Flamenco in Bangalore

The stage was back lit in turquoise green - the figure in front was wearing black, strong shadows, gleaming guitar...the first notes, gentle, caressing - reined back fire, lightning, passion. Soon the fingers were moving with blurry speed, amazing music transporting me to another world of wild spirits, boundless freedom, throaty full voices, exuberant lives - lives of wanderers, gypsies of Andalusia - swirling skirts, leaping gold fires, sounds of flamenco guitar and gypsy violin, clapping hands, and tapping feet - close, passionate, recklessly open..all this I conjured up even as the program started. And, as intensely anticipated, the guitar was accompanied by gypsy violin, percussion, voice (what a full bodied, throaty, resounding voice she had!) and beat of clapping hands - and finally "Farooqo". Slim, strong, curly long hair flowing down his shoulders, raven eyebrows, flashy eyes ,and that smile - a supremely confident, vain smile of the really young, really beautiful, and really, really able...his feet moved in vanishing fast beats, his body leapt in amazing grace, and his fair flew in wild wings as he mesmerised us - hand to his heart, another snapping in rhythm, feet stomping wildly, flamboyantly, in perfect accord with the music - the music that played in his head, in his body, mostly his feet - he pirouetted in disregard to balance, gravity, in complete abandon to what moved him inside and what set us, the audience completely wild, sharing, rejoicing - tonight in Bangalore.

Living Life Dangerously...

That night the skies rented and deluged the land. I lay awake to the rains pounding, drumming to heartbeats, quickened, elated, pumped up with adrenaline, to the percussion of thunder claps, flashes of lightening. In the blind black of my room sounded the running, pacy changing beats of teen-taal in this megh-night.

Next day, I started late for the farm. The underpass on my route was unpassable, thigh deep in water. Backtracking to catch a bus, I found that the morning rush hour had already started. The buses rushed by periliously tilted towards road with people hanging out in swarms. One such bus was stopped at the traffic signal, going in my direction. Running between wavy lines of halted cars, vehicles, I reached the bus and yelled at the people to 'make space' - a woman standing on the last step turned smiling and said "there is no more room inside" - I hesitated, undecided, weighed by a big clumsy bag that I carried in one hand, when the traffic signal turned green. The bus inched forward, and suddenly, without thought, I was squeezed between people, hanging out the last step, on this tilted bus, hanging on to my bag with one hand, and my hold on life with another....the bus sped on shiny, wet tar within reaching inches of other cars, scooters.

The wind blew against my face pushing my hair back - I was the last person on the bus - excited, elated, happy to be living life dangerously.

I am Lucky...

When life gets too much...and yes, it gets too much for the most sane of us, then I retreat to my farm. I am lucky I have a farm outside Bangalore, a farm that yields little - not much grain, little fruit, sometimes vegetables.

Bangalore has been lashed by heavy rains - late this year, too late to save my crop of lentils and millets - the well has been dry all summer long, the earth crumbly and brown.

However, when I approached my farm this time, I saw that the earth was green and blue! The land wore a surreal sheen and clouds floated across the once barren land. Giving a whoopee I ran down the path and plunged into moving, shaky, splashy earth - my slippers got caught in the grime under - had to plunge elbow deep to tear them out - ouch, ouch, ouch, the vile touch me nots were jabbing my feet under water - but no matter! what did I care! Muniamma, my farm help, laughed at my enthusiasm for water and followed me at a more modest step.

The earth at the upper levels was also soggy wet and the water tank that collected rainwater was full to its lip...the barren well was two thirds filled with reddish-brown water - not fit to drink yet - but a happy enough sight..roses bloomed in a hundred shades of pink and the vines were dotted with periwinkle blue flowers. It was time for some serious work - soft earth would make the clearing easy, digging a delight.

While the sun blazed down scorching our backs, we worked, Muniamma and I, clearing, chopping and replanting - adding to sections of the green fencing, mulching with tall grasses, burying seeds, bulbs. I harvested one single tiny brinjal for sambhar, and a few star fruits. We worked till it seemed that layers of skin would peel off in chocolate wafers and sweat trickled down our backs.

And then - sudden dark - clouds rolling in fast - at a touchable height, greay, dark and inviting threatening...we stretched up to gaze even as huge polka dots splashed our faces - no point seeking shelter - we grinned and stuck our tongues out to catch pristine drops straight in our mouths.

I am lucky to have my farm...

