Manipulating Cultural Idioms Author(s): Marcella C. Sirhandi Source: Art Journal, Vol. 58, No. 3 (Autumn, 1999), pp.

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Manipulating Cultural Idioms

Since India's independence from Great Britain in 1947, Indian artists have worked through a nexus of conflicts of identity: East versus West, tradition versus modernism, nationalism versus internationalism. Until the 1940s, artists responding to pre-Independence nationalism sought to express "Indianness." Influenced by traditional miniature painting and folk art, their paintings featured Indian subject matter, typically derived from Hindu mythology and Mughal Marcella C. Sirhandi history. These works were often painted in overlaid washes of transparent watercolor on paper, rather than in oil on canvas, a medium associated with the materialism of Western art. After Independence, many artists sought to be "international" and experimented with abstraction. By contrast, artists of the current generation, such as Manjit Bawa, T. Vaikunthan, Jaya Ganguly, Shipra Bhattacharya, and Chandrima Bhattacharyya, demonstrate the endurance of traditional Indian culture as the wellspring for artistic enterprise, as well as the newfound freedom to challenge tradition.

Manjit Bawa
In a 1996 interview at his studio in the Imperial Hotel in New Delhi, Manjit Bawa (b. 1941) seemed dismayed when I asked him to explain why he portrayed Krishna playing his flute for a group of dogs (fig. I): "It is not Krishna," he said. "It is Ranja." But when I looked incredulous, he added, "Even if it is Krishna, it doesn't matter-Ranja is also a flute player, and Ranja was a divine lover, more than Krishna, because Ranja gave everything for love. Krishna never gave everything for love. Krishna was in love with Radha, and he left Mathura and went to Jorka to his kingdom. So if it were Krishna in my painting, he should have a [peacock] feather on his head."' While the blue skin associated with Vishnu and his avatars-especially the cowherding god Krishna-makes for a confident identification, Bawa's motives and consequent reasoning for calling this figure Ranja were thought-provoking. Bawa was deeply shaken by Hindu fanatics' ruthless 1992 destruction of the Babri Masjid, a mosque of the Babur period built in I128 in the ancient city of Ayodhya. A majority of Hindus believe that the Rama Janambhoomi Temple, marking the birthspot of Rama, Seventh leveled and that the Babri Masjid was built Incarnation of God Vishnu, was on its rubble. While this mosque had been an object of contention and physical attack for centuries, the widespread riots and violence unleashed by its final destruction were unmatched since the partition of India in 1947. Bawa

I. Manjit Bawa. Ranja, 1992. Oil on canvas. 60 x 69 (152.4 x 175.3). Private collection.

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2. Manjit Bawa. Circus Fantasy, 1992. Oil on canvas. 69 x 60 (175.3 x 152.4). Private collection.

I. Interview with ManjitBawa, New Delhi, 1996. 2. Ibid. 3. Ibid.

regarded this event as symbolic of an uncompromising fundamentalist mentality that is threatening the very fiber of Indian society, its political system, and even personal freedom. "How could they do this? How can you break a mosque? It is a disrespect to the other people living in this country who have been here for centuries. So many things that came from Iran are a part of my culture-stitched clothes came from there, the way of preparing food in this region, the gardens-and you can't break my culture. The fundamentalists are breaking my culture. So I do paintings like Ranja with dogs." Manjit paused. "The dog is anti-Hindu and anti-Muslim both. Showing the dog is antireligion. When critics ask how I could make this painting insulting Krishna, I say it's not Krishna, it's Ranja."2 It is ironic that Bawa identified Ranja, the tragic victim of racial/tribal prejudices in a andJuliet,as the proPunjabi version of Romeo in this painting. Nevertheless, like tagonist Krishna, Ranja was a cowherd with a flute who serenaded buffalo, as well as his beloved Heer. Heer was forced to marry her cousin when her romance with Ranja was discovered; when she rebelled, her family poisoned her, and Ranja died of heartbreak on her grave. Though Ranja is a regional folk hero, the story is well known all over northern India. It has been popularized by Punjabi Sufi poets, such as Waris Shah, Bule Shah, and Skeikh Ahmed -whose verses Bawa quoted intermittently during our interview. A couplet from one that served as the inspiration for this painting reads, "Nobody would listen to my flute; I'll play for the dogs."3 While conservative Hindus who interpret the figure as Krishna might be offended by the imagery, Punjabies who accept the flute player as Ranja would be equally distressed. Several years ago, Bawa took on the ambitious project of creating a cardboard circus for the Imperial Hotel in Delhi; when I visited, some of the props were leaning against the walls in his studio. This project inspired Circus Fantasy (fig. 2), a curious painting that manifests Bawa's fascination with duality and incompatible juxtapositions. Circus themes conjoin images from Hindu mythology and those from the Christian tradition. Lions, tigers, elephants, horses, and monkeys are prominent in both realms, while the human dimension is represented by circus performers and by dancing or demon-slaying Hindu gods and goddesses. It is as if Bawa has transformed half the Hindu pantheon into a circus. His bifurcated forms offer multiple views of the actors, while details of Hindu myths are freely interpreted. At top center, as described

