A Deeper Answer to India

Perhaps, all that is happening is still stemming from the insecurity that colonization had sowed. The past definitely has answers.

If only we take the trouble to look.

Some say we are tolerant, and others say no. 

But more than the fact that it could be a political agenda to defame Modi Government (of which I was and I still am a supporter of except the middle men who assume their power to interfere with ridiculous views), what makes me cringe is the names of people who are taking the respective stands.

If you take a stand, you need to prove that you have already applied or are applying that view practically in your actions.

But all we see is very wise manipulation of each one's personal conveniences.

Those who say one cant make a big deal out of singular events, are the very ones who are making a big deal of other singular events that do not sink with their views. 

Are you trying to say that if it is just one life it has no value?

Those who cry foul at sour grapes hardly get off their ass when the grapes are sweeter closer their own home.

Those who try to speak the truth for the betterment of all (optimistically assuming that is the agenda of everyone) are ridiculed as unpatriotic, and those who fake blind love are agreed with more.

How exactly is a country supposed to progress if you refuse to see its loopholes? 

Where is the question of defamation? 

Who else are we mass Indians conditioned to actually listen to, if not film stars?

What other form of protest can an artist take (taking into account the 'stand' that most of them have here.Yes. Face the truth), other than return awards? 

There is some bad in what those in power are doing, and there is good in what those that aren't in power are doing.

Accept the grays, instead of painting everything black and white.

Everything should not be 'OK', as long as it does not bang on your door or disturb your sleep.

And there is a much deeper answer as well, to everything, and it is in the past. 

No one likes what happened to us during colonization, but it is a fact that cant be erased. 

Yes it happened, and yes we are still dealing with both the negative and positive effects of it. 

And as you see beneath the skin, you see the actual wound. 

It is the killing of her self respect that India is still trying to deal with, which is why she erupts at small little incidents. 

She is still afraid of being robbed, of being burdened, which is why part of her is fiercely, and sometimes impractically, possessive of her 'identity' (culture/values/religion and everything else), and part of her is trying, probably way too hard, to shake everything off and find her place in the 'new' world.

The calm 'thinking' middle ground has not been stuck yet. 

Or of it is, it is painfully hidden and unacknowledged.

And at this point of extreme social and political upheaval, we have to find the common ground. Which is, quite simply, taking into account that in spite of all developments there are countless Indians who are hungry and homeless.

We maybe tolerant of many things, but we cant still be tolerant of hunger and poverty.

Unless every citizen is fed, unless every 'Indian' has a simple roof at least to stay in, I, as a common citizen, find it hard to accept the shallow patriotism raising its head everywhere, irrespective of what 'party' it is.

We need pride, not shallow ego.

To Burn or not to Burn, That is the Question of the Diaries

The customary cleaning for the festival has begun at home.
After a very, very long time I had the chance to get the entire stack of my diaries and notebooks out to clean up the shelves. Needless to say, it was quite amusing to see almost 8-10 years of my life, all collected in little piles.
I couldn't help but sit and start going through them.
One by one.
Page by page.
Goodness!
So many emotions.
So many memories.
So many people who have blurred out of my life and so many who have stayed and yet are hardly recognizable in their present souls.
So many memories, incidents, and experiences.
It was quite overwhelming to see everything that life had given me.
So many happy moments and so many not so happy ones.
They have all been a part of the journey and all have made me who I am, and yet, as much as I tried to honor and respect them all for what they were at the time they existed, I couldn't help but feel that some of them were a total waste of emotions and time.
That sounds equally childish to you as it feels to me, and yet I can't help but feel that I could perhaps have gotten better moments had I not been so blinded by feelings, ideals, ideas of creating utopia, and baseless faiths.
Well. If it weren't for those experiences I wouldn't have the maturity (Don't laugh. I know I still have a long way to go but am learning!) that I hopefully have now.
Theoretically, I understand and maybe even appreciate.
And yet, practically, I cant help but feel why on earth I would have squandered my precious confidences.
Its also quite funny how my own emotions have changed and morphed -  sadness and pain, to anger, then to frustration, and finally, to nothingness. Happiness, to memories, to mere little tingles, to nothingness. Some incidents were even out of my memory's reach now, and if not for my diaries I perhaps might not have thought of them ever again..
I pictured myself, 50 years from now, hopefully alive with all my faculties intact, reading them again on an empty afternoon. Or perhaps sharing it with some other people. Would I laugh? Cry? Or not feel anything at all?
We all seem to go through similar journeys. We all seem to go through similar lessons and feelings and experiences. It is sort of comforting to know that I am not alone, and also quite saddening to realize that my condition is not as unique as I had thought it was.
Well :) It is all life, all a part and parcel of it.
At this moment, as I am caught in a dilemma about whether to keep all of the diaries or probably burn away a few awfully painful ones, all I find myself asking from life is not to keep me away from anything, not to take pity on me and spare me all that life has to offer and all that the condition of being born as a human has to show and reveal.
All I funnily find myself asking, is give me more, life!
Give me more of everything, enough to fill a million more diaries.

