a change is just around the corner

///--->>>rethinking art, contemporaneity and (my)self

Works and Curations

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

post utopia


flight flight flight
with wings of wax or maybe those of steel
fly into those sanitary napkins
as the insects fly out

flights of desire
flights of fear
flights for a journey
and flights away from yourself
flights towards sun burn


fly fly fly
with wings of hope and despair
fly into joys and their sorrows
as all my dreams fly out

flights of fancy
flights of pain
flights from trouble
fly towards yourself
but don't crash into a mirror



by Rahul Bhattacharya on Saturday, 05 June 2010 at 15:43

dear mr. fantasy - re take

by Rahul Bhattacharya on Tuesday, 08 June 2010 at 11:23
you are the one who can make it all right
but doing that you break out in tears
please don't leave me like the other men you have
without you there is no way out from my fears


do anything you want
and wallow in your blues
but love this world
and give it all its' dues

you are the one who can make birds fly
but doing so you have lost faith in flight
there is nothing to hide but i try to hide them
without you there is no way out from my lies

flight of justice (written in protest and despair over the bhopal verdict)

by Rahul Bhattacharya on Tuesday, 08 June 2010 at 23:50
 
fly away fly away to your new lover
do you need to twist the knife is as you leave
though blind you were always beautiful to me
take away all that i can give


go away go away...pretend you are not for us
a trail of blood will linger and follow you as you leave
though late you always came to me
today you leave me alone in this house of evil

on door one was truth on the other door was lie
which one to enter through was upto you to decide
but you like coloured rain and poison in the sky
i will be left holding the miscarried hopes of people who have died

Why Reva diaries?


Sometimes one takes oneself at face value, begins to do something without really explaining why. here is a simple note on why i am doing it.

but yes..this camp is rooted in the Marxist strategies of protest, and a certain Gramsian notion of citizenship.

there are two things that are central to the conception and the method adopted in Reva Diaries.

  • citizenship
  • voluntarism                
A close friend of mine has been volunteering with the Narmada Bachao Movement and though her i got to know how a group of volunteers run pillar to post to save farmlands, and to ensure that government at-least gives adequate and legal compensation. at the same time i learnt how large multinationals, would spend large sums of money to ensure that farmers . to my aghast i learnt that companies and industrial lobbies spend enormous amounts of money to deny paltry compensation.

hapeshwar temple submerged Aug 16 2004
the brutality of the colonizing project bit me brutally. and i realized that all this was being done in our name and our silence was being quoted as our consent.
madhya pradesh generates the highest amount of electricity in the country and suffers from the longest ever power-cuts.

we get agitated if there is a power cut during a seminar on environment and ecology...
i thought it's time to draw the line.

there is a cluster of villages that that will be sunk by large reservoir  that is built to take away water and resources away from the land and it people.
tradition fishermen are left jobless... cause now there is a centralized tendering of fishing rights.

in the face of this, i want to respond as a curator and also i knew that the human factor in development interested many of my artist friends.

i have always been vocal about contemporary indian art being disconnected to the large hinterlands over which we are now witnessing a war over resources.thats why the idea of a platform where one can come visit see here....the people, culture and landscape set to be destroyed for our benefit and on the back of our silence.

if to give me electricity  50 villages have to be submerged, how am i better than a terrorist.
with all its faults NBA is a voluntary based non violent  movement- two values that i think should be central to any public engagement.

i am not going to mention it in my bio or present it as a paper in a seminar till a more serious engagement happens....right now it's just an attempt to say if we want maybe not a single more village needs to be submerged.

And i can only react as a curator. i cant do rallies, or fight court cases ican only put artistic energies together and/or create a platform ...and hope

best

an ode to pink lips

by Rahul Bhattacharya on Saturday, 12 June 2010 at 14:10
there she goes again
off she goes for lunch
leaving me with a smile
that wipes away all pain


off she goes..yet stays with me for keeps
chomping into her punjaban lunch
waiting for her to come back with a happy tummy
and a smile at the end of those baby pink lips

off she goes gain
with my heart in her pocket
though she gets lost with it sometimes
she will always be my pink champagne

the writer...his smile..and some other stories

by Rahul Bhattacharya on Friday, 17 July 2009 at 21:27
another day went
it still escaped her whisper
the smile did not shine today
or maybe its just the sun
lost in the shade of a lost melancholia
the writer picked up his pen

an exciting evening passed
not even a breeze touched his soul
that longing for the lost shine that did not belong to him
cut short the memories that were to come
lost in the strains of a shared melody
the writer picked up his pen

the night approached as they knew it would
he had not seen the stars yet
as the consolation of the internet ruptured the soul yet again
baby pink and a smile surfaced in his memory
knowing that people are sitting down for dinner
the writer picked up his pen

