The Mal Nourished Soul

I switch on the Television only to come across a feature which proclaims that the capital of India ranks first in mal nourishment of children followed by Bihar and Odisha. Atrocities against women, violence, poverty, corruption, the mediocrity of school and college education… the listless and tired souls all around and much more...

Art and culture seem to be alien in such a world, the existence of an intellectual showbiz and even a mafia not withstanding …the situation seems grim but the eternal optimist that I am… despite a million thrashings at the hands of life …. I believe that the future of humanity and culture still is bright and there is so much of happiness and good cheer… one only has to live and receive it with open arms… 

I salute all the upright, brave and modern day martyrs- men and women alike- who have had the courage to live by their convictions and have even laid their lives to a cause while most of the educated breed is only worried about making more and more money and be slaves to their careers… not that it is wrong…. But when one has no time for the happenings in ones immediate surroundings and one is not pro active to execute even the smallest of our duties as a citizen of the country, it worries me… of course most of us are involved in heavy intellectual discussions in elite drawing rooms over drinks and good food… maybe after all I am biased and we are indeed discharging our duty of being responsible citizens.

Today’s post is to celebrate a brave soul who has enriched me immensely during the course of my association with her. An abandoned woman who has fought the disease of alcoholism that her husband suffered for many years... and being very little educated, struggles to make a living to sustain herself. Today she has registered a small flat which she has bought in the middle of nowhere; for that is what her savings fetched her… The gold that her late father gave her at the wedding paid for it…. Maybe, dowry is not a bad idea after all… as for the years of service to the family she was married into, she had received no salary, no gratuity or insurance or provident fund and she found herself on the street without even an alimony, when she fell out of favor with the alcoholic husband…

My friend and senior writer, who is a British citizen of Indian origin laments the state of our country and its ruling elite even as his book on the martyrs of the independence of our country is published. In fact, I have come to admire his crisp, no nonsense writing which provokes me to introspect and reflect. Dr Reginald Massey (FRSA) is a writer I love to have severe intellectual differences with and below is the cover of his new book. Every word he says has a ring of reality and truth but I cannot digest his verdict. An acquaintance, who is an Indian of British origin pronounces that he has great faith in the country’s young and that they would be the saviors of the country. Even that, I find hard to believe…. watching the young and also my age group ( mid forties) which has nurtured these young. 

Do not the young learn when you live by principles and set an example for them? What example have we set for them? Of being practical, worldly wise, compromising on every value in the name of diplomacy and business acumen? We also have had the sagacity of sugar coating every digression we have made in the name of the system which compels us to do what we do; and against which one cannot hope to survive. 

Honesty today is rated on a relative grading scale. Once a senior government official in Kanpur was being talked about reverently as being very honest; his ticket to glory was that, once he took money he got the work done, come what may !!

A friend sent me a song by Paul Anka, a lovely number which spoke and reminisced of his father affectionately. Being a little down under due to over work, it was relaxing catching up with some music and poetry. I could not help but remember my “middle class” father, a modest scientist with the Defence Research and Development Organisation, who brought up his three children in a very modest, simple yet secure fashion. 

He was the most “unworldly wise” man I had ever seen and he called me one, when I grew up. We both lived by our hearts doing what made us happy oblivious to parameters of success. He never realized that may be, he had passed on this personality flaw to me through genetic make-up or just by setting an example. Dreaming big was not in his “dictionary”… a trait of a failure?

Art and culture was a part of growing up… but he could not afford to take us even by bus to the happening places in Delhi to watch cultural programs. He had the additional responsibility of a younger brother and sister too, for a long time, which drained out his finances. He did the next best thing; became the secretary of the Andhra Association and we tagged along with him watching dance and theatre. I do not even remember whom I watched but all I remember is that every activity and performance that I had watched was a joyful and beautiful experience. 

How big or popular the artist was; was not important…the experience was.