A Creative Conversation with the Epitome of Inspirations - Krishna

You are still as far away as the rain cloud you so proudly paint yourself with, and as near as the tickle of a peacock feather on my cheek.
Before I could start thinking about the concept of God, you were there - as a bit of imagination, as an invisible companion to have conversations with on the terrace, and as a daydream to paint away on sunny solitudinal afternoons.
Though at times I was wary of you, I remember I never was fearful of you. With dance you grew closer and through you I got my first introduction to various other emotions. What I loved the most about what I felt was not just the awe and the amazement, but the utter sense of you being so human and so complete in being a human in all your emotions, relations and dealings. There never was a crust that I had to break through to reach you or strive to get your attention and grace on me; you were always something that existed alongside me in life - as a concept, as love, as trust, as a prayer, and sometimes as a visible absence.

My perception of humanity was shaped by the sort of 'humanness' I saw in you - something grand, something intense, something in control yet sensitive and vulnerable enough, something boundless and blissful and something inexhaustivef. These are the qualities I look for on a universal basis, probably in everything.

Though I do not understand some of your decisions and your stories, and nor completely agree with some, I know it doesn't offend you; you probably did all that you did (or your writer told all that he told about you) so that the mirage of perfection is broken - you are so perfect in your imperfections that it does not feel awkward. And you wanted us to know it.

Were you happy as a child ? Did you go stealing all the butter and food because you were a spoilt and pampered brat, or did your mother, by any chance, try to discipline you a tad too much from which you wanted to break away ?
Did you really leave Radha because you wanted to protect her honor as a married woman, or were you just scared to accept that love and so you found the glitter and comfort of Mathura easier to deal with ?
Did you really manipulate the war with your clever little lies, or were you just desperately trying to keep everyone at peace and it all worked like a brilliant stroke of luck?
Were you really magnanimous to marry 16,000 queens or was it a kind of penance to assuage your own guilt for having played with the feelings of thousands of maidens in your youth?
More than anything, how did you manage to become so personal and intimate, that your recantations in the Bhagad Gita remain as one of the most universal texts on our inherent nature ?
Who were you, Krishna? Do I believe what people say or what you say to me in my reveries ?
Is it necessary to be sure of your existence and what I am given as facts of your existence? Do I always need facts ? Aren't you already existing in all of us, not just as a spark of the divine as we keep telling ourselves; but as the human nature itself, with all its glorious things and all its not so glorious things (as we perceive it )?
And is that what you were trying to convey to us all, when you said that we are in you, and you are in us?

Tenderness

                                                          Larkhall Park - My soul space


There are these moments in life which you somehow forget to fill up. They stay open, bare and are often invisible until some other moment nudges them out of their burrow.
Like looking at an old doodle done seven years ago and slipping into the same space of mind effortlessly.
Or looking at an old photograph and hearing a voice inside your brain.
Or when my mum calls me from the kitchen for dinner.
There is something about that voice, about the way she calls, and the texture of the tender care in a simple syllable that speaks volumes more - 'The dinner's hot and tasty.' 'Its your favorite.' 'You have not eaten for hours.' 'I am tired and sleepy but I can wait until I've served you.'
It is these little things that carry so much meaning than grand displays that I miss the most when I am away. And it is these spaces that I want to hold more of.
The blood beneath the skin.
The blue in the nerves.
Or the tiny 'gulp' sound when I drink water.
It is odd how time seems to stop during these little getaways. Everything blurs, the sights, the sounds, the sensations of everything around melts as these moments gain a strange weight and hover over me. And often these spaces come unheralded, and yet blend in beautifully.
Back in London for my graduation ceremony and a few performances, it feels like everything in between hangs in another space. Its like touching a familiar unfamiliarity. Or an unfamiliar familiarity. Or maybe I am losing it.
It is gong to be formally over, my course, with a formal ceremony of robes and smiles and congratulations. More than the course, I wish we all could look into (really, really deep into) the whole experience of it, and congratulate each other on the particular period of time that has been intense both personally and artistically in some way or the other.
I am listening to the same songs I used to a year ago on the tube. And walking on the exact same spaces and trying and tracing the exact same steps.
It is not the spaces but what we leave of ourselves or what we find of ourselves in those spaces that make it significant for all of us.
Or, maybe I am losing it.

Wandering In Wales

A short travelogue of a trip to Wales :

Is it possible to be bored of a color? 
I am bored of the color green. 
Are fishes bored of blue? Are dogs bored of black and white? But since they have not seen anything else, do they realize they are missing something ? 
Are we missing something ? 
Are we perpetually fooling ourselves as the most superior creations but there is a vastness even beyond our imagination?

The only way to see what we might probably be missing on, in a very minuscule sense indeed, is to travel. It is the deepest experience we could give ourselves, and especially to a place like Wales.

