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Bollywood’s poster boy

Ranjit Dahiya poses in front of the first wall he ever painted, at Carter Road.
Artist, free hand painter Ranjit Dahiya is bringing Bollywood alive in Mumbai for a year, one wall at a time.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

Ranjit Dahiya is 33, charming and quite direct. He pays full attention when you’re speaking, is disarmingly honest, and wears his small town origins with enviable confidence. “I come from a small village in Haryana, and I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do as a young boy,” he remembers. “Art happened to me because it was an avenue that I decided to explore on a whim. I didn’t know any English, I didn’t know what art was supposed to be.” And yet, he graduated from National Institute of Design (NID) Delhi and holds a Fine Arts degree from a Chandigarh college – but everything’s come with a bit of a struggle.

Today, Ranjit is celebrated as an artist, especially since he founded and started the Bollywood Art Project (BAP), a community visual art project under which he hand paints popular people and moments in Hindi cinema on walls that are located in public spaces. He stays at Bandra and has also worked on walls in this suburb, though he is looking at ‘good walls’ in other places as well. “I came to Mumbai in 2008 because I got a job as a graphic designer with a website here,” he says. “I had just passed from NID. When I came to Mumbai, I realised that there were not enough art installations or paintings in the city. So I became very interested with The Wall Project, and met up with them to understand what they were doing.”

Through the Wall Project, Ranjit got the chance to visit Paris and later, Le Rochelle, both times to paint Bollywood-themed canvases. “I painted at 12′ x 32′ poster of Amitabh Bachchan at Paris, and I finished it in four days. The greatest moment for me was when Mr Bachchan himself arrived at the fest and congratulated me on my work – I have always been a great fan!” he beams.

His two trips made him realise that people abroad really loved Bollywood. “They like the style, the culture, the drama. This year, I started the BAP because I wanted to celebrate the spirit of Bollywood in my own way, in the city that I live in,” he explains.

Childhood scenes

Ranjit’s parents, both employed with the Government, expectedly wanted him to get an education and a stable job, but he flunked his college exams and his father told him to go tend to the fields that the family owned. “I actually loved going to the fields,” he smiles. “But my father wondered what I would do with my life. Then a relative once met me and said that I could learn how to whitewash walls from him. Soon, I was working with different contractors and whitewashing walls; for each job, I would get Rs 40.”

A few months later, he met a school friend who was studying to be an engineer. “He asked me what I was doing, and was stunned with my answer. He asked me if I had heard of Fine Arts. I said I hadn’t, and the conversation was promptly forgotten,” he says. At the time, the local school wanted a Saraswati painting done in its premises, and Ranjit volunteered. “People said, ‘What do you know about painting?’, but I had always loved drawing and painting, even when I was very young. I did a 6′ x 4′ Saraswati painting on a wall, and everybody liked it,” he remembers.

Spurred by this, he decided to visit a relative in Panipat, who promised to teach him how to write with paints and do other paint work. “I sat for my failed college year during this time, and returned after a year to apprentice with a local painter. You know, doing ‘Mera gaon, mera desh‘ kind of stuff. Then one day I remembered my friend and that he’d said something about Fine Art. I decided to check it out,” he says. After obtaining some basic information on Fine Art courses, I sat for and passed the entrance exam and got admission to a college in Chandigarh.”

“I was the small town boy from the village, I didn’t know what ‘art’ was, and my medium of instruction was Hindi,” he remembers. “It was tough, but I slowly got the hang of it. In my fourth year, I heard of this place called NID (National Institute of Design), and I asked a senior, ‘Sir, what is NID?’ His prompt reply was, ‘Forget it, you can never go there,'” Ranjit chuckles.

Adamant to get into NID, he sat for their entrance exam and failed spectacularly. “My lack of English had let me down. I wondered what to do next, getting really confused about several available options. Finally, I burnt all the college prospectuses I had gathered, and reapplied to NID.” In the meantime, however, he put in a solid year of English learning. “I would read the newspapers and whichever books I could find. Soon, I began to understand the language, at least enough to know what was being said. I had flunked the entrance exam because I hadn’t understood the questions,” he says.