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in the Bhagavata a purple Krishna balances Mt. Govardhan on his little finPurana, ger. It is not convention, however, that the blue god should stand on the hump of a brahma cow. The same cow is about to lick-or kiss-the acrobatic figure floating sideways in front of it. An almost fierce lioness lunges at the oblivious Krishna, who is posed with his flute in the bottom left corner. Bawa enjoys humor and likes to incorporate whimsy and irony into his paintings. At bottom center, a lifeless body draped over hairy brown legs brings to mind Michelangelo's Pieta,but the body is that of the demon Hiranyakasipu, killed by Vishnu in his Narasimha (half-man, half-lion) avatar. That the image parallels the posture of Christ on Mary's lap could not be accidental. The Christ-like head, which doubles as the head of the body beneath, tilts back to witness a sword-brandishing figure threatening a bird. Though missing the usual ten heads and arms, the attacker is meant to signify Ravana, the demon king of Sri Lanka, who kidnapped Sita, the beautiful wife of the Rama, another of Vishnu's avatars. In the Ramayana, Ravana does and of Sita's capture subsequent rescue, story battle with a giant bird (Jatayu) that tries in vain to save Sita. Bawa insists that the myths he chooses to paint are of no particular importance but should be easily recognizable. His real interest is in the manipulation of color and form. He does not admit to metaphor, but we cannot ignore his subversive tricks.

T. Vaikunthan
With insinuation and wit, Bawa lampoons Hindu mythology; similarly, T. Vaikunthan (b. 1942) capitalizes on village culture. A city dweller from Hyderabad, the capital of the state of Andhra Pradesh, Vaikunthan paints small, colorful acrylics that are a reminder of the rural roots that the educated elite could find embarrassing. TheHolyMan (fig. 3) comments on the corrupt religious poseurs who prey on villagers, particularly women. In this work, a village woman turns her head from the white-clad holy man to look at a parrot, which symbolizes connivery and deceit in Indian art, indicating that she recognizes the insincerity of his intent. The pose also implies sexual transaction. As the holy man pushes closer, the offended woman lifts her sari behind her neck as a shield. His awkward hand gesture adds to the impression of his unethical intentions. Vaikunthan's themes are based on first-hand observation and experience. The shaved head and sectarian mark on the holy man's forehead are attributes of the priest; the white mark contrasts with his dark skin color. The caste system, based as much on skin color as on profession, fosters the belief that darker pigmentation belongs to lower castes and villagers. While Vaikunthan's images imply a certain haughtiness, the near-poverty conditions in which he lived when I met him in i993 and his exceedingly humble nature refute this assumption.

3.T. Vaikunthan.The Holy Man, 1993.Acrylic on paper. 20 x I I (50.8 x 27.9). Private collection.

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Vaikunthan's foray into village life was the result of a fortuitous opportunity. In the I96Os, when he was a student at Hyderabad's JNTU College of Fine Arts, he recalled, "We copied prints of the old masters and drew from casts, did life study and composition, all from that [nineteenth-century] tradition."4 He then became a dedicated abstract painter, until he matriculated at M.S. University Faculty of Fine Arts in Baroda. "There we had ongoing philosophical discussions: Where is our art? Are we just following the West? What should we do? How should we do it?" Such questions led Vaikunthan to abandon abstract for figurative painting. The real moment of truth, however, came after he left Baroda, when a friend asked him to assist with a film about the village. "I needed to research life in the village, so I read a lot and spent three or four months in Burugupally in the district of Karimnagar. As part of my research, I did drawings in pencil and wash. Unfortunately, the film was aborted, but the experience became my new idea for art."5 Village women in particular interest Vaikunthan because of their colorful dress and their gestures, but especially because of their social influence. "Village women live in a very different world; their faces are distorted from the hard work they do; there are few things that they have or need."6 The women he paints are large and husky. Involved in daily chores or braiding their long black hair, they are frank and self-absorbed, but decidedly unrefined.

