Showing posts with label 202404E. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 202404E. Show all posts

A Limited Open Call for Setu: May-2024

An open call for May 2024 edition:
"To celebrate the scents, sounds and colours of summer as a season; the music of its winds and their velocity across varied landscapes on lonely nights; the varied temperatures; shades and colours of trees, shrubs and flowers; mangoes and fruits; local fauna and flora; rising heat followed by cool showers…infinite other possibilities for creative exploration of place, time and nature, in the time of climate change."

Details:
Theme: Winds of Summer
Deadline: May 25, 2024 (strict adherence)
E-mail: setuedit@gmail.com
Subject line: Submission for the Special Edition
Title: Only the first letter in the uppercase, not the full title in uppercase and without underline or fancy decoration (full title in Bold)
Author Name: Immediately below the title (Bold)
Word Limit: 40 lines maximum; 500-1000 words (prose)

Instructions
---Please send poetry (three-five poems) or prose (one piece) or photo essay or visuals (ten or so) around this broad theme, for the editorial evaluation at the address given above, along with a brief bio and a recent pic, as three separate attachments. 
---Mention, in the brief cover note that it is an original, unpublished work.
---Only the best ones will be featured.
---Non-compliance will lead to summary rejection.
---Please note: No notification of the rejected pieces will be sent.

Poetry: Gary Beck

Gary Beck
Motives

War is rarely righteous
most caused by greed,
the lust for power,
economic expansion,
many other reasons,
few are noble.
Only innocent countries
that defend themselves
against foreign invasion
may have honest cause.
Rebels invariably
want to replace
the current system
to gain the benefits
of wealth and privilege.
Patriotic wars
to defend the homeland
from foreign aggression
must be admired
for the resultant sacrifices
from the call to duty.
***


Tomorrow III

The nation lives in fear
painfully revealed daily
as the great separation,
malevolent conspiracy
contrived by the 1%,
or corporate acquisitions
devouring resources
meant to serve the people,
now semi-paralyzed
by implacable divisions
fostered by the media,
following the guidance
of unscrupulous leaders
who gain in influence
the further we’re apart.
The hope of democracy
that many still believe in
seems to erode faster
as the trumpets of hate
resonate in the land.
***


Disorder in the Land

Shootings wreck the nation,
hundreds killed,
hundreds wounded,
one lunatic after another
with a semi-automatic weapon
murdering Americans
in church, school, supermarket,
while those with power
to prevent the demented
from getting guns
refuse to act.
Some claim citizen’s rights,
others in the pay
of the righteous NRA,
with most of us afraid to see
an evil conspiracy
to keep our country distressed
so the lords of profit
continue undisturbed
as they accumulate
more and more wealth
that allows them control
of the people’s fate
***


Assault on Sovereignty

Flights of missiles
devastate the Ukraine
as modern warfare
sweeps the cities
killing civilians,
leveling buildings.
Determined citizens
huddle in the ruins,
listen to their father’s tales
of Nazi atrocities
in World War II
almost forgotten,
until the brutal Russians
launched multiple attacks
that did not prevent
furious resistance
by a united people.
***


America the Bountiful

I can never understand
my peculiar country
where millions are hungry
in a prosperous land,
our dedicated congresspersons
would rather fight each other
than help our needy people,
as millions resist vaccination,
confusing rights and religion
with health considerations.
So many complex issues
defining our nation
that opts for conflict
instead of solution
to urgent problems,
while American casinos
won more money in 2021
than ever before,
setting a record
for unproductivity.
***

Changing landscapes of Poetry

Sunil Sharma
Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private.

---Allen Ginsberg

 

This month’s major focus is on poetry, in its variety, flexibility and richness, as a field.

The modes of poetic cognition and communication of “original human mind” in terms aesthetic that are bound to give joy upon reading and listening to their flow, texture and imagery as a complex of beauty, out there as a unit in the public domain.

Art is the manifestation of the private and public in a subtle manner.

Poetry is part of art, serious art.

And it becomes a meeting place of minds.

The main objective of poetry, as Ginsberg famously declares, is the unveiling of the original human mind; an important speech act that merges the public and private, within a single gesture.

Poets experiment with genres to express their inner fluidity, influx of thoughts and emotions, and positing of the inner worlds; it is a dialectics that move the field forward and keep the poetics---writings and other forms---as fertile and irrigated.

Both the words and forms keep on evolving over the ages, in a historical succession, and creativity tends to invent, find and rediscover literary forms that best represent the ideas and images most adequately for the altered social contexts and audiences with new needs.

Lyrical pieces that fit into the matching moulds to the satisfaction of their creators and convey world views as per the given frameworks and conventions.

Of late, spoken word, slam or performance poetry as modes of engagement with the target audiences have gained traction…and critical and public attention for their spoken or performative aspects---like any significant act of speech or utterance with meaning and relevance.

Most poetry is meant for performance and text undergoes a change, whenever uttered in public, before public.

Setu keeps on highlighting these trends and also keeps on evolving and responding to the public taste.

This month features pieces performed by the noted bilingual poet and author Neelam Saxena Chandra. Evidence of the way spoken poetry can mesmerise the listeners.

Chandra is superb in her rendition of the words that come alive and are charged with intensity and deep empathy.

In another place, eminent poet-artist Sangeeta Gupta explores the sacred in art, in her inimitable style. In a heart-felt exploration of colours, moods and motifs, heritage and styles of painting, Gupta underlines art as a source of spirituality, epiphany, wellbeing, balance and peace, for a civilization struggling with hollowness and emptiness of an industrial wasteland, and, the horrors of capitalism and commercialisation, much decried by the likes of T.S. Eliot, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and Williams S Burroughs, among others.

Art as a unique gateway to higher realms of truth for its seekers; realms far away from the regulated and regimented realities.

Other writers bring their own brands of documenting and realizing of visions and dreams.

Again, another rich feast for your mind and eyes.

Please enjoy!

Sunil Sharma,
Managing Editor, Setu (English)

Contents, April 2024


Setu

Volume 8; Issue 11; April 2024


Setu PDF Archives

Editorial

Poetry

Double Etheree

Translation

Concrete/vispo

Collaboration: Split Sequence

Special: Koi fish silk painting

Performance Poetry: English, Hindi

European Poetry

Short Fiction

Book Launch: A Brief Report

Book Review

Culture: Mapping of the Bauls

Author of the Month

Exclusive: Sacred Art

 Setu Video Series of Literary and Critical Conversations/ Poetry

Setu Initiative: Setu Series of Virtual Readings (Facebook Page)


MOTHER-DAUGHTER DIALOGUE in Delhi

Brief Report of a Poetry Book Launch

 

The book Mother-Daughter Dialogue was launched in Delhi on the 27th of April, 2024. It is a one-of-a-kind book by the mother-daughter duo Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick and her daughter Sankalpita Mullick.

The book has been published by Penprints Publication. The venue was the cosy and comfortable ‘Prithvi Fine Arts and Cultural Centre’ owned by the bureaucrat, filmmaker, artist and poet Sangeeta Gupta. She not only hosted and moderated the launch but also released the book along with Dr. Sunil Sharma and Dr. Sangeeta Sharma both of whom are renowned literary personalities and academicians.

