Musings on Peace, Harmony and the Art of Spaces

The other day I was working at my desk, fully absorbed in reading a big document on my laptop, highlighting some points, trying to make sense of others, when I suddenly looked up. And this is the view I saw from the window by which my desk is placed.

A view from the window by my desk, one afternoon

It was not the first time I saw this view of my small garden in the back of the house. I see it daily, both when I am out in the garden and when I sit at my desk. But that day was a bit special.

It was special because the moment that day brought with it a sense of quiet and peace as I let that view sink in to me. There were a few small birds flying around the champa trees and the bushes nearby, making lovely sounds, calling each other, playing, resting on the thin branches, enjoying their freedom.

I sat there, in my chair, just sat there. For several minutes. Taking in the view, enjoying the sounds of the birds, the peace of it all.

I don't know what I was feeling in those moments. Perhaps it was some type of peace, a sense of harmony. Perhaps it was one of those moments when everything feels perfect, everything around you, everything within you, everything is just the way as it should be. There is no need to fuss over anything, no need to shift anything. As if there is nothing to disturb this moment, this sense of peace.

Have you ever felt that? Surely, you must have. Thank the gods for such moments, rare as they are in the noisy worlds we live in - within and without.

A few minutes later, a part of me wanted to go out in the garden and take pictures of the view. Even thought of taking the pictures of the birds who were still playing and singing. How foolish of me, I immediately said to myself. As if pictures would preserve the 'feel' of the moment for me. 

But still I couldn't not resist taking one shot on my phone, from this side of the window itself. The one you see above. 

The moment passed. Only to be followed by another moment, of a reflection. Reflection on spaces and harmony. And on art.

Today, a few days later, as I sit by the same window, trying to give voice to that reflection I see the same tree and the same bushes, though there are no birds at the moment, I try to recall to my awareness that moment of quiet and peace from the other day.

Maybe writing out this reflection on spaces and harmony will bring its own harmony. Afterall, minds are spaces too, and creating a sense of harmony in our mental spaces is an art, a very important art that we all have to learn one way or the other if we want to experience more of these moments of peace and quietude.

So I begin.

You walk into a space -- a home, a room, a garden, a temple, an ashram, a workplace or any other public place -- and you instantly, spontaneously feel a sense of all-pervading harmony, a quiet ambience, an effortless beauty. Nothing is amiss, everything is perfectly placed where it should be. Nothing is obtrusive, nothing is jarring, everything is quietly at home in its natural place.

And you walk into another space and instantly you feel that something isn't right. There is a sense of disorder, an artificiality to the whole arrangement of the space, a feel of uncomfortable ugliness despite the outward prettiness and 'designer-like' placement of objects.

What? You haven't experienced it? You must have. Think, think.

Well, I surely have. Many times.

In fact, I have experienced this sense of harmony (or disharmony) even in empty spaces. For example, a few years ago when we were looking for a house to purchase, many times we would walk into an empty house for sale and just upon entering the house I would immediately 'know' whether or not I would even consider the house any further. Spaces, even empty spaces have their auras, sort of like an energy around them.

Personally speaking, how I feel in a particular space generally figures as one of the main criteria for deciding how much time I want to spend there. This could be a richly decorated home of a relative or a humble half-demolished temple in a village I am only visiting for an afternoon. I have experienced a discomforting sense of disharmony at a five-star hotel and felt a deeply calming sense of joy at an almost decrepit building that serves as a guest house.

This feeling or perception of order or disorder, a sense of harmony or chaos, is not about the physical appearance -- the size of the space, the form, placement and outer charm and prettiness of objects or furniture in the space -- though these things may be part of it. But only a very small part. The bigger part is about what the space makes one feel inwardly.

What is it that makes one space feel harmoniously beautiful, even though it may be very simply arranged with most inexpensive objects? And what makes another space, sometimes even the most well-designed space, furnished with most expensive 'designer' furniture and object d'art, feel jarring, out of order almost?

Is it the aura of the person who lives, works, moves in the space? Or the aura of the person who looks after the space, its cleaning, upkeep, etc? Is it something about 'the way' things are arranged in the space? Or the consciousness of the space itself, the consciousness hidden in everything that is there in the space?

Or is it the state of the mind of the person walking into the space? The sense of harmony he or she brings to the space?

It is perhaps every thing. And more.

It takes an artist to make a space harmoniously beautiful.

If you ask me, I believe that all those who produce something artistic are artists! A word depends upon the way it is used, upon what one puts into it. One may put into it all that one wants. For instance, in Japan there are gardeners who spend their time correcting the forms of trees so that in the landscape they make a beautiful picture. By all kinds of trimmings, props, etc. they adjust the forms of trees. They give them special forms so that each form may be just what is needed in the landscape. A tree is planted in a garden at the spot where it is needed and moreover, it is given the form that’s required for it to go well with the whole set-up. And they succeed in doing wonderful things. You have but to take a photograph of the garden, it is a real picture, it is so good. Well, I certainly call the man an artist. One may call him a gardener but he is an artist....

All those who have a sure and developed sense of harmony in all its forms, and the harmony of all the forms among themselves, are necessarily artists, whatever may be the type of their production. (The Mother, CWM, Vol 8, p. 324)

It perhaps takes an artist to 'know' a space. To feel a space. To experience the harmony.