The NID life

The next time he appeared for the NID exam, he understood the questions, though his English was still questionable. “I cleared the exam, but I continued to flounder in the course because I had no idea about art. Finally, the faculty asked me to withdraw from the programme, because I didn’t have the required aesthetics and depth, or to take an extra year on my Foundation Course. I chose the latter option,” he says.

After spending over two years in one batch and submitting a live project comprising a 206-page document in English, plus an ‘identity’ for a museum in Pune, Ranjit was convocated in 2007. This year, he started the BAP “out of passion”. He says, “The best thing about BAP was that it helped me get back to painting. I had been working full time, but a job makes me complacent. So I take up freelance work and I founded by own company, Digital Moustache.”

The Bollywood connect

“I’ve always loved Bollywood films, and when I was very young, I’d painted a gate with the face of a hero from a film magazine,” he remembers. “I hadn’t realised that the connect with films was so strong, strong enough for me to want to be associated with Bollywood in some capacity. Cinema builds our culture and perceptions, and it is a record of our lives and the times we live in. I am enjoying the BAP because I love Bollywood,” he explains.

His dream is to revive the Bollywood posters industry, and he is currently scouting for the best wall to paint yesteryear dancer and actor Helen on. “Many people criticise my work, saying that what I do is just copy from somewhere, there is no originality. I don’t care about all of this as long as I am enjoying my work. There are a lot more people who are enjoying my work, and their appreciation gives me a real high,” he grins.

 

 

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The maestro in his home

Humra Quraishi met Pandit Ravi Shankar at his Delhi home before he moved to the US. This is her story.

I can never forget my first meeting with sitar maestro Pandit Ravi Shankar. It was around the time of his 70th birthday, and as I sat sipping my tea at his Lodhi Estate home, I got so terribly nervous that the entire cup crashed to the carpet of his living room. With that disaster, my nervousness peaked to such an extent that I could barely ask more than the basic, customary questions.

But  Panditji had simply smiled and tried his best to make me feel at ease.

It was only after a longish gap that I’d mustered enough confidence to try and meet him again. This was in early 1993. He’d looked frailer and quite sad. He’d told me that he’d been left totally devastated by the recent death of his only son Shubo. That was the time he and his second wife Sukanya were planning to shift base from New Delhi to San Diego, California.

When I asked him why he was moving to the US, the couple gave me a set of reasons. “The mess in the country is painful for me. Even a place like Delhi is becoming unfit for living. With everything else, the pollution here is killing,” he said. Sukanya stood close by and added, “The politicians and pollution have finished the city. We have already bought a Spanish villa in California and now I’m doing it up my way.”

To that he’d added, “For me, the house is a very important place. Since I was 10, I have been travelling, living in hostels, so I value my home. That feeling of warmth, coupled with a comfortable middle class lifestyle. Nothing gaudy or vulgar. Somehow, I totally dislike the Delhi concept of showing off. A dignified, balanced and comfortable way of life is what I like.”

He went on to tell me details of the very first house he had built for himself in Benaras. “I don’t know why I decided to build that house in Benaras. Probably because I was born and brought up in that city…and though I’d built it in the early ‘70s, within years I decided to abandon it. All sorts of crude elements had sprung up around me, those decaying values stifled me, so I decided to shift out of Benaras. I’m not a fighter. I’m a musician and I can’t stand vulgar people, besure log.”

Their Lodhi Estate home was really simple. There wasn’t a trace of any ornate furniture, no porcelain ware, no elaborate bedroom bandobast. In fact, the only room which looked well done up was the music room; with sitars, surbahaars , tanpuras neatly placed in stands and the walls of this particular room adorned with prized photographs capturing Panditji with John Lennon, Uday  Shankar, Baba Allauddin, Pablo Casals, Mariam Anderson, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru and Indira Gandhi.

The maestro’s bedroom had only a double bed and a fax machine in it. As we neared the puja  room, he told me, “This isn’t just a puja room but my private corner. This is where I meditate, do riyaz, pray. For me, religion is a very personal thing. I am certainly not ritualistic. In fact, like me, most musicians are broad-minded.

