DUET

SURESH BLOSSOM

'You've come, you've come', Suresh ran towards me.  He seemed even thinner than the last time I'd seen him, his eyes even larger and a smile of sheer delight spread over his entire face.  He'd won the scholarship and was now a Junior Research Fellow at the Contemporary Art Society Library for a month - he was to read his paper on "Monsters in Indian Art" to an invited audience, at 4 p.m. Indian Time.  The last time he had tried to read a paper, at a conference,  it was a dismal flop because he hadn't slept for 4 days and had read 150 books !  So this time, the first thing I asked, was whether he had slept.  'No',   the other students chorused', even worse' !  How could it be worse, I wondered......  'He deleted not the file, but the contents of the file, on the computer....there was no way of retrieving it'.   'What! ?  You mean...  Monsters in Indian Art by Suresh Blossom was empty?'   'Yes, yes' they chorused again, 'he had to sit up all night and write it again.' !

I was expecting the worst, but the reading of the paper, apart from a few stumbles and re-positioning of the mic...and minor problems with the wrong images appearing at unexpected times, so that one was whisked from 20th c Brancusi to paleolithic art in a few uncomfortable seconds and back again, it passed without incident.  We all clapped and Suresh looked relieved to have it over and done with.

And now to celebrate the occasion, smoke a 'bidi' and drink a cup of chai  from the chai wallah down on the street below.  A chair was found for me and dusted off, it had a split right across it and I hoped I wouldn't fall through,.  An old emaciated man, looking for all the world like an Old Testament Prophet, with flowing caftan and only one arm, the empty sleeve of the missing arm, was neatly pinned across his chest to the right shoulder - in a permanent 'cross my heart' gesture, directed operations and told them to move the chair into the shade, so that I was protected from the sun - he then retired into a corner and opened a book, the Koran perhaps and was soon lost in its contents.   A young boy, about 10 years old, sucking a plastic tube filled with ice, was told to bring us tea..  Tea was brewed in a large aluminum kettle over a fire and then strained through muslin into little glasses.  In the corner a woman in a sari sat on her haunches, her face partly obscured by her sari veil, grinding Marsala tea spice with pestle and mortar. 

We chatted about philosophy and the differences between art in the East and West....then it was time to go - I offered to pay for tea but my purse was shooed away by Suresh, Junior Research Fellow, who said that I was his honoured guest !  I swear he's grown a couple of inches....?

ONE FINGER FOR RICE

"You have to learn the language"  said Dhamaraj, the owner of the Thali Restaurant on Jetalpur Road.  We. were  surrounded by tables gleaming with the typical stainless steel Thali trays and bowls.  The bowls are filled with two different curried vegetables, one curried pulse, one dahl and and 4 rotis, a little starter, a salad, a little bowl of something sweet and a glass of buttermilk.  These trays are constantly re-filled by waiters who watch to see which of your little bowls is looking a little low!  Ultimately, rice is served, using a special ladle and is eaten with dahl..  But today Dhamaraj was teaching me the sign language of Thali communication - I felt rather honoured at being admitted to this trade secret !  If you want more of anything, having first caught the waiter's eye, ( rather like being at an auction at Sothebys), it's one finger for rice, two crooked fingers for dahl, four fingers for curried veg., chopping motion with the blade of the hand for salad and a paddling motion, like a wave gone wrong if you want more rotis !   No more waiting to be noticed....!

IT'S ARRIVED !

You could feel it in the air two days ago, the humidity.....the MONSOON!... it's arrived !  It's raining in Southern India !  Everyone's  talking about it...it hit Kerala and Kanataka a few days ago.  It'll reach Mumbai by mid-June, so everyone thinks and Vadodara by the end of June - then we'll all run out and enjoy getting wet.  We haven't even seen a cloud for a year !  Dry, arid, Gujarat is waiting for the deluge !

Bilas can't wait, the commissioned oil painting is finished, but with the humidity, it'll take a month to dry - so he's heading for the Himalayas - 'I can't wait to feel the cool air of the forests, in the foothills of the mountains.' he said with conviction, and you could almost hear him putting down his paintbrush and running out the door.

