tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32103905275006835152024-03-20T15:46:01.736+05:30Deadly KaliVery Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-43816286139947863102014-05-29T18:39:00.001+05:302014-06-03T17:40:52.486+05:30A Honey Collector and Vanishing Bees<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There is a huge bee-hive right outside my widow and it never bothered me. I believed, we had a tacit understanding with each other ' live and let live'. I could see the hive grow inch by inch and simply marveled their technology as millions of black bees clung to it with their lives. As I would sit sipping my tea looking outside my window I could see bees buzzing around. BUZZZ....... they would zoom past. Some flying away from the hive , some flying into the hive. They had no time to look around.<br />
Busy-bees! They had a job assigned and all were at it- diligently- disciplined- dedicated to their job. I envied their discipline and dedication. They were least concerned that I was watching them or the world around existed. I was so amused by the hive that I even began to conceptualize a work in my head. I visualized the material that I was going to use.<br />
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Never ever I had a thought of complaining to my society manager that there is huge hive growing outside my window and it needs to be removed. And yet one day I saw some noise outside my window. A few bees had flown into my apartment- which is on the seventh floor. As I peeped outside the window I saw a lean teenager hanging on a rope. Before I could have the time to comprehend what was going on; following visuals unfolded before me in few minutes time.<br />
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The boy was hanging from a rope with a tin can tied to another rope.</div>
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He swung to the ledge quickly grabbing the sanitation pipes.</div>
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Next, he was in a touching distance to the bee hive. </div>
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A small branch of leaves with fire and smoke, was quickly pulled up.</div>
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In a swift move he dusted the bees hanging on to the hive with smoking branch and with bear hands pulled the pieces of hive.</div>
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As bees began to fly in frenzy. He had few seconds to collect honey. </div>
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In just couple of swoops he filled the tin can. Mean while bees had covered the sky.</div>
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He began his descend.</div>
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This when he saw me standing in the window clicking pictures. He requested me if he could enter my apartment, and walk down the staircase.<br />
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Grudgingly I opened the window and allowed him in. But not before admonishing him for destroying a harmless hive. He was fully drenched in honey. And few bees were cling on to him. He quietly dusted the bees. He was not wearing any safety gear by which he could protect himself from bee stings. No gloves , a protective suit. or a head gear. Yet not a single bee had stung him.<br />
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"Honey chahiye" ( want to buy honey) He asked with out flinching an eye.<br />
" Nahi" (No) I said emphatically.<br />
No further words exchanged , he quietly walked out of the door, stamping honey feet on the floor.<br />
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I looked back at the hive. Still few bees were hovering around the place.<br />
Their world had been destroyed in few seconds. But on a second look- I saw everything was not over. The boy had not completely uprooted the hive. Some bees clung on to whatever little bit of hive that was still remaining. Probably Queen was still in there. In few minutes they quietly restarted rebuilding their world. They buzzed in and out - back and forth- collecting honey. No time to complain or lament over loss.<br />
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For moment I was transported in meditation hall sitting besides fellow followers- and felt the words ringing in my ears " phirse shur karen"... " lets start again".. words hammered into my brains by my Vipassana guru. Late S. N.Goyenka. There is no time left to think/brood/regret just start it all over again. Move on...<br />
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Bees had understood this essence so beautifully, and were demonstrating it for me how to live in present , now and here.<br />
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I was still shaken by the event- for few moments world had stopped for me.<br />
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Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-87837138604206754822014-04-24T13:26:00.001+05:302014-04-24T17:24:11.095+05:30Why did I vote a looser?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"So you voted a looser?" asked one of my dear friend, who is passionate about current politics. "Yes. I did" I said with a grin. ""why waste your vote when you know he is going to loose the election?"<br />
My answer was simple - " I have voted him for the next election."<br />
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Let me say this upfront. I don't like Indian politics and politicians. Politicians are a hated lot all over the world , so there is nothing new about such feelings. And Indian politicians are breed in themselves. I had refused to vote over the years, till I understood the importance of voting and my sovereign right. So last few elections I voted- rather grudgingly - with a feeling "whats the point? You have no choice between one corrupt politician from another".<br />
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Electoral system had thoroughly disappointed middle class people like me who felt helpless for electing 'criminal' elements in politics- again and again. And having exercised your right all you had to do was to suffer these people for five years. My blood boiled every-time I watched a neta on the television. If PM just starred blankly at you, others went to town with their gyans on TV as if they owned this country. Most of them criminal. Illiterate. Arrogant. All major parties looked the same. Felt same. Talked same . Smelled same. Year or year it was same old story. Their typical CVs read like this. Age; 60; Education : School level ( This can mean even 4th or 5Th grade); Assets 100cr.; Criminal record: 15 cases pending; Parliamentary experience: siting MP for last 2 terms. Attendance in Parliament: 58% <br />
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As a citizen one felt humiliated for having to elect a semi literate man, who has amassed huge assets through dubious means and having many criminal cases against his name can represent you in parliament. Their behavior in the parliament also showed that they were no capable of dealing with the institution like parliament where one needed skills like debating and counter arguing to make the point. It was obvious their semi literate status and goonda culture only degraded image of Indian democracy.What can you expect from such people? And yet having come to power they were untouchables. <br />
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Having said this - this election is different. You have a choice. There is a hope.<br />
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This year in my constituency I saw a CV of an candidate quiet different from others. Age 45; Education: post graduate; Experience : former fund house manager of a leading Bank; Assets: 20Cr; Parliamentary experience : first time candidate. I had never heard the name of this candidate before. Nor did I receive any election information from his party. Obviously- he is first time candidate standing on the ticket of a newly formed party- called AAP- aam aadmi party. A name probably was christened by Robert Vadra- with his famous words of 'Mango Man'.<br />
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AAP is a new hope for people of India. This party is formed mostly of highly professional people who have left their successful careers to clean up the corrupt politics of India. Since they are all first time candidates they have a clean slate. Criminals have no space here- that what the convener of this party proclaims. They have no money to fund this election( no wonder no one came to my house asking me to vote for them). They have no much media presence( again no posters, banners or fliers explaining their stand) Honestly I have no idea what they are promising to this country. Or What will be their policies.<br />
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Yet, I voted for this man who I know nothing. <br />
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People in general feel AAP is losers in this election. They have no hope to come to power.<br />
Well they may be right. But that's not my point of view. <br />
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If we want to change our political system than who else can give us a better governance than educated, professionally successful aam admi like me and you who kept away from the political process and allowed lampoons to rule over us. Aap IS an idea that has the potential to change this country. It has similar roots like the freedom movement set out by Gandhi. If it was not for educated men like Gandhi who made the people of India believe that freedom is possible. And, had it not for the people of India believe and support in Gandhi's idea of freedom- we would be still under British Rule.<br />
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You need to believe. Believe in Change. And Possibility of the change. The IIT graduate who started this mission is convinced that this is not just a belief but a reality waiting to happen. All we need to do is endorse and participate his mission- if we want to change . Like we believed in Gandhi and gave a chance to him- we need to give AAP a chance .<br />
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Yes, I voted the candidate whose name I cannot recollect at the moment . And he is sure to loose this election. Only reason I voted a looser - becasue I want to keep the IDEA called AAP alive. I want to keep this flame of hope alive till the next elections. In five years AAP should have ample time to prove its mantle. If it bytes the dust then, all I can say we as nation are still not ready for a mature democracy.<br />
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Other political parties are trying to discount them for their inexperience. But let me ask you what was Jawarharlal Nehru's experience when he was elected as first Prime Minister of India? Did Babasaheb Ambedkaer who wrote an excellent constitution was experienced to draft such an important bill? When Rajiv Gandhi became Prime Minister did he have any clue of governance? So what makes you think that AAP will not do a good job? And finally if this man has been a successful fund mananger and if I have trusted this man with my money, why should I not trust him with nation? He will be anytime a better choice than a semi literate man who blabbers " boys don't rape but just make mistakes" Lets not forget there are sizable numbers of professional, intellectuals and experts part of AAP. AAP has to survive in order to change India, and that would be true victory of democracy.<br />
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I know , I voted a looser this time. For the first time I won't grumble that I have no choice among candidates because all are criminals. I voted a looser because I want to stop this family- raj.<br />
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I have voted for change. And I am willing to wait patiently till next five years to see it happening.<br />
So my vote is not for this election but for the future of India. <br />
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Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-56127372539605815712013-08-06T13:16:00.001+05:302013-10-22T16:43:20.656+05:30Are you a feminist mother?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Are you a feminist mother, Amma?</div>
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Had I asked my mother this question,
her answer would have been “ I don't
understand what feminist mother means'.</div>
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Right. My mother died 20 years back.
There was no term like 'feminist mothering' during her time. And even
if there was, I don't think it would have changed any of her
philosophy of upbringing her three children. And yet I feel by
today's definition of 'feminist mother' she befits the term with out
even subscribing to the ideology of feminism.
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Let me introduce you to my mother. </div>
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My mother had masters degree in
home-science from Pune's SNDT Women's University. She was was very
interested in the political science and politics of her time. She was a trained singer and used to perform for All India
Radio . Fluent in Portuguese , French Marathi, English and her
mother tongue Konkani she was a competent teacher in math and
science. And above all she was an avid sports fan. Specially
Cricket. It she who explained me what a googly means in cricket.</div>
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One of the first few women in
Goa who started a school. I used often get compliments from
my friends mothers who would acknowledge her by saying “ had your
mother not begged with my father to send me to school, I would have
remained <i>angutha chap </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(
illiterate). She was very active participant in Goa's freedom
movement. And her contribution has been acknowledged in Goa's history</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And in-spite all
this she lived a very humble life of a 'Indian woman'. By no imagination a feminist. Suffering all
the travails of patriarchal society. As a young widow- she
shouldered the responsibility of bringing children at a very young age -two daughters
and a son .</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">why do
I feel my mother was a feminist mother ? </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>“The term 'feminist mothering'
suggests, among other things, the effort to bring up both boys and
girls as human beings without socialising them into rigid and
hierarchical gender roles. It also suggests that women will claim
choices about lives outside of their roles as mothers. When I use the
term, I refer to a commitment to egalitarian gender politics while
raising a child, as well as the effort to create an environment where
a child is able to make choices and exercise agency. I think the
dilemma I attempt to engage with is that of wanting to give one's
daughter choices and help her learn to negotiate various risks, and
at the same time keep her 'safe' in cities that are often seen as
dangerous.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><i>”</i> says Shilpa Phadke, a feminist and one
of the avid proponent of feminist mothering. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span><a href="http://www.sunday-guardian.com/artbeat/the-challenges-of-raising-children-the-feminist-way">http://www.sunday-guardian.com/artbeat/the-challenges-of-raising-children-the-feminist-way</a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If this is what
feminist mothering is about, than I have a strong case for my mother.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And here is why.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I look at my
childhood, what I realize is my mother never gendered her children.
If we understand process of gendering begins at birth. It may start with a simple issues like You buy dolls for a girls? And guns for boys. Make a girl wear
frocks that are pink in colour. You put a sweet pony for a girl . In
short you 'doll' her up. My mother did nothing of this. She never
bought dolls for me. Or guns for my brother. Or dressed me in pink. Blue for my bro. Nor did I have a cute
pony. Instead My hair were cut by the same barber who came to cut
hair for men and boys in the house. There was no feminist thought behind this but a simple practical step. It was cheap to cut hair from a barber. So till age 5, I had men's crew
cut. And often guests would mistake me for a boy. I wore all kinds of
clothes shorts, frocks in all shades but pink.<br />
In short, I was just a child in the house and not
a girl child.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I grew up in a
joint family where boys outnumbered girls. In fact we two sisters
were only two girls in the house against five boys that
includes my own brother.) I did what what boys did in the house. And
never ever my mother told me you can't do this because you are a
girl.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Since it was boys
world.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I Boxed. Wrestled.
Cycled. Raced and lost. Climbed trees. Fell. Broke knees. Jumped off
the balcony in the sand pit below. And broke my hand. Played with
marbles. Betting money, won some and lost some. Smoked my first
cigarette standing in corner. Went on hunting expeditions. Got
bitten by bees. Played cards. Carom, badminton, football ,
cricket, ( and braced body line balling from boys ) marbles. I had a
stake in everything what boys did. And at no point I was told, hey you
are a different specie and you can't come with us. </div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If I go back
to my mother with a blue eye all she said was “ when you go out
with boys you must know what you are in for. They are rough. If you
don't like their ways don't play with them . But if you choose to
go then you must be prepared for something like this. ” Her
solutions were simple never play a 'girl card' . Again, there was no conscious feminist thought behind these words. Whether a girl or
boy you have a level playing field out there . If you want something , want an equal role than face it with equal consequences. Probably a lesson she learnt during freedom struggle, that going to jail meant nothing different for men and women.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Growing up as a
teenager was no much different. Same rules applied to my bro as well
we two sisters. Same deadlines. 12 am max. We had access to same places as boys.
And same pocket money.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">In
fact I remember when the school complained about me refusing to join
a cookery class meant for girls as part of extra circular activity; I wanted to take carpentry lessons. My mother wrote on my
report card: “She should be allowed to learn what she </span><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>wants</b></span><span style="font-style: normal;">
to learn.” </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Children
don't need instructions in gendering. They learn watching people
around them. Specially- one's mother if you are a girl. That is how one
forms idea of your own gender role. I saw my mother reading
books. Debating and discussing complex topics. I saw her attending
lectures and music concerts. Going to libraries and mostly spending
long hours writing. Solving our most difficult math problems. She
watched cricket matches on television sometimes staying late at
night if the match was played in London. And had a keen interest in
world politics. But she was also a fabulous cook. And loved classical music
and dance.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yet she was very
'feminine' . Almost docile. A typical 'Indian mother'. Being a staunch Gandhian she had very simple
living taste. Wore cotton saris. And performed most of the jobs by
herself in-spite of having litany of servants in home. Beauty parlour and salons were not her reality so she never introduced us to that
world as girls would. We grew up as plain Jane-s or country girls.
When my friend told me how her mother used to oil her hair and groom
her with specific perfume and make her stand in the church at a
specific point to attract 'right' boy's attention. I was shocked to
learn how my mother never told us such things. In fact when one of
my distant cousin was being 'shown' to a boy for a arranged match ,
my mother clearly told us “ you don't have to go through this
experience .”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Looking back, I
don't remember her spending time in front of mirror. She was not
interested in jewelry or dressing up, what generally women love.
