A Bengali Diary
Text written by Monica Dematté.
Arriving to Bangladesh
This is my first time in Bangladesh. I came for the Chobi Mela International Photo festival, and also because I wanted to have an idea of what was going on here in the contemporary visual art scene. I came without knowing anything of the history of the country, beside the tragic facts of the partition from India in 1947 and the independence war in 1971, when the country became Bangladesh and was no longer called East Pakistan. A history of destruction, violence and struggle. The only thing I knew before coming was that Dhaka, the capital, was a very polluted and noisy city, with terrible traffic jams and poverty.
Coming from Kolkata (Calcutta), India, and having spent nearly one month in that country previously, Dhaka, instead, seems quite clean. It is true that there is dust everywhere, as it has not been raining for months, but the situation is not as bad as I thought.
I have come with another 20 people or so, mainly Indian photographers from the Drik India photo agency, plus four other Europeans. Amongst them Christopher Taylor, British photographer based in France who has taken some amazing photos in India (mainly Kolkata) and China. He is supposed to do a presentation of his works on China together with Li Lang, coming from Guangzhou, with my coordination. We leave at 6:30 in the morning from the centre of Kolkata with the bus company ‘Shohagh’ (deep love). The name is appealing, the bus pretty comfortable. Our group is led by Suvendu Chatterjee, the brilliant and warm hearted director of Drik India, who has prepared us for the worse. He tells us stories of bribery asked by the Bangladeshi officials at the border, and he is very determined to give none. We expect to be stuck at the border for hours, but instead it goes quite smooth there. Many hours are wasted at the ferry crossing the river though, so the journey takes 18 hours instead of 12. When we arrive in Dhaka it is midnight, and the city is dark and deserted, it feels like in a curfew.
Dhaka and the Chobi Mela
From the day after (January 30th) the Chobi Mela kermesse starts, and it is an impressive chain of events following one another, from the concert of a local street band, in procession in front of the National Museum, to the inaugural speeches in the National Museum, by Chobi Mela and Drik Bangladesh director, charismatic Shahidul Alam, Bengali woman writer Mahasweta Devi, Yasmine Eid-Sabbagh from a Lebanese refugees camp, artist Marcelo Brodsky from Argentina. This year’s theme is Freedom, and an exhibition of photos on Nelson Mandela’s life on display at the Museum opens the way.
The day ends on a river cruise ‘through three rivers towards Chandpur’, and I realize once I am on board that it is going to last the whole night and part of the next day… with food, live music and cabins to rest. After the first shock (but I have a toothbrush with me, so no big deal), I realise it is a really fantastic idea.
It would take me forever to describe all the events related to the festival, in eleven different venues scattered in the city, so I suggest to people who are interested to check the Chobi Mela website for all information.
I will just add that I have been very impressed with the quality of the festival, especially of the evening presentations, which were held at the Goethe Institute Auditorium. From the 30th of January to the 5th of February, every evening from 6:30 to 8:30 or 9:00 p.m., there were an average of 4 to 5 presentations (or screenings) by people from all over the world. The standard is really high and one can feel an intellectual energy that is hard to experience nowadays. A really enriching experience.
I can feel that Shahidul Alam has done an incredibly good job here, and that the photography world is lively and committed. It will be interesting to see whether the other visual arts are at the same level.
On February 3rd in the evening I do my presentation on the history and present situation of PRIVATE, Black and White International Photoreview, a magazine I collaborate with. I want to support the valuable work done by the editors, Oriano Sportelli and Véronique Poczobut, who have been producing it for many years. Again, for those who are interested I suggest to visit the website.
Then I introduce the works by Li Lang, who is showing his series on the Yi minority and by Christopher Taylor, who shows his Chinese images called ‘Stèles’. Christopher, Li Lang and I want to visit nearly all the shows in the many venues, plus some places like the parliament house designed in the Seventies by French architect Louis Kahn, and the old city, so the first week passes trying to find our way around. When we cannot walk, we commute on three wheels vehicles (CNG) or cycle rickshaws.
When I visit the National Museum, I find a very strange and interesting mixture of everything: from specimens of crops, fruits, flowers, trees and animals, to local artefacts, to modern paintings (not contemporary), to a very bizarre display of reproductions of world art’s masterpieces, such as Mona Lisa or Guernica. It is evident that the museum has a very general didactic aim.
Dhaka, Contemporary Visual Artists
After the end of all the presentations, I take one day’s rest, then I start with my survey on contemporary art. Through the names and contacts Tayeba Begum Lipi and Mahbubur Rahman (whom I had met back in 2003, during a workshop in Lijiang, Yunnan, but who were in Nepal when I arrived to Dhaka) gave me, and other local friends’ help, I managed to start my visits on the 7th of February.
The first artist I got to meet is Ronni Ahmmed, born in 1971, graduated from the local Institute of Fine Arts (on Kazi Nazrul Islam Avenue, next to the National Museum), where most of the artists have studied. He lives in the northern part of the city, a rather new district called Uttara, which has been planned in a very regular, geometric way. He shows me his surrealistic paintings, his sculptures, even his sandals, made of recycled car tires. He is a 360 degrees creative person. He gives me an idea of the historical development of contemporary art in Bangladesh, starting from the pioneers: Zainul Abedin (22), the founder of the art institute and the most respected artist, S. M. Sultan and Kamrul Hasan, who mixed the folk art and the modernist trend.
