History

Colors – The Paragone within

Voice by KHMRS is being played in the background while I write this. When I was a kid and before I had any comprehension of Physics and optics, I always wondered that if light can divide itself into rainbow colors then if I will mix the VIBGYOR then may be I will get white or something made of light but every single time I got some blackish muddled color like my thoughts and also warnings from my mother on wasting colors. After many years, in one of the books I borrowed from Dr. B C Roy’s children’s library in New Delhi I read about the additive and subtractive mixing of colors giving rise to white light and the blackish color of my mix. In short, when you mix RGB lights in 1:1:1 then you get white light. While when we mix the colors the concept that is used is called the subtractive mixing e.g. a shirt appears blue when white light shines on it because it absorbs all colors but reflects only blue back. The same shirt might appear of different color when looked in different light. The color of an object does not reside in the object itself. The color is in the light that shines upon the object and that ultimately is reflected or transmitted to our eyes. 

Mixing of colors wasn’t a welcome activity before renaissance, many purists didn’t like the idea of mixing color and their argument that there is nothing a color can add to the black and white world. If a painting is great then it is great, an addition of color can’t have an effect on it’s intrinsic value. White and black were considered the natural colors and rest were just derivations.

The competition, rivalry, tussles were the hallmarks of the renaissance period and one of the fiercest debate or paragone as it was called during that time between colore(color) and designo(design and drawings). Design was with Florence and Color with Venice and Venetian colore has always been characterized as sensual e.g. Titian’s Venus and the Lute player – the painting that hangs in the MET. While the guiding principle of disegno is manifested in lines, contours, and forms. While disegno was considered more intellectual and rational form of art, colore was seemed as vulgar but with the advent of renaissance, both the ideas got an uplift and world became vivid with colors.

DT11

Venus and the Lute Player

Advertisements

Subtle Golden Path of Munich

Being a flâneur in a city will take you to many places and will unfold the city in front of you like an open book. One stumbles upon conspicuous and inconspicuous places, events, people, sites that a guidebook might not lay down in front of you.

One thing that I appreciate sincerely about Germans is that they don’t try to sweep the history under the carpet. It is out there in the open for everyone in the world to take lessons from so as not to repeat the same mistakes in the future. But where is the world heading! Well, that’s another discussion.

I was in the city center when I found myself on Viscardigasse, where I found a cobblestone path in gold. Curious, I tried to find information on curved golden blocks in one ordinary looking alley of Munich.

IMG_20180314_115553

The golden path is a tribute to those people who didn’t support the Nazis and to avoid giving a salute to a monument commemorating those who died during the 1923 Beer Hall Putsch, these people chose a back alley in their routes. Soon, it was discovered that people are avoiding the main square so as not to salute, so the reich instated a policeman in the middle of the alley and if one didn’t have a reason to use the alley, he/she was either beaten or worse sent to Dachau concentration camp as an enemy of the state. That’s why the golden path is present only in half of the alley, to commemorate those whose fates were sealed midway. Those who dared to choose their own path and didn’t fail to take a risk.

It is such a subtle tribute and so easy to miss but when noticed is so powerful and thought provoking. An excellent example of minimalism, a tribute to all those who suffered and perished, and a symbol to keep them in the back of our minds always.

Indian Cinderella Story

Winters olympics concluded today and all participating nations took part in the closing ceremony. It is sacrilegious moment for the athletes to represent and win at this pivotal congregation of sportsmen. Set cricket aside, India isn’t a sporting nation or a successful sporting nation as compared to the other nations in its cohort of developing countries such as China, Brazil, Mexico. There are inherent and deep rooted problems in the country at socioeconomic level but then too we have one of the most successful space programs in the world and are a nuclear power equipped nation. Coming back to the sports, there is major lack of infrastructure and opportunities and many times nepotism rules out the selection of better candidates. Scouting for talent requires patience and money and one thing we as a country should come to terms with is the fact that you cannot get a sports star who will win you olympics golds overnight. The talent is scouted, farmed, and then brought to the larger podium. Systematic inclusion of infra is not the end point but also the proclivity and predisposition of Indian population towards sports in general. The sport that is favored and has established itself as a business is cricket and parents, schools, clubs, sports centers, coaches, Govt. agencies channelize their efforts towards it as well. Wrestling, Badminton, Field hockey are a few others that have gotten some attention because the players brought laurels to the country by winning at international podium.

