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faith review The common
thread The
wrath of Khan
faith Roadside temple Besides humans, floods in Sindh have also displaced the gods. A temporary temple in one of the tent-villages attracts passers-by By Shujauddin Qureshi The recent floods caused by
breaches in drainage canals after the heavy monsoon rains during the months
of August and If you drive from Mirpurkhas-Dighree road, a large number of flood affected people are still staying in the tents and makeshift huts on the road as rain and flood water stands on both sides of the roads. Near the famous bus stop of Karachi Hotel (it no longer exists), passers-by notice the presence of two colourful moortis (idols) of Hindu gods and goddess with a triangular white flag on their side, placed at a pedestal between the huts. A third bust of the Hindu
deity Shiva is in the process of being made on the roadside as the amateur
artist Kanjilal is busy giving the sculpture a shape with the help of cement,
Plaster of Paris and iron rods and nets. “I have placed these moortis of
Shiva and Sheran Wali Matta here because the temple in our village also
collapsed during the rains and we had to leave the village,” he says. “We
have made a temporary temple of Bhagwan in this place,” he says with a
pride. A majority of the rains/flood affected people belongs to low caste or Scheduled Caste Hindus who are mainly agriculture workers in the cotton growing areas and these peasants have suffered heavy losses due to rains. While they have their own separate temples, these low caste Hindus are facing discrimination and exclusion in the society. The largest temple for low caste Hindus is located in Tando Allahyar town, which is called Ramapir Mandir. “My katcha house
collapsed after the first spell of heavy rains on August 10 and the temple in
our village also collapsed, so we managed to take shelter at the roadside,”
said Kanjilal. “I have made this temporary temple on the roadside and we
get spiritual strength from them.” These moortis of Bhagwan are the assets
for Janjilal and his family of seven brothers and three sisters. All are
living on the roadside and some NGOs and district administration have
provided them relief goods. “We did not get any tent, so we have made our
own huts,” said Kanjilal, whose forefathers belong to Gujarat, India. He
said they are living in this area for many decades. Kanjilal claims he has made over 100 idols for many temples in the lower Sindh like Mahadev Mandir in Choondko town. “I made a Shiva moorti for a temple in Karachi,” he proudly claims. Working as farmer on the agriculture land of a retired police officer-cum-landlord, Kanjilal is a born artist. He claims he is self-taught. 25-year-old and Matric-pass, Kanjilal says he used to make drawings in school and one morning he got the idea of making moortis and he attempted making one and succeeded. “I first made a moorti of Krishna, which was appreciated by my family members and friends. Then from the pictures of idols of other Hindu gods and goddesses, I made more and now most of the temple caretakers in Sindh approach me for making new deities.” This art of idol-making has given him popularity in the area and now he is making moortis on a commercial basis. “I don’t charge
anything, but receive whatever the temple caretakers give me,” he said
adding that on an average an idol takes one month and material costs ranges
between Rs4000 to 5000. “I decorate the idol myself and also take care of
it for any wear and tear in the temple.” Usually the fingers of the deity
crumble because of frequent touching by the people, but those are repairable. Father of three daughters, Kanjilal is living in Krishna colony, a one-acre small village, which his family members have jointly purchased from the landlord on a payment of Rs 300,000. Kanjilal said idol making is not his source of earning. “But I spend most of my time on this art.” He and his wife live in sorrow though because their elder child, who was boy, died because of severe diarrhoea a few years back. Showing pictures of his already made moortis, Kanjilal said he has trained only one student, but after learning the techniques, the student disappeared and he has heard that he is making moortis on his own. He said like other farmers his family is also broke after the floods. “I have to pay back Rs 30,000 to my landlord as I took loans from him for cultivating three acres of cotton a few months back. Rains have destroyed my entire crop and now the landlord is demanding the money back.” Kanjilal is quite optimistic to pay back the borrowed money as he says he had picked the cotton once from the land before the rains, which would help him adjust the loan. An important and well-produced monograph on Colin David By Quddus Mirza The art of Colin David Author: Marjorie Husain Publisher: Topical Printers Pages: 228 Like the Chinese calendars, in which each year is named after an entity, i.e. Year of Rat, or Year of Pig, 2011 can be called the Year of Book, especially with reference to Pakistani art. After many lull years, so many books on Pakistani art have been published this year that it is difficult to keep a record of all. ‘The Art of Colin
David’ is the latest addition to this line of monographs on Pakistani
artists. Author, Marjorie Husain, a well-respected art critic, had previously
written a monograph on Anna Molka Ahmed, along with numerous other books on
