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I
was a student at a university in Calcutta. This institution then
was known for its radical politics and intense academic
environment. All my fellow-collegians were dead sure that they
would grow up to be academicians and committed teachers who would
influence many young people’s lives. Those were not the days of
the media-boom, and my alma mater was anyway too classically
oriented to be interested in such new disciplines. Almost as a
kind of a youthful rebellion, I convinced myself that teaching
would never be my calling. I went on to study theatre. Many years
later, soon after the Bombay riots in December 1992-January 1993,
I regretted the decision.
I was presenting my film I Live in Behrampada, made about a
Muslim ghetto in the context of the Bombay riots to an auditorium
full of college students. Earnest eyes, arrogant body language,
tutored disbelief, hungry minds – they were a dream audience for
any filmmaker. It was a hard hitting, on-your-face kind of film,
something obviously most of them were experiencing for the first
time. They had questions, a whole lot of them. They wanted to
know, they wanted to argue, they wanted to agree, in a sense they
refused to be treated as any passive audience. They watched my
film and it was my turn to listen to them. The conversation turned
and twisted from issues of communalism to those of multi-culturalism
to those of the art practices to those of the ethics of the
documentary form and so on. And suddenly, I thought this encounter
needed a much larger scale of pedagogical engagement. As a part of
the post-screening conversations I realised that I could not
really give readymade answers to questions on why the majority
community allowed a fear-psychosis to develop as a precursor to
communal riots, how the media sold pre-fabricated fictions while
presenting facts or why mono-disciplinary art works often did not
do justice to the complexity of our times. This also involved the
realisation that one needed to communicate to the young students
that no easy answer existed anyway, that it was a matter of
engaging with the question, excavating its possibilities along the
way. This meant that one needed to build on developing an
engagement with these students so as to build a whole new critical
audience which in turn would push the boundaries of art practices.
We at Majlis decided to launch a campaign – dialoguing with
your possible audience – a workshop series on
multi-disciplinary ways of encountering art and cultural
practices. From 1996 to 2001, every year the workshop would be
conducted for college students of Mumbai and Pune for a week
during the Diwali vacation.
But why would the students opt for more classes during their
vacation? Especially since it was not even the kind of course
which would boost anybody’s CV. Well, they would come for fun
and for entertainment and for shock value and for glamour. Hence
we roped in the best names in each field. If it was Literature and
Literary practices then it would have a Susie Tharu, if it was
History it would have a KN Panikkar, if it was Science as a site
of culture it would have a Vandana Shiva. The fun and
entertainment components were to be included in the exercise of
visualising each issue. There was an exhibition of book covers of
auto-biographies and biographies in many languages where Indian
women wrote autobiographical novels in the mid-nineteenth century
as men. For the Science workshop eminent visual artist Baiju
Parthan mounted an art installation on gravity titled A leap
into the abyss. For the History workshop there was a gallery
of posters of Hindi film historicals. The more we pushed ourselves
with the task of visualising popular history or countering the
linear/authoritative image of science or dealing with the
development of the visual in literature, it became a major
pedagogical exercise even for ourselves.
We took on the mission of advocating a multi-disciplinary approach
in seeing and reading as the basis for a framework to nurture
multi-culturalism. The schedules were worked out to study the
overlapping areas, the joints in the transitions: of studying the
mainland through the periphery than the other way round. One of my
most favourite sessions was the script reading based on the
biographies of legendary mathematicians Srinivasa Ramanujan and
Nobel laureate Chandrashekhar. The two lives, when juxtaposed,
brought forward a fine discussion of nationalism and the politics
of science practices over two world wars. The session however
managed to remain within the genre of biographical story telling
and so continued to hold students’ interest. On another occasion
we screened Akira Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood (based on
Macbeth) and G Aravindan’s children’s film Komatty (based
on an imaginary folk character) as an illustration of literary
genres. Habib Tanvir’s Chhatisgadhi version of A Midsummer
nights’ dream (Kamdev ka apna/Vasant ritu ka sapna)
was staged along with an avant-garde production of Saadat Hasan
Manto’s Khol Do by Maya Krishna Rao for the session on Text
to Body in performance.
