Kalaghoda art fair: Mumbai

MEGHNA MAITI

Mumbai

Crack open a bottle of champagne, you will see life, effervescent and cellophane-wrapped, like the moonlight against a tinted car window, as darkness fumes through the atmosphere, a hazy distant spectacle of colours and noise, bubbly, while a dark horse waits strangely alone amidst chaos, art, people, and fails to figure out his self in the superfluous culture. That perhaps is the best way to encapsulate the Kalaghoda art festival in south Mumbai,

One could sense this hopeless elitism everywhere in the fair, in the overpriced art stalls, the fancy food joints, children workshops meant only for wards attending top-notch schools and in the influx of south Mumbai crowd. If ‘culture’ is about revisiting our ideal selves constantly, Kalaghoda art fair, which is supposed to be the biggest cultural extravaganza in Mumbai city, has certainly not lived up to its expectations.

                                       

The fifteen-year old fair in the city’s most beautiful art hub has sort of transformed into a joyous annual event that pulls consumers and businessmen for a hectic few days of sales and schoomze. The fair has also turned around the business of contemporary art in the city.

In Kalaghoda fair it was easy to spot a fat-pocketed woman, with an uncanny instinct of picking out the very worst expression of the painter’s art and reject at first sight, everything that was meant to be authentic. And then she exclaimed with a self-satisfied air, “I have paid the right price for a masterpiece!” And then there were people whose designer saree clad and sedan-flashing crowd necessitated a visit to the exclusive fair. In a way, art in this ‘hell of a city’ seemed to be outshined by the dazzling worldly achievements.

Even then, industry experts argue super-rich exert a considerable influence on the middling artists and help them grow. “Art world is hungry for money,” said an art dealer from Kolkata.

The festival has drawn art performers from almost all states and international destinations. While the fair has drawn around five lakh visitors this year, it managed to bring in 2.5 lakh visitors alone on Sunday, according to data from Kalaghoda committee. Some quintessential concepts such as, kitsch pastiche of Bollywood stars, dreams in tinsel town, youth anger, women rape case, Kapala’s totems made of discarded e-waste, vespa birth art, ‘cycle chalao city bachao’ theme were some of the interesting whacky displays in the fair.

The evenings also had some immersive sessions on literature with eminent authors such as Jeet Thayil, Amit Chaudhry, Ulla Lenze, Adil Jussawalla, Arundhati Subramaniam, Rahul Pandita. Jeet Thayil’s words from his book Narcopolis rightly brings in the essence of the evening at Mumbai’s art fair, “Because now there's time enough not to hurry, to light the lamp and open the window to the moon and take a moment to dream of a great and broken city, because when the day starts its business I'll have to stop, these are night-time tales that vanish in the sunlight like vampire dust.”

meghnamaiti@mydigitalfc.com

ENDS

Arts blends with mystic notes in Mumbai

Art blends with mystic notes in Mumbai

Meghna Maiti 

The evening was one of passion and inspiration, charm of scented candles, spheres of moonlight and darkness, silhouette of a huge peepul tree, spells of divine melodious truth, not pebbles drowned in emptiness.

The dreamlike romance of the place was awakened by a Saadat Hussain Manto reading session by the bards of passion — ‘Urduwallahs’ in David Sasoon Library garden at Kala Ghoda festival in Mumbai. The magic was heightened by an old soul in feline form; his head swaying from side to side, his greyish black exterior shining like armour, his frayed whiskers and his greenish eyes, clear and steady seemed to pierce to the very roots of the audience’s hearts.

The crowd’s sensibility was palpable; the word that filled the air was “nostalgia”, a journey to the depths of depravity, insecurity and the many ironies during the partition of British India, snaking through the wide alleys of Manto’s humanity and radicalism. It was also a sort of journey to the heart of a de-centred individual with a progressive view of life, intolerant of hypocrisies of the then prevailing society.

“Society is anyways naked, we do not need to live by its rules,” he had said. No wonder, Manto was tried for obscenity six times, thrice before 1947 and thrice after 1947 in Pakistan, but never convicted. He wrote about queer intimacies in his stories such as Bu (smell) and Thanda gosht (cold flesh) much before it became acceptable norm even in the western world.

“That he could be a rascal and at the same time an honourable man is intriguing. He could find out the purity of heart in a woman in brothel,” said a member of ‘Urdu­wallahs’. After ab­out an hour of book reading, clippings of Manto’s movies and his family snaps, the panellists anno­unced a br­eak for five minutes where audience could pick up kn­ickknacks related with Ma­nto such as bookmarks, candles among others and his book of short stories.

There was also a corner for a session on Urdu calligraphy. And thus with constantly receding horizons, sensitivity and boldness, and lot of ‘tehzeeb’ (refinement) Ma­nto ended a mystical evening.

meghnamaiti@mydigitalfc.com

Banyan Tree

Banyan Tree

Feb 04 2013, 2118 hrs IST

The lives of earthy beings are tied to the trees, the river, the mountains. You can feel it in the sweet, salty breeze of the ocean, the blinding phosphorescence of the snowy mountain peaks, and the soaring abundance of the huge banyan tree. On a blazing afternoon when you rest under a colossal banyan tree, you would feel a strong pull of the earth. Its aerial roots would become part of your spirit. All of a sudden you would feel how it is possible to be a dot in the universe and yet feel something out there is bigger, greater.

The banyan tree will take the form of god, a witness to all our flaws and frailties. Under its huge shade, we feel a strange sense of security and comfort. The banyan tree remains grounded and provides shelter to thousands of spirits. It doesn't mind the narrow-mindedness and neglect of human clan and emanates a kind of generosity that enlightens us.

