation of your own destiny.

Meghna Maiti

Kalaghoda festival 2014

MEGHNA MAITI

Mumbai

An eighty-year old Parsi gentleman slings his arm carelessly around
his famous artist friend and flashes a toothless grin for a
photograph. At a short distance, a group of flimsy chiffon-clad south
Mumbai homemakers crowd around a Man-booker nominated author to extend
an invitation for their next arty party. And even further away, at
David Sasoon Library garden, Mumbai poets join on 'Hope Street ' to
celebrate their annual reunion. Several such instances float through the cold,
slightly supercilious air of Kalaghoda art festival in South Mumbai
and touch people in a cosmetic spirit of cultural networking with a
dash of nostalgia.

For the nine days of Kalaghoda festival , a better part of Mumbai
flock to Kalaghoda art fair to mingle in the open space, linger in
galleries where world cinema and short documentaries flicker across
the screens. The fair has always been as much about glamour, glitz as
cutting edge alternative art- more like a multi-media,
multi-locational experience, meandering through the island city. The
venue is tucked in an enclave bounded by Mumbai's dockyard, Fountain
and Oval Maidan, near the cacophonous Colaba Causeway in an affluent
South Mumbai business district.

"We have seen around ten lakh visitors so far. The response is indeed
enthralling," said a person who is a part of the organizing committee
of Kalaghoda art fair on condition of anonymity.

However, this time around, the fair has not quite lived up to its
standard. Kalaghoda fair does not have much to offer in terms of
quality of products, movies, literary sessions or theatre. The ethnic
wear and artifacts available in the numerous stalls dotting the street
are ridiculously overpriced. "We have to pay almost treble the price
for most of the products," said Sutapa Maitra, a school-teacher based
in Mumbai. Similarly, the films being screened at Max Mueller Bhavan
are far away from the high-culture space. "Who would like to watch
Goliyon ki Raasleela Ramleela at Kalaghoda art fair," sniggered Alima
Tigga, a budding documentary film-maker and ex-student of Pune Film
Institute. Some of the other films being screened at Kalaghoda
festival are- Go Goa Gone, Aanhkh ki Sharam, Ghatothkach.

The art installations at Kalaghoda festival dealing with the idea of
changing perceptions and momentum are also not of remarkable quality.
However, the first installation titled Mithya (Hindi for illusion),
has drawn enough attention. It is a sort of a path where at each step
a walker realizes the illusory nature of his reality. Another
installation captures the multiple images of the festival. The third
one is a walk that recreates the experience of walking on a quiet road
surrounded by trees on both sides.

As far as the literary sessions are concerned, we mostly see the same
old faces every year- to name a few- Adil Jussawalla, Gieve Patel,
Sampurna Chatterjee, Sridala Swami, Arundhati Subramaniam. In fact, in
one of the interesting literary sessions exploring the idea of
'Renewal of the Journal' with Hemant Divate, Chandrahas Chowdhury, Ram
Manohar Reddy and Ranjit Hoskote, a peeved man from the audience
pointed out how we see the same old Mumbai writers every year, despite
the reach and resources of the organizer.

Also, the fair, having shifted its music and dance venue to distant
locations (Cross Maidan and Asiatic Steps) due to legal issues,
remained a little listless in its essence.

Around 22 dance genres were
displayed in the festival through 38 performances of the nine days of
the festival, representing various Indian states such as Punjab,
Gujarat, Maharashtra, Kerala.

On the last day of the Kalaghoda festival, the area is throbbing with
the elites and the ordinary, the air is alive with soap bubbles, the
pleasing tune of the flute and the drum, hushed conversations about
business deals, new job opportunity or even invitation to a party.
People are awaiting eagerly for the interesting literary session with
'William Darymple- the great historian. It will soon be the hour of
sunset and the end of a few sunny days of sublime pleasure.

meghnamaiti@mydigitalfc.com



ENDS