Rohan Patankar spoke at The Coalition Pecha Kucha night, ‘The Bright Idea: Entrepreneurs on their Inspirations,’ on Delhi Dallying and curating the Delhi Walk Festival.
Rohan Patankar spoke at The Coalition Pecha Kucha night, ‘The Bright Idea: Entrepreneurs on their Inspirations,’ on Delhi Dallying and curating the Delhi Walk Festival.
Last August, Bhavika moved to New York to study design at the School of Visual Arts. Varun has now joined her and is pursuing a masters in real estate from Columbia. With two thirds of DD now in the Big Apple, is it time for some New York Dallying?
Postcard and photograph by our super talented friends at The Postcard People.
Help Nepal rebuild while you also stock up on some handmade, handstamped and signed art.
Hi guys! We’ve been in extended hibernation but here’s something that’s shaken us out of our slumber. Dallier Rohan Patankar has started a wonderful initiative called Art for Nepal.
Rohan spent a few weeks in Nepal last year, where he made some beautiful sketches. In the aftermath of the earthquakes that devastated the country last month, he has decided to sell limited edition prints of his artwork, profits from which will be used in Nepal to help the Rotaract Club of Kopundol rebuild the homes of 25 families of the Suan village in the outskirts of Kathmandu.
These pieces can be bought online and Rohan promises free shipping across India within 20 days. You can write to email@example.com for orders and shipping to outside India.
a public road in a city or town, typically with houses and buildings on one or both sides.
the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.
an umbrella term defining forms of visual art created in public locations, usually unsanctioned artwork executed outside of the context of traditional art venues
St.ART Delhi is the India’s largest Street Art Festival, that in early 2014 invited over twenty artists from around the world to come and paint the town red, quite literally so. The 6 week long festival’s first stop was at the urban village of Shahpur Jat. The folks at St.ART gave us the opportunity to string together narratives from various facets of the festival into a curated walk, . Excited much, we began by going back to our ‘history of architecture’ lessons from architecture school and simultaneously, began speaking to the artists ‘on site’ to get their perspectives.
The peeps at the festival really meant it when they said they were intervening in Shahpur Jat, in the thick of the urban village. This is not the area that most people who are reading this post have seen; not the Fender Academy, not the Wishing Chair, not the Dada Jungi House lane. This was the much larger yet hidden ‘hinterland’, bustling and complex, strikingly different from the world outside it. The ‘outside’ is merely 200 metres beyond, marked by the August Kranti Marg, of the fairly new Delhi (especially in comparison to this 600 year old settlement). To the closely knit village community, this became a starting point for many a conversation- within itself and with the world outside.
Layers and intervention
While the street art became one more layer among the many layers that made the experience of the place, it also initiated a process that unearthed other buried layers. We began our wanderings and meanderings; understanding the workings and internal relationships between these many layers. The most visible among them are the ruined fortifications of the 14th century city of Siri and, in contrast, the many designer boutiques that have popped up along the outer periphery of the village, not so long ago.
We were equally curious about the ones less apparent, about why most of these houses have the title Panwar written on them, about how a certain specific corner shop selling tea and snacks would have all its signage and music playing in Bangla, about the staggering number of sequins shops on every street and also about just how many prachin shiv mandirs there were in this village. In our two weeks of frequent study-on-ground (after our day jobs, of course), we slowly began to absorb these observations and aberrations and also began to understand that street art was intervening with these layers in ways beyond the obvious.
The traditional landmarks of the village also became navigational anchors for us and the St.ART team to go about town. One such landmark, albeit a forgotten one, is the anonymous Baradari, the epicenter, where the story of this settlement began. Today the baradari doesn’t quite exist. The shadows of this 14th century monument are buried under and surrounded by many generations of ambitious building all around it. The Rainbow Project gives this ‘non-place’ another anonymous anchor that unites it with the hundreds of other such anonymous places across the globe that host the rainbow.
While the village gave the festival some landmarks thanks to its geography and multi-layered history, the festival also reciprocated with a few anchors. German artist Tofu’s piece of the striped lines at the Nayi Chaupal was one of the first pieces of the festival, also one of the most memorable, perhaps because of its central location. It became the torch-bearing reference for any artist who went to seek permission for doing a wall.