When I was 18, I went to live with my ustad, Baba Allauddin, and though he was a devout Muslim, his home in Madhya Pradesh’s Maiher was full of photographs of Kali, Krishna, Christ, Mary…music makes you more tolerant. I only wish our present-day politicians were more musically-inclined; then there’d be more harmony and not the present-day cacophony!”

I asked him, “If religion is so personal to you, why is there such a bold ‘Om’ inscribed on the very entrance gates to your home?”

He didn’t just explain this with words, but he also wrote in my notebook. I quote him, “Om or Aum is the primordial sacred sound that has been uttered, chanted and sung by yogis, musicians and the common man for thousands of years. In music, Omkar plays a very important and a very great part. Mian Tansen and his family gave great importance in their singing to the aalap, which starts with the words ‘Hari Om’. This gradually changes to nom, tom etc…To me, as a musician, this sound signifies a deep spiritual vibration, mentally as well as physically.”

 (Picture courtesy guardian.co.uk)

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In a crisis? Presenting Doctors For You

This group of city-based doctors can be counted on to reach crisis-ridden areas of the country and offer medical aid.
by Nidhi Qazi

The year was 2008. A group of doctors reached Bihar in the aftermath of the Kosi river flood, one of the most disastrous floods in the State’s history which affected around 2.3 million people. People were in dire need of aid. This group of doctors worked day and night, helping the flood-stricken people.

Then came the Kokrajhar riots in Assam this year – the worst-ever case of ethnic violence in the country. Our group of doctors reached the area and started relief work there after a rapid assessment of the affected areas followed by the necessary relief and rehabilitation work.

What started as relief work in crisis situations continues today in other parts of the country as well, under the name Doctors For You (DFY). As the name suggests, DFY is a group comprising medical practitioners, youth and like-minded people who care for fellow human beings, in crisis or otherwise.

In Mumbai, DFY has established a sustainable project in Natwar Parikh Compound, a resettlement colony in Govandi. The project started in 2010 in collaboration with the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority (MMRDA). The centre is housed on two floors of a building in the Natwar Parikh compound with separate rooms for various departments.

Dr Ravikant Singh, President, DFY, says, “Our project is a comprehensive health project which focusses on preventive, promotive and curative health services.” Simply put, the DFY provides curative and preventive service for oral health, paediatric care, antenatal and post- natal care in addition to a general OPD, a minor OT (Operation Theatre) and DOTS (Directly Observed Treatment Short course) centre for TB. Its promotive services include regular camps and awareness workshops on immunisation, family planning, breast feeding and STDs (Sexually Transmitted Diseases).

The doctors visit the Natwar compound every alternate day and the Lallubhai Compound (also a resettlement colony) and Ambedkar Nagar on the other days. Health services are free for infants up to age 1, pregnant women and adults above 60 years. For the rest, DFY charges a nominal Rs 10 consultation fee on a weekly basis.

DFY’s Mumbai chapter, which was earlier funded by MMRDA, is now funded by Mumbai Railway Vikas Corporation (MRVC). The organisation also imparts disaster management training, capacity building and response training in five other states namely, Maharashtra, Delhi, Assam, Bihar and Jharkhand.

So what sets DFY apart from other agencies involved in relief work? “It is the fact that we are doctors. Simple. In any crisis situation, be it a natural disaster or riots, doctors are seen from a lens of trust and hope. We become an entry point for social workers who would otherwise be under the suspicion of the local people,” says Dr Singh.

The DFY team also has a few awards in its kitty – the SAARC Youth Award to Dr Singh and the British Medical Journal (BMJ) award for ‘Medical Team In A Crisis Zone’ category.

(Pictures courtesy doctorsforyou.wordpress.com and Nidhi Qazi)

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Meet a really big loser

Hunk Sandeep Sachdev acts in films and imparts fitness training – but a few years ago, he weighed 125 kgs.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

Sandeep Sachdev (30) is fit and hunky, just the kind of guy who would get a film offer. Sandeep, a Malad resident, has already done films in the South, and is gearing up for his next release, Inkaar, opposite Chitrangada Singh in January 2013.

Apart from films, Sandeep is also a fitness trainer, nutritionist and motivational speaker with Fitness First. “On the days when I have no shoots or anything else happening, I work out twice a day for an hour each session. On other days, I do a 90-minute workout,” he says, explaining how he maintains his fabulous physique. “I am also careful with my diet, though I eat everything.”

