ON THE SUPREME COURT AND THE NATIONAL FLAG

 Image from  -  Of 2G, illegal mining and the Supreme Court! 2011 http://www.rediff.com/business/slide-show/slide-show-1-yearend-2011-of-2g-illegal-mining-and-the-supreme-court/20111228.htm

Appalled at the aghast being expressed , jamming my facebook newsfeed about the Supreme Court ruling #indiannationalflag , i write this note in some haste and a sense of urgency.
In my opinion, the Supreme Court of India has been the keeper of status quo, rather than the harbinger of change. The landmark judgments, have been towards keeping the 'spirit of the constitution' , rather than alteration , upgradation of that 'spirit' . Also this  'spirit of the constitution' dos not exist in vacuum, it is imagined and embodied by a heteronormative , patriarchal , casteist population; articulated and practiced by their elites.  This judgement of the Supreme Court tells us what the Supreme Court of India imagines 'urban India' would want. I would stress that till now there has not been a single judgement in which the jurisprudence is not framed by that imagination.


Yes, all these years we have fought against this very jurisprudence, I remember the young me and my heart sinking reading about the Sardar Sarobar verdict, before that Bhopal had happened, lately article 377, and so many in between (how does one forget marital rape?) . Lately, reflecting the growing urban citizen activism , the Supreme Court too became 'activistic' . However if one looks at the 2G and Coal Mining scams, no real big politician of the center and business giant is in big shit trouble.

Also , our current ruling party is extremely brash and aggressive. The implementation of the Adhar Card is a case study. The Supreme Court has repeatedly ruled that the government cannot make Adhar card compulsory for any state benefits. Yet the central government refused to listen and is linking it to every citizenship transaction. We did not bother to stand up and support the court, we all lined up for our Adhar Cards instead. Where are we really investing our ideology?

The first hearing of the demonisation case made me feel that the courts did not want a constitutional stand off. Imagine the consequence if the courts had called demonitisation illegal and the Prime Minister had still implemented it (that is exactly what would have happened) ? The Supreme Court is already faced with a takeover bid, the new regime is pushing hard infringe it completely and change the very structure. At this juncture being 'publicly humiliated' could possibly mean loosing the battle and the war . There has been a sea change in the nature of elites who practice and articulate the imagination of India and this new elite is forcing the judiciary to re consider its (old) imagination.

Either way by now the courts had realised that no matter how much they decree, people not standing up to the National Anthem will be beaten up, and also realising ( by the case study of Maharashtra) most urban people are willing participants, the Supreme Court cant possibly see any wrong in its judgement.

Also we are falling into a trap. Our attack on the systematic destruction of the Indian Constitution by the new government ( as they try to come up with an undated one for 'hindu' , neoliberal India) , is getting distracted every day by a new tamasha. This shower of tamashas  is in fact the systematic attack. We all know it, but suddenly we are like rabbits caught under a headlight.

Anish Kapoor | Death of the Conceptual

AESTHETICIZING POLITICS VERSUS POLITICIZNG AESTHETICS

Anish Kapoor’s “Cloud Gate” (2006) following the artist’s recent recoating in Vantablack (photo courtesy City of Chicago)
via http://hyperallergic.com/287628/anish-kapoor-coats-cloud-gate-in-the-darkest-black-known-to-humanity/

To get to the heart of Kapoor's thinking and making we must register the difference between physicality of void space, and truly made emptiness. Let us use Heidegger 's beautiful parable of the jug for these purposes. What does the potter make when he shapes the jug? Of what material is the jug made? The potter forms the sides and bottom of the jug in clay to provide the means for it to stand, to be vertical; to make the jug a holding vessel, however, he has to shape the void. 'From start to finish the potter takes hold of the impalpable void and brings it forth as the container in the shape of a containing vessel… . The vessel's thingness does not lie at all in the material of which it consists, but in the void that it holds.'

Homi Bhaba, The True Sign of Emptiness
http://anishkapoor.com/185/making-emptiness-by-homi-k-bhabha

Anish Kapoor has been creating lavish, sensual abstract, sculptural forms for over four decades. Over the years he has been rated as one of the best contemporary sculptors, and in a way as the 'master of public art'. Homi Bhaba in his analytical eulogy of Kapoor, offers us Kapoor as the ‘maker of emptiness’. In this short piece stems from my discomfort with how Bhaba gets so lost in the philosophy of emptiness that he becomes completely blind to materiality and its impact on the politics of visual culture. 