The massive cat drawn by Indian artist Anpu Varkey was also part of the first wave of festival interventions, and it quickly grew to be a neighbourhood icon. It also earned Anpu many friends and assistants in the week that she spent drawing the massive piece. The January air was cold and damp, the wall was huge and the scaffolding looked fragile. The neighbourhood aunties and uncles were amazed at this petite-looking girl’s skill, and also somewhere in their hearts, proud – of Anpu as well as the cat!
‘Haan, aapne woh billi toh dekhi hai na? Bas wahin se dayeen taraf janaa hai.’(Yes, you must have seen that cat, right? Just turn right from there.)
While Anpu was one of many women artists who participated in the festival and painted walls that were possibly much more challenging to paint than the ones done by their male counterparts, the commentary on feminism was taken to another level altogether by artists like Ranjit Dahiya and Sé Cordeiro. Dahiya’s monumental mural of fearless Nadira (the infamous rebellious seductress from the 1950s) cleverly gets us thinking about how a woman’s smoking and drinking fixation has been automatically branding her as the vamp on the Indian screen and outside it since forever. Se Cordeiro’s beautiful woman warrior from the Gulab Gang is as powerful as she is spunky, armed to pin down all of those men who disrespect her. Adding charm to the quaint village setting are also Alina Vergnano’s graceful murals of women, almost softening the mood of this somewhat aggressive setting.
The festival generated quite a stir in the neighbourhood. People were intrigued about the organization that was just going around painting on walls without even taking money for it.
“Achha, aap bhi company ke hi saath aaye ho? Yeh ho kya raha hai?” (Are you also with these people the company? Just what is happening here?) “Yeh log sab jageh drawing kar rahe hain, par phir yeh festival kahaan ho raha hai?” (These people are just painting everywhere, but where is this festival happening then?)
This is exactly what even many visitors wondered walking right through this village, not realizing that, in fact, ‘they’ were the festival! The fact they were there, looking and talking and moving around seeing this place, made the festival. This real experience was only complimented by the sea of people who saw all of these pieces online, not in relation to each other but in relation to the worldwide scene. Delhi, India had just popped up on the street art map, and so had Shahpur Jat village as this neighbourhood bursting with art!
On ground, the festival was thriving, really, on conversation between the artists and local people, often only through gestures and body language and bits of broken English (and in the case of a few curious characters among the village folk, some surprisingly eloquent exchanges in English). While traditionally, street art would be relinquished as vandalism, in this case, all of it was legitimate and carried out in broad daylight (and sometimes, in the night too, ofcourse), with police permissions et al in place. With no economic transaction at play, it was just about finding the right wall and seeking permission from the owners and soon enough, being flooded with requests for commissioned art pieces too. Well, these conversations have only just begun. And we are sure we’ll be listening intently!
We learnt about various styles of street art, from Graffiti to paste ups and murals.
We began to appreciate the immense amount of skill required to draw on walls (that turn very cold in the winters) and how different it is from drawing on paper in terms of scale.
We realized we really do like taking people out and showing them around places : )
This post is about three month late.
Sometime this year we realized that with Delhi Dallying, we love love to initiate positive conversations about the city around us. The idea for this poster series started with the idea of happy people and beautiful happy things around them. So we got our mood boards and reference images in place.
We needed ideas, a list of all the lovely things in the city. Much brainstorming and some dilly dallying later, we were set. We deviated from the New! inspiration and decided to add our own twist: a fun, double entendre tagline that screams Delhi. The aim was to make the posters fun, friendly and provoking.
Ideation done, the next step: models!
We got everyone involved! Delhi Dallying held an open photography session in college and begged/ convinced/ forced/ blackmailed the SPA student community. All our friends gave their best shot and Varun and Kabilan captured some really candid moments. We even managed to convince some of our faculty! Unfortunately we weren’t able to make use of all our models (we ran out of ideas!) but we still have hope 🙂
It took some time time (and help from the Creative Suite) to translate our mock-ups to reality.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, we present to you: Delhi Dallying Poster Series 2.