But what is this sense of harmony? Can it only be felt? Can we grow in our sense of harmony? Of perceiving? Of creating harmony? In our spaces, outer and inner?

Maybe in some other moment of grace, sitting by the window in front of the garden view, when my mind is in a state of harmony I shall be blessed with an insight into some of these questions.

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Linking with ABC Wednesday, P: P is for Peace.

Hare Krishna

A new post  in the series: When a Picture Leads

A Krishna Janamashtami Special

For the last couple of weeks I have been reading and thinking about a few things on Indian Art, especially focusing on the theme of spirituality in Indian Art. It has been a wonderful learning so far, and someday hope to go deeper into what is now a very preliminary study. 

So naturally on this special occasion of Sri Krishna Janmashtami, what else would be on my mind but Krishna in art? Krishna, whose Divinty as well as Līlā, whose Heroism as well as Love, whose Yoga as well as Pranks, all have inspired great art, music, poetry and literature in India. For thousands of years, and to this day.

Sharing today three of my current favourite 'Krishna' paintings, from three different artists, representing three different generations and genres of Indian painting.

The great revivalist Bengal School of Abanindranath Tagore is represented beautifully in Chughtai's Dream, combined with a delicacy unique to Miniature style; whereas the bold and free strokes of a globally inspired but a culturally rooted modernism is the hallmark of Hussain's Krishna Lila. And the one in the middle, Shiva's Flute, is by a young artist from Delhi, Bindu, whose work though inspired by several different styles remains a personal search for the invisible behind the visible, inviting the viewer to join her in this sacred journey.

Three out of countless different ways to express Love for Krishna. To express Krishna's Love.

Let the pictures now do rest of the speaking...

Artist: M. A. R. Chugtai

If the artist cannot put into his work what was in him…his work is a futile abortion. But if he has expressed what he has felt, the capacity to feel it must also be there in the mind that looks at his work. 

Artist: Bindu Popli

...it is the spirit that carries the form

Artist: M.F. Hussain

Each finite is that deep Infinity 

Enshrining His veiled soul of pure delight.

All quotes are from Sri Aurobindo.

Want to experience more of Krishna love, this time in music? Click here for another Sri Krishna Janamashtami special post. 

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To see the previous post in "When a Picture Leads", click here. 

To see all the posts led by pictures, click here.

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Linking with ABC Wednesday, H: H is for Hare Krishna

Flowers, Home, Saris and More

She definitely has a way with words.

Regular readers of Dagny know what an inspiring and inspired writer she is. But there is also another side to the nature of her inspiration which I have recently experienced. Her words have the ability to quieten me down, making me ready to discover that deep and calm place within. A place from where emerge some ideas, thoughts, words and sentences carrying that 'feel' of calmness and quiet depth.

To what extent any composition expresses a sense of quietness, that is for the readers to decide. But as a writer I know how I feel when I am inspired to write something at the request of this dearest friend. Zen-like, I think one may call it. Naah! Serene and yet fully present and absorbed in the experience of writing. Serenely Rapt, may be?

Dagny inspires me not only with the stories she tells, but more so with the way she makes these stories seem like our stories, mine and hers, and of everyone else who reads them. The grounded and earthy wisdom that is gently enfolded in her words, the quietness with which that ray of light shines upon the reader's being -- that is an experience felt by all who have visited her space, Serenely Rapt. 

You must have heard that highly creative people are creative in ways more than one. This is true of my friend Dagny too. While the pages of Serenely Rapt showcase her beautiful stories, anecdotes, reflections and ponderings on various shades and hues of life, she dazzles with another side of her creative self via Rugs of Life. If you haven't yet seen this space of hers, you don't know what you are missing!

When she suggested that I write a guest-post for her blog, I was naturally overjoyed. And also a bit unsure whether any writing of mine would stand up to the standard that Serenely Rapt is famous for. That's when the warmth of her love and friendship, and her calm confidence in me, my thought process, words and way of expression came to my rescue. And a post with the title, Musings on Home, Flowers and More took shape.

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MUSINGS ON HOME, FLOWERS AND MORE

I feel a sense of gratitude to those fourteen-plus years of my life when I was living between two cultural spaces. What we Indians call as non-resident-Indian (NRI) experience, gave me ample opportunities to reflect on the meaning of home, being at home and being in what many post-modernists call as a state of hybridity or in-between-ness.

I remember today an essay I wrote about thirteen years ago, in which I had pondered over the meaning of home. The essay, published on Sulekha, was based on an analysis of the voices of a few Indians living outside India with whom I had some interactions in an online discussion forum, combined with my own decade-long experience, at that time, of living, studying and working in the United States. In that piece I had come to a tentative conclusion that perhaps home means “a place where we can be really free, free at heart.”

End of this month will mark eight years of my return to India. No more of that NRI experience. However, at different points of time in these last eight years, this question of “what is home” has often surfaced in different ways – personally as well as socially. But it has also become obvious to me that the question has now taken on a more emotional and psychological shade than a mental or intellectual one, which was the case earlier. The experience of this question is also more inwardly grounded than something that is outward and identity-based. And this, I believe, is what makes me feel more ‘at home’ with the question itself. Let me explain.

