Development or Dementia ?

I studied my bachelors in fine arts in the “oh so famous “Chitrakala Parishath” the very idea of being able to study art wasn’t enough to survive, I learnt in those five years of my adolescence and amid all this hush was the fact that the college was situated in the heart of the city opposite to the golf course and was a scenic place if I may say so. The trees around the golf course became an integral part of my life. One because as I lived very close by I used walk around the golf course in the morning hours and another it was the place I had to pass through everyday to get to college. This let me tell you is a great stretch, a lane of pine kind of trees rising up above the nets of the golf grounds and from behind came a variety of bougainvilleas in every shade and color. This made for a pleasant alternative from the tormenting college rules.

It was under these trees I had my most wonderful drive in the rain moments and creative ideas discussed with friends and classmates. The bougainvilleas were almost unreal, they made a havoc of colors along with the green of the pines and stretching till the ground and the footpath, unlike many footpaths in Bangalore were actually neat and usable[ probably because its near the CM’s house]. This whole fantastic atmosphere was short lived, one because I left college and another a dreaded truth I saw lately. I have since shifted and as my course was done I never visited the spot as often, on a not so fine day I was to go to Opus where a friend was performing for the last time in Bangalore with the Barracuda blues [a local band rising to fame]. When I was passing through my favorite stretch I put my head out of the car to see it in full view but a horrific sight struck me which I probably will never forget.

The trees were cut, the walk way was gone and the road was extended. This was probably what they call development – that is to kill or cut anything that is beautiful that exists so that isn’t worth living. The city I knew once is dying out; the things I used to enjoy doing can’t be done as the ambience isn’t there. This made me frantic but it wasn’t the end of the terror for me for the evening the police had made it almost impossible to reach Opus almost every road leading to it was a one a way the underpass in the junction is a stupid idea which I don’t even think was required the roads are filled with slush…. Now let me tell you if this were to continue we would be left with concrete sunrises [as my dear friend Sandhya puts it] we would have all varieties like continental Thai and Chinese platters available but not a decent chai wallah left …… so lets make it a point to do a wee little bit [whatever is in our little hands] and I am sure we can make the difference required [small waves made a tsunami ]………

So here is to all Bangaloreans……. Please do your bit……

Ranting of a mind

I have been for a while now, confused, most people go through some format of identity crisis, if you can call it that, and people should once in a while look inside their own selves. It is considered a healthy way of living.  And when you do try and figure out who you are, you also end up trying to understand what you support, like or dislike.

Being a woman, a human, a city dweller I have a lot on my mind, which rattles inside that skull of mine, being an entrepreneur doesn’t help it either. Having very strong opinions about all things in life most definitely eggs on the rattling.

And I have never had normal err balanced emotions, ever since I was young, ever since I can remember I always feel everything in extreme, highest of highs, lowest of lows and those anger tantrums. Well that’s just me, I mean the real me. So whenever I do try and keep an even keel on things I have failed and miserably so, but sometimes I do succeed, but that’s talk for another day.

Today was not a day for the keeping it cool – so to say.

I had watched the trailer of “The world before her” I was to be honest genuinely intrigued, I watch enough documentaries to know how most of these things shape up. But this trailer showed a contrast of things which I wanted to know more about. And when a friend called and said lets watch it they are playing it at PVR , I rose to the occasion of watching a docu on a mall screen as against a small screen I usually get to watch docus on and also I would get a big tub of caramel popcorn [ well that’s a must ].

This movie I later found out was directed by Nisha Pahuja , it is a Canadian documentary film released in 2012. So when I get to see it, which is a week after the Badaun rape, a few weeks after the BJP landslide victory, when the whole nation is talking and I mean cynicism at its peak on all fronts, when people can’t see the difference between doctored video clippings, assaults, Hindutva talks etc this seems like the juiciest time for such a release. Controversies in the air and such a movie comes out.

A docu can and usually is made on a topic, we cant expect them to cover everything under the subject, but one has a responsibility to convey the message with as much less bias as possible, especially when it is called a docu. Unfortunately for Indians the number of movies that reach other countries is very less, even though a lot of good cinema happens here, so people sitting outside of here and viewing have to rely on the information given to them through media. When movies like this come out at such a time [ I am not sure of the release dates elsewhere in the world ] it is sure to cause a lot of hungama.