He shows me a book titled ARTS and Crafts, a Cultural Survey on Bangladesh series. It is a quite exhaustive source regarding the art situation here up to 2007. But there is an even more surprising ‘product’ that has been put together by a ‘bunch of young people’. It is a multimedia CD entitled ‘Art and Artists from Bangladesh’, it came out in July 2008 and it contains: 1) the profile of 206 artists, 2) plates of more than 2600 artworks in different mediums, 3) a brief history of Bangladesh art (from ancient period to the present), 4) the description of all art institutes, 5) information about all galleries, 6) time line: important art events from 1947 to 2007 7) articles on artists, rare video footages. I have never seen anything like that so far, and it is really a very useful device to get a lot of information. An extremely precious and valuable work has been done. I express my gratitude to the people who did it, who in the CD are represented by ‘Shawon Akand’. This kind of information can be of great help but cannot though replace the personal experience, at least in my way of being a curator and a historian/critic of contemporary art.
I am also introduced to an issue of Jamini, an International Art Quarterly published here. Then Ronni mentions the fact that a friend of his, a collector and art enthusiast, is going to support the creation of a new magazine which wants to achieve a true international standard. He takes me to his friend, Anis Moquit’s, office. Anis is a managing director of a garment firm that realizes here clothes for some of the most famous British fashion brands.
Anis is an intelligent and warm man who has a good collection of artworks scattered around in the 6 floors building where he operates. Everything here is the result of a careful eye. He invites me to be a contributor of the new coming magazine, and I agree because I have the feeling that these people are really driven by enthusiasm and a good understanding of art.
Ronni proposes to show me the Bengal Foundation, an important institution here. The building lies on the way from Uttara towards town, surrounded by trees and in front of a small pond (New Airport Road, Civil Aviation, Plot 2). The general director, Luva Nahid Choudhuri, has been working here since it’s founding. The Bengal Foundation’s founder has collected about 3500 artworks, and many are showcased here. I have to say that the standard is high. They are now attempting to get some money from the government in order to build a museum and be able to show the works to the public. But I suspect Luva won’t part easily with the great painting which is hanging in her office, by S. M. Sultan.
The Bengal Foundation supports as well theatre and music. In their gallery, Bengal Art Gallery (House 275/F, Road 27 (old), Dhanmond district), now showing a photographic exhibition that is part of the Chobi Mela (A people war, curated by Kunda Dixit from Nepal), there are frequent shows of contemporary artists. The director, Subir Choudhuri, is very busy in his office upstairs. The space is good and quite large, the café serves good food and the small garden outside gives a bit of rest from the city’s noise.
Ronni then takes me to his friend, Mostafa Zaman’s, house. Mostafa is a painter, a writer and a critic. He is preparing the works for the next show coming up. But I feel that the realm where he feels more at ease is the linguistic one. He tells me about the philosophical and poetic tradition in Bengal, and I have a feeling that it must be really deep. I decide I will do some research on it.
It is dark and we move to the studio of another artist. He is Monirul Islam, called Monir, who has been living in Spain, Madrid, for forty years and now he comes back often to work and see his friends. 65 years old, with the energy and the wit of a young person, he paints abstract works, often on paper, juxtaposing dreaming colours. Monir offers us a snack, some pop rice with onions, tomatoes, chilli and mustard oil (moori). I have seen it many times on the street, but never dared to try it. It is really good and unusual. We talk about the artistic situation here. He advocates more interest from the outside world, and a more open attitude by local artists. I feel that the intellectuals here feel sorry for the difficult economic and social situation, but they are all very proud of their cultural heritage and of their people. I am sure that the country, if led by honest politicians, will have the chance to restore its importance.
I have noticed that everyone here has a spiritual interest, and at the same time there is little religious pressure. This is especially evident if one compares the atmosphere with that of Pakistan, where I went two years ago. The local Muslims, who are the majority, admit that their cultural richness has a lot to do with the Hindu tradition, and they are willing to keep a multi-cultural approach and openness.
The day after I go to the Institute of Fine Arts, which someone has described to me as paradise. It is located between the National Museum and the Dhaka University. There are many trees, a large (dry) circular pond, and many nice corners. The building was designed by Mazharul Islam, one of the most important architects, realised in the years 1954-56 and has its charm. It was built taking into consideration local materials and climatic needs. The plan is quite complex, resembling a kind of composite T which has a curve in the upper part, so that it embraces the pond.
Shishir Bhattacharjee, Wakilur Rahman and other painters are sitting in the office of the painting department. I am afraid of disturbing a meeting, but instead they say they were just gossiping. Shishir is an influential painter, and Wakilur moved to Berlin long ago, but he has studied in the Beijing Central Academy of Fine Arts in the years 83 to 86, and speaks Chinese. We have common friends! They were both born in the beginning of the 60s and in the Nineties were joining a group called ‘Time’. Now they work independently, but they are still great friends. The atmosphere is relaxed. I am offered tea, and we manage to go into deep conversations very quickly. That’s what happens here all the time. No talking about the weather or such, we go directly into autobiographical experiences and political, social, artistic issues of course.
Rokeya Sultana is an established woman artist who graduated from the school of Santiniketan, near Kolkata, founded by Rabindranath Tagore, where people like the Nobel prize laureate Amartya Sen have studied. The relation between Bangladesh and the west part of Bengal, namely the Kolkata region, is very strong. They do not really feel they belong to different countries, rather that they are all Bengali. No wonder, Bangladesh has chosen a song by Tagore as the national anthem, just like India. Rokeya has painted many nudes and is therefore considered pretty daring, in a Muslim society . She tries to express the desires of women in a society where women are mainly considered ‘mothers’. Her husband is a famous musician, and her daughter, who is now 24, is studying economy at the university, but she also is a singer and a composer and has her own band.