Pakistani art and artists. A product of Research and Publication Department
of Topical Printers, Lahore, the book is quite impressive in terms of its
layout, printing quality and the choice of images. The book is equally important for its subject — an artist who, besides being a recluse, did not exhibit widely mainly because of his subject matter. Majority of David’s work comprises female nudes which were not easy to display at public or private galleries. Most of the time he had to rely on exclusive showings of his work — usually at his own house in Defence Lahore, with select invitees — and yet, in one incident, it was ransacked by hooligans from the student wing of a religious political party on May 22, 1990, the day of his exhibition’s opening. So the book presents not only a fine painter from our art world, but many forgotten aspects of our society. First, painting female nudes in realistic and naturalistic manner — the artist does not conceal the identity of his models through some generalised features or sweeps of paint — was a well-established custom, practiced and accepted. It affirmed the courage of the painter and the people who posed for him at a time when, apart from the hockey-wielding ‘fundos’, there were many who did not accept nudes in art. Yet Colin David persisted. But to confine him to the painting of nude would be reducing his artistic aura. The book suggests how the painter looked at other subjects, such as landscape, still life and portrait and enjoyed rendering the sensitive details in these. The portrait of Zakia Shahnawaz and Seema Iftikhar (included in the book) confirm his keen eye in capturing the texture of the skin, detail of the drapery and the sense of space in deft strokes. Like the touch of the
painter, the skill of the writer is also precise and perfect. It represents
different aspects of David, from his early days (and sketches of film actors)
to his training at the Punjab University and later at the Slade School of
Art, and his teaching years from 1965 at the National College of Arts, an
institution where he taught till his retirement as the Head of Fine Arts
Department in 1990. The book includes comments from colleagues, friends and
students, which help in formulating a broader picture of the person. Also his letters from the early 1960s to Mrs Ana Molka Ahmed contribute in creating the image of the individual with his peculiar sense of humour (replicated in his caricature drawings of his contemporaries) and concerns. Written from Slade, a few of these letters are reproduced in original, in David’s own hand; interestingly the control of line, which one finds in his drawings and paintings, can be seen in his script too. Along with the text about his life and ideas, a major component of the book comprises David’s paintings, ranging from portraits, to figure compositions to landscapes to still life. Although the images do not provide details of year (or sizes), one can establish a loosely constructed chronology — the early optical compositions with figurative elements are all distinct from his last period with loosely-painted figures and traces of landscape in imaginative shades. Looking at his paintings (a
total of 111 plates), one becomes aware of stylistic changes in his art. In
fact, one can mark a line that divides the realistic canvases from imaginary
compositions. In the last phase of his work, David was painting colourful
fields, punctured by sparse thin trees, and occasionally a nude — her back
to the audience while seated on the ground or sitting on zebras. If examined,
his early period is much more sophisticated in its aesthetics than the latter
period (intriguingly, in his earlier works the nude looked at the viewers,
while in the latter canvases, it averted the gaze of spectators). The control
and crispness of line was convincingly translated into brush mark in his
early art, whereas later the grip on his brush failed to produce similar
effect. Some of the work from his last period could have been easily ignored in the book. Any such selection would have presented a perfect picture of the painter, but the omission of his later years’ work would have made that picture incomplete. Now, one can reconstruct the oeuvre of the artist and know that in his last years Colin David sadly lost the magic touch which distinguishes an artist of original quality from a merely mediocre pusher of paint. He was not the only one to have suffered that loss; a number of other artists such as Gulgee, Ahmed Parvez and Ali Imam faced the same fate (joined by many others who are continuing to produce despite the fact that their creative phase is over). One does not know the reason for this decline but, when compared, writers of fiction and poetry do not face the same fate (although there are exceptions to this rule, as several writers — even someone like Salman Rushdie — can’t maintain the same standard in their latter works while a number of visual artists — Wlliam de Kooning, for example — kept producing works of great merit till the end of his life). This may have something to do with the process of creation itself — the act of writing does not require much physical labour while painting or sculpting needs physical energy that fades away after a certain age. One wonders if this is the reason why visual artists are never considered for Nobel Prize, whereas writers are awarded this prize annually.