Another way of being connected to art and culture that my father invented was; to be a part of a local amateur theatre group and again, hanging around him, we children absorbed and enjoyed a lot. In no time we had our own group writing plays and enacting them only for ourselves…. We did not even need an audience… We painted to our heart’s content, wrote scripts, composed dance and once in a blue moon had the luxury of treating ourselves to a Samosa and Coca Cola.

No big arangetrams, or private classes or being sent to special classes in dance and music in chauffeur driven cars…. The teachers who came to teach dance and music at the Andhra Association changed frequently like the seasons; teaching a bunch of middle class children for modest fees could not be called lucrative….

Our reading appetites had to be fulfilled by the local lending library for which one had to save 25 paise per week...clothes we wore were modest and often stitched by mother; and again, hanging around her while she stitched, one got an opportunity to feel fabrics and think about design and fashion in one’s own small way.

“Sankoch” – a dash of reticence and shy demeanor was considered to be a weakness then; today maybe such a quality should be rated at a premium. For me, being harsh/ sarcastic with words and even being very vocal is a sign of aggression of which I am guilty of at times. Sharing emotions and a part of one’s life with people around was such a support system then; but today a part of being sophisticated and elite is living in your own ivory tower, lonely and even abandoned; no matter how successful you are …. 

What is the measure of happiness? Maybe greater achievements… professionally… or making more money…. The churning goes on…

What about ones conduct in day to day life? How many issues around us are ignored as we do not have the time to interfere, even though the matters tug at our civic/moral sense? We are busy professionals, artistes, writers. It is the government and the administration which has to take care of everything. One will not oppose a corrupt official or a goon for the fear of harassment or simply for the fear of wasting time.

Our driver quietly gave the official in charge of issuing death certificates, some money to expedite the process of obtaining my father’s death certificate. He felt that in the traumatic state of having lost my father recently I should not face the harassment of the application not coming through quickly.... He was trying to protect me; knowing my infamous persona of being a stubborn stickler for rules and having got into trouble often with many; including an errant builder, a road rage aggressor, government departments where I had to invoke the RTI to get to the base of the problem, etc. He has patiently driven me to a variety of these offices and has borne my emotional outbursts of exasperation and helplessness often when I had arrived at a dead end; and it was clear to me that my efforts cannot change the so called “system”, after all. I am a "common man" who can never dream to wield the power which could make a difference !!

The result is that my driver, my friends and my girls always worry for my safety; but I have not missed to notice that the girls have imbibed a streak of being upright with their morals and conscience. I am not an achiever or a "success" in any popular sense of the word. But yes, I feel no less successful than any of the so called “successful” celebrities. I take great pride and solace in the knowledge that I work very hard in my profession, do my best to be on the right side of my conscience and enjoy every person and every small bit of happiness that comes my way; I share my life unabashedly with all around me… and I still dare to trust and take every one at face value… 

I, for sure, am not a mal nourished soul.

Whose Heritage is it anyway?

The article is a reflection of a layman’s difficulties in accessing and exercising ownership of his own culture and heritage and the questions that he poses to its guardians.

                        

“Proud to represent a culture enriched through millennia” says a slogan on the Indian Council of Cultural Relations (ICCR) website. In the ICCR library one encounters liberally displayed quotable quotes of the revered Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, the first Minister for Education of independent India and a member of the Constituent Assembly who established the ICCR in the year 1950. The Maulana, talking of the rich history and legacy of the nation inherited by him spoke for every citizen of the country, when he said, “I am an essential element which has gone to build India. I can never surrender this claim.”