The idea was to start conversation. Delhi is as multifaceted as its people, and there are as many Delhis as there are Dilliwallas: a true multiplicity. With these posters Delhi Dallying wanted its audience to stand up and take notice, to think. What’s your Delhi?
On the last Wednesday of August, 2012, after a design studio, we went for an event at the Attic, Connaught Place. Renana Jhabvala and Nalini Thakur were talking about professor, architect and artist CSH Jhabvala. The occasion was the launch of his latest book of sketches and writings on Delhi.
Jhabvala is somewhat of a legend at SPA, spoken of reverentially by even the senior-most of our teachers. We were fortunate enough to hear him speak a couple of years ago and were keen to hear more about the incredible man who (we found out soon) had laid the basis for the present curriculum for our college.
The place was alternative looking, the mood warm, the air cold and the room filled with quiet conversation. We planted ourselves on the (best) third row seats only to awkwardly offer them to senior (looking) architects minutes later. Stranded on the side passage, the only place left was in the front row and Renena asked us to come forward.
The scene was set and yet the program was late. We realized why soon enough, though, when the buzzing conversation in the room thickened as two guys carried in this very very old wheelchair-bound man. The quintessential Indian old man, wearing a cotton shirt with big prints, floaters and those khaki pants pulled up the waist, accessorized with retro glasses and a walking stick. He appeared to be the guest of honour everybody was waiting for.
After some negotiation, he quickly decided to shift to the front row and found himself sitting to the left of two young architecture students, us, beaming at him. He broke into our awkward gaze and made conversation. We introduced ourselves. “Ah! I used to teach there once!” And then the verbal diarrhea began: of course we knew who he was, and we had so enjoyed his previous lecture. He just smiled, looking a little perplexed.
We soon realized our error. A very awkward and impudent question from an audience member let us know that Professor Jhabvala was currently in New York. So, who then did we just confuse with our ramblings?
And then it struck us: we were sitting next to Padmashree MM Rana, Nehru’s chosen architect and Jhabvala’s close friend. We remembered Rana’s profile (and photograph) from the Sushant website, and his work was somewhat familiar via Rahul Khanna’s excellent listing.
The two women’s takes on Jhabvala the father and Jhab the professor were interesting. But the real fun began when Renana requested Rana Kaka to share his times with Jhabwala. Rana staunchly refused to make use of the offered microphone and (struggling initially) rose and walked to the podium. 🙂
And then the storytelling began, and everyone was captivated. He spoke of his days at JJ, where they studied Ionic, Doric and Corinthian column capitals for three years, only to culminate in a studio exercise to design roadside kiosks. He also spoke about the library (a long corridor, really) and the constant presence there of a peon, peeping over students’ shoulders, whose only job was to ensure that no books were vandalized!
On one such un-private visit, he came across legendary American Architect Frank Lloyd Wright’s work. Frustrated with his training, Rana wrote to FLW: “I have lost my way in(to?) architecture. How do I dis-educate myself?”
The postal department soon went on strike and all communication was stranded mid way. However, this meant heyday for a philatelist friend of Rana’s, who found ample opportunity to steal all kinds of exotic stamps off of the heaps of letters at the post office. He found a letter with an American postmark addressed to Rana, and graciously forwarded it (after stealing the stamps, of course.)
FLW had written, simply: “If you can arrange to come here, we’ll put you to work.” And so, with help from the princely state of Porbander, Rana became the first Indian Fellow of the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation. at Taliesin, Wisconsin, USA. In America, he met Jawaharlal Nehru at a formal event during his trip to the country. All Nehru asked him was,” वापस आ रहे हो, या नहीं?” Rana was speechless (a feat, we’re sure!).
When he did return to India some years later, he penned a letter to the Prime minister informing him. Nehru promptly employed him in the planning department for the government. Eventually, though, he did get around to talking about Jhabvala- their reunion, many years later, at Wenger’s. Jhabvala threw a matchbox at Rana’s head to get his attention! (This incident was illustrated with zestful hand movements.)