Whenever the family jeweler came home to take orders, my mother would
never participate in it. She would walk away by saying 'tell him
exactly what you want and he will do it”. In short she never did
girly talk or girly things. I realized,
in my college days why I was so unpopular among girls.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Interestingly mother had a very
liberal and secular views specially on matters of gender. She had a very dear friend who was lesbian (
read my earlier blog. My mother's lesbian friend) <a href="http://deadlykali.blogspot.in/2011/06/my-mothers-lesbian-friend.html">http://deadlykali.blogspot.in/2011/06/my-mothers-lesbian-friend.html</a> )<br />
And when a Nigerian
classmate of mine would visit our home she would take keen interest
in learning his cultural background and never told me not to befriend
African boys.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I can go on and on,
why think she was true feminist mother by today's definition and
yet for her such tags had no much meaning. Being a Gandhian, her project was how to bring up her children as good human beings. Not as girls and
boys.</div>
</div>
Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-67556015590561568672013-07-18T18:26:00.004+05:302013-09-05T17:14:32.378+05:30What about Picasso Baby?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIJhj_a-n3CiEBaGh_EuZoDhlabVD7TP1fJud6AWQ9jXISJgkj5fRp4-HmEsMxRxKRs7EdnFMENLPQLFUcQ1F-UOsqhyphenhyphenC0lSlvAtRI6FNCVVYKR4mbipxLDigyqmJt2Geb4uzmbuJPBZ3/s1600/jayz-picasso-baby-behind-the-scenes-03_144313865685.jpg_article_gallery_slideshow_v2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIJhj_a-n3CiEBaGh_EuZoDhlabVD7TP1fJud6AWQ9jXISJgkj5fRp4-HmEsMxRxKRs7EdnFMENLPQLFUcQ1F-UOsqhyphenhyphenC0lSlvAtRI6FNCVVYKR4mbipxLDigyqmJt2Geb4uzmbuJPBZ3/s320/jayz-picasso-baby-behind-the-scenes-03_144313865685.jpg_article_gallery_slideshow_v2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Photographed by Mimi Ritzen Crawford </i></div>
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<br />
<style type="text/css"><!--
@page { margin: 2cm }
P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } http://www.vogue.com/culture/article/the-artist-is-present-behind-the-scenes-with-jay-z-marina-abramovi-and-judd-apatow/#1</style>Recently a very erudite artist posted a question on his status wall -
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Is it possible to think of 'art,
without thinking of the 'art world?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Most of the answers were in a single
emphatic word YES!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But take a second look. you will find
question has many questions within.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And it cannot be answered in a simple
word YES.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For example the question contains
following questions-<br />
<br />
Why we make 'art'? and for whom?<br />
<br />
who is buying 'art'? and seeing it? who is talking and writing about it? <br />
Is there any intrinsic relationship between an 'art object' and its collector? and does viewer really matter?<br />
If 'art' is done without the concern/gaze of art world? then will that art be recognized by the 'art world'?<br />
Ok .. let me stop this BS and put it this way- Is today's art an insider job? where the artists, critic, curator, gallerist, collector collude and decide what should be ART? and therefore "art cannot be made without thinking of art world"?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I think Jay Z, the celebrity hip hop singer has answered this question through his recent performance. Now Jay Z needs no introduction. On 10<sup>th</sup> July he
invited who is who of art world and his fans at the New York's Pace
gallery to release his recent single presented in a ART Performance.
Dressed in a squeaky white shirt , and equally squeaky white
sneakers, adoring his trademark bling, Jay Z performed live for six
hours , inviting artists , art critics gallerists to shake a leg
with him while mouthing some famous names of the art world. One by
one he would drag a celebrity audience on the stage look into their
eyes and move in an impromptu gig. Marina Abramovic the doyen of the
performance art was the highlight of the act. Dressed in a loose
black gown she and Jay Z whirled around each other like two ferocious
felines that are about to attack each other . In another video
clip of the same performance showed an elderly lady wearing loose
green shirt, with a a leg plastered in bandage circumambulating the
dais in a children's scooter. While Jay Z gyrated in his regular hip
hope moves, his guests moved in strange gestures that can be
hardly identifiable to any dance forms. Some pretended talking. Some jumped like monkeys. In any case the whole
performance was an impromptu tamasha. The world media covered the event as a
marriage between two art movements, and labeled it pop-
performance.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For moment you wonder Is this is art?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So I turned to lyrics which I could not
hear while the performance was on.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It goes like this-</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I just want a Picassso,/In my casa /
No, My castle /I am a hassa/ No am an asshole</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I am never satisfied/can't knock my
hustle/ I wanna Rothko/ No I wanna brothel /</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No/ I want a wife that fucks me like a
prostitute/ Let's make love on a million/ In a dirty hotel/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
with the fan on the ceiling /All for
love of drug dealing / Marble floors / Gold ceilings/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh what a feeling / fuck it I want a
billion/ Jeff Koons balloons / I just wanna blow up /</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Condos in my condos / I wanna row of/
Chirstie's with my missy / Live a the MoMA/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Bacons and turkey bacons smell the
aroma</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Chorus</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh what a feeling / Picasso baby / Ca
Picasso baby / Ca ca Picasso baby / Ca ca Picasso baby /</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh what a feeling / Picasso baby / Ca
Picasso baby /Ca ca Picasso baby, ca ca Picasso baby</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It ain't hard to tell / I'm the new
Jean Michel / Surrounded by Warhols /</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My whole team ball / Twin Bugattis out
side the Art Basel /I just wanna live life colossal/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Leonardo Da Vinci flows Riccardo Tisci
Givenchy clothes / See me throning at Met</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Vouging on these niggas/ Champagne on
my breath/ Yes / House like the Louvre or the Tate Modern / Because
I be going ape at the auction / Oh what a feeling / Aw fuck/ I want
a trillion</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Sleeping every night next to Mona lisa
/ The Modern day version / with better features</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
yellow Basquiat at my kitchen corner/
Go ahead lean on that shit Blue /You own it</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Chorus
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh what a feeling / Picasso baby/ Ca
Picasso baby / Ca ca Picasso baby / Ca ca Picasso baby/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh what a feeling / Picasso baby, Ca
Picasso baby / Ca ca Picasso baby, ca ca Picasso baby</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I never stuck my cock on the fox's box
but / Dammed if I ain't open Pandora's box/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They try to slander you man/ On CNN and
FOX/ My Miranda's don't stand a chance/ With cops/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Even my old fans like old man just stop
/I could if I would but I can't</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I am hot / And you blow /I'm still man
to watch / Hublot / On my left hand or not/Soon I step out of the
booth / The cameras pops niggas is cool with it / Till the cannons
pop/ Now my hand on the Bible/ On the stand got your man in a jam /
Again / Got my hands in cuff / I'm like god damn enough/ I put down
the cans and the ran amok / My hairpin / Pierce skin ruptures spleens
/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Crack rips, go through cribs and other
things / No sympathy for the king huh / Niggas even talk About your
baby crazy / Eventually the pendulum swings / Don't forget America
this how you made me/ Come through with the 'Ye mask on'/ Spray
something like SAMO/ I won't scratch the lambo/</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What's it gonna to take / For me to go
/For y'all to see/ I am the modern day Pablo/ Picasso baby</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
PERFECT!! </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lyrics of the song clearly explains today's art scene very eloquently. who makes art and for whom ? Who is buying art? and for what reason he is buying it. It also explains why art should be made in first place? What the **** the art world is all about? Doesn't it explains the 'existential dilemma' of today's artist when he says I am the modern day Pablo.?<br />
<br />
This is nothing but art.<br />
And hey if you don't trust my judgement, here is esteemed critics words.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Jerry Saltz, NYC art critic, who was invited for the performance warned
Jay Z that he is an art critic and he better watch out what he does
on the stage. But after going through the six hour performance He writes,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
“I went in doubting. I left elated.
Any performer who can get a room full of strangers chanting, "Picasso
baby" over and over again is good in my book. Better yet, Jay-Z
even got me to actually start liking Marina Abramovic. That's art”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
" Oh what a feeling/ Picasso baby/ Ca Picasso baby"<br />
I am loving it!<br />
Sir,<br />
if you want my honest answer.<br />
The 'real' art happens out side the bounds of art world.<br />
what happens in the art world is "Picasso babies"<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMG2oNqBy-Y">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMG2oNqBy-Y</a> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Image courtesy </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.vogue.com/culture/article/the-artist-is-present-behind-the-scenes-with-jay-z-marina-abramovi-and-judd-apatow/#1">http://www.vogue.com/culture/article/the-artist-is-present-behind-the-scenes-with-jay-z-marina-abramovi-and-judd-apatow/#1</a><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-14185525067342729172013-07-13T19:08:00.000+05:302013-07-15T16:41:12.526+05:30Last Telegram<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
As I opened the door , courier boy thrust a small paper through the
grill window.<br />
<br />
"Sign here", it's a telegram"
he said.<br />
"What?!! A Telegram??? Are you sure you have got the right
address?" I asked the man across the grill in a very bewildered
tone.<br />
I could not believe the word Telegram. who would want to send a
telegram in this age? I wondered.<br />
<br />
The man , in his mid forties definitely had no time or patience to
appreciate my amusement and repeated the words now more sternly “
sign here”.<br />
I signed on the paper he gave me then he handed me a
small printed paper in my hand.<br />
I was still trying to make sense of the chit he had given me. “This
will be one of the last telegrams you will ever receive. Open it
carefully.” he muttered as he walked off. It was a small printed chit stapled in one
corner. As I opened the stapled pin , it said<br />
<br />
“ TELEGRAMS – SOON TO BE PART OF A BYGONE ERA THANKFULLY SOME<br />
THINGS GO ON FOREVER ORRA PURE BRILLIANCE IMPOSSIBLE TO HIDE<br />
WONDERFUL JOURNEY SO FAR THANK YOU”<br />
KAJAL AND VIJAY<br />
<br />
<br />
Of course some friends had used this last opportunity to send a
telegram to wish their friends well.<br />
<br />
Honestly, I had never seen a telegram in my life. I did hear of it
in my child hood through literature, movies and songs, but never had
received one.<br />
<br />
This would be my first and the last telegram of my life. I
would like to thank my friends for this special experience.<br />
<br />
Telegraph service in India has 160 years of history. It was one the
important services of communication of modern India and played a
significant role during freedom struggle. People received news of
birth, death, success failure joy and despair through a telegram. Often news of receiving a telegram was linked to a tragic news. There are many bollywood songs that celebrated the life of postman for
bringing that mail or a telegram. I can imagine how important this
service might have been for the people during those days. It must
have been as indispensable as today's email or sms . With time the
technology might have changed but the essence of human communication
and emotions remain the same.<br />
<br />
On the 15<sup>th</sup> July 2013, the worlds' last telegram
service will stop.<br />
So long for a Telegram...<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
here are some interesting sites.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://philamirror.info/2011/08/02/telegraph-services-in-indiapast-to-present/">http://philamirror.info/2011/08/02/telegraph-services-in-indiapast-to-present/</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2013-07-12/india-s-telegraph-once-gandhi-s-e-mail-stutters-to-an-end.html%20">http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2013-07-12/india-s-telegraph-once-gandhi-s-e-mail-stutters-to-an-end.html </a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.euronews.com/2013/07/12/world-s-last-telegram-service-set-to-be-silenced-in-india/">http://www.euronews.com/2013/07/12/world-s-last-telegram-service-set-to-be-silenced-in-india/</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/after-163-years-india-sends-its-final-telegram-stop-mobile-phones-and-the-internet-have-superseded-the-onceessential-service-8658110.html">http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/after-163-years-india-sends-its-final-telegram-stop-mobile-phones-and-the-internet-have-superseded-the-onceessential-service-8658110.html</a><br />
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Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-55678822910344588942013-06-10T19:26:00.000+05:302013-06-11T17:50:57.465+05:30Turkish Connection<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Turk </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It
was long flight. An elderly man was seated next to me. As our eyes
met he smiled . A smile a stranger flashes at you when you are
stuck in a time and space not knowing what to do.</span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: small;">Are
you a Pakistani?” he finally asked after dinners were served.</span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: small;">No.
Indian, and You?” I asked just to reciprocate his question.</span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: small;">Turk.
