Samsara: A Scary Lifeless City

As I had said in my last post, thoughts come without notice. This weekend, I met an artist-adman-photographer Prashant Godbole who unwittingly got drawn into an exhibition of reclaimed everyday material — dried roots, yellowed leaves, twigs, chisels, barks — to bring home the arid, dry, lifeless environment in cities like Mumbai, or rather in most places of the world.

R.I.P Mother Nature: Godbole Laments the Loss of Greenery

Godbole, who has been working is several mediums since the last 30 years, ranging from street photography to the Hamara Bajaj ad campaign, was planning an exhibition of his paintings and sketches of conceptual art. He had booked the space months ago at Jehangir Art Gallery, like most artists do in this competitive space-crunched city. When the 56-year-old artist was toying with possibilities and ideas, something disturbing was happening in his neighbourhood. Around 50 trees were cut randomly near the famous Siddhivinayak temple in Prabhadevi where he resides; a public park in his vicinity was decimated one day; the trees on the main road leading to Shivaji Park were also gone a little later. Godbole was hurt by the growing lack of greenery in his locality, thanks to the construction of the underground metro railway. He wanted to react to the lifeless brown around him, and also wanted to see if he, as an artist, could bring back the green in some way.

Artist Prashant Godbole

He started working, three months ago, on a set of images that convey the barren city which different forces are contributing to. He juxtaposed nails, knobs, scrapped plywood, images of leafless trees and extravagant furniture, a discarded saw, twigs collected from a beach walk and much more from the everyday realm. His Samsara was presented at the Jehangir for six days, in which he invited the city to have a look at its collective unfolding future. His human and bird forms indicated the harm inflicted by the human race on itself. “By destroying the habitats of several species, we are doing no good to ourselves. In fact, we are writing, and speedily so, our own obituary, ” he comments.

Trees No More

In 22 artworks, wooden-framed and themed in black-white-brown, Prashant Godbole underlines the reasons why all of us need to oppose mindless construction activity and mega infrastructure projects, floated in the name of progress and globalisation. He shows the extent of damage. His Samsara urges us to take care of our ecology, to stop the “dance of death,” even if it is a bit too late.

The Dance of Death

Godbole’s aim is not just to sensitise us to the gory future. He wants to do more, which is why the proceeds of the exhibition are going to Grow Trees non-governmental group which ensures tree plantations are done in consonance with the ecosystem. “I am happy that they take the Gram Panchayats into confidence, so that wrong trees don’t take root,” he told this blogger.

More than anything else, Godbole is happy that Samsara has generated healthy interactions. Children, adults, tourists, city dwellers, collegians, conservationists, all types of individuals have visited and commented on the exhibits. “I am happy that my thought was received so warmly. Navwari-clad women getting off from the Mumbai Darshan buses at Kala ghoda have visited Samsara, so have children on the south Mumbai excursions, and so have entrepreneurs selling off-beat ideas. The exhibits have given rise to conversations centering around on the lack of trees. That traction is invaluable.”

Friends, it is the thought that counts. As I unpack my thought haversack, I look forward to sharing more. I end with a visual that captures artist Prashant Godbole’s thoughts-in-the-making while he was building his Samsara exhibition! I wish such creative restorative-yet-provoking spaces to all of us!

Coming from the Valley

Thoughts flow without notice, without warning, and often without much of a rational connect with the mood of the place from where they emerge.  The thought of writing a blog, which had struck me years ago when Digital India was in its infancy, reemerged in my mind a few days ago.  I was seated in the government guest house at Chatpal, (Anantnag-Chitergul road, Southern Kashmir, about 2123 kms away from Mumbai where I live).  I was on a vacation with my husband, miles away from my workplace and work-related thoughts.  The Midday culture column was not on my mind, neither any family commitments.  My mind was free to appreciate the curative sound of the flowing Neelum. We were in the non-interfering company of grazing sheep and horses, and a shepherding Gujjar family which had taken a temporary forest stop enroute Jammu. Our meals were taken care of and no mundane worries — aquaguard servicing or voter registration — had a place in the scheme of things.  The on-off electric supply in no way affected the sparkle of being in one of the secluded, serene and raw spots in Kashmir.  The motorable road ended at Chatpal, beyond which the glory of the mountains took over.

 

As I marveled at the advancing sunset, the idea of blogging my thoughts grew stronger – the need to journal stray thoughts, observations and ideas that I do not document in my journalistic work. I wanted a space where I could write about the movies and plays that I do not necessarily review. I wanted to document interesting trends in my Mahim-Matunga neighborhood that are worth sharing; also write about people who have fresh takes on everyday realities.  I also wanted to document my travels, which I believe bring great learnings. My Thought Haversack, as I call the blog, was therefore going to be a mix of comment, anecdote and recall – it was a reflection on life, as I see it.

Coming back to Chatpal, there is an aspect I wish to highlight.  If Chatpal is on your bucket list of destinations, you will be welcomed by the locals.  They will willingly pose for your selfies, the handful of families in the village will offer you salty non tea; you can savor the clean milky-white water of Neelum.  For fish lovers, the Trout in the area is a joyous treat. A morning trek to the mountain top offers the best form of oxygen.  But as you soak in the greenery, do not treat Chatpal to toxic loads of plastic. 

As we entered the PWD guest house, one of the few properties where tourists can spend the night, plastic wrappings, bottles, sachets, silver foils, chocolate bar remnants were strewn on the ground.  A day before our arrival, some local schools had sent their children to Chatpal for the customary picnic.  I found it painful to see the Clean India dream unrealized in far-off Chatpal. The place deserves better tourists.

One wonders why Indians, even at an early impressionable age, are unable to embrace public hygiene and community cleanliness.  There is no dearth of reformers and saints who have taught us the significance of a clean environment.  Clean India is a slogan that dates back to pre-Independence times.  The vision of a clean village was put forth emphatically by Gadge Maharaj in Maharashtra.  Mahatma Gandhi laid immense stress on clean neighborhoods.  However, Indians don’t seem to espouse the philosophy wholeheartedly.  We fetishize tree lined plush localities, beautifully done up homes, vast swimming pools, expansive golf courses and picturesque gardens.  But we don’t hesitate to throw off wafer packets on road journeys, despite having read the scary statistics about the harm caused by wrongly dumped garbage!  Plastic has clogged most of our river streams.

I was told the Jammu and Kashmir police authorities, specially appointed to guard the tourist spots, had noted down the names of the schools which had sent their wards to Chatpal for the excursion. The schools will be duly notified about the civic education that remains lacking in their students. Hopefully, the next batch of picnicking children will use dustbins and generate less plastic in the pristine land.

Rejuvenated and recharged, as I left Chatpal the next day, we took a short halt at Achabal Mughal Baug  (1620 A.D.), a scenic and worth-recommending slice of the Anantnag district.  The water fountains in the public park are the best in Kashmir, even better than those in the oft-visited Shalimar garden in Srinagar.  The relatively less-frequented Achabal is super-clean; its central water channel is linked to the Bringhi gushing nearby.  Lush Deodar trees in the park dot the multiple pavilions where tourists of all hues have a gala time.  At some distance outside the garden, I saw a Swaccha Bharat poster. I decided to sit for a moment to enjoy the foliage, in letter and spirit!

Friends, this is my thought haversack, from which I will be unpacking and unloading anecdotes at regular intervals.  This is a relatively new journey for me.  Your feedback and suggestions will be welcome.  I take your leave now, only to return with some more thoughts!