About two years ago, I found myself going through an intense phase when this question – what is home – became a very real and living struggle for many months. In a way I was spending all those months ‘at home’ (my parental home, to be precise – the home where I grew up) but then it wasn’t really my home anymore. It didn’t feel like that.

The part that felt ‘like home’ was my parents. Especially, my very ill and fragile mother who was the reason why I was spending all those months there, away from my home and in my mother’s home. And yet the longing to go back to my home was very much there despite the mental awareness that I needed to be at my parents’ home. 

TO READ REST OF THE POST, CLICK HERE.

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A TALE OF TWO SAREES

Like I said, Dagny has a way with words. But then, she also a way with saris. Or for that matter, any old fabric which transforms into something entirely new and completely beautiful when it comes into her hands.

A few months ago, she gave new lives to two of my old saris. The sheer beauty of her work made me speechless when I held in my hands the new-born pieces she sent me. What had been once two old saris were now in front of me in totally new forms, speaking quietly of the remarkable gift and talent of the artist. The experience wouldn't have been complete if I didn't write a little story of that creative rebirth I witnessed. And yes that writing too came about in a moment of quiet and joyful spontaneity.

If you haven't read that little story of two saris and their rebirth, how about clicking it HERE and making that correction now.

And while you are at Rugs of Life, do spend some time browsing through the great collection of rugs Dagny weaves with love and care. A few minutes of going through the different narratives that accompany each of her creations will be sufficient to appreciate the genuine reverence she has for the divinity that hides in matter. That, in essence, is the real source of the beauty that spills out from all that she weaves.

He and She: A Photo Essay

A new post in the series: Things of Beauty

I found Her & Him - Them - hidden in the back in a dusty corner of a large shop in the temple town of Kumbakonam, Tamil Nadu. A Chola-style Ardhnarishvara, who now adorns a small corner in my home.

The Chola style of Ardhnarishvara form, often cast in bronze or panchaloha (an alloy of five metals -- copper, lead, zinc, gold, and silver), is unique because of three arms, two on the Shiva side and one on the Shakti/Parvati side. However, in the majestic Brihadeeshwarar temple, built by emperor Raja Raja Chola I at Thanjavur, one finds a magnificent eight-armed form of Ardhnarishvara:

When I saw my Ardhnarishvara that evening, I knew why I had stood totally transfixed earlier that morning at the Gangaikonda Cholapuram Temple in front of this:

Source

When I saw my little Ardhnarishvara I knew exactly the spot that will be His/Her abode in my home.

Why did this particular spot come to mind spontaneously? Perhaps because a contemporary form of Ardhnarishwara, framed under glass, already has found its home there. 

A painting made by the young Delhi-based artist, Bindu Popli, titled "You and Me 2" hangs on the wall just above the panchaloha Ardhnarishvara. (Actually it is a print of her painting -- can't afford all original works even though the artist is my sister and gives me great discounts!) And yes, there is also a "You and Me 1", a print of which hangs in another room.

I have always thought of this particular work as the artist's vision of Ardhnarishvara -- a totality that lies beyond duality, a non-duality that is beyond the unity of opposites, a oneness that is beyond the complementarity of the masculine and feminine principles. 

Several years ago, the artist had done another Ardhnarishvara, which she actually called by that name. This was a wall mural in her previous studio.

Small photographic prints of this Ardhnarishvara have also found home in my place. In three different versions -- coloured, black & white and sepia under the stairs. 

So yes, I do feel a special connection with this particular form of the Divine, Ardhnarishvara! Here are three that adorn my home, up close. 

May the Two That are One and the One That is Many continue to grace my inner Home too.

          

               

"Without Him I Exist Not, Without Me He is Unmanifest."

(The Mother)

Each now was a part of the other’s unity,

The world was but their twin self-finding’s scene

.......

For we were man and woman from the first,

The twin souls born from one undying fire.

(Sri Aurobindo, Savitri)

Unless specified all photos are from personal archives, taken by family members.

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To see the previous post in the series, click here.

To see all posts in the series, click here.

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To see the previous photo essay on this blog, click here.

Should Dance Educate? How?

Sri Aurobindo once wrote:

The first and lowest use of Art is the purely aesthetic, the second is the intellectual or educative, the third and highest the spiritual. By speaking of the aesthetic use as the lowest, we do not wish to imply that it is not of immense value to humanity, but simply to assign to it its comparative value in relation to the higher uses. The aesthetic is of immense importance and until it has done its work, mankind is not really fitted to make full use of Art on the higher planes of human development. (CWSA, Vol. 1, p. 439)

What made me recall these words this morning?

I recall them because of a Dance programme I attended last evening. It was an Odissi dance performance by Nayantara Nanda Kumar. The performance was actually part of a dance theater production titled "Beyond Names" which also included storytelling and poetry recitation. Produced by Secundarabad-based organization named Our Sacred Space, Beyond Names "celebrates the paths by which we seek the Essence. Whatever way we choose to acknowledge it. It is but One Energy - to which we assign the name of our choice." (programme brochure).