All this zestful talk was far more than the two words that had been expected of him. Renana was worried and tried to interrupt. But he didn’t care one bit! The incredible zeal in his eyes was only proof of his love for architecture, for urbanity, for the city of Delhi. He was a storyteller and his audience was with him on this joyride, taking new turns with gestures and expressions. We left the venue after the talk, beaming. Little seminar work happened but we slept very well that night.
The first Wednesday morning of October, 2012 found us all together again after an eventful night of seminar work. Our inboxes had a new email about a condolence meeting at school later in the day in the memory of Late MM Rana. We just looked at each other and our hearts sank. We had barely met this charming 93 year old gentleman a couple of weeks ago and now we would never be able to hear more from him. Only during the presentation in school did we find out about the incredible amount of interesting buildings he had designed in and for the city of Delhi. He gave us the Shanti Van, the Bal Bhawan, the Nehru Museum, the Amar Jawaan Jyoti and so many other anonymous buildings that form our experience of the Nehruvian New Delhi.
We wonder how enthused we really are about the world around us and how much better we could ever get. Most of all, we wondered if we would ever attain anything close to his exuberance and energy. We only felt extremely fortunate to have been part of his last architectural public appearance. And even more thankful to our instincts that we recorded the later half of his talk for us to cherish for the rest of our lives.
Rana, you will always be in our minds.
This post co-written by Bhavika, Rohan and Varun.
Sort-of in the center of Central Delhi, just off Hailey Road (which in turn, is just off Barakhamba Road), ‘Agrasen ki Baoli’ is one of those places which you wouldn’t typically chance upon. You can’t spot it from far away cause its cozily tucked in, and surrounded by buildings which are many times its depth, in height. If you’re there, you’ve probably heard of it from a friend, or maybe seen a photograph. It is one of those (many) monuments of Delhi, which don’t usually find a place in history books or travel guides.
So when I actually went there for the first time, I was a little shocked to see people; mostly youngsters and quite a few of them at that. I guess one should be happy about that; after all, don’t we keep saying that people in our city need to look at monuments as more than just mere blackboards for scribbling ‘Pinky ❤ Rinku’? Instead I felt a tinge of disappointment because I’d expected it to be deserted and would rather have seen it with fewer people dotting my field of vision! Anyhow, the Baoli has a rustic charm, to put it simply. The steps, leading down to the water (almost non-existent except on very rainy days), in exposed stone masonry are an obvious result of time and weather at work. One can spend hours just sitting there and listening to the pigeons rustle and flutter, while absorbing the tension between the zenith and the nadir – shards of high-rises rising behind the plunging depths (ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration) of the baoli. Thanks to its ‘protected monument’ status, ASI had put up a much-needed historical overview of the place, which is believed to have been built by Maharaja Agrasen during the Mahabharat era and rebuilt by the Agrawal community in the14th century. Another addition by the ASI, is a prefabricated security cabin (in reflective glass X-/), annoyingly placed right at the top of the Baoli.
A few weeks back, I made my third visit to the baoli. As mentioned in the previous post, 2/3rds of Delhi Dallying was in Bangalore for the last many months and I had found myself feel immensely proud talking about my city (I know I live in NCR but whatever!) to my Bangalorean friends. Some of them happened to be in town for the day and I thought I ought to show (off) Delhi to them, in its full summer glory. This started with breakfast at Bengali Market followed by a walk past my school (Modern School, Barakhamba Road) across the road to this beautiful baoli. Despite the summer heat, there were a couple of youngsters ‘hanging out’. There were about a dozen plastic chairs stacked up at the broken mosque on the south-west corner of the baoli which got me wondering if this place could actually hold events. Another addition was a visitor’s book displayed proudly right in front of the security cabin.
Now, this book is brilliant! It is an honest reflection of what the people of the city really feel about such monuments, the sarcasm comes out poignantly in most of the comments and the language is just SO Delhi. At first glance, I couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculous ‘Nice, Good to Smooch!’ comment. But on reading further, it was clear that some people were genuinely concerned about the baoli. There is rightful criticism about the lack of drinking water and ‘the wonderful aroma of bat shit and pigeon droppings’ as well as some interesting suggestions like ‘jhule hone chahiye’!
