God is in the Art

If you are a Hindu, just look around your house. I can bet that you have at least one painting (or had at least) or figurine of one of the deities apart from the ones seated with all their benevolence in your pooja (prayer) room. The elephant headed Lord Ganesha, the playful and romantic cow herd Lord Krishna and Lord Shiva in his Cosmic Dancer form win the popularity vote as far as artifacts and canvasses are concerned. But in recent times, the monkey God – Lord Hanuman and Lord Vishnu in all his ten forms have been included in the camp.Indian art is so inextricably linked with Indian religion and philosophy, so much so that, the sculptures of Ajanta – Ellora, Khajurahu and the many ancient temples of India soon entered Hindu homes. Stone, bronze, terracotta, glass and even papier mache figurines of Indian Divinities depicting the sensual, virile, powerful qualities adorn every architectural space in India.

Consider for instance, the lobby of a plush five star hotel with its polished marble floor, high ceiling, spectacular chandelier, richly upholstered sofas and

a beautiful bronze idol of Ganesha seated on a wooden console, its radiance and luster enhanced by a focus light placed strategically above the piece.

Waxed wooden floors, Elvis memorabilia, suffused dim lighting, an all American menu, a rock shop, a live band that “rock n rolls”, autographed guitars and rare photographs from the days of rock. Just as these are the hallmark of any Hard Rock Café (be it Bengaluru, The Gold Coast, Bali, Warsaw, New York, Seoul and the list goes on) so is the proverbial image of lord Ganesh which finds a comfortable place in each of these exotic locations to enjoy the endless nights of rock n roll, all while he bestows his blessings on patrons.

Stylish, chic, modern apartments with accent rugs, contemporary furniture, walls painted in natural tones, plenty of throw pillows with embellishments. Perhaps a cozy nook with a corner table for coffee books, a lamp shade and small curios, a modern rendition of Lord Ganesh perhaps or a more traditional idol of Lord Krishna playing his flute or embracing his beloved Radha. A small hand crafted or stone carved Ganesh, a brass or wooden Hanuman may be a few amongst the bric-a-brac interspersed with books on the bookshelf.

Paintings and images of the Divine in a myriad hues, textures, shapes, and sizes can dress up many a white washed wall. Tranquil blues, fiery reds, refreshing greens, earthy browns can be combined to create a modern, abstract or traditional image of benevolent deities on paper, canvas, cloth, wood

and glass.

Even a modest, simple, humble abode will bear some objet d’art – a sandalwood murti (idol) of the Divine, an inexpensive terracotta piece or even a simplistic greeting card framed and mounted.

Indian art to me is but a manifestation of the Divine.

Art in India has always been considered a path of realization of the Ultimate Reality. It is spiritual in outlook, idealistic in expression and sublime in interpretation.- Ananda K. Coomraswamy.

 

Ironic India? Or Ironic Me?

For being a foreigner, Ashima is beginning to realize, is a sort of lifelong pregnancy-a perpetual wait, a constant burden, a continuous feeling out of sorts. It is an ongoing responsibility, a parenthesis in what had once been an ordinary life, only to discover that the previous life has vanished, replaced by something more complicated and demanding. Like pregnancy, being a foreigner, Ashima believes, is something that elicits the same curiosity from strangers, the same combination of pity and respect.
An excerpt from Jhumpa Lahiri’s “The Namesake”

The reason why I chose to quote this excerpt is because many a time I feel closely aligned to one of the main characters in the book-Ashima. An emotional Indian who cannot change her ways in a foreign land and who constantly longs for the familiarity of her world back in India. I often wonder why the likes of Ashima and me, fail to realize the bigger picture and wish to cling on the ‘previous life’. It was just the other day that a friend of ours swiftly and with utmost ease slashed my “Indian bubble” with what felt like a sharp gleaming Samurai sword-Swoosh!!!!!

He said, “What India are you talking about? The country where politicians are allowed to contest from jails?” That was the first swoosh.

“The country where you and say Amitabh Bachhan are not equal in the eyes of the law? No one is equal in the eyes of law there.” That was the second swoosh.

“The country where everything works on bribes and more bribes and still more bribes?” Third swoosh.

“The country where if a woman drinks it is normally looked down upon but no one fails to eve tease and commit other heinous crimes?” Fourth swoosh.

“The country where there are frequent power cuts, where basic necessities for survival like water, energy etc are rare commodities and now even rarer due to the politicization of that as well?” And then I lost count of the swooshes thereon.

Suddenly I felt like someone had gagged me. My mouth felt sealed and I had difficulty building a defense that could swoosh him into silence equally. And then I just said “Agreed. But unfortunately that’s how it is and whatever said and done its home and its where my heart belongs.”

I know it fails to sounds convincing and I am infact angered coz I know that we live in a less than perfect country. But when I think of India I somehow don’t think of the corruption, struggle, inequality and the endless list of vices but I just think about home. I think about Chennai. I think about family, street food, familiar localities and well to put it simply, just my way of life for the past 26 years. In a nutshell – I just think of my cocoon and blur the rest into oblivion. And thus no matter how perfect the foreign soil may be, it brings on a feeling of alienation, a sort of despondence or like Ashima said “a sort of lifelong pregnancy-a perpetual wait, a constant burden, a continuous feeling out of sorts.” The bigger picture? Guess I just swooshed it with my local Indian sickle.

India is the cradle of the human race, the birthplace of human speech, the mother of history, the grandmother of legend, and the great grand mother of tradition. Our most valuable and most astrictive materials in the history of man are treasured up in India only!”
Mark Twain