The name ‘Wales’ had always amused me, and anyway it was in UK so I knew I would not need to go through the hazzles of visa. 
Succumbing to a whimsical travel fever and wanting to throw in my own bit of randomness into the seas of life, I booked the earliest morning bus to Cardiff (Capital city of Wales) the very next day. With no arrangement of accommodation or travel plans as to how and where to go except a list of places which really seemed interesting, I set off.

But lo! A 5 hour bus journey later there was life, standing at the bus stop of Cardiff, laughing at me. I wanted randomness? No child, life is all arranged, you just need to figure the patterns; and I watched in amusement as these patterns unraveled throughout the trip.

Honestly, it was a tad disappointing in the beginning as my sense of adventure was gone very soon; for even before I could feel that I was in a different country, a stranger in a different city, there were millions of maps, brochures, leaflets and guides thrown at me, putting me completely at ease. Also, the first person I saw in a shop I walked in to was an Indian, and I was immediately given advice regarding the best and cheapest places to stay. I enjoyed the camaraderie, but oh damn the person who first thought of tourism as a business.

Cardiff is a lovely city, though, except for the green color of its buses. A long walk in the sunny afternoon across the downtown area took me to Cardiff castle and its vastness. It was a soothing time in its gardens imagining its history and the walk up to its tower with lovely views. The air raid shelters there were disturbing though, with blaring radio voices from the 2^nd world war years, faded posters and pictures, and also complete emptiness as you walk along the long dark narrow stretch.

Cardiff bay was a pleasant enough sight after that in the evening, with the brimming restaurants and shops and the setting sun. I was still feeling weirdly comfortable though, and not like an amused explorer.

And thankfully, soon after that the true adventure actually began. 

I had planned to spend most nights either in travel to save both time and money on lodging, or in bus stops and railway stations wherever I found a decent enough one. Cardiff bus stop was pretty decent and it also had a railway station just across from there, but since I found there was a bus to Pembroke Dock (One of the places on my list), why waste time?

‘You will reach there at 2.30 a.m, is that OK? Do you have reservations made?’ Asked the person at the booking. I liked the concern in her voice, and sensing the first call of unpredictability, I lied yes and took a ticket. I had nothing much to see in Cardiff anyway (I deliberately avoided the museums which are pretty amazing I am told; I had had too much for the whole year).

And so I reached Pembroke dock, a tiny little village at 2.30 in the night. The bus stop was just a sign post near a large Tesco department store. No waiting room, not even a shelter. It was exactly like its name - just a stop.

Oh well :) 

Anyway, after searching aimlessly on the dark streets for quite a long time which felt like an after-bedtime tour of the little village, after hilarious broken conversations with Welsh truck drivers resting for a drink on the roads, I did manage to find a Bed and Breakfast before sunrise which had the last available room. 
Four hours of solid rest and after that, with brilliant suggestions and tips from the friendly staff, the whole experience was one beautiful poem with perfect punctuation at the right places - and the rest is better expressed through pictures.

A short bus ride from there to the sea, and I began with an amazing 5 hour coastal path hike (part of the Wales Coastal walk of the National Trust) from Pembroke dock to Freshwater East in the morning - a perfect blend of the sea, the mountains, and silence. Every step brought forth a different view, every step made me stop and stare  :  

When I reached Freshwater East, I met a retired English and History professor. 
All by chance, of course; he was basking in the sun reading a book. I had originally intended to walk on till a place called Tenby, but when I asked him for directions, he told me it would take hours and I wouldn't be able to make it before dark, and he offered me a place to stay for the night. We chatted in the sun, saw the sunset, and then picked up some food from a nearby store and headed to his home. The village is on a cliff overlooking the bay so everywhere we went I got treated to glimpses of sea and sand.
Cigarettes and beer and Life stories shared with aplomb throughout the night with a perfect stranger, randomness or a pattern that fell in place when it just had to? Did I go seeking this moment or did the moment seek me out ? 
His little cottage was filled, actually crammed with hundreds of photos and other memorabilia of all his years, and I was lucky to know about an intense life. 
A little sleep and then being woken up the next morning with a very classy 'English tea for the lady in bed!', it could not have been better! 

After another short walk in the mist along the bay and up another cliff, I caught a bus to Pembroke, and frankly I wasn't ready to be so bowled over by Pembroke castle. Having reached early and being practically the first visitor even before the gates had opened, the mellow magnificence lay there, bare, open to be seen and felt. It has some of the most romantic visuals (even with annoying sightings of the traffic and electric lights from the tower windows. How I hate the jarring juxtaposition of the past and the present that serves no purpose). 