This book is a compilation of 30 poems on several emotions and what the mother and daughter feel about each emotion. After the felicitation of the honourable guests by Paramita and Sankalpita, they were introduced by Sangeeta Gupta. They both talked about how they conceptualised this book. The young Sankalpita, a law student and a budding poet who had written a novel when she was fourteen years talked about how the book has gapped the distance between her mother and her, since she stays far away from her parents in a hostel. She read out her first poem in the book about how food tastes bland when she is away from her parents. In response to that Paramita, a well- loved poet, a literary curator and scientist, read her poem where she expresses how her kitchen seems to be empty when her daughter is not home.

Then Paramita read her poem on the purest form of love where she describes a little boy, her niece’s son who searches for his aunt Sankalpita whenever he comes home. In response to that Sankalpita read a poem on the same emotion.  

Dr. Sunil Sharma who had mentioned about the book previously on social media had said, “Dialogues --- so crucial! Dialogues of an iconic Mother-Daughter duo, the best literary ones!” highly praised the book and said this relation transcends the personal to the universal. He then did an experiment where he read a poem, “Your room” from the book and requested several others in the audience to read the same poem. The same poem sounded so different when read in different voices.

Dr. Sangeeta Sharma while talking about the book gave examples of such mother-daughter writings from her vast repertoire and praised the book. Sankalpita ended the event with a bouquet of her poems. This young poet was highly praised by Dr. Sunil Sharma who mentioned that her metaphors are unique.

The audience consisted of highly acclaimed poets, people who love poetry and some artists. There was friendly interaction between the audience and the mother-daughter duo.

This book was initially launched at the Kolkata Book Fair on the 20th of January, 2024. This fair is the second largest in the world after the Frankfurt Book Fair. This launch was hosted by Penprints Publication and was a gala event.

There was a wonderful online discussion by the mother-daughter duo, Paramita and Sankalpita about the book on Women’s Day this year moderated by academician, Sreetanwi Chakraboty.

This eleventh book of Paramita and the very first with her daughter Sankalpita is a joyful celebration of verses from a mother to her daughter and vice versa and a must read for all.

Poetry: Ahmad Al-Khatat

Pack Of Cigarettes and Liquor 

I'd swap my rusty flesh and chilly blood 
for a pack of smokes and a drink. 

I am willing to sacrifice my emotions and peace 
for a pack of smokes and alcohol. 

I'm willing to surrender my citizenship and foreign passport 
for smokes and whisky. 

I am willing to compromise my values and ethics 
for a pack of smokes and alcohol. 

I'd swap my wounded heart and warm hands 
for a pack of smokes and a drink. 

I'd swap my youthful smile and tears 
for a pack of smokes and a drink. 

I'm willing to exchange my healthy organs and memories 
for smokes and whisky. 

I'd exchange my imprecise accent and colourless fantasies 
for a pack of smokes and a bottle of vodka. 

I will never give up my past and hometown 
for a coffin whom I tried to steal before my sentence 
by hanging with death.
***


Two Fingers Crossed

I'm wondering if my depression stems
from my past or what I'll become in the future.
Is it because I speak your language with an accent?
I'm sorry, but my accent represents who I am.

I wish I could erase children's memories
of everyday genocide with a pencil and eraser.
My phone isn't charging. My cousin is wearing
my face mask. As I lay dead in my blood-soaked bath.

Does the moonlight still brighten your melancholy heart?
What keeps your emotions awake on your own?
Can you dream about kissing me the way you usually do?
Who wouldn't love a walk under the twinkling stars?

I miss the way you hold my frigid hands behind my back,
with at least two fingers crossed.
When I inhale your breath, I trust my senses completely.
Your amazing voice is the music that brings me joy.
***


Flowering in The Rain

Are you going to bloom in the rain tonight?
I hear your footsteps in the darkness,
I smell your scent on the budding seeds,
and wonder whether you are among the stars.

This life can only be lived due to your existence.
I feel like I am losing myself more than usual.
After losing everything I cared about,
I considered migrating to a different country.

Regrets have shattered some of my aspirations,
and I miss giving my all to love someone like you.
Why does tonight’s rain sound so sad?
I've cried for ages, and you haven't flowered yet.

Thousands of breaths push me towards your sweet lips.
Allow our sorrows to touch the drenched grass in the park,
and follow the moonlight to
find me waiting with a rainbow umbrella…
***


Bio: Ahmad Al-Khatat is an Iraqi Canadian published poet and writer. In addition to his Pushcart Price 2020 nomination, he received a nomination for Best of the Net 2019. His poetry has been translated into other languages and his work has been published in print and online magazines abroad. He resides in Montreal, Canada, now with his spouse.


Poetry: Pragya Dhiman

Pragya Dhiman
The language I leave behind

The nativity of this language is an adoption – a
choreography performed,
the remaining past like wheat husk
threshed, thickening the air 
with the sweet scent of sugar.

The rest burnt,
embers from my dream-fire licking
the repulsive fleshiness of my thick tongue.
I burn and immolate the wordy mouth 
and repeat the prayers that rid me
of the harshness of my script.

The non-descript paper that is my mind
forgets the language that I leave behind,
nothing classifies me as the greatest
and only time exposes the
foibles of being wordless.
***


Prayers

Who believed I could venerate soil, plant
the blood that would blossom and thaw the
winter that let itself sink into my beliefs. 

With your lips, your
kiss, the weatherbeaten skin, the arch in
the spine, your slanted eyes that gaze the
maker, you pulled out of the only heaven
you prayed for, to me.

The red hair, the blue tears, the unbearable 
tightness of living – death is just another
possibility for me to meet you again.

Two bowls of lotus in my heart, the center
a piercing desire to build a temporary
home together, this world is merely a physical 
space for us, before immortality claims our souls.

Before I pray and bruise my knees, I need
this dream to reveal itself, I need your words
to dictate my steps, I need to be reborn as such.

You could ask for my silence and I would
beg the heavens to lose my voice,
and if my fate is tied to the religiosity of my breath
I would pray to utter your name over and over again.
***


The scathing burns on my sanity

My soul a bucketful of water, a leaking
dairy pail, a
handful of moist earth and the mist of
wet breath.

I believe I was born to die.

A soft blindness is carving into my 
eyes, so I witness only the paleness
of my deeds. I grasp at the dust 
that dances in front of me, the 
vestibules of a cold sunlit temple 
that is my abode, the space that
carries my prayers to the place 
that I am meant to call my home.

These figures roam in my peripheral 
vision, at nighttime they descend onto
me. Sleep is vacant living and they slide a
whisper about the truth of what will come
to be, if I forget what is meant for me.

Insanity is a pledged death that only the
living can feel. Maybe when I lay down
to rest, I’ll finally drift into eternal sleep
and my soul will empty into mere breath,
something for my god to keep.
***

Bio-note: Pragya Dhiman is pursuing her Master’s degree in English from University of Delhi. Her work has previously been published in The Chakkar, Muse India, Defunkt Magazine, Tint Journal, Literary Yard, Poet’s Choice, Teen Ink, Muse-Pie Press’ Shot Glass Journal and more. Her research work has been published in various literary journals including, American Research Journal of English and Literature, International Journal of English Literature and Social Sciences (IJELS Research Journal), The Literary Herald and more, and is available for perusal online.

