January 11, 2020

( This is a long diary note. For myself. If you read, my 🙏🙏. But be forewarned that much of this is babbling. Speaking to me and me alone. So I will not accept your 😡 comment ‘Why do you write such nonsense and expect anyone to read?’ In case you read, and find it worthless and a waste of your time my 🙏 and apologies.)
I was walking around the brightly lit room. An exhibition of photographs. Artist, my mate. Dr Kausik Ghosh. Without the h, for those who understand.
I was happy. I was proud. For and of my friend. A physician. A poet. An author. A photographer. An artist on silver screen. And on screens of my idiot boxes.
I walked around. And I am no critic or connoisseur of art and photograph (and of wine for the records). Therefore. I had to pose. Take a step back. Tilt my head. A little. Raise my eyebrow. Purse my lips. At least pretend to be intelligent. I said to myself.
Therefore I walked around. There were beautiful photographs. Those that I found beautiful. But I was hesitant. Perhaps my sense of beauty would sound so naive. And my poet, photographer friend would put a hand on my shoulder and say ‘Raja, ta noy re. Byaparta bojh.’ And I would say ‘Achcha, achcha.’ Cursing myself for my dumbness at appreciating art.
Then I came before a Photo.
I have been a fortunate human being in life. Many love at first readings. Many love at first hearings. Of music. Of poetry. Of men. Women. From Neruda. To Lorca. To Maradona. From Julie Andrews. To Jaya Bhaduri in Dhonni Meye. From Aparna Sen in Tin Konya. To Supriya in Meghe Dhaka Tara. From Ritwik, my son in the labour room. To Mousumi, my would be wife in a black and white photograph.


And here again. That magic happened. I fell in love. And badly.


In matters of love. One just falls. Without rhyme. Without reason. Dhapppas.
That is exactly happened. Without the customary intelligent step back. I stepped closer. Closer to the new found love. In frame. On a wall.
And I muttered ‘This shall be mine’.
I have later tried to understand. Why did it happen, what happened. That evening.
Because I saw in frame all that I passionately am against. All that I will give my everything to stand against. Framed. By my friend.
Inequity.
The larger frame. The smaller frame.
The larger vista. The smaller vista.
The support. The sans-support.
They are part of the same canvas. The same world.
They are unequal.
And that is unacceptable.
Every day when I come back from work and sit with my steaming strong coffee in my drawing room, this photo will be looking at me.
Reminding me. For what I work. For who I work.
To fight against inequity.
This photograph in essence captures everything that I believe in.
I do not know what essence is captured in this photo. The fineness. The subtlety of Art.
For me it is a capture of this world. It’s inequality.
Crude. As it should be. Glaring. As it should be.
So that stupidest and morons like me do not get it wrong.

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