Sunrise at Freshwater East :

Pembroke Castle :

Walking around Pembroke Castle, you feel like a living ruin walking among the dead ruins. So caught up was I in these strange feelings that the visit to ancient places make you feel, a feeling that is a sense of nostalgia not your own but borrowed from someone else and you don't know what the memories are, just something deep but intangible, but you know that you are missing something. I ended up missing a couple of buses and a train as well to potential places, spending the afternoon running between bus stop and train station.
I finally caught a bus to a village called Flatford Mill. Not much to boast of there except the  historic port, and the names given to the boats are quite amusing - you don't know why you are looking at a boat when it sounded more like it would be a horse or a cat :D

Again, by chance, I met a sailor who had been sailing across the seas for most of his youth. He offered to drive me on to the next town which was Haversfordwest. On the way he showed me another ruin; but this one was like a nameless corpse - it hadn't even been given a proper funeral. It was so covered in moss and undergrowth that we had to struggle quite a lot to find a way in beyond the safety wires. And what we found there was eerie :

I was dropped off at Haversfordwest by evening, and the empty castle here was buzzing with flies. (Wales has castles sprinkled in almost every corner). I enjoyed walking along the streets of the city and its downtown area more. It had some weird funky pubs which I thought I would go to at night but all the walking had taken its toll and the minute I found a B&B I fell asleep like a log.

Next morning as usual started very early with a heavenly chill, and I set off for St. David's Cathedral. It is a couple of hours by bus and the journey is breathtaking to say the least. You meander around green hills, you get glimpses of the sea now and then which seem more like mirages, you see sheep and cows grazing around like the most contented creatures on earth, and all this with a flirty mist that rises up and then comes down magically.

St. David's is a little town and it had began raining when I reached there. It seemed out of a book - the place, the tiniest city central circle ever, the weather, and this glorious structure that I came to at the bend of a tiny path. Spending hours inside the cathedral was a beautiful prelude to what was the most breathtaking place I had come upon until then - Angel's head.
It is part of the National Coastal walk and in one hour it takes you around the mountain where you can watch the sea in all its glory and wonder. The cloudy weather, the slight drizzle and the enthusiastic wind made me feel like I never wanted to go anywhere else but just stay there, listening to the waves. This is kind of what it looked like :

 I lost track of time, but somehow, again by chance, I happened to slowly wander back in the nick of time to catch the last bus out of that city.

I had a few more places on my list but they were quite far up north. My energy was seeking a break and so was my wallet. I rode to Cardigan ( why exactly is it so hyped?) and another small town called Fishgaurd. I was quite satisfied and spent and was preparing for the epilogue of the experience. I had no inkling of what was yet to come.
Aberystywth is a seaside town and I had found a convenient bus from there to London at night. It would have been fine only if the previous bus had not run late. Strange how these things and timings work. I reached Aberystywth late at night and needless to say, I had already missed the bus. But what I saw was too overwhelming for me to have any place for tension :
                   

(Image borrowed from google; my phone camera gave up on trying to capture this beauty)

(discoverceredigion.co.uk)

I wandered around at this fairytale like place, sounds of invisible waves crashing on my left and a plethora of lights, lamps and lanterns on my right. It was buzzing with people and for a change I did not find the crowd bothersome; I was too wrapped up in myself and felt so vaporous that I knew I was invisible to them as well.

All the hotels were booked, all the guesthouses over filled. It being the opening weekend of the university there, it was brimming with the young partying folks. Few drunk college kids were loitering and tried following me around as I waded in and out of buildings. Yet, being in a very ethereal state of existence, neither danger nor worry for the night could contaminate me. I kept wandering, on any street I found, any alley, any friendly looking pub. I wandered until the crowds on the streets thinned out, until silence began revisiting her existence. I wandered until I knew I wasn't going to find a room and thought of retracing my way back to the bus stop.
I could probably nap a bit in its shelter.
And then I saw these two women walking towards the corner of the road I was standing in.
Alice and Nicola were spending their customary weekend in their holiday cottage and were just returning back.They instantly knew I was lost, were extremely friendly, and took me around trying to see if there was any room left in some hotels tucked away in corners.
'Why don't you stay with us?'
Well, who would say no in that situation! We packed some Indian dinner on the way and then drove to their cottage.
To say it was one of the best things that has happened is an understatement. They are such amazing, experienced women that I took in an enormous amount of love and wisdom. Nicola and I stayed up very late, speaking about life, about art, about philosophy, about relationships, about us.
It was like finding a long lost friend. In fact, one of the things she told me has struck so deep that a whole article has come out of it, and this is what she said - 'Did we cultivate wheat, or did we allow wheat to cultivate us?' This one sentence opened so many ideas and understanding about our society and lives as the way they are now.
I don't quite remember when we went to sleep, but I remember feeling so cozy, safe in my dreams.
the sun was way up high by the time I awoke  (and of course missed the morning bus to London). After brunch they dropped me off to see the castle ruins there and enjoy the ocean a bit. It was quite a sunny day so wandering around felt great.

I caught a train to Birmingham and then a bus to London. The journey back home was uneventful thankfully, though I have to say that since this was the trip of missing buses, I could not NOT miss one last one. I somehow made it home the next day before dusk, with aching feet, drooping eyes but a very lingering emotion of I still don't know what. Just as we take care of life, life takes care of us in strange ways. And this adventure made me more in tune with the internal journeys I would go on but not always notice or appreciate, no matter how rough or how smooth the terrain was.