An Unusual Art exhibition in Bangalore

Wonders never cease! Just when you are getting accustomed to a feeling of jaded age, of becoming crusty, thick skinned, hard, as if nothing can reach your core, or maybe you have lost a core that cares, Wham!! a life's surprise knocks you off your feet , throws you staggering back, penetrates all those protective layers that experience has clothed you in, to restart an inner melt down....

Today, Bangalore hosts an unusual art exhibition by Animisha Nagnur. For about a two kilometer stretch from the Sadashivnagar police station to Ramiah College, on the new BEL road, canopied on both sides and along its entire length by giant, old, trees, are life size figures of humans, cutout on cheap brown paper, hands wide spread, hugging these trees....some in profile, some with their backs to us, these simple images are strong, powerful reminders of our deep, strong connectedness to trees and the natural world - lifelines of our existence. Most of these images also carry messages to inspire us, make us aware, care, shake our apathy, to protect the existence of those, that keep us existing. Its not surprising, the kind of public response these childish cut outs are inspiring; pedestrians, cycles, motorcycles, autos, cars are stopped along the way, people pondering in silence, viewing in wonder-a sight of men hugging trees- thats it - in fact, just a brown paper cutout of men hugging trees. This exhibition is strongly evocative and timely reminder of the famous Chipko movement in northern India when people literally 'stuck' themselves to trees, to prevent large scale destructions of their forests.

Within the current, fast paced and out-of-control growth and development of Bangalore, trees are the first victims, to be replaced by mazes of flyovers, glittery malls, parking lots. While a large fraction of Bangalore's populace welcomes these changes, and ignores the price with which we pay for it, this exhibition certainly provides that pause, in our speeding lives, to wonder "is the price too high?"

Thank you Animisha Nagnur for your stark message, and thank you, Hasiru Usiru, for bringing this powerful work to our attention.

Encountering Courage

A few days back, a prominent social activist A.D. Babu from Bangalore was brutally assassinated with swords and knives, in broad daylight, on a national highway, in full view of his companions. The murderers got away and have remained at large despite eye witnesses providing full information and being willing to identify the culprits.

Mr. Babu was fighting, amongst other matters, the prominent liquor lobby that operates and funds most political parties, and hence wields extraordinary influence within corrupted government and police. He was on his way to address an anti-liquor rally just outside Bangalore when the incidence took place.

Mr. Babu had been threatened many a times, the latest call being on the night before his murder.

So what drives some people so? What makes them invincible, fearless, secure both about their survival and also about their chosen path? Is it that they have become blind in their zeal to save the world, or at least the poor, downtrodden, and the non-accounted?

I remember now a conversation that I had had long back with Medha Patkar when she had said that she and the other activists were exactly the same as the rest of us -they desired the same comforts, happiness, peace, and had the same doubts, uncertainties, fears.

At the condolence and protest meeting for Mr. Babu, this fear was palpable- as was a calm resolve - to not let this incidence go unnoticed, become another statistic. It was clear that this was a rare breed of people, who would not bow down to its fears. I was facing an extraordinary courage, of a people who had little to lose, or rather, who recognised that they lost more if their fears won. So they lived and continued their struggle despite their fears. Their courage was raw, bold, blatant-as blatant as Babu's response to the threats -"If my life is taken, there will be ten other Babus to take my place". At that meeting, I realised that what he said was true..several people there were capable and keen to take his place and have the movement be pushed forward. They had realised a path, that I could merely talk about-the path of duty, righteousness, the Geeta path.

It was my good fortune to be amongst them, even for so short a time.

Horror of Horrors!

Last night, the first rains hit us in Bangalore-today the residence campus wore a sparkley look of a well scrubbed child-glistening, moist, clean-very clean. I decided to walk back home from one of those rare ventures out of the walled, green world that I live in...into the real world of chaotic traffic, noise, puddles from the afternoon rain. The mood was upbeat, almost daring - to wander out, far, in a drizzle full of evening light.

The walk back home took me past a campus gate thats usually locked-today it was open-I was happy to be able to reach into the campus, sooner than expected, anticipating a dark, drippy walk through the familiar forested areas-a quiet, meandering to the back end of my home. What I saw belies imagination, of the worst sort, a living nightmare-the forest had vanished! Large tracts now lay beaten, brown with large concrete frames rising from it. Monuments were being built, monuments to egos larger than mortal frames, egos seeking to imprint their transitory existence into concrete immortal blocks, of steel, glass-green now vanished, vanquished, scheduled to reappear- isolated into tiny islands of manicured lawns, well appointed bush, a correctly angled tree, imagined in the minds and offices of architects, city planners employed to creatively orchestrate this destruction.

