Discovery of a World Away From the Humdrum of Daily Life

I can barely distinguish an oil painting from watercolour; a sculpted statue from a moulded one; Paper Mache from origami… I remember having embarrassed an artist once, who was using his fingers to give some effects to his painting by asking him if he didn’t have a paintbrush to create the broad strokes he was intending to achieve. For long, I have also pitied artists using charcoal, wondering if it was because of their inability to afford colours.

I am poverty stricken in matters of art.

So, I was a tad worried, a tad concerned, when Shovin Bhattacharjee invited me to ‘Sculpt for Delhi-III’––an exhibition of public art in the Art Gallery of India Habitat Centre.

For me it was less important whether or not I understood the works of art on display. But I didn’t want to embarrass my artist friend by asking him silly questions. So, I decided to stay quiet through the evening, although keeping my curiosity under check has always been a difficult proposition for me.

Out of a different world

‘Being overwhelmed’ would be an understatement to describe my state of being as I went around seeing the masterpieces. To begin with, I remained glued to a bronze sculpture ‘Couple with Apple’ for what appeared to be an eternity. I was humbled by the demeanour of Arun Pandit, its creator. He obliged me by letting me click a picture with him by the side of his work.

Shovin Bhattacharjee’s work stands out because of its signature metallic dazzle and cute statuettes of himself with his trademark hat. They attract people from miles. I was treating my soul with one of his several works on display when I saw him. A warm friendly embrace and a disarming smile was all that I needed to cast aside my vow (to keep my mouth shut). I started off with: “Those regular shaped things appear to be buildings––concrete jungle?” What is the significance of red colour… blah blah blah….” And soon I was in my elements. Shovin kept answering me like a grown up would respond to a child’s queries. Shampa, Shovin’s wife and an artist of repute herself, was amused by my ignorance.

Masterpieces…

Each artwork in the hall had the power to mesmerise mortals and Gods alike. I spent a lot of time opposite each. In fact, I returned several times to some of them. The hour hand had swept the face of my watch twice before I realised it was time to leave. Much against my wish to call it a day, I bade bye to Shovin and set course for Noida. The time that I spent at the exhibition––away from the cacophony of Delhi––was indeed refreshing and rejuvenating.

The purpose of the exhibition is to get creative minds together and churn up ideas to put life into the public spaces of Delhi. Shovin’s ‘Mystery of Life’ series is already enthralling people in Chennai’s IT Park.

…and the masters

My mind sped ahead of my car as I drove homeward. Only a week ago, fascinated by the carving my Prosthodontist friend Dr Aman Kathuria does––he moulds and carves teeth and gums in different materials––I had requested him to get me a carver and some carving wax to try my hand at carving. For some days I had been itching to use the carver. Meeting with Shovin, Pandit and others at the exhibition was the tipping point that had nudged me to get going.

Back at home, I rushed to my workstation, took out a piece of wax crayon and started carving. I decided to make a miniature replica of the Oscar statuette––going by the reputation the award has earned over the last few days, none would mind a distorted version of the popular figurine. Time flew. The exercise that stretched into the wee hours of the morning had a liberating effect on me.

“The Oscar”

With the excitement of a child I showed the outcome of my maiden effort, my still-unfinished labour of love, to Shovin. He responded with: “Great.” That remark coming from my friend, mentor, motivator and guide was a great encouragement, almost like winning an OSCAR. Now I am looking forward to immersing deeper into this new found passion. Thanks to Shovin and Dr Aman, I have discovered a zone of peace––a world away from the humdrum and the din of daily life.

Viva Delhi Traffic Police!

The lecture hall of the Delhi Traffic Police Headquarters (PHQ), Dev Prakash Shatri Marg, Pusa, New Delhi is like any other classroom, anywhere––a table, some chairs, a rostrum, a whiteboard with markers and a stand-alone computer terminal connected to a projection system. Leaders of India’s freedom struggle look down (pun intended) upon the occupants of the room from the posters mounted on the walls. For a facility, which is much in demand for continuation training of cops and for educating errant drivers, and is in use seven days a week, it is fairly well maintained. And, like a Catholic church, it doesn’t discriminate between people on the basis of their caste, creed, colour, sex or status. For the training sessions, sweaty drivers of trucks, taxis and auto rickshaws are huddled in that room and democratically share the limited space with smartly accoutred chauffeurs providing proxies for their rich masters and, of course, with the snobbish who call themselves ‘educated’.

Avoidable!

When the room is packed to more than its capacity and the lights are switched off for audio-visual training, the darkness and the half asphyxiating stench of sweat, Banarasi paan, bidi/ cigarettes, Rajnigandha and the cheap make-up and deodorants attack senses and sensibilities alike. They remind of parts of The City of Joy described so vividly by Dominique Lapierre.

There, in that room, the traffic police instructors ‘try to’ re-educate several hundred wayward drivers daily.

That chaotic situation as described above, is not the doing of the PHQ. The ever-increasing number of unruly drivers causes the mess in that under-sized room as it does on Delhi roads.   