It has been months, yet the footsteps stay on. 

And when I look ahead I see some more trails along the English countryside, probably where Constable painted his hay wain. 

Until then, happy journey, to wherever you are heading, body or mind.

And it begins!!!

There is no beginning or end, that is what Krishna teaches us. And in our tiny lives we probably will take a long time to understand this perspective, especially with regards to Art.
After a whirlwind phase of intense learning and travel last year, this year so far has been a gentle hum. Though I needed the break, I initially did curse the occasional boredom, but now as I stand on the threshold of another upcoming intense phase, I am quite thankful for the quietude. It has helped me understand the importance of stillness - external stillness to understand and appreciate our internal journeys, and internal stillness to make space for external energy. Because that is where we often trip - our external actions usually do not echo our internal atmosphere, and there is so much of mending and blending as a thought goes on to become a work.
Where exactly does 'ART' begin ?
Is art a hyperbole ? Or is it simplification? Who knows?
What this internal intimate time has made me understand is how beautiful change is, especially as an artist. Of course the intensity and the excitement is one of the innate reasons I am here, but still, everything that has been until now feels just like a warm up. All the classes, all the performances, all the paintings, and all the scribbling of words - now feel nascent. I do recognize their value in the context of the time they were created, but it feels like a newness has been unearthed, another blank slate challenging me to show how deep I can dig or how hard I can seek. And it is definitely because of a growing awareness.
With a gradual increase in the audience of whatever I create as 'Art', there has been a subconsciousness increase in my sense of responsibility. Though they are still the fundamental questions of 'why am I making Art? Am I representing what I see/feel, challenging what I see/feel, or critiquing what I see/feel?' that I find myself dealing with, what has expanded is the awareness that they probably won't have straightforward answers for a very long time, and as an artist that is actually a blessing.
Older ambitions seem slightly vulgar, distresses have changed into disgust, affections have morphed into sympathy, and definitions for success and dreams have evolved and filtered, along with an ability to accept them as they are. The creative impulse has become the foremost concern rather than just technical goals - there is no need to find a 'balance' between different forms as the impulse will take great care of it. In fact, all these fancy words like 'balance' and blah blah are quite malleable in Art; this field needs its own bloody dictionary.
It has been a great warm up though, and I look back with gratefulness, but it is super exciting to know that my internal ideas have finally found an audible conversation with my external actions. And hoping I am capable of giving the honesty and integrity they have begun to (relentlessly) demand as some long held visions have begun to unfurl.

Revisiting Spaces, Revisiting Nostalgia

It is a different sun here :) A different moon, different stars.
Their light here is different, and their yellow skins too. Not logically, of course, but logic does not, and need not work all the time!
I have been spending the past couple of weeks revisiting spaces that hold significance from different periods of my life. Childhood, teenage, the starting point of my dancing journey, and streets that hold so many joyful memories.
Nothing seems to have changed much; the grey of the streets, the shade of the trees, and the feel of gentleness and delicacy in the breeze. My steps seem to have altered, though, I either am able to perceive more of its breadth, or I have become mature enough to see it in its true identity. In spite of their beauty, I am able to see and accept that it has its share of rotten grass and dead branches.
I can still weave stories around them, as I did for hours back in a more innocent time, and now I am not scared to talk about their ghosts and their secrets in the torn corners of their minds.

Time, or whatever it is that we so desperately try to hold within our clocks and the ticks of the three hands, seems to have shrunken back into the caves from which we invented it.
These journeys are, in a mildly desperate way, an attempt to familiarize myself back with a city I have literally spent my whole life in until now. It is amazing how what you think has been true and yours for decades can suddenly become unfamiliar in a second, and what has been but for a short while can show you such an astonishing glimpse of eternity. And there could have been no other beautiful way for the universe to teach me that time is just an illusion, and it is all about space and our perception and responses to it. Quantum physics, in its simplest, is finally making some sense to me :D

There is no need to hurry, no need to make sense of every second, and no need to try and make everything meaningful. While the purpose of the whole creation itself remains such a mystery, why bother heaping importance on physical spaces that keep melting and morphing? Its more than enough to lie on their lap and keep weaving on stories :)
I am off to catch up on some more Einstein, for nothing in Science had so caught my attention as this concept of time and space. Here are a few pictures from these short (physical) journeys :

Animation mania

For the past few weeks have been hooked to animation shorts.Amazing visuals, amazing concepts, and some incredibly adorable characters :)

Worth sharing some; great for a weekend watch!!!

Change? What's that?

