Watching the Watchers: How Art in Mumbai Reflects Its People
I went on my first gallery hop. It would have to be in South Bombay. I’m aware that there must be art galleries in the suburbs too. But suburban Mumbai life is such a frantic sprint for time and money, it feels impossible to relax and be reflective the way I think art demands. Or maybe this is who I am internally, suburban Mumbaiker by identity and the only way I can access that side of me is to take myself out of the familiar grind of homegrounds.
My first stop was Jehangir Art Gallery. I’ve carved a solid if rather insecure creative identity for myself as a writer. Music was always a part of my identity even non-consensually. And as a native Mumbaiker, I’ve reluctantly let in cinema into my left brain.
But art, real art, the kind that you go to art galleries to view, the kind of art galleries that posh offbeat folks from the 70s were seen at – I still stand outside that. Taking comfort from the memories of David Sassoon Library across the road where I had my most recent creative breakthrough (and it’s a library and that’ll always feel like home), I boarded the train.
Wait up, the visual signage on the ladies compartment has changed! And how! I love that it has gone from the ati sanskari ghoonghat’d smiling woman to Resting BitchFace ‘hi-fi modern lady’. I feel seen, seen, seen. This is me.
Someone in the Mumbai Metropolitan railway department has quietly reframed how the typical Mumbai woman is and they’re closer to reality. For what are Mumbai women but professional and too matter-of-fact to smile just to please men? Even the daily domestic workers dress neatly and say “This is my workplace. I am dressed to go to work.” Who has got the time for anything else?
From my last conversation with street photographers, I knew to focus on something. I didn’t want to photograph paintings or drawings in a gallery. That would be like going to a multiplex and recording the movie on your phone. There is, as the kids call it, a whole vibe to experiencing art with other people who are there with the express intention of viewing it.
What kind of people look at art? The answer seems like it should be everybody who can see (a fact curiously hammered into me because I met four visually impaired people singing for coins, on my train ride). But art is everywhere around us, even in a dirty, every-inch-costs city like mine. Who’s got the time to stop and notice it? We’re absorbing it by osmosis most of the time.
So instead, I decided to grab moments of moving life – the people who were looking at the art. How do they dress? How do they look when they think? What does their body language reveal about their inner journeys triggered by the painting they’re viewing? And I’ve known photographers to be the most reluctant, camera-shy of subjects.
“If I could draw, I wouldn’t be holding a camera.”
said Gopal, leading us into a discussion about photography and drawing/painting. I don’t agree. I think each is its own form of art, the tools just an artefact of the differences.
Painting/drawing is bound by technique only and you could make my dupatta lurid pink instead of indigo, if you so chose. Photography on the other hand, is bound by time. You’re stealing a microsecond away from Grandfather Time and trying to hold on to it.
Of course, just like a child grabbing a beautiful flower only to find it crushed, that very act can kill the livingness of the moment. That’s why blurry photos are not considered good photographs. The camera is not meant to capture the movement of life (and I won’t go into film).
You know, I think I’m liking visual art even more than verbal arts. If this was a conversation between writers only, I’d feel the need to make war with words and prove my point. Instead, I had my sweet little revenge by stealing a voyeuristic view of my two photographer friends on camera.
Our second stop was Tarq. I have performed at this gallery on multiple occasions. Once, I wrote a piece inspired by artist Soghra Khurasani’s collection and my musician friend, Karthik Rao played an impromptu accompaniment on his guitar as I performed the poem (Cratered Fiction/Paper Dolls). Another time, in honour of the exhibit of threadwork, I collaborate with LizzyBeth on the interwoven narratives of women. The physical space of the gallery has shifted to a new address though.
And I found myself unable to focus on the photographs on exhibit with the same sharp insight and instant stories. I think I experience visual overwhelm in much the same way as I do audio overstimulation. But thankfully, my eyes are better friends with my brain than my ears are. I shifted to technique to steer me through the mayhem in my head and still grasp living value from the moment. I had two nice experiences of shifting points of view in photography.
The first, the last piece of gallery food – an artistically created vada pav slider. One shot from within the carefully curated space, perfect in temperature, sound levels at equilibrium and a consistent homogeniety of class. The other shot from outside the gallery window, the glass coated with the dust of the city, the light diffused through pollution, leaves and the time of the day. Of course it looks less clear because that’s what life in this city feels like – Collective Overwhelm.
The second is actually outside the gallery and on the street. I found I couldn’t keep up with the conversation. It felt like my brain was lying in the center of high-speed traffic. So I withdrew to a corner and reached for my handy sketchbook. Doing something with my hands is also a good way to ground myself when I’m overwhelmed. And drawing was my comfort place even when I was five.
Fahim and Gopal were standing on the pavement, answering questions about photography, cameras and more. This time I was not being the voyeur I was at Jehangir Art Gallery. I was clinging to their silhouettes to guide me out of the mayhem. As I sketched the people in front of me, Fahim looked up and shot a photograph of me. And isn’t that the perfect close to a gallery hop – the jugalbandi of two points of view?
I didn’t know that South Bombay had a sizeable Malayalee nook. Menus in Malayalam, waiters answering to cheta and a magnificent kathakali photograph on the walls.
Linguistic diversity means cultural freedom in India. This feels truer in the wake of the vandalism enacted on The Habitat because a political party objected to a standup comedy routine shot there.
Fahim opened roza with a plate of fruit and what Gopal called ‘Malayalee pasta but made of rice’. Aslam wedged into a seat oppposite to a stranger and asked for a chaya.
“All over, sir, only black tea available” was cheta’s reply.
And would you believe it, the Bombay ka shana charmed the sombre Mallu man seated opposite to him, into giving him half a cup of his chaya. This is everything art and artists and art-watchers should be.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
I went on a gallery hop. First, Jehangir Art Gallery where the main draw was a special exhibition by Sudhir Patwardhan. I also partook of other exhibits.
That may have contributed to my visual overstimulation – I only realised today that audio isn’t the only thing that overwhelms me. So at the next stop of Tarq, I moved to inanimate objects, where at Jehangir I had focussed on the people.
Is there a right way to enjoy art? I liked watching how other people enjoyed it. I felt my brain grow in the street conversations between @mumbaipaused@bombay_ka_shana& @camera_nomad. There’s an easygoing, matter-of-fact briskness about Mumbaikars who are also artists. The creative juices smooth the greed edge of Mayanagari while the claustrophobic pressure keeps us sensitive to the mundane.
: Pic 1 by @mumbaipaused, Me in pic 9 by @camera_nomad.
(@ideasmithy)