Forbidden world

There are some worlds you should not tread
There are some words you should not utter
There are some sounds you should not hear
There are some sights you should not see
There are some waters you should not drink
There are some foods you should not taste
There are some smells you should not inhale

But if you turn around for some reason
you will find me.
In the world,
forbidden by people.
feared, abused and forsaken
Trying hard to forget.
seeking oblivion of known
Pandora! Pandora!! they scream

Trust me I am as magical as you are
I am as humane as you are
and I am as knowledgeable you are.
still you fear me
fears you created and believed.
The longing never ceased
Magic , mystery for the Unknown
world I inhibit.

But if you turn around and see
you will see me once again
There is no Evil as they tell you
There are no Gods to believe in
there is no saviors out to suffer thy sins
there are no woman out to seduce
Diseases, hells, demons
as they write , paint and sing
And if you believed it all
You lived a lie

I am just a mirror you refuse to see
I am neither your ally nor a foe
And if you still think I am your nemesis
why not turn around and see

In defence of Dirty women!

"So tell me what kinda women I am" I asked my friend who boasted to have 'known' women on his back of his hands. "The kind of woman I would like to fall in love" came the answer from other end. OH God! I should have known what to expect before asking such stupid question in first place. "oh really! " I could utter only these words with a tinge of sarcasm in my tone. What I wanted to say" Man you know how to use these pick up line on women , but I ain't buying this".

But why am I asking this question in first place? Do I fear being called a 'dirty woman"(read slut or whore). I personally believe while society allows men to live in varied shades, women are stereotyped in black and white 'good woman ' or dirty woman- anything in between is frowned and unaccepted. Specially in India where tradition comes as noose around women's neck. The movie The Dirty Picture is one such movie that tries to break that mould and show a woman who tried to live her life outside the box.


Although the movie TDP claims that the main character in the movie called Reshma alias Silk is fictional character and has no resemblance any person in reality, fact is otherwise. It is fictional biopic of Silk Smitha. Silk Smitha born as Vijayalakshmi, in Andhra Pradesh, a controversial and sensational actress of 80s known as ' sex siren' said to have introduced a brand of erotic female sensuality on the screen ( read soft porn). Men loved her . Women hated her. But none could ignore her.

Movie, The Dirty Picture, traces the story of young ambitious girl from a poor family in village in south India has big dream of acting in movies. When she realizes her mother will not support her in achieving her dream she runs away from her home to come to big town to enter the film world. Plane looking but highly ambitious girl realizes she would not get an entry into film world unless she uses her buxom body. Realizing her acting talent cannot take her far, Reshma bears her body gyrating vigorously luring the male gaze and thus carving herself a space in the movie industry as the 'dirty woman'. Unabashed and unapologetic of her sexuality Reshma defines a new shade of feminine on silver screen to achieve fame, name and glory she always dreamt off. Fighting her way up single highhandedly to reach the top in a male dominated world she has to struggle with deceit, alcohol addition loneliness along with financial losses.

There nothing fictitious in story line as it echoes life of Silk Smitha in reality. Actor Vidya Balan has done a fabulous job in etching the character of Silk, and her personality lending all dignity to Smitha's character, making her more humane in spite of notoriety attached to her name. Script and the dialogues are crisp and tight which aids the pace of the film. For the first time the Dirty woman does not look that 'dirty' as it tries to show the shades woman,her vulnerability, her courage her weaknesses, her strength but above her ability to break rule by defining all norms of good woman.

Silk Smitha never got the due respect as an actress or a a woman of substance in her life time. She committed suicide at the age of 35 in 1996. Somewhere life reflects the life of Merylin Monroe. Although Silk was neither pretty or had sexy body like Merylin. Silk's sexuality was raw and rustic as compared to Merylin's sophistication and finesse. But both woman were fearlessly independent in man's world. They were proud to be woman and never feared to flaunt their sexuality. Character of Nayla, the editor of the film magazine, in the film somewhere represents every female in the audience . She hates Silk, but secretly admires her courage and independence.

Today most of the so called respectable female actors in Hindi cinema gyrate and seduce men with lewd gestures which is Smitha legacy. But no one is raising a finger at them as Dirty woman. Should we say the times are changing? The idea of women in India as 'Sati Savitri' or devotional woman is changing and so is the idea of dirty woman. If so then it is most welcome change.

Dirty Picture is a huge success at the box office in India. Every one is talking about Silk Smitha today. May be all those who grew up with idea of Smitha as a 'dirty woman' are re evaluating the idea of dirty today. The very acceptance of Smitha after 15 years of death suggests her life was not wasted after all.

