Part of a Whole.|KalaGhoda 2015

Here we are, long after the streets have emptied.

I’ve finally put together my thoughts on this year’s Kalaghoda Arts Festival, one of the most awaited events in the city.

This year,for me, was all about interaction. It was about giving people a platform which allowed them to share their feelings without hesitation. Take for example this.

A world within our own

Or this.

A Little Princess

Part of a display that allowed readers to add to their thoughts over the course of the festival. Another similar interactive installment asked us to attach any small memoir we had of the city or the relationships we’ve had there.

One of my favorite things about the festival has always been the colorful bangle feature, re-vamped every year. This year it spoke about the contrast between the urban and rural woman, both simply stripped down to a base difference.

The Woman is a strange creature. Demin VS Bangles

The purpose of art has always been defined in various ways. Sometimes it is just to be. Sometimes it’s to highlight things so common we don’t notice them anymore.

Hues

The Girl and Colour.

Yellows

Shades

I’ve always had a soft spot for Colour, It makes everything so much brighter.

This year was also about hopes and dreams and wishes.

Jon Snow? He must know something after all.

Speaking of which, one of mine finally came true, I got to see the Symphony Orchestra of India perform. It was simply amazing.

The SOI Rehearsal

Then there were the eclectic butterflies.

I’ve always loved to dance with the wind.

We make the best of where we land right? As for the oft repeated tale of turning from a caterpillar into a butterfly, it’s a stereotypical tale but one that everyone feels they’ve been a part of. What’s your Butterfly story?

As far as being a part of something bigger than yourself goes, it doesn’t get better expressed than this.

Part of a Whole-Best expressed by a multi faceted semi disco ball. 

Fractions, split seconds, moments gone in a flash, these are what we will remember when age has dulled our eyes, or on days when colours seem less bright. Here, in my city, you never have to be lonely. You will always find someone with whom you can be alone together.

And if not, there will always be the wind to catch your hair and make your worries float away. And I will be there for you, Always. That’s a promise.

Colours of the Wind.

Much of what I saw and heard and felt leaves me at a loss for words, albeit with a sense of belonging. Maybe next year, I’ll see you there, and you’ll know too.

The Writing Room.

I sit in a corner,leaning on a beige pillow,my beloved copy of Jane Eyre in my hands. It’s a small nook that’s more precious to me than any other material possession. It’s a small 6×6 feet loft with a simple mattress laid on the floor. The bright red sheet covering the mattress is off set by the numerous beige and wine red pillows scattered all around. The walls are lined with bookshelves,the scent of old,well-loved books with tattered spines heavy in the air. One wall contains books passed down by my grandfather,favoured by my father and cherished by me. The adjacent wall holds books I have added to an already extensive family collection.

On the other end of this wall is my corner. A simple enough place,a place that gives me somewhere to go when Reality is overwhelming.
A third wall holds stationery because on some days,you need an ink pen and creamy white paper to write upon. Rows upon rows of beautiful papers fill the shelves, but the third shelf from the bottom is different. It has a stack of midnight blue A4 sized sheets,a stack of envelopes, a wax stick, a stamp and a burner.
This shelf is where all dreams begin. It is meant for writing about only those things which are closest to your heart. Your soul is on those captivating blue sheets sealed in an envelope with wax and stamped with a beautiful filigree pattern. This is for mailing to a person who owns part of your soul.This is for reading on those days when it seems too much,too fast, too hard. This is to remind you that You can and You will. Because you once dared to dream.

The final 4th wall to complete this structure…does not exist. In it’s place is a full length window,opening to a regular city view. Rooftops and tall buildings in the distance,a tree outside the window,the road four flights down. The view reminds you that beauty and inspiration lies in the Everyday.

And finally to complete the vision, a typewriter on a table about a foot off the ground lies opposite to my corner,the 2 adjacent book walls. I see myslef sitting cross-legged in front of it,typing away for all I’m worth,Briony by Dario Marianelli playing softly in the background.