Field hockey has always been dear to me, its precision, speed, accuracy, constant movement, athletic prowess, skills are parallel and akin to Football. It’s counterpart for the nations with colder climate is Ice hockey which is ruled by powerhouses such as Sweden, Canada, USA, Finland etc. A few days ago I was watching a few goals by Ellen Hoog and Jamie Dwyer before the olympic quarter final between Sweden and Germany. The way they dribble is magic! Germany was able to pull a win against mighty Swedes; It was then I started scouring for Ice Hockey rinks in India. We have diverse geography, and at places such as Himalayas and Leh should have some small teams and I was ecstatic to find that THERE ARE! I found the story of Ice skaters and Ice Hockey players of India, mostly concentrated in the Leh region. They don’t have equipments, next to nothing resources, no ice rink except when the lakes freeze in the winters but these girls aren’t lacking motivation and spirit. Most of the time their parents support the passion and a few of them sold their properties to make the dreams come true for their daughters. With the help of crowdfunding, players were able to raise money and were able to compete successfully in 2017 Challenge cup of Asia and defeated Phillipines and Malaysia. The support from Indian population was inspirational and impeccable.

Screen Shot 2018-02-25 at 10.52.10 PM

I wish and hope that these players rise further and get proper support and facilities from the Govt. so India can have a facelift in the upcoming international competitions. We must be cognizant that to win medals in a sporting event that will be held 20 years from now, we’ll have to give will, sweat, resources, and blood right now. Fortune favors the brave.

PS: You can watch the small documentary on the female ice hockey players of India, here. 

The other heaven

Paris is no stranger to literature. It has been the centrum of not only the classics such as The Tale of Two Cities(Dickens) and The Hunchback of Notre-Dame(Hugo) but also Paris, France of Gertrude Stein and My Life in France by Julia Child. Henry Miller’s Quiet days in Clichy has a scene in which a policeman arrives at Joey’s and Carl’s apartment and questions them about Colette’s presence. By the grace of Franz Kafka Carl isn’t charged and only given a warning and that makes the statement ” It is Paris, even the policemen are literary” true.

I am in constant search of that literary Paris. Shakespeare and Co. is definitely part of my universe and so is Librairie Galignani on Rue de Rivoli. A part of me is always looking for that moment where I am in tight quarters with the books, the place with a personality of a human being, the one that makes you stay there and stand there leafing through myriad collections of timeless pieces. The place that tells the story, the place where books aren’t neatly stacked on shelves but in bundles. The place where they breathe and are allowed to be dog eared, where they aren’t an embellishment to an institution but an integral part that makes the institution. And I found one such place. In the city of lights! A friend had recommended Abbey Bookshop to me a while ago and this time I wasn’t in any mood to see the gimmicks of tourists on Rue de Bûcherie, I wanted to be in a quiet place which isn’t laden with people adorned with mini cannon sized cameras and taking photos of anything that moves or doesn’t.

It was one of those days when I wasn’t carrying my umbrella and it rained cats and dogs. Drenched, I entered the book store, dried myself a little and began my adventure in this heaven on 29 Rue de la Parcheminerie  75005 Paris. The place reminded me of Doctor Glas of Soderberg, Raskolnikov of Dostoyevsky, Holden Caulfield of Salinger, and Huckleberry Finn of Twain. It seemed all of them were having a conference there in their night suits while sitting on their warm and comfortable arm chairs generating the còsagach (competitor of Hygge these days) in the ambience.

IMG_20171123_153110

I browsed through the various sections for hours and so did the two other people who were there in the store with me. The place has so many books that it seems to defy the laws of Physics. Brien, the owner, told me that gravity had its way many times there. I got my copy Chekov’s farces and polar opposite Miller and his escapades in NYC and Paris and decided to leave but it was still raining very hard. I asked Brien if  by any chance he sells umbrellas as well, he went inside and fished for an umbrella and gave it to me and said with the usual Canadian warmth “Bring it back whenever it is a sunny day.”