For me Smitha represents archetypal character of Medusa, who was fiercely independent
unabashed of her ambition, sexuality and even revengeful when wronged. Unfortunately such women were feared and condemned by patriarchal systems as Dirty women.

But today, the Picture is no longer dirty Thanks to women like Smitha!




Image
Silk Smitha on the left and Vidya Balan in the movie The Dirty Picture on right

Related articles
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/life-style/people/Why-we-fear-Chikni-Chameli/articleshow/11885929.cms

"All works are made by artist personally"

Ladies and Gentleman 2012 is here..

Another New year.. another new resolutions and another new controversies..
we are just few days into 2012 and here we are with yet another new controversy in art world. First of all controversy is not only free publicity but benefits everyone who is in the middle of it. Yes, I am talking about the Hockney- Hirst controversy.

Tate and Royal Academy are hosting two major shows of Damien Hirst and David Hockney respectively , And I am sure they are thrilled by it and loving it. This will only generate more footfalls for their shows. So I am not a bit surprised that such a controversy is being 'planted' and 'nurtured' through social media platforms to benefit all the parties concerned,i.e. Tate, Royal Academy, Hockney and Hirst in this case.

The question is can it revive flagging art market of Briton and world art market in general? Considering the interest it has caught on the social media it seems the controversy has certainly touched a nerve of people( art world's) who has been questioning the ethical production of art work.

What's the Controversy?
The telegraph London reports, David Hockney's forthcoming exhibition at the Royal Academy contains a sly dig at another superstar artist about to launch a major exhibition. The note reads:
"All the works here were made by the artist himself, personally."

Hockney further retorts, "It's a little insulting to craftsmen," he said. "I used to point out, at art school you can teach the craft; it's the poetry you can't teach. But now they try to teach the poetry and not the craft."

What is the deal?

To begin David Hockney (b. 1937) and Damien Hirst (b. 1965) are two stalwarts of British Art world who have created their own place in history of contemporary art. David a leading figure of 60s and an ardent art historian and painter belonging to school of thought who believed " to paint you need eye, hand and heart. Two won't do". While Damien belongs to 90s era of artists who propagated artist as CEO who creates ideas and gets it executed through various skilled persons ( read crafts persons) and sells it under his brand name.

What David Hockney seems to object is how can an artist borrow skills of another person and sell as his own creation without ever touching it and without giving the people due credit for their contribution in his creation. How 'ethical' can this art be? Or can such art which were never touched by artist will have any value? Damien Hirst on the other hand, is L'Enfant terrible, who brought in a new era of installation of 90s under YBA and also mastered the practice of 'factory made art'. He has openly defended the practice of production through assistants and endorsed it as good as any master's work simply because it has been 'branded' under a famous name (like his).

These two views have clearly dogged the art world for years. But ever since collectors like Saatchi supported Hirst and his style of practice as it benefited their business sense. ( have addressed this in my older blog Shape of things NOT to come. )

Art word and critics remained divided on the issue. Robert Hughes for one has remained very bitter critic of Hirst's practice which he calls nothing but ' tacky commodity' lacking soul.

What now ?
Personally I have admired and despised both Hockney's and Hirst's art.

I agree with Hockney that painting is a fundamental object of art . Man has painted form Paleolithic times. And it is through paintings humans can communicate at much deeper level of consciousness. It is not mere skill, intellect or eye that is at work here but I believe a painting can transport you to the exact position of the human consciousness of primordial time. It is like Mozart's or Bach's music which can do the same magic on human consciousness. In that sense practice of painting is deeply embedded in magic and can communicate much more than what meets eye and intellect. And only a master painter with his skill ,intellect ,control over the technique can bring about magic through his art. Rembrandt is a case in point.

But what happens when artist gets a painting executed by his assistants?
Assisted paintings according to me fail to reach the magical ability because assistants are only imparting their skills but are unable to impart an intellectual, emotional rigor of the artists' vision. I have seen many works and they just remain pretty and soulless 'images' as Hughes classify. Subodh Guta's utensil paintings , Hirsts dot paintings, Murakami's flower beds,etc., and many more all can be classified under this categories.

I fully sympathize with Hockney's lament which is the loss of meaning and magic he has been searching in art which is precisely gone missing in new practice. Last thirty years of art practice and production has changed a lot about how we perceive art , how we practice art and what we collect as art.

Hirst belongs to this new era of art making . Hirst's art pushes the boundaries of notion of art beyond painting. But that does not mean he has lost poetry in art which Hockney is referring to.

To me( and many others) his shark work titled The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living is sheer poetry. The visceral quality of this work cuts across all doubts in mind of viewer, achieving awe and fear of impending death of every living being. Isn't this what we call art?