Turkish” He said with a smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I
popped up now with the word Turkish.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“ <span style="font-size: small;">Oh
.. I had been to Istanbul once and I feel deep connection to that
land . I want to go to Istanbul again. ”.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You
should. You should. Turkey is beautiful country. With ancient
history. You must go there to discover its mystery” He said
patronizingly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Strangely
I felt longing in his words. As if he was talking about his land he knew. I waited for a while for him to speak more, but
he seemed to be lost in some world. As sky outside as began to
darken I buried myself in the screen before me . </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This
was 2010. </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Arab
spring had just started in Tunisia and Egypt. And Flotilla event
was making news. Turkey was always in the international news
headlines in someways. </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We
remained silent most of the journey</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As
the pilot announced the landing instructions passengers began to get
restless. There was movement in the gangway and people began to
rummage through their overhead luggage. Turkish gentleman who was
lost in his own world, came back to life again and smiled. This is
a familiar smile a stranger flashes at you as the journey comes to
end. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After small talk on the tourists interests in Istanbul, he suddenly turned
serious.</span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: small;">I
am worried man these days.” He said stressing every word but still
holding his smile. I could see that. But just kept silent allowing
him to speak. He was lost again.</span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: small;">I
worry for my Turkey. It is sitting on a political crisis. I pray
lord. I pray lord..” suddenly he realized my presence sitting next
to him. With an apologetic smile he wished me luck for my forward
journey, and reminded me to visit Istanbul soon. We never exchanged
our names and parted our ways on that airplane with a polite
handshake.</span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There
was nothing significant about this meeting.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Except
his deep lost eyes and his longing for his land.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Why
did he worry so much about Turkey?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A Kilim</span><br />
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I opened the package carefully before the cleaners to show the piece of kilim I wanted to get dry cleaned. <br />
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“Can you do the job with extra care without damaging this piece?” I asked the man on the counter who was trying to judge the age of the carpet.<br />
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'I will try. But it looks very old and fragile” he said his eyes still fixed on the kilim.<br />
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“ Yes It is very old. Perhaps 200 years old. And it carries so many memories.” as I said these words I shocked myself.<br />
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What ?!! did I say that? Did I say it is 200 years old ? And it carries so many memories? These were not my words. These were the exact words of the salesman who sold me the kilim in Istanbul's grand Bazar. <br />
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Like most of the tourists we landed in the grand bazar while visiting Istanbul.<br />
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It reminded me of the Crawfard market of Mumbai. But much better organized. Much bigger. and much cleaner market. But ethos was same. Crowded, colorful and buzzing with activities. I had nothing specific in my mind to buy but couldn't stop falling in love with the market. We moved past shops finally stopping at an old carpet shop.<br />
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As we gazed at the carpets and kilims spread before us, the man who sold me this kilim said he is making a cheap sale. Just because he believed that this kilim belonged to me. I could not stop smiling as I heard his desperate pitch to sell his wares.<br />
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The man was in his early thirties, young and charming and certainly knew his art of salesmanship . On his lean frame he carried a checked shirt and faded denim pants and a light leather jacket. I was determined not to fall for his glib talk. Just two days in Istanbul , we realized men in Istanbul had a ways with women. Be a taxi-man . A waiter- boy. Room boy. Men would never pass by without complimenting a woman. It was quite strange behavior for our Indian sensibilities . But we learned to take in our stride and accepted it as part of their cultural trait. <br />
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"200 hundred dollars is very cheap bargain for a 200 year old kilim.. But I am making this sale because I know this kilim belongs to you madame " Salesman carefully worded his statements with his wide open eyes peering straight at me. I was bit embarrassed .<br />
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"it is bit too small for my need" I told him still trying to make up my mind<br />
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"Madame", he said "I am not selling you a kilim ... but I am selling you memory"<br />
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"Memory? what memory?" I asked stunned at his words.<br />
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Now he got an opportunity to make the final bid and he went on with his speech moment he realized he has got my full attention. "This kilim is very very old madame. I can say this from its weave. This craft is no longer seen these days. It is very detailed work which no one does it now....Istanbul is huge market and we receive goods all over from east Europe and Persia. I will not be able to tell you from which part of East or West this has come to my shop . But I know so much it is an authentic piece and very old handcrafted Kilim. My experience in the business tells me this was a large piece and with time it has been cut into smaller pieces to salvage its beauty. I can tell you this kilim has stood witness to time.... time that you and I cannot imagine. Touch this piece and you will know what I am talking about.....” He paused dramatically and suddenly mellowed his voice and requested last time “Take it Madame it is a good buy, I tell you” The man spoke in a broken English with thick turkish accent.<br />
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There was silence after his long speech.<br />
Without saying a word, I pulled out two $100 bills and said “Shukran” the only Turkish word I had learned in last two days. With a broad smile on his face salesman then neatly packed the kilim in a brown paper cover. Looking back I still don't know what made me buy that Kilim. Was it his emotional sales pitch, his charming manners . or was it an impulsive act that felt right.<br />
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When I spread that kilim in my living room in Mumbai, a thought crossed my mind- now that the humble Kilim has traveled to a new destination, it would stand witness to my life here on. Adding one more layer of memory.<br />
When I told the dry cleaners to handle the rug with extra care , did I mean, “don't clean the memories?”.<br />
I am not sure.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Memory</span><br />
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For a long time I ignored the book by Orhan Pamuk- Museum of Innocence. Honestly, I am not too fond of Pamuk's writings. This 700+ pages, book was far too thick for my linking. Finally I gave up my resistance and ordered a copy .<br />
For two reasons. One it was all about city of Istanbul ( albeit of 70s) and secondly it was a book about memory.<br />
<br />
The book first published in 2008, is a novel, a love story set in Istanbul. Pamuk, etches out a fascinating socio cultural picture of Istanbul society of 70s. To quickly summarize the story for those who may not have read the book. Kemal, a wealthy heir of business family engaged to Sibel meets his distant cousin, a shopgirl -Fusun and falls in love. Kemal and Fusun are separated due to various circumstances. Unable to reconcile with the desire for his lover and obsessed by her memory Kemal goes on to construct a museum in her memory as he believes museum is an expression of “ collection of expressive of the soul of that 'experience'.<br />
Every object that is either surrounded or touched by his lover becomes and object of nostalgia for Kemal. For instance when Kemal suggests “we can identify our happiest moment by selecting it in retrospect, as I am doing now..... but to designate this as my happiest moment is to acknowledge that it is far in the past, that it will never return and the awareness therefore, of that very moment is very painful. We can bear the pain only by possessing something that belongs to that instant”. <br />
Here I want to ponder how an object becomes a conduit of a memory? A object by itself may not contain any specific emotions but what we project on to it and how we construct these memories defines the the significance of that object. In case of Kemal, whether it is Fusun's earring that got lost when they made love, or her tricycle on which she played as child, cigaret she smoked, clips, pins buttons shoes , dress so on and so forth become the objects of memory bank that constructs his idea of love. Every move, every action of hers transported him to a time where his real time froze and turned into a magical moment of 'happiness'- nothing besides her was more meaningful and thus the memory becomes the only point of reference of the 'meaningful time' of his life. Kemal goes on to justifies it “ the power of things inheres in memories they gather up inside them, and also in the vicissitudes of our imagination, and our memory...”<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Resistance</span><br />
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Today when Turkey is in turmoil, I remember the the Turk whom I met on the airplane in 2010. As I said he looked worried, I wonder, is this what he was foreseeing when he talked about his land back then? Resistance? <br />
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I don't know<br />
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We have got quiet used to media images of protest all over the world. Images more or less look so similar that one can hardly make out if the footage is from one country or other. Sea of people in an ant parade walking through roads , then stopped by police barricades, dispersed with water cannons and tear gassed. What remains is plethora of images as spectacle of human trauma,- sharply embedded in your memory.<br />
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Tahrir square, Taksim square, Frankfurt, Jantar Mantar, Dhaka... <br />
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Brown. Black. White. Yellow.....<br />
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You don't understand the language<br />
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You don't even understand the politics behind such protest.<br />
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But you do understand the INTENT<br />
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And you do feel their pain.<br />
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Egypt, Lybia, Syria were just images<br />
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You sympathized with the people and moved on.<br />
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But Turkey is different.<br />
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Today, it is more than a memory. <br />
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Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-84769617097032370362013-02-25T13:10:00.002+05:302013-08-09T13:45:20.178+05:30Lessons from Bollywood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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At the end of a hectic seminar day on art education in India, as friends and colleagues sat for a relaxed chat, I asked a very senior respectable art historian and critic, “ At the time of Indian independence movement, there were two distinct aethethic schools that dominated Indian art scene. The progressives on one hand and Bengal and Shantiniketan school of art the other. It is evident that India chose Progressive way and where we are today is the choice we made as a nation in adopting the aesthetic destination. Had we chosen the other two schools as a preferred aesthetic model, do you think we could have much different story? An art practice rooted in its cultural history which in turn could have led us to stable art market than today?”<br />
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Erudite as he is, he answered in a typical cautious tone that I expected.” It is really hard to answer a hypothetical question like this... but I do understand from where your question is coming from.” <br />
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My question was coming from a simple observation and noise that was clamoring in the art world why there is so much of lack of enthusiasm in the art market in-spite of repeated efforts to booster the art market in terms of investment talks by corporate honchos. <br />
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Lately an article published in e-journal, one of the gallery owner of contemporary art complained of the prolonged state of depression in current art scene, that forced him sell his business and take up a job as a paid salary worker at his own gallery- further sparked the rumor of deteriorating business of art in India. Indeed some galleries have quietly shut shop. Some are counting days. There is palpable gloom and doom in Indian art market. As a result this has given rise to all sorts of insecurities, paranoia , rumors, immoral trading, cartel practices, and verbal slugfests. Are these first visible signs of collapse of order in art world?<br />
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Art world is an ecology, composed of artist, art schools, dealers, gallery-ists, alternative platforms , collectors, art critics, art historians, museums, auction houses, publication houses, art fairs, biennales, triennial's etc. Etc., and last but not the least art viewers. If the artist is the foundation of this structure it is the art viewer who completes this structure. If the structure has to be solid every component has to perform its role in best possible manner. If we feel today market is in doldrums then something is wrong within the structure. Either some elements are not performing its role or are simply missing.<br />
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One of the serious problem faced by today's contemporary art world is in the fact when it comes to art and culture; government has no policy in place even today after 66 years of independence. Any art practice, be it films, music, visual art, performance art or any other form of art was never a priority for the government. How can government pay for the entertainment of few rich people when there are millions starving in our country is a convenient argument plastered on the face of those who have argued in favor of funding for arts.<br />
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Considering , economic political environment in India, if any cultural practice has to survive and flourish it has to find its own method and model of economic sustainability. <br />
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And has any art form found that key to success? <br />
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Yes, Bollywood did.<br />
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Today bollywood is the most successful product of India that has captured global market. It is essentially an INDIAN cultural product replete with song, dance, melodrama, a predicable story line and kitschy dialogues. And yet the world consumes it with same interest that of Mcdonald burger with french fries and cola as a combo meal. <br />
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Bollywood must have done something right when it comes to understanding its market. I am not an economist nor a bollywood historian to give facts and figures of the industry to map its graph of success . But I do understand its cultural positioning since it was part of my growing . I can say this as a lay person how bollywood worked for me- because it told stories that I could relate to, I could comprehend and I could identify. Not that I liked all that I saw, and not that I agreed what I saw, yet I ( we) would go to see a film and talk about it. Argue. Critique. Reject. Enjoy, feel Happy. Sad. Angry. Humiliated. Elated... you name it and every emotion was captured through a memory of bollywood flick. I know of stories that people would skip a meal for the family ( because they were so poor) but not a bollywood film. Such stories make you believe, somewhere bollywood understood its market correctly.<br />
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Today in market economies the countries that have biggest market rules the roost. It is no secret that all the top countries are queuing outside India, China, Brazil only because of its strength of market. And yet why the art market in India is in doldrums, in-spite of having such a strong market at their door step? There must be something seriously wrong the way art world is functioning today. <br />
<br />
So if bollywood has done something right and art world has done something wrong in understanding its market what could it be? Because both are cultural products.<br />
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<br />
This is where I want to propose the issue of visual literacy. To give a simplistic definition of visual literacy- for me is it is a learning that takes place through visual data that he/she accumulates in the process of life. It is part of informal learning, gathered over a period of time of his or her life and meanings are generated through the visual symbols and motifs that are part of his or her cultural contexts. Most of the cultural practices that precede text are aimed on educating masses through visual imageries there by developing a visual grammar specific to its cultural landscape. This is the basis of visual literacy. Thus you may be illiterate but (every sighted being) cannot be visually illiterate in a given cultural contexts.<br />
<br />
I would like to go back to bollywood roots to see how Bollywood used the visual literacy in developing the market.<br />
Raja Harishchandra the first Bollywood film made by Dadasaheb Phalke was an adaptation of popular theater genre, of the time . Mythological themes were most popular subjects for entertainment and were accessible to all literate and illiterate people of India. Thus Dadasaheb preferred to tell stories what people knew , could identify and relate to. He introduced masses to a new media without intimidation of its new technology by giving the comfort of familiar. And yet new technology of film did enhance the experience of entrainment enlarging visual vocabulary of the audience. Once the audience confidence was gained and a loyal patronage was established, bollywood could develop a various film genres over a period. My point is , Dadasaheb capitalized on the visual literacy of the masses to entice audience for film media and eventually a dialogue was forged between the audience and film makers. Had he adopted Hollywood style cinematic narrative, would he have got the same response as he did with Raja Harishchandra? I doubt<br />
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Various genres such as social cinema of Raj Kapoor, patriotic films of Manoj Kumar to mythologicals of Ramanand Sagar, noir films of Guru Dutt, romantic flicks Of Yash Raj films to bollywood style wild western of Ramesh Sippy and others to suspense and gangster dramas of Ram Gopal Verma so on and so forth each director added a new genre of bollywood movies gradually educating masses for a varied aesthetic taste.. Bollywood film was thus a partnership between its audience and film makers developing an unique aesthetic language what is known today as 'Bollywood style' or 'masala films'. Besides these there was alway space for niche fim makers like Satyajit Ray and others who practiced art film making. Every one has its own space and their audience. When it comes to film making India is a well developed market.<br />
The dharma of masala film has alway been Box office or people. Amir Khan one of the most successful and powerful Khans of the current bollywood stars in his interview at Oscar nomination of his film Lagaan said “ I will never make a film aiming to win an Oscar. My first and foremost priority is my audience in India whom I make films . My stories are specifically made for my audience Yes, i would be happy if I win an Oscar . But that would be just incidental not my primary aim.”<br />
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It is true that till today no bollywood flick has won an Oscar award. It is alway accused for highly stylized and formulaic structure totally aimed at pure entertainment value, thus compromising on the standards of quality cinema. Similar allegations are also leveled against the contemporary Indian art, as western art critics think it is formulaic in nature and highly indebted to western art history hence lack the original thought and characteristic.<br />
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At this point one may argue how is bollywood success story be comparable to visual art history in India. There are far too many differences between two practices. While masses are the direct consumers of films , art is a niche market. It is more expensive commodity and can be bought by only rich patrons. <br />
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True. Contemporary art needs a very different infrastructure. Its process are different. Its production are different. And so is its practices. and its reach. All over the world art market is far smaller market to film market. However, my question is about developing audience for its product. Audience is the first step to developing market. If there is no customer there is no market.<br />
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As said, lack of governmental support and not many museums dedicated to contemporary arts, reaching out/educating masses to contemporary art practices is totally absent . This is one of the biggest structural draw back of Indian art world. The onus of supporting the contemporary art market lay on the shoulders of private galleries run by individual entrepreneurs. Private galleries are not meant to perform a role of a museums. They neither have the logistics nor the funds to envision a program that can integrate mass education. Galleries have specific agenda dictated by profit margins. It is no surprise that art sold through galleries is catered for a specific elite class and their taste. Thus these sanitized white cubes generate tastes that suits a section of aspirational class that is aiming at a particular lifestyle. Aesthetics that evolve in such spaces is highly skimmed through theoretical discourse . Masses can not identify with such aesthetics nor they are interested in it. Thereby remain alienated from contemporary art practices. The contemporary indian art market in current condition remains a limited scope of expression catering to small segment of people. In its current format its scope of expansion will remains marginal unless some corrective measure evolve that will integrate the confidence of masses to come and see art, discuss. debate. argue. and feel part of it. Or else this is going to a long winter. <br />
In short if you want to grow a tree plant its seed in the earth. <br />
<br />
That brings me to my original question....<br />
<br />
had art world in India chosen a model like bollywood that catered to aesthetics of the masses eventually developing its own style, grammar and a language would it have a different story to tell? And thus a more vibrant art market to experiment with?<br />
<br />
<br />
But then this is just a hypothetical question.... a question that has no answer.<br />
<br /></div>
Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-71599172057085476692013-01-28T19:20:00.001+05:302013-01-30T13:35:41.271+05:30Rise and Fall of a GOD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Mantle of God is not easy! Even
Buddha or Jesus knew the burden of such mantle and tried their best
to keep away from it. But in India- the land of spiritual awakening
there are few who are too eager to don these cloaks to claim the crown of God.