When she performances she wears jeans and not the shalwar (long chemise on wide pants, typical outfit for women in the North of India and in Pakistan) she has today, which are expected when attending class. We have lunch and a long conversation with Rokeya. She now teaches at the printmaking department of the Art Institute.
She, like the other artists and professors there, laments the lack of a proper space to use as a studio. In fact I have realized that all the artists I have visited paint at home, in narrow and messy spaces. It reminds me of China when I first went there in late 80s.
Tayeba Begum Lipi and Mahbubur Rahman have now come back from Nepal and I visit them. They are also founders and trustees of the artistic residence and studio Britto Arts Trust, which often organizes workshops and residencies for and with local and international artists. (By the way, Britto has changed its venue in the last days, after my departure, so I have not seen the new premises.) To know more, one can check here.
Besides painting, the two (wife and husband) are into performance art and installation. Mahbubur is an extremely creative artist. I remember that when he came to Lijiang he used all possible media he could find. He is very interested in many different and unusual materials, and of folk motifs. The two combine ideas coming from their life experience and the society around them, with their own sensibility.
They advice me to go to visit artists in the second city of Bangladesh, Chittagong. Gallery Kaya’s owner, Goutam Chakraborty, is a painter himself . The space is not huge but he is really devoted to his job, and showcases works by well known artists. He gives me an example of the Bengali attitude towards culture and religion: his father’s surname Chakraborty is traditionally hindu, he has another surname (I do not remember) which is Muslim, and his grandfather gave him Goutam (Gautama) as a name, as a reminder of Buddha. What an inspiring syncretism!
I visit Gallery Chitrak as well, in Dhanmondi. It is one of the oldest in town. The space is quite huge, divided into several rooms. I have extended my 15 days visa realising that I need more time to explore the local art scene, and Anis Moquit has helped me with that. He has sent his employee Faruq to collect the necessary forms, and with all the papers ready, in one day I manage to extend my stay for another two weeks. In the visa office I meet a Japanese guy who’s been here for six years or so, working in an organization that tries to help street children giving them the chance for an education. I have realised that there are mainly two kinds of ‘foreigners’ in Bangladesh (not including the photographers and theorists who are here for the Chobi Mela): people who come for humanitarian purposes and people on business (mainly in the textile sector). I haven’t met any tourist. Jessica, who comes from Singapore and works at Drik (photography gallery), told me that the slogan used by the local department to encourage people to come sightseeing is: ‘Bangladesh: come before the tourists do’. Clever, isn’t it?
I have decided to go to Chittagong, the second city of the country. There is an Institute of Fine Arts there, and several established artists. The evening before the departure (I will leave by bus) Anis Moquit invites me to his house in Uttara, where he takes me through his collection of local artists. It is an impressive one. After having shown fifty or more works, he suddenly remembers the works of another artist who are not on display on the walls, being unframed. It is already 9 p.m or so, and I am hungry, but he enthusiastically goes through about one hundred works by Kazi Monir, a rather unknown artist who was self taught and lived poorly as a newspaper seller, but was really gifted. I have to say that I am very impressed by his paintings. Most of them are on lucid cardboard, often the back of a calendar or such, painted with a kind of spatula, I guess, in bold, square strokes.
Very unique. Anis is very enthusiastic about them, and tells me that the family, although being poor and depending upon the father’s job, was very supportive of his ‘hobby’: they would let him paint undisturbed even with an empty stomach.
Chittagong’s Art Scene
The bus to Chittagong takes a long time to reach there. I am lucky, Ronni has some spare time and he decides to come along. During the trip, about 8 hours, he sleeps nearly without interruption, as he is recovering from an operation. When we reach the city it is already dark. We take a CNG (three wheels vehicle which uses gas) and reach Ronni’s friends’ villa, on the top of a hill, which is very central yet very secluded. This villa was built by the same architect who is responsible for the project of the Institute of Fine Arts in Dhaka. It is large and nearly empty.
The upper floor belongs to Ronni’s friend, but he is absent so his servant welcomes us. There are paintings in every room, and the quality is high; some have been painted by the owner and/or his brothers. I haven’t called anybody yet, and it is time to do it. I fix some appointments for the next day. I learn that tomorrow (February 14th, S. Valentine, a date that apparently is celebrated in the whole world, even in a Muslim country like here) there will be a series of performances on the seaside near Chittagong.
The following day, after the usual tea and toasts, we pay a visit to one of the owners, who lives in the ground floor. He paints as well, and shows me three of his works. He is very pessimistic about the art market situation in the country, and repeats several times that there are artists ‘starving to death’. He is a nice man who lives a kind of secluded life, dreaming of islands in the Pacific ocean, where he would like to move, and preparing the huge house for the wedding of his son, who lives abroad, which is going to take place soon. Dozens of chairs are been taken out in the sun by the servants to be dusted. There is a swimming pool and I am tempted, but then I give up because I would feel uncomfortable in my swimming suit. There are workers repairing a wall in the garden, and are surely not accustomed to even partial nudity.
We manage to get to Patenga beach before noon, the time when the performances are due to start. There we meet Robii (Abu Naser Robii), artist and coordinator of the Porapara Space for artists. The title of the event is Art can change life and there are supposed to be seven performances by seven young artists from Dhaka, Chittagong and Finland (?). There is some time before the beginning, and I take the opportunity for a walk on the beach, which soon becomes a walk on huge blocks of concrete. There are young couples who came here for the Valentine, and young males wandering around with a floral combination of red roses and white narcissus–still waiting for their beloved, I guess.