It was this programme description on Auroville's website that prompted me to go for it. Particularly the idea behind the title itself, Beyond Names. A movement through the various forms to the essential one formless, through the varied names to the one eternal nameless. This sounded very inviting.

The programme started off with the usual invocation to the gods, the universe and the audience, with the dancer performing Panchadevata Mangalacharan (salutations to five deities - Ganesha, Jagannatha/Vishnu, Rudra, Surya, and Shakti). This was followed by Sthai Nato, a pure nritta piece.

For the abhinaya component of the performance, a touching Hindi poem about a barbaric act of violence committed during communal riots was evocatively recited by the dancer's mother, a librarian and storyteller, while the dancer portrayed the emotions of the story through her performance. And this is the point where I found a certain part of my mind becoming a bit more active than I would have liked at a dance performance.

The dance combined with the storytelling was definitely meant to evoke a certain kind of educative experience. But for me, somehow it felt more like a mentalised education, at times briefly touching an emotional chord because of the emotional content of the story. It failed to become a deeply moving experience that could have touched a much deeper part of the heart, maybe even the soul.

After all, arts are meant to be an education for the soul. Not just mind and heart. But that depends on the readiness and preparedness of the learner too, I suppose.

Maybe I wasn't receptive enough last evening, maybe I failed to open widely and deeply enough to take 'in' the experience. Or just maybe I couldn't 'feel' a movement away from the names and forms to the Nameless and Formless, from the seen to the Unseen, from the violence to the Peace.

All the pieces that came after the abhinaya (Prayer for Peace - Moving Meditation, Transforming Anger, Jung ya Aman) ended up solidifying this mental educative experience further. There was no dance in any of these pieces, they were more theatrical pieces incorporating words, gentle movement, poetry recitation, and a video clip of an interview with a spiritual teacher.

What were all these pieces about, starting with abhinaya? Going back to the programme brochure, they were meant to address the following:

"We are witnessing a revival of fundamentalism of various hues. We are encouraged to believe that the religion we profess is the "best", unlike the "other" that is rabid/discriminatory/primitive, little realizing that it is the notion of "best" that contains the seed of violence.

"War is but the orchestrated version of the violence that we allow in thought, word and deed. War brutalizes both victor and vanquished and makes violence acceptable, leaving a trail of broken homes, broken families, broken lives...

"Beyond Names asks: Can we not evolve ways that are non-judgemental, inclusive, loving? For, in truth, there is no "other". To hate another is to hate ourselves....to embrace another is to embrace ourselves. Is that not the Essence that all of us seek...to be able to live in peace with ourselves?"

Sounds great. And as I read the brochure standing outside the auditorium before the programme, I was actually quite looking forward to the experience. I was looking forward to witness how the dancer and rest of the performers would take me to a deep place within where these mental questions of violence, war and fundamentalism would gradually and gently ease into a place of awareness, even if only a momentary awareness, of that Essence that is beyond all names and beyond all forms, that just IS.

But sadly, that never happened for me. The experience didn't take me to that place. Even with the last piece, which was a dance performance titled Moksha and Shanti Mantra, which ended rather quickly before I could really 'immerse' into it or 'flow' with the vibration of Peace this was meant to evoke.

The experience just kept me mentally engaged with the questions such as -- why an exclusive focus on only one "name" or one "form" of fundamentalism, why use a sensationalist-headlines type of story to illustrate the deep-rooted-ness of a ruthlessly violent part of all imperfect human nature, why not use dance and movement to express the idea of mindfulness instead of the words of a spiritual teacher, why not use a video clip of dance instead of a video clip with words, and a few more.

I came out of the auditorium not sure of how I felt about the whole experience. And that's what made me recall the words of Sri Aurobindo that I quote at the beginning of this post. Particularly the part about the educative function of the arts, particularly Indian forms of dance and drama.

Which brings me today to some more questions. (Are you surprised?)

What should be the role of dance and theater in education? What kind of educational experience should dance and theater evoke? How and in what ways should dance and theater evoke a learning experience? Should they touch only the outer layers of the viewer's mind and heart as last night's performance did for the most part? Or are there ways possible through which dance and theater can take the audience to a place beyond mind, even if it is for a split second, where a mental answer is not required because the questioning mind there is silent and finds an answer in the stillness itself? What is the place and purpose of experiment in Indian classical dance performances?

And as my husband and I kept discussing some of these questions during our drive back from the auditorium last evening and continuing that over our Sunday-special idli breakfast this morning, I was reminded of another passage from Sri Aurobindo. These are the words that help me reach to that place of silence within where the questioning mind stops.

