"Love you like I hate you": Bal Thackeray(1926-2012)

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 .

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.

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  in 1966 to  restore the hurt pride of Maharashrian manoos ( marathi  man) who were getting marginalized in their own city. Rest is history!

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.
He was a true Hindu /Husband. Hindu hridaya samrata as he called himself.

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.
Did he ever regret that love stories should not be inked in violence?

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?

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.

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 .

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)

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.
 There is a moment of poignant pause.

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
Mumabi is battered in this relationship and  has lost her sheen. But she will move on.
Will she be able to heal her wounds and return to her old glory?

Image
http://www.telugunow.com/hot-photos/bal-thackeray-life-and-times-photos/

Am and the Big Jerry

Disclaimer: This no review of Jerry Pinto's book Em and the Big Hoom.

“Have you ordered something through Flipkat?' my husband asked as he opened the door.

“yes. It is Jerry's book. Take the delivery” I answered from the kitchen

“ 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.

Out came the book.

Em and the Big Hoom. By Jerry Pinto,

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.

Jacket of the book was equally intriguing. Unlike Jerry

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.

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.?

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.

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”.

Was Jerry being nasty to me? Or was he going through a bad day?

In another instance, Jerry was visiting us in our home in Nallasopara a deep suburb of Mumbai.

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)

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'.

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.

So did I find any of the above questions when I read the book?

Do I understand Jerry Pinto any better now?

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?

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.

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.
It is not even attempting to understand 'family' structure. Or apologetic about its sexual dialogues between a mother and son .

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.
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.

I think i have found answer to my dilemma of how to understand Jerry Pinto.

Jerry is Jerry
take it or leave it.

Pussy Riot and Art of Political Performance

What is common between performance art and political rally?

Opportunism through media gaze?!!!

Take recent two instances.
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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

This was act no 1.

Why I call it performance?
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.









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.

This is an instance of politics performed as art or theatre.

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.

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.

Pure opportunism
Stage . Perform. Enjoy.

am i missing something today?

am i looking for something?
everything looks normal
rains, pot holed roads, bomb blasts,
crying faces, casual comments,
headline, deadlines

yeah!
everything is fine..
i have logged my words for today
posted my opinion
to stay alive, to stay awake
just in case
if you decide to look for me

yet,
am i forgetting something today?

memories are getting vivid
sounds are getting cacophonic
fade in fade out
i am not sure of the date , time or day...
but i know this place
don't I?

i can feel people around
words have turned into sounds
sounds are becoming sights
sights have transformed into colours
colours are becoming smells
wounds have a strange lingering taste

don't get me wrong
this not a sad song

i feel no pain
i feel no anger
i feel no loss
i feel safe now

let me assure you again
everything is fine...
everything will be fine

only this small nagging feeling
am I missing something today?

(Image courtesy Google images/http://theviewspaper.net/bomb-blasts-hit-mehrauli-area-of-delhi/)

Mumbai Diary -2

He first came to my home along with his brother to collect 'bhangar'.That was eight years back.

Bhangar is a typical Mumbai word( probably a hindi word) , which means recyclable garbage, such as old news papers, bottles, plastic bags, old clothes , vessels practically anything that can be recycled into something.
In fact there is huge industry of bhangar in Dharavi(biggest slum of Asia) and I am told this is one of the most profitable industries of Mumbai city, as the profit margins can be as high as 100%. In every nook and corner of Mumbai, one finds these shops who will come home collect your bhangar and pay you some money in return. You feel happy that you have earned some money on something you would have discarded free of charge.So it is kind of win-win situation for both the parties.

A shy, tiny, boy of 10/12 years with fair complexion, hair neatly oiled and eyes caste down to ground like a girl, he would obey whatever his brother would tell him do. His elder brother would teach him how to tie the bundles of old news papers in a neat stack and then weigh it on the weighing machine which had a dubious reputation of cheating customers.

His tiny frame could hardly hold the weight of 6/7 kg of paper but he would try and lift it with great pride and say "Madamji dekho"...I was quite amused by his dedication to his work. "Thik hai! Aap bole jo" I assured him that I trusted him. For the first time he looked up straight into my eyes with surprise and asked "Don't want want to confirm if my weight is right?"

Probably he expected me to haggle over the weight as everyone did. "No" I said emphatically with a smile knowing fully the boy was not that innocent as he looked. He was apprentice and learning the tricks of the trade rapidly from his bro. But I wanted to trust him. I wanted to understand him. Boy smiled back for the first time. So every month he would come to my house to collect the bhangar and that's how we started building our rapport.

For the time he would spend in wrapping, tying the news papers, and other stuff we would get chatting. It began with my question "Are you going to school?"to "what you want to do in your life?' " do you beleive in god? This monthly ritual of informal discussion was quite interesting and I am sure he used to look forward to it as much I did. He was amused with my life as an artist and when I told him I had 'chosen' not to bear children when he asked me where are my kids as he saw none around the house. I cannot forget the shock in his eyes. He was learning and understanding that life is not the same for everyone. At least that's what I wanted to impress upon his young mind that he has a choice!

He was a natural quick learner and his curiosity to know much beyond his life and society was fascinating. I knew he was growing up rapidly much faster for his age as he was learning lessons of business as well as life . And I hoped that my interaction with him might give him the choice to choose the life on his terms. I hoped that he would break out the bondage of tradition and think independently as a person living in the free society.

The other day when he came to pick up bhangar he informed me that he had flunked in his 12th grade exam. I was disappointed though not disheartened because I knew he had not prepared enough for his exams. So when I asked him, aren't you going to re appear for exams? He smiled. He seemed to be happy about something. As if failing in exam never bothered him anymore. And that bugged me . "what is so happy about failing in exams" I asked in sarcastic tone .


He was still smiling almost blushing, " Madamji I never told you this all these years. I am a married man. I mean, I was married at the age of 12" ( the time I met him first). He tried to explain me the system of child marriage in his community. "Tomorrow I am going to my village to bring my wife in my home. I am now a man. Good enough to look after a woman and raise my children" As he spoke I could see the excitement in his voice. He was lost in his dream world. Suddenly I realized the 12 year old boy I had met 8 years back had turned in to a mature man. Ready to shoulder the responsibilities of life all at the age of 20.

I really did not know how to react to his news. I wanted to share his happiness but I was equally sad as I realized that 8 years of our interaction had not meant much to him. All talks on freedom of life, doing things differently had just got swept away under a single word of 'Riwaz' ( tradition) He was going to live his life what probably his grand father, father, and his brother had lived. "But Madamji , I will educate my children . Make them graduate. I promise" he said to me with twinkle in his eyes. I smiled back at him. Knowing he had grown big enough to make a choice. A choice of life based on traditional lifestyle. Probably a best choice for him. I felt little defeated but I respected his decision.

I congratulated him and gave him some money as my wedding present. " Thank you madame". He said as he walked out of the house. Somewhere I knew next time he would turn up to collect Bhangar it would be just business visit. No more chats on life and its problems. He was just any other bhangarwala. with no name.