The first performance starts, there are several buffalo skulls set on sticks, and dressed up with old clothes. From the neck are hanging some texts (in Bengali) taken from the Quran, regarding bribery and other immoral behaviours. The author disguises himself as the statue of Liberty, and poses stiff near this or that mannequin, with a torch. Then he sets fire to one or two of them. The viewers watch the process and the slowly extinguishing fire.
Then Robii takes us to a nearby area where the people of the Porapara village have set a picnic area, and are cooking lunch in huge vessels. They have walked here all together, in the morning, and are celebrating the festive day together with the artists. There I see the second performance. A white cloth is secured to four wooden sticks so to create a private space that includes a small tree. People are supposed to enter one by one, as in an election cabin, and to give their preference to one of the three coloured ribbons (blue, yellow and red) that are available inside, tiding them on the branches of the tree. The author then on request explains the personality associated to the choice of yellow, red or blue.
It is lunch-time, people are queuing up and we sit with our plates on a large piece of cloth on the ground. There is rice with vegetables and chicken, an everyday meal here. After lunch Robii offers to take us to visit the Porapara Space for artists, which is about five kilometres away. The space is in a small village, (porapara means something like burned village) near the airport. It is basic but pleasant, and Robii explains how much personal effort is required of him to keep it going, and how devoted he is to it. He shows us the small office, where he has a bed as well, but the computer cannot be switched on because there is one of the usual power cuts. They have some equipment for artistic practice, and welcome people who are interested to spend some time there. Presently there is a Finnish artist and his friend, who is writing a Ph.D dissertation in philosophy.
Robii has started this art space on a land belonging to his family, and receives some help and support from Britto Arts Trust (Dhaka). Some artists in town are waiting for us, and we have to leave the young artists of Porapara. One has decorated with bright festoons a small café at the entrance of the village. The café is crowded with local villagers playing cards.
When we arrive at the building, where two couples of artists live, it is about five, and they tell us they’ve been waiting for quite a while. The first couple we visit is the Dhali al Mamoon/Dilara Begum Jolly. He is preparing a large show in Dhaka (with Wakilur Rahman), and has crowded the flat with some sculptures/installations he is presently testing. The subject he is dealing with is the influence of the media on the individual. His wife Jolly is not fluent in English, so she does not communicate much verbally. I get to see some of her dreamy and imaginative paintings.
Dhali would like to listen to me talking about contemporary Chinese art. In a few minutes he organises the talk for the following day. Abul Mansur, art critic, and Nazlee Laila Mansur live downstairs. The two houses are a bit similar. In both there is a collection of terracotta figurines, which are a major artefact in the area. Nazlee is an argumentative woman who has been painting for nearly forty years, although in small quantity. In her works, women are portrayed as ‘solitary in crammed spaces’. She is considered to be involved in feminist issues. I enjoy talking to her. As many other artists in Bangladesh, she is influenced by the rickshaw painters, a category which is now in danger of disappearing. Rickshaw painters utilise a very bright and garish palette, and bold, very expressive brushstrokes. They are direct and decorative at the same time. That’s why, I suppose, they appeal so much to the artists.
The following day we visit the war cemetery–with astonishment I see the names of many Englishmen, Indians and Africans, of different religion (mainly Muslims, Christians and Hebrews) carved on the gravestone. It is still unclear to me the reason for that battle, I will have to check the history. The Government Art College is just next-door, and it is our next destination. We have not told anybody of our coming, so we just walk in along the empty corridors. There are several professors in a room, and one of them recognises Ronni. He introduces him to the others, then volunteers to take us around. We follow him in the classrooms, where some students are painting a male model, others landscapes from photography, while some more are designing patterns.
I have never been to such a silent and disciplined Institute of Fine arts. Beside that, the way of teaching seems to be very traditional and–sorry to say so–very boring. When it comes to the design classroom, I really feel that what the students are doing is useless. A display of sheer craft – not even skilled. I always agreed with Oscar Wilde that art cannot been taught, yet I believe that a lively environment, some technical skills and especially a creative mindset can be very useful, but an environment like this seems to me really to have little stimuli.
In the late afternoon I give a talk on Contemporary Chinese art (An autobiographical survey of the last twenty years) at a film club. The space is small and the electricity comes and goes, but the talk is followed by a nice conversation. Alak Roy and his wife Nilofar Chaman are coming back from Dhaka tonight, so I have decided to wait for them and visit their studio tomorrow.
The day after we take our bags and leave to Alak’s house, which is close to the Chittagong University and well outside the city, towards the north. Alak lives with his wife Nilofar and their daughter in a house he has designed and built throughout the years in a village which was ‘very green’ in the past and now is getting more and more populated, with his disappointment.
Yet the place is very pleasant and there are many ponds where people wash themselves and the laundry. On the ground floor Alak has his studio where some workers help him to with the ceramics he is producing. The kiln is next door. He mainly divides his production between sculptures, which are aimed at expressing his views and creativity, and artefacts he provides to architects for the homes of wealthy clients. Alak, who is an established artist and has taken part in many international sculpture symposiums, is mainly concerned with the relationship between human beings and nature. Even his house shows a relaxed and respectful attitude towards nature and enhances its influence on human life. The titles of some early solo shows can give an idea of his way: The cry of the earth (80’s) and Ecology of Mind. Alak is a master of terracotta and has been to China researching its possibilities.
His wife Nilofar is not at home, she is teaching downtown and we can only have a look at her paintings and her studio, which is crammed with folk crafts (especially the terracotta figurines, locally made) and all sorts of folk patterns. She is planning to go to Nepal to study the technique of tanka, which fascinates her.