But if you think his good looks and stunning body were handed to him by an indulgent God, think again. Five years ago, the present-day Sandeep was fighting to get out of a fat, 125 kg body.

Biggest Loser

Sandeep was a passionate banker who wanted to try acting, so he shifted to Mumbai from Delhi in 2003. “I loved being in Mumbai, and as bankers, we would look for every opportunity to drink and eat outside. I soon put on a lot of weight, but I didn’t do much about it till my doctor told me I had blood pressure.”

Then Sandeep heard of the show Biggest Loser Jeetega, which was anchored by actor Suniel Shetty and which had 16 participants trying to lose the most amount of weight to win. “I applied for it and they conducted a psychological and physical profile on me to see if I was fit enough to be on it. I was selected and the show became a life-changing experience for me,” he remembers.

Participants were provided with the best trainers, nutritionists and medical experts. “We would work out for four and a half hours every day, with cameras monitoring us constantly. It was difficult initially, to go from a no-exercise lifestyle to gruelling daily workouts. We were totally cut off from the world for four months – we didn’t even know what was happening with the World Cup that year.”

Sandeep says he never entered “a demotivated zone” and never let the “mind games and politics” inside the house affect him. “I put all my energies into my workouts. The show was not like Bigg Boss; here, the harder you worked, the closer you came to winning. Every week, I saw that I was losing weight and that really gave my efforts a big boost,” he explains.

He entered the show with the scales tipping at 124.9 kg, and left it at a cool 74.2 kg weight.

Had lost weight before

In 2002, when Sandeep was still at Delhi, he had lost a good amount of weight through jogging and sensible eating alone. “My brother was an actor in Mumbai, and I decided to get fit, too. I followed a no-cola, no-hard-drinks, no-fried-food diet and I would jog. Even though I was overweight, I didn’t have a negative self-image and I wasn’t embarrassed about my body.

I remember, I would jog past the Lady Irwin College every day, and these girls milling about outside would look at this chubby guy jogging past and laugh. That actually motivated me to work harder. In five months, I knocked off 25 kgs. Once I started losing weight, I would jog past the College with my middle finger raised in the air,” he laughs.

After the show

He had a few film offers after winning Biggest Loser Jeetega, but nothing materialised right away. “I still did acting classes, and started maintaining my body. I did a few music videos and ads, as well,” he says. Then he was approached by a film producer from the South, who asked if Sandeep would train and help the heroine of his project lose weight. “I worked with the girl, and in 45 days, she knocked off seven kgs. I realised I could become a fitness trainer,” he says, explaining that training others to lose weight is tricky – you can work on yourself easily, but you don’t know what will motivate someone else to work out diligently.

“I got associated with Fitness First in 2009 as a personal trainer. I now conduct the Fitness Ki Paathshaala here, and I am also a nutritionist with them,” he says.

Set realistic goals

Today, as a fitness consultant, Sandeep talks of the importance of starting small and thinking big. “People make the strangest of excuses to not exercise. They also set some really big goals right at the start. While it’s okay to have big goals, the problem is that if you don’t achieve a fitness goal soon enough, it hits twice as hard,” Sandeep says.

He adds that he gets letters from overweight people who say that they are embarrassed to step out of their homes because of their bodies. “Being overweight is nothing to be ashamed of. You have to accept the way you look. Only then can you do something about it.” The trick is to set a small goal, work slowly at first, then pick up the pace as the days pass. “It is also important to work towards achieving something that you don’t have because of your excess weight,” he explains.

 

 

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‘Pravin never discussed the Pramod Mahajan episode with me’

Sarangi Mahajan is slowly making peace with the present – but there may never be a respite from the past.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

It was a scandal that rocked the nation in 2006. Pramod Mahajan, architect of the Bharatiya Janata Party’s (BJP) still-used slogan ‘India Shining’ and the party’s probable PM candidate, was shot at by younger brother Pravin, at the former’s Worli residence. 13 days later, he succumbed to his injuries in hospital, and with his passing, Pravin, from being an unknown entity till that point, became the killer whose motive nobody could understand.