What assumed rights leads to such behavior, the megalomaniac tendencies of human race, to destroy to create- more and more out-of-proportion with our rights, our race? With what callousness do we wipe out-the rights of life, of species, big and small-of trees that breathe? birds that sing? flowers that bloom?

Beyond the horror of destroying a living, green, forest, what does a scientific institute like ours hope to achieve? A large bill board advertises the nature of the project and its cost. Various science departments are being relocated from their old, functioning buildings of aged, mulled, stone, to swanky spaces-also a guest house for the foreign dignitaries. We must remember, that who we are, is not what we do, but how we clothe, the face we show - to an audience of 'international' (read first world) peers. The cost of these set of buildings-about Rupees 48 crores!!Will these new buildings enable/ guarantee better science, productivity? studies of more socially relevant, environmentally sensitive topics, which the nation needs? With what right does our government appropriate such vastly inappropriate sums of national funds to irrational, irrelevant, non-contexted science that does not raise us from poverty, illiteracy, inequity which grinds into the pores of daily life-grits the flavor of our existence?

To provide context, it requires about one lakh to do watershed development for a village, similar or less to open a balwaadi for primary education. Basic health care and a first aid centre between a few villages is still an unheard fantasy!
So, one can either have 4800 of such programs, or 4 fancy buildings for IISc!! And note, much more is being built for empire expansion within this campus! I am only talking about the project that I crossed today-other side of the campus is a bigger mess using probably, bigger funds!

The question is, how much of this activity has the attention of what fraction of our enlightened faculty?? Did they know and not care? or not know? or not want to know? Why do the students not protest? Are there no angels, sentinels to guard what we so wantonly destroy? To keep us off the destructive path? Who will save us?

Transparent Days, Transparent Heart

Bangalore is blessed with a climate, temperate, cool, green, central in the dusty, bouldered, searing, tropical, deccan plateau, in southern India. And then even amongst our normally sylvan days, there are times that really stand out. Autumn days have suddenly descended amongst us, cold, clear, transparent, bathed in pure light-illuminating our world with radiance, our lives with an unexplained joy. Fresh out of the delayed monsoons, our green world is now internally lit, in pockets of jade and emerald,sparkley and clear, to wipe away the cobwebs, unexplained, unnecessary, to soothe tumultuous hearts, to quieten our days, to let our spirits breathe in deep-the cold, clear air, humming to gentle melodies, of calm and quietude. Time to retire, to rejuvinate, and learn to live, again.

A Bus Ride To Vardhenahalli

There are ways and ways of experiencing "the world go by". Some of you have probably romanticised about outdoor cafes in pleasant European cities, say Paris, Florence, with affluent,and beautiful people walking by while you sip on your expresso. And then, there is a bus ride one can take to Vardhenhalli-at the other end of the experiential spectrum. This ride is neither for the romantic, nor for the faint hearted.

Vardhenahalli lies on Magadi road that leads only to Magadi- a small, bustling, inconsequential town. The route from Bangalore gets increasingly provincial to rural-as in mud roads, mud homes, increasingly pleasant and untouched landscapes-fewer vehicles, higher hills,curvy roads, dams, bridges,boulders and the great Savandurga dominating the landscape-like a sleeping elephant.

This is the road a bus takes. And in this bus one encounters a different world-more tangible,cacophonous,garrish,entirely human-too much so-too much physical, emotional. A seat that can take two is occupied by three adults, two children, luggage-never mind whose children, whose luggage. If then one makes the mistake of meeting a gaze, there's always that sweet, entreating smile with "Solpa Adjust Madi" (some,adjust,make)-i.e.make space for a little more. A request thats difficult to refuse. And then, when you are sure that the bus can hold no more, it still makes a stop for a large pedalled sewing machine, a diesel generator, a couple carrying bundled, sqwaking hens like some upside down bouquets, and many more passengers.Its also perfectly normal for passengers to reach over people, stick their heads out of the window, to spit, throw up, and dispose of various bodily and other non-wantables.

On such a bus, a smallest disagreement leads to open warfare-to the enthusiastic, and encouraging support from spectators.The winner is always the one who can garner most support-never mind who is right. And all this happens as the bus hurtles at a neck breaking speed, clanging through potholes, speed breakers, near misses of cows, goats, pedestrians, road side market stalls, taking U-turns, slippery downhills, to finally volley you out -dazed, giddy, with your luggage at your destination-Vardhenahalli. And all this, only for twelve rupees??