Art, Space and the City - The Wrap Up

Questions, answers....a few familiar faces.. a lot unknown.. the photo exhibition has come to an end. Somebody asked me, "Whats your take away from this project?" I could only smile and say, "the realisation that i have a long journey ahead... " Jyothy Karat at the 'Meet the Artist session' on Saturday, 13 December 2008 at Max Mueller Bhavan, Bangalore. Photo by Dr.Vivek.M

Yeh Shaam Mastaani - Vignettes

Who has the best 'mooch' ??

All Dressed Up and Nowhere To Go

Welcoming Eid-ul-fitr

08 Dec 2008 Near Russel Market, Bangalore : An english speaking, burka-clad Naadiya explained how the khoa, a milk product (which were selling like hot cakes at 'Tanveer's' shop,) is used to make sweets for the EID celebrations. 07 Dec 2008 Near Russel Market, Bangalore : Children have fun with the cattle bought by their families for the 'Kurbani' (sacrifice) slated to happen on the day of 'Eid-ul-fitr'. The cattle, oblivious to their sealed fate are fattened by their owners before the slaughter. Meanwhile, a man tries to make a living out of selling knives. 07 Dec 2008 Shivaji Nagar, Bangalore : People flock the streets of Shivaji Nagar on the weekend before EID to do their shopping.

A Memory..

The fumes were quickly fading away. With every passing minute, i feel that i will get it right. That at the strike of the next chord, an old memory will return. The cold air, the smell, the warmth of the sun on my skin.. The music flows on. And all that i could vaguely remember is the lily. I don't know for how long i will keep the music plugged to my ears in hopes of regaining what i had lost. Or may i should listen to people when they say that some things are lost forever...

Art, Space, the city... and me.

Bangalore. And art! The city with its rich history and recent blend of urban lifestyle, I could imagine a tremendous potential for art forms… those that evolved and grew stronger with the new metropolitan diet… and those few that stood the test of time and space. Impetuously, I had the allusion of long forgotten “Bharatanatyam” dance classes I took as a child. I could hear the ushered anklets sway noisily, like how they would be on unruly children, and I recall now… how over the years they were tamed. I set out to get a glimpse of that mood again… through photography, when I coincidentally came across a Ballet class. The fairy-like figures trotted across the floor in pretty pinks, learning ballet under an unyielding instructor. I was at awe with the formidable discipline and passion that the art commanded. They were guided by a grace I had seen before… in the Bharatanatyam dancers! And, in a parallel world, I watched the Bharatnatyam dancers entertain their audience with an elegance reminiscent of the legendary Indian dancers of bygone eras. I knew then, that both these worlds needed to share the same space. Not to compare and contrast, but to tip-toe gently past the comfortably silent anklets, just for a moment, acknowledging the other’s presence… respectfully. (text by Sony Sasankan Nanoo) Art, Space and the City PS : My dear virtual friends, Please do come for the opening of our group exhibition (by Clare Arni, Dr. Vivek M, Vivek Singh, Jyothy Karat, Vinayak Das and Rudrasharan Rakshit) on the 3rd of December at 6.30pm at the Max Mueller Bhavan on CMH rd. The exhibit is on until 19th Dec. Everybody is invited :)

Mumbai Attacks- 2008 Nov 26,27,28

NY Times - Pictures "Where was Raj Thackeray and his MNS thugs?? Didn't he want to save his amchi Mumbai during a time of crisis?? " -citizen

Mad Me.

I didn't like the fact that Deeti got drugged and raped on her wedding night. I mean, you cant blame me for starting my day with a foul mood after reading something like that! Oh! FYI, Deeti is a character in Amitav Ghosh's 'Sea of Poppies'. And then, there was this guy with the open school bag. He was carrying a blanket in his arm and the freaking bag he had on his shoulders didnt have a zipper. Now im not a freaking shrink. But i would very much like to find out why in this wide world am I freaking out for a rape victim in a freaking novel or for a sales person who has nothing to do with me whatsoever! Im sure even Freud must have had his doubts.

Random...

Open Gmail. 100+ mails. None that interests me. Close. Open Facebook. Somebody is busy poking friends. Somebody has sent a drink. Somebody I haven't spoken to more than twice in my entire life has sent me a 'best friend' request. Friend requests from strangers. Names unheard of. Events that doesnt interest me. Close. Orkut. Naaa. Not even worth the effort of opening it. People. Dull. Conversations. Boring. Who is the smartest. Who is the prettiest. Who has what. Who is dating who. Mindless. Frivolous. Life moves on. And then, something happens. Butterflies begin to flutter. Emotions i thought i was incapable of feeling, erupts. It feels wonderful to pinch myself and feel the tear swell up in my eyes once again. It feels wonderful. After all, the green notes are just paper. It feels wonderful, to feel human again...