I had always dreamed of changing the world, but the more I see the world, the more stupid I feel.
You can try to bring change if you live in a sponge that absorbs alterations and advancements, but when you increasingly feel you are banging your head against a rock, it becomes almost impossible to retain even your own little sanity.
Ideals find it hard to exist in the 'real' world. But then the 'real' world is nothing but what we, as a collective have decided on, depending on our conveniences and comfort levels. How hard could it be to open one single shaft ? How hard is to keep your windows shut if you want but not lock up others' doors?
It is easy to ask for changes in the law, but it is really not the law only that has to change. Granted that it is of course very reassuring to know that you will have legal protection and can fight openly for justice in a court of law which will have your side and not consider you an outcast, but it is a whole different ball game to not have your neighbors talk to you as you step out or have your family members increasingly decrease their calls and concerns or you fear public assaults wherever you go.
Makes you question everything about civilization, what do we expect of ourselves?
What are we expecting of others? What are we expecting to achieve as a human race if we cannot acknowledge a fellow human?
Actually this feels quite funny; you could empathize with an actual problem and go about trying to solve it, but people turning against people for who they are (or who they are not) is kind of silly. Lets make our intentions clear at least, are we staging a satire or a comedy or just absurd narratives gone wrong which is made obvious to everyone so that no one kills themselves?

Maybe we actually don't in fact need any 'change'. Collective evolution is a myth; we can't have universal empathy if there is individual apathy. We need individual logic, individual reasoning.
All we need more than anything right now, when things are seeming so bright but are carpeting a layer of disgusting muck, is just one simple mantra - Live and let live.
Positive changes (or whatever that means to anyone) will automatically follow.

RIP to all the victims of homophobia around the world...

India's Daughter - Beyond the documentary

Its been more than two years and no one here did it, but then a foreigner makes a documentary and suddenly our egos are on fire.
If we are really that averse to sympathy (which does not seem to be the point of the film, anyway), we will not wait to be sympathized to realize our dignity.
Not allowing it to be viewed in India shows cowardice and diffidence, not a supposed pride or a feigned patriotism. And also, of course, the quintessential Indian quality - we have to grind everything down to differentiation, politics, racism, and stupidity.
Any rational person who has seen the film will agree that it is not in bad taste or derogatory to women or to India.
It just shows the bare facts. It NEEDS to show the facts, not clever editorial tricks.
And yes it shows our widespread misogyny, the patriarchal mindset, and the insensitivity.
Averse to truth?
Well, you cant refuse to hold a mirror to yourself and then break one when it is being held.

Why would a foreigner make a film about our incident?  You ask. Why make a big deal out of it and show it to everyone when there are such things happening everywhere too?
Simple logic. Because, my dear, beyond our castes and religions and nationalities, apart from social, cultural, political, and a lot other approaches, there is a broader arena called humanity, and a 'humanistic' approach. Once you start seeing things from that perspective, you would automatically start working for the cause and not for baseless accusations. Not everything is about conspiracy and agendas and grand schemes. Unless you are trying in vain to save your own skin, that is.
Secondly, this incident DID spark unprecedented outrage and it is NOT a secret from anyone in the world, really. So yes, the media IS MEANT to work on issues that have such mass impacts around the world.
The question, instead of being why a foreigner did a movie about a culture she cant understand, should actually be, why didn't ANYONE in India who understands 'our culture' so perfectly well, do one? Or, if that is not a comfortable means for us because we still uphold unfounded views on shame and such, did India do ANYTHING substantial at all, after the incident, to ensure that people are sensitized more, made more aware, the culprits given harsher punishment (in practical), and thus prevent things like this happening? Unfortunately no.

And unfortunately, we never seem to get off our butts unless we are whipped off our seats. Nudges don't seem to work.
Media is the most powerful tool and it is meant to be used for a greater good, whether it is done by Britain or India. And again, why don't we have more programs like this which REALLY reaches the core and is qualitative, open, educative, eye opening, challenging and competitive too?  Do we need to always wait for triggers? Can't we work without catalysts?

Does not feel good to have fingers pointed ! Does not feel OK to have our roots exposed on a global platform! Really? Well then fabulous! So, instead of reacting with baseless arrogance, use this as a blessing in disguise and PLEASE START DOING SOMETHING ABOUT THE ISSUE!
Take it as a challenge to assert our country in the RIGHT way - Have the documentary shown in every school, every slum, every college, every workplace; have education volunteers and social workers talk to children and teenagers, organize a mass movement where every wall in every home in the country realizes that rapes and gender inequality and ANY violence against women will not be tolerated.
Impose harsher action against culprits, prove that that action will actually be taken, have the men realize that every eye is watching their every move, raise your voice against every act of crime and work on instilling a true sense of safety among the citizens. Make it a 3 year or 5 or 7 year plan to make our country rape free (Sorry but I am unapologetically idealistic), and then you can yourself invite the BBC to make a documentary on how we have tackled our problems and issues.
Because if for some strange reason you take this documentary as an assault on your prestige and global face value, THIS would be a proper and dignified response, not banning the film or getting tangled up in trivial justifications and blame games.
It is already proved that we are great at reacting and not at responding to the 'why' and 'what' and 'what next' of anything; so now that the fire has been lit and the whole world is watching us, use that fire with intelligence to light up our society than to keep burning ourselves, again and again. Because we the nameless, common mass of the nation are really done with everything and are on the brink of diving headlong into positive change, whether it happens in peace or with protests.