DEBUNKING BANKIM

Bankim sat behind his desk looking urbane and satisfied.  An easy smile creased his face every now and then.  He looked like an ex public school boy, tall, medium build, nice looking, without it being worrying and above all, confident.  I sat on the other side of the desk.  Bankim is a property developer cum house agent and I'd come to talk to him about finding an apartment.  His 'office' is situated on the ground floor of a three-story structure which he built 3 years ago.  The interesting thing is that it is just a concrete shell with no front to it.  Bankim occupies the whole of the vast ground floor - and in this huge space there is only Bankim's desk and 2 chairs !  The building has no walls so a pleasant breeze passes through this wind sock, making air conditioning unnecessary.

'The value of this property has increased by 100%,and  it's increasing in value as I sit here' !  He quoted square meter prices to me and converted them into dollar and pound value with the help of his Blackberry.  We talked about property as an investment and he spoke with the easy assurance of someone in the 'know'.  'Well you can make a lot of money out of property, but some people don't'  'But how can you be sure of making a profit in the property business', I asked.  'It's all written in your horoscope - we have one drawn up when we are born'  he replied !

Why worry, when it's all written in the stars  ?

IN A NUT SHELL

One tall Italian technician not speaking one word of English, having arrived 10 days earlier, a group of puzzled Indian factory managers and me, versed in the arts of the Italian Renaissance, holding the key to it all.  Could I translate his technical know-how into English for the factory owners and their questions into Italian for the specialist - this would involve a whole pantheon of new vocabulary involving words like cast iron, molds, conveyor belts, nickel and chrome to add to my 'contrapposto' 'sfumato' and chiaroscuro !

'We want to be better than the best in the world',    the Manager explained.  The machines around us hissed and steamed, the noise was terrible.  We retreated from the factory floor into an air conditioned cubicle.  As they explained their aspirations, the technician explained the limitations....'you need to change the equipment - it needs to be upgraded...you need also then to change the training and thinking of the work force from the lowest to the highest....you cannot have machines breaking down and stopping for one hour here and two hours there...you need to spend more on raw materials..if you want to enhance the quality.....this will be expensive...we had to do it in Italy in 1962...it was tedious and took time and a lot of effort...your staff need to be dedicated and put in many working hours...to achieve this improved target'

Now I looked for a reply from the factory managers...'hmmmm, but the equipment is old...it is always breaking down...we cannot change from cast iron to steel overnight....it will cost a lot and more than this...... it is the marriage season at the moment and a lot of the workers are not here, even our factory manager is not here - he is attending a wedding and weddings can take days, here in India' .....   'La stagione di amore',  said the Italian admiringly.....'si..... quella e una grossa problema - difficile, non si puo fare niente'! !?

BRANDING

They all had to come off - the gold bracelet, which has never left my wrist, was first, then gold necklace, rings and earrings and finally my watch.  Walking around in temperatures of 45 C plus, is lethal, if you are wearing metal and I have scorch marks and wheals to show for it - so the little pile of branding irons has been relegated to a cupboard, awaiting the Monsoon and cooler weather ! 

Having only had cold water in the hot taps in winter, we now have only hot water in the cold taps in summer -  the water tanks are stored out on the roof !

INFERNO

Clouds of dust created a smokey haze over the road as sari clad women,   bearing basins of sand on their heads, threw the contents onto the road and returned to a seemingly never diminishing pile to repeat the process.  To one side, three barrels of tar boiled on an open wood fire sending up plumes of smoke to add to the haze.  Women carrying basins of tar stepped over the rough stones in their slip slops, while others prepared for their shift at the cauldron.  Piles of stones of different grades waited to be tipped onto the road.  This image of human toil, heat and dust, blazing fires and 45 C temperatures, seemed worthy of Dante !  Jetalpur Road is under construction - every inch of it hand made.

In sharp contrast to this mayhem is the suspension bridge which connects north and south Mumbai, opened by Sonia Gandhi last year.  Suspended above the Arabian Sea, its elegant lines soar overhead and stretch for over 5 kms, the thin steel cables beautifully lit at night, look ethereal and suffuse, as one flies over a surface, seemingly held up effortlessly, by gossamer threads, with the glittering lights of the city,  as a backdrop.  The changing face of India.

CONSTRUCTION WORKER

THE ROAD BUILDERS

TWO STRANGE TALES

"I was looking at this tree when all of a sudden, for about 18 seconds, leaves started falling from it.  After a few minutes, the same thing happened again and leaves began falling to the ground - what do you think of that ?"  "Are you sure there wasn't a monkey in the tree or a crow ?"  I asked skeptically.  The business man and owner of the Thali Restaurant, where I had just eaten lunch, looked at me and shook his head.  "No it was Autumn and because there is no wind to shake the leaves down, the tree has devised a way of doing it"  It was 45 C outside,  the fan whirled behind me, could this serious man seriously believe that a tree could shed its leaves at will, as if it had a mind ?

