Look Back (Tell me my future, now!) – Series I

Multi Media Art

Paper for Origami used in children’s fortune telling game, Text.

(Instructions for the interactive art piece. Refer the images below) Instead of different colours written traditionally on four sides, ‘the future’ that is written behind the flaps is written on the front too. The player needs to choose one future and move the fingers saying the chosen future out loud and stop when it ends. Then like the traditional game, the player needs to choose a number and move the fingers spelling the number out loud. 

Next, the player chooses a number out of the visible numbers again which is when the flap of the chosen number is revealed. If it matches with what the player chooses at the beginning then the player is declared to be a winner. If it doesn't match then player can play till it does.

A Paper fortune teller is something that has found its place in children’s games across generations, and nations. This origami-based game of chance is one of the earliest encounters one has with the concept of fortune-telling. The mystery of revealing the future written behind these flaps which the player arrives at, after making random choices, builds the anticipation and is given importance at the varying degree.

Only when the future becomes our present, we are able to ‘look back’ to make a connection between the desires we had and how it led us to our futures. The existence of the desire is revealed when it is fulfilled in the future.

Since ‘looking back’ establishes the desires we have had as a revelation, with this multimedia piece, I am using the interactivity and trying to play with the connection between present desires and future actions by removing time’s linear definitions with turning the game upside down, and using the present desires as revelation, envisaging the possibility of lack of difference between present desires and future actions.

Following is the Photo Series that is to be displayed on the wall and a stack of paper fortune-teller game will be placed on a table adjacent to this wall. The viewer can pick up the game and interact with it.

Can’t Use Can’t Throw Away - Art Installations

Every object at home seems to have a story behind it. Even lack of it sometimes becomes one story. Whenever we try to clear out our closet/cupboard/desk/room, most of us take more than required time. Some objects take us to the time when it came into existence in our lives; some take us to the people who gave it. And then there are those objects which wouldn't necessarily do that but you still refuse to discard it. The reason that is cited is “You never know when you might need it”. Through these installation art pieces I try to investigate this sense of belonging to both the kinds - the objects with emotional value and the one with only functional value.

"What if we find something new in it." (Grandfather's book - A guide to Home Amusement, 8'' x 5'')

"It was my 13th B'day." (Grandmother's hand woven woolen purse, 4'' x 5.5'', 2011)

"A spare one can never harm." (A working Stereo Speaker, 7.5'' x 6'', 2011)

"It still looks so cool." (A fatigue cap 12'' X 10'', 2011)

"Just when you need it, you will not find it." (30 pens , Dimensions Variable, 2011)

The space these objects (that have been denied their definite function) occupy is mostly the not-so-easily-seen-corners. It gives us the convenience to look for it whenever we want and keep it out of sight at other times. Through this installation piece I was trying to observe such space in comparison to space that is used more often.

Waiting Room ( objects covered in white cloth in a drawer, 13.5'' x 12'', 2011)

Waiting room (Detail)

Extending my enquiry to this space that is used for the objects which are denied any present use. The following work tries to place the dialogue between the space that is used by unused objects and the space that is not used.

(UN)Occupied

(Dust collected on Canvas over a period of one month except for the space occupied by the different shaped objects, 16'' x 20'')

(UN)Occupied (Detail)

(UN)Occupied (Detail)

(UN)Occupied (Detail)

When going big gets small

I never knew you needed Rs.60 crore to tell a story of two married couples going through the marital estrangement. Also, little I knew that it has to be set in the Big Apple. May be Mr. Johar (read a schmuck who can boast to find depth even in a sari by observing the zardosi work, sequins and stones) thought the emotions can’t be envisaged in a filthy Dharavi or rustic Patna. Just think, how would he be able to bring out the designs, the fabric, and the human feel at such places (and how would Preity Zinta be able wear the costliest costume).

And I don’t think I would qualify for having an opinion about Mr. Bhansali (read a deluded man obsessed with his supposed muses) unless I burn a movie set worth a crore every month. The pinch in the pocket is felt only when a talent ridden small time director asks for financing his film. Why? “ The plot doesn’t have a scope…. It…it’s CLAUSTROPHOBIC.”