Many of these enlightened souls often fail so miserably exposing the
myth of ' god ' and raising the question , is there a God? or is GOD
just a fiction created by men of religion for their convenience to
control communities, races, creeds and nations through
imagination ?</div>
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Story of Bhagwan Rajneesh is one such
story of a man who tried to become God and failed. In her memoir
Don't Kill Him! ; Ma Anand Sheela once secretary (1981-85) to
Bhagwan Rajneesh aka Osho gives her side of story explaining how
Rajneesh born as an ordinary man - Chandra Mohan Jain rose to
capture the imagination of the world through his words convincing
his followers that he is a God , manipulated his followers, fell from
the grace of spiritual height, and died probably of drug abuse. Yet , this book is Book of love for her master and her lover. Book is divided into
two parts. First section narrates Sheela's resignation from
Osho's commune as a secretary and subsequent arrest by US authorities
and her time in prison on charges of fraud and treason. And the
second section tells how she came to know , fell in love with
Bhagwan, became his disciple, rose to the ranks of secretary, and a
close confidant. Later resigned from the post, as she felt man whom
she called her God let her down and disgraced her.
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Genre of memoir, is susceptible to
authors perceptions of the events that are being described . In the
sense it can contain personal opinions, jealousy, unwarranted
remarks, gossips and even allegation as part of the narrative. Ma
Sheela does provide lot of insider gossip of the cult of Rajneesh. And yet her narrative has remained a calm
and dispassionate witness to her acts. Written in short and candid
manner, punctuated with short anecdotes, quoted from Osho's
discourses, book has gripping quality; a style of narrative Osho himself was adept
at.
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Acharya Rajneesh, a professor of
philosophy at a collage in Madhya Pradesh came into public limelight
through his controversial lectures on sex and human
consciousness. Well versed with eastern and western philosophical
schools Acharya was against the established religions and thus set
out to establish a new order, a society based on freedom of choice
and liberty to achieve a spiritually enlightened souls - Homo Novus -
where every man is a potential Buddha. Based on this vision Archaya
set his first commune in Pune in 1974, and called his followers
sanyasins i.e. one who has renounced the world. Sanyasins wore long
flowing red gowns and malas ( bead necklace) that contained
Rajneesh's face in the pendant was the distinct sign of the Rajneesh
cult. Popularity of the Rajneesh's cult grew very quickly even among
intellectual groups and it soon became an international spiritual
cult to reckon with. With growing popularity, Rajneesh/Osho flaunted
his arrogance and wealth ( he had 96 Roll Roys and many diamond
crusted watches in his collection) aspired to build a self governed
city of Rajneeshpuram in Oregaon USA. But his organization soon came
into trouble with US authorities in 1985, who accused the Guru for
committing crimes against US citizens. Osho was deported out of US in
1986 , who then tried taking refuge in various foreign countries,
but denied entry. He returned to India and died in 1990 of heart
failure. That is the official story of Rajneesh /Osho. But every one
knew there were far more layers to this tale then what it seemed.
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Who really was Man behind Bhagwan?
What were his weaknesses and his strength ? How did he acquire the
title of sex guru? How did Bhagwan manipulate media and
publicity? Why did he like expensive and luxury items like diamonds,
Rolls Roys , watches and Pens? What was the business model of the
commune and who was brain behind behind flourishing commune? Whys? Hows? Sheela
tries to attempt to explain the Man and the God she understood.</div>
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Looking back, Rajneesh pioneered a new era of god men in India. He was first to recognize that spirituality can be
sold for a profit. He was the first successful
spiritual entrepreneur who realized the potential of making wealth
through ancient wisdom. Words were his capital. And capitalism was his mantra. In chapter 13 The Exploitation of
Sanyasins, Sheela writes ,” Bhagwan was a good businessman. He knew
his products, their value and their market. He wanted to work the
ashram work that all costs were covered.. hence an entrance fee was
asked for his discourse.... In the ashram therapies began to be
offered... so visitors could pick and choose and pay for their
choice...” Today all so called 'Gurus' of India
follow his model of business in spirituality.</div>
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The hurt of being disowned by the
master whom she gave her love and life is also palpable in the last
chapters. Some where she longs for the regret Bhagwan might have had
for loosing a confidant in her. She writes ” It was very easy
to misunderstand Bhagwan . It is always really difficult to
understand a man like Him... world does not understand Him. His own people understand him even less.. That was and is his main misfortune”.. by these words somewhere she poses a doubt for herself did she ever
understand Bhagawan/ Rajneesh /Osho the man and the God she THOUGHT
she knew?.
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Unable to resolve the dilemma she
faces, Ma Sheela resigns to her lover's position to make a final appeal to her readers, whoever he might
be a fake god? A man who betrayed the trust of his followers; heartless lover? perpetual lier ? whatever..
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He still deserves to Live!</div>
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If you have read Osho. Then you may also like to read her story.</div>
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Don't Kill Him!</div>
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A Memoir by Ma Anand Sheela</div>
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Fingerprint Publication , New Delhi,
2012</div>
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Rs. 250</div>
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Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-8831652294515823322012-11-18T18:13:00.000+05:302013-07-02T16:50:36.214+05:30"Love you like I hate you": Bal Thackeray(1926-2012)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Tiger goes silent, is how TV channels
announced the death of Balasaheb Thackeray . Last few days city of
Mumbai was anticipating Balasaheb's death. In fact the rumor was
Saheb as he was called was dead two days ago i.e. on the last day
Diwali ; the day of Bhajubeej an auspicious day for Mahrashrtians.
But the city administrators were afraid to announce it to public
as they anticipated violence in the city. Therefore they requested
the family to delay the announcement till an appropriate time. Now
that Diwali is over and city of Mumbai is going to take a break for
weekend holiday administrators decided that the appropriate time
has come. So Balasaheb 'died ' for Mumbai on saturday 17th novemebr 2012 at 3.30
pm .</div>
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This blog recounts strange love story of our times. Man called Balasaheb Thackeray and city of Mumbai. It is a love' affair' that everyone loves to hate.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">As the folk tale goes, Balasaheb
applied for a job at Times of India for the post of cartoonist. But
unfortunately the job went to a South Indian guy ( now famous
cartoonist RK Laxman) . It hurt Thackeray's pride. He went on to form a
regional party called Shivsena </span> in 1966 to <span class="Apple-style-span"> restore the hurt pride of Maharashrian manoos </span>( marathi man) <span class="Apple-style-span">who were getting marginalized in their own city. Rest is history!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span">He decided to reclaim the city. Reclaim its pride. Reclaim its culture. This mission became an obsessed lover's passion for his lover. To reclaim the city he did every possible act of a mad lover, he violated her by burning, torching, throttling... and finally rechristened her to 'own' her. ( a custom among the maharashtrians to rename the woman he marries to show ultimate ownership). He bragged that "any one who touched him then whole of Mumbai will burn". This kind of madness only a possessed lover can display. He believed he was the protector of the city guarding her from 'other forces' like South Indians, Gujratis, Marwadis, Biharis and Muslims. He was her( Mumbai's ) man and she was his bride.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">He was a true Hindu /Husband. Hindu hridaya samrata as he called himself.</span></div>
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Balasaheb adored Adolf Hitler and
emulated Shivaji a local Maratha King. Secretly he craved for this
image of Hilter created through fear and terror. He was a demagogue. This is how he
wanted to claim his status of demigod for naive local populace.
Balasaheb's politics was formulated through principles of hate and
violence. Whether it was late sixties, when Balasaheb first burnt the
city in protest of South Indians , then against Gujratis, Upites or
Biharis and in 92 against Muslims. He used the weapon of terror to
control Bombay. As a result he deeply polarized the citizens of
Bombay into those who belonged and those who did not belong to the
city. The Shivsena campaign of mee Mumbaikar( I am a Mumbaite) was
the result of narrow regionalism that went against the grain of
Mumbai's cosmopolitan culture. It was 92 riots Shivsena's hate
politics reached the peak when he ruthless burned the city and the Muslims to justify his Hindutva agenda. What he failed to see in his
narrow vision of great Maharashtra dream that he had unleashed an
unending cycle of violence over the city which went beyond his
control. The woman he loved so deeply and tortured for the sake of love was now being raped repeatedly by his own enemies.<br />
Did he ever regret that love stories should not be inked in violence?</div>
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Yet, Balasaheb was a man of
contradictions. No one could challenge his nationalism and patriotic
fervor as a fake political stance. Like Hitler , he mesmerized
people through his political speeches. He spoke from heart. He
spoke fearlessly. What he spoke is what he meant And what he meant
was what he spoke. People loved him for his honesty and he loved to perform before his people. It was a pure theatrics more then politics. And he won every time. This was the charisma of Balasaheb
Thackeray. Even when he preached politics of hate among
communities; he loved individual persons irrespective of religion ,
state caste class and community. He stood by them in times of great
difficulty and he was a man of integrity which is such a rare quality
of a leader in Indian politics. The doc who served him till his death was a Muslim man. And he vouched for Balasaheb's affection. Isn't this ironical?</div>
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Balasaheb was first an foremost an
artist and a political cartoonist. This is how he called himself. "I am not a politician but a political cartoonist". It was so evident from the
sharp wit and humor laced in irony that emerged through his speeches
and his cartoons. As an artist his personality changed from his
politics. He loved all arts and artists from all genres. Singers, musicians writers
poets, cricketeers and if you are an achiever in any field, Balasaheb
made a point to laud him or her for their achievements. He invited
them home and treated like a personal guests. ( remember Michael jackson?). This was his humane
side. So contradictory to his ruthless politics.</div>
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Balasaheb had cultivated his public
image very carefully. In the political propaganda images he was
alway portrayed along with growling tiger which was the political
symbol of his party Shivsena. His early images show him delivering
his political speeches in white clothes (a kurta and chudidar) and
his hands extended in a forceful gesture or sometimes even the
gesture that seemed a threaten his political opponents. This
particular gesture of his hands and his body language and even his
white clothing i.e a white kurta and chudidar seemed to be based on
the character of Shivaji a regional king and a hero of Maharshtra.
Most of Balasaheb's political ideas were derived from Shivaji's
politics of resistance towards Muslim rule. As Balasaheb acquired the
role of a supremo and an dictator his images changed from a dynamic
hero to a Hindu ideologue seated on a huge chair wearing orange
robes and rudraksha chains around his neck he appeared like a
saint/god . He courted a a long flowing beard and a dark glasses
that gave him the anonymity to command dictates of violence .
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This is Balasaheb and Mumbai's strange
love/hate relationship. On one had he violated the city with no mercy
like a mad lover. On other he remained trapped inside Mumbai like
her imprisoned lover . ( he never traveled as far as Delhi)</div>
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As I write this blog, funeral
procession of Balasaheb is on the way. Mumbai has shut down
with fear. The city has stopped. There are no taxies or autos plying
on the roads, Cablewalas have shut all entertainment channels. There
is no milk delivery. No news papers. Shops cinemas, malls are closed.
