Pundits i have known- I

MF Hussain

When I met Hussain, he was 87. I was struck by his amazing wit, charm and warmth. I could not believe the hands I shook were nearing 90. Later when I visited his studio in Hyderabad, it lead me to discovery of a creative genius.
It may not make news anymore that M F Hussain is unable to return to his own country, it still haunts sensitive minds. It is possible, tomorrow anyone of us could be in line for speaking out our mind. For possessing a quality of mind that can be misconstrued easily because it is not understood by pedestrians.
What did Hussain do to earn it?
He gave expression to his experience of beauty. Without experience there cannot be expression in fine arts. And, experience has no religion. Unfortunately, when fine arts enter public domain, chances are that they may not be seen in true perspective. The uninitiated fail to relate to the experience behind the expression.
Hussain saw beauty in life, in different facets of life- in animals, in saints, in gods and in humans. He is gifted with an eye for beauty, no caste or no amount of panditya can bestow one with that eye, Hidu or Muslim. So, the wise would respect him for his gift, the ignorant would only bracket him with his religion to hide their own narrowness of vision. They do not want to see his gift that grows beyond lines drawn by any religion. His own brush transcends him, this is something the militant brand of Hindus do not want to acknowledge.

Will they dig out Kalidasa for writing erotic Kumar Sambhavam, will they burn Khajuraho and Konark, they too are vulgar by their newly found limited Hinduism. What will they do to epicurean philosophy of Ashtavakra and Brahaspati?
I wish these vandals are shown Hussain’s sketches on parliamentarians for their sharp wit and satire on our system. For his sincere concern expressed for his country. His series of paintings on different religions, which reflect his deep erudition and quest. They should be shown his films Meenakshi and Gajgamini for the fantastic visual limits to which he could stretch technique of cinema. If he is guilty of painting goddesses as he imagines them, then the entire Hindu philosophy is at fault, that allows freedom to question even gods. What about many more artists who painted goddesses nude before him?
His rich imagination, his amazing ability to celebrate life and beauty, the amazing trajectory of his life narrated in his hand written book are treasures for creating richness of rasa in a life so deprived and famished, as such.
How could we, inheritors of such cultural bounty grow so narrow?
I’m sure Hussain’s sketch book will have some scathing lines drawn, wondering!

Trying times at a trial room

Trying times at a trial room

If you are born in a country of one billion, you learn to wait for your turn for every little thing. So, waiting for my turn to use trial room was not unusual. We are born to wait. We learn to wait. We are forced to wait. We are conditioned to wait. But, this waiting was taking away all my training and patience that has gone into preparing me to be a denizen, perpetually in waiting. This was exceptional, for, it gave me a new insight into changing paradigms of relationships in a market economy, where everyone is trying to get the best out of a deal. Even from a no deal. Everybody is consuming at the cost of others, at whatever price.

Ms Saaru was in the trial room and her boy friend was selecting outfits for her. She already carried about half a dozen of these in the trial room. Every time Ms Saaru tried a new outfit, she would open the door and her boy friend would click her picture on his cell phone. This went on. After she had exhausted those outfits, her boyfriend selected a few more randomly, jumping around like a happy monkey with such electrifying swiftness that would put any smart salesperson to shame. Again, pictures were clicked and Ms Sarru’s boy friend again returned with his happily hunted apparels. Ms Saaru and her boy friend had the democratic right to select as many outfits as they pleased. I had to wait with my middle class patience that was going through testing times. I began to feel that the happy hunting boy friend sensed my unease and simmering yet unexpressed anger and picked more shirts and kurtis for her to model for his cheap cell phone camera.
If he had the democratic right to make me simmer, I wonder, why couldn’t I have the right to give him a hard slap for violating his rights as a shopper. A trial room is not meant for clicking pictures. I’m sure the lover boy knew this, but, in times when no one respects anything, shamelessness becomes a virtue. I took it because we are used to taking so much nonsense in our day to day life, that, we can swallow anything.

My rescue came from Ms Saaru. Her boyfriend brought one more shipment of clothes, but she refused to change into those. “ I am tired, …you !” Growled a tiny barely four feet ten inches petite Ms Saaru as she emerged in her old jeans and top. I gave a sadistic smile to the cell phone wielding lover boy. After all, how many changes one need to like oneself in a mirror.
He didn’t buy a single outfit she had tried, trying my patience.

Flickr/Untitled/ Annie Wants…the photographer too clicks her own pictures in expensive outfits, she cannot afford to buy, on a camera phone in the privacy of trial room!