Speaking of a true all-encompassing, life-affirming spirituality of the future and its all-inclusive connection with all activities of life and world, he writes this about the Art of a future society founded upon a true spirituality:

"The highest aim of the aesthetic being is to find the Divine through beauty; the highest Art is that which by an inspired use of significant and interpretative form unseals the doors of the spirit. But in order that it may come to do this greatest thing largely and sincerely, it must first endeavour to see and depict man and Nature and life for their own sake, in their own characteristic truth and beauty; for behind these first characters lies always the beauty of the Divine in life and man and Nature and it is through their just transformation that what was at first veiled by them has to be revealed. The dogma that Art must be religious or not be at all, is a false dogma, just as is the claim that it must be subservient to ethics or utility or scientific truth or philosophic ideas. Art may make use of these things as elements, but it has its own svadharma, essential law, and it will rise to the widest spirituality by following out its own natural lines with no other yoke than the intimate law of its own being." (CWSA, Vol. 25, pp. 229-230)

Image: Nayantara Nand Kumar, Source

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Glossary:
Nritta:
abstract dance, where the body makes patterns in space and there is no particular meaning attached to any gesture or movement. Even though mudras are used vastly in nritta, they are not used to convey stories.

Abhinaya: 
a tradition of story-telling in Indian classical dances, Abhinaya is a word made up of: abhi- ‘towards’ + nii (naya) - ‘leading/guide’. It literally means a ‘leading towards’ (leading the audience towards a sentiment, a rasa). Dancers bring forth stories based in myth or even contemporary commentary to invoke a certain response in the audience.

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Linking this with ABC Wednesday, D: D is for Dance

Untitled Meanderings

A few weeks ago, a friend and I had a brief exchange of thoughts on Facebook about Raja Ravi Varma's style of painting. I had said to him that I don't really care much for that kind of artistic work, and an interesting discussion ensued about Indian art, the inner and outer dimension of art, personal aesthetic preferences and a few other things about culture and human motives in life.

That exchange sort of inspired this post. I was hoping to go deeper into some of the points my friend and I had briefly touched upon. But as I started writing, the post took on a life of its own and it has now become something totally different.

That's okay, I go with the flow.

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Antaryatra (Inner Journey): Painting by Bindu Popli

Like I said in an earlier post, I am not an artist. Unless one considers writing that I do on this blog as some sort of "artsy" work. I highly doubt that. But I deeply admire and respect the artistic process that artists, sculptors, poets, creative photographers, writers experience - from that first inspiration to the final work of art they consider as done.

At the same time, like everyone else I know, I have my personal preference and taste in art or what I consider artistic. I am not fond of what may be called as realistic art or art that captures reality as is. For me, that piece of art doesn't say much if the only thing it says is an imitation, no matter how good and perfect, of what is found in nature or life. A perfectly done portrait of a person or an inanimate object is not really my preference in art. Where is the mystery, my mind and heart ask. Where is the hidden, my mind and heart search.

All bad art comes from returning to life and nature, and elevating them into ideals. Life and nature may sometimes be used as part of art's rough material, but before they are of any real service to art they must be translated into artistic conventions. The moment art surrenders its imaginative medium it surrenders everything. As a method realism is a complete failure, and the two things that every artist should avoid are modernity of form and modernity of subject-matter.

-- Oscar Wilde

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Over the last few years I have also come to a realisation that realism in writing also doesn't do much for me either. I am discovering that I don't care much for the kind of writing that is merely a documentation of what is observed or heard or experienced. I used to do such writing as part of my social science research training and professional work. Such writing serves an important purpose in advancing our collective understanding of outer human experience and I know from experience it isn't easy to do.

But that was then.

Now I am more inclined toward writing that doesn't merely reproduce the various 'facts' or 'realities' of life and nature as experienced by the subject(s) or character(s) in question. I am touched by the writing that makes room for the unseen, the invisible, the 'un-real' almost. No matter how enjoyable the turn of the phrase and how masterful the wordsmithing, a piece of writing that is only about 'what is' doesn't really move me. I am moved by the writing that seems to invite me to explore 'what isn't but could be', the writing that compels me to 'see' the invisible behind the appearance, to 'hear' the silence between the two audible words, to 'experience' the stillness behind all that is in motion.

That's the kind of writing I aspire to do someday.

No, not fantasy. Not science fiction. Neither fiction, nor non-fiction. Not abstract philosophy. No, no.

O Poet, O Artist, if thou but holdest up the mirror to Nature, thinkest thou Nature will rejoice in thy work? Rather she will turn away her face. For what dost thou hold up to her there? Herself? No, but a lifeless outline and reflection, a shadowy mimicry. It is the secret soul of Nature thou hast to seize, thou hast to hunt eternally after the truth in the external symbol, and that no mirror will hold for thee, nor for her whom thou seekest.

-- Sri Aurobindo

I hope to write of life and about life, but life that isn't only lived on the outer surface. I hope to write about nature, but nature that isn't only seen with the outer eyes. I wish to engage in an experience of writing that tries to seize something that is only vaguely expressing itself, or hiding itself, through the outer expression of words, sentences, paragraphs. The writing that engages with the invisible behind the visible, the eternal behind the temporal, the spirit behind the form.

If I had the Midas touch, that's the kind of writing I would like to do...



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You may also like a few more posts on writing - On Writing in English,  Blank Pages No More, Light is All You Need, Why Should I Write

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This post has been picked as a WOW post by BlogAdda. The topic this time is - "If I had the Midas touch...."

A Poet and A Painter: एक कवि और एक चित्रकार

"Poetry raises the emotions and gives each its separate delight. Art stills the emotions and teaches them the delight of a restrained and limited satisfaction..."