The question again here is Hirst just provided the idea and never did anything physically to execute this work of art. Here the medium of his art ( installation and not painting) allows the freedom for an artist to breach the ethical code of ' personally made by artist' . Therefore although untouched by artists hand it still proves to have artistic value. But same cannot be said about Hirst's paintings.
His exhibition at Wallace's museum, where he showed his paintings 'done by his own hands' only proved to be disastrous. Exhibiting along side master like Baccon, Hirst tried to salvage his prestige but truth was out there to see.

In that sense, Hockney's point that painting as an fundamental object of art making gets credence.





To me interesting factor of this whole Hockney – Hirst controversy lies in the fact Hockney had to proclaim "All works are made by artist personally" suggests that art making practice is divided clearly into two categories of artists. Those artists who make work with their own hands, and those who used some one's hands to make works.
Such declaration will not change anything much on the ground about art making/collecting practice of today.

Meantime controversy will die down.. like any other publicity stunt.


Happy 2012 and best wishes!

related links

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/art/news/david-hockney-vs-damien-hirst-the-queens-chosen-one-puts-king-of-the-ybas-on-the-spot-6284208.html

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/8989772/David-Hockney-is-always-right-and-always-wrong.html

www.telegraph.co.uk › Culture › Art › Art News

Wish, I had stayed home.

Wish, I had stayed home
is title of my recent show held at Mumbai, India.
I am sharing some of the images here.
I want to thank every one who made it possible for me.




































Finally, I want to quote lines from Pink Floyd

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

Walk Alone! Thou walk Alone!!

While conversing with an astute art collector, he bragged, “people often ask my advise before picking any artist's work”. After a long pause I hesitatingly asked “and what do you advise?” Very proudly the collector recounted the 'symptoms' of a good artist with an air of financial consultant how to pick up a good stock. “WOW! that ****** easy” I thought to myself. How easily he charted the 'career' graph of a successful artist. Very patronizingly he advised me, “If you follow the path I told you; you will hit the jackpot one day. Trust me.”

I do trust his words. I have no doubts on his wise words careful thought over period of years of experience of seeing , reading and buying art. Few days later, I was admonished with very similar advise from an upcoming curator. You have to show your works to international curators ( like me) , forget the galleries out here in India they won't take you far. I remembered an artist's words whom I have mentioned in my earlier blogs. That was ten years ago. Those words sound prophetic today.

I just thought to myself, Why did I choose to become an artist? I could have become a lawyer as my grandfather wanted. I could have become a doctor as my mother wanted. There were many things which so many people wanted me to be, because I was good at academics. At 15 after I finished my school boards, and was asked to choose the stream that I would like to pursue my career; I just declared I will join an art school. "What an art school?"... my mother repeated my words with most shocking tone. Honestly, I was as shocked as she was as I uttered the word artist. I was as clueless as she was. At 15 you are not sure. Who you are. Or who you would be when you grow up.

Teacher, lawyer, doctor, engineer, accountant? I thought all these above professions were so safe and boring. There was no excitement . At 15 you don't want to live a routine life. Nobody knew what would be a life of an artist. All people knew of was stories of horrible lives the famous artists like Van Gogh and others who suffered while creating master pieces and died mostly as paupers. No one in my family knew how to chart a life an artist. Or at least there were no pundits like the collector who 'knew' how to spot a successful artist.

"Yes I want to be an artist" I told my mom emphatically. Looking back, being an artist for me was a rebellion. Being an artist for me was a chance to hunt for my freedom. Being an artist for me was a chance to know myself.

I fancied the uncertainty of finding a way, not knowing where I am going , what I am looking for and where I will end up with. There was so much mystery and romanticism for being an artist as against the charted career of an doctor, lawyer engineer or accountant

For me, being an artist was a journey not an profession.
Twenty years down the line, I am still on a journey. I still struggle to understand what am I doing here. Am I on right track? As Sacred , lost, confused unable to understand the surroundings around me as I started on this journey.But that's what I like the most! NOT KNOWING. Every moment is struggle , but every moment is ALIVE.

Just imagine losing all this for a predictable 'profession'. All professions have their career graphs charted. So if you are an artist or lawyer, or doctor doesn't matter.Your goals, increments, accolades, achievements... every mile stone is charted..

The collector, or the curator who recounted the “symptoms” of an successful artist is very right. They know the symptoms of success but not the process. If you choose a profession you can achieve success. But if you choose the process of an artist you will
discover life.