Poetry: Neelam Saxena Chandra

Neelam Saxena Chandra
PERCHED!

Mind in jeopardy. 
Tensed. Restless. Helpless.
Was this what it wanted?
To be perched like a crow
On an electric pole?

Well, the crow at least doesn’t know
How crazy its situation is,
I do! And yet I am perched!

I try hard to balance
Life and time –
One foot moved by an inch
And the balance shall falter,
Charring me! 

Is the charring of body better 
Than the charring of soul?
Yes, my soul is already charred! 

The thought removes all the worries,
I am no longer stuck to that pole-
I develop wings 
And fly away with the clouds of happiness! 

It shall rain somewhere today,
I hope someone shall smile today
With the petrichor!
***

WOUNDS

You stealthily hide it in the folds
of the dress that you are wearing,
hem it, so that it becomes invisible.
and yet,
the pain protrudes.
at times,
there are stains of blood too
when the wound aches too much.

you may wash the wound 
with a little Savlon,
and even apply ointment,
but then
the pus oozes out.

often, there are no balms,
that heal you-
till you realize
that there was really nothing to hide!

wounds and pains
are the lights  
that make you glow
more than 
a thousand splendid suns!
***

A Review of Some Resonance Some Desire

Some Resonance Some Desire
Author: Gopal Lahiri
ISBN: 9798215452554
Edition: (2022)
Price: ₹ 500 | $ 30
Published by International Publishing Centre.

Reviewed by: Sutanuka Ghosh Roy


        Gopal Lahiri is a bilingual Kolkata-based poet, critic, editor, writer, and translator. A Geoscientist by profession “Some Resonance Some Desire” is his nineteenth book in English. In the Preface to the book Lahiri writes, “In this collection of poems, I instigate a different kind of possibility in poetry and a more sustained attention to language. The resonance and desire widen the space for individual feeling, for self-examination, for second judgments, for admission”. The collection has a taut structure and is neatly divided into three segments, ‘Effulgence’, ‘Cadence’, and ‘Tapestry’. Each section carries inquisitiveness about how our physical world and selves are continually heaved toward disbanding and dispersal. The poems in this collection employ various forms of poetry, like free verse, sonnet, haiku, senryu, haibun, and memoir that create a magnetic pull through the montage of images and metaphors resulting in a pure unadulterated poetic mien. What is most interesting is that language operates here in different ways.

        Lahiri’s writing has a subtlety that uniquely prompts new techniques and language usage. Wyndham Lewis refers to the image as the ‘primary pigment ’of poetry it primarily relates to the painterly content of the language. In the foreword to the book Santosh Bakaya writes, “To one’s joyous amusement and serendipitous glee, one realizes that some images have furtively crept into one’s heart and settled there, refusing to be nudged away.” In ‘Beyond the Visual Realm’, Lahiri writes, “stillness rewrites the morning glow that is spilled/ memories from the branches/ the breeze, then and now, perfectly weightless”. The spillage of one imagery/poetic experience into another is intentionally curated to enhance the delicately embroidered words, “listen to the wind, wood cracking, leaves rustling/ take inside the sounds of the natural world/ the pure joy extends beyond the visual realm”. With quietude still reverberating in the poetic language with the synesthetic vibrations and cascading overtones we go on a pilgrimage in quest of fulfilment. This desire for the other nudges the unprecedented experience of coming together of the poet and the reader. The poet brings resonance and desire and the reader has the unique poetic experience of overlapping beats of emotions—“Window sills scribble poetry behind the flower pots,/small shops sell marbles and lollypops./The black coffee turns cold, cigarettes burn to ashes,/words hide behind the clustered stems”. 

       There is perhaps no poetry without desire, in Shelley’s words “the desire of the moth for the star”. This desire brings together the poet and the reader through a midway path, and the result is an ingenious act of devotion that gives birth to a poem. The desire of the poet and his/her readers are mutual—“The moment of truth comes well after the dawn/ without anybody’s knowledge” writes the poet. In “Hope” there is a palpable image that has a haunting effect, “Strapped in grey surrounds, the distance/ between the unheard voices increases, / you expect the light to go in silence, / what to do with the motion of the sea/ yet hope glistens from afar”. Each word of the poem is so finely produced that it can engage the readers for great lengths of time. 

      The collection has a section on haiku, thirty-five poetic gems—it is easy to visualize how the poet has intricately dipped his ink to add depth to his haikus—“stretching the old truth/ evening melts in your coffee/ birds’ tweet in silence”. “In Stillness” which is a haibun Lahiri emphasizes that nature can be temperamental. “The silence surges forward. It hushes, leaps, seeps. The quiet and quaintness of the tea gardens inhale the calmness under another sky. Tea bushes have a different kind of intimacy. They tap breeze at times writing dozy metaphors. All the shadows are buried near Eagles Crag. Are they absurd evil? On the hill slope, the red of the tin shades disappears in the mist. Prayers fall into the void”. 

     There is calmness in Lahiri’s poetry and there is a silent power and panache to captivate the reader. He is a keen observer and has a playful finesse to wrap truths in a surreal realm. The magic of turning the mundane into ethereal is key to the collection. Aesthetics is kneaded into intellectual capability resulting in giving shape to the image that Lahiri has in his mind. Without a pause he writes, “I know that in all of these places where the color blooms and a part of me stands there still, till a few drops of rain wet the soil and I cup my hands, follow it out, as I do always break into a song, ‘The stars in the sky do not respond to my call’.  As one comes to a close there is a crisp desire for more resonance that creates blueprints of intricate and elaborate poetry. “Some Resonance Some Desire” is here to leave a footprint on the annals of English poetry. 
***


Sutanuka Ghosh Roy is Associate Professor in English, Tarakeswar Degree College, The University of Burdwan. 

 

When Two Meet

Karen O’Leary
Thin
dirty 
street urchin—
his gaze locks hers.
Bearing a sandwich,
she points to a park bench.
He snarfs down her offering.
“My step beat me and kicked me out.
You’re the lady from the soup kitchen.”
“Your step beat your mom. She’s dead… He’s in jail…
He’s been charged with murder with no bail.”
The teen paled, staring in silence. 
“I’m so glad to have found you.
I am a foster mom.
Please come home with me.
We’ll work things out
together.”
Today’s
hope.

The Golden Boat

Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
Translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem, “Sonar Tori”

By Paramita Mukherjee Mullick


The clouds are roaring in the sky and there is incessant rain.
I am sitting on the river bank with no hope.
I have stacked up the rice grain.
The flooded river is rough.
When I was cutting the paddy crop, 
            heavy rain came down in sheets.

I am all alone in this tiny paddy field.
I see the dance of rain all around.
On the opposite bank, I see the trees through the mist.
Clouds have covered the whole village in the morning.
And in this bank, my tiny paddy field and I am all alone in it.