~ Sri Aurobindo

आज से ९ वर्ष पूर्व ३१ अक्टूबर २००५ को भारत की एक प्रसिद्ध कवियत्री और लेखिका इस दुनिया को छोड़ दूसरी दुनिया में जा बसी। अमृता प्रीतम की दर्द भरी कविताओं और संवेदनशील कहानिंयों एवं उपन्यासों ने भारतीय साहित्य के अनगिनत प्रेमियों के दिलो-दिमाग़ में अपना एक विशेष स्थान बनाया है। उनकी भाव-भरी रचनाएँ और उनके शब्द उनकी स्मृति को सदा ताज़ा ही रखेंगे, और साथ ही उनकी और इमरोज़ की अनूठी प्रेम-कथा साहित्य-प्रेमियों को एवं उनको भी जो प्रेम से प्रेम करते हैं आने वाले एक लम्बे समय तक अपने रंग में डुबोए रखेगी।

अमृता और इमरोज़ के एक दूसरे के प्रति प्रेम और समर्पण-भाव की कुछ झलक हमें उनके पत्रों द्वारा मिलती है, जिन पर आधारित एक पुस्तक भी अब पाठकों तक पहुँच चुकी है। अंग्रेजी भाषा में प्रकाशित पत्रों का यह संग्रह, जिसका शीर्षक है - "Amrita and Imroz: In the Times of Love & Longing"  दिल को छू लेता है। एक पत्र में इमरोज़ लिखते हैं - प्रेम ही दुनिया में एक मात्र स्वंत्रता है। तो दूसरे पत्र में हम अमृता को यह लिखते हुए पाते हैं - तुम ही तो हो मेरे १५ अगस्त।

उमा त्रिलोक की पुस्तक "अमृता-इमरोज़: एक प्रेम कथा" भी इस कवि और चित्रकार के अनोखे प्रेम एवं ४० वर्षों के संबंध की एक करीबी छवि प्रस्तुत करती है। इस पुस्तक की एक समीक्षा आप इस लिंक पर पढ़ सकते हैं।

लेकिन इन दोनों से परे है वह एक कविता जो अमृता ने लिखी थी, बीमारी के दिनों में अपने प्रेम के लिये।  मैं तैनू फेर मिलांगी (मैं तुझे फिर मिलूँगी) - पंजाबी भाषा में लिखी इस कविता का हिंदी अनुवाद भी उतना ही खूबसूरत है।


मैं तुझे फ़िर मिलूंगी
कहाँ किस तरह पता नही

शायद तेरी तख्यिल की चिंगारी बन
तेरे केनवस पर उतरुंगी
या तेरे केनवस पर
एक रहस्यमयी लकीर बन
खामोश तुझे देखती रहूंगी
या फ़िर सूरज की लौ बन कर
तेरे रंगो में घुलती रहूंगी
या रंगो कि बाहों में बैठ कर
तेरे केनवस से लिपट जाउंगी
पता नहीं कहाँ किस तरह
पर तुझे जरुर मिलूंगी

या फ़िर एक चश्मा बनी
जैसे झरने से पानी उड़ता है
मैं पानी की बूंदें
तेरे बदन पर मलूंगी
और एक ठंडक सी बन कर
तेरे सीने से लगूंगी

मैं और कुछ नही जानती
पर इतना जानती हूँ
कि वक्त जो भी करेगा
यह जन्म मेरे साथ चलेगा

यह जिस्म खतम होता है
तो सब कुछ खत्म हो जाता है
पर चेतना के धागे
कायनात के कण होते हैं

मैं उन कणों को चुनुंगी
धागों को बुनूँगी
मैं तुझे फ़िर मिलूंगी !

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Nine years ago from today, on 31st October 2005, an eminent Indian poet and author left this world to make her abode elsewhere. With her emotion-rich and heartfelt writing Amrita Pritam has made a special place for herself in the hearts of countless lovers of Indian literature. While her heart-touching poetry and sensitive portrayals will keep her memory alive, the one-of-a-kind love story of Amrita and Imroz will also keep enthralled, for a long time to come, the lovers of literature as well as all those who are in love with love.

The special bond of love and surrender to each other that Amrita and Imroz shared can be seen through the numerous letters they wrote to each other over the years. A book based on these letters is now also available for interested readers. Published in English, this collection of letters titled "Amrita and Imroz: In the Times of Love and Longing" is a delight. In one letter, Imroz writes to her - "Love is the only freedom in the world," and in another we find Amrita writing - "You are my 15th August".

Uma Trilok's book "Amrita-Imroz: A Love Story" presents a rare account of the unique love between a poet and a painter, and a special bond they shared for about 40 years. The book is available both in English and Hindi. A Hindi review of this book may be read here.

But beyond either of these books is that poem penned by Amrita herself, while she was very sick in later years of her life. The poem titled, Main Tenu Phair Milangi (I will meet you yet again) expresses so tenderly and beautifully what love meant to this poet-painter couple. Here it is in English translation, done by Nirupama Dutt.

I will meet you yet again

How and where

I know not

Perhaps I will become a

figment of your imagination

and maybe spreading myself

in a mysterious line

on your canvas

I will keep gazing at you.

