Constructed in the 16th century AD, the Surat Fort in Gujarat, India, is one of the oldest forts and has been host to visitors from all over the globe. Built by the Sultan of Ahmedabad, Mahmood III, it was taken care of by a Turkish soldier, Safi Agha, later captured by Emperor Akbar and seized by Siddi Jauhar. This was followed by the rule of the English and the Moorish armies. I was fortunate to visit this restored fort recently and it was amazing to see all the art forms that were collected, accepted, retained and glorified: British barracks, ancient hand-drawn maps of their travels by the Italians, the Dutch-style furniture replicas, the courts and the British tea rooms. The fort, even today, is welcoming to those who come and celebrate its existence. A riot of cultures overlapping one another have created a fabric so intricately woven that loosening one of the knots would dissipate its beauty. The fort is but a replica of Indian culture. Indian cities, although developing at a super rapid pace, are inclusive. They are a cultural reflection of the past and they carry this syntax into the present.
What makes an Indian city inclusive? Let us build an image of any Indian city: Mercedes cars run parallel to vegetable carts, a cow finds its way out of the mob that has rushed out from a railway station, a school child on a bicycle passes a stray dog and hawkers sell anklets and spices at the edge of the street. This paints a picture, completely opposite to the one in European cities like Berlin and Geneva where the cars stop for the pedestrians to cross, the animals are happily tucked in their barn-yards, the heavy vehicles follow a time-table and a lane on a highway as well as public market streets are strictly pedestrianised. Being a resident of Mumbai for the past two decades, I believe, a common man’s life in Indian cities is about negotiated boundaries and existence through mutual consent, which makes them inclusive. They cannot be named orderly, but, display an organised chaos; they are not systematic, but are layered in complex patterns; they are not necessarily aesthetically appealing, but could be pronounced beautiful by virtue of their functionality. For an Indian city, art and income are conjugal. Art is not only the result of heavy expenditure or upheaval of passion leading to angry strokes on the canvas, nor is it only displayed in galleries or performed in theatres.
“A great artist is a simplifier”- Vincent Van Gogh
Art in an Indian city is what is painted on railway stations to avoid deceptive advertisements, it is the sandcastles at Girgaum Chowpatty (the beach), it is the cane basket weavers’ display along a few traffic islands. The city of Mumbai hunts for rhythm in the moving train, in the songs of the dabbawalas (the dabbawalas constitute a lunchbox delivery and return system that delivers hot lunches
from homes and restaurants to people at work in India, especially in Mumbai), the rains tapping on the windshields in the traffic, in the roar of the cheer of gully cricket and the bells hung at the edge of a sugarcane juice machine. It is the music of the visually challenged flute seller who plays typical Bollywood tunes to sell more than 10 sizes of flutes. It is an art form that reaches out to the majority. It is art that is as sensorial as it’s essential and complementary for livelihood.
As cartloads of vegetables arrive in a truck at the break of dawn, the seller unloads it enthusiastically. He separates the spoilt ones from the fresh and sprays water on them to make them appear lively. He arranges the cauliflower, brinjal, tomatoes and the spinach as per colour and form. The colours in the hierarchy have a definite spatial sequence. He arranges them in a way that the customer’s eye moves up and down in a linked sequence, eventually joining the dots. He makes sure that the parking space right in front of his stall is vacant and hails his potential customers. As the customer checks the spinach for texture, colour and scent, he waits expectantly and silently prays that the customer won’t bargain. Every shopkeeper is an artist. The presence of red, green and brown chillies is noticeable by the pungent scent emanating from the jute bags.
The sale of five apples would change the arrangement creating a completely new piece of art
Where art and income are inseparable, the spatial and urban approach of art is distinguishable from the one offered by other research fields such as the sociology of art or art history. The imitation jewellery shop owner locates himself right beside the sari shop. He makes sure that the elegant ones form the face of the shop; little girls must find their comfort zone with vibrant colours and anime characters as well. At Colaba Causeway, a street full of gypsy jewellery and other fashion items, the stall with the best arrangements draws the maximum customers. It is a reflection of the social, geographical, historical and cultural image of the place. The proportions of the stall to the number of people and the produce to be sold highlights the organic development of the Indian villages. It grows in no pre-determined queue; social distances in the market are gradually developed. The proximity allows the sellers to shout optimal prices to grab the attention of passers-by during peak hours. In the afternoons, with a low density of customers, it allows for a joint lunch with conversation about politics and family life. After an afternoon siesta, the display changes yet again for the evening. The working class, leaving their offices, find glee in the colours, shapes and sizes of products and sounds that draw their gaze.
Art for income is ephemeral and invites no attachment with the outcome. One would then ask, if art and its fulfilment would end with the motive of earning income. For a fruit-seller, the sale of five apples would change the arrangement creating a completely new piece of art. This cycle is repeated regularly as if it were a ritual for public spaces. New compositions are made, regularly. They evolve, grow, alter as the sun sets as if it were a biological clock set by humans! The longevity of each piece of art is varied and is well accepted by these artisans.
Festivals augment creativity. Rangoli, a traditional Hindu art form, is floor art for Diwali. Displayed outside shops and homes as a sign of auspiciousness, the vibrant patterns are an example of inclusive chaos yet again. What makes this art inclusive? Conceptualised by one, drawn by the other, coloured by a third person, the rangoli does not lose its identity, nor its holy importance. The hawkers with rangoli colours roll their handcarts along the streets with more than a dozen of the powdered colours. The tiny heaps with glitter on top and pre-designed plastic moulds disclose a picture of what the rangoli might look like that evening.
For India, this streetscape scenario is recurring. It is easy to spot these streets near railway stations, outside malls, at the urban square and outside large housing complexes. The patterns are true for almost all cities and are inherited. Step out of the modern gated, elegant communities, and the presence of these streets leaves every customer satisfied with familiarity. It carries a warmth that forms the face of Indian cities.
The natural forms of a river, forest, volcano observe no order and are yet beautiful. Likewise, the sounds of a cow mooing, cycle bells tingling, Mercedes wheels rolling and the artisans – potters, vegetable sellers, street food hawkers – form an artistic composition by themselves. The city, with a number infinite such streets is a mosaic of cultures by itself. It unites the professionals, artisans, craftsmen across income groups, religions, languages and physical barriers. It renders the city colourful and playful against the mundane routine of 9 to 5 jobs. It gives women a reason to gather and shop together, it allows for deeper family relations where this sensorial art display is a collective effort for sustenance, it encourages employment and tickles the creative corner of every citizen. They overlap the concepts of comfort zones, neighbourhood intimacy, outdoor rooms and streets as playscapes with culture and people. It is what defines the Indian city and its ‘organised chaos’. This art form is liberal, it evolves with time and generations, generates income and utilises resources optimally. It is hence sustainable, both socially and economically.
All Photos: Authors
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