Roads are deserted. Even the stray dogs on the roads have
disappeared. It feels quite eerie . For once the city has
stopped. More out of fear than respect.<br />
There is a moment of poignant pause.</div>
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The 'Love 'story of Balasaheb and
Mumbai ends here. Call it madness. Call it cruelty. Call it dictatorship. Some love stories go horribly wrong. This is one of them. Man and his city<br />
Mumabi is battered in this relationship and has lost her sheen. But she will move on.<br />
Will she be able to heal her wounds and return to her old glory?<br />
<br />
Image<br />
http://www.telugunow.com/hot-photos/bal-thackeray-life-and-times-photos/</div>
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Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-7987392075234596282012-10-16T16:41:00.000+05:302012-10-17T11:45:39.042+05:30Mango People and their Banana Republic <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGhZDpZGNE-UUayUcyQ0r9PWWiqjmgnEeLa55-fCljOYUNWm109qQ0OJx3FqD6w-ikSdwzfFkKFjifcvRPB4ERGBubs1WdD6686cKVJrWXIoD_hwGk__g8naoMU9X6n1RYi_tQ02o9Xe6j/s1600/mango.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGhZDpZGNE-UUayUcyQ0r9PWWiqjmgnEeLa55-fCljOYUNWm109qQ0OJx3FqD6w-ikSdwzfFkKFjifcvRPB4ERGBubs1WdD6686cKVJrWXIoD_hwGk__g8naoMU9X6n1RYi_tQ02o9Xe6j/s1600/mango.jpg" /></a><br />
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Sometime dolts too utter wise words which become quotable quotes. 'Mango people in Banana republic' one such quote which will remain in public memory for very long time. People might forget the person who said these words but these 'prophetic' words will haunt Indian public for very long time. India is a banana republic. And you don't need a Nobel Prize winner to say it so , even a dolt can see it.<br />
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Let me explain to those who may not know the context behind these words. These 'famous words are uttered by Robert Vadra, the famous son in law of the famous first family of India . The Nehru- Gandhi family who is ruling India by virtue of their name, fame, wealth and bully power. When Mango man ( aam admi = common man = Mr. Kejriwal) alleged that a humble businessman like Mr. Vadra has amassed un-humbling wealth in a short period and through dubious means , Mr. Robert Vadra's repartee came with these famous lines for Mr. Kejriwal; an activist who is trying to dig corruption karmas of the politicians of this nation. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJENxJ6JOW6gKEpr8xV7IwzMBSDFEM1Wp8febQOd8xrpe5FthuhRLF6Q4Yj64DPlUKjaie12OIVfbZlrz2gNL-KbYbFDqiIrmWRqenIQfP5ELdEBp4mGokiRjPqyUvClUnlZuet29VpilX/s1600/banana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJENxJ6JOW6gKEpr8xV7IwzMBSDFEM1Wp8febQOd8xrpe5FthuhRLF6Q4Yj64DPlUKjaie12OIVfbZlrz2gNL-KbYbFDqiIrmWRqenIQfP5ELdEBp4mGokiRjPqyUvClUnlZuet29VpilX/s1600/banana.jpg" /></a><br />
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Now forget Vadra. And look at his words. Mango man in banana republic. Mango man is a simple literal translation of hindi word aam admi . Funny. But Banana republic alludes to India. And thats not funny for many patriotic Indians. Wikipedia defines banana republic as “in practice, a banana republic is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/State_capitalism">a country operated for commercial enterprise </a>for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Private_property">private</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Profit_(economics)">profit</a>, effected by the collusion between the State and favoured <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monopoly">monopolies</a>, whereby the profits derived from private exploitation of public lands is private property, and the debts incurred are public responsibility. Such an imbalanced <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Economy">economy</a> reduces the national <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Currency">currency</a> to devalued <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banknotes">paper-money</a>, hence, the country is ineligible for international development-credit, and remains limited by the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uneven_and_combined_development">uneven economic development</a> of town and country. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kleptocracy">Kleptocracy</a>, government by thieves, features influential government employees exploiting their posts for personal gain (embezzlement, fraud, bribery, etc.), with the resultant <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Government_budget_deficit">government budget deficit</a> repaid by the native <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Working_class">working people</a> who earn money, rather than make money. Because of foreign (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Multinational_corporation">corporate</a>) manipulation, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kleptocracy">kleptocratic government</a> is unaccountable to its nation, the country's private sector–public sector corruption operates the banana republic, thus, the national legislature usually are for sale, and function mostly as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figurehead">ceremonial government</a>.<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banana_republic#cite_note-Hitchens-4">"</a><br />
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Going by this definition can anyone who lives in India, follows Indian politics and reads/watches Indian news channel will disagree with Vadra that India is not a banana republic?. Scams like 2G, 3G, CWG, Coalgate, Vadragate, Khurshidgate (and god knows how many scams and gates are going to hit the news line if you believe Kejriwal's word ) is not enough proof that India befits the definition of banana republic? So why are Indians getting so irked about Vadra's words? Man is simply calling spade a spade. <br />
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If such an evidence does not convince you then look out the quotes our esteemed leader appeared in media recently.<br />
<br />
RS 71L is small change for a minister to loot. ( if it was 71 crore we would have believed the news ) India's steel minister.<br />
<br />
Public has short memory. Look how public has forgotten Bofors scam. This scam to will be forgotten : India's Home minister referring to Coalgate<br />
<br />
Girls should be married at the age 16 so that gang rapes can be avoided. Haryana minister after reporting 22 rape case in the state in a month.<br />
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Most of the rape cases is consensual sex gone wrong. Haryana minister on gang of women in state<br />
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Mr. Kejriwal should stop barking everyday. India's steel minister<br />
<br />
Earlier if men and women held hands parents would reprimand them. Now everything is done openly. It is like open market with open options. A woman chief minister on rise of rape case in West Bengal.<br />
<br />
These are few samples of wisdom of the leaders Indians have chosen to rule, to govern a nation of billions, legislate laws that will protect people and enhance the quality of life in largest democracy of world. What do you expect to get from these people? Banana Republic!<br />
<br />
This is a country where public money is looted openly. Corrupt is never punished. ( In sixty four years of independence not a single politician has been convicted for corruption). Law never takes its course. Honest public servants are harassed by constantly transferring them for doing their duty.<br />
<br />
Poor are cheated by taxing them highly and rich are dolled with freebees. Justice is delayed and denied for poor and scuttled in case of rich. If a politician is found guilty he is rewarded by more positions. This country takes pride in malnutrition, Lowest birth rate. Poor health care. Poor hygiene. Corruption in every field of life. Crime against women. Name it and India will proudly tell you yes we practice that malpractice.<br />
<br />
Mr. Robert Vadra, I applaud your courage for saying it so loudly and clearly, today India has become a Banana Republic and we are the mango people...<br />
<br />
http://www.firstpost.com/politics/the-robert-vadra-mystery-forget-property-how-did-he-acquire-priyanka-484188.html<br />
<br />
http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2012-10-09/india/34342518_1_robert-vadra-banana-republic-facebook-account<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-89228396071968752312012-09-30T13:14:00.000+05:302012-09-30T13:14:01.817+05:30Gods of the street-2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Mumbai is city of spectacles.<br />
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Image copyright Baiju Parthan</div>
Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-53340868825844884842012-09-21T12:39:00.001+05:302012-09-29T11:39:58.353+05:30Translation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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If you translate the word<br />
Longing for me<br />
I will explain<br />
meaning of war.<br />
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Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-10784863062757440862012-09-06T17:05:00.000+05:302012-09-09T12:24:56.028+05:30Am and the Big Jerry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Disclaimer: This no review of Jerry
Pinto's book Em and the Big Hoom.</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Have you ordered something through
Flipkat?' my husband asked as he opened the door.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“yes. It is Jerry's book. Take the
delivery” I answered from the kitchen</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“ You must read it. I mean we must
read it . It has been well received.....” I corrected myself as I
went on talking in-spite of getting no response from other end.</div>
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Out came the book.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Em and the Big Hoom. By Jerry Pinto,</div>
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Em? and the Big Hoom? I turned the book looking for
some clues what it means. So Jerryish title. I thought to myself.
Never say things which are simple and direct.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Jacket of the book was equally
intriguing. Unlike Jerry</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Charcoal black with delicately
decorated female profile . I ran my hand over it and flipped through
the book. It had dark purple edged pages . I liked it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I don't know where I first met Jerry ?
It was early 90s. Was it at poetry circle group? Or was it in
Times of India office where Jerry worked as freelance writer and I
was a freelance illustrator.?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My perception of Jerry, is a tall
lanky guy with light eyes. Perpetually smiling , sometimes you felt
he is smiling bit too much for no reason as he talked non stop.
Words literally tumbled out his mouth like heap of clothes from
teenager's cupboards. He had a peculiar sense of humor that sometimes
bordered on darker , deeper and dirtier realms. I carried an impression
of him as sweet boy who always laughed and made you laugh. A
sunshine boy ; life of a party; a raconteur who entertained non
stop. Oh Jerry was such a fun to be around. And yet I felt there is a mystery side
which remained inaccessible to me. Jerry spoke in innuendoes. Which
made me feel very uncomfortable.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Let me recount an incident from Times of India days. Jerry was working as a freelance writer and I was a freelance illustrator. I had come to office to collect an article from edit desk. I saw Jerry typing on his computer at the end of long desk lined with many computers. I plopped myself next to his chair since I
had to wait for the print out to get ready. Naive and new to the city
environment, I got talking to Jerry and told him I bought something
that I don't not know how to use it. I was alluding to the oven we
bought other day. Jerry stopped typing, paused as he turned his
grey eyes on me said “ let me guess what it is. You bought a sex
toy!” I cannot describe my emotions at this point. Embarrassed ?
Shocked? Stunned? Angry? probably cocktails of all these emotions ran through me. Then came a smile with words “
It is a joke sweetheart. I am sure you will eventually learn to use an oven”.</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Was Jerry being nasty to me? Or was he
going through a bad day?</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In another instance, Jerry was visiting
us in our home in Nallasopara a deep suburb of Mumbai.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I picked up this opportunity to show
some of my art works to Jerry and an art critic friend on that
occasion. Jerry picked up an unfinished work that depicted of trousers hung on a
hook and unbuttoned. Jerry looked at the work “ I like that inhibited
libidinal fantasy you are trying to portray through this work.” and
then he went on giving a long unwinding dialogue explaining sexual connotation
of the work as he saw it. He ended his speech with “ Can I have
this work as a gift?” I was too shocked and embarrassed by his
direct critique before friends and my husband I could barely divert
the conversation by saying “ It is not a finished work”. ( I still owe him this work)<br />
<br />
I felt
Jerry enjoyed his uncanny ability to embarrass you with a straight
face which sometimes had a childish joy of checkmating the opponent.
The only way I could resolve Jerry's words would be “Oh I cannot
understand Jerry Pinto'.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So when I heard Em and Hoom was semi
autobiographical/ semi fictional work I decided to order the book. For me
book was an opportunity to take a peek into Jerry Pinto's world. A
window to Jerry's quirky attitude. And even try and understand
mystery behind his 'sunshine' smile.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So did I find any of the above
questions when I read the book?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Do I understand Jerry Pinto any better
now?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Em and the big Hoom is a very private
diary. A diary which you don't want people to ever read . It is a
space where you write to understand the incident in one's life in
retrospect and make sense of it. It is private meditation where you
ask yourself was I right in behaving this way? Or was I too harsh and nasty to other person? Why am I so angry with people around me? Should I say
sorry? Or am I mad too?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Understanding parent/child relationship
is daunting task even in normal family conditions. There are some
issues that remain unresolved and unexplained however loving and
caring the relationship may be. So when one's mother is terminally
'mad' the task to understand the family structure becomes more uphill.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Surprisingly the book is not as dark
and gloomy as jacket suggests. It neither informs you about the
illness of bipolar disease. Nor it seeks any sympathy for the family
who suffers along with the patient.<br />
It is not even attempting to understand 'family' structure. Or apologetic about its sexual dialogues between a mother and son .<br />
<br />
Jerry does not write this book for his readers. If you happen to read it 'good for you'. Book reminds me of my the first English lesson in school. “This is Tim and this is
Mini” Thats it. Take it or leave it.<br />
Jerry tells you story of his life with the
straight face “this is my mom Em and this is my father Hoom” Em
was mad and Hoom was Hoom. Now that I have told you story you can go
home”. and I am Jerry Pinto.<br />
<br />
I think i have found answer to my dilemma of how to
understand Jerry Pinto.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Jerry is Jerry<br />
take it or leave it.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-13013943211418717932012-08-24T16:50:00.000+05:302012-09-07T19:42:25.455+05:30Pussy Riot and Art of Political Performance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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What is common between performance art and political rally?<br />
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Opportunism through media gaze?!!!<br />
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Take recent two instances.<br />
Firstly the Russian all women music band called Pussy Riot which was sentenced to jail for two years for performing a protest- art against Russian president Putin. Band argued that they have the right to express their artistic view in a democracy. Rightly so.<br />
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Secondly two major political rally performances that staged violence in the city of Mumbai within gap of 10 days ; terrorizing the city for a political motive. Both the organizing parties argued that in a democracy they have right to protest against issues close to their heart. Again Rightly so.<br />
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Who is Pussy Riot? An unknown female band came in public limelight for being jailed for two years for singing protest songs against President Putin in a Russian church. This all female member punk rock band established in 2011 conducts political protests in various parts of Russia through their music and staged art performances. Although their music is hardly to reckon with and is often called childish , amateurs and cacophonic . What Pussy riot is famous for is their bizarre ways of protest performed in public spheres. Which includes setting fires to police cars, simulating sexual acts in shopping windows , disrupting public events and finally singing protest songs in church . All their acts are documented and released in public platforms like youtube and other forums by which they generate media attention. As per wikipedia "Pussy Riot’s performances can either be called dissident art or political action that engages art forms. Either way, their performances are a kind of civic activity amidst the repressions of a corporate political system that directs its power against basic human rights and civil and political liberties."<br />
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This is an instance of art 'performed as' politics. or what is called political art. Result today Pussy Riot is recognized world wide. All so called rich and famous are supporting the band members and their art.<br />
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Lets look at Mumbai rallies. On 11th August Raza academy called for a protest rally to register their protest against killing of Muslims in Assam and Myanmar. A well scripted event went violent after some incited speeches and the crowd went violent. The crowd who had come prepared with arsenal attacked police, media OB vans and public property. 2 Persons died and many police men got wounded.<br />
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This was act no 1.<br />
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Why I call it performance? <br />
Here clearly and cleverly 'violence' was performed '. You may take any meaning out of it. Plight or might? whatever. There was no doubt August 11 rally in Mumbai was pure political performance.<br />
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Then comes act 2. If August 11 showed people's strength on street at 12000 people. August 21st rally drew crowds estimated to be 50,000 odd people. Organised by Maharashtra Navanirman Sena (MNS) headed by Raj Thackeray. Everything of 21st August party was a political theatre at its best. Right from police denying the permission and making it illegal gathering, then granting permission last minute. Thackeray's defiance. His quintessential dramatic speech which lasted for 20 minutes, (but had all the trappings of a bollywood entertainment of 3 hour movie. Paisa vasool) . A policeman offering rose at the end of the speech to Thackeray. Everything was scripted , performed and executed to perfection. People clapped. Skeptics vowed. As columnist Shobha Dey said it was a political master stroke, and with a class entertainment.<br />