Now, how and why I landed up in the ‘that’ lecture hall is unimportant. Suffice it to say that I was an utterly harassed sapiens by the time I reached there after running from pillar to post for three days. And, before you draw any conclusion, let me also tell you that whatever I was getting by way of treatment was my absolute entitlement––I had earned it by dint of my ignorance of the procedure to get back the driving license confiscated by a vigilant cop for a traffic violation.

What followed when I reached the PHQ might be of relevance for those who aspire to learn from the experience of others.

To begin with, the nearly 30 kms drive from my residence in Noida to the PHQ was a nightmare. Well-meaning activists, both pro and ante Citizenship Amendment Act, had ‘unintentionally’ caused clogging of roads. Google Maps had gone crazy suggesting different alternatives every few minutes. I still arrived at the destination on the prescribed date and time. In the absence of an authorised parking for visitors, I parked my car on the roadside, half a kilometre away––at ‘owner’s risk’. And, for the next four hours, a part of my brain was occupied; worrying about the well being of my new car.

I had paid a fine of Rs 1000/- online to be eligible to attend the corrective driving training session at the PHQ and stood at the end of a very long queue to register for the same. A mixed feeling of torment and humiliation swept over me like a little tsunami as I stood in that line (mind the stress on the word ‘that’). For once, I wanted desperately to take advantage of my being a senior citizen but couldn’t do so as there wasn’t a separate line for senior citizens. There was a shred of preferential treatment for women, though. A stern cop appeared every once in a while and chastised the men trying to jump the queue.

Deterrence!

All that huffing and puffing and pushing around at 2:00 pm was for a class that was to commence at 4:30 pm. The anxiety of the people in the queue was comparable to the hurry of the drivers trying to get past a crossing when the amber traffic light is blinking––about to give way to red.

I heard bits of interesting conversation as I waited for my turn. Here are some excerpts:

“They caught me for jumping the traffic light whereas they left the guy behind me who was guilty of the same offence.”

“I have been fined for over speeding… I was driving at 80 km/h on DND on an empty road, absolutely no other vehicles. They said, the speed limit is 70 kms/hr.”

“We know what they are going to teach us now… They’ll only sermonise us. Their aim is to torture us for one hour… Close to 150 people, waiting for nearly two hours each… So much time is being wasted… It is criminal. Why don’t they charge us another hundred bucks and let us go.”

And then the masterpiece that drew a laughter even in that not so friendly atmosphere––“These guys are too much, they are not even accepting bribe to let us go without attending the corrective training.”

The PHQ, in its own simple ways, was encouraging entrepreneurship: A typical chotu was minting money, selling tea, samosas and bondas. Young men sitting with inkjet printers/ photocopiers in shacks by the wall were producing facsimiles of documents––RC Book, Aadhaar and Driving License etc––doing good business. Some men who were helping others to fill the various forms and documents, I guess, were doing so for remuneration.

After a wait of about two hours and a half, at 4:30 pm sharp, the door to the lecture hall was opened. There was a clamour yet again to get inside the room and occupy a seat. I was rather lucky to find a seat in the front row.

The cacophony in the room died down to a pin drop silence when a Police Officer––an Assistant Superintending Inspector (ASI) walked into the room. He was tall and well built. He spoke Hindi with a heavy Haryanvi accent. His delivery was laced with humour that only a Haryanvi can generate.

He spoke with authority; was polite and firm at the same time. He snubbed and put in place an odd participant who tried to mock the training process. He reminded me of my drill instructor at the National Defence Academy who appeared tough (and sounded rude at times) but was tender hearted; his only aim being: to train us to be ‘officers and gentlemen’. The ASI was attempting a similar feat with regards to our driving habits. I learnt later that he was a Yoga Instructor too, and had mastered the art of staying calm amid chaos and cacophony.

He spoke with passion about the concern of the Traffic Police and the Honourable Supreme court about the deaths and injuries in road accidents and the traffic jams that are becoming a norm on Delhi roads. A spellbound audience listened to him as he suggested simple tips to avoid mishaps and holdups on roads.

So far as communication of message is concerned, ASI Rajesh Grewal’s performance was as good, if not better than that of Akshay Kumar. Don’t forget, the latter has the advantage of star appeal. What Grewal speaks, flows straight from his heart. He speaks with conviction and there is passion in his appeal.

After making his point the ASI got the ceiling lights turned off and projected videos of real accidents captured from cameras installed at accident-prone crossings. Those clips, which shook and jolted most of us in the audience, were followed by a documentary made by the traffic department of New Zealand (or, was it South Africa?). All the videos were rather old, dark and blurred but conveyed the intended messages aptly––careful driving and adherence to traffic rules is the key to road safety and fuel economy.

Notional income through careful driving

I took the advice to heart (the fuel economy part, in particular). Following the driving tips given by ASI Grewal, I have improved the efficiency of my car from a mere 12-13 km/litre to 20-22 km/litre. Thus, I have more than recovered the thousand bucks I had paid in fine. A process of notional earning has begun. I am certainly more peaceful when I take the wheel now; a tangible gain indeed. I owe my peace of mind while driving to the training session at the PHQ.

After about a fortnight, I attended another class at the PHQ; this time, of my own accord––to consolidate my gains. Also, as a return gesture, I have offered the training staff my assistance and cooperation in improving the training films.