Jaya Ganguly
Vaikunthan's nostalgic, though somewhat sardonic, depiction of Andra village women is entirely different from the images by Jaya Ganguly (b. 1958) of Calcutta prostitutes, whom she regards as heroines in the battle against female repression. Her frenetic, energy-filled paintings are a response to her sense of entrapment by the constraints of tradition-bound Bengali society and the pressures from her own conservative family. When she decided to enroll at the Indian College of Arts in Calcutta, Ganguly's father refused to give her financial support. Though her mother and younger sister offered moral support, Ganguly credits her success to her fellow students, who shared art supplies and encouraged her in those difficult years. Her family expected her to marry, have children, and lead a traditional Bengali life; putting her career as an artist first was not acceptable. Yet, Ganguly was determined to fulfill her artistic ambitions before marriage. The Indian College of Arts is located in a neighborhood with a mixed population of laborers, shopkeepers, and professionals. The prostitutes in particular fascinated Ganguly. They represented freedom from the strict dictates imposed on women in conservative Bengali society; at the same time, she empathized with their lives of drudgery and degradation. Returning home from class one evening on a city bus, Ganguly shared her seat with a prostitute whom the other passengers shunned. As the passengers moved away in horror from the haggard woman holding a cigarette defiantly between her lips, Ganguly became angered by their behavior. In response to this incident, she produced a series of paintings entitled SexandSorrow. In one painting from this series, she portrays the prostitute with a red belly spreading her legs in a provocative gesture. Emanating energy, she is grotesque, yet, with a yellow

4. Interview with T. Vaikunthan,Hyderabad, 1993. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid.

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4. Jaya Ganguly. Devadasi, 1984. Ink and watercolor on paper. 30 x 20 (76.2 x 50.8). Private collection. 5. Jaya Ganguly. Cat

and Prawn,1986.
Watercolor on paper. 30 x 20 (76.2 x 50.8). Private collection.

FA .n4

7. William G. Archer, Indiaand ModernArt (New York:Macmillan,1959), 112.

flower pinned in her jet black hair, desirous of appreciation. Another painting from this series, Devadasi (fig. 4), depicts a temple dancer who is also a prostitute. Before the British colonized India, girls assigned to temples would dedicate themselves to the gods and dance as an expression of devotion. As Hindu supremacy was challenged and the temples lost their patronage, prostitution in the ranks diluted the devadasi's sanctity. Eventually, the term became synonymous with temple prostitute. Ganguly's temple dancer-prostitute carries candles for puja,part of the ceremony in worship of a god. Wearing jewelry and revealing her breasts, she emulates the stone musicians and dancers that grace medieval Hindu temples. Now a part of history, devadasis would have been a part of the temple community in the area where Ganguly was born and raised. Her family home is located on Kundu Lane in the immediate area of the Kalighat temple, one of India's most famous pilgrimage sites and Calcutta's most vital religious center. Dedicated to Kali, the black goddess-a symbol of destruction and conversely of curing disease-the temple was a center for a host of religious accessory hawkers, as well as prostitutes. In addition to the kumkumor sacred powder and fruit and flower sellers, the Kalighat folk artists frequented the area. Although they left just before Ganguly was born, their artistic legacy attracted national and international attention. Today her old neighborhood is home to aspiring young painters and writers, and Kalighat folk art continues to play a vital role in shaping form and content in her work. series Paintings from the SexandSorrow repeat the bold, curving outlines and simplified forms of Kalighat folk art. Ganguly's version of the cat with a prawn in its mouth, a poke at religious hypocrisy (fig. g), is a personal rendition of a popular theme among Kalighat painters who paint social satire and genre subjects, as well as gods and goddesses. According to the British art historian William G. Archer, "this subject was supposedly satirical of Vaishnavite preachers who, sworn to practise the strictest vegetarianism, were prone to eat fish on the sly."' Ganguly's cat, on the other hand, is disturbingly frightening. This snarling animal that protects its prey is a metaphor for defending personal integrity and maintaining control over one's life. It is, in effect, a self-portrait.