At the sleepy office of the ICCR at Azad Bhawan, New Delhi; locating some officers at their work place is quite often, an arduous task. Often the person one is looking for is late to come to the office; supposedly tied up with some official work, of course, on his way to the office. Another is availing a wash room facility from which he takes forever to get back to his desk; or one is told that the person one is trying to locate is in a meeting in somebody else’s office; and appears only in the second half of the day back at his desk. These seem to be the often repeated reasons for the officials not to be found at their desks. One does not suspect the truth of the reasons given. But the utter disinterest and disdain of the manner in which a visitor is informed about the same reeks of a sedate work culture.  And finally, when one gets to meet the person one was looking for after a long and patient vigil; he barely lifts up his eyes from the files which are in front of him; and is evasive, disinterested and dismissive in his interaction. This seems to be the general behavioural trait at the supposedly busy office which takes the Indian culture abroad and brings the cultures from abroad to us Indians.

An innocuous request by a scholar to examine the annual reports of the ICCR since 1950 is met with derision. She is set off on a wild goose chase. After meeting a dozen officers in the building she discovers that the annual reports for the past 10-15 years are available but the older ones are not there. Instead of making an effort to trace them and make them available for her study, they suggest to the scholar that she should study only the past 15 years of the ICCR operations. This, they further suggest, will keep her vast project from getting out of hand. When asked if one could file an application under the RTI Act to get the necessary information, an officer sarcastically remarks that it would be a sure shot away to fish out the reports.

That was not all; the poor researcher enquires about the reports of the seminars and workshops conducted/ funded by the ICCR in the past years. The details would assist her in evaluating the programs and the operations of ICCR over the years. The officer is matter of fact in replying that once the artist gets the ticket to the foreign land or once the cheque is sent out to support a seminar/workshop; that is the end of the event they hear of. Not even a brief report is filed by the artists or the organisers on the proceedings for which the ICCR has doled out the money; the ICCR does not insist on one. The body seems to be a mere disburser of money and there is no apparent accountability/ assessment of their various assistance programs. Moreover, the premier body which cannot even preserve its own annual reports does not generate much confidence about its vision, planning skills and effectiveness of its operations.

The imposing National Museum is another institution which could swell ones heart with pride with the collection it holds. However, an interested layman unarmed with academic credentials could never gain access to see the objects which are not on display but are catalogued and are in its store; he dare not undertake scholarly research.  The mammoth set up allows only a bona fide scholar to make a special request for accessing its archives. The library at the National Museum is at any time empty with hardly any users; but even a Senior Research Fellow, Ministry of Culture, Government of India is reluctantly allowed its use only for a day or two, for reference purposes. The kind permission is accorded only after the scholar assumes a grovelling demeanour to please the librarian. The seemingly surplus staff is usually seen twiddling its thumbs with no work. But a visitor is shooed away with myriad eligibility norms and discouraged from using the library. One cannot but help contrast it with the British Library in London which trusts even a mere verbal information by a foreigner about his scholarly credentials and promptly issues its membership card after a brief, hassle free procedure.

National Gallery on Trafalgar Square in  London is always abuzz with visitors

The British Museum in London does seem to be the most visited museum in the UK

One cannot but help but remember museums like the Victoria and Albert Museum, the National Gallery, the National Museum and the National Portrait Gallery in London which are at any time full of interested visitors. Often one sees droves of dedicated parents on trips to the museums with their children and also innumerable youngsters. The friendly atmosphere and the audio visual aids/guides to familiarise the visitors with the objects in the museums are a delight; which sadly, the Indian museums do not offer much of. Museums in India are tomb like with an air of decadence, separation and alienation from the artefacts; while in contrast, the above mentioned museums offer a lively air of belonging and continuance of the heritage and history to the visitor.

Ram Gopal's painting by Feliks Topolski at the National Portrait Gallery in London

The Powis Castle in Wales where Clive's Museum is located

The Clive Museum at the Powis castle in Wales displays many Indian pieces including a couple of swords and a tent belonging to Tipu Sultan. The museum hand who was stationed at the display chamber was ever courteous and one could even detect a tinge of sensitiveness on her part to the issue that such objects of our national pride found their way to Britain. It was most gracious of the staff there to assure an ordinary Indian visitor that our treasures are well looked after and respected in their country; and that they are as proud of our heritage as we are. Every question was answered with utmost alacrity and sincerity which definitely is the hallmark of culture and heritage, be it ours or theirs.

