Living with the gap.

Iam not an avid reader of newspaper.

Don't watch news on TV either.

I live my life within a 2 meter radius. What happens in front of me is my news. Sure, you can judge me but it wont make me pick up a newspaper.

I don’t do news.

I can only recall a few times when I watched the news with some sort of morbid interest.

Once I was meeting up an ad agency,run by these two amazingly creative brothers, to discuss a rejection which in my perspective was due to the artwork and in theirs was due to our failure in noticing it. I walked into their office, already anticipating the needless, fruitless arguments that lay before me. When I walked into their offce reception, I saw the whole office which consisted of about 12 , standing and watching the TV which was mounted on the wall.

Everyone was quite. The television showed the image of a familiar looking tower which seemed to be on fire or something. There were huge clouds of black smoke bellowing out. I was searching in the meagre crowd for my client, when I heard a collective gasp. My eyes went onto the TV ,where I watched in a numb silence a plane crashing onto the second tower.

We stood there, 12 arabs and one Indian, watching the tragedy happening in real life. We saw people jumping out of the building, like specks of raining black dust. We saw the towers' collapse, sending a tidal wave of dust from which people screamed and ran. We saw people walking around stunned, dressed in suits , carrying suitcases, their faces not comprehending the events that was happening around them, how a normal weekday became this madness.


We stood there , watched in silence. One of the brothers caught my eyes and I nodded towards the artwork I held in my hand. He came and hugged me. There was nothing for me to do. I went back to my press and did a reprint.

That night I watched the news.

I followed the news while it turned from a human tragedy into a crusade. Who is right , who is wrong but someone has to pay for it. I watched the sadness, turn to anger , then to hatred.

I watched the aftermath. I watched the war.

Again the killings.

News papers carried pictures of dead children. I collected it. Made a huge collage of dead children, bodies disbowled, eyes vacant, blood mixed with dust. I stuck it all onto a canvas, then I gave over it a coating of opaque white acrylic paint. Then I put it deep inside my cupboard.

I remember a similar situation long ago. The collapse of another building. This was December 6th , 1992. I was with our collage band performing in Rajputana Hotel in Jaipur. It was a week long celebration for the annual meeting of all the major heads of the Welcomgroup chain of hotels. That evening there was supposed to be a Rajastani jewellery and fashion show to be held in the roof top restaurant. By evening there was a tension in the air. The Rajasthani troop had cancelled. There was talks about riots. We were on stage and watched our guests whispering to each other, most got up and headed to their rooms. The music slowly puttered out, we all gathered around the television in the restaurant.

We saw a crazed crowded razing the ancient Babri Masjid brick by brick to the ground.

There was a sense of shock. There was a silence. We went to our rooms to pack. We were told to get out as 'Old Jaipur was burning'. There was talks about Muslim and Hindu families who goes back centuries, now killing each other.

We reached the airport to find that our flight had taken off early due to the riots . We arranged a bus to take us to Delhi. The journey was like a horror ride. I had the window seat.

I recall feeling numb. Not fear, not anger, nothing. Just an overriding feeling of numbness.

From Delhi, I flew to Madras.

I stayed with a friend who worked in Ambassador Pallava. Once in a while I performed with the hotel band. I stopped watching the news. I had seen enough.

On the eve of the begining of 1993, outside the hotel, I was sitting and watching the crowd. As I sat there, lost in just the watching, I saw the most amazing thing.

I saw crowd seperated in the colors they wore. I saw a huge crowd pass by , screaming and shouting ,all in saffron, then I saw people doing the same thing, now in green. Pink. Black. Yellow. White. There were just colors. Changing like some sort of psycedelic disco bar. And screams.

I recall the feeling. Intense fear. Its like an overwhelming feeling of panic that strikes you paralysed. I stood there and watched my mind crumble.

It took me 2 years to climb out of something which the doctors called Psychotic Maniac Depression. I had snapped. I had to rebuild my personality since I had no recollection of the person I once was. I no longer identified with him. I dont even remember him as a person, rather as an observer. I recall his feelings but its like something that I have watched as an outsider. Something I have no direct experience of.

You see, I dont understand religions. The day it justified killing each other, fighting each other, distrusting each other, it stopped being divine in my eyes. Its just another invention to control. Theres no god in it. I use the term god very loosely. Religion has nothing in it than past.The religions are dead, memories. Nothing can be added onto them, nothing removed.

If there is a god, then we must be his religion.

I have seen people being whipped up into a frenzy by a few mad individuals with personal agendas. I have seen people revealing their most base nature when they see an opportunity to do so and get away with it. I have seen people justifying their actions on the basis that everyone else were doing it.

Yet in the midst of it all, all I recall is when the tragedy occured. When the first domino fell, there was only a silence. In that silence we existed. In that silence we were all one. It was happening to all of us.

From that silence, some acted, some reacted.

Some stayed