With a smile on my face and an umbrella over my head, I knew I will be back again.

IMG_20171123_152658

A dialogue with Moilère

It took me a while to find Moilère and have a dialogue with him on a rainy day in Paris in Père Lachaise. I was reading the map incorrectly and was hovering around entirely different section of the cemetery when I realized where I was and where I have to go. Finally I found myself in the triangle formed by Av. transversal No.1, Ch. LaPlace, and Ch. Moilère et La Fontaine. Number 44 is where Moilère rests but I looked everywhere and couldn’t find it. The phone battery was getting immensely low and I didn’t dare to check how the resting place of the greatest masters of comedy looks so I can check each and every grave in the triangle. After running from pillar to post within the confines of my area I was about to give up and leave and then somehow it was there. Right in front of me! All this time!

IMG_20171123_135838

Rightly he had said,  The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it.

Hygge by the Seine

I didn’t want to write this post but George Whitman’s words illuminating over the bookstore made me realize that if I want to be frère lampier then I have to be ready to light the metaphorical lamps.

The visit was akin to a pilgrimage for me. Situated by the river Seine in the latin quarters, the store does nothing but embellishes the bibliophile quotient of the city of lights.IMG_20170816_100829

The store is enormous and it holds so many books that it seems the place has achieved the best Weissman score for its compression algorithm. Initially the store was at 12 Rue de l’Odéon and was used as an office by Fitzgerald couple, T.S. Eliot, Hemingway. The owner of the store, Sylvia Beach, was the one who put James Joyce’s Ulysses into publishing.

The place has a beautiful cat that is not to be disturbed and I really admire the concept of no photography inside. At the entrance or by the bench one can find those tourists, with DSLRs larger than medieval cannons, looking through the eye piece of those massive devices and asking their friends/families/fellow travelers to pretend reading a book. How many photos and what types of photographs they are aiming at? Ich warum nicht!! Despite all this harakiri, there is a vibrant energy here that is scarce to find. The bookstore has rooms like chapters in a novel and Whitman had rightly described it by saying  “Where the streets of the world meet the avenues of the mind.”

It is a place where entire world comes, stays for a while and then leaves and for whatever time I was there, those moments were moments of Hygge for me.

Dunkirk

This post has been in the draft mode for a long time, to be precise – since the day I watched the masterpiece of Nolan and it was the day when the film was released in US. I watched the first show itself and as expected I was in awe with it. Memento, The Prestige, The Dark Knight series, Inception, Interstellar all of his works tell the story that Nolan charms his audience by presenting something that hasn’t been done before and does so audaciously and his assiduousness often succeeds. Dunkirk takes you to the beach city of France where the battle of Dunkirk was fought.

dunkirk-wwii-image

Memento employed the method of going back and forth in the past and telling the story non linear and reverse chronological fashion and same non linear method was used for Dunkirk as well. The storytelling is impeccable in the sense that three different narratives are there in the film with different protagonists and Nolan used all possible form of war – air, water, and land. One thing to note here is that all those narratives took place in three different times and not simultaneously but the place for the events was the same. It is similar to the questions in my head when I receive letters of those people in my mailbox who used to live in the apartment before I moved. What was their life? How did they keep the apartment? What side did they keep the bed?

The three stories in the movie augmented with Hans Zimmer’s music keep the tension alive in theater. Every minute of the movie has been utilized to its maximum efficiency. One doesn’t worry about the bigger war but only the one that is taking place in Dunkirk and eventually realize that the place – Dunkirk is the subject. Another masterpiece from Nolan!

 

 

Chandidas and Rami

Ghazals are one of  the purest form of expression I have experienced in my life till now. The metaphor clad meters chalk out the palpable  feelings of lovers howsoever hyperbolic and exorbitant they may seem. They are all so foolishly romantic that they seem incredible and prodigious.