We tried to look at the exercise more as a restless excavation
than a method of learning. Hence often resource persons from two
contesting schools would be placed back to back in the same
schedule. A popular cultural icon like Javed Akhtar was invited
with the eminent scholar and founder of Comparative Literature
Studies in India, Dr Amiya Dev. This principle has not always
worked positively though. But, I think the very nature of this
project marked it as different from any act of institutionalised
teaching.
Another exciting aspect was some laboratory sessions in each
workshop. As part of the act of learning deconstruction, practical
history writing sessions, art criticism sessions, walks through
the city and translation sessions among other events were
designed. These sessions exposed the participants to the inherent
cultural hegemony and the role of memory and desire in any
reading.
Is pedagogy more pedestrian than institutionalised teaching? Or is
pedagogy only a lighter version of the syllabus-oriented teaching?
Does that make pedagogy essentially a political activity? Or is
pedagogy only a form and is the social/political element in it an
entirely project specific issue? While the above-mentioned project
stemmed from our need to build a more complex viewership for our
own art practices, I shall now discuss another programme, which
stemmed from our own political desperation. Both were, in a way,
pedagogical activities, but they were born out of different needs
and hence were very different in nature. The former was an
intense, detailed and exclusive project with high-quality inputs
meant for a few interested students. The other was an
all-inclusive, broad based project using forms coded in popular
youth culture.
It was May 2002. Due to our geographical, social, religious
positions, none of us was directly affected by the Gujarat
carnage. But the chain of events left us feeling dead. The
carnage, the state collusion, the futility of all our efforts
‘to do something’ – relief, rehabilitation, documentation,
peace or protest rallies, campaigning, legal initiatives –
almost nothing seemed to be adequate in the face of the crisis.
What could we do in such a situation, where was our constituency,
how could our interests and professional inclinations make an
intervention in this crisis – these were the questions we were
plagued with. It was within this phase of self-doubt that the idea
of a youth festival emerged. The idea was to reach out to the
young generation through the space they identified as theirs. Our
experience of conducting the cultural workshops helped us in
formulating the festival, but the two were very different in
nature, texture and pace.
An overwhelming majority in Mumbai was unconcerned about the
happenings in the neighbouring state of Gujarat. Round-the-clock
television coverage only enhanced this alienation. The desire for
a soap, the drama of a family saga, the thrill of a lottery game
and the faces in a refugee camp mingled in the familiar but
distant space opened up by the television screen. In such a
situation, in September 2002, Majlis and Open Circle, a group of
visual artists, joined hands to organise the festival, India
Sabka. A large public event focused on getting young people to
think about secularism, to respond to the current xenophobic
politics and look for evidence of multi-culturalism in their lives
– many friends thought in was a utopian idea in this era of
acute consumerism.
Unlike our previous programmes we wanted this festival to be
broad-based and light –footed as a counter to the populist
politics of the time. Students would be invited to participate in
contests on concerns around secularism. The month long process
would culminate in a festival of two days structured around
popular culture. A letter drafted at that time for college
teachers reads “Speaking their language and using their trends, India
Sabka hopes to make secularism the in-thing among students and
make the public event a celebration of secularism. The festival is
structured keeping the current trends among students in mind. But
the aim is not only to reach out to students from elite colleges
of South Bombay but also to smaller colleges and regional language
groups. So the entries can be sent in any language – Marathi,
Gujarati, Hindi, Urdu and of course Hinglish”.
Posters announcing art and other cultural competitions were pasted
in 100 colleges in and around Mumbai. Attractive prizes were
announced. We used every possible strategy. Principals were
cajoled, progressive teachers were chased, student leaders were
lured and torn posters were replaced. It went on and on and at
first seemed to have no effect. We regretted the themes and
regulations, which were perhaps too tough. After all, it was not
an easy job to design the front page of a newspaper commemorating
the 10th anniversary of 6th December or
write a film script on India Sabka or write a story on Food
that My Neighbours Eat or design an architectural intervention
to integrate a community ghettoised along communal lines.
Especially in a city where students’ activities are generally
restricted to ‘Saree days’, ‘Valentine days’ and ‘Desi
days’.
