Since I was a little girl, I've repeatedly been asked the question 'what is it like, bein... more Since I was a little girl, I've repeatedly been asked the question 'what is it like, being Faiz's granddaughter?' Though in reply I usually just smile a knowing, somewhat smart-ass-ish smile with a hint of self-deprecation, in my head I'm often thinking, to paraphrase Carrie Fisher, 'well, compared to what?
In exploring the idea of an artistic and/or public performance as a political act or comment, it’... more In exploring the idea of an artistic and/or public performance as a political act or comment, it’s important to first look at the concept of the body as a site of resistance. Throughout history there have been instances where the body was both subject of oppression and censorship, and also the location of rebellion and revolt. Time and again, the body has been an active symbol in the struggle between individual and collective liberty, and the forces that seek to deny that liberty.
A little boy dressed in silken finery reclines on a takht of velvet coverings, an embroidered cap... more A little boy dressed in silken finery reclines on a takht of velvet coverings, an embroidered cap sitting askew on his head as his dark eyes look searchingly into the camera. Elsewhere, a young prince with formidable whiskers and a cunningly fashioned turban sits upright in an elaborately carved chair, a sword held casually to the floor in one hand, while his gaze wanders into the distance. In a different setting, four noblemen attired in similarly handsome headgear, flank a British officer sitting erect in his elegant uniform; while the others avoid the glare of the lens, one of the noblemen glances furtively into it. All three situations describe photographs of various members of the Indian aristocracy, taken during the British Raj. The images are of interest not just because of their compositional idiosyncrasies or the once-redoubtable standing of their subjects, nor even because of some vague, generalized notion of their historicity. If anything, it is a combination of all three, and more, for these photographs, and hundreds of others like them, are neither simply frivolous souvenirs of their own time and space that have no meaning in a post-modern world, nor are they some bloodless ‘document’ of Indian history whose resonance is confined to that definition alone. What they are is a potent and eloquent connection to a past that is both integral to the South Asian identity, as well as almost alien and inaccessible to it.
Maya is not content to be a shadow, a form with no physicality, always following behind, always s... more Maya is not content to be a shadow, a form with no physicality, always following behind, always secondary, always subjugated. Again, love for her isn’t about submission, but participation. She longs to be more than a passive fantasy, especially because, as we are shown, the fantasy is a fragile one already, one that breaks when reality hits too close. “Ek bohat lambi saans mujhe udhaar de do na, please, Poona se Mohenjodaro tak,” (‘lend me a long, deep breath, won’t you, from Poona to Mohenjodaro’) she says to Mahendra, speaking to him over the phone for the first time since his wedding. Her own breath feels short, insufficient, to cope with her pain. Later, when she overhears Sudha’s angry response to the idea of Maya coming to meet her, she is shattered. Here, it is not hard to discern that her dejection arises not just from her separation from Mahendra, but also from the realization that there cannot, realistically or practically, be a space for her in this marriage.
Since I was a little girl, I've repeatedly been asked the question 'what is it like, bein... more Since I was a little girl, I've repeatedly been asked the question 'what is it like, being Faiz's granddaughter?' Though in reply I usually just smile a knowing, somewhat smart-ass-ish smile with a hint of self-deprecation, in my head I'm often thinking, to paraphrase Carrie Fisher, 'well, compared to what?
In exploring the idea of an artistic and/or public performance as a political act or comment, it’... more In exploring the idea of an artistic and/or public performance as a political act or comment, it’s important to first look at the concept of the body as a site of resistance. Throughout history there have been instances where the body was both subject of oppression and censorship, and also the location of rebellion and revolt. Time and again, the body has been an active symbol in the struggle between individual and collective liberty, and the forces that seek to deny that liberty.
A little boy dressed in silken finery reclines on a takht of velvet coverings, an embroidered cap... more A little boy dressed in silken finery reclines on a takht of velvet coverings, an embroidered cap sitting askew on his head as his dark eyes look searchingly into the camera. Elsewhere, a young prince with formidable whiskers and a cunningly fashioned turban sits upright in an elaborately carved chair, a sword held casually to the floor in one hand, while his gaze wanders into the distance. In a different setting, four noblemen attired in similarly handsome headgear, flank a British officer sitting erect in his elegant uniform; while the others avoid the glare of the lens, one of the noblemen glances furtively into it. All three situations describe photographs of various members of the Indian aristocracy, taken during the British Raj. The images are of interest not just because of their compositional idiosyncrasies or the once-redoubtable standing of their subjects, nor even because of some vague, generalized notion of their historicity. If anything, it is a combination of all three, and more, for these photographs, and hundreds of others like them, are neither simply frivolous souvenirs of their own time and space that have no meaning in a post-modern world, nor are they some bloodless ‘document’ of Indian history whose resonance is confined to that definition alone. What they are is a potent and eloquent connection to a past that is both integral to the South Asian identity, as well as almost alien and inaccessible to it.
Maya is not content to be a shadow, a form with no physicality, always following behind, always s... more Maya is not content to be a shadow, a form with no physicality, always following behind, always secondary, always subjugated. Again, love for her isn’t about submission, but participation. She longs to be more than a passive fantasy, especially because, as we are shown, the fantasy is a fragile one already, one that breaks when reality hits too close. “Ek bohat lambi saans mujhe udhaar de do na, please, Poona se Mohenjodaro tak,” (‘lend me a long, deep breath, won’t you, from Poona to Mohenjodaro’) she says to Mahendra, speaking to him over the phone for the first time since his wedding. Her own breath feels short, insufficient, to cope with her pain. Later, when she overhears Sudha’s angry response to the idea of Maya coming to meet her, she is shattered. Here, it is not hard to discern that her dejection arises not just from her separation from Mahendra, but also from the realization that there cannot, realistically or practically, be a space for her in this marriage.
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