The blind spot that Bhaba and Kapoor share for ‘thingness’ and materiality is not new. This is the blind spot shared by the genre of makers and thinkers whom we can call neo liberal conceptual artists. This group that has grown to be rich and powerful, twisted the radical possibilities of conceptual art. Conceptual art as a practice emerged at a time when the authority of the art institution and the preciousness of the unique aesthetic object were being widely challenged and artists felt the need to interrogate the possibilities of art-as-idea or art-as-knowledge. It was a breakaway from formalism, bringing in a new philosophy of materiality. The neo liberal contemporary group has managed to quote  the linguistic, mathematical, and process-oriented dimensions of  conceptual art , yet has gone on to support and buffer the very hegemonic systems, structures, and processes conceptual art poised itself against.

The popularity of conceptual thought in contemporary art practices has created a moment of oxymoron in art history. At one level, bowing to the pressures from corporate and museums that are mediated through gallery practices, artist have to large scale fabrications and have effectively become cultural producers. There is a visual dominance of the large, the phallic, of the archival, of the vaginal and of the spectacular.  Materiality, finish and longevity have become more and more important for artists who claim their art has got nothing to do with the ‘thingness’ and exist purely in conceptual terms.  It is this oxymoron that results in a situation where Anish Kapoor patents the blackest colour, claims that it is the darkest colour, thereby showing a complete lack of conceptual understanding about darkness. Nor does he explore the politics of the concept metaphor called 'black'. Just like the modernist masters for him it is a 'pure aesthectic' engagement.One can forgive Kapoor for this blind spot, but how does one forgive Bhaba?  The coat of Vatablack on the Cloud Gate gives a fantastic sense of a dark void, visually flattening out its voluptuous form.  If anything the ‘thingness’ is the only thing left visible, yet it is the very thing Bhaba and Kapoor deny. 

The collapse of discourse over skill , materiality as art history was run over by literary studies has lead to primarily semiotic , interpretations of art works even though it remains well known that image and objects carry an excess which cannot be reduced to textual interpretations. Questions of ethics and politics got swept away by the neo liberal market economy and a middle class distracted by its manufactured desire. Ethics of course has become unfashionable, but politics has gone on to become a decorative motif. Most of our contemporary masters make work in which the politics of making is in opposition to the political content of the work.  Conceptual art becomes an easy escape door for these artists , by denying the ‘thingness’ they can escape the politics of its making .

best beauty treatment for her

i don't know what to make of the smile they shared

she almost looked away, looked back and the then dropped her gaze

he was so happy to see her that he could not stop looking

could not stop himself from coming close and holding her 

she melted in his arms too

and there was so much heat

maybe they had missed that physical touch

maybe they had still loved each other

maybe they just missed each others body

they made love ,they kissed they spoke through the night 

sharing intimacies only they can share

it seems they missed the softness and the care

they could not sleep that night

their bodies had met after too long

too deeply aware of the other to be able to sleep

when the morning came, they parted

that too was gentle and soft

it was in the parting that the ritual of separation was enacted again

we don't know what each took back that morning 

maybe for her it was the touch the sex and the way he held her

also the comfort of knowing that he still loved

maybe or him it was the words they shared and the heat of her body

also knowing that making love was the best beauty treatment for her 

Cat Lover's Sundays

All night she has been a ghost
Not in the usual sense that cats always are
All night she has been a ghost to herself
She lived with humans
But had not realised that cat lovers are only free on Sundays
She had three children
Three spunky playful kitten
She had gone for a evening prowl
They came in turns and took two away
She did not know that cat lovers were only free on Sundays
They took away her healthiest children
She had no chance to say goodbyes
She has been a ghost all night
Crying looking for her children
Still trying to understand that cat lovers are only free on Sundays
The thinnest weakest one was still there
Lost and lonely
In the evening they were all playing together
Then one by one two were gone
Too young to understand that cat lovers are only free on Sundays
Their dinner is uneaten
Their is a sense of despair in her eyes
Looking for her children in every shadow cast
Crying the night away
Another litter might come and go
But cat lovers are free only on sundays.
All night she has been a ghost
Not in the usual sense that cats always are
All night she has been a ghost to herself
She lived with humans
But had not realised that cat lovers are only free on Sundays
She howls as she cries
One can feel her silently going mad
Little by little as her hopes fade
Sometimes picking her self and going for another search
She is yet to realise that cat lovers are only free on Sundays