No matter what we ban or not, our truth is not a well kept secret from anyone, and at this stage it SHOULDN'T be. Yes we need empathy, yes we need as much support and assistance as possible, and we will keep getting it from everyone, because we have allowed our pit to be dug this deep.

And yes, there are rapes and violence and  several other atrocities happening everywhere. Wherever there are humans, there will be problems, whether it is India or London or Pangaea. No one is idolizing or defending a particular culture here and saying the other is full of loopholes. This matter goes higher than high school politics.
But what we DO need to realize is that we are still not even open to accepting our loopholes yet, and you need no more proof than the events of the past few days for this. We live in denials, and we give ridiculous justifications and excuses.

I don't know much about the complications of how the film might hamper the process or the system, and frankly, as a common citizen, I don't care. If systems are formed to protect us but they fail to do so, then we have all the right to fail in our loyalty to them as well.
And thus, we pointing fingers at anyone else will only make us look more pathetic, not protective and patriotic as we foolishly seem to be thinking right now.
Because seriously, if people who are supposed to be 'protecting' us in their respective positions and powers have such unimaginably low standards of respect and esteem as is seen in the documentary, and we allow them to continue, we will soon not have much left to be patriotic about.

We'll have umpteen films made on us, and they won't be out of empathy for much longer.

A Glimpse Inside

There is so much distance between an artist and an art work; sometimes you love the art but not the artist, and sometimes you do not understand the art but love what the artist thinks/feels/his process. One of my favorite artist interviews: Martin Creed :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY3L0cNqDiw

Messages in a Bottle

                                               

(A detail of 'Elite Intervals' - Mixed Media on Canvas, Feb. 2015)

Little Margot had bought herself several new umbrellas; she had quite learnt to enjoy all the rains but sometimes needed to stay warm too. Blue, yellow, white, purple and magenta - all different colors to suit her different moods.
The rains were strange that way - each time it was but glorious water pouring down from the heavens, but each time it made her feel different. Was it all about circumstances then? She wondered. She loved the rain when she was near a cave on soft sands, but hated its prickly drops when she was standing on a stony beach. The only reason she would push away a drop was if she thought she was unworthy of its embrace, and hoping she would one day prove good enough.
She had always found it difficult to know herself, but with this new realization, she became even more confused.
How could she know what she really wanted and what she really was?
She stood upon the waves and emptied herself of everything; and what still remained in her heart, her soul and the deepest part of her being was her in her total essence. A total void of circumstances held a mirror to her inner truth, and how beautiful that was!
Exited to share this beauty with all the islands she had found in her deepest dreams, she wrote her lengthy letters and rolled them inside a bottle to send them across the seas.
As she rolled them out on the sea, the moon rose high and blessed her being.

If given a choice, would she be a bottle or a message inside it ? She thought, for she knew that would definitely be the next step. The bottle experienced all the waves, felt the sunshine and the chill, laughed with the foam and wept with the night snow. The messages, however, stayed safe inside, having very deep words and sentences, but 'bottled' up, literally. No stars, no scars. But they did have an amazing view of the spectacle though, and of the whole voyage.

It was a difficult choice, but Margot had listened to her call and she knew what she would really like. Instead of finding substitutes in messages on yellowed paper, she would roll herself into a sheet, snuggle inside the bottle and bounce down onto the seas. And once in the center of it all, once in the center of life and drama and the beautiful theater of existence, she would break the bottle and pound herself on the deep waters. She would know the visuals, she would know the colors, and she would now feel the chill and thrill and the drowning ecstasy of someone totally unarmed except for their own dream in the wild rush of merging rivers.

Someday, maybe, some sailor would find the smashed pieces of bottle and a bit of her hair floating below his boat.
He would maybe honor her memory with a knowing smile, for that is all we really need - an acknowledgement of our souls, an awareness of our emotions, and an acceptance, no matter how subtle, of our innermost journeys.

Constructions and Re-Constructions

What some people have at their doorstep and they choose to ignore, many others in the world would give an arm and a leg for.

Was skimming through my last year notes from college and something about accessibility and affordability caught my attention. I hadn't' thought or written about it much back then, but somehow it makes more sense now, after an almost unimaginable dream has been lived and is over.
What exactly is accessibility? Well maybe it goes two ways - one where you are aware of something but cant reach it, or you have it but you don't know it. (Both having it and realizing it is a lucky, but perhaps a very dry coming together).
The first situation is usually known in our world as a misfortune and the latter as a privilege, maybe something you are born into as well, a birthright.