What it shows is this “Supposed” contrast between – a hindu fundamentalist group of women training to save Hindu culture ways of life as against the Bikini clad women walking the ramp with confused ideals, pathetic accent, miss led parents and such. Being from a middle class South Indian background I barely see this as either an apt analogy or even the right things to be pitched against each other. It looks more like the best juiciest thing to make a docu about and rest the achieving of the accolades not on the research or hard work , intellect or talent but on the sheer juiciness of the subject.

What was it trying to say? Because both these topics are so different from each other they don’t even make opposites as such. It is like me making a docu on the tribes of Amazon and pitching it against a multi millionaires life style in Calcutta.

Another problem “I” have, as in a Tarantino loving, independence loving girl who does not on any lines believe in women being vulnerable for an instant, the problem I have is when you do show women learning some form of self defence it is either shown in this way – where they train under some extreme fundamentalists, or they are shown like in the movie “Gulaab Gang” where they jump trucks and act weird and talk funny finally achieving nothing. Where is the representation of the Real thing, the Indian women – if that is what you want to talk about. Then there is the question of the feministic values where somehow here in India [ as I don’t know the actual scene elsewhere ] has become a SERIOUS topic as in no jokes allowed, these people take their FEMINISM SERIOUSLY , so you aren’t allowed to crack a joke, laugh or be jovial. Because these topics are SERIOUS. So for me tomorrow if I ever made a movie simple trick , put a few slums in place, get a few transgender people to talk about their lives then suddenly talk some DEEP Feministic stuff and I can walk home with a lot of awards , money and fame. Cool shit.

And also as we are on this topic of feminism I really do hope women and men and everyone gets it right. Because feminism aint about hating men, feminism aint about sitting in a soft leather clad sofa wearing a cotton sari never having witnessed any such suppression or oppression in life talking high and mighty of the goddess within and talking nasty about men, it is really just about equality and rights to such, in a place where it is needed. Having a SERIOUS mind set about it won’t make you a hero – whoops sorry a heroine, and a little bit of humour is SERIOUSLY needed in this society as of now.

With the fear that I might rant on till the end of next year, I stop myself and hope to see much more balanced times, films and such with a lighter note. Now I can wash the scent of the movie away with a re-watch of Death Proof [ that’s the cool kinda feminism anyways] – well that’s a joke – and if you cant get jokes, this isn’t the blog you should be reading.

Parinitha Konanur

A Sensory File

People keep telling “we are visual beings” being a visual artist, how could I deny? But well I do and my point is we are more than visual beings we are sensory creatures. All the senses play a role in our recognition of someone or something, memory and how we relate to people, places and circumstances. I first observed this about myself, quite long ago. I remember vividly one bit of my travel, my first time in Kolkata. 

We had taken a cycle rickshaw in the night, I remember not from where exactly to where. But I do remember the ride, first is the squeamish feeling of sitting in a rickshaw pulled by a human, it took a while before I could relax even a bit, but I did. I relaxed after finding out that the man was feeding his entire family with the money he would get from passengers like us, if it wasn’t us he would be taking someone else. I am digressing, well the point being, this small stretch I remember vividly, it was about 8 years ago, along with many other snippets I remember from Kalimpong, Darjeeling and Gangtok, this is the part I remember so well.

Here goes - We started riding across this very dingy dark lane, safety was not even at the back of our minds, there was a line of barber shops to our right, small shops lined next to each other, dimly lit in the night, I was wondering who would want a shave at this hour, then realised that most of them could not afford to get a shave in the mornings as they would be required at some form of labor or the other. On another instance I recall learning that most of these workers don’t get any holiday, Sunday or otherwise. Anyways as we rode along this lane the smell from the Barber shop wafted through, it was quite pungent too, I don’t remember particularly liking that smell ever before, I don’t think I liked it even there but it did not repulse me and was weirdly pleasant. 

Unfortunately I did not click on that particular ride, but this one is from the same trip and in Kolkata

Then as each shop passed I heard very familiar tunes, but could not sing along in my head or aloud like I usually do, because they were all in Bengali. These were all the old classic Hindi numbers, all in Bengali though. Then I got to wondering which was made first, not that I know the answer to that till date. The ride itself was memorable because of the slow pace, not as slow and tiring as walking ten kilometers, not as fast and cooped up as a car drive, not even as fast as a bike but the perfect speed to register everything around. Even though I felt bad for the old man who took us, sweating and peddling away, I couldn’t help but thank him for this wholesome experience. 

