Somewhere along the way, Bengaluru mutated from pensioners' paradise to the valley of the malls and while it may be futile to mourn the past, the very least one can do to cushion the blow is to indulge in the luxury of reminiscence. The 80's was a kinder, gentler era where much amusement could be derived from the simple gag of inviting an out-of-town visitor for drinks at Dewar's, "Just tell the auto to bring you to Coburn Road..." Of course this was before the Apple fell from the tree so he would traipse all over Frazer Town before finding out that Coburn was spelt Cockburn. Dewar's which sadly no longer exists, was a delightful watering hole and the go-to destination for an eclectic bunch of regulars. You bought your booze by the quarter-bottle and sat in a cane easy chair and blew smoke rings while you dealt with the world's problems.
Bengalureans were given to simple living and high thinking; today it's the other way round and to make matters worse, we now have Facebook. To paraphrase Churchill: "Never in the history of human communication has so much stupidity been inflicted on so many by so few."
Dewar's clientele ranged from ad-man Peter Colaco to cartoonist and chronicler, Paul Fernandes to Nikhil Arni the architect, whose client list included Vijay Mallya and the tribals of Didalli,Virajpet. Nikhil was the quintessential free spirit who kept an open house off Crescent Road where one could choose between the percussive beats of Sivamani and the fiery polemic of Ramchandra Guha. Which brings me to the NGMA auditorium for a lecture-demonstration by Rokko Juhász, one of the leading lights of the performance art movement. Rokko has conducted workshops and university courses from Chile and Israel to Hong Kong. To say that his work exhibits a rebellious streak would be putting it mildly: someone who sits in a chair wearing a T-shirt inscribed with the message, "Waiting for a Messiah" in downtown Tel Aviv has taken quite a few walks on the wild side…
We watched some memorable sequences including one in Taiwan featuring strangers blowing cigarette smoke into a plastic bag tied around his head; it ended abruptly when an elderly woman passerby ripped the bag apart, fearing for his life. Interruptions and interactions are an integral part of performance art, making it distinct from other art forms. As he says, "Poetry, music and drama can be accommodated in the realm of performance art, it being one of the few art forms where the artist communicates with the audience and understands their reactions." As opposed, say, to the one-way flow of information provided by a painting or a piano recital. Rokko wrote poetry until he found his métier and the pioneering zeal he displays while pulling off his stunts is a hallmark of his oeuvre.
He readily admits that performance art is not for everyone. "I once buried my head in a flower pot for over an hour to bring to life the metaphor of the ostrich burying its head in sand and thinking it's safe", he wryly observes. Clearly the physical closeness and the unique interaction between artist and audience is an integral part of the act. Also in performance art it all happens in the here and now; there is no opportunity for re-takes or revisions.
In December, Rokko partnered Nanxy Liu to give Bengalureans a glimpse of this art form in Cubbon Park and the city's rubberneckers had a field day trying to figure it out. She sat polishing grains of rice one by one as people gathered around to watch the tamasha while she explained, "My art is open to interpretation. You may understand this, or not. The idea is to take art out of galleries and get common people to discuss it." She then stuck a de-monetised 1K note on her mouth saying, "When I came to India, I had this note. I tried to get it exchanged through friends but they told me the deadline was over. This inspired my theme."
Let's say that she was in for a rude shock in terms of the reaction from her audience. Some of them interpreted it as an insult to our PM and took offence, forcing her to stop halfway through. We can handle chaotic traffic, stinking toilets, mounds of garbage and empty ATMs with equanimity but boy oh boy, are we quick to take offence at an unusual artistic performance? Then there were the inevitable well-wishers who thought it would be disturbing for the children to watch her head wrapped in tape. Take your children home, Saar, where they can watch re-runs of Uncle Arnab, is what Nancy should have said.
She was more diplomatic though, saying, "I have heard of such things happening to other performance artistes. I thought people would be more open to discussion in India than in my country where everything is censored". Arnab was wrong, India doesn't want to know…