Who comes singing and rowing a boat?
It seems I know him well.
The sails of his boat is pushed by the wind.
He goes away without looking at anything.
The boat moves on and the waves break on both sides.
It seems I know him well.

Oh boatman! Where are you going…which foreign land?
Please bring your boat and anchor it in this bank.
Go wherever you want to go, give whomever you want to give.
But please smile a little and take my bundles of paddy from this bank.

Take as many bundles as you want in your boat.
Is there more? No I have given you all.
For so long I have guarded the crops forgetting everything else.
I gave you all in bundles and bundles.
Now, please take me with you.

There is no more space, no more space, the boat is small.
Since it is filled with my golden paddy crops.
The monsoon clouds are looming over.
I am left all alone in this bank.
Whatever I had was taken away by the golden boat.
***

Bio: Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick is an award-winning poet, a scientist and a literary curator. Her poems have not only been published widely but also translated into more than 45 global languages. She has published 11 books. She is passionate about painting and photography. She promotes peace, multilingual, global and indigenous poetry. Her poems also make others aware about conservation and climate change. Paramita heads two poetry and performance forums in Mumbai, India.
 

Koi fish silk painting

Marjorie Pezzoli
Marjorie Pezzoli is a silk painter for 25+ years, a page poet who will pick up a microphone at various San Diego open mics. Her writings deal with grief, hope, cosmic wonders, and stuff that catches her eye. She looks for words that are worth 1000 images. www.Pezzoliart.com

Silk painting by Marjorie Pezzoli

Silk painting and poem by Marjorie Pezzoli




RURAL HERITAGE OF HUMANITY: BAULS

---Madhuri Bhattacharya

Aami kothay paabo tare
Amar moner manush je re
Haareye shei manushe kaar udeshe
Desh bideshe
Ami desh bideshe barai ghure
(Lalon Shah)

 (Where shall I meet him/The Man of my heart/He is lost to me and I seek him wandering and to land)

 The song had echoed in my heart ever since I heard it in my growing years alongwith Gurudev s other compositions. It was in 2009 I heard the most beautiful rendition of the famous ‘Lal paharir desheja’ year at the Jaipur Literary Festival, as a representative of a musical cult that has imbibed musical trends from all over Asia. In front of me, clad in saffron robes, turban on head and dotara in hand (a two stringed instrument often used by Bauls) stood Nimai Chand Goswami. The song seemed to evoke a deep sense of nostalgia as well as unrest amongst the listeners, especially in the recurring refrain ‘Lal paharir desheja, rangamatir desheja/ Hethake toke maniachhena re, ikkebare maniacchena re’ (Go to your country of the red soil/ where you are, it doesn’t suit you). Although the song is attributed to the Bauls, it has been traced back to the poet Arun Chakraborty. I made my trip to Shantiniketan again the same year a small town in the Birbhum district of West Bengal, India, the seat of Rabindranath Tagore’s Visva-Bharati University as well as home to a large number of Bauls. It was at Bolpur station where I first encountered the voice I would grow to love over the years .A tall man with a slight paunch, Nimai Chand sang song after song that day on the train, accompanied by his dotara, leaving many of us mesmerised. In spite of his fame, Nimai Chand continued to sing on trains. He often said that this was in keeping with the Baul tradition of wandering, while also giving publicity to his songs. In the end, he quietly got off the train and walked away, leaving us to contemplate the man and his songs.

If one has been to Bengal and have travelled by local train, one can’t have miss the Bauls. Ektara (a one stringed instrument) in hand, ghunguroo (musical anklet) on one foot, a flowing alkhala(saffron robe), and a song on the lips; these things generally identify a Baul. From time to time, one hears Baul names like Gaur Khepa, Lalon Fakir or Purna Das Baul associated with international figures like Allen Ginsberg or Bob Dylan. This may create the impression that these singers and their music from the Bengal heartland have been well accepted, understood and loved by a broader audience. Yet this is not exactly the case. Their easy-going music – as portrayed in documentaries like Le chant des fous by Georges Luneau (1979), or films like Moner Manush by Goutam Ghose (2010) – does not indicate the hardships of Baul life.

The Bauls trace their origin to the ideas of Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, a 16th century Hindu saint from eastern India. Most of them belong to the six families of the gurus and their descendants. The gurus themselves were descendants of the six 16th century Baul Goswamis. The word ‘Goswami’ refers to a man who has conquered the material world, and is thus enabled to lead others to do the same. ‘Go’ stands for the senses, and ‘swami’ denotes the master. The Baul spirit may be understood as a great melting pot of different cultures and sects, yet if there is one strain that pervades the Bauls, it is the joy of being one with nature. Spread over Bangladesh and India, a large number of Bauls migrated to Kolkata after the 1971 war. But, the superficial aspects of the city were not something they could involve themselves in, leading many to retreat to rural Bengal. This rural setting is reflected in most of their songs, linking the Baul to nature, representing their own bodies as temples and often the ultimate avenues to all spiritual knowledge.

To those used to city life, this form of intense engagement with nature and total disregard for social norms, which is an inherent part of Baul music, seems so different from their own urban lives that it makes the figure of the Baul assume mythical proportions. This often brings about an uneasiness regarding them: in spite of enjoying their music, most prefer to maintain a distance from them. As a result, the Bauls remain largely misunderstood, in many ways indistinguishable from an imagination of wandering mendicants who roam the countryside. “Wild and free, they raised their clamour in the mansions of the rich, and roared in gaiety in the courtyards of the poor. They traveled by foot to fairs and festivals. They sang in buses and trains. Their melodies were poignant, their texts enigmatic. Garbed in long, flowing, multicoloured robes… often living in pairs, they played their frenetic rhythms on stage, handmade instruments" reflects Mimlu Sen, another baul singer. She also speaks of the resistance that she had to face from her urban middle-class family who disapproved of her close association with the Bauls. Sen elaborates on her own cautious approach to Bauls and their spiritual philosophy while describing her hesitancy in being formally initiated into the Baul fold. It was Hari Goshain, Sen’s guru, who helped her overcome her wariness by reassuring her of the modernity within Baul philosophy by saying:Jaa dekhibo naa nija nayane/taa bishvaasa koribo naa gurura bacane. (If I cannot see it with my own eyes/ I will not believe it, even on the guru’s word.)

The seclusion of the Bauls has not just been limited to urban settings; those in the villages have also found it difficult to understand their beliefs – particularly their love of nature and expression of physical desire. As a result families who gave Bauls shelter in the villages were often considered outcastes. In Moner Manush – showcasing the life of Lalon Fakir, a famous Bengali Baul saint who was a songwriter and social reformer who influenced poets and thinkers of his time, including Rabindranath Tagore – we see a scene in which Lalon is declared an outcaste on his return from a long voyage during which he interacted with Muslims. His mother throws him out of the house, the villagers refuse to interact with him, and his wife is not allowed to accompany him when he leaves the village.