Perhaps I will become a ray

of sunshine to be

embraced by your colours

I will paint myself on your canvas

I know not how and where —

but I will meet you for sure.

Maybe I will turn into a spring

and rub foaming

drops of water on your body

and rest my coolness on

your burning chest

I know nothing

but that this life

will walk along with me.

When the body perishes

all perishes

but the threads of memory

are woven of enduring atoms

I will pick these particles

weave the threads

and I will meet you yet again.

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You have now read the poem in Hindi and/or English. But nothing beats listening to the poem in its original language. And nobody recites Punjabi poetry better than Gulzar.

अब आप हिंदी अथवा अंग्रेजी में इस कविता को पढ़ चुके हैं। पर कविता का वास्तविक आनन्द तो उसकी मूल भाषा में ही मिल सकता है, और वो भी अगर गुलज़ार जैसी शख्सियत की आवाज़ में उसे सुना जाए। 

Image source: here

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Linking this with ABC Wednesday, P: P is for Poet, Poetry, Painter

"All Art is Quite Useless": What a Wild(e) Idea!

A new post in the series - Satyam Shivam Sundaram

A series featuring inspiring words from various sources, words that speak of timeless truths, words that remind me of the deeper and hidden truth behind surface events and phenomena, words that shine light when all seems dark, words that are just what I need - for this moment and for all times to come.

Source

One Monday afternoon. Around 3:30 pm. I thought of taking a little nap to rest my eyes after some long hours of staring at the computer. But of course, there was no sign of sleep anywhere.

Without even looking I picked up a book (yes, I still read actual printed books, not the kindle kinds) from the pile of books on the bedside table, thinking maybe reading a page or two might make me tired enough, and sleep would then bless me.

It was Oscar Wilde's classic 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' - something I had read years ago. But a few months ago my husband bought a new copy of this thinking he would like to read it. Of course, he didn't and the book had been taking a good rest on the bedside table.

Until that Monday afternoon.

Those who have read the book may recall the famous "Preface" to this book. I admit I had forgotten most of it, except for a couple of sentences which I have seen quoted in many other places in the last several years.

I am not an artist, but I have close family members and friends who are - painters, photographers, musicians, dancers, poets. And when I read Oscar Wilde's Preface that Monday afternoon, my thoughts went to all those artists I know and those I don't. And I didn't read anything beyond that Preface. I still haven't.

Here is the Preface.

The artist is the creator of beautiful things.
To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim.
The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.
The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.
Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.
No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved.
No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.
From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.
When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.

What a collection of witty aphorisms here! So Wilde-like.

By sharing this Preface here, I am not declaring my complete agreement with all the things Mr. Wilde says. For example, I am not convinced that "All art is quite useless." Of course, one would need to first figure out what is meant by Art. And what is meant by Usefulness? Does a beautiful piece of hand-made pottery, say a vase or a bowl, made by a studio potter qualify as art?

But I think I somewhat follow the line of argument that Wilde is making here and see the value of his point and accept its partially and contextually relevant truth-value. And certainly, when one situates the Preface in the larger controversy that surrounded this particular book, the author's words become hugely significant and very apt.

Wilde added this Preface to the book, along with several other changes, after the first, 1890 edition of the book was highly criticized. He used it to "address the criticism and defend the novel's reputation." The collection of statements in this Preface also "serves as an indicator of the way in which [he] intends the novel to be read." 

But the main reason why I became fascinated by this Preface is this: It serves as an excellent illustration of what Sri Aurobindo refers to as the conflict between Aesthetic and Ethical tendencies of the human mind. In his major work on social philosophy, The Human Cycle, he writes: 

There is in our mentality a side of will, conduct, character which creates the ethical man; there is another side of sensibility to the beautiful,—understanding beauty in no narrow or hyper-artistic sense,—which creates the artistic and aesthetic man. Therefore there can be such a thing as a predominantly or even exclusively ethical culture; there can be too, evidently, a predominantly or even exclusively aesthetic culture. There are at once created two conflicting ideals which must naturally stand opposed and look askance at each other with a mutual distrust or even reprobation. The aesthetic man tends to be impatient of the ethical rule; he feels it to be a barrier to his aesthetic freedom and an oppression on the play of his artistic sense and his artistic faculty; he is naturally hedonistic,—for beauty and delight are inseparable powers, —and the ethical rule tramples on pleasure, even very often on quite innocent pleasures, and tries to put a strait waistcoat on the human impulse to delight. He may accept the ethical rule when it makes itself beautiful or even seize on it as one of his instruments for creating beauty, but only when he can subordinate it to the aesthetic principle of his nature,—just as he is often drawn to religion by its side of beauty, pomp, magnificent ritual, emotional satisfaction, repose or poetic ideality and aspiration,—we might almost say, by the hedonistic aspects of religion. Even when fully accepted, it is not for their own sake that he accepts them. The ethical man repays this natural repulsion with interest. He tends to distrust art and the aesthetic sense as something lax and emollient, something in its nature undisciplined and by its attractive appeals to the passions and emotions destructive of a high and strict self-control. He sees that it is hedonistic and he finds that the hedonistic impulse is non-moral and often immoral. It is difficult for him to see how the indulgence of the aesthetic impulse beyond a very narrow and carefully guarded limit can be combined with a strict ethical life. He evolves the puritan who objects to pleasure on principle; not only in his extremes—and a predominant impulse tends to become absorbing and leads towards extremes—but in the core of his temperament he remains fundamentally the puritan. The misunderstanding between these two sides of our nature is an inevitable circumstance of our human growth which must try them to their fullest separate possibilities and experiment in extremes in order that it may understand the whole range of its capacities. (CWSA, Volume 25, pp. 95-96, emphasis added).