Nepal seems to be the most visited foreign country for Bangladeshi, I realised that it attracts a lot of artists. There are several reasons and some are very practical – it is near, it’s easy to get the visa and is relatively inexpensive. I have not been to Nepal yet, so I do not know the status of art there. Alak’s teenager daughter prepares a delicious lunch, and we eat in the open air among the husband’s sculptures and the wife’s paintings. Then Alak drives us to town, where we manage to meet Nilofar before getting on the bus to Cox Bazar. Nilofar is my age, and dressed in a sober black and grey shalwar. Here, women are always so colourful, that dark colours strike the eye. She talks in a very emotional way, and seems to be very nice, but we do not have much time to deepen the mutual exchange.
South of Cox Bazar
I have heard of Cox Bazar as one of the seven world’s wonders, and I am quite curious–beside that, I really need to be out of cities for a while, as I have been in extremely polluted and noisy places for very long now, first in India, then in Bangladesh.
The trip is again really bothering. The road is narrow and the bus is always blowing the horn and overtaking other vehicles–and constantly in danger of collision. I am not an anxious passenger, but after a while I am really exhausted by this crazy rhythm.
We arrive at Cox Bazar, which has the longest walkable beach on earth, 120 km, at around 20h. Ronni takes me to the Mermaid cafè, owned by his friends, where we have a bite. The café looks like any other seaside resort I have been to. Wooden tables and loud techno music, and a lot of mosquitoes. Maybe because I am really fed up with this kind of globalization, my mood is quite bad.
I see many hotels around, and ugly buildings, so I grow suspicious of the actual beauty of the place. Around 22h we jump on a CNG, which takes us through the night south for about 20 minutes. I feel the presence of the sea on my right side, and I start to breathe better. The coast is dark and there seem to be no constructions.
At one point the vehicle stops and we get off. I follow Ronni on a sandy path and we reach a mud hut amongst palm trees. This will be my room, and Ronni’s is another hut behind. I am tired and go to bed at once, without even looking around, and sleep like a log underneath the mosquito net.
In the morning I wake up and have a great surprise. The two huts are made of mud, as in the traditional style, mine has an extra space for ‘meditation’ above the ceiling and under the roof. In front is what seems to be a lagoon or a river, with palm trees around. A local village is visible beyond a fence. Soon we are served breakfast on the table outside the hut.
In my hut there are three paintings by Ronni hanging on the walls. He explains that Shohagh and Bristy, the two young owners of the resort, are trying to put up an eco-friendly plus artistic environment. They wanted to keep one of the two huts available for artists, who could stay and produce art ‘in loco’. One of the fruits is a mermaid sculpture just outside ‘my’ hut. But they faced some difficulties with artists who were alcoholic or drug addicts, and ended up creating problems. So presently the second hut is vacant too.
Shohagh explains to me that they are planning to put up in the vicinity a circular building in the form of a dome, with a circumference 120 feet long. Inside the inner room they will hang Ronni’s 100 feet long canvas (which now lies rolled up on the ceiling of ‘my’ hut), while on the outer side of the same circular wall there will be other paintings on display. The viewers will sit outside, all around, still protected by the wide roof.
Shohagh and his wife are facing many problems, which have to do with hostility and suspicion by some locals. A few days ago some people from a village several kilometres away came with knives and arms and tried to break into their house. This was following to a bus accident which happened on the near road to Teknaf, caused by the drunkenness of the driver, and which caused the injury of several students. Some say that the villagers thought that the accident happened there because Shohagh and his wife are not devote Muslims, and that brought bad luck.
Others said the villagers saw the house and thought that there could be something to steal.
What is sure is that even though Bristy does not seems to be shocked or scared (she was alone home when the attackers came), it has been a frightening experience. As she says; the good thing is that the inhabitants of the local village defended her, showing loyalty to the couple, and appreciating the fact that several villagers have been employed by them. I listen to this story with stupor. Once more, I see great contradictions. On one the side, two people like Shohagh and Bristy, who have a very modern entrepreneur’s attitude, and are trying to create an environment of international standard, yet choosing an ecological approach, with a strong artistic interest. On the other, a kind of feudal superstition merging with a violent and aggressive mind set. An explosive combination indeed! This said, I just want to condemn any form of violence.
When I express my desire to finally see the sea, if not swim in it (it is not possible to wear swimsuits here for women, and I don’t feel like swimming fully dressed) I am faced with other restrictions and I understand better the everyday challenge that the couple are facing. English man, as he is called, a local man who’s employed by Shohagh to be a guide, provides a boat and shuffles us to the other side of the small river, to the opposite bank, and finally after crossing a row of tall trees, we are on the beach. We do not see the end of it, and the width is at least 100 meters. A paradise for those, whom like me, adore walking in nature. Besides that, it is completely deserted. Not a soul in view.
But when I announce that I will take a walk, Ronni recommends me not to go out of sight and to take English man with me. Seeing how reluctant I am, he adds that ‘anything can happen any time’. I am sceptical and quite annoyed. Thanks god, English man turns out to be someone who enjoys walking as much as I do, and can be silent for most of the time, just listening to one’s thoughts and the waves.