Two years ago, to complete an almost eerie state of affairs, Pravin passed away in hospital after a severe brain haemorrhage sent him into an 83-day coma. But the questions still remain. Why did he shoot his own brother, the man who he idolised? How was his wife, Sarangi, connected to the incident? Why did he surrender to the police, give a detailed account of his crime, but later maintain that he did not shoot Pramod?

More to the point, why did things come to such a pass in one of the most powerful families in the country?

I ask Sarangi these questions at the Mahajans’ modest home in Naupada, Thane. She is all friendliness and grace, instantly agreeing to this interview and inviting me to her home. “I don’t hold back any more,” she says, when I tell her I am surprised by her readiness to speak about what is probably the ghastliest chapter in her life. “Our lives were laid bare the moment it (the shooting) happened. Nothing is private now.”

At the centre of it all

December used to be a special month in the Mahajan household. December 4 is, as per the Hindu calendar, Pravin Mahajan’s birthday. Two days later came his and Sarangi’s wedding anniversary. And on December 22, is his twins Kapil and Sumati’s birthday. I met Sarangi on December 4, and asked her about coping with life six years after the incident that sent several skeletons in the Mahajan closet tumbling out. I am replaying several opinions about Sarangi in my head…it’s been said that she isn’t as simple as she lets on, that she consistently sticks to a script. But her answers don’t sound rehearsed. And she is charming enough to ask me, when I take her pictures on my camera, to send her a few “good ones” to upload on Facebook.

“You know, six years after Pramodji’s death, we celebrated Diwali for the first time this year. There was just too much going on before this…the court cases, prison visits, the publication of Pravin’s book (Majha Album), and then Pravin passed away in 2010. But we are slowly getting back to our lives, though everything has changed,” she says.

I suppose everyone expects her to be a weepy widow, and a bitter one, considering that her name often cropped up when the shooting was still fresh in public memory. Rumours suggested that her political ambitions, coupled with his simple lifestyle away from his brother’s meteoric rise in Indian politics, may have pushed Pravin to the edge. Sarangi has also been linked with the controversy in several unsavoury ways.

When things went wrong

Pramod was the proverbial father to his siblings, Sarangi says, but as his prominence within the BJP grew, his attitude towards  Pravin changed. “We began to understand that he and his family didn’t think we were at par with them. Pravin began to feel that his brother was embarrassed by him. He resented the fact that Pramod’s PA would set an appointment for the two brothers to meet, that Pramod didn’t return his calls. Soon, my husband stopped attending functions within the family, though he never stopped me and the kids from going. The last function I attended was Poonam’s (Pramod’s daughter) wedding in 2002. Pravin didn’t attend even that.”

She speaks fondly of Pramod bhavji, of how he took care of Pravin, helped him get a job at Reliance, even earmarked a flat close to his own at Worli. “The two were very close. Pravin was very knowledgeable about politics, so they got along well. When we were newly married, we used to live together in a house that the BJP had given Pramod. I loved living under the same roof as the family, because I come from a joint family myself. But he soon told us to look for a place of our own – he didn’t want the party to ask uncomfortable questions.”

The Party, she says, became an underlying theme in all their lives. “People thought: Pramod Mahajan is their family member, they must be rolling in money, he must be getting everything done for them. But look at my house, this is how we have always lived,” she gestures towards her simply furnished home. “Pravin never used his brother’s name, never tried to benefit from the Party’s connections. His motto was simple – live within your means, have enough for a few simple enjoyments, but don’t get into the whole ‘status’ thing, because it becomes difficult to maintain a rich lifestyle,” she says.

April 22, 2006

But what drove him to shoot at his own brother, then surrender to the police?

Her not surprising stand on the issue of the incident – she and her lawyers have maintained this throughout his trial and beyond – is that her husband did not shoot Pramod Mahajan. “He couldn’t have done it. Even at home, if he spoke harshly or did anything out of anger, he would feel bad about it later. But after shooting Pramodji, he didn’t show the slightest remorse. If he had done it, the guilt would have consumed him.”

So what really happened, I ask. She says, “I asked him this question several times. He would just say, ‘Let that subject be. Let’s talk about other things.’ I even asked our lawyer (Harshad Ponda) about Pravin’s statements in court (the trial had taken place in-camera, so details are not yet known) but the lawyer also didn’t give me details.”