"There was a small shrine in our garden, where I grew up, dedicated to the snake god and  a viper, lived near that shrine - it had white whiskers or white markings which looked like whiskers.  Every evening it would come into the centre of our yard and lie there for all to see.  My great grandfather first noticed it and the story was handed down the family generation by generation, I saw it myself as a boy...the same snake....which means it was 150 years old !  We believed it protected our family...  And it did.  One day my brother's son, who ran a motorbike business in a private complex, had his business closed after a dispute with the residents of the complex.  They locked the doors of the shop and put padlocks on all entrances.  My nephew was very upset and went to the shrine to pray to the snake god.  That night the watchman reported seeing a snake which was unafraid of his stick, it approached him and then after a few moments, slithered off to the  premises where the shop was and wound itself around each padlock and then left, as silently as it had come.  First thing the next morning the locks were taken off the doors, the residents said the dispute was over, he would be allowed to continue to run his business.  His prayer was answered."  In the heat of the day, I was mesmerized, feeling transfixed by his unblinking gaze - had I imagined these stories ? 

IT'S ALL IN THE MIND

A new message on my mobile phone announced the arrival of an exhibition at Trisha Gallery of 'Geeta of Calcutta's All White Summer Collection'.  Every dress, top and korta was either white cotton or silk.   Since the weather is eternally summer with each day identical to the next, people mark the missing seasons by wearing colours appropriate to the concept of the season.  Officially it's summer, so everyone is wearing white because it looks cool.  In October, everyone will wear yellows, browns and greens, suitably autumnal.   Whereas in December and January (officially winter), red and black are popular and in March, pale green and pink are favoured, despite the heat and the dust. 

I chose a white cotton top with a cut work design and a blaze of silver thread down the centre - just the thing for a summer's evening !  "You won't wear that in the West", a friend cautioned me !  I wonder - not even in summer ?

1ST MAY

I looked at the weather forecast for the week, it confirmed my worst fears - sunny spheres beamed back at me, no clouds, no rain, no wind, just sunshine and temperatures of 42 C every single day...this is Gujarat, the driest and hottest state in India, apart from Rajasthan.  Saturday, 1st May, marked the 50th anniversary of the founding of the State of Gujarat...the economic engine of India .....so I took a rickshaw ride around town to see how they celebrated this auspicious event.  Festoons of lights, in the tricolor of the Indian National Flag, are draped over every Government Building, including Inland Revenue, which looks more like a popular discotheque, than a place of serious accounting, lights decorate every shrub and tree on every traffic circle, garlands of lights are draped over walls - Baroda has turned into a mini 'Vegas' !

They've even brought out a book on Baroda's medicinal herbs and plants - they are all located in the Vice Chancellor's Garden, which would explain a new statue I noticed, peeping over the fence - he is brightly gilded and god like and represents the physician to the gods and keeper of herbal remedies.  Coriander is the herb most people would never be without and in the summer, chai is made with mint, rather than ginger, which is a winter warmer.

This is also the mango season - they hang from trees like huge elongated green baubles, and the Indian Cuckoo is heard everywhere - a strange call, which increases in intensity as it goes up the scale, sounding increasingly hysterical. " It's associated with summer and mangoes,"  Trupti explained to me.  She went on to tell me about the King Cobra which had lived in a drain in their front garden - it would come out at night and slide off to hunt in the open fields nearby - it didn't bother them at all, but it did bother their night watchman.  He would sit on a chair outside their front door and the cobra would come out with much hissing and hood extended looking at him with malignant disapproval, until the frightened man was forced to move his chair to another part of the garden.  This game went on every night, but in the end the neighbours were so afraid, that they implored them to get rid of it.

The trapping of this King Cobra became the major event of the street, with everyone watching, from a safe distance, as they first flooded the drain until a very angry snake emerged and was deftly encouraged into a waiting bag by the snake handler - who then announced that it was female and there could be young ones - a cry of horror went up from the crowd at the idea of possibly another 30 of them !  Trupti now has no need of a watchman, as nobody will come near the property for fear of meeting one of the offspring !