In the late afternoon, just before sunset, Shohagh and Bristy drive the car to the place where they are constructing, mainly in wood and bamboo, another café. It is near the sea and on the side of the only road, which from Cox Bazar heads towards south to Teknaf. These two young people are quite relaxed, but I realise they are challenging reality. Whereas most of the other resorts are traditional concrete buildings, and have destroyed the coastline all around Cox Bazar, they have chosen a non-intrusive, nearly invisible way to merge with the local architecture and life style. In fact the mud huts are very similar, on the outside, to those built by the villagers. The food for the guests is cooked by a family, who lives in another hut, and is originally from one of the hill tribes who are spread in the eastern area towards the Burmese border. In the spare time, which is plenty, as he is not keen on walking, Ronni paints several murals on the walls of the huts and of the couple’s house. Imaginary animals come out of his quick hand. When he paints he is very absorbed and his pace becomes much faster.
I ask Shohagh when he predicts the ‘gallery’ will be ready, he hopes that within one year one will be able to see it. I fear that security will still be a problem, though. (For all information about this resort, please check the last edition of the Lonely Planet guide on Bangladesh).
We leave the Mermaid Eco Resort (or Owl Island) and return to the capital, where we spend one day feeling a bit spaced-out. I propose to go and watch a movie, and so we go to a huge shopping centre, in the Panta Path area of the Dhanmondi neighbourhood. I learned a few days ago that the building was on fire; it was the biggest in the country and one of the largest in Asia. I do not know whether it was done on purpose, but certainly it is rather disquieting.
Rajshahi
The next and last trip is to Rajshahi, a small town to the north-west, very close to the Indian border. Ronni’s brother Raju lives there, with his family. He was doing well as an entrepreneur in Dhaka, but then he decided to leave everything and move to the house of his grandfather, and try to make a living working in agriculture. He takes us to the land, where the peasants are now harvesting potatoes. The soil is very productive, and different crops are planted one after the other all along the year. He and his wife have ‘utopian’ (as he says) ideas, they would like to open a school for the local peasants, especially women, and mainly focus on notions useful for concrete living. He has few fixed employees, and many temporary labourers. He gives the same sum to women and men (and this is an exception here), and is trying to encourage women to become economically independent. Raju is trying to grow some crops organically.
Beside that, his major concern is not to increase his life standard materially, but rather to be able to improve the living conditions of the local peasants. He is interested in visual arts (he paints as well) and he is dreaming of giving life to a kind of Santiniketan, the school founded by Rabindranath Tagore in West Bengal. But I will talk about it later. After just one day spent with Raju in the fields, I feel refreshed by his humanitarian attitude and his idealistic mindset. It seems to be that many cultured people here are really willing to do something for their country folks.
Dhaka and the Riots
On the 24th I am supposed to give a talk on Chinese contemporary art at the Bengal Art Gallery in Dhaka, the main commercial gallery of the country (even though Mr. Choudhuri, the director, does not acknowledge it is commercial), and in the late afternoon it takes place as planned. Wakilur Rahman, whom I have already mentioned, asks interesting questions and contributes with his memories of the Beijng art scene in the early Eighties. The discussion goes on even after the time allotted for the talk. Then the Britto people, Mahbubur and Lipi, and other young friends, take me out for dinner.
The next morning I am supposed to give another talk in the Institute of Fine Arts, and I walk there through the back lanes of Dhanmondi. I will meet the director and a woman professor at 10am. Nobody is there. As I always do, I feel like taking pictures – also a good way to kill the time – but I cannot find my camera. Suddenly I realise that it had been stolen, and that it happened just after my talk in the gallery… the only place that I assumed was safe. My mood becomes rather bad and the fact that nobody shows up to meet me starts enervating me greatly. One young teacher comes up to me, she was at the talk yesterday and asks whether she can help. I explain everything to her and do not hide my disappointment. Then arrives Niser Hossain, a multimedia artist I had briefly met and who informs me that some serious events are taking place in the army quarters, just few kilometres away in Dhanmondi. The BDR (Bangladesh Rifles) are having a mutiny and shooting against the army. That’s why people were not showing up here.
We watch television for a while, then the Britto people come, with the video equipment ready for my talk. But the talk is cancelled, and they advise me to go back to the hotel and possibly stay indoors. I do not see anything in the street, and feel no danger, but I follow their advice. During the afternoon, though, I go to the Bengal Gallery to leave a note that promises some money in exchange for the camera. I know there is no hope, though.
In the evening the situation seems to be quieter, there is no curfew and this is good news. I have an appointment with Naeem Mohaiemen, a multimedia artist who lives in walking distance from my hotel. He receives me in his room-he is busy preparing his trip to Nepal on the following day. In the last few years he has been living partly in Dhaka, partly in the United States. His work is mainly concerned with social issues, be it at home or abroad. He is very well informed about the political situation of his country, and of the present situation as well. Having worked close to the media, he likes following events. He even ran to the area and shot pictures during the morning shooting. For two hours he explains to me the recent years’ activity, and shows me some of his works, either on the computer, which for him is like a portable studio, or in reality, extracting actual photos or objects from underneath the bed or some corner of the room. He seems to have very clear ideas about his artistic practice. Here are some links to see Naeem’s projects 1 and 2.
At around 21h I walk back to my hotel and try a new restaurant nearby. The streets are quite empty. The morning after I read with more interest the newspaper which is slid underneath my door. The situation seems to be a bit clearer, maybe things are under control. Wakilur Rahman calls me up and proposes to take me to Uttara, to see the installation of the joint show by Dhali al Mamoon and him in Gallery Kaya. Tonight I am supposed to travel by bus back to Kolkata, it is a long journey. I pack my things and follow Wakilur to Uttara. On the way Lipi calls, she says that the BDR have spread the riots to other areas, and that the country’s borders are the most affected. She recommends me to call the bus company to check the situation.