Sorry sir, and Thank you for the advise.
I want to walk this path alone. I want to discover this path by myself. Because I know there is no successes or failures on this path. Let me recount Rabindranath Tagore's words Ekla chalo re... walk alone...

Here is translation of the poem:


If they answer not to thy call, thou walk alone
Thou walk alone, walk alone. Thou walk alone.
If they speak not the Truth
If they all fear and turn away
O thou unfortunate, thou open up thy heart 
And speak the Truth that is there.
Thou speak alone.
If they all retreat
If they desert thou in the forest of hopelessness
O thou unfortunate, thou trample the thorns on thy path
and walk ahead on thy bloody feet.
Thou walk alone.
If there is no light
If they close their doors to thou in a stormy dark night
O thou unfortunate, thou burn thy ribs of thy chest
with the burning fire of lightning.
Thou burn alone.

Poem courtesy
http://bookstove.com/book-talk/rabindranath-tagores-ekla-cholo-re-a-humble-attempt-at-translation/

Understanding Steve

Think.
Every time you drink coke, or Pepsi for that matter, do you think of the CEO of the company for giving you such a refreshing drink?

Every time you walk or jog in gym, do you think of CEO of Nike ,Reebok or Adidas for making that walk so comfortable for you?

Every time you sink your teeth in that favorite chocolate bar do you think of the CEO of the company who has made it so delicious for your taste?

Think again.
Why is that every time you hold an Apple product in your hand you think of Steve Jobs?

What makes Steve Jobs different from the rest of the CEOs?

Now that Jobs is dead; every Tom, Dick and Harry is writing an obit note, on facebook, twitter, in press, on tube, blogs name the media and every one wants to say something about Steve. Every one wants to know or thinks they know the man called Steve Jobs.

Why?
Lets find out.
Like millions, I don't know Steve Jobs. And yet I am curious to"understand' him or I think I know something about Steve.

First time we bought an IMac, I fell in love with its package. Forget the Mac that came in it. I knew how it looked , but what blew me out totally was the packaging details. I had never expected that its package would be so beautiful. Like many, I had no heart to throw away such an beautiful box so, stored it neatly on my loft. I just had to know who made it and why?
It is like when you see Taj Mahal for the first time and you have to ask who built it and why?

We bought many apple product thereafter. Every time I would tell myself, "Man! it is @#$%^& expensive I am not gonna buy this one". But every time I laid my hands on it, I was totally seduced by it.

That's what Steve did it. To every consumer of the apple product
Seduction by design( pun intended) . Nothing of Apple comes cheap. and yet no one complains after having it. Steve was no great engineer, or even an artist according John Scully who fired Steve from Apple. And yet he controlled every aspect of the product. From software programming to the last button on the packaging product came from his head. He was control freak and a ruthless task master. Without which he would not have delivered such a vision. And his vision had a simple mantra "keep it simple". Something very hard to follow. Something which he followed diligently every time he brought a new product in the market.

Steve and design were inseparable
The way he looked( he was definitely a chikna guy ), the way he dressed, the way he spoke or the way he presented his product had an element of design, exactly the way he wanted to look . This definitely added to the Apple's persona. Every time you consumed an Apple product you knew you are consuming a bit of Steve. This was his way of touching millions of people he never met but cared immensely. It is a strange magical connection. An enigma in itself.

Magic is most cliched word today. And yet it is so apt for Steve.
Today every person is trying to understand Steve Jobs. His philosophy. His Vision. His beauty. His perfection. His ruthlessness. Pages after pages are being written on him.
Man who had everything under his control knew that only death cannot be controlled. So he made truce with death, making him his adviser.

All I can understand when I try to understand Steve Jobs, his life was full of struggles.
Not an easy life at all. Not a perfect life either.
But it is man like Steve Jobs who can set standards of what a human life can be.

R.I.P Steve Jobs!!

Mumbai diary 4: That Boy from Udupi Hotel

Times of India carried an article "Mumbai loosing its taste for Udupi"

For those who do not know what is a Udupi hotels here is a brief introduction.
Udupi is a town in Karnataka , a state in South India. It is known for its religious center ( it is one of the places from astha matha-s or eight sacred centers of Hinduism ) and also for its cuisine. Udupi cuisine is primarily a vegetarian cuisine and quintessentially south Indian cuisine of India. Udupi hotels mushroomed in Mumbai in early sixties with influx of south Indians migrating to Mumabi for jobs. Very soon cuisine became popular among all sections of people. Today these hotels are ubiquitous landmark of Mumbai's land scape.