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This is an instance of politics performed as art or theatre.<br />
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Result today MNS and its head Raj Thackeray is a powerful entity in Mumbai. Raj Thackeray has achieved his goal in shunting the top cop out of Mumbai and has sent the message to masses he is the NEW boss.<br />
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What seems common in both events is provocation as a strategy. Strategy that seems work perfectly through media. I do not intend to make any judgement by saying whether Pussy Riot deserved to be jailed or MNS chief needs to be applauded or condemned for his provocative stance. What I want to point out is the 'performative' aspect of a political and artistic practice which remain at the level of 'symbolism'. In today's media defined reality, art and politics are two sides of same coin. Both work on one principle.<br />
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Pure opportunism<br />
Stage . Perform. Enjoy.<br />
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Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-78498219769902422522012-08-10T19:43:00.000+05:302012-08-10T20:05:48.071+05:30Mumbai Diary 5: Gods of the Street-1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Image courtesy</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=slumdog+krishna+image&view=detail&id=F75BBCDCF5FDA6B1345C42047EF86AA3AE91ADEF</span><br />
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There is a scene in the film Slumdog Millionaire. The quiz master asks Jamal the protagonist; What does Lord Rama carry in his hands? Scene then cuts to flashback where kids are shown playing in a dirty water tank and a group of women washing clothes nearby. One can see a mob of people approaching the slum. Jamal's mother realizes the danger and screams at the kids to run for life. Jamal with his brother dash away not before they see their mother being hacked to death by mob off Hindus.<br />
As they run through narrow alleys of slums they meet with a child standing in the corner painted in robin blue, hair tied in a knot raising his hand in protection. Young Jamal and his brother come face to face with lord Rama as they run away to save their lives. Scene in the movie is very poignant and in few visuals describe the communal tensions between Hindus and Muslim during Babri Masjid riots in 92.<br />
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Presence of 'god' in midst of riot scene in a metropolitan city like Mumbai may look surreal and even 'bollywoodish'. But believe me, it is not. If there is one thing that dominates the streets of Mumbai are gods. Gods of all kinds. Gods of all religion, sects and cults. Every day some god, saint or Guru occupies already busy roads of Mumbai to parade his or her power on the streets of Mumbai showcasing the strength and popularity of his or her sect.<br />
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Here are some random examples that show some 'small gods' appearing on the streets of Mumbai.<br />
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In the midst of business district in Mumbai's fountain area I stumbled upon lord Shiva and Rama standing next to the car and blessing you for few coins. Bahurupiyas or traditional impersonators as they are called are part of the village landscapes who often migrate to the cities in search of jobs and living. And impersonating gods is best way they can entertain you to earn money.<br />
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But gods just don't turn up in person. They appear in every form. In stone. on sanitary tiles . wall graffiti's. Stickers. Posters. banners you name it and a god image is omnipresent in Mumbai city like no other city.<br />
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Let me introduce you to Kumar. I met Kumar right outside Churchgate station. As a runaway kid, Kumar loved Mumbai's freedom but he could not forget his hometown of Madurai. Overtime he visited his hometown he brought a god along with him and stuck to the wall which was also his shop. He lived on the streets and conducted his business as shoeshine boy. What attracted me to his shop is his gods that were neatly perched between colourful shoe laces. <br />
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And then you have those god posters who rub space along with film stars and other popular images.<br />
One comes across many vendors like these who conduct their business in Fort area just around the national gallery of art.<br />
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This is Asif. Asif sells god stickers. He is a muslim boy but sells images of Hindu gods. He inherited his business from his father, who died all of sudden and left Asif the eldest of 5 children to bear the responsibility of looking after the family. His whole business is contained in a small inverted umbrella. When I asked him why an umbrella?, his reply was "municipality staff confiscates wares of the vendor. Moment he comes to know the Municipality staff are coming he can 'shut his shop' quickly. It is simple logistic issue.<br />
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Take this migrant worker in UP. who came to city with just clothes on. Set under a tree wondering how to make a living. First thing he did was to set his gods who were just stone. Smooth river stones. Which are worshipped as shaligramas or lord vishnu in anionic form. He began his business as barber . Today along with his barber shop he sell all paraphernalia of gods.<br />
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These are few examples of 'small gods' of 'small people' who live on the streets Mumbai. I call them small gods because the power they wield is minuscule. They are everywhere but not so visible. Like their patrons, they are trying to survive. Like their patrons most of them are migrants.<br />
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But streets of Mumbai are taken over by two major gods. Lord Krishna and Lord Ganesha. In my next blog I would like to discuss the two major festivals Janmashtami and Ganesh Chaturthi that take over the streets of Mumbai<br />
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<br /></div>Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-37458310363547839612012-07-02T11:42:00.003+05:302012-07-02T16:17:38.556+05:30Between a rebel, cigars and art exposition :Cuba Diary-2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“<span style="font-size: medium;">Welcome
to Cuba”, said the emigration officer finally, as she stamped my
passport after taking tad too long to scrutinize my papers. Hungry
and dead tired after the 20 hour long haul flight I was beginning to
get anxious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Immigration formalities done, I pushed through the exit
door and out of the airport to join my fellow artists. And there we
were with a sense of triumph clearly written on our faces as though
we had conquered the first stage in a battle to reach that mysterious
island nation soaked in the aura of the celebrated rebel Che Guevera,
and shunned by the world for its political leanings towards socialist
communism. Our group is visiting Cuba to see and experience the 11</span><sup><span style="font-size: medium;">th
</span></sup><span style="font-size: medium;">Havana Biennial , a biannual exposition
of contemporary art from around the globe. Sightseeing in Havana came
as an added bonus to this purely cultural field trip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Tucked
between the south east of United States and eastern cost of Mexico,
Cuba is a tiny island state in the Caribbean Sea. The history of
Cuba is a saga of repression and struggle for independence , under
various colonial rulers culminating finally in its liberation
through the people's revolution led by Fidel Castro and Che Guevera
in 1959. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">With
its emerald green landmass fringed by the tranquil sea, and its
bright sunny air filled with sounds of latin music and cha cha cha,
Cuba obviously is an ideal global holiday destination. But Cuba in
2012 lives in dream time, untouched by global economic hustle and
bustle, sans neon signs and electronic ringtones . As our coach
approached old Havana city ((Habana Vieja) we could feel the clock
winding back to the Sixties. Two hundred year old colonial buildings
encrusted with the patina of time standing tall and proud welcomed
us. Classic American Chevies from the sixties rolling down the main
avenue as people stroll leisurely in idyllic plazas on a week days
enthralled us. And with folk musicians strumming foot tapping
rhythms on the guitar to spanish folk songs gives the feeling that
you are on the set of some multimillion dollar Hollywood period
flick. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">In
1982, UNESCO declared Havana city center as a world heritage site.
Marvelous colonial architectural styles ranging from spanish
colonial structures to art deco prove the point as we walk through
alleys crisscrossing Plaza de Armes, Templete Palace of Generals,
Cathedral Square, Plaza Vieja and the famous Hemingway's “Bodeguita”.
Our English speaking guide, a chirpy Cuban lady Ms Miledes insisted
on taking us to Hotel Ambos Mundos for a refreshing drink of Mojito
. “American Nobel Laureate Earnest Hemingway stayed in this hotel
overlooking the Malecon bay seeking inspiration for his writings”
she filled in the details for our touristy interest. Mojito , is a
cocktail made of chilled white Cuban rum with crushed fresh mint
leaves and a shot of lime works like magic potion on a sweltering hot
day. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Later
as we moved through cathedral square, sounds of latin drum beats and
dancers accompanied by flower girls and acrobats on stilts greeted us
to usher in a carnival mood. “Tourism is very important for us and
thats why government promotes cultural entertainment and crafts in
these areas ”, Ms. Miledes explained.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Years
of international embargo has left its imprint on Cuban economy. And
tourism is an important money grosser for the country. Strange as it
may sound, Cuba has a dual currency system. A tourist currency called
CUC. One CUC is equal to a US dollar and can only be transacted only
in Cuba. The local currency called Peso is meant only for the
inhabitants of Cuba for local transaction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">As
you enter the Vedado region one notices that this is the cultural
heart of the city with hotels and contemporary art galleries and
museums jostling for space along the cobbled streets.We took a quick
look at Museo Capitanes Genrales built in 1791 and considered to be a
perfect example of Cuban architecture under Spanish rule. Museo de
la Revolucion, Museo Nacinal de Bella Artes, Museo de Artes
Decoratives are few among many museums in the city that tell the
visitor about the cultural history of Cuba.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Life
in Havana is incomplete without art, music , dance and its famous
Havana Club rum. Song and dance is so much part of the Cuban DNA
that in every nook and corner musicians and dancers will try to
entertain you with their bouquet of songs . You intuitively hum to
the tune of popular songs following the hypnotic beat. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Ms.
Miledes had reserved a table at a '</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>paladar</i></span><span style="font-size: medium;">'
which are private restaurants famous for good food and ambience. We
have been consuming more or less the standard cuban diet of
chicken, rice and potatoes for a while. By now some of us were
beginning to yearn for other cuisine and flavours. Cuba is
certainly not a place for hardcore foodies. Like everything owned
by government so is hotels and restaurants . However </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>paladars
</i></span><span style="font-size: medium;">are exceptions to this rule and these private
restaurants take pride in serving their guests. The guava pudding
served with a cheese slice served as dessert made us forget all the
gastronomic dissatisfaction we had suffered so far. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Visits
to Cigar factory and Rum factory are mandatory to complete the Cuban
experience. Here every cigar is carefully hand rolled, quality
tested and labeled by workers. A poster of Che with a cigar clenched
in his mouth looms over the workers who are busy grading the best
tobacco leaves from the stacks piled next to them. Each
cigar goes through as much as 15 quality checks before it is sent to
the market. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Che
Guerra , one of the principal architects of free Cuba, better known
as 'Che ' is synonymous with Cuba. whose iconic likeness is popular
among the youth in every part of the world through posters and
tshirts , has his final resting place in Santa Clara, a central
province of Cuba. Santa
Clara is a three hour drive from Havana . The Che memorial has a
massive statue of Che holding a gun leading the way and is an
inspirational figure to every Cuban child. Che actually means
"special friend“ explained Miledes while recollecting how
every Cuban school going child vows to be like Che. A small museum
dedicated in memory of Che and the fellow soldiers who fell along
with him fighting war in Bolivia lies beneath the memorial.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">By
now we were familiar with areas like Habana Vieja, Centro Habana
and Plaza de Revolcion where most of the biennial art exhibits are
installed. Centro de Arte Contemporaneo Wilfredo Lam is the center
which conducts this event biannually with a mission to integrate the
ancient cultural heritage of Cuba with its contemporary art practice.
Art from the biennial was displayed in public spaces like Gran
Teatro la Habana which is the most celebrated opera house in the city
and open spaces like the promenade of Malecon and Miramar beaches .
Facades of buildings and Museums are roped in to display art that
raises questions about contemporary life and culture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">If
you need a break from the fast track of modern urban life, then Cuba
is a perfect destination to head for. You can once again experience
that era when there was no information overload, no conspicuous
consumption, no junk food, and no technology tangles to stress you
out . People are genuinely warm and friendly and live contented lives
with basic amenities. But one wonders how long this 'innocence '
and the old world charm of Cuba will remain and live on ? Things are
changing slowly but surely. “Progress ' and 'development' is
knocking on Cuban shores. </span>
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<a href="http://www.timescrest.com/life/between-a-rebel-cigars-and-an-art-exposition-8245">http://www.timescrest.com/life/between-a-rebel-cigars-and-an-art-exposition-8245</a></div>
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This travelogue of mine was published in Crest, Mumbai edition of Times of India dated 30/06/2012
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</div>Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-50385920641088258802012-06-24T19:46:00.001+05:302012-06-24T22:09:44.697+05:30Reviewing Shame<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
According to Adam and Eve myth, shame and guilt were
'born' after they had sex with each other. Thus with the
invention of sex, human kind lost their innocence and were banished
from Garden of Eden (guess this place is somewhere in heavens where
gods live ) and perennially got doomed on earth as
sinners. This is what Genesis told its believers. Sex is
sin. Sex is shame.<br />
<br />
Since then human mind has tried to understand and define role of
sex in human life. Many ancient myths have tried to grapple with the
question of human sexuality. Is sex for procreation or pleasure? The
fact remains, even after so many years of civilization and progress,
human curiosity about sex has not diminished nor seem to have fully
understood the complex nature of human sexuality.<br />
<br />
Movie Shame (2011) directed by Steve McQueen ( not to be mistaken
for the famous Hollywood actor. ) attempts to comprehend
complex relationship between human psychology and sexual behavior.
This tightly edited drama takes a peek into life of a successful
financier Brandon ( Michael Fassbender) living in city of New York.
Successful, ruthless and driven by ambition Brandon around 30,
bachelor , lives life in fast lane, where there is very little time
to form real human bonds and relationship. In between his
business meetings and high night life, Brandon fills the gaps
in his life through unending sexual acts that drowses his craving for
sexual addiction. Be it a casual flirting in the train, masturbating
in office restrooms to release the tension between stressful
business meetings, one night stands or paid sex, Brandon indulges in
every form of sexual gratification, living life of a bachelor who is
on a prowl for sex in the city. His 'normal life' goes horribly
wrong when his sister Sissy( Carry Mulligan) lands up in his bachelor's pad imposing
on his freedom and privacy by intruding in his most intimate
moments. Director McQeen through few deft scene etches out a tense
and estranged relationship between a brother and a sister and how
their proximity with each other rekindles trauma of their past life,
reflected clearly through their sexual behavior.<br />
<br />
When Sissy tells Brandon “We are not bad people. We just come
from bad place” seems to be the crux of the movie, where director
tries to show the complexity of human mind and its relation with sexuality. McQueen remains an onlooker to a situation, who
happens to map the human mind through intimate and dark secrets of
human life in contemporary society. The movie ends without any definite
closure and questions remain unanswered. <br />
<br />
Movie Shame is highly acclaimed on most of the international
film festival circuits and has received rave reviews. Its
unusual story narration revealing a dark side of human psychology ,
great acting, and deft direction, makes it stand apart. Shame belongs to actor Michael Fassbender.
His brilliant portrayal of Brandon, gives a convincing view of
mind of sexual addict through his stoic behavior towards his
partners. His self hatred is palpable when he shouts in helpless
anger at Sissy who snuggles in his bed for intimacy. But
as Sissy attempts suicide, Brandon brakes down exposing his emotional
vulnerability. Fassbender brings Brandon to life.<br />
<br />
Dan Bullock of Hollywood news sums the shame as “ is captivating
and immensely intimate.....film that explores the depth of addiction
and consequential destruction and demise of mind and although it is
sometimes difficult to watch, you won't be able to keep your eyes
off” .<br />
Indeed so stark is the nudity in the film that it can be mistaken
for porn flick. But such a visceral visuals can be expected from a fine artist. Steve McQeen the director of the Shame is not a
regular film maker. ( his first film Hunger is also highly acclaimed) He is an acclaimed visual artist, winner of
Turner prize and has represented British art in prestigious Venice
Biennial in 2009 . He was an official war artist of Iraq. ( For me)This makes a lot of difference as
director/artist shows a view of dark human nature without tipping it
to disgust, despair and titillation. There is beauty hidden even
in stark moments.<br />
<br />
Finally Shame is not about sex. Shame is not about
sexual addiction either. Movie Shame for me is about reflection of
human condition in contemporary urban society. Dark, violent,
rootless and mind that is fast loosing it moorings.
