A guest post from Melody.

A: More than you can imagine!

Photographs taken at the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival, the annual art festival in Mumbai housing “Gallery and pavement shows, exhibitions, literary events, film screenings, music concerts, dance performances, theatre shows, workshops, heritage walks, a food fiesta, and a buzzing street festival bring in audiences and participants from all over the city” (cf Kala Ghoda Association)

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Ten days ago, I stood in the line for tickets at Bandra station and noticed that the guy in front of me had these lines printed calligraphy-style on his T-shirt:

Stone Dead Forever
Auttgart Sineers
Galaxy Rainers
Bengrance — Witteilingen.
Being Outstanding in a Complex Society Revolution

I know, I know. You feel envious that you weren’t there to read these words for yourself. Believe me, I felt privileged.

But on Sunday (Feb 10) at the Kala Ghoda Festival, I noticed this on a T-shirt that passed by:

Being Outstanding in a Complex Society

Now that has to rank as a seriously improbable coincidence. In years of being a T-shirt slogan watcher, I’ve never seen the same wacky slogan twice. Here it’s happened within ten days. Naturally, I wonder if this is some popular quote, sort of like “Don’t tase me, bro”.

Is it?

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So much of the colour at Kala Ghoda comes from not just the artists but the visitors as well. That little street is awash with colour. Art students display their fledgling works. Aspiring writers congregate with journalists. Photographers stroll around, cameras casually hung around their necks. Families wander around wonder and curiosity writ large on their faces. Busy corporate types step out to ‘catch the fest’, ties loosened around their necks and their reactions escaping from their normally controlled faces. Tourists bustle about, wide-eyed at the colour. Teenagers mill about, their natural energy, for once, shared by everyone in the crowd alike, age irrespective.

The different faces of the city walk around marveling at the sights. And at each other.
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The art district of Mumbai is hosting a festival. Movies are being screened, workshops conducted, books discussed, plays (and other acts) staged. There is also a mela happening!

Don’t believe me?

Here is a potter. He beckons…come closer. A grinning imp, paint streaked across his face settles down to touch the clay.

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At the core of the KGAF, every year, is the street art. From the bizzare to the thought provoking, from the quirky to the cute…. each year the street exhibits manage to get the crowds gawking. And, this year was no exception.
At the centre piece of the KGAF exhibtion was a giant ferris wheels of cycles with dabbhas….

Mumbai Masti - from the exhibition:
If the world is your playground, then Mumbai is certainly a giant ferris wheel. And one that carries everything with it, as it goes around its axis going about its daily business.
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A lot of people come to the Kala Ghoda Art Festival in the evening. A lot of people don’t know what they are missing. And it might be a good idea to not be one of that lot of people!

I was lucky. Having signed up for a morning workshop, I ended up in town bright and early and just in time to watch the festivities being set up. I spent the entire weekend in that single lane bordered by Elphinston college, Jehangir Art Gallery, Bombay Natural History society and Rhythm House.

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First visit to an event like the KGAF, I prefer not to go attend an event. Instead, I like to simply wander through, getting a feel of place and time and people. (Well, in that third case, not literally a feel, you understand).

And so here’s a feel of what I got a feel of, Saturday opening day evening.

Somebody sold us a lemon tart. (Food wasn’t quite the first priority on my mind as I strolled through, but close enough). Usually, I like lemon tarts: the taste, the texture, the colour. This specimen wasn’t bad, but failed on all three of those counts.

• Instead of a healthy bilious yellow, this one was a pale yellowish-grey.
• Instead of smooth and velvety, this one was grainy, almost crunchy. And that’s before I got to the crust.
• Instead of a pleasant blend of sour and sweet, this one was lip-puckeringly limey, with an intriguing aftertaste of ghee. Lots of ghee.

I immediately ordered another.

Wife yanked me away.

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Once every so often, I decide to see Mumbai from the eyes of a tourist rather than a citizen. Saturday was one such day. I kind of combined the day at the festival with a visit to art galleries and the museums in the vicinity. I shot a lot of pictures - but a vanished USB cord means that i have to wait a couple of days before uploading.