i want to run...and other stories

by Rahul Bhattacharya on Sunday, 12 July 2009 at 03:13
dawn was yet far away
she still gave a sleepy smile
the moonlight flickered on the lake
as the window stood still

passed the moments before dawn
playing still lifes with the mirror
distracted , by the lake reflecting the sun
i want to run

as the time far away
entered my living room
nowhere is a far away word
where did that smile come from
· · Share · Delete

quite contary

by Rahul Bhattacharya on Friday, 10 July 2009 at 02:36
grow your plants in your own garden
so sang an off tune melody
the confusions that my garden grows
deserves no song at all

mary lost her little lamb
when she thought that she did not need the wool anymore
the grass was not greener on the other side
but mary did not think so at all

the dead ant stuck on the flowing honey
did not sense the hysteria of pain
as the tree huggers save the amazon
the vultures circled with no fear at all

a pillow for your thoughts
cold and damp on a winter night
the child played in the shadows
as confusion showed no remorse at all

death by the moonlight
the growing meaning of pain
the missing sparrow on my window sill
wish mornings carried no memories at all

'creative closure' the notice read
as he lost his home that night
the grass was not green on the other side
just wish there were no fences at all

an excercise in writing and hiding-2

by Rahul Bhattacharya on Friday, 10 July 2009 at 00:16

the paradise lost an angel today

they pray for your mercy

soldiers marching past a desert

dead souls in disarray


the anchor that had to let the ship go

still yearns for the ballroom dance

fear and loathing inside my crystal pie

the moderns tried so hard to hate


crickets making love in a bush nearby

the smile that only pink can bring

the emptiness of a forsaken temple

sometimes the flute forgot to cry


memories that yesterday brought

feel so chilling somehow

as the martyrs feasted on my crystal pie

a piss yellow sunset marked the end of the day

untitled- after a long time

by Rahul Bhattacharya on Tuesday, 07 July 2009 at 09:25
angels circle the devil's mind
in lust and in dismay
the august that was to never come
shed a lot of tears for this may

the shaven chest of a hairy man
rabbits lost in foreplay
achilles heel in the krishna myth
the random...nearly demented sunday

fountain pens
blood
sanitary napkins
the caucasian christ
death is a five letter word
but my spellings are horrible


lusting after a sunday morn
evenings are mornings in disgrace
can you give a better answer
or do you still want to hold the ace

same time last year


by Rahul Bhattacharya on Friday, 04 March 2011 at 01:43
 
sleepy and fly squatting at the ahmedabad airport. behena, krishna, winnie had just dropped me to the airport...very early morning flight.
on my way back from a seminar in baroda...very much in a rush...had just moved into my 'house by the lake' ...three days ago...rushed to baroda...attended a seminar...presented a paper....canned a interview...made life long friends with rajiv...totally FU to prohibition in gujrat.

moreover after ages i had managed to present a decent paper, and i realised that even complete desertion and neglect could not possibly wash away the department of art history.....more than any other place in the country whre in terms of disiplinary art history...even walls speak.
loved the young students i met there...
lamented the impact of powerpoint presentaions on art teaching.....
much was happening

was waiitng waiitng to make a call...had not called home for 3 days in a row...knew that ma always worried that i will over sleep and miss my early morning flight.
security checked at 4.30...hungry...no engligh new paper at the air port.

nostalgic memories of airports with smoking zones.

so with a all knowing suprise suprise smile...i call home
bapi picks up the phone.

then all i can feel is one dark hollow...just words...
descprition of ma fainting...falling ...hurting herself....

the proudest and the most upright woman i had seen....
totally out of control of her body...helpless...and in pain
ma in pain
it had been 2 days now

by that evening we knew that ma's cancer had spread to her brain...

and then ..slowly slowly ma left....and the meaning of life changed for ever...

the meaning of home changed for ever....

tonight boo left....

the meaning of faith changed for ever.

this year has been on the run

cheers to running

twisting some neil young songs

they say every junkie is like a setting sun
is that why tiny hands needs something else to hold
wishes re thought and stories re told
long may you run

they say that the gods shall return
there are changes that have come to me
there is a new me that is coming to be
long may you run


how can i be sad...they say its your turn
promises to vanish maybe sticking out as no one listens
sometimes its just the tear drop that glistens
long may you run

men with walkie talkies...men with lots of guns
i am just a dreamer
and you were just a dream
you ran thinking its your turn


learning that even  tears can burn
as hollywood comes to you on television
i pray clutching all my reason
long may you run

 by Rahul Bhattacharya on Friday, 29 April 2011 at 23:54