The
common thread When Navtej Johar travels to Pakistan, he is gripped by the pull of anxiousness. He considers Pakistan to be his emotional pad and not surprisingly because his parents were from Potohar who migrated across the Wagha at partition. He has been here at least a couple of times earlier to perform at the International Festivals organised by the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop (RPTW) who were again his hosts at the Alhamra. Being from Punjab, he
unexpectedly chose Bharatanatyam as his principal form of expression and
trained himself at the Krishnamacharya Yoga Mandiram. Firmly grounded in the
tradition of Krishnamacharya and Sri Desikachar he focuses on the breath and
the mind, which in turn controls the body. All three have organic connections
and form pieces of the same chain. Navtej work seeks to lead to an experience
of calm by engaging the mind positively. His work is fluid and freely adapts
the yoga asanas and pranayama. It appeared from the programme that he has been attempting to find common ground between the two very different forms of expression — the high classical forms of music and dance of the Carnatic tradition and the more-free and less-stylised form of his native land. The dance performance that lasted over an hour was the discovery of the common thread that runs through human experience, and obviously the metaphor that he chose could not have been anything other than love. From Punjab he chose the legend of Heer and the parable of Kutrala Kuravanji about the great passion of Vasantvalli for Lord Shiva from Tamilnadu. This homecoming of sorts was a dance performance by two — the other exponent was Anil Panchal who matched Johar’s athleticism move for move. Though the performance was divided into various parts keeping the two broad classifications in mind yet often he moved with ease from the one into the other. It was an example of superb athleticism and energy that he fused with the traditional dance movement and gestures of the more stylised Bharatanatyam. The force and raw passion of the Punjabi folk laced with musical renderings of the famous Punjabi poets about the central metaphor of love embodied in Heer, its was a more loosely fitted where the connections were forged by the sheer force of passion. It also seems that he was blending the yoga postures and dance movements again discovering common ground between the two and probing the sources of energy leading to holistic blending of body, breath and mind and engaging the latter positively for inner quiet. The music too was complimented the dance and was based on the Carnatic raags and the kaafi ang of Punjab It was often the music that set the mood of the number to be followed by its execution in dance. Madan Gopl Singh and Eloangovan Govindragan composed the music and they were also the vocalists along with Rekha Raj. Navtej Johar has founded Studio Abhyas in Delhi where he resisted being labelled only as a place for any form of yoga. Taking the basics of yoga he has taken it beyond and blended it beautifully so that it appeals to the people from varied backgrounds and beliefs systems. In our society dance is
still associated with the salons and most people in their hour of merriment
or celebration or even grief engage dancers for a private performance. The
scene usually gets raucous by the minute with a drunken audience showering
money on the female performers. The form of a concert dance performance has
really not caught on and is still an alien institution. Dance has developed in all possible directions. In the absence of any mediated design it has borrowed and imitated with impunity from all sources to have a variegated shape all its own. It has been ironic that while dance in film was permitted by the censors, it was not permitted on television, which was state-sponsored and only grudgingly in the arts councils that too depended for finances and directions from the government. In Pakistan film is meant to be for the masses where much is done to please the gallery, while televisions and arts councils are supposed to be arbiters of taste. In films dance borrowed from all sources most of all from the Bollywood and presented them with much less finesses on the screen. The choreography in Bollywood too is not very original. There is much that is borrowed from all over, especially the West, and the more popular and current forms of dance and its impact on Pakistan can be said to be twice removed. Only that the final touches are absent and it all seems rather half done — it does not have the maturity of moves which years of practice bring. These days the music videos have become the arbiters of form in dance. Naheed Siddiqui, the most famous kathak dancer who introduced the guest dancers as she had worked with them at the Jawaharlal University in a workshop has for sometime been experimenting by building the dances round either a poem, a kafi for example, the mood of the raag or some situation which require a dramatic conflict. She has retained the essentials of kathak and has added the dramatic element without going as far as reducing it to a mere tableau. She spends most of the time now in the country and insists on maintaining the rigours of her training but in the absence of any performance even her steely resolve is shaken at times. Earlier this year she performed in India and was highly acclaimed for her traditional kathak but in Pakistan she hardly gets the chance to display her immense talent. She had been conducting kathak classes from home.