The Bauls are nonconformists and have been so through their almost 500 year history. Their very name originates from the Sanskrit vatula (mad) or vyakula (restless in nature). They were labelled mad perhaps as a result of their outright rejection of all traditional social norms. This included an overall rejection of both caste and religion prevalent in Bengali society.Moner Manush includes scenes in which Lalon is confronted by both Muslims and Hindus, who ask what his religion is. He bursts into a song that showcases and contradicts the notion of human division in the name of caste and creed: Jaat gelo, jaat gelo bole/ eki aajob karkhana/ Soytto kaje keu noy raaji/ sabi dekhi..ta na na na/ ashbar kale ki jaat chile/ eshe tumi ki jaat nile/ ki jaat hoba jabar kale/ se..kotha bhebe bolo na/ Jaat gelo jaat gelo bole…(People say my caste is gone, what a strange factory is this, no one is ready for the truth… I see everything… when you were born into this world, what caste did you belong to, when you came what caste did you take to, what caste will you be when you leave this world, think about that and tell me- people say my caste is gone…)

Baul musical culture includes aspects of both Hinduism and Islam, and as a result, the language is often mixed, deriving from sects as diverse as Hindu Tantrism, Sahajiya, Vaishnava and Sufism. Unlike orthodox Hindus or Muslims, Baul songs and teachings often seek to portray spirituality, discovery of passion, understanding of the human body, control of breath, sexo-yogic practices (Prem Sadhana, loosely translated as ‘worship of love’), other esoteric practices (loosely based on the Vaishnava Sahajiyas, a form of tantric Vaishnavism centred in Bengal) and mystical devotion, all of which are ingrained in their philosophy. The Baul practice of Prem Sadhana, the yogic discipline of breath control and retention of seminal fluids, is loosely based on Tantric practices (a style of meditation and ritual that arose in India around the 5th century), and those of the Vaishnava Sahajiyas. These practices have received a lot of international attention, and attempts have been made to decipher songs that speak of the esoteric knowledge of conception and contraception, as revealed through an enigmatic language often decoded by the guru for their disciples: Se je agnir mukhepara rakhesadhakyara rakhekebaltaraphumordvaare(Those who are sadhakas place the mercury in the mouth of fire, only at the entry of the fissure.)These lines stress correct sexual performance and understanding these practices is important for anyone trying to understand Baul music, since the Bauls believe that these teachings lead to holistic social achievements and harmony. They believe that all macrocosmic realities find their reflection within the human body. This is aligned with the central theme that all questions about the creator and human life are best answered in the process of human procreation. These teachings seem to find reflection in the literature that is part of Tantric treatises, medieval Bengali Sufism, Buddhist Sahajiya songs, and Vaishnava Sahajiya verses, among others.

The language of the Baul is modern and secular, even though it remains rooted in the imagery and natural world of rural Bengal. As a result, a certain sense of humility and simplicity appears to be a part of their culture, and needs to be acknowledged if one is to have even a preliminary understanding of the spirit of a Baul. For this, one has also to recognise the lessons drawn from nature. It is thus in rural lands, amid paddy fields, banyan groves and forests that the Bauls have historically roamed, practicing Madukari, moving from door to door with songs.As a part of this ritual, a Baul sings in return for alms. When the Baul reaches a door and sings, it is said his songs reach the inner ear of the person, helping the inner Kalpavriksha (the tree of bounty in Hindu mythology) bloom. Flowers sprout in the inner mind, and sweetness moves along the stamen to the pistils of these blossoms, which in then further replicated in the human body. A connection to the soul is thus established, purifying both the singer and the listener.

Watching a Baul perform Madukari and perform on stage are entirely different experiences. At another Baul concert in Kolkata around 2016, where I watched lakkha Das Baul perform Surrounded by guitar, drums and a synthesiser, the voice of the Baul was lost somewhere. A few more Bauls performed, ghunguroo on their feet, dancing in a whirl, their songs blasting from a loudspeaker while the audience fidgeted, walked around and fiddled with their phones. What remained of the music was a sad caricature of who the Baul is and what his music seeks to say.Today it would be unfair to say that the world has not acknowledged the Bauls, a niche international as well as home-grown audience understand and loves their music, while also recognising the importance of their philosophy in the context of a disturbed present. Filmmaker Goutam Ghose noted this in an interview, when he said:Just like after 9/11 people re-discovered Rumi, along with a resurgent need for peace, similarly Bauls as a group have through their songs been spreading the terrific message about peace, love and brotherhood, all through these years, without realizing how great a part their songs had played in that direction.Perhaps just as the 13th century Persian poet Rumi’s poetry brought forth the message of peace to a larger world audience, a greater awareness of the Bauls and their music could lead to a better understanding of not only this genre but also their basic teaching of love and brotherhood.

Rabindranath Tagore, who was himself influenced by the Bauls, played an early role in introducing them to an international audience. His songs often reiterated the deeply humanistic and anti-sectarian voice of the Bauls, and found in them a creative stimulus to his own outputs. His poem “I am one of them”, while being a comment on the futility of caste, is also an introspection on his own state of affairs: “I, a poet, am one of them –/ I too am outcast, without initiation,/my offerings did not reach/ That jail imprisoning the Gods(the temple)The same observations about the need to liberate oneself of caste and creed were also made by the poet during the Hibbert Lecture in Oxford in 1930, when he compared himself to a Baul: That is why, brother, I became a madcap Baul./ No master I obey, nor injunctions, canons or custom./ Now no men-made distinctions have any hold on me,/ And I revel only in the gladness of my own welling love./ In love there’s no separation, but commingling always./ So I rejoice in song and dance with each and all.

However, one must question this recognition, the urban setting, the electric sounds, the so-called glamorisation. How much has it really helped the preservation of simple Baul music and its cultural ethos? Questions must be asked about whether exposure has led to a depletion of what Bauls stand for. My evening in Kolkata was enriched when the Bauls where pulled down from the stage and urged to sing free in the more natural environment of a friend’s house, where their immense magic unfurled. It made me realise that their songs are best sung free and beyond the confines of a stage.Yet Bauls have not been able to resist the lure of good money and recognition. Realising that their music and its philosophy is appealing to Western audiences, many Bauls have wanted to travel, perhaps in search of a better life and acceptance. But in spite of travelling beyond their rustic territories and singing for a much larger and international audience, has Baul music and the profundity of their philosophy been understood? And if the answers to such questions are affirmative, why then are their heroes not lauded in life as they are in death, why has their music still largely remained in confines?