I got to KGF bright and early - by 11.30. The festival was just about coming awake. The scheduled chidren’s Bollywood dance at the amphitheatre (11.30) was possibly rescheduled. Parents with children, making full use of the weekend were begining their day at the KGF. An instant attraction -an instant click point was the giant lemon & chillis warding off evil. And of course a lot of people were fascinated by the giant black and gold lemon exhibits. The helirickshaw - replete with a cracking music system - was the other ‘tourist’ attraction!

The stalls were slowly begining to buzz with both exhibits and customers. But, unlike previous years - this one had more stalls, but they were very run of the mill. The stall that had most customers was the one that had the most ‘made in China’ stuff. I don’t have anything against “made in China” products, but it may have been better if these were handicrafts from NGO’s in China rather than the mass produced stuff that they had. There was a stall from Ranthambore that was selling traditional crafts that were very interesting. As usual the large book sale - which took up around 3 stalls was the one with the most crowds, and possibly the most sales.

Food was a huge disappointment. Unlike the previous years where there was a variety of street cuisine available - this time around there was over priced, over oily and run of the mill stuff from the biggies that inhabit the area. The food outside the KG festival circuit - where you could get mouth watering ragda pattice and spicy bhel was more interesting than the stuff available.

As far as the street performances were concerned, we caught a nice bit of ‘tamasha’ by a couple and their two children. The man was the circus master. The woman the main acrobat, adn the kids were the filler material. As the kids jumped through a hoop of fire, or the woman walked on a tightrope (actually a metal braided wire) - the gasp from the audience was palpable. I was actually expecting one of the NGO’s that had stalls around, to come and stop the performance on grounds of child endangerment, but nothing of that sort happened. The lady afterwards told me to send her the photograph. First i have to find the USB cord!

Finally, I tottered across to NGMA to catch the Oddissi workshop by Ileana Citarista. She was tutoring a bunch of teenagers (seemed like teenagers) on upper body movement. She was fluid, graceful, and each of gestures carried power. I tottered out feeling like a clumsy sack.

I also caught the Bombay Bonanza exhibition at the Museum - not really part of the KGF but could just as well be part of it. A lovely visual history of Mumbai and how she evolved.

Hopefully next year there will be more street in the street festival!

Meet Nandini. She lives somewhere around this area. She is not very sure where. She can’t tell me anything more about herself and her family. But she knows one thing for sure - she likes pani puri. She has no idea what it is called; will she have dhokla? nahi. khandvi? nahi; she quickly dismissed these foolish offers I make in the assumption that the kid would like the less spicy things on offer. Yeh nahi, woh gol gol jo hota hai - her little fingers making whirring circles in the air… oh, the round things? realization dawns as I point to the kachori. She directs a withering look at me (how dumb can you get?, it says in loud tones and I duly wither), gives up attempts to explain and instead leads me confidently to the stall, her little hands in mine. She takes ages to eat the first puri - the tiny mouth can open only so big. So the panipuriwala fill the other puris, piles them up in a leaf cup and she takes them away to a corner by the tree to eat them in peace.

It is not like Nandini is taking liberties with a stranger. We know each other from last year’s KGAF, you see. In fact, she was featured on this blog quite prominently a couple of times last year, the little admirer who seated herself on the first row of whatever performance happened to be on at the rampart row stage. I did not know her name then, Nandini was small and shy and refused to speak to me, just a shy smile and reluctant pose for me every time we met. From coy side glances to withering looks in a year is a long way to travel.

I found her on the first evening of the festival among the bunch of kids lighting candles on the road as part of the street display by an NGO. She waved to me and posed with her candle, dropping it suddenly when the wax melted and flowed down her hands. Ouch. And my heart melted with it. Therefore the panipuri.

I am a sucker for kids (others’ kids, i.e. - those who can be sent back to their parents), my camera likes them a little more than I do. And kids sense that and pretend to like me so I take lots of pictures of them. Like this one (also featured earlier on this blog this year) - he was playing with other kids inside the helikoptook, he took one look at my camera and went pose pose pose, now sitting, now lying down, steady modelly smiles plastered on his face.