In gallery Kaya, the owner Mr. Goutam Chakraborty (who is also an artist) is serious. He says that the situation is grave and is rather pessimistic. They all suggest to me to give up the bus journey and try a flight. From here on, things become quite hectic. I have just enough time to talk with Wakil about his abstract works, which have had a strong influence from Chinese thought, and to view Dhali’s works (he is on the train from Chittagong), while I am waiting for Ronni, who is going to help me with the ticket.
We go to the airport, then to Gulshan (another area in northern Dhaka), and manage to buy a ticket for the afternoon. In the meanwhile Kauser, Ronni’s cousin, brings my backpack from downtown to the airport. There are rumours that mobile phones will be soon be put out of use, so we must hurry. Finally, we manage to go through the check-in and even to come out of the airport and have lunch, as the flight is late. I have a great portion of so called Pat thay, which are far from authentic but are mild on an empty stomach.
At around 5:30 I get on the Jetways plane and leave Bangladesh, not without some concern for my friends there.
Back to West Bengal
My arrival in Kolkata is predictably easy. I find the guesthouse, previously booked for me by the people of Drik India (photo agency connected to Drik Bangladesh), and settle down with a sigh of relief. The day after I pay a visit to the friends in Drik. Unluckily Suvendu has gone for a meeting to Mumbai (Bombay), and I will not see him.
Subhajit and Nilayan ask me what I’d like to do in Kolkata, and I reply: “I would really like to go to Santiniketan”. I have to admit that I only learned the existence of Santiniketan last year, reading a brilliant book: The Argumentative Indian (2005) by the economy Nobel prize Amartya Sen (a Bengali), who was born and has studied there. In Bangladesh I have met other people who did their studies there, although much later, like the woman painter Rokeya Sultana. In an essay on the great poet and thinker Rabindranath Tagore, whom I greatly admire, Sen describes the Santiniketan school. He says (and here I have to translate the Italian back into English, as my book is in Italian) that:
The school was very unusual in many respects, starting from the lessons, which, unless there was the need of the laboratory, where held in the open air, when the weather would allow. […] From the academic point of view Santiniketan was not especially hard […] but there was something really special in the fact that the discussion, during the lecture, could easily switch from Indian traditional literature to western classical or contemporary thought, and from there to the Chinese or Japanese culture. Enhancing variety, the school was drastically contrasting as well with the cultural conservatism and separatism India tends to indulge in at times.
Another brilliant student of Santiniketan was the great movie director Satyajit Ray, who considered the three years spent in Santiniketan as the ‘most fruitful of his life’. Rabindranath settled permanently in Santiniketan in 1901, and he set up the hermitage school (Brahmachrya Ashram) on the ideals of the ancient Indian concept of Tapavan (Forest for Meditation). No need to say that these readings previous to my trip to Bengal made me grow very curious about Santiniketan, even though I expected the atmosphere there to be much less vibrant than in those days.
Nevertheless, I always like to see with my own eyes. Back to Drik: as I expressed my desire to go to Santiniketan, I was trying to understand what my friends thought of it. Not only my idea did not look strange to them, but it was supported right away by Nilayan Dutta, one of the photographers, whom I met here one year ago. Nilayan, having been to Santiniketan several times, declares to be ready to go again with me. Shortly the plan is set. We decide to leave on the following morning.
The appointment is at nine near a ISD STD (long distance telephone booth) which hangs a portrait of Mother Teresa in the entrance hall of Howrah Railway station, the largest of Asia. I remember the booth as I have used it to call home more than a year ago. There I wait for Nilayan, who brings along his lovely wife Sukla Chatterjee. We reach Santiniketan after two or three hours ride, and get on a cycle rickshaw towards the University area.
In the afternoon, after four (the weather is already quite hot, and we prefer to avoid the hours when ‘only mad dogs and Englishmen’ are seen around) we walk into the campus area. There is no wall around it, only thin fences here and there. I am especially interested in the visual arts department, or Kala Bhavana. All the buildings have one or maximum two storeys, and are surrounded by grass and trees in abundance. The atmosphere is very still and peaceful. The main building was inaugurated in 1981 by the prime minister of India, Indira Gandhi. The old name for Kala – Bhavan was Nandan, a name given by the great Bengali painter Nandalal Bose.
The painting classes were started at Khala–Bavana under the guidance of Nandalal Bose, Surendranath Kar and Asit Kumar Halder. The campus has good artworks of artists like Nandalal Bose, Ram Kinkar Baiz, Binod Mukhopadhaya, Somnath Hore and others. It is true, as the explanatory booklet I get in the local bookshop says, that the “whole campus contains a special ambience”, but on the day I went there I saw very few students. Nevertheless, I have been very impressed by the whole environment. Near the Black House (Kalo Bari, a single storey building made of dried earth with asbestos roof and covered by bas-reliefs of motifs from Egypt, Ajanta and Bengali folk art, which is the boys’ hostel for Kala – Bhavana students) was sitting a Baul (the Bauls are Bengali nomadic poets and musicians, mystics) playing his instrument. I sat there for a while and listened, feeling good. Nilayan and Sukla explained the main content of what he was singing–something about life.
The three of us kept wandering around. Seeing the various buildings scattered amongst the trees, with an air of nobility but, it seems, rather empty now, I thought how fantastic it would be to bring these premises back to their original vivacity. I might be wrong, maybe the place is very lively, but I got a feeling of sleepiness. I think that a well organised international symposium, a photography or movie festival, or such activities could bring a new breeze.
We even passed by the department called Cheena–Bhavana, inaugurated in 1937. In 1921 professor Sylvain Levi first started courses in Chinese language and Buddhist philosophy. Rabindranath was very keen on these subjects. Pity I do not know anybody here – but I will come again.