Nimai Chand Goswami died on 13 June 2014, and was cremated in Bolpur. He was well-known for his beautiful songs and his expertise on the dotara. His death went largely unreported. Asking why this is so is perhaps not easy, as it demands introspection. One wonders whether obscurity in death would matter for Nimai, who once sang:Ke ba badshah ke ba fakir…shobai toh insane re…char dine er ei asha jawa…jhogra bibad korishnike… allah r dorbare jeno shokale shoman…bhalo monder bichar koren khuda meherban(Who is the king and who is pauper/ everyone is human/ life seems like a few days of coming and going/forget about fights and arguments/everyone is same in the court of Allah/only he judges who is right and who is wrong]

Given the fact that there are many such Baul singers who face oblivion because they do not sound ‘modern’ or are not more attuned to urban tastes, will the traditional Baul be forced to change? The question is important because Baul music is not merely music, but a confluence of their lifestyle, philosophy and culture.Purna Das Baul, one of the few Bauls to have made it truly big internationally was one of the first to have insisted upon payment for songs, breaking from the Madhukari tradition(which his own father insisted upon while alive). Unlike Purna Das Baul, other Baul stalwarts like Gour Khyapa and Nimai Chand largely lived lives of poverty. Gour Khepa was a celebrated figure in life and death, and counted the likes of Bob Dylan among his friends. He may have been labelled a rock star had he been anywhere else but Bengal. The balancing act required for a Baul to retain his Baul identity while producing music that is popular is perhaps a tough one, but necessary, if this musical cult of wandering minstrels is to be preserved.

The fact that Baul music is a method of sacred communication rather than just a source of entertainment should be understood and preserved. Hari Goshain and Nimai Chand, who largely remained uncelebrated in spite of large followings in the Bengal heartland, are classic examples of the clash between preserving the old and giving way to the new. So, while Hari Goshain’s teachings are modern in their allegorical interpretation of the Gita and other works, the likes of him are few. Such Bauls shall perhaps remain obscure because they refuse to bend, or blend, into the modern understanding of what Baul music should be.The demise of a free spirited Baul or the loss of his songs would be mourned forever, especially for those who know how to listen and perceive that which the free soul has sung. On such an occasion, one is reminded of lines spoken by one of Bengal’s most-loved poets, Shakti Chattopadhyay (who was close to Nabani Das Baul) in his elegy to the singer:Kobi mour, rekhe gaele chino hote smaarok, mawrmawr…/Neerawbe kaemon achhi bhalobeshe aamrityu shawngjoto!(O Poet, you left behind the memorial in marble to be uprooted… How I love thee in silence]

 Kenduli, a small village in interior Bengal is the seat of the Joydeb Mela (a fair) every year. The fair is a celebration of the poet Joydeb, his poetry and the love of Radha and Krishna. Bauls, Sanyasis and lovers of song and verse collect in this village every year, to find a bit of themselves and be a part of the great spectacle that is this fair. While the lure of the singer and his song is tempting, the silent spectator, a tree in this case, witness to numerous songs, was the bigger attraction for me.To see Tamalatala, in Kenduli, where the Bauls gather every year is an experience in itself. Deep rooted within us is the inherent capacity of most men and women to be drawn to that which we later know as, the call of the soul.It is close to summer and the famous Bengal Kal Boishaki is on its way. Thunderous and sudden, they come without warning. And even as I sat under the beautiful envelope of trees, I felt the sudden bliss of the rains. The distant rumble of thunder and lightning lit up the river.

Once out of the shade of the Tamala tree, I walked towards the waters of Ajoy. They seemed muddy and heavy now. I walked along a little further and as if from nowhere came the distant song of a Baul, a Khamak and Dotara (Stringed instruments used in folk music) playing along. I turned around to see the Tamala for one last time and it seemed to me that the waters paused for a bit, the tremor in the leaves too, only the song continued. Lines from Oliver Wendell crossed my mind, ‘And if I should live to be/The last leaf upon the tree/In the spring,/Let them smile, as I do now,/At the old forsaken bough/Where I cling.’

 I left, somehow carrying a bit of that eternity in me.

Split Sequence Collaboration: Jerome Berglund and Marjorie Pezzoli

Jerome Berglund
Jerome Berglund (+ Marjorie Pezzoli)

Jerome Berglund has worked as everything from dishwasher to paralegal, night watchman to assembler of heart valves. Many haiku, haiga and haibun, and collaborative tan-renga, rengay, and split sequences he’s written have been exhibited or are forthcoming online and in print, most recently in bottle rockets, Frogpond, and Modern Haiku. His first full-length collections of poetry Bathtub Poems and Funny Pages were just released by Setu and Meat For Tea press, and a mixed media chapbook showcasing his fine art photography is available now from Yavanika.
Marjorie Pezzoli is a silk painter for 25+ years, visual artist, storyteller, and poet. Her writings deal with grief, hope, cosmic wonders, and stuff that catches her eye. Her poetry has been published in numerous anthologies since 2019. Many of her writings are inspired by her photographic observations taken while walking Beau, the dog with Betty Davis eyes. Marjorie looks for words that are worth a thousand images. wwwPezzoliart.com

Concrete / Vispo: Jerome Berglund

Jerome Berglund has published book reviews and essays on poetry and poetics in Fireflies’ Light, Frogpond, Haiku Canada, Hooghly Review, the Mamba, North of Oxford, Setu, Valley Voices, also frequently exhibits poetry, short stories, plays, and fine art photography in print magazines, online journals, and anthologies.
Jerome Berglund



Poetry: Muj├л Bu├зpapaj

Muj├л Bu├зpapaj
Poet Muj├л Bu├зpapaj  (pronounced as "moo-yeh boo-ch-pah-pai.") was born in Tropoja, Albania (1962). He graduated from the branch of Albanian Language and Literature, University of Tirana (1986). He is one of the most prominent exponents of contemporary Albanian poetry with the greatest national and international success, respectively published in several foreign languages and honored with several prestigious international awards from Greece to the USA and one of the most prominent managers of culture in the country. Drafter of cultural policies.
He is the organizer and leader of many international conferences held in Tirana on the problems of art, literature and copyright.
He is the author of many study books on literature and poetics, but also of hundreds of journalistic writings, criticisms, essays, studies including those on regional problems, national security as well as on the management of art in market conditions, cultural policies and national strategy. of culture. He is known as one of the strongest public debaters on the problems of the Albanian transition, regional political developments, and democracy as a whole. He is the founder of the newspaper/magazine "Nacional" and its director. He lives, works and creates in Tirana, together with his wife and two daughters.
***


THE PARADE OF LIGHT

Light
The old dream of the field
And of the praying candle
Of hope
Marched ahead at dusk
Freeing people from mud
Of their creation
Prayers promises now in books
Like the victory of corn
In planted fields
Girls carrying baskets full of winds
And wild roses
Hidden amidst fields like prophets
O God executing
Sacred promises
Lighten the path
That leads birds
To Northern Alps
Light marching ahead
Over the city of hatred
On the souls of the dead
Rising into the sky
My father far on the crossed shores
Of suffering
Covers the distant field
With scythed grass
That freshness and sweetness of early harvest
The tree of hope
Resurrected from resurrecting
Is born back at its roots
Light marching ahead
O You God
Keeping all Your promises
Give us strength to fire a welcoming Summer
***


THE GLOOMY, THE LEAFLESS

Before dawn lights
Assaults
The regime of words
Is seeking the name
Of doubters
Those hesitating
The dark scribbles
Of the philosopher
Of the philosophies of the dialectics
We would go to war
Under punishing whims of bullets
And air hot
With passing metal and mortal
And us with thoughts
That thoughtful children
Will wake on
The morrow
As trees of city
I will go to war
With the gloom of the trees
In fall
In the yard
Where mothers watch
Lying skies
Where signs of freedom
Are always promised
In Illyria
Blue and blinding
***