<br />
Watch it if you can.
</div>Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-12674703215171327202012-06-07T20:05:00.002+05:302012-06-08T05:42:58.008+05:30Cuba Diaries-1 (Images)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The famous Cuban taxis. These classic cars are on the verge of disappearing as new cars can be seen on Cuban roads.<br />
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The main square of old Havana or Habana Vieja<br />
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One of the four squares of Havana city where you can see old building structures and chapels.<br />
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One of the narrow street view of Havana. Life happens here.<br />
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The flower woman. These women are ubiquitous in tourist areas and happily pose for you only to charge you 1CUC= 1US$<br />
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Quaint looking Havana Rickshaw. Wonder how ergonomic they are.<br />
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Modern Mariachis. They sing and dance for you when you are eating/drinking and even walking. You have to tip them but you don't mind.<br />
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Music and dance are life line of Cubans. The keep themselves happy.<br />
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Bull Dog? May be Cuban variety. <br />
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A classic street view on a hot afternoon.<br />
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Craft market.<br />
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Art Studio at ISA<br />
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One of the sculptures at COLON cemetery. Levitating Christ.<br />
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Che memorial at Santa Clara.<br />
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Fading old world of a classic Western movie? This is downtown Havana<br />
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Image Copyright Vidya Kamat<br />
Nikon D90<br />
Nikon DX VR 18-200 mm </div>Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-53352945328469734122012-05-07T17:55:00.004+05:302012-05-08T13:13:35.591+05:30Munch THIS scream!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Scream by<br />
Edvard Munch<br />
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“I rarely visit galleries these days”
said a friend and an art enthusiast whom I bumped into a prestigious
art gallery checking out a recent show on fashion. “I just get
bored seeing art. There is no magic in today's art” she tried justifying herself in an apologetic
tone. Sarcastic smile propped on my lips. Honestly I was equally
numb by the visual input I had taken in. We walked out of the gallery
without exchanging much words . “Hope to catch you soon” I said
out of sheer courtesy as we walked in different directions. This time
a bitter smile responded from other end.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“So I am not alone to feel this way”
I thought to myself. Why this kinda art is making me feel numb that I
have no volition to even scream, cry, laugh, get angry, say something
nasty or even come out the hall to realize something and then go
back to the gallery to confirm what I saw has changed my world albeit for few moments. I am
just numb with the visuals that come in guise of art before me. What is more frightening is as i step out of the gallery all what I have seen seem to vanish without trace. Is there
something wrong with me? Or is today's art is all about disconnect?<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Voices of discontent are
emerging out slowly. First it was Saatchi who wrote in Guardian who
called today's art as 'Vulgar, Eurotrashy, masturbatory'
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
(<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2011/dec/02/charles-saatchi-art-world-attack">http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2011/dec/02/charles-saatchi-art-world-attack</a>)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Then there was Jerry Saltz of New York
Times art critic, who wrote about today's art “ Like oil wells, once these
operations are turned on they have to keep pumping product. Lots of
it. Most of it crude. For ten years, large, shiny, highly produced,
entertaining, ever-more-expensive objects were produced by the
system, then snapped up by speculator collectors who rushed in where
the rest of us feared to tread. It doesn’t matter that most of them
don’t know what art really is and have never gleaned its
hallucinatory powers. A lot of people struck it rich and laughed all
the way to the bank.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.artnet.com/magazineus/features/saltz/reject-the-market-5-1-12.asp">http://www.artnet.com/magazineus/features/saltz/reject-the-market-5-1-12.asp</a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
and recently a viral which is doing
rounds on social networks a blog by Glen Coco</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.vice.com/en_uk/read/im-sick-of-pretending-i-dont-get-art">http://www.vice.com/en_uk/read/im-sick-of-pretending-i-dont-get-art</a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
All of them seemed to be screaming.
“THERE IS NO ART ON THE WALLS”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Is this a sign?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
II</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
SCREAM.<br />
This is the name of the iconic
painting by Edvard Munch, a 19<sup>th</sup> century Norwegian artist.
The painting was recently in news for fetching a record price in
an auction. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The work which stands for the anxiety
of the 'modern man's life' sums up an aspect of Munch's own life as
he wrote about this work "I was walking down the road with two
friends when the sun set; suddenly, the sky turned as red as blood. I
stopped and leaned against the fence, feeling unspeakably tired.
Tongues of fire and blood stretched over the bluish black . My
friends went on walking, while I lagged behind, shivering with fear.
Then I heard the enormous, infinite scream of nature." He later
described the personal anguish behind the painting, "for several
years I was almost mad… You know my picture, 'The Scream?' I was
stretched to the limit—nature was screaming in my blood… After
that I gave up hope ever of being able to love again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There is no need to read or write about
this work. Everyone who stands before this image knows what exactly
Munch is saying/feeling/ living. You participate in the scream silently to acknowledge the pain.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Munch was one of painters whom I was admired in my early years of art school. I was lucky to see the
retrospective of Munch at New York MoMA few years back. Munch was not a great draftsman, and many of his work show his vulnerability of his skill. But that's what I admired most. Vulnerability. His works left a strange longing and sadness in your heart.<br />
<br />
There are
various versions of this scream. Compositionally all works similar. Why
did he paint the this theme so often? Or is it that this painting became
so popular that in order to fulfill the demand he repeated it over
and over again?Or was he just trying to capture the exact moment of scream that he felt on the bridge? </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Whatever may be the reason the fact
remains this work touched the hearts of the people and it still does.
But what intrigues me is the strange timing that this work came in auction? Lets not talk about the price. Because it is no secret how auction prices are rigged. Critics /writes/ bloggers are screaming
again . A price like this can only demean the work which is priceless. Is that so? Does this really stop you loving Munch's Scream ? His life and art?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For me the significance is not how
obscene the price paid for this work? For me the significance of this
work is at a time when the contemporary art is erasing all the
metaphysical quality of art, Scream comes as a reminder that metaphysical quality of art is beyond time, memory and money. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I ask again is this a sign?</div>
</div>Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-25798786007840709362012-05-01T14:21:00.000+05:302012-05-02T13:38:02.961+05:30Mumbai diary 4 :Survivor's guide to Mumbai local<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAG_UEFsudI0ESVfTqgvFbogE6CPJdvasOcenpvlDiif4n8-fGdpbfchj33SztB7V-DhfdlXBVZ-zTGyghqvuCsSMv3PmHnRvhGZilS0kQEB59ROPKjc1VUKAAOSP7-6AsEMWAhZVZpR0/s1600/train2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAG_UEFsudI0ESVfTqgvFbogE6CPJdvasOcenpvlDiif4n8-fGdpbfchj33SztB7V-DhfdlXBVZ-zTGyghqvuCsSMv3PmHnRvhGZilS0kQEB59ROPKjc1VUKAAOSP7-6AsEMWAhZVZpR0/s1600/train2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
This blog is for all those brave souls who want to travel Mumbai
local for the first time. Without the experience of Mumbai
local train you will never experience Mumbai in its true sense.<br />
<br />
There are three main local train routes, namely Western, Central
and Harbour. Having decided to take a ride on any of the lines. Here
is step by step survivor's guide to take a trip on Mumbai locals.<br />
<br />
Firstly, make sure in which compartment and which class ( there
is first and second class for every local train)you want to travel.
There are many categories of compartments on local trains. For e.g.
ladies compartment ( no men are allowed to travel in these)or
luggage compartment or compartment reserved for handicapped and
senior citizens and lastly general compartment. You will understand
this only after few days of regular travel. If you are confused ,
then simply ask the hawker or newspaper vendor on the platform and he
will point out the coach which you want to get in.<br />
<br />
Next, orient yourself towards the compartment to get in just 30
seconds. Do not stand still or you may get pushed down by the crowd
trying to come towards you. Move along with the crowd. Here comes
the art part. Remember the birds who fly in flocks? They fly in
perfect harmony and unison like one entity. Now suspend all your
logic dissolve all your ego and BE THE CROWD, just like birds in
flock. Time will STOP for you. You will never know how you entered the
compartment. But you will.<br />
<br />
Allow yourself to be pushed and pulled, while maintaining
your balance. As the train starts moving you might be still
somewhere 'inside out'. But be assured some one inside will be
pulling you in and some one outside will be pushing you in. In few
moments you will regain your Ego and you will realize you are
finding hard to breath. As you gasp for fresh air you scream out
loud, "move in"<br />
( andar chalo). Don't feel ashamed for shouting in crass
way. You are just voicing all the passengers mind. Slowly mass of
passengers starts shifting slowly like a tectonic plates beneath the earth ; adjustisting making space and slowly moving forward and backwards. Now You have to make a
split second decision weather you want to alight next stop or get in
side compartment for the last destination. Here is a warning . You have
to be really quick. Or you may get abused both physically and
verbally. Take it a with a smile. This way you can practice dharma of non violence.<br />
<br />
Once you decide to move in the inner enclave of the bogey you
will notice there are seats on which some commuters are seating.
You have no chance of getting a seat as the women who are occupying
them have reserved them from the starting destination and they will
probably occupying it till the last destination. But don't loose
heart. You look around and scan the the people then take a guess and
see anyone looks kind enough to share her seat for a while and start
moving towards her. If you are lucky you may even get a seat
for 15 minutes of the next one hour journey.<br />
<br />
By now, you can barely stand straight as weight of
other women is crushing your back. But hold on. You will very
soon forget how miserable your condition is. There is lot of
entertainment even in that crushed situation. Very soon a vendor
will appear making way with bunch of accessories. Earrings,
bracelets, hair clips, bindis bangles you name it and she has
the latest fashion accessory in her cardboard box. Some seated
passengers will take the box and will rummage though her goods
. You watch her go though the process of selecting , bargaining and
buying a small hair clip worth 5 rupee for next half an hour. You
are so engrossed in observing the drama that you forget that
you are standing in most painful position. By now half of your
journey is over. Crowd has reduced by now as some of the
passengers have disembarked in between stations. You are little
comfortable as you can stand straight. You look around taking
a deep breath for the first time. A woman who is seating in the
corner is calling you. Yes she is stranger to you and yet she is
smiling at you and making a gesture to come near her.<br />
<br />
You make a decision and push towards her seat. She gets up
and says" Take a seat. You have been standing for a while".
You are bit confused but the friendly smile tells you that you are
lucky today. You some how push on that small space and as your legs gives in you land
with a thud . women seating next you gives you a dirty look yelling
“You are seating on my chunni . " Oops! Sorry, I am very sorry"
that's all you need to say.<br />
<br />
As you settle in the seat the woman who offered you the seat
thrusts her hand bag in your lap. You are supposed to carry her load
for her kindness and remember you can occupy the seat strictly for
15 minutes. This is only a courtesy seat that needs to be returned
to its owner with gratitude before the final destination. Train meantime will be somewhere near to
its destination. Start preparing for disembarkation.<br />
<br />
The art of disembarking is as delicate as art of alighting Mumbai
locals.