It will not be wrong to suggest Udupi hotels were the desi versions of fast food joints in India. in short MacDonalds of India. But comparison to MacDonald stops here. Because unlike the junk food MacDonalds serve, Udupi hotels dish out nutritious menu, with quick service and at a reasonable price. Every Mumbaiker will vouch how they have survived in Mumbai during their struggling days mainly becasue of these hotels.

A major number of Udupi hotels are in the Sion and Matunga area in Mumbai; where there is a concentration of south Indian population. One can identify a Udupi hotel by its decor, which captures the 70s era of Bombay. First thing one notices as one enters the hotel is the a huge statue of a God mostly of Krishna, freshly garlanded and placed right at the entrance of the hotel where generally hotel manager sits. Smell of fragrant essence mixed with food aroma, specially Samabar creates a peculiar south Indian temple ambiance . Hotel decor has a liberal use of white marble on the floor or as well on side walls. In India marble stone is generally used in the temples as it is considered "pure". Lighting and a false ceiling makes the space more cramped. This claustrophobic feel is further enhanced by the tightly packed rows of benches to accommodate maximum number of customers in the hotel at any given time. Every nook and corner of the tiny space of the hotel is efficiently utilized. In short Udupi restaurants created an ambiance of "food temples".

Udupi menus are vegetarian , a diet preferred by majority Indians. Breakfast menu is mostly Idli Sambar, dosa and upama, integrated with local breakfast menu's like poha and misal . A meal menu consisted of Indian bread, three vegetable mostly of south Indian flavor, ,butter milk, pickle, salad, chutney, fried papad, rice, sambar, rasam and a sweet dish mostly payasam or sheera. But if you are not interested in "thali" as they call for a meal in India other Indian cuisine mostly Punjabi cuisine such as aloo mutter, chole puri, veg kolhapuri etc. etc. are also available to meet your vegetarian taste. And then you had evening menu of Somosa, batata vada, bhel etc along with south Indian coffee.

Udupi hotels owners have perfected the art of pan Indian cuisine to generate an urban Indian taste. Mumbai's gastronomical history cannot be complete without Udupi cuisine. And every Mumbaiker will have his or her own Udupi hotel memoir to talk about.

After reading news I decided to visit My Udupi hotel which had supported me in my good and bad times. I have fond memories of this hotel as I spent many years discussing my projects , ideas and even had heated arguments over a cup of tea with my friends, and with my adviser. It is the same hotel I treated my jury after I was awarded my doctoral degree. It is the same hotel I cried with a friend when she told me she has been diagnosed with cancer. It is the same hotel I fought with my dear friend and parted ways. It is the same hotel where I patiently listened to my friend's poetry. Memories, Good . Bad . Ugly.

As I walk in today, I can see hotel is still doing brisk business. It is lunch hour and crowded with customers. The signs of degeneration is apparent. Decor has not been upgraded for last ten years, benches are cracked, wall paint has faded and cutlery looks jaded. As I look around,
I see the waiter boy and smile. He comes forward and helps me to find seat. He is the same boy whom I used to see decade ago. He must have been 18 year old that time. Today he must be 28, a married man with kids. "I am sorry you will have to share it with another customer today becasue this is busy hour", he apologizes. I just smile. "what would you like to have?" he asks with care and concern after he sees I am seated comfortably. "Idli vada with south Indian coffee" I say. He smiles with a familiar look as if he knew what I was going to order, and disappeared in the kitchen.

We know each other for last many years but neither I ,nor he knows each others name. I am a customer and he is waiter boy. He looks same , thin, tall fair and always with a smile. He has started graying a bit , but has same energy and enthusiasm of serving people. I always felt he liked his job. I always appreciated his professionalism.

But today I doubt if his smile is genuine ? Is he really happy doing what he is doing? or is it sheer job ethics which makes him smile to make his customer comfortable? Ten years he is working as a waiter boy. Taking orders, serving dishes. Smiling. Does he really like is job as I thought.

The boy appears with my order. He has brought my Idli wada dunked in sambar. Yes that's way I like it. He still remembers my taste. I feel guilty for doubting his genuineness. He makes sure he has served me well and asks if I need any extra chutney. I decline thanking him. As I pay my bill he asks "was everything ok?". "yes, yes" I say it with fake smile. I have no heart to disappoint him, but things have certianly changed. Food does not taste the same. Nor does the coffee. Even the bill does not look cheap any longer. I pay him a handsome tip. He looks little amused, but I am not.
I am not sure if I am going to step in again.
I am not sure if it is the food or memories will bring me back again.

Mumbai is certianly loosing its taste of Udupi. Is it the sign of city is changing its skin?


Image courtesy
http://en.petitchef.com/recipes/mysore-masala-dosa-in-hotel-style-fid-387194