Dear All, As you all probably know, Imran Khan was in the UK last month promoting his book ‘Pakistan: A Personal History’. Well, there he was in
various newspaper and television interviews, looking glamorous and fit and
with rather a full head of hair (how much does all that new hair cost
anyway?), there he was, elaborating on how evil America was, how noble the
Taliban Hello??? Corruption: more of a problem than the culture of bloody killing and senseless destruction? Corruption: a greater problem than the burgeoning, unsustainable population of the country? I’ve noticed that the corruption that the great Khan rants on about is only limited to civilian ‘corruption’; no mention is ever made of faujis being corrupt or venal in any way. It is just rave-rant, rave-rant — on and on about the Pak-US relations, or else it is rather nasty personal attacks on individuals (politicians, naturally). Same story with his book promotion which, despite the fact that Random House Publishers seemed to have spared no expense on promotion and publicity, proved a sort of a fiasco when all that controversy about one of its maps led to advance copies being withdrawn from the Indian market (apparently ‘Azad’ Kashmir was shaded in the same colour as Pakistan...hmm, wonder who provided him with that map???). Anyhow, we had lots of glimpses of Imran, the playboy captain of yesteryear moving further and further to the right of the political spectrum — bizarre really and depressing. This is a man my generation admired for his beauty and skill and hard work and ability to focus. The cricketing career was marvellous, the cancer hospital a great achievement but what is one to now make of this man who after the All Parties Conference articulates the ISI point of view (that “the ISI was not in touch with the militant wing of the Haqqani group, it just kept channels open with non-militant parts of it), a man who advocates capital punishment (the view that hanging a few ‘corrupt politicians’ will rid Pakistan of corruption) and a man who refuses to condemn the violent actions of religious militants? The man is still eye candy
(despite all the ‘work’ on his appearance) but the politics he advocates
is far from sweet. He got a lot of media exposure here even though most
interviewers were a little dazed by his rabid self-belief (I won the world
cup, I can win the election: I knew I could win the World Cup, I know I can
save Pakistan etc. etc.). But one of the most entertaining Pakistanis have in the past had cause to be proud of Imran Khan. But what happens now? Captain Handsome is basically advocating a model of government perilously close to that advocated by a series of military dictators, the main features of which are: autocratic rule, speedy — and preferably capital — punishment, humiliation of professional politicians, and (never yet successful) government by technocrats. Throw in a bit of the neo Islamic, neo Khilafat ideology pedalled by General Hameed Gul and his peculiarly red-capped protégé Zaid Hamid and you have a recipe for taking Pakistan even further into the dark ages than General Zia ul Haq managed to do. I can see General Zia’s face now: grinning, smirking. Yes, our captain must be doing him proud.... Best wishes Umber
Khairi |
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September have affected over 8.8 million people in 21 districts of Sindh and
caused huge displacement. Besides humans, the floods have also displaced the
gods.
were (“some might view them as freedom fighters”) and how corrupt
Pakistani politicians, especially the current rulers, were. In one interview
(with BBC Urdu), he even declared that for Pakistan, “corruption was a far
greater issue than terrorism”.
articles about him was by his ex-wife Jemima Khan in The Independent. I
always thought of her as merely a rich woman with a nice personality, but
never realised she had such a wickedly witty turn of phrase. She comments
about the book’s cover photo: “Imran is featured... looking moodily into
the middle distance with backcombed boy-band hair. (And before any Pakistanis
get their shalwars in a twist about my irreverence, Imran has an excellent
sense of humour and enjoys a tease, by me or a comb)”. She admits to being
curious to find out what he says of their marriage (he didn’t let her read
this before publication), and describes the relevant section thus: it starts
like Mills and Boons and ends sadly.