fortunate coincidence, I was recently contacted by a young singer, Oktawia Kawęcka, who had just recorded a cover of the Oscar winning “Writing’s on the Wall” by Sam Smith (well, at that point in time it hadn’t won an Oscar yet), asking for an editor. It was extremely hard to resist the temptation. So I didn’t
IBC hold a very dear place in my heart. Even though my daily job now is software development, I decided not to skip the event this year. I did limit my attendance to just Saturday and Sunday though.
It is ironic that so many Indians are shouting themselves hoarse on social media platforms about the new president of a country 12,000 km away – and urging their friends – to do the same, yet the chances are they do not even know their own neighbours. Come to think of it, I barely know any of ours either though we have been living in the area for nearly 20 years.
And it was brought home to me last weekend at the annual Vasantotsav organized by our residents welfare organization. A pretty lady in a green saree walked up to me just as I was taking a closer look at a paper sign on a stall selling “Mystery Muffins” and chocolate-covered strawberries at Rs 20 each. It said ‘Free Friends Available Here’.
And therein lies a story, recounted by the lady in green, Madhumita. She has grown up in our neighbourhood, but like many quiet single-storied residential colonies, the area had changed. Older people passed on or moved out, old houses have made way for builder flats and (in my opinion) prosperity has meant jealously guarded “privacy”.
The result is that no one knows their neighbours any more, and no one has any friends nearby any more. Neighbourhoods are not organic, intertwined entities but mere collections of dwelling units with inhabitants. Why that should matter in these days of 24/7 social media and smartphone connectivity is not always apparent. But it does.
Love is not an emotion!
Beauty and her lovable Beast: Rishi and Neetu Kapoor
I sat on the dining table with my sternest expression and launched into my disciplinarian mode, explaining not only why things had to be done but why they had to be done in a time frame and in a particular manner. It’s a familiar zone I enter into, especially given the fact that I’m mother to two teenagers. However, this time I just stopped and said, “You know, it’s so awful I have to be this person. It’s so unfair that I have to adopt this persona and be so responsible and firm and hard-nosed. I don’t like being this person. But I have to, because, having you kids made me into a parent. I was a kid too and I so enjoyed my freedom, my spontaneity, my give a damn attitude.” The fact is that having children force us into automatically becoming parents. The child within us who just wants to play and have fun suddenly gets riddled with roles and responsibilities. It’s actually terribly unfair to the part of us that doesn’t want to grow up. I’ve always said, “I’m fine with growing old, I’m not okay with growing up”. Also, there’s a big difference in being “childlike” and being “childish”.
The works on the walls at the Lalit Kala speak of soil tones, Athvayu says, adding that the walls are symbolic for him. “I can see so many colours in the single shade of mud and eyes look for colours all the time.”
The works that stand apart are the ones reflecting the mud toned textures of the soil. In one work, he uses the symbol of an eclipse. “I think of blending the smaller parts, the ‘aakriti’, as elements that are mixed I think of them as wholes and slice them – just the way we think of our thoughts.”
Meet Anil Athvayu, a brilliant abstract artist who just unveiled a small show of stunning abstracts at Lalit Kala Akademi in Delhi.