THE REST COME FROM GOD

With flutes
For victories
In books at libraries
Strong are
The privileged living
They’ll carry the flag
To the top of hope
The rest come from God
THE READ AND UNREAD
No land left
In life’s shriven river
Joined to mountain
As evening
The dancing field of light
All that read
And unread
Planted beneath
The two trees
No land left
To call lit
Patience
The disappearing and dissipated
Roots of the two trees
***


TWO SHEETS OF WIND

Forest from window
In April 
resurrection
On desk’s map
In Book’s halves
Fallen tree
And rain on window
Two sheets of wind
Constitute the world
***


RAIN ISN’T RAIN

What murmurs
When touching leaves
Isn’t rain at all
Rain is a different thing
It’s the sky’s tear
Pouring down
The way the tear of the eye flows
From suffering and longing
The rain we ask from the sky
The rain we dream of
Isn’t rain at all
It’s a crystal tear
Running from the sky
To reach our fields and homes
What touches ears of grain noisily
Driving birds away
Isn’t rain at all
Even birds
Flee suffering
And have longing
For lost homes
***


TREES AND MEN

The tree fails to embrace the tree
The way man embraces man
It ghosts the under the mountain
Instead
The tree fails to smile at the tree
The way man smiles at man
It leafs at the beginning of each spring
Instead
The tree fails to lament for the tree
The way man laments for man
It drops the leaves at the end of each autumn
Instead
Trees and men
Leafs and ghosts
Instead

(Translation by Claude C. FREEMAN III and Uk├л Zenel Bu├зpapaj)

Aadiyogi Shiv – a journey in cosmic indigo

Sangeeta Gupta

Some dreams seen by others become your own.

How they manifest in the subconscious of others and you get to execute them!

How utterly beautiful is that!

On 19th July 2019, I got a message from Kavita Nayar, an artist from Delhi.

"Good morning, want to tell you that last night I dreamt of you. We were in a camp together. You created 10 paintings in 3 days 2x2 ft., very interesting works. And then you had employed 2 people to paint a thick cloth in yellow, almost 100 metres long. I wonder what does this dream signify... You must be on your way to create a Guinness world record…"

After receiving this message, I called her to talk about it. She said on a serious note that I have aspirations and maybe I will do it one day. I just laughed and thought I could have but after my accident, it seemed so unrealistic.

Somehow, her dream lingered in my thoughts and amused me to no end; how strange, I figure in other people's dreams!

This was not the first case. Some months passed by but I often remembered about it. Though never thought of executing such a long painting.

I was in Jaipur to receive a lifetime achievement award for my contribution to the field of fine art on 26th December 2019, in an art festival organised by Art Fiesta. During the festival I met Ashok Aatreya, a writer and an old acquaintance. I had time on hand and we had some meaningful conversation about the indigo natural colour and dye. He and his fellow artist friends had a display of their art works in indigo there in the festival. Just on an impulse, I said I would also like to paint on fabric with indigo. On the last day of my trip Ashok took me to a work centre in village Ratelia, Sanganer to make me have a hands-on experience with the indigo. Before going there, we went to his guru Gayatri Sharma, a dhrupad* singer to listen to her renditions and have breakfast with her. She mesmerised me with her rendition and explanations about the nuances of dhrupad. I was drowned in dhrupad when I started to paint on the fabric with dabu**. I was excited to experiment and could really paint well. I called my first such painting Dhrupad Neel. Then and there, I decided to create a mass appeal for revival of natural indigo by making a 100-metre-long painting using the natural colour and dye on hand-spun fabric.

That day was the beginning of a new-found passion, which kept growing inside me. I thought of it all the time and waited for the right time to start, a more favourable weather to paint for long hours. I discussed this project with my son and he advised me to think of a theme and make detailed sketches of the whole painting in advance. I have immense trust in his wisdom and readily agreed to do so.

I booked my train tickets for 25th February and ordered fabric, hand-spun khaddar of 125 metres.

On the day of Mahashivratri, 21st February 2020 I fasted and prayed to Lord Shiv and conceptualised my new painting about Aadiyogi Shiv, the Ardhnarishwar and started sketching in a note book. The beginning of creation, the Shakti and Shiv together in eternal bliss, and it flowed like a never-ending stream out of nowhere. Shiv, the whole of universe, was my subject. My approach was abstract, conceptual, minimalist. I wanted it to be symbolic, yet simple.

I boarded the early morning train to Jaipur. After reaching there, from the station went straight to the village Ratelia and started to set up my work station; and, by early noon, I started painting on the hand-spun khaddar with dabu.

It is a cumbersome process and also very time consuming. Once you paint, you have to sprinkle saw dust on top of it to save it from smudging.

I worked continuously with a lunch-break of fifteen minutes, till I could in the night. It was my daily routine. I did not let any one of my friends know that I was in Sanganer, so near Jaipur. After a few days, I realised that I would not be able to finish it by 29th February. So, I cancelled my return ticket.

Once I finished a piece, it had to sun dry and only then I could dye it. The whole process took a few days.

I also did some pieces without using dabu and painted them with natural indigo colour. That seemed much easier and more fun to me. I had to cut my long painting into numerous pieces, because it was not possible to dye the whole in one go.

About the dying process, I took guidance from Mr. Brij Valabh Udaywal, the owner of Shilpi Sansthan who is a President of India awardee for his dying and printing skills. This is his family legacy and he is the third generation of block printers. He provided me raw material dabu, natural dye and colour indigo (neel)***. His workers were there to help and support me in preparation of dabu, dying and all sundry menial work.

Ashok Aatreya witnessed the beginning of this mission and also visited the venue several times.

I was very secretive about the whole process, as it was much about my own endurance. I had met with an accident in March 2019and smashed my right wrist and had undergone a surgery with an implant. I had to undergo more than 150 sessions of physiotherapy to get the normal strength in my wrist to relieve the constant nagging pain. I could paint and do all what is required of my right-hand wrist but doing a 100-metre painting at a stretch was my ultimate test. I was not competing with anyone. As always, I was challenging my own self to explore my physical and mental boundaries. The whole universe was on my side.

I intended to paint 100 metres but went on to finish 185 metres. That just happened by accident. I kept on asking the two workers whether the whole lot of fabric kept there was what I had purchased and every time they said yes with such conviction that I could not doubt about the exact measurements. Finally, when we measured it, it turned out to be 185 metres. Thereafter I checked the world records and was very amused to realise that I had created a new record by making the longest painting by an individual.

I returned home to sleep over my small victory. Shiv was there by my side as always.

I have always been a spiritually-inclined person but with maturity, my interest in the eternal cosmic entity Shiv became deeper. He is omnipresent, both inside and outside of us. We are all connected and originate from one source and it is Shiv. My inclination is not merely a new indulgence. It goes deeper than that, I may say it started with the beginning of my life, my early childhood. My grandfather had a great influence on my spiritual upbringing. Kashmir reiterated my faith in the universal principle of Shivohum. The whole universe is Shiv, there is no beginning, no end. He is all and he is in each of us.