Thinking a bit back to man's starting point in life - he is born into a nude space and time - he is shorn of 'circumstances'. (What he is born into is his parents circumstances, not his). He is born on a blank slate; thus during his life, there is every opportunity for him to change where he is, what he is, what he is doing, and what he could do.
If one is born into a financially 'poor' space, that need not be his 'fate' forever. One could say it was 'destiny' or something to have been born exactly in that situation, but actually, being in that situation is a 'constructed' circumstance of his parents as well, if we go back a little; either they were also born such or did not do anything about it. It is a continuing constructed circumstance.
The first step is to be aware of this accessibility to evolution, though, and that is where clinging on to'fate' or 'destiny' happens for the most part. (Is it genuine ignorance or feigned clever laziness?) Either that, or else great snobbery and corruption; which is disgusting rather than saddening.
Change is inevitable, and what we usually don't realize - also greatly accessible. Of course life is hard, life slaps you again and again, and sometimes nothing seems to work.
But maybe, these slaps are a result of man's constructed circumstances.
Constructed spaces. Constructed Time. Constructed beliefs. Constructed clinging to fate. Constructed greed and constructed blame.

Apart from the moods of Nature, apart from her fury and wrath and her beauty, there is nothing, absolutely nothing that is not within a man's reach and control, especially his own life. And yet as a collective, we seem more interested in controlling waves and trees rather than our lives. We need predictions for everything, so that we could 'construct' all our circumstances well.

Maybe, just maybe, true happiness, love and security are just right outside these constructions.

Swalpa Adjust Maadi Please :)

Well hello lovely people of the lovely world !!! :)

Yes, you caught me. My warm greeting is partly an attempt to sound cheerful and partly an attempt at sarcasm.
Getting up everyday has become a re-enactment of my earlier panic attacks; what with such gory news all over. No, don't worry, I will not bore you with what the internet and news has been flooded with for the past couple of days, but will go a step lower, a step personal, a step that though quite trivial and existential in the vast scheme of things, is gradually beginning to answer my questions and fears about the world and its state as a whole.

It has been a while since I have come back home, and needless to say, I miss London.
Like hell.
As an artist I get attached to spaces too soon and too intense, and London's misty spaces and grasses I still feel on my skin.
But it has been great here too, catching up with family and friends, laughing at old jokes, and swimming in a swelling tide of the past and the future together.
One thing irks me though. Many things do, but this one more persistently, and this is where my step of a yet feeble understanding starts.
As a 'young' girl of marriageable age, after having done my MA as well, should I not look to settle down? Usually, no one who lectures me has the patience to listen to my lectures about love or marriage or life, and I am often brushed aside with something along the lines of ' Some things you need to adjust in life'.
Oh well.
Come to think of it; they are actually helping me make my life easier. I could find a very handsome, well paid, 'supportive' husband in any part of the world, and settle to a very convenient, perhaps even luxurious lifestyle. If I agree to 'adjust' a little that is, adjust my thoughts, my emotions, and my personal philosophies a little so that it could suit the situation admirably.
And then my gaze wanders to the vast vast space out in front of my balcony all mingled with so many more lives.
Who would I adjust for?
What should I adjust for?
Whose invisible satisfaction will my personal adjustment satisfy?
Forget about me now, lets not be selfish; but why do humans think 'adjustment' is a way of life, no matter what the matter is? From where does this pathetic and pessimistic view of a human and his life stem from ?
And people have learned to adjust to everything, for that's how the world works.

Adjust to the faith you are born into.
Adjust to the job you end up with.
Adjust to the system a little.
Adjust to the country a little.
Have an oppressive leader? Adjust a little.
Adjust to the neighbors' noise a little.
Adjust to whatever the media of all kinds (the biggest weapon in today's world but perhaps the most stupidly used) feeds you with.
Adjust to the surroundings you are in.
Adjust to the education system and whatever it gives you (or doesn't).
Adjust to the circumstances.
Adjust to the situation you are in, whether you agree with it or not.
This mass 'adjusting' mentality is perhaps the biggest unseen terrorist looming large today.
It is these small adjustments and agreements to oppression to ideas, individuality and existence no matter how small or big which burst as mass exasperation.
Remember all the revolutions in History? It is not a coincidence that all of them were instigated by the mass who were done with adjusting to the systems.
So you keep adjusting until there is nothing left. Yes, squeeze in your butt (and your mind) a little more, you will fit in on the seat, and we can all have a jolly ride :)
Just so you don't take me to be a complete bitch, let me make it obvious that there is a slight difference between convenience and conviction, between being assertive and odious. Between adapting and adjusting. And of course between empathy and adjusting.
The world needs a lot more empathy, a lot more adaptability, a lot more true freedom and not just conditional freedom, and less and less of adjustments and compromises to bullshit.
It is OK to say 'Its OK' now, but it wont be ten years down the line when that 'OK' pays a big price for being on the end of the adjustment chain.

You saw the picture of the thousands of Parisians gathering in unity with candles and slogans and tears and anger against the injustice? Maybe the whole world should gather, at the center of the earth around a huge fire, and burn away everything we have been oppressed and limited with - every old idea, every notion, every system, every organised chaos, and every boundary.

True inner revolution in the masses seems to be a viable answer for today's abstract world.
Unless everyone stops feeling completely and becomes numb.