<br />
NEVER, and I say never stand next to the door or you will get 'washed' away like the
force of tsunami of oncoming passengers. In Mumbai local the rule is you allow the passenger to get in first and only then you get out. Although railway announcement might be informing you other way. Remember the rule how
one had dissolved the ego and entered the the compartment? Allow the
the 'ego less crowd to scramble in the compartment. You mean time
hang on tight to the bar next to you. Within few minutes every one
who has to enter in has grabbed a seat for themselves, you prepare to get out of the coach . You have
just 30 sec to disembark. Hurry! run towards the door and jump
on the platform before the train starts moving again. Thank god for landing you safe on your two feet. Once on the platform merge with the moving crowd.<br />
<br />
Congratulations!! you have successfully completed your first
journey on Mumbai local.</div>Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-6244998734185244042012-04-07T11:44:00.017+05:302012-05-08T20:36:40.685+05:30Two very short stories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-d9u1V5D0cHcenpPX1wcihyphenhyphengaqI6cTHD8ay91ohQ2cPUWhIKsHXFF8d_9t5w70HzpJNm_1TTdMk0qDu4PBXDKCLBRmeAMbPwSio7NfInwrg25x3fEMKpEoahk2ShtkAb4I8w_OEJpo3n/s1600/index.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5728543244841836866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-d9u1V5D0cHcenpPX1wcihyphenhyphengaqI6cTHD8ay91ohQ2cPUWhIKsHXFF8d_9t5w70HzpJNm_1TTdMk0qDu4PBXDKCLBRmeAMbPwSio7NfInwrg25x3fEMKpEoahk2ShtkAb4I8w_OEJpo3n/s320/index.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 93px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 68px;" /></a><br />
<br />
I<br />
<br />
Friends<br />
<br />
<br />
They sat in the coffee shop.<br />
And ordered two cutting chai.<br />
Waiter served it with complimentary cookies.<br />
He offered one to her. <br />
She took it with a smile.<br />
Looked around the crowd in the shop.<br />
Young couple were lost in each other.<br />
She quickly dunked her cookie in the chai. <br />
It vanished in hot brown liquid.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6MRIZoeDN74DSVb_LwJ1Obp0r3LvgebcbYvZg6AaompMowq0b69-9g7MZps2nb3HiFK8SJkM_m1AgLjx3KD0w0_37MHG_O1ID91sy2rs2CZkTF5eM6LOAr8rtMRQXQw2rCGk5UngtCx-/s1600/index1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730855037982085154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6MRIZoeDN74DSVb_LwJ1Obp0r3LvgebcbYvZg6AaompMowq0b69-9g7MZps2nb3HiFK8SJkM_m1AgLjx3KD0w0_37MHG_O1ID91sy2rs2CZkTF5eM6LOAr8rtMRQXQw2rCGk5UngtCx-/s320/index1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 205px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 246px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
II<br />
<br />
Meditation<br />
<br />
She laid on her back.<br />
starring at the clear sky<br />
Words<br />
dispersed slowly into air<br />
breath filled in the chest like a birthday balloon.<br />
and brought memories with a gust of garbage van.<br />
Then came a fly.<br />
That completes one cycle of conscious breath.</div>Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-55967581292587615732012-04-03T13:13:00.026+05:302012-04-07T12:20:10.246+05:30Anatomy of Woman-2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgH-hzg1S2mBaIz-yXC9t3E6bhnrQPyNCf48j2E2BBpsjr_45oLq1ys0R1q5eBZ1_2UqR-7_fn-c3BQd8eXjibVERg9cKKHMSeUJCvcH_596NXPvaVeVNobabH2Sp4tC8KYcIGaVsKf_r/s1600/Pg-08-Isabelle-Caro-1-getty.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgH-hzg1S2mBaIz-yXC9t3E6bhnrQPyNCf48j2E2BBpsjr_45oLq1ys0R1q5eBZ1_2UqR-7_fn-c3BQd8eXjibVERg9cKKHMSeUJCvcH_596NXPvaVeVNobabH2Sp4tC8KYcIGaVsKf_r/s320/Pg-08-Isabelle-Caro-1-getty.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727493075470789778" /></a><br /><br /><br />I have a problem when people post some gory images on my wall. Often they justify it by saying please circulate these images for social awareness. May be I am wrong but I don't like to circulate pain and suffering to others specially when they are not solicited.<br />Look at above images. These images too came to me unsolicited and out of habit I ignored them first. But some how these images remained in my head. So I went back to my facebook wall and scrounged older posts. There was a a strange story here. <br /><br />The story of two women. But one body. Body starved, scarred, emaciated beyond recognition. A Body that was only a skeleton. A body that was used and abused in name of beauty.<br /><br />How did these two women turned into skeletons? How a society can allow such inhuman way of existence. Well this is not the first time I was seeing a emaciated body. Images from Africa, and Asia( read India) of starving and hungry children are replete in international media. So what is big deal?<br /><br />Look at the image again. She is not an Asian or African or hungry for food. <br />Isabella Caro was a French Model. Yes you read it right! She was a high fashion model posing nude on the billboard. When this image was taken Isabella was in her last stages of her life dying of condition called anorexia caused by bulimia. Bulimia is a eating disorder, when a person who eats food stars purging it out with the fear of gaining weight. This disorder became quiet popular among high fashion models and celebrities in 90s after the fashion industry started fancying female body as a skeleton thin figurines. Very soon ramp models started flaunting their emaciated bodies on high fashion making every woman rethink of their anatomy? Some designer in the fashion world had a fancy of stick figures and his/her notion of 'beauty' was experimented on live guinea pigs called ramp models.( I would like to know if there is any record in fashion history which mentions name of designer that started such a trend)<br /><br />Having realized that she has been exploited in the name of beauty, Isabella started a campaign to create awareness of bulimia by showing her skeletal body on billboard and other media. She died in 2010 at the age of 28. Demands of fashion world made Isabella paid a heavy price with her life. I was trying to live that myth of beauty told tome by designers, photographers and industry she told the interviewer. she recollected how she was often told to "knock off the weight, but never to gain any". When Isabella died her family kept her death in secret as they felt shamed and sorry for her plight. No one was punished for Isabelle's condition or her death.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1lkovJf2895E5pUJeyJn9ensaa1A9VKXBDRMv_xNuuTKRNQJH9y2xa6SsQ5lzKkOcVETdz7qeCCcd0njhpTcPcLl4uC-wXdTGDITF1wsN2TWd5at0N4TDb8E1BJHe3048XRKvcZRG03V/s1600/377637_308012295883942_119395594745614_1208927_147141835_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 315px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1lkovJf2895E5pUJeyJn9ensaa1A9VKXBDRMv_xNuuTKRNQJH9y2xa6SsQ5lzKkOcVETdz7qeCCcd0njhpTcPcLl4uC-wXdTGDITF1wsN2TWd5at0N4TDb8E1BJHe3048XRKvcZRG03V/s320/377637_308012295883942_119395594745614_1208927_147141835_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727493250949223730" /></a><br /><br />Look at the second image. I cannot verify this story as it never appeared in any news papers. From the image I deduce it appeared on a local television channel. According the story that accompanied the image.<br />The girl in the image was Asma and she was 14, when abducted from Malvani, Malad Mumbai. As a pretty girl ( photo inset shows her as young beautiful girl) she was envied by girls and teased by boys. When she went missing police refused to file a missing persons case accusing the poor parents for selling a pretty girl for prostitution. One fine day she was found in a garden in skeletal shape. She was barely alive . According to her testimony, she was raped consistently by five men for a year. Never given proper food. She began to eat paper and soil and stones. When she became 'unusable' men dumped her in a garden and disappeared. She died in 2011. No one was punished.<br />Asma was just an ordinary girl. She was no celebrity so even her death did not make any news in significant press. Her only crime was she was considered 'beautiful' by people.<br /><br />Both woman were victim of beauty myth. So they suffered a horrific deaths. I am still wondering who defined this notion of 'beauty'? and what is so desirable of skeletal body of woman ?<br /><br />It s high time women decide what is really beautiful of their own bodies than some stupid designers experimenting with women's anatomy.Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-1320076370241581662012-03-23T16:07:00.013+05:302012-04-18T19:13:25.317+05:30Anatomy of Woman -1<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOb1BG6iUCY4HcrKpMnSJ3Ei7M6zA-r9pwyBzu1PUax1A_1EcJ5TVs4lkFqgi_cB8TWMFTxy6iAyQnRGkql1dYY2Xkxp1vRz2G23o2SRLPj2S4pj7hXAflE3aFV42p5pkiHTzVh34shgO/s1600/200126_109482685799832_100002143039874_88764_837672_n-769414.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOb1BG6iUCY4HcrKpMnSJ3Ei7M6zA-r9pwyBzu1PUax1A_1EcJ5TVs4lkFqgi_cB8TWMFTxy6iAyQnRGkql1dYY2Xkxp1vRz2G23o2SRLPj2S4pj7hXAflE3aFV42p5pkiHTzVh34shgO/s320/200126_109482685799832_100002143039874_88764_837672_n-769414.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726034870352306258" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WryPQB3_ufSyBDzIX4vpdwLV6imtQWd0Sa-DHf3Hr9OhUX4DcYfwgqU2rc3gU963kY8dkmiYw9zLlyfh7YyQYZFRrEkLhpMiGlL_816HOqcn9u_75yaA9goGEY18D2sfCmE8AEqHmXY-/s1600/190311_187593504618846_100001045929947_512719_4302765_n-739349.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WryPQB3_ufSyBDzIX4vpdwLV6imtQWd0Sa-DHf3Hr9OhUX4DcYfwgqU2rc3gU963kY8dkmiYw9zLlyfh7YyQYZFRrEkLhpMiGlL_816HOqcn9u_75yaA9goGEY18D2sfCmE8AEqHmXY-/s320/190311_187593504618846_100001045929947_512719_4302765_n-739349.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726034735053292658" /></a><br /><br /><br />"I needed medical help desperately. As one of my lover had badly hurt me. I was bleeding profusely from my private parts. But no doc was willing to see me."<br />"I begged. I cried. I even offered them double the money they would take for consultation. But they would look at me and turn there face. I am just as human as you are. So why such discrimination?" The speaker spoke with urgency and pain in his voice.<br /><br />There was pin drop silence in a small crowd of 30/35 people who were specially invited by my artist friend. I could not take eyes of the speaker as he narrated the woes of a woman in sex trade. Dressed in a richly brocade sari, with jewelry suitable for a bridal decor, Pandurang the speaker looked no less than a bride. A very dark tone of his skin complimented the glitter of the brocade. His raspy tone was the only give away of his gender. <br />Pandurang means Krishna , the dark god. Pandurang is a cross dresser male sex worker. Born to a sex worker mother, Pandurang grew up in the ghettos of red light area in Sangli village. “ My mother never wanted me to be a sex worker. But I chose to be one” He admitted to the crowd with a emphatic smile. At a very young age he experienced the discrimination of a woman and a sex worker's world. His mother toiled day in a day out to keep him in the school. But tired of discrimination,prejudice and humiliation being named as sex worker's child, Pandurang turned to the only world od sex trade to seek solace and comfort. But why he chose to be a woman and a sex worker? Asked a guest in the audience. “ I am a woman” pat came the answer.<br /><br />An awkward silence spread in the audience . Every one seated had only one question in their mind. Is he or she? It was very evident he did not liked to be addressed as male. Pandurang was his birth name but operated by a female name( I have forgotten his female name). <br /><br />A friend besides me just leaned on me and whispered “Isn't he more woman than us?” “Indeed” I retorted. I was still gawking at him to measure his feminine candor. Was he just pretending to act female like an actor? What makes him a woman?<br /><br />I again scanned Pandurang from head to toe. His appearance was of an impeccably dressed Indian woman. A highly decorated bindi on the forehead matched the brocade of his sari. His nails were painted in bright red nail paint and so was his toes. He was tall at 5'8” inches and wore an inch high heeled sandals. “ I can walk with grace with heeled sandals” he had explained with a smile. He was fully aware that every gesture is being scrutinized judged and questioned. He did not feel offended by such questions as if he came fully prepared for such scrutiny. And he answered all the questions with all honesty.<br /> <br />“Well this is choice I have made. Because this is what I love to be. A woman and a sex worker. Government did try to change our ways and even gifted us with cows so can we can earn a living. But I don't want to be a farmer . I love all the pleasure of my trade. And I am proud of it. I don't want any sympathy from anyone. I am fighting for my right. I am protesting against the social stigma and discrimination that we face. Every section of the society tries to exploit us and that is what we are objecting. That is what we want you to make aware of her troubles. Not your pity or sympathy. I work for a living like all of you. So why does society treat us like dirt.” His voice did not have any air of apology, for being and doing what he did. <br />In fact he was proud to be in woman's skin . Happy to be in woman's skin. Suffering the pain in woman's skin. <br /> <br />Every story he told before audience, spoke of of pain and suffering he felt as a woman. There was no doubt in my mind at the end of the meeting SHE is a WOMAN; celebrating a woman's life not just by cross dressing but celebrating its joy and pains. Pandurang had summed the debate for the audience" You cannot learn be a woman because you Know it inside you if you are one or not. '.<br /><br /> well, well!<br />Simone de Beauvoir seems to be wrong when she said 'One is not born as a woman but made in one'<br /> <br />As I walked out of the building, I thought to myself do I know the anatomy of a woman? <br /><br /><br />Image courtesy<br />http://crossdresserindian.blogspot.in/2011/03/chamayavilakku-2010-all-are-males-only.html<br /><br />(Images are only for a representational value and does not depict the character described in this blog)Very Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-37899128701498148422012-03-06T19:26:00.004+05:302012-03-13T12:30:54.476+05:30Breath<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KsqSpUu72bBDfOucFVoZ-KBoSShDYgWjBqEB2L6MRywC6VIv-fVJDTx8CaYfyQZWqMueCRuGExqujLlexG_hYEw6-HQah293_HpFHO6nrpe9isau99DHCV6BMb-MHVPx5CRB73nklit8/s1600/wish-bubble3_lowres.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KsqSpUu72bBDfOucFVoZ-KBoSShDYgWjBqEB2L6MRywC6VIv-fVJDTx8CaYfyQZWqMueCRuGExqujLlexG_hYEw6-HQah293_HpFHO6nrpe9isau99DHCV6BMb-MHVPx5CRB73nklit8/s320/wish-bubble3_lowres.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716786168187740306" /></a><br /><br />Don't remember when I breathed last<br />between memories and forgetfulness<br />lies a life.<br /><br />Inhale<br />a world <br />that was given to me.<br />that was never mine<br />repeated over and over<br />in space and time<br />that belonged to you<br /><br />Delete/Erase/de-frag<br />one by one<br />erasing every <br />event<br />image<br />idea<br />emotion<br />and<br />belief<br />bit by bit<br />inch by inch<br />left to right <br />right to left.<br /><br />Now exhale<br />till the last breath escapes lungs<br />you were not thereVery Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3210390527500683515.post-8418140287750899322012-02-20T18:58:00.013+05:302012-03-13T12:21:44.376+05:30Forbidden world<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlVSgkOfWHX6erLo3405QBMm31cFDKdEJYBT476JQkIBBZr5zh13zJdhKD4RfEGX8_eXMFtkmUfozP_tYgGbx5kHwtlLimyYhe9Gt2gsC9-Oul6OkmvvEqWe-Kp8Ndw8P3Qp6AAtWCF1U4/s1600/pandora.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 173px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlVSgkOfWHX6erLo3405QBMm31cFDKdEJYBT476JQkIBBZr5zh13zJdhKD4RfEGX8_eXMFtkmUfozP_tYgGbx5kHwtlLimyYhe9Gt2gsC9-Oul6OkmvvEqWe-Kp8Ndw8P3Qp6AAtWCF1U4/s320/pandora.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711213540383030978" /></a><br /><br />There are some worlds you should not tread<br />There are some words you should not utter<br />There are some sounds you should not hear<br />There are some sights you should not see<br />There are some waters you should not drink<br />There are some foods you should not taste<br />There are some smells you should not inhale<br /><br />But if you turn around for some reason<br />you will find me.<br />In the world,<br />forbidden by people.<br />feared, abused and forsaken<br />Trying hard to forget.<br />seeking oblivion of known<br />Pandora! Pandora!! they scream<br /><br />Trust me I am as magical as you are<br />I am as humane as you are<br />and I am as knowledgeable you are.<br />still you fear me<br />fears you created and believed.<br />The longing never ceased<br />Magic , mystery for the Unknown<br />world I inhibit.<br /><br />But if you turn around and see<br />you will see me once again<br />There is no Evil as they tell you<br />There are no Gods to believe in<br />there is no saviors out to suffer thy sins <br />there are no woman out to seduce<br />Diseases, hells, demons<br />as they write , paint and sing<br />And if you believed it all<br />You lived a lie <br /><br />I am just a mirror you refuse to see<br />I am neither your ally nor a foe<br />And if you still think I am your nemesis<br />why not turn around and seeVery Deadly Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14108100183183354146noreply@blogger.com2