The politics of propagation and preservation of culture and heritage in our country, at one extreme, has assumed farcical proportions. At the other end they do help safeguard them. Another glorious institution, the fourth estate, plays a significant role in the safeguarding of our culture and its art forms. While many newspapers have done away with the reporting of classical arts, the others which do so cannot assure much beyond mere reporting. There are few serious writers who plod along with brave efforts at writing and educating the readers on classical arts, albeit always keeping in mind the need to catch eyeballs. There are also others whose reports are incredulously manufactured under the cloud of the unhealthy nexus of the media and the artists. Often the philanthropic policy of a section of media which still devotes space for classical arts boomerangs at them and they become the unwitting propagators of dubious standards in arts. Mediocrity and the outright lack of ethics in reporting at the individual level by the half baked experts on the subject do the harm. The basic question still remains, whose art and heritage is it anyway and who are its guardians?

Pascal Gielen(2010) rightly says that it is a sociological commonplace that cultural practices always go hand in hand with a strict hierarchy of values and norms; and according to classical sociology an institution apart from possessing other characteristics also brings with it a moral authority and a certain historicity. It may well be significant to recognise that great institutions/ businesses of any country stand out not only for their exemplary successes but also the cultural values in their operations and end products which they extend to the farthest reaches of the society.

Non Violence and Dancers

“In necessary things—unity; in doubtful things—liberty; in all things—charity.” 

Nothing could describe more aptly the need of classical dance today, than Richard Baxter's words as quoted above.

Unity, tolerance, a healthy competition (if at all artists must compete) and above all a collective vision seems to be the need of the hour of the classical dancers/teachers/students.

Bitter rivalries between dancers and gurus which pass on through their students are not new to the minuscule world of classical dance. Dance scholars/researchers today do not see eye to eye with dancers; colleagues in dance departments at universities and institutions do not work in cooperation; and the students suffer the lack of role models in the mediocre departments. Various universities do not cooperate to work for a common vision; musicians and dancers no longer form a progressive team; the divides are too many and too deep to bridge at times. 

The pursuit of the classical arts demands a rigorous discipline from the practitioners. Maybe, it also seeks from the practitioners, liberty in thought and pursuit of liberty through discovery of self. 

Charity in action, word and  spirit do seem to be the most needed. There are dancers past their performing prime (I seek forgiveness for sounding irreverent), reluctant to make way for their own students. They could be the visionaries who could teach and guide an entire generation. They could be the uniting force of the dance fraternity and take the art forward. Alas, they are busy frittering  away their time and the wealth of their art; seeking mere visibility for their unparalleled glorious statures through mere performances on stage; which no longer scintillate. 

At one national festival of dance, the inaugural celebratory dinner party for the participants and guests, saw the most shocking conversations and gossips spewing venom on competitor gurus and dancers; especially after the choicest liquor was consumed. One may accept liquor as an essential on the menu, especially among the elite who are the "karta dharta" and the stars of the classical arts;  but what comes as a surprise is the crass emotions of hate, jealousy, spite and insult. This is the world of performances, awards, titles and honours.

In the context of classical dance, prevalence of such emotions is more crass though. The very perpetrators of the exalted art would be guilty of  what Gandhi would have termed as violence (harsh words and thoughts being equivalent to violence).

Pious mannerisms of the excessive bent of torso to exhibit utter humility, the right hand being placed repeatedly on ones heart proclaiming connection to one's very soul, pulling one's ears in reverence for elders do not impress. Dressing up in regal traditional attires and rattling of sublime verses from scriptures cannot mislead one to charitably accept the shocking behaviors as a part of the mercurial artistic temperament. 

But yes, indeed there are maestros who never require the crutch of greatness to make an ethereal impact. They just touch every heart, even that of a child or an uninformed  lay spectator, that comes in the purview of their divine art into which merge their stellar personas.