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6. Shipra Bhattacharya.
Desire V, 1997. Oil on

canvas. 66! x 63 (168.9 x 160). Private collection. 7. Shipra Bhattacharya.

Desire II, 1997. Oil on

canvas. 70 x 96 (177.8 x 243.8). Private collection.

8. Shipra Bhattacharya,"Text on My Paintings," 1994.

Shipra Bhattacharya Ganguly'sprostitutes,temple dancer,and ferocious wild-eyed cat are a far cry from the sensuous and romanticpaintingsof ShipraBhattacharya (b. I955). WhereasGangulyresentsthe constraintsof middle-classBengalisociety, finds inspiration Bhattacharya in the lives and dreamsof Calcutta's masses, "who hardly care for the artificialdecorum of the social world.'"8 Desire V a ritual (1997) (fig. 6) depicts ubiquitousin India, in which female friends and relatives sequesterthemselvesto talk about affairsof the heart.The woman in a blue sari on the bed is the focus of the discussion. The flower presseddelicately between her thumb and forefinger indicatesthat she pines for her beloved. While young women in Mumbai (Bombay) and New Delhi wear jeans and find husbandsfor themselvesat college or the office, most marCalcutta riages in conservative are still arranged.Therefore,if the woman has come to know someone outside her family and fallen in love, she has a problem. Her two confidantesare decidedly perplexed;one sits on the floor offering advice or consolation, while the other shows her dismay by putting a finger to her lips. Bhattacharya's theme and presentationare derived from a popularconvention in Indianminiatures, traditional in which the pining beloved languisheson a bed surrounded by compassionatefriendsand maidservants. Though the furniture is modern and the sarisare contemporary,the verticalpercheckered and tilted bed are characteristic of floor of seventeenth-and spective in and alike which men women hold flowers or eighteenth-century painting, small beautifulobjectsas a sign of good breeding and sensitivity,and, when surprisedor deep in thought, put a finger to the lips.
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8. Chandrima Bhattacharyya. Trilogyof Solitude, 1990. Ink on (54 x paper. 21Xx 14Y4 36.2). Private collection.

Desire II (fig. 7) is a dream-like vision of primal Indian romance. In a wondrous garden-more than a reference to the Garden of Eden-a handsome, smooth-bodied youth offers a flower to his sweetheart. He is brown, and she is creamy white. The ideal Indian pair, they are derived from ancient fertility and female yakshi-that inhabit all aspects of nature. Reprefigures-male yaksha sented in sculpture since approximately 200 B.C.E., the yakshihas always been conceived as a voluptuous creature with large globular breasts, small waist, and exaggerated hips and thighs. Bhattacharya's female fatale, entwined by the vine that signifies her tie to nature, has tubular arms that echo the essence of the creeper. Her partner, emerging from the center of the flower, is literally the spirit of the plant-a common definition for yaksha/yakshi. Desire V and Desire II mark a recent change in Bhattacharya's work. A few she focused on the colorful and diverse activity of the bazaar. As she years ago, has written, "This particularly disorganized and scattered life of the market people [attracted] me very much."9 Tempera was her chosen medium; used in combination with parallel strokes of a charcoal pencil, her paintings were earthy and idiosyncratic. The widespread use of tempera, especially among Bengali artists, honors Indian tradition by rejecting more popular imported Western media. More recently, however, Bhattacharya has shifted to oil on canvas, giving her genre scenes a cleaner, brighter appearance. This new work indicates that Bhattacharya's personal and cultural identity is not enslaved to medium or technique.