While looking at a banyan tree, I have vivid memories of swinging on a wooden plank tied to its aerial roots, of playing with clay toys under its shade, of plucking its wet leaves on a rainy day, of its fallen leaves blowing through our kitchen garden. I remember the meditating saint who took shelter under it for around a week. He had looked at me and read my future. It also takes me back to those quiet evenings in my office area during sundown, when bats hovered over it and intensified the silence.

                                           
Banyan tree is all forgiving in nature, to whom you could come, confess your darkest sins and deepest secrets, learn to invest heart into anything you do and remain completely unfettered. It is in a way symbolic of enlightenment and freedom from ages of oppression, darkness and waking up to life. It teaches us to stay detached from everything material, not succumb to despair and find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.

Meghna Maiti

Life on the edge

Just close your eyes, spin around, go hit the wall, and then take a sharp turn and stop at the edge of the hill. Do not listen to any other voice, follow your instinct, and trust yourself. The trail is narrowing, you are going faster than you should and farther, beyond your limits. The world seems to be falling apart; everything is changing very rapidly, mysteriously. There seems to be a sputtering of colours….Your mind is running at a high speed, filled with unequalled happiness.

You have reached the edge finally, and you do not want to fall off, you want to rest there and look at the world. The entire continuum becomes a little hazy and things do not look the same anymore, but do not give up, peer deep into those and slowly you get the true picture. Oh yes, it’s no longer the same world, the person next to you looks different, your job looks mediocre, the entire dynamics of relationships look a tad different. Do not get confused; what you have gained is perspective. This is the advantage of living on the edge.

There are of course some people who are just born with it. They belong to the mountains and in due course become as vast and adventurous. They can hear sounds and see creatures that normal people do not. Their simple solitary pursuits such as shepherding, gliding turn them more powerful and sharp. They can always spot that monk-like tourist or the criminal mind behind a gentle demeanour.

Nevertheless, the act of going to the edge is not that simple. It is like being in a vortex and falling deep and deep into bottomless pit of darkness. In a larger sense, we will fall, lose all control, yet let our higher sense prevail. In the process, we might get scared, get hurt, lose our confidence. This is when we should stop there at the darker side. And I can guarantee, it will be a mind-blowing sensation, ecstasy, and in case we can hold on any longer, we can even meet ‘god’.

Meghna Maiti

Delhi rape case: Rapists

Delhi's Devil

And they have done it again.

Once every forty minutes

Those subhuman brutes do it.

A kind of heinous crime, our bodies

Bruised, deformed as mangled soldiers,

Our intestines

Forced out lay coiled, gangrenous

Like injured snakes, battered

Spewing venom.

Cast off its defenceless veneer.

Oh ye, the world, let’s kill

The rapists with the sharpest sting.

The violent ‘retribution’, ‘outrage of

Modesty’, ‘gory bloodshed’ must

Disappear once and for all.

Soon, soon we should cherish

Freedom that is not for sale;

Peace un-negotiated.

We women may well be fair skin and

Dense hair, we are also the mind,

The heart, the soul that is dearer than life.

Women are Brahma, Durga.

The gurgling springs and dark woods;

The embodiment of all that is auspicious.

Yet the brutes dragged us to the streets,

They mutilated us with their fangs,

And drank our blood for centuries.

The justice of the policemen, the comments

Of the ministers are never very pure and true,

We did not know what to do.

We have tolerated far too long,

The shriek melts to a mum, the air stills

The heart signals the coming of a tempest.

 There are black holes in our minds,

And scare in our hearts, it is time yes

Oh all rapists, to castrate the whole lot of u.

Meghna Maiti

ENDS

Pure Love

Pure than the purer form of life;

Calm than the most ethereal being;

Wide than the entire span of human life;

Your love has emboldened me;

It has changed my entire worldview;

If today you go away, I will be left with

An eternity of longing and nothingness.

Meghna Maiti

Autumn

I am not given to undue inspiration. Yet when the air is thick with mist and mellow fruitfulness and the sun is mild with its silvery spread, my city, Kolkata becomes vibrant with sound of the trumpets, smoke of the incense sticks and religious fervour. Somewhere an entire city loses itself into all that and autumn comes alive to me. Yes, it seems to me autumn has its meaning in Kolkata. For a fact, I know this is incorrect, but nevertheless in my mind, the season is there in me lying in my bed in Kolkata, reading durga puja special magazines and then there are apparel shop owners haggling with the customers, and there is me in Kolkata again, in one of our numerous ‘adda’ sessions.

Autumn used to bring with it a lot more than this. It used to be about clear blue sky, potted flowers such as dahlia, zinnia; long walks in the afternoon, futile philosophising, barred clouds blooming the soft-dying day, song of hedge-crickets, lazy chilly evenings with friends. It was also about hot steaming biryanis, succulent mutton curry and fancy fried fish. It was sort of characterised with a feeling of numbness that seeped into pretty much everything that gave a brief respite from our anxious existences. It would fill our days with a sense of calm and humility, a sense of ‘divinity’, a feeling that there is a power higher than us.

Then there is the cultural aspect of the city that is almost infectious. It kind of presents an alternative, deeper way of life to the people bogged down by uncertainties of everyday life. The staged plays, bengali songs, dance takes one deep into the core of the city’s being and uplifts the spirit. Its lends a character to the poor international city. And it seems the city is not in urgent need of any charity.

The thing that I began to learn from autumn in Kolkata is the utmost need for celebration in life. I learnt the important of seeking happiness at subliminal level to enjoy the true essence of our short lives.

ENDS