I have no visual recording of Santiniketan, and I really feel sorry about it, because I have been deprived of my camera. Nilayan, like most professional photographers when they are not ‘on assignment’, does not carry any camera with him. A real pity.
In the morning we see the students of the high school having their lectures underneath the trees. Some guards make sure that we cannot walk near to them, in order not to disturb them. Many well off people form Kolkata have built houses here, and come for a weekend or for short holidays. These chalets are empty most of the time and contribute to give the place an air of being a bit deserted. They tell me that in few weeks a huge crowd will come to take part in the holi puja (festival of the colours). But that is another thing.
Kolkata
We go back to Kolkata in a train with open widows. When we get off I feel as if I had been shaken into the bag of a dust hover. The morning after I have an appointment with Nilayan, he is taking me to a shop he trusts to buy a new camera. I need it. Later I go to make my acquaintance with the owners of the CIMA Gallery, which is one of the most important Indian galleries, where I am supposed to give a talk on Chinese contemporary landscapes the following day. The two sisters who have opened the gallery invite me for tea and we chat about several issues. The gallery is just next door to a temple called Birla Mandir, and presently hosts a show by an Indian painter of landscapes.
(CIMA Gallery, Sunny Towers, 43 Ashutosh Chowdhuri Avenue)
On the following day the talk takes place at Studio 21, another space managed by the CIMA sisters, but more open to various events (17 L, Dover Terrace). The person in charge, Manosh Acharya, is a young guy who shows me his interest into the international art market (studio21.gallery@gmail.com). The talk goes well, there is a very lively participation. Every time I get to know people who have studied in China, and are very nostalgic and fond of Chinese culture/friends. They come and introduce themselves, and we always find out common friends.
After the talk I am taken to the Grand Hotel Oberoi for some ‘drinks’ and a relaxed talk. I am given a useful catalogue titled Art of Bengal–Past and Present (1850-2000) by the director of the CIMA Gallery, Pratiti Basu Sarkar, and one on Early India by Soumitra Das, journalist of the local newspaper The Telegraph and friend. I will read them carefully at home.
The Bengali experience is really over for this time, I am leaving the following day to Delhi. Before that I buy a DVD of a Charulata, a movie by Satyajit Ray (71, 72) : I want to know his work. And Sukla gives me a book on the history of Kolkata. (Calcutta, A cultural and literary history, by Krishna Dutta). From the Oxford bookshop in Park Street I go directly to the subway and to the airport.
Far from Bengal: New Delhi
In New Delhi I am hosted by the Khoj International guesthouse. I share the flat with two Slovenian artists who produce some very fun works. Vidura Jang Bahadur, a photographer who has spent several years in China (I had met him in Dhaka at the Chobi Mela) offers to take me around and I am very happy because in Delhi it is much more difficult to find your way in the vast extensions. It looks more like Los Angeles to me, while Kolkata is very European, therefore very familiar and walkable.
Vidura takes me to see several photo exhibitions. At Photoink there is a solo show by the father of famous Indian photographer Pablo Bartholomew, Richard Bartholomew, who was an art critic (Photoink, MGF Hyundai Building, Ground floor, 1 Jhandewalan, Faiz road, New Delhi 110005. Website ). Nice show indeed. At Nature Morte there is a show of the last works by Dayanita Singh, her first in colour. (A-1, Neeti Bagh, New Delhi 110049. Website)
In the evening there is a jazz concert by a Dutch band at the India International Centre, and then a party in the open air offered by the Random Publishing house. I meet several people there, such as Pablo Bartholomew and Gauri Gill, a young and promising female photographer who has been featured in the last issue of Private Photoreview. In the afternoon I give a talk at the Khoj International premises. (S-17, Khirkee Extension, New Delhi – 110017 ).
Unfortunately there is a religious procession going on, and the traffic is relentless. Few people can make it to the talk. In the evening Sarnath Bhanerjee, cartoonist, and his wife Bani Abidi, Pakistani video artist I met in Lahore two years back and now based here, invite me to their place. The evening is pleasant.
The day after, in the afternoon, I meet Manoj Jain, a photographer who is featured in PRIVATE, who shows me his whole work, from the very first photographs to the latest. I spend my last day in the subcontinent at the museums: National Museum first (amazing miniatures and sculptures) and then the newly restored National Gallery of Modern Art (former Jaipur house) which shows in the new wing a pretty exhaustive, large show on Indian modern art, arranged chronologically.
I am lucky enough to be able to see a retrospective of works by Nandalal Bose, the Santiniketan master, and I am really struck by him. It has been quite exhausting to see these two museums one after the other, but I am really excited about what I have seen. After a very late lunch in a south Indian vegetarian restaurant in Janpath Road, Connaught place, which is a very popular and good place, I go to Khan Market to meet Vidura and Prashant Panjar, Dinesh Khanna and Gauri Gill, three local photographers. Prashant Panjar has been featured in Private as well, and is an important figure in the Indian photography world. Dinesh has taken some gorgeous colour pictures for the ‘Incredible India’ campaign, and Gauri Gill presents me with her book on ‘The Americans’, Indian people who have moved and live in the United States. She seems really nice.
My flight is supposed to leave at five in the morning and at 1:15 the taxi driver calls me up. My visa expired at midnight of the 7th, and when I cross the border it is already the 8th, so I am a bit worried. But the official does not object, and I am admitted smoothly to the aircraft and to Europe again.
Monica Dematté
Vigolo Vattaro, Italy
March, 2009