The visitor’s book is definitely a step towards involving people (rather making people feel involved) in managing public places but will these suggestions and concerns result in improvements? Time shall tell. Till then, enjoy the comments!
Photo Credits: Our ‘Bangalorean friend’ Alkananda Yeshwanth
India Today editorial director M.J. Akbar writes on ‘History in Capital Letters‘.
There’s been enough said in the social media (and, possibly, conventional news media too, but us SPA students have generally been living under rocks these past couple of months) about how valid the 100-years-as-capital celebrations are, considering that Delhi was first the Slave capital, then the Mughal, then British and finally independent India’s. So, commemorating 12 December 1911 as the big date seems mighty ridiculous to some.
On the other hand, I see nothing wrong with the Delhi government’s (and other organizations’) many events, festivals and fairs in observance of the date. After all, nothing’s stopping us from recognizing other anniversaries, is there? The more celebrations, the merrier, I say!
It’s been three weeks since I have had this Dilli seated in black and white on my desktop screen. To me it was as Delhi as it gets. I LOVE it! Today, at my cousin’s place, my uncle who’s lived in Delhi almost all his life seemed to differ. He thought it could be made more readable. Google results for my image search revealed another attempt by the INTACH guys that seems to have been abandoned now (and no surprise at that). Thinking of how much could this brilliant image be screwed with, I came ahead and together, we gave it a shot on photoshop. And our Dilli appeared. The tittle on the ‘i’ made prominent. d-i-l-l-i: clearer than the previous version. The word appears a little more indigenous than exotic in my opinion and rings Delhi 6 more than Shahjahanabad in my head (but that’s my opinion). What do you guys think? Which one do you like better? Take either of the images and share with us your own version (until someone from INTACH chances upon this article and asks us to remove all this enthusiastic guerrilla dilliness). Until then!
The slum, one of Delhi’s largest, was inhabited almost entirely by street entertainers: puppeteers, snake charmers, bear handlers, musicians, acrobats, troupes of actors who performed plays with social messages, the odd story-teller, and jadoo wallahs. But the view through the scratched, convex windshield was depressingly familiar: a sooty ghetto of ramshackle brick houses smothered in cow dung patties. Plastic sheeting, chunks of concrete, and twisted scrap metal were draped over roofs. Canvas tents were pitched amidst heaps of garbage where filthy, half-clad children defecated and played.
Hall went on to describe the incident in such vivid detail that it was a clear, crisp movie playing in my mind- in fact, when trying to recall where I had previously come across the slum, I had to discard the idea of a movie/ video, it seemed that real. Anyways, and again, credit to Tarquin Hall, I was so enthralled by the book that I forgot my intention to google the slum: he never even mentioned its name, only that it’s in Shadipur.
It’s called the Kathputli Colony, where wandering magicians and entertainers settled sometime in the 1950s, on public land which was then barren, but now prime property, courtesy of the Metro.
The name seems familiar-ish now that I know what it is, as if it was always on the edges of my consciousness. I’m sure I’ve come across it before.
This post was prompted by this brilliant trailer (and appeal) for Tomorrow We Disappear, a documentary by American filmmakers Jim Goldblum and Adam Weber.
The slum land now belongs to a private developer, so it’s most probably in its last days, soon to become another entry in the long list of lost traditions and quirks that made Delhi Delhi. I’m not saying that slums are good, and need to be conserved. But I certainly think that the art and culture of this particular slum needs to be saved- or at least, remembered.
Jim and Adam are attempting to do exactly that- their movie will document Kathputli Colony as it is today. (As far as I know, it does not aim at stopping the eviction.)
The clips they have are beautiful. Also, I love the music they chose.
This project is similar to HandpaintedType, by which graphic designer Hanif Kureshi is attempting to preserve the tradition of street-painting. You know, the painters who sit on roadsides and make posters/ banners/ car number plates. Before watching this video I never fully appreciated their skill. All I had were semi-curious half thoughts about how exactly they do it (especially since I’ve been required to draw guidelines for my text) – do they draw guides, do they use rulers, do they make a first draft, do they outline and and then fill-in later? Now I know, some-what.