[click for larger size]

And then the unposed pictures… often the most interesting of them all…

When will the darned dance begin?

rang diya basanti and now I can’t get it off

And that is what I love about the Kala Ghoda Festival. Kids roaming around freely, loudly laughing at some of the sillier street installations (how I would like to do that!), peskily demanding kulfi and comic books, getting in everyone’s way and generally having a blast. I like to see them get bite-sized doses of culture watching classical dance performances, I like it when they get messy at the pottery and coloring workshops, when they listen to stories and watch people on stage wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Above all, I love the amount of work my camera gets at Kala Ghoda with the kids…

Bright golden sequinned suits, colorful little saris wrapped fisherwoman style, spotless white kurta pyjamas soon to remain not-so-spotless, tiny birdies wearing pink, yellow and blue birdie dresses. The dance organized by NGOs with kids performing to Bollywood numbers on Sunday morning was easily the event I loved best among those I caught over the weekend. Crowds clapping and cheering, the kids on stage having a blast, their bright smiles outshining the miidday sun high above, spectators, among them some kids who were waiting for their turn to perform on stage watching open-mouthed, the NGO volunteers notepad in hand, steering the kids to the right place at the right time…

The show which went on for over an hour had these little kids dancing to popular Bollywood numbers starting with suno gaur se duniya walon. The kids came on stage, danced the way to an encore, followed by dus bahane and rang de basanti and more.

It is obvious that nothing captivates the attention of the audience as Bollywood - people stood in front of the stage trhough the performance and clapped themselves hoarse. The earlier evening at Horniman Gaden, just before Sonal Mansingh’s performance was to begin, a cop on duty came up to me (I was of course, standing row 1-plus, camera in hand) and asked me, ab kya honey wala hai? koi sonal woh naachne ali hai kya? (what’s up? is some sonal to dance now?) And that morning, before this dance, I walked into the museum gallery looking for the Jayateerth Mevundi concert - I had been waiting near the ampitheatre by mistake. Seeing the small room almost full, I asked a mother-son duo sitting at the back, is this the JM concert? Son ignored me and continued to paly with his mobile while Mother gave me a blank look and said - I don’t know - we are just sitting here because something is going to happen, so many people here. But Bollywood, never a vague “something is going to happen” - familiar, popular - you can never go wrong with Bollywood.

Dus bahane karke le gaya dil

The last perormance was the everpopular birdie dance - the stage a riot of colors, little birdies wriggling and jumping, sometimes performing with complete confidence, sometimes taking sneak peaks at each other in confusion - what is the next step now?

the birdie dance

a quick pose in the middle of dance

Tibetans believe you dance to eliminate negativity, to cut through the ego and to bring in auspicious circumstances. Hence, I could think of no better way to start my escapades at the Kala Ghoda Art festival than to watch the cries of Snow Lions. The Snow lion is a blundering beast in cheerful white demeanour that symbolizes the fearless and elegant quality of the enlightened mind. When a healthy and harmonious environment is established by the creative activities of human beings, such as through the performance of sacred purification and healing music, all living beings, here represented by the snow lion, rejoice. Rejoice we did as the snow lions with big golden eyes and large masses of yak like fur paraded through Rampart Row to the beat of a Tibetan drum much to delight of the children watching.

The festivities moved to the Amphitheatre. Seven dancers paraded before us : four in red and three in black and white. The dance itself was a blend of lumbering grace- the dancers hopped on one leg with the other raised in a flexed foot, with turns added to the hops. Drums rang on, marked with more acrobatics arm swoops and torso rotating as well as frou frou of skirts as the women swirled to the enchanting sounds of Tibet. The next three dancers with porcelain faces and ornately brocaded costumes were identified with the visualizations of common men, each dancer danced with a light spring, shifting weight, hopping in half turns. To say the dancers looked like magical beings would not have been inaccurate. The dance ended with a grand finale and the dancers exited to the sound of applause from the crowds. A brief pause before we were yet again graced by a pair of Snow Lions on the stage to end what was a memorable piece of Tibet at Kala Ghoda.

This is why I have come to love this festival so much, it seems to transport to you other places and times, a window to many forms of art and culture and all in your very own city.

Just got home after an evening at Kala Ghoda and need to wake up early, really early (especially for a Sunday) to get back there for the vintage car rally tomorrow morning. So here are a few pics from the events of the evening - detailed posts soon…

Performance by the Tibet India Foundation…

The snow lion yawns…. or is it snow dog?

Dancing to the drum…

Watching from the sidelines and waiting for my turn…

The Naval band - started off vey well and then suddenly this young officer took to the mike with ‘tere bin mein yun kaise jiya…‘ Why, oh why this from the Naval band?