#SORROW

Digital reworking on Van Gogh's  'Sorrow'

How did we become like this
Atleast Kafka thought of it as a nightmare
We have reduced it to the mundane
In India you do not need television to see amputated legs on the streets
Or men and women with eyes gouged out 
We see that everyday
On our way to work
On our way to parties
They are there all the time haunting our crossroads
Alienation cannot capture how disconnected we are 
What do these people invoke in us 
Even the ones who patronise build walls of apathy
We know the violent cruel system of human trafficking 
We even ignore them on our way to Jantar Mantar 
Coming together to protest for lands some of these beggars might have migrated from.

Saw something violent on the other day
That day when my facebook wall was lamenting brexit
Screaming and calling democracy stupid
That evening i saw a pregnant beggar
And my mind erupted
People right in front of us
Sucked into the dirty underbelly of urban begging
The levels of greed have become so steep
That they are being sucked straight from the womb
A violent hatred for left liberalism erupted from within
All those people who call democracy dumb
Who hate the urban losers of globalisation
Even as they dream of protecting the landscape and the environment

I cannot relate to people who use politics to judge and enforce their elitism
Nor with people who constantly call people stupid
This they do just to hide themselves  
And their glaring failure to be connected with different aspirations
That is almost all of my facebook feed
And that young pregnant lady begging at our crossroads
She brought out so many things
Waiting and gathering like the monsoon clouds
Again those thoughts raging in my head
Atleast Kafka thought of it as a nightmare
We have reduced it to the mundane
My pain of brexit
And the way we ignore the urban poor (even) on our way to Jantar Mantar 
Coming together to protest for lands some of these beggars might have migrated from

Numbness and a Dear Friend

How is it to be numb my dear friend 
Is it a comfortable place 
Like in the Pink Floyd song
I heard brown sugar makes you numb
That is why I never did sugar
I have an handicap
I cannot understand numbness
We are all numbed are we not
Born into four concrete walls
Our right to live depends on money
Trading relationships for sustainability
Choking rivers with our filth 
How could we survive our modern lives
If we were not all numb
How long will be go on surviving dear friend
We live life as if our soul is an excess 
Which can be ignored, forgotten , castaway
As we live our lives busy 
Feeding, clothing, decorating and entertaining our self(s)
Yes if we do it for too long 
A numbness does envelope us
Taking us further and further away from this world
If we get too hurt 
A numbness does envelope us
Cutting us away from people close to us
I don't think we ever become numb my dear friend
Yes, an envelope of numbness envelopes us
Blessed are those who feel that envelope
The feeling is the first step towards melting that envelope away
You will slowly remember 
I cannot understand numbness
We are all numbed are we not
Born into four concrete walls
Our right to live depends on money
Trading relationships for sustainability
Choking rivers with our filth 
How could we survive our modern lives
If we were not all numb
The very act of living is our constant negotiation
Finding ways and energies
Reaching out from this numbness
Grabbing all the love, magic and connections we can
One may get distracted again
Feeding, clothing, decorating and entertaining our self(s)
Maybe the envelope returns
It will again melt away my dear friend
Each time it returns it is an invitation to look after yourself 
To understand how depended on this world we are
Yet, to let that make you feel more connected and free
How is it to be numb my dear friend 
Is it a comfortable place
Even if for just a while

#savebastar

#emergency 

'Man on a leash' , edited android screen shot. 2016

Dancing with the Devil

Dancing with the Devil is a curatorial project which aims to interrogate and decodes the notions of beauty that circulate in the gallery practices of Contemporary Indian Art.

 The title of the show is inspired by the song of rapper Immortal Technique. The song contains a narrative in which Immortal Technique describes the story of a young man named Billy Jacobs who attempts to join a gang, and in order to prove how "real" he is, he steals, gets into fights, sells crack cocaine, and to finally prove himself, rapes a woman. An intoxicated Jacobs completes this task after covering the woman's face with her shirt, and is unaware of the identity of the woman until he takes the cover from her face. He is repulsed to find that the woman in question is actually his mother, which leads him to commit suicide.

The show focuses on a group of artists who  who live on the edge of contemporary art,  both in terms of art making and 'living as an artist' .  It is a curatorial re visitation of  questions around an ideal 'artist' . We can ask, what is not contemporary art? what are the trends that have the potential to de stabilise how the the word and the praxis of contemporary culture is understood? This  engagement goes beyond 'manner', and focusses into the process of art making itself.  Embracing an understanding of art that is almost suicidal in the context of how the contemporary imagines itself. 