She recalls how she first reacted to the news with shock, then dismay, then with a collapse. “I couldn’t believe that Pravin had done such a thing.” Then came the backlash. Till then, not many people knew that the famous Pramod Mahajan’s brother lived in Thane. “Suddenly, the media was everywhere. The police would come and go at all times. The family, and those we thought were our friends severed all ties with us. If you switched on the news, all you could see was the Pramod v/s Pravin issue. It was a nightmare.” Thrust into the spotlight, she says, she and her children were left to deal with the ‘criminal’ tag that would be associated with Pravin from the moment he pumped the first bullet into Pramod.

Learning the ropes

After Pravin’s arrest, the family’s bank accounts were frozen and their car was seized. “I had never used public transport; we had a car with a driver and there was never any need to use the train or bus,” she remembers. “Suddenly, I had no money. My brothers pitched in, gave me an ATM card to their accounts. I had to arrange for lawyers, try and get Pravin all the help he needed. I learnt things from scratch – how to travel by train from Thane to CST, take the bus, meet with lawyers, present myself in front of a judge, and then manage the home…it was all a tremendous learning experience.”

She remembers how her children, who were only 16 years old then, grew up overnight. “They learnt to deal with negative comments. I’m sure it wasn’t easy. They’ve both been good at studies, and despite the trauma in their personal lives, they passed their Class 12 exams with good marks. A lot of people expected them to do badly, expected us to fall apart. But we survived.”

Through all this, she lost all her friends. “I used to attend kitty parties. I had a big circle of friends. But none of them have contacted me in these six years. I help in social initiatives in the city (she recently participated in the Atre Katta’s boycott of autos and taxis) so I meet a lot of interesting people. I even have a court case going on against Pramodji’s family in Osmanabad (for ancestral land that the other siblings and Sarangi have staked a claim to) so I meet our relatives there. But I don’t have any friends in my age group any more.”

She goes back to describing the time she collapsed in the aftermath of what Pravin had done. “He was gone, and I was afraid to step out. For two months I locked myself up at home. But the day I learnt that Rahul (Pramod’s son) had collapsed with a drug overdose, I got the strength to stand up again.” She clarifies, “I have nothing against Rahul. He is a genuinely nice boy. But till that point, all fingers had been pointing at us, at our life, at how Pravin had ruined an innocent family. What happened with Rahul was unfortunate, but I was relieved that the world would finally know where the actual problem was. And it wasn’t with us.”

The kids are all right

Her son, Kapil, walks in from work at this point. He listens to our conversation for a while, then says, “The incident showed us who our true friends were. I understood how courts worked, how to scrutinise medical and legal documents. I even telephoned them (Pramod’s family) several times, but they never spoke to us.

I feel every young person should go through the trauma we went through, because it builds character. If my uncle was still alive, I would have been secure in the knowledge that he would get me a job somewhere, that I didn’t need to prove myself because he would help. But my sister and I did well on our own. We finished our studies, I got a job on my own merit. I understand what the thrill of achievement is; I wouldn’t know about it if nothing had changed.” And continuing in the tradition of his paternal grandfather and father, Kapil is also a teacher – he teaches English and Business Communication at a town college.

Sarangi says that her children have bravely faced a world that has branded their father a murderer. “My children turned out fine. They respect their mother, they work hard, they are good human beings. I never had to worry about them going wayward.”

Dealing with the family

Sarangi admits that ‘the Mahajan family’ has been an important constant in her life. “I used to be an ABVP worker, and I would have loved to continue my work after marriage. But the women in this family have never been allowed to work, and later, we had to mind ourselves constantly because we had to keep up Pramod’s image. Then my children were growing up and I was with them all the time. But in 2004, I wanted to return to politics, and Pravin was fine with it. To this end, I had started doing work in the locality. And then 2006 happened.”