Chandrima Bhattacharyya
Chandrima Bhattacharyya (b. 1963) is known for her whimsical and lively anecdotal narratives of contemporary life at Santiniketan that, no doubt, would have pleased its founder, the venerable Rabindranath Tagore. A poet, song writer, and novelist-Tagore made his mark as a painter thirty years after he had won the Nobel Prize for literature in 19I4. His revolutionary arts college at Santiniketan, located in a lush landscape two hours by train northeast of Calcutta, ranks with M.S. University in Baroda as the country's best. From the 1920S through the 1940s, Nandalal Bose, one of India's most revered artists, headed the painting department at Santiniketan. Now the college draws the best young artists from all over India to study with renowned painters such as Jogen Choudhury and K. G. Subramanyan. Bhattacharyya earned two degrees from the college-a B.A. in ceramic design in 1987 and an M.A. in the history of art in 1989. Her finely crafted, densely packed motifs derive from recent and past experiences, first as a student and then as a wife and mother. Evoking the mystique of this legendary campus community does not preclude the incorporation of disturbing elements of social reality-indiscretions, of Solitude aberrations, and private idiosyncrasies. Trilogy (fig. 8) is a flashback from the days in the dorm before marriage and children. Some of the memories are authentic, some fictional. Like college students almost anywhere,

9. Ibid.

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especially in the heat of summer, the girls spend time relaxing in front of the television. More surprising, however, is their revealing attire. Shorts and halter top might be seen on the streets of Mumbai or perhaps in New Delhi, but a voluptuous bikini-clad student is unbelievably daring in the context of Bengal's ultraconservative society. Women sunbathing on the balcony-one is nudehave stopped the voyeuristic cat dead in its tracks.'0 According to Bhattacharyya, "The central theme of the life of many girls in the hostel was dressing up and going out to meet their beaus in the evening. . . . their world revolved around their own activities and that of their boyfriends."" Bhattacharyya places the lovelorn girl on the balcony in the starry night, lost in thoughts of her beloved, a romantic myth with deep roots in the Indian psyche. Bhattacharyya's pastiche is a late millennium version of the nayikaor the beloved, whose various emotional states constituted one of the most popular themes in eighteenth-century Hindu painting. Other paintings, such as TheyCamein My Dreams (1992), conjure up the microcosm of Santiniketan from more recent memories and experiences. Juxtaposed narratives emulate the claustrophobic environment that encompasses both the professional and domestic life of its citizens. The quaint, plain stucco bungalow that Bhattacharyya shared with her husband and two young children is the fulcrum for unfolding events. She captures the endless maze of trails that wind through lush vegetation and disappear over a rise or down a gully in the dark spaces that wind through the composition. The voyeur and the open view of bathroom activity indicate that little goes undetected within the insular college community. Everyone there can attest to the mischievous urchins who climb over brick walls to steal fruit from backyard gardens. The ubiquitous nayikareappears under a shade-giving tree, her euphoric state in utter contrast to the old woman who stares upward at a couple admiring the star-filled sky. This is Bhattacharyya's quintessential Santiniketan, in which "Dark starry skies evoke a strong nostalgia for scented summer nights with their pleasantly cool breeze and deep shadows of large trees, brought alive by the distant strumming of a guitar and conversation of students enjoying the balmy evening."'2 The work of these five artists exemplifies the breadth of cultural experience that informs contemporary Indian art. Bhattacharyya's paintings wed romantic nostalgia with present-day realism. The philosophic and time/space disparity she employs is favored by a majority of contemporary artists. With iconoclastic zeal, Bawa reconfigures centuries-old iconographies of Hindu gods and goddesses. Ganguly refers to Kalighat folk art in her crusade to dislodge entrenched social traditions. Vaikunthan captures indelicate qualities of village people that most city dwellers believe they have transcended. And Bhattacharya celebrates notions of romance inherent in Indian culture. Educated and informed, knowledgeable about world art as well as their own, these Indian artists still find the best inspiration on their doorstep.
Iwouldliketo extendmygratitude to Surekha White. Shoerey, GayleNesom, andMark Marcella C. Sirhandi, associateprofessor inarthistory at Oklahoma StateUniversity, Stillwater, publishes andlectures on modernandcontemporary SouthAsianart.Shehasalsocurated exhibitions on Indian and Pakistani painting.

10. Regardingher interest in cats, Bhattacharyya has written: "Cats with their stealthy habits and quietness evoke a feeling of the sinister and unpredictable in me. I have used cats repeatedly from the beginning [of my career] in almost all my drawings, as a recurrent motif ... either sitting or standing quietly in a corner observing bathing nudes or intimate lovers; or walking away with a stolen fish .... a scene which perhaps adds a bit of dry humor to my otherwise humorless works"; letter from Chandrima Bhattacharyyato the author, 1994. I I. Letter from Chandrima Bhattacharyyato the author, 1997. 12. Ibid.

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