I remember everything about this ride, the exact shade of the shops, the kind of light bulbs inside, the harsh radio sound-frequency in which these songs were blaring through, each shop playing a different channel so,many of the songs were getting all mixed up in the air, me trying to separate these attempting to guess the song. The pungent odour, the rattling of the rickshaw, the back of the man who took us, the roofs of these shops, the night air, not cool, not hot, sort of condensed but pleasant.

From then on I have consciously made it a point, to make sure I hear to the local tunes, eat local food and thus imprint each experience, so that one day I can sit and reminisce them at leisure.

Parinitha Konanur

Chai Kada Story

Was just reading Ruskin bond's ‘ A wayside tea shop ‘  tucked into his many, many stories of on the road, which got me thinking,  err reminiscing my own chai stall encounter. Well if you have lived for any period of time, in the Indian subcontinent you already know that chai stalls are neither rare nor a novelty. They are there almost anywhere you go in India. In the south we call it chai kada. And hence I have had, may be a million chais, so why did I think of this particular story ? Well because it’s the right opposite to Bond's not in essence but in weather conditions. Ruskin Bond’s story tells us about him discovering a tea stall in a very dry area in the Gharwal region, where the stall sits under the only tree in 5 miles.

I started reminiscing my chai encounter wondering at the disparity. This is a while back, 4 years to be precise I had quit my job in an online art gallery,   and let us just say I wanted to celebrate this… well freedom. It was the month of June, I had a terrible memory of Delhi heat in the previous June, fresh in my memory and all I wanted was a rainy green trip. Unlike the blistering heat of North India in June, the skies in the South shower down in gallons. June is a particularly wonderful month,  the sky becomes a particularly spectacular blue,  there are no heavy grey clouds,  but light happy white swirls like in a Miyazaki movie. So the plan was to do Kerala,  mainly Munnar and Alappuzha. 

Both these places, I feared were not only over hyped,  but crowded and probably not what I would appreciate. Well this was far from the truth, as far as such a thing could be. On this quite a splendid trip, me and my friend took an auto rickshaw on hire for the whole day. Our auto guy's name was kumar, he was a Tamilian and originally from Ooty. He liked his job very much, and smiled a lot, he  was neither private about his life,  nor did he see any point in such things. He showed us where he lived and told a long story of how he came to live there. As we reached top station 

As we reached top station, a large expanse of rich green tea estates, he dutifully turned into a guide, explaining something here and something there. Of many things I learnt from him,  I learnt that a particular flower I used to keep in a mug in my previous office,  a flower that grows all over HSR layout in Bangalore,  a flower that I loved, that looked quite the pretty wild thing, was actually a poisonous flower,  or that is what he believed. Well I don't want to question his knowledge.

This was while we were heading there

 Let's just say I never dipped that flower into a mug again. As soon as our little tour of the tea estate drew to a close and as soon as the sun set with a sudden urgency behind a growth of very thick grey clouds. At that very moment we saw the chai stall, a small strip of asbestos covering the top of the stall which was built with wooden planks. We went there, if the exertion did not demand it, the weather definitely did. The chill air, bellowing wind and a thin pitter patter of drizzle. Perfect for drinking tea, and a smoker always lights one up. The tea was made from the same leaves that grew in top station, they were flavored with cinnamon, ginger and such. We took our picks and as we held that old soda glass - glasses brimming with very hot,  not so strong,  but strongly flavored creamish brown tea,  the heavens thundered and such a down pour I had never seen till then,  and I haven't seen one since. It can't be just called rain.

It was an all devouring, it’s not the same as a hurricane, nothing as dramatic, but just excessive, like hundreds of buckets being tipped over from above at the same time. We took shelter under the thundering asbestos of the chai stall. The sight in front of us,  the dim light of the post sunset light, the rain,  the sound of the rain,  the smell of the chai,  all my senses awakened and at awe. A sight that I am not about to forget anytime soon.

It did not end there, we were terrified of the rain, and well we obviously wanted to head back to the warm and dry room. We did not know when the rain would let up, but Kumar seemed to think it a joke he asked us to hop aboard, we were wondering, even if he had a lion’s heart he obviously did not possess magic sight, there was zero visibility, I mean zero. The only thing we could see was the light of a far off vehicle twisting and turning up the winding hill roads. But Kumar drove as if it were a bright sunny day and got us down safe and sound, also as a treat stopped at a wonderful homemade chocolate store. Which bade well for our nerves and our stomachs.

Parinitha Konanur