It is with a strange sense of excitement and yet disillusionment that I write these words. On one side, I see the burgeoning buds of the "Indian Spring", with a subtle and quiet Renaissance in the Arts, media and creative expression. On the other hand, I witness the Rise and Fall and Rise of the Allmighty dollar, and how disconnected our art world is from the ebb of flow of global capital. As it churns and chugs it way through economies, countries and cultures. decimating some and renewing/renovating others.

The interesting part is that the world's largest democracy a beacon of hope and secularism to the rest of the world (particularly its brethren in the embattled Middle Eastern/Arab Spring) has such a fabulous, but understated Renaissance in its visual, print and multimedia, including cinema and theater. The new genre of "Bollywood" films speaks for itself and a fecund creativity now manifests in some of India's largest metros from Delhi, to Bombay to Chennai - albeit in different degrees.
Some of the most creative experiments in cinema and theatre are happening in Delhi, the Capital of the Republic and also the epicenter of the new publishing boom, of "Indian English "writing.

I had the good fortune to interact with some of the most creative minds in India recently. from innovative theatre artists like Aanchal Nadrajog- an dancer and artist with a feminist sensibility - exponent of Intimate theater to the Naad Sagar Society of Dhrupad. Aanchal is working to integreate the seemingly disparate worlds of Art and Kapital ie. Art and business. "Art and its business go hand and hand. They are not separate from one another". she says. In addition there was Pranav Brara, an innovative, writer, director and actor, who built a play around "3 characters under a flyover" - speaking of the angst and aspirations of modern young Indians. That Pranav is in his 20s and his friends recently got beaten up - for their freedom of expression - by the thugs of the right-wing Hindu extremist groups.. is laudable.

These are the folks that are the voice and future of the new generation of India. Pranav mentions being inspired by the "book-reading" protests of the Tahrir Square.
To be continued.

Rooftop Bliss

"No one can free you, but yourself".
- Siddhartha

Sitting on the rooftop of a Delhi café, I see the tops of the peepul/gulmohar trees shining. Glistening in the post-monsoon bliss. Like a woman after an orgasm. That is what India is, at her essence. A beautiful, rain-soaked woman.

There is an almost avant-garde, undercurrent to her soul, that lurks wildly like a gentle goddess, "Kali" or "Radha" perhaps? All mad, slightly intoxicated women, in love with crazy men.
There is that trippy intoxicated, weed-smoking husband of Kali's. And Radha has nightly dalliances with her flute-playing lover. Let us remember that the Kama Sutra was born here - a place where love is an art form- raised to the form of a spiritual text.
Obviously, this is a  love-struck land. The rains add to that feel of rain and ecstasy.
Then, there is that Siddhartha vibe, that is so prevalent in the air, like a song. You cannot deny 5000 years of a liberal, secular history.
Siddhartha (the Buddha) and Dara Shikoh (the liberal, Mughal scholar-prince)  walked on this very land, this very soil and profound metaphysics and secular ideals were born here. The ideals of the first city republics..From the Greeks to the Magadhans.

And they want to turn this land of trippy sadhus, intellectual princes and bohemian lovers, into a bourgoise "bahurani's" republic..
The land of the monsoon and the love-struck peacocks. And intellectual princes, looking for the meaning of life, under the peepul/bodhi tree.

Leela

Amrita Gottsmann Shergill.
India's greatest and highest selling artist.

C'est moi. Ma Amrita.
Half Jewish, half-Punjabi.
Half-Indian, half-Hungarian..
Half-pious, half-punk.
Half-bourgouise, half-bohemian.
Half-scientist, half-artist.
Half-entrepreneur, half-idealist.

Delhi's most beautiful and elegant boulevard is named after you.
The mango trees, mad artists, GL Punjabi guys and the sun-soaked boulevards..sizzling under the monsoon streams.
The smell of Delhi, that is you.