Besides, the prize offers of book coupons might not have been the
best strategy to attract students. Deadlines were extended,
friends and families were summoned to influence students in each
home. Entries started trickling in and added up to around 250.
Phew! We made it by the skin of our teeth.
But 250 entries do not make a festival, they don’t even make a
visible statement. There had to be more windows carved in to
enable a larger number of participants to peep in and the windows
had to be made attractive. The obvious choice was to have a
subversive take on popular culture. Film personalities were
invited, a music concert was organised, Alyque Padamsee’s play
based on Romeo and Juliet was announced. A cartoon stall to get
yourself sketched in different identities: Christian, Hindu,
Muslim and Sikh in 15 minutes was set up. A photo studio titled Photo
Hindustani where you could take Polaroid snaps with Aamir Khan
as Bhuvan and Karisma Kapoor as Zubeida, a DJ to remix songs on
patriotism and multi-culturalism, a kiosk to print your own
T-shirt were all the other attractions. In order to extend the
discussion of identity beyond that of the usual Hindu-Muslim
bi-polarity, a brochure on the invisible minority communities and
a photo-feature of dwellings of various communities was designed.
In a sense, all efforts were made to make secularism a desirable
and ‘cool’ concept.
But beneath the gaiety and the festivity, the ideological dilemmas
continued. Well, we may just about manage to assert India Sabka,
even make it a fashionable slogan, but is it enough? Should we not
talk about the politics of the Sangh parivar more directly?
Isn’t it an occasion to do a bit of direct pedagogy? Are fun and
frolic detrimental to the seriousness of the issue? Would not
piggybacking on popular culture be counterproductive in the long
run? Campaigning for the forthcoming elections was gaining
momentum in Gujarat. What were we doing at such a time? Was this
worth it?
The depression and anxiety were ameliorated thanks to some
wonderful entries that we got. A film script arrived with a
conversation between a dejected, betrayed and humiliated Muslim
boy and his mother: Where will you go Sahil? I understand your
frustration. But do you think there can be another place like our
Bombay? Will you be able to carry the Azad Maidan in your
backpack? No son, if you insist on leaving then you will have to
leave alone. Your mother will not accompany you. The script was
titled Hamara Shahar, Our City.
An entry in the newspaper design section carried a detailed report
on a museum to be inaugurated at the Babri Masjid site. In the
fiction writing competition came a short story on the politics of
food, intolerance and cannibalism: an angry and hilarious take on
the theme of Food that My Neighbours Eat. Open entries sent
for a Fielding the Question session with Barkha Dutt jammed
the computer. One entry was: How far are the youth of the majority
community really aware of their rights and responsibilities?
Isn’t the indifference on their part a stumbling block in
resolving the increasing communal divide?
A quiz programme was to be prepared, again a subversion of
television’s most popular programme. Friends were requested to
send ten questions each. The conditions were that the questions
should be light in look, multiple in meaning, fun to think about
and related to India Sabka. A tall order indeed. Many
failed but others stepped in. 250 questions on multi-culturalism
in cuisine, games, fashion, popular culture, folklore were
collated. Here’s a sampling: Who said this while discussing the
issue of beef eating ‘that may be so, but if the meat is tender,
I shall eat it’?
a. George Fernandes b. Yagnavalkya c. Sonia Gandhi d. Swami
Agnivesh
Bollywood personalities inaugurated the film festival which
comprised of films like Wim Wenders’ Buena Vista Social Club,
Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator, Alain Resnais’ Night
and Fog along with Mahesh Bhatt’s Zakhm and Shyam
Benegal’s Mammo.
The students came, nearly two thousand of them. They played games,
wrote slogans, tried out the quiz, won prizes and laughed or lost
and cried, but all in all, enjoyed and shouted again and again and
again “Indiaaaaa Sabka”. (And by the way, if you have
attempted the sample question, the answer is b.)
Well, I never desired to be a teacher by profession as I have
already told you. But my interest in art practices and art
productions often brought me to interact with the practices of
pedagogy, though in a veiled form. I would therefore like to
propose a definition for pedagogy: it is an activity that keeps
the pedagogue on her/his toes instilling in her/him the desire to
learn and in turn teach all that is new and progressive.
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