In one of the ghazals of Ameer Minai performed by one of the artist, he recounted the tale of Chandidas and Rami. Chandidas was a poet famous in the medieval period and his poems are many times used to draw parallels between human and divine love. Then, Chandidas was a priestly class while Rami was a washerwoman and the love between them was not only frowned upon but impossible in the era of division and class. They took their love as sacred as the love between Radha and Krishna; Chandidas refused to forgo his love for Rami and also his priestly duties in the temple much to the despair of his family. Many legends say that he was arrested by the queen and later whipped to death but no one knows the true story.

Why the story of Chandidas and Rami holds significance? Much of later Bengali literature, art, and societal thought found its foundation in the legend. The urge to show the face of society and the characters involved without any exogenous and dramatic variables became an integral part of the art. The spirit of defiance and being recalcitrant in the time of social disapproval might have carved the room for breadth in the thought process.

A walk past the historic lanes

Last month I visited Chicago – my old home. The gold coast neighborhood, the barnes and noble on State street, oak street beach, treasure island on Clark, the big bowl (now closed) – where I always ended up whenever I wanted to eat out, Ra sushi ( whose veg tempura tasted like sea food), the yogurt land and myriad number of spots invoked many memories. I enjoyed a coffee in the Starbucks lounge, where I spent countless evenings, listened to multi ethnic music, and made acquaintance with the baristas who knew what two drinks I order. The $7 movies in AMC on Michigan st. were something to look forward to. The limonata of eatley, miller’s pub on wabash, the two lions in front of Art Institute of Chicago, the numerous rides in L, my meditation classes with Andrew in Montrose, origami meeting in Garfield park, and the biting wind of Chicago in winters stir up many pictures in my brain. It was my last week in Chicago and I was strolling around downtown and my neighborhood in the rainy night and was taking photos; It started pouring down so I decided to go into this McCormick and Schmick on Rush St. Only one old woman was in the bar and I sat couple of high chair next to her, after a while we started talking and she learned my plans to move out of the city to NYC. She scolded me for roaming around in Chicago at night alone as it’s not the safest city. I told her that I do it all the time, it’s no big deal. We spoke for couple of hours before parting our ways. I wonder how and where she is now.

IMG_20170424_200953

I, for sure, miss the view and the enormous red and orange sunsets from my window facing west.

 

The Purpose

I don’t know why am I writing this post today. I should have written long time back but that is how it is and I am writing it now. Today, a friend of mine and I were talking about world war 2 and then we switched to Adolf Hitler and then to Gandhi. I gave her a detailed account of Indian struggle for independence and the phrase ” winners get to write the history”. I sent her a link of Rang De Basanti – one of my favorite movies. I don’t know whether she watched it but I watched it again and so did I watched The legend of Bhagat Singh. I admire both of the movies to no end and to pieces and the related events.

It’s not the movies that I admire but the events and the heroes who were part of it. India adores Mahatma Gandhi and ignores the 700, 000 other people who died for the country. Is that fair? May be no! But again – winners get to write the history. I am not denigrating or castigating anyone here but as a citizen of India, it is my responsibility to understand and read my history properly before engaging in an argument with anyone. Although, the premise I am presenting isn’t understood by most and most reach the conclusions hastily.

Indians have mostly been non-confronters, timid people and among them rose the likes of Chandrashekhar Azad, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Batukeshwar Dutt, SukhDev, Jatin Das, Udham Singh and many others. Most of them fresh out of college, 22-23 years of age but unknown to the fear. At such young age they had unparalleled focus, the will to give up their lives for the country, the clarity of thought and the will to act upon what they thought. I don’t want to compare our generation with them as it won’t be apple to apple comparison. Rang de basanti has a dialog – there are two ways to live your lives – 1. Keep on absorbing what is happening around you and keep on adapting even to the worst of circumstances. 2. Take the responsibility to change the conditions around you and change them. The above mentioned names chose the second one. There is a dialog in the movie Predestination – What does anyone want? Love. Oh fuck love, a purpose. I strongly agree with the statement. To be able to give your life a purpose is a life fulfilled. Bhagat Singh would agree with that too. Multiple people believe in multiple things but it doesn’t mean that one is right and the other is wrong. Creationist would always be against the believers of Darwin’s theory and would term the non believers as arrogant, baseless who are floating on the cloud of their own notions. Many say that a rational society can’t be helpful to humanity but is is really the case?