Yeah so true. Compared to Star Wars, Lord Of Rings trilogy (with all due required respect) a 21 grams or Sideways wont have a scope to make millions or win 11 Oscars (oh Oscars…. one more class example of how important it is to burn millions just to win a politically-socially-racially correct trophy).

So which is the next movie that has amazing locales, exquisite costumes and a budget of $185,000,000. I am so desperate to know.

I really wanted this blog to be futile but I guess this one has to be an exception.

It was nice sunny Sunday morning. I got up from the bed, and found whole world to be quite awake. (As usual it was 10:30 a.m.)

I start doing what I do only once in a week. (No not a face message but reading the complete news paper. Because its only Sunday times that I find worth reading).

And there I read news of 2 Orissa tribal girls (cousins) getting married with the approval of their elders. After much of the difficulties (like the girls running away) their parents not only agreed but also got them married.

Even though they weren’t able to read this particular article, they showed nothing but a mature sensibility towards such situation.

But just few thousand miles away you find this place called Mumbai, symbol of true liberation. Yeah right.

To prove this right, I have to go back in the time (few months back). It was Andheri sports complex, GIR concert. The air was chilled and filled with marijuana. The crowd began to settle on the ground as some Swedish band ‘freak kitchen’ was playing some lousy music. One of the guys I was with had actually dozed off (yes, despite few thousand watts speaker placed couple of meters away).

I hear few guys sitting beside me getting suddenly amused (no not because of the band because they were being consistent). I tried to see who was the object of their amusement and found a couple sitting in front of me getting too cozy with each other. I thought why would this attract such an attention at a place like this. Its only when the guys got abusive with their comments that I found it was actually 2 guys.

Oh wow! Look how far have we come.

I am so proud today

It was all clear, no more bra burning feminists required, no more heavy-moustached chauvinists required. The war of sexes came to an end right in front of my eyes.

The time and the place were perfect. Who am I kidding? Well, the time wasn’t perfect but yeah the place surely was.

It was the good old mighty train.

How much more clarity you need to divide and assort the different point of views of the two sexes.

8 compartments for male and 4 for female. Ah…..what a dignity that Indian railways has given us. I am touched.

And we pay tribute to this honour …..by completely being ourselves in the compartment.

The first thing we do as we enter the compartment is point our fingers at others. Not to raise the issues against terrorism but to enquire where the particular person is getting down. Without even moving a lip we plan the seating arrangement of the whole compartment.

We also try to hone our communication skills (which is bestowed on us much before our male counterpart) by supporting a fight, which other two really hassled women are having.

It’s a pity that all men do is, just sit there and mind their own business.

uhh....

And now, I shall spend rest of my life deciphering this piece of writing.

Volatile hybrid of dinosaur and toy,
this remnant throbs on a hot stone:
a prehistoric offcut,
six inches of chlorophyll-green dusted with pollen;
a trick of nature-lithe,
ectopic, cuneiform a stocking-filler,
out of the place everywhere but in the sun.

Frisking the wall,
its snatched run is a dotted line of fits and starts, spasmodic, end-stopped.
It pulses once; slips in a rock with a gulp.

Lizard, a poem by Robin Robertson, who has won the forward prize, UK’s most valuable poetry award for best collection.

Left Right Left

Coming from an ever confused and blissfully dysfunctional south Indian family, I have to be loyal to my community by talking about our culturally intricate habit of eating food by our hands. No problem with indulging yourself with the most organic way but the problem starts when you are half way through and are trying to serve yourself again. Even after 23 years I have not got it right.

Once I am done with the vegetable and rice (a south Indian’s first serving), I try to serve myself with the dal. Now you may not find anything wrong here, but my mom says I am doing a blasphemy by trying to serve my self with the same hand that I was using for eating. Since it has become impure by my very own saliva, I am not supposed to touch the equivalent-to-god food (which anyways would be processed by so called impure saliva). Fair enough, so no right hand but only left. But my 5-year-old brain in my 23 year old body asked for serious explanation when I was told that I had done one more blasphemy by giving money to my istreewalah with my left hand. Why? No reason, it just shows the disrespect (huh!)

So here I am trapped with a life threatening issue. Should i be left with right or the left is right.