I am an abstract artist and Shiv is pure abstraction. My painting is not religious, I believe in Oneness of the whole (EKAM).

One of the 64 manifestations of Shiv, the man, woman form with Parvati constituting the left half of Shiv, he draws the feminine into his own self. He is half man, half woman. A symbol of the Samkhya philosophy which talks of Purusha (the male energy) and Prakriti (the female energy); together they make the cosmic energy.

As Ardhanareeswara, Shiv destroys the old. Thereafter, a process of recreation begins all over again. Mother Shakti once propitiated Lord Shiv that she be part of him in body and mind. He granted her this wish and absorbed her in half of himself, thus was created the half-man half-woman aspect of Lord Shiv, symbolising the oneness of all beings.

This fusion of Shiv and Shakti representing the male and female halves transcends the distinction between limitations of male and female. She is substrate and he is substance. Shiv is static; Shakti is dynamic and creative. Shiv is being and Shakti is becoming. He is one; she is many; he is infinite and she renders the infinite into finite; he is formless and she renders the formless into myriad forms; but both are one.

All that power in creation, maintenance, and dissolution rests with Shakti. However, the great mother does not exist without Shiv.

Ardhanareeshvara is a combination of three words “Ardha,” “Nari,” and “Ishwara” means “half,” “woman,” and “lord,” respectively, which when combined means the lord whose half is a woman. It is believed that the God is Lord Shiv and the woman part is his consort Goddess Parvati or Shakti. The Ardhanareeshvara represents a constructive and generative power. Ardhanareeshvara symbolizes that male and female principles cannot be separated. It conveys the unity of opposites in the universe. The male half stands for Purusha and female half is Prakriti. Ardhanareeshvara harmonizes the two conflicting ways of life: The spiritual way of the ascetic as represented by Shiv, and the materialistic way of the householder symbolised by Parvati. It conveys that Shiv and Shakti are one and the same. A human being is not a pure unisexual organism. Each human organism bears the potentiality of both male and female sex. Neurohormonal mechanisms have been found to be greatly influencing the sexual behaviour. The modern world has come to understand the concept of “Ardhanareeshwara” as it aspires to resolve the paradox of opposites into a unity, not by negation, but through positive experiences of life. The matching of opposites produces the true rhythm of life.

The perception of the universe and its understanding lies within the brain. Both Philosophy and Science aim to render intelligible to us our world of experience. Both encompass man and universe and both try to find out the origin, evaluation, and nature of the universe in order to have glimpses of the principles, involved in it. The difference between these two disciplines, therefore, is in their different approaches viz. the former-perception, while the latter reveals it by experimentations. Ancient Hindu concepts regarding brain science are now attracting the scientific community to explore some of their mystical findings and make use of them in further understanding of brain behaviour. So, the Vedas, Upanishads, and Puranas are being reviewed all over the world.

Subject and medium merge when the artist is at peace with herself. If you are experiencing love, compassion and bliss, medium doesn't bother you. If you are connected with the universe everything unfolds before you. I just had to train my hands a bit to use dabu as a medium on fabric.

when artists work, they are in solitude, they are preoccupied with their creativity. I am drawn to Mahamrityunjaya Mantra and Nirvana Shatkum composed by Aadi Shankaracharya. I have also painted the text with brush in natural colour indigo in my studio. I completed 185 metres in nine days in Sanganer and returned to Delhi on 4th March 2020 because Corona had started spreading in close by areas of Jaipur. The rest of the 15-metre painting, I completed in my studio in Delhi.

I have been conceptualising this painting since end of December 2019. After purchase of the khaddar cloth, natural indigo colour and dye, I started the actual painting on 25th February 2020; worked for nine days in Ratelia village, Sanganer at Shilpi Sansthan. I had made all the related sketches before I started execution of this project. I first painted with dabu, a muddy paste with brush and then put saw dust on it and then sun-dried the painting. After that it was soaked in drums of indigo dye and then washed and dried again.

The second method applied for painting is that I dyed the khaddar cloth first in light shades of indigo, dried it and then painted on the cloth again with dark shades of indigo colour. After 4th March I painted on the dyed cloth with dark indigo. I have used two different methods to paint on the fabric.

We have to return to the basics, if we want to survive in peace. Handmade fabric is environment friendly and natural colour and dye are handmade too, they are chemical free. It is to promote sustainable living and promote natural indigo so I have created this painting that is abstract, conceptual, minimalist painting on natural sustainable khaddar fabric with organic indigo colour and dye.

This is a movement for revival of natural indigo.

To encourage revival of indigo cultivation, a cash crop as a mass movement to make it a commercially viable venture for farmers, dyers and craft men. To encourage print makers to apply contemporary art, merge it with traditional craft of block printing with natural dabu and organic indigo. To make it highly sought-after export product.

 

Notes:

*Dhrupad
Dhrupad is a genre in Hindustani classical music from the Indian subcontinent. It is the oldest known style of major vocal style of Hindustani classical music.

**Dabu

The Process of making Dabu (mud resist) is to prepare the clay first, by finely sieving it. Calcium hydroxide (Chuna in Hindi), naturally pounded wheat chaff (Beedan in Hindi, clay-lime-gum-insect eaten wheat mixture), and gum (Gound in Hindi) are the main ingredients to make the mud resist.


***Indigo (Neel)
Indigofera tinctoria, also called true indigo, is a species of plant from the bean family that was one of the original sources of indigo colour and
dye.

 ***

About my works

Aadiyogi Shiv: a journey in cosmic indigo

Title of the paintings

"Aadiyogi shiv : a journey in cosmic indigo"

Technique and style:

Abstract, conceptual, minimalist painting on natural sustainable, hand woven khadi fabric with organic indigo colour and dye extracted from indigo plant

I am an abstract artist and the biggest challenge for me was to start with form and culminate it into formlessness.

Shiv is both form and form less. Roop se Aroop tak ,it's my journey with Shiv.

I have tried to remind people of my country India to take pride in our heritage. Khadi and Neel are our very own since ages. Our block printing technique is our own age-old way of chhapakala which is now becoming extinct. Machine has made everything so mechanical and impersonal. I just wanted to give some, abstract idioms to our chhapakala. This may be refreshing and contemporary.

 

Gender equality: Ardhnarinateshwar

My inspiration has been the ardhnarinateshwar, lord Shiv who has both forms of energy ,male and female.

These works are born out of infinite, formless energy of Aadiyogi Shiv, ardhnarinateshwar, the ultimate feminist.

There is no beginning, no end, all encompassing, omnipresent Shiv is present in all of us.

 






 


Details Of Paintings for the exhibition

1

Aadiyogi Shiv A Journey in Cosmic Indigo 5, 2020

51 x 53 cms (1.6 x 1.6 feet)

Fabric

hand spun khadi

Technique

Hand painted with mud resist then dyed in natural indigo extracted from indigo plant

 

2

Aadiyogi Shiv A Journey in Cosmic Indigo 81, 2020

198 x 93 cms (6.5 x 3.05 feet)

Fabric

hand spun khadi

Technique

Hand painted with mud resist then dyed in natural indigo extracted from indigo plant