'WELL I NEVER'

.....In my mind Bhopal, a large city in Madhya Pradesh, was associated with the world's worst chemical industrial disaster, in 1984, when a gas leak from a factory in the city,  caused the immediate death of 3000 people and many more deaths followed.   So, on the list of 'things to do in India', a visit to Bhopal was not one of them.

The invitation to an art exhibition to commemorate the 96th Birthday of India's most famous artist, M.F. Hussein, who died in London, earlier this year,  caught my attention.   I wondered what the connection was between the artist, whose screen prints, were on show and M.F. Hussein, a very controversial figure in the art world, because of his seemingly irreverent depiction of Hindu Gods and Goddesses.  India had a love/hate relationship with Hussein, who lived in exile in Dubai and had earned the title of India's 'Picasso'.

The present exhibition, had nothing to do with the art of Hussein - the colourful screen prints were filled with light and harmonious abstraction.   The artist had started his life as a textile designer and had a great affection for the calm, simple art of the tribal people - so what was the link with Hussein ?  "We both come from Bhopal" he said simply.  In a stroke, Bhopal took on a completely different significance - a centre for Contemporary Art ? !

SLUMS

The cacophony of sound from outside - banging, drilling and soldering, went on all day and curiosity got the better of me - by the afternoon, I decided to investigate.  They had built a shed around the water tanks, in the car parking area under the apartment block, with an aluminium roof and padlocked door.  This little building fitted in neatly, partly obscured by the supporting pillars of the building.   I was told that it was necessary because of the monkeys.  A few days later, I noticed that the "left-over" aluminium sheeting, had now been attached to the watchman's shed, also in the undercroft, to create a porch and a chair with cushion had been placed in this new extension to his shack.  I wondered how long it would be before his living space was enlarged even more and how many other family members would join him, at present, he and wife lived there with his two daughters and grandparents, but the population varied, according to necessity.

The interesting thing is the close proximity of slums to the expensive dwellings of the rich.  As you fly into Mumbai, the first thing you notice is the huge slum which abuts the international runway, with mile upon mile of aluminium roofs, forming a patchwork of poverty.  Mumbai has 4 of the biggest slums in the world - they dominate the city and impose themselves in an inescapable way, just as they do all over India.  Gandhi once said that if the village died, so would India.  But it would seem that the village triumphs, whether it is in town or country, because  you can take the man out of the village but you can't take the village out of the man.

MEETING THE MAHARAJAH

The old palace, built for the Maharajah's daughter, was now a crumbling shadow of its former self.  Constructed in the 19th century, by one of the finest architects of the British Raj, with a timber frame and red brick, the stone work detailing, overhanging balconies and courtyard filled with palm trees, still evoked a romantic echo, of an illustrious family, living a life of privilege and power.

The Maharajah once ruled the State, palaces were built for all his progeny and their collection of paintings, sculptures and jewels, was legend. The 'Pearl Carpet and Canopy', made of pearls and rose cut diamonds, was sold in 2009, so too the Baroda double-string, pearl necklace.  Diamonds like the famous Star of the South, English Dresden, Empress Eugenie, Akbar Shah and Moon of Baroda,  were now just names.   Time and necessity have eroded the stockpile of gem stones - and the palaces have either been taken over by the military, or lie in ruins, as discarded relics of the past.

Nevertheless, I felt some surprise, when I was told that the Maharajah could see me at 12.30 the following day.  The grounds leading up to the palace, which now serves as the family office, were a tangle of weeds and monsoon mud, which made the approach slippery.  The old wooden staircase creaked and at the top I found corridors of empty rooms.  His secretary's room was open and the usual supporting cast of one or two elderly men wearing caps, sat on empty benches outside.  I only had to wait 5 minutes and was shown into the Maharajah's office.  He was talking on his mobile phone and a barely audible 'namaste' was breathed in my direction, as he continued his conversation.  The room was dark, but not very different to the other empty rooms I'd seen.  He was a good looking man, who wore a faint air of disdain and ennui - I thought of his illustrious ancestors and their exotic lifestyle and now,  overtaken by history and change, this man was negotiating to turn the main family palace, which rivals Buckingham Palace in size,  into a hotel, with 18 hole golf course - the family would move into a small villa in the grounds.

I had come to talk about doing some research on an artist whose work was in the family collection.  As he spoke, the meerest twinkle lit his eyes and he immediately arranged for me to see the appropriate person.  Reflecting afterwards, I realised that despite his availability and his ready interest in my topic, the real work of actual access, getting past all the minor officials, still lay ahead and in India, that is like entering a maze and whether you ever reach your objective, is in the lap of the Gods, or the amount of baksheesh you are willing to pay.

THE RETURN....

"Have a nice day" he said....I looked at my watch....3.30 a.m. and I was collecting a cup of coffee from 'Coffee Day' in the Domestic Departures Lounge in Mumbai.  I reflected on whether you could wish anyone a nice day at that hour of the morning.....?

The impact of the return to Asia was making itself felt already.  In the West, nothing much happens after 11 p.m. - the West sleeps, but not so in the East - airports are more lively from 11 p.m. onwards - many flights departing at 2 in the morning !

More adjustments would follow, as the ordered clarity of Tuscany and its rows of vineyards began to fade from my mind - I was in the process of swopping the First World for the Third....Chianti, where it was cheaper to drink wine than water for Gujarat, with its prohibition against alcohol - even a sip of wine, could land you in prison for a couple of nights with a hefty fine to follow.....