 In this way the show seeks to become a collaboration between the artists Merlin Moli, Chi Muk, Sambaran Das, Moumita Ghosh, Aditi Chitre,  Rishi Dharia and Varnita Mahajan) and the curator. 

There is definitely an engagement with darkness...but what kind of darkness is the show looking at-

• The praxis of contemporary art has created this structure inside which contemporary artist hood exists.   home, studio, gallery, (s), residencies, biennales, fairs and so many things have begun to define the lifestyle of being an artist. But if art has to become independent of market forces, we need to look at artists who survive on the tangents  of structure of contemporary artist-hood. 

• as we explore the political and the personal (and spaces in between)- it is important to interrogate the Contemporary's marriage of politics and beauty. What is the zone beyond that. We will be (re) exploring the content-technique-form-presentation dialogue in New Media Art. 

• We do see a return of analogue in terms of taste and demand. The formal face of contemporary art is changing. Digital polished surfaces seem to have be out of fashion- but this post digital analogue, is still very 'consumable' - : still working within the mainstream idea of beauty.Darkness here is the edge of practice; emerging painting styles that are formally very rooted to the 'painterly'  yet extremely resistant to becoming a 'beautiful object on the wall - as we search for a post contemporary directions,  right  now it is important to focus on the borderline between the beauty and and the ugly. 

The show will be held at the NINE Schools of Art for a period of twenty days starting on the 23rd of April 2016. 

THE MANY DEATHS OF ROHIT VEMULA

The first blow came from his comrades
Realising that his struggles meant nothing to his Marxist brothers , he moved on further left
That was some years ago
Rohit took the blow and like any good fighter
Used the blow to become stronger

Somewhere though, the death had set in
A young Marxist was forced to become a young Dalit Marxist
the world of universities and learning , could not free him from caste suppression
They pushed him deeper into it
Yes, the first blow came from his comrades

The second blow came from the nation
Caste is history they said
Some even said, caste was the culture of the nation
Yet they believed that talking about caste now, destroys the nation

Rohit loved justice too
It is a sad one sided love story
He and his friends felt that Yakub Menon did not get justice
They called some some friends to talk about Yakub Menon and justice

A small band of boys, radical and isolated
A small band of boys with a one sided love affair with justice
Easy to isolate and destroy
A strong south Asian powerhouse began flexing its muscles and nationalism
Such strength against a small band of boys
Dalit Marxists , with a one sided love affair with justice
Yes the second blow came from the nation

The third blow might have come from us all
Poverty, hunger, pride loneliness and fire
Rohit must have remembered his old Marxist friends 
There were many of them and in large numbers
They had all the organisation and structures
There were many love affairs they still shared

But they were still silent 
Busy with their grand struggle against capitalism
there were any who did connect 
But, they too were isolated, few and sometimes far away 

It is an absence of hope that lead to a suicide
A complete absence of hope
Yes, the third blow might have come from us all

Rohit died, but left behind a body that was so alive
Finally in death, maybe he just wanted to be
Just a student, bright, political, hounded by institutions; 
a bright citizen who had to leave all hope
Yet in his death he became more Dalit
His identity further hounded

Rohit's fire had touched many hearts
Many of his older Marxist friends too came out on the streets
Marching and chanting
They brought in their old battles
Fascism and capitalism won over Rohit again

The final (yet)  flow came from his comrades 
Even as his mother lead an emotional candle light march
Even as she was assaulted, arrested
The old Marxist friends stayed inside universities debating nationalism and capitalism

Yes, the final flow came from his comrades 
His narrative does not suit their memory

The room where Rohith killed himself . (Source: Express photo by Harsha Vadlamani) - See more at: http://indianexpress.com/article/india/india-news-india/dalit-scholar-rohith-vemula-the-student-the-leader/#sthash.lMlEpZ9R.dpuf

A Blank Verse For My Smile

Once, smile had a meaning
Its own connection with eternity
Now the connection is gone but everything else remains
Just that, the best things do not bring out a smile any more
Sometimes they bring out a deep sigh
Learning that the faintest smiles etch the deepest
Sometimes i smile when death heals
Someone has to give that farewell smile
Jokes too make me smile, so does love
Everything negotiated through that broken connection with eternity