A lot is packed in this one paragraph. It may require a slow and careful reading. Perhaps a few times to fully appreciate the point being made here.

Many of the controversies that we witness around art and literature can be understood in the light of this psychological basis, this misunderstanding between the two sides of human nature and mentality. It certainly explains much of the criticism Wilde's book received, the plot of which also interestingly deals with similar themes of aestheticism, hedonism, morality, virtue and beauty.

Is there a way to move beyond or reconcile these two sides of our human nature? That is an obvious question. But in life there are no quick or obvious answers. The only answer I can give now is - read the full chapter at least, if not the whole book :)

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Click here for the previous post in this series.
Click here for all the posts in this series.

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Linking this post with ABC Wednesday, W: W is for Wilde

Art and Society

This post was re-published in Tamarind Rice, July 2014


A new post in the series - When a Picture Leads

A post inspired by some late night browsing of old pictures; 
this time from a visit to Cholamandal, an Artists' Village near Chennai

In today’s world where art has become another peg in the mighty wheel of commercialism and consumerism, we have experts -- art critics, museum and gallery wallahs, art dealers and others -- who tell us what is “beautiful” art, what is more “valuable” and what is “priceless.” They do this through their selection process and via picking up the art they believe can ‘sell’. In some sense they are not only reading or guessing society’s aesthetic sense; they are also shaping it. 

While there are serious drawbacks to this process of erecting an industry out of and for art, I am wondering if this can be, in some way, seen as an 'interim' solution to the perpetual question of how the society supports the arts? If as a society our sensibilities are more consumption-oriented and commercialistic at this point of our collective evolution, our approach to supporting the arts will also be along that line.

How might this change in a future society that has evolved to a higher level of individual and collective consciousness? 

Perhaps some hints of an answer to that can already be seen in the emerging trends of community-level art fairs featuring local artists, artist cooperatives which manage galleries and organize exhibits, and artists’ villages. Certainly there are examples of such ideas being translated in practice in many parts of the world. 

In my neck of the woods we have Cholamandal, an artists' village near Chennai, which has grown "without any funding or support from the government, quasi-governmental bodies, charitable foundations, art bodies like Lalit Kala Academy or persons apart from the small grant that it is entitled to, like any other art organization in the country." The village welcomes visitors to enjoy their permanent gallery of paintings, sculptures as well as the display of art and craft work which are available for sale by the artists themselves. Go on, click on their website to know more.

Perhaps this is a sign of things to come. Perhaps change is already happening, societies are evolving, art is evolving, artists as discoverers of Divine through Beauty are evolving, as they are searching and discovering new forms of collective living and working which doesn’t in any way inhibit or limit their individual creativity and work. 

Perhaps I am being too optimistic. But why not?


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All photos by yours truly.

For previous posts in this series, click here and here.

Linking this post with Write Tribe Festival of Words, Free Write
Linking also with DailyPost Weekly Challenge: Threes

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Do Not Imitate

A new post in the series - Satyam Shivam Sundaram

A series featuring inspiring words from various sources, words that speak of  timeless truths, words that remind me of the deeper and hidden truth behind surface events and phenomena, words that shine light when all seems dark, words that are just what I need - 

for this moment and for all times to come.

There are times when all you need to do is stop trying. Stop trying to know, understand, explain, decipher, imagine, make sense of, struggle. You don't need to. 

These are times when you just need to be ready. Ready to be in the mystery, the unknown. Ready to be present, to receive when the mystery unravels itself, when the known reveals itself.

Those are the times when you actually experience. Experience Art, Beauty, Knowledge.

Those are the times when you stop copying and start seeing. Really seeing the unseen. 

Photo by Nandini Valli

"Photography is an art when the photographer is an artist."

~ The Mother

"The greatness of Indian art is the greatness of all
Indian thought and achievement. It lies in the recognition
of the persistent within the transient, of the domination of
matter by spirit, the subordination of the insistent appearances
of Prakriti to the inner reality which, in a thousand ways, the
Mighty Mother veils even while she suggests.
....
Imitation is the key-word of creation, according to
Aristotle; Shakespeare advises the artist to hold up the mirror
to Nature; and the Greek scientist and the English poet reflect
accurately the mind of Europe.
But the Indian artist has been taught by his philosophy and
the spiritual discipline of his forefathers that the imagination is
only a channel and an instrument of some source of knowledge
and inspiration that is greater and higher..."
~ Sri Aurobindo

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Previous posts in this series:

Beauty, Not a Stone on the Beach      So, What are You Working on?     Inner Truth of a Flower

On Sensitivity and Appreciation of Beauty   "No Construction Without Destruction"

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Also filing it under the series - When a Picture Leads