One day 36 years ago, Nek Chand, a humble transport official in the north Indian city of Chandigarh, began to clear a little patch of jungle to make himself a small garden area. He set stones around the little clearing and before long had sculpted a few figures recycled from materials he found at hand. Gradually Nek Chand's creation developed and grew; before long it covered several acres and comprised of hundreds of sculptures set in a series of interlinking courtyards.The idea that the almighty bureaucracy of this country could encouage Nek Chand, instead of demolishing his work is mind-boggling. There are more pictures of his garden here.
After his normal working day Chand worked at night, in total secrecy for fear of being discovered by the authorities.When they did discover Chand's garden, local government officials were thrown into turmoil. The creation was completely illegal - a development in a forbidden area which by rights should be demolished. The outcome, however, was the enlightened decision to give Nek Chand a salary so that he could concentrate full-time on his work, plus a workforce of fifty labourers. Nek Chand's great work received immediate recognition and was inaugurated as The Rock Garden of Chandigarh.
I was leafing through an Indian interior magazine called Design Today, and was amazed to find an article about Robert Polidori's beautiful book, Havana. It's full of photographs of picturesque decrepitude; a number of them could have been taken in Calcutta. I love this kind of thing, but it's interesting to me to find it appreciated in an Indian popular magazine.
It has been my experience here that most people who can afford it wish to get rid of old things (I don't mean good antiques -- ordinary things). Once I went with some friends in Calcutta to Khazana, a shop in the Taj Bengal hotel, and pointed out an old surya-mukhi (carved with a sunburst design) cupboard that I coveted. It had originally been made for a middle-class family - it wasn't high art, ever. It was painted blue and the paint was chipped. My friends were astonished, first to discover such a piece in this very expensive shop; and, secondly, that I should want to own it. One friend said, "I sold a cupboard like this to the junkman years ago. What would you do with it?" ... which made me feel guilty: it's a kind of decadence, isn't it, to be able to afford to like things that are on the verge of collapse because they are on the verge of collapse? (Ramesh eventually said that he wouldn't have the thing in the house. I consoled myself with a faux-rustic coffee table (?!). I feel guilty about that too, as though the Design Police might grab me at any moment -- but I like it. Havana, the only coffee-table book I own, is kept on it.)
I saw the Design Today article as evidence of India's prosperity. There's a growing upper class which can afford to be decadent, at the same time that the vast underclass would deperately like to possess something new, unscarred.
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