At that I turned around signalling to my husband that it was time to leave.. and saw this…

Sonal Mansingh at Horniman Circle Garden, Odissi, the life of Krishna, the butter thief, the lover, the lord of the universe, the savior of those who believe…

And finally, to ward off the evil eye…

Good night…

The streets have stirred themselves awake,
the trees are dressed in flags and lights.
The air is filled with strains of song,
the dark horse rides the road tonight.

It’s the first day of the Kala Ghoda art and culture festival and you can almost reach out and grab a handful of the buzz in the air, the change is that tangible. Traffic noises are replaced by human voices yelling, laughing, talking, pavements are playing easels and this area that is usually filled with people going about their business, is now filled with artists, actors, musicians, dancers and the audience trying frantically to drink it all in.

I first visited the Kala Ghoda festival two years ago and it was love at first sight. From the huge free-for-all-as-long-as-you-paint-something-related-to-horses canvas (on which I painted a nifty little sea-horse, thank you very much!), to the plays being performed in Horniman circle. From the food stalls where I sampled the most delicious kebabs I have ever eaten, to Daksha Seth’s dance troupe which brought that small wooden stage to life. Absolute, unabashed, love, is what I fell head-over-heels into.

I missed the whole festival last year but vowed, as God and broadband were my witnesses, that come February 2007 and I would attend every single day of it.

So here I am, on day one, prowling through the precinct like some culture starved creature.

I arrive fairly early in the morning, while the stalls are still being constructed and the installations put together. The crowds haven’t trickled in yet so it is relatively quiet and I can still walk around without bumping into people (dodging approaching juggernauts of workmen bearing stage props is still on though).

I walk slowly, stopping at each stall - antique furniture, pottery from Thailand, bronze artifacts, iron figurines from Bastar - and all the while I’m taking mental notes of which ones I’m definitely going to return to (although that doesn’t help much since I’ve ticked almost all of them).

I run off to attend the writing workshop I had signed up for and by the time I get back, the landscape has changed again. Where there was an empty parking lot, there is now a white fiberglass (I think) model of an airplane mounted on a platform of painted canvases. The tree on the corner has sprouted lips (yes really! lips!) and perched up on a platform is a small horse made of recycled material.

And that is what I love most about this festival - there’s always something new just around the corner.

Update: The little white airplane (I’m told by a reliable source) is actually a model of a Mirage 2000 and is made of wood and metal and covered with khadi and not (as I’d previously assumed) fiberglass.

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Peter Griffin.

These are from the Mumbai Poetry Live evening.

John Agard

John Agard

Arundhathi Subramaniam

Ranjit Hoskote

Jerry Pinto in compere mode..

..and in poet mode, with jacket.

These are from Alyque Padamsee’s Unspoken Dialogues

Gary Richardson

Vivin Mathew Easo

Alyque Padamsee

Alyque Padamsee and some of the cast

The show-stealing puppies take centre stage

And some glimpses of the venue, at Azad Maidan

Rabbi, from a safe distance

Rabbi, closer up

Puppet Theatre

The “Joker” in the process of decapitating himself

The Pretty Girl.. who has an ugly man at the, ahem, other end.

A fellow-blogger switches to v-log mode.

Barefoot street kids eating leftover food from the stalls, and more affluent kids, with sports shoes and digicams, all enthralled by the puppets

The Street and the food

The chaat stall at one of those rare moments when it wasn’t beseiged by hungry mobs

After the ball is over

Most of Bombay’s gone home to get ready for Monday morning, but he has work to do now

Empty tables

McD’s. Trashed, apparently.

As chairs are stacked around them, stragglers grab a last bite

Much antacid was sold that night

The Dance stage comes down

This panel just missed braining me

Even as the last revellers eat and shop, a truck backs in to load up the equipment.

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by charukesi

I come back from Kala Ghoda Saturday night and find that most of what I want to say has already been written here. Food, stalls, literature, dance. Here are pictures instead.

Grand old VT from inside the car, waiting for the signal to turn green.

The artists not featured in the festival but part of Kala Ghoda always.

Photographing the photographer!

Splashes of colour from the stalls selling extremely pretty, tempting and now-what-do-I-use-them-for kind of things.

And these extremely striking weird, wired faces. I wonder whether people really buy such things to keep in their homes. imagine waking up to see such a face staring at you.