Alvin Toffler

"The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn and relearn." - Alvin Toffler

Missing.

Its the same drama that we see in the movies. The body language, the light, the emotion, the intimacy, the story... Then what am i missing? Why do i get the feeling that one furtive factor has skipped my mind's eye and is playing his own nasty game with me. Like a tell-tale hide-n-seek. Like a transparent charade. Like a wisp of smoke I'm trying to get hold of... Damn! It feels bad enough if you've missed something. But it feels worse if you've clicked and still missed!

A Letter To Mr. Aravind Adiga

In search of lightAn employee at an MNC in Bangalore Traveling back to the world of Darkness Bangalore, 8th Nov 2008. Dear Mr. Adiga, Before i begin, let me first excuse myself for this old fashioned letter-format. I'm merely trying to stick to your format. True, this is a blog and chances are, you will never ever read this letter. But i must say that Balram's letters to the Chinese Premier reminded me of the huge pile of letters i used to fondly write to my friends and family when i was a 12yr old, stacked away in a lousy boarding school. I read your book. I enjoyed it. Then i read an attack on the book. Some know-it-all NRI author was calling your work blasphemous in some nice sugar coated words in a reputed South Indian newspaper. He was saying that The White Tiger's India is unauthentic blah blah blah. Mr. Adiga, i've never peered into an Indian servant's heart. But i must say that i completely enjoyed Balram's character. I thought it was cynical, yet humorous in a way that only Indians who have lived in both the worlds (or at least has/had servants from the Darkness) will understand. I am, by no means, a literary scholar or an expert on the dynamics of the Indian Economy (i leave that to Mr. Chidambaram). But I've lived long enough in India to know that it would be almost impossible to realistically portray the myriad cultures, classes, habits, personalities etc, all in one book. Unless of course, your critics assumed that you were the 21st century Vyasa or Valmiki!! Like i have mentioned before, i thoroughly enjoyed the book and thought that the so called mera-bharat-mahaan-type patriots who despised it probably had at least one servant in their homes whose second name they didn't know. However, Mr. Adiga, i want to share with you a post-white-tiger experience I've had. Let me begin with some background information about myself. I work for an MNC here in Bangalore and am usually dropped back home at midnight by the taxi services which my company has employed. I live near an Office Building which serves as a taxi-centre and every morning at 7am i walk past the parking lot sprinkled with shiny luxurious taxis and dozens of drivers in clean white uniforms sitting crouched at the tea shop sipping their chai. From the time I've joined my company, I've never once failed to thank the elevator boy, to smile at the door-man or to acknowledge the white-clad drivers i see every morning. But post White-Tiger, I've realised that I've stopped talking while I'm in the late night cabs, thank-you-s has become slightly strained, I've been preposterously covering myself up with shawls in an effort to look modest, i keep imagining that my friends in white are huddled up conspiring against me, Ive been clutching on to my laptop bag for dear life until i find myself safely inside my office building or home and finally i realised that i didn't know my maid's second name. Fear, Mr.Adiga, as you must know, is a very dangerous weapon. Am sure, that was not your intention, but i wonder what effect your book has had on urban India's many middle-class working girls. How many of us on our way back to our homes on a late night, with western music blasting into our ears from our i-pods, would ponder over what the driver (who might occasionally glance over the rear-view mirror) might be thinking about at the moment?? I'd like to think that i would be soon out of my delusion and would stop jumping out of my skin every time the cab driver turns around to ask directions. But i for one, want to make sure. Am determined to find out my maid's second name. Your's Sincerely, Jyothy. PS : Three months and 15 days after i post this blog, i finally get down to write about my maid's second name. I found out that Bhuvana never had a second name to begin with. Considering most people have their father's or husband's name for a second name, she nodded her head vigorously in compliance with my suggestion to christen her with her father's name. So now she is Miss. Bhuvaneshwari Chellamuthu. On a similar note, i realised that she was quite vague about her date of birth. But i decided, that awarding her with a convenient date of birth would be going a bit over-board with the liberty she has given me to concern myself with her affairs. Therefore, we decided that she is as old as she thinks she is. Twenty- Two.

Sunday - 2nd Nov

Some old Diwali shots