She says that these days, she attends several functions and meetings by city-based NGOs. “I never refuse an invitation, because I get to meet so many people and know what society is thinking. I am busy with Pravin’s book, which is doing very well. I am also running from pillar to post trying to get the Rs 7,00,000 compensation that the Maharashtra State Human Rights Commission awarded me (after Nashik jail authorities were found to have been negligent with Pravin’s medication when he was incarcerated there), and there’s the court case at Osmanabad. Plus, I want to get my daughter married off next year.”

Does she still harbour political ambitions? “Almost every party offered me a ticket to contest elections, but the time was not right. It still isn’t. We are settling in slowly. My children are now independent and I don’t need to be at home constantly. Yes, life changed dramatically, and Pravin is no more. But he is still with us – in the discipline he insisted on at home, in the way all of us are leading our lives in an upright manner.”

And will she ever reconcile with the Mahajans? “I have always wanted a reconciliation, but they don’t. I have lost count of the number of times I have tried to speak to them, meet them. Tell me, what was our fault in what happened? They have had enough opportunity to get in touch with us, and they are welcome to do so. I hope that at least the children will get along some day.”

(Mahajan family and Pramod Mahajan pictures courtesy outlookindia.com and thehindu.com) 

 

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The objects of her affection

Shrutti Garg is a talented young photographer who doesn’t like to capture people or nature – give her objects, instead.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

Shrutti Garg (25) is a Worli resident and ace photographer who doesn’t like to capture people’s faces, or nature. Her latest works – Objects as streets, streets as objects, and The Green Project are on display at Gallerie Max Mueller, and the two walls of the Gallerie that hold the exhibition’s photographs are strong examples of how objects are central to Shrutti’s imagination.

In a series of black and white pictures across half of one wall, there are glimpses of people carrying their belongings as they move about the streets –a woman’s bundled several bags into one shopping cart, in another, a musician’s put down his guitar on the sidewalk. In a third, you see squashy sleeping bags. The Green Project, meanwhile, has a series of colour photographs in which Shrutti’s aimed for a contrast between life as it happens and a single object or piece of clothing or even a mark on the road, that is bathed in a startling shade of green.

“I went to Cologne, Germany in 2011 through Max Mueller Bhavan for a six-month artists’ residency. Before my departure, I had discovered the word ‘flaneur’, which describes a person who walks through the city to explore it. I took this idea for the Objects… series, wanting to see how people moved from place to place with belongings they held dear, because there was maybe a strong memory attached to them. The first three months I was there, I simply walked everywhere and explored. During these walks, I saw several interesting examples of people moving from spot to spot with their belongings – some in one big bag, others in a shopping cart,” she explains.

The Green Project, meanwhile, was an exploration of two contrasting symbols attached to the colour green – of new beginnings, and envy. “I started it in Mumbai; it explores the balance between these two opposites. It was fun working on it, because I only photographed this one shade of green which was the most eye-catching, and I had to find situations and items bearing this colour. I have not Photoshopped the colour in any of my pictures. I’m not a fan of Photoshop anyway,” she smiles.

Shrutti, a Commercial Arts graduate who was attracted to photography very early in life, has always “worked in a series, I’ve rarely worked on individual pieces” – prior to this, she’s worked on Mumbai in Motion, about how everything moves fast in Mumbai but how one still has to wait, Hidden Realities and Luxurious Life Of the Streets, among others. “I also showed the Objects series and The Green Project in Germany, and it was interesting for them to see my point of view in the pictures,” she says.

She also heard a few interesting back stories of some of her subjects. “There were these two guys who met when they were living on the streets, and they would move everywhere in twos, because while one was away, the other would look after their belongings! Then I learnt that you can’t live on the streets in Munich at all. Besides, the weather plays a big role in people staying out or going underground.”

Her focus is always on objects, not on faces. “Your imagination must guide you to ask questions about the person you can’t see,” she explains. “Besides, I am very attracted to objects in the context of the environment they are in. I’m not into photographing people or nature.”

She is currently working on a privately-commissioned series of photographs very much like The Green Project, but “the colour the client wants is blue,” she says. She is also toying with the idea of a project where she asks you to part with a very precious object and substitute it with a picture of that object. “I’m also applying for a lot of residencies,” she says.

Shrutti Garg’s twin exhibition, Objects as streets, streets as objects and The Green Project concludes at Gallerie Max Mueller, Kala Ghoda, today.  

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