Autobiography of a Medal

I am round, and I bulge at the centre. And when everyone take me in their hands, they say I am heavy. I never know if they mean it in a good or a bad way…since today is the era of being slim. Nevertheless, I ignore the comment by reflecting off people’s faces on my shiny surface. I am smooth, I am gold. I have 4 brothers too, who were born with me. But their naming ceremony has not taken place. They are not labeled. They are smooth and plain. My face has been engraved on both sides. On one side, there are nine squares, embossed, still making a square. Below that, it reads “THE CHARLES CORREA GOLD MEDAL”. However, that is not embossed, but engraved. On the other side, it says “ANUJ DAGA 2008”. I wonder who are these two people, and why would I be named after them?

I am lying safe in my home, on my soft bed. They never take me out, and since I have been made, there are always mumblings I hear from a person who says, “It has come, I don’t know when it will be given to you!” For a long time I did not hear anything after that, perhaps it was about 6 months I was lying in my house. I was bored. Then suddenly, an old man took me and started shouting:

“Why is this 2008, no one knows anything, we gave the award in 2009...what is this? Who got this done? Call the manager…there is no system in place…”

I was scared…I wondered if they have only kept my name, why are they now regretting it? Will they scratch my smoothness again…? Will they deface me? Later I don’t know what happened, they closed me in the box for 2 weeks and suddenly, I felt like an earthquake one fine day, when I was sleeping quietly…they were taking me somewhere…in a car, I could feel the gravity in my round bulgy belly. It was a ride, exciting. I was safe, since I had a lot of cushions with me. I padded myself in them! They finally exposed me to light…the same old hands again took me…I could feel them…big hands. And they wondered about where was my ribbon! Did they want to tie me up somewhere? they were puzzled, and they just closed me in my comfortable space and sent back in the car, after which I was again opened in a house…and again some old hands held me. She was a lady, soft and tender. She added a blue satin ribbon to my ring. It was beautiful. I liked it. It furled around and tickled me. And it was shiny too…

I was finally closed in my box, and was locked tight.

The next time I was opened, was today. As soon as the lid opened, I heard applause. There were so many people. The old hands took me, and hung me to another person…I was swinging…it felt nice. This was the first time I experienced freedom. I felt weightless, though I was bulky. When I touched the person through whom I was swinging, I could feel a thumping heart, an excited motion. May be I made someone happy.

And later, many people touched me, felt me…my smooth body, they repeated a name “ANUJ DAGA”…I wondered why are they taking my name…may be I was famous. This young boy took my picture too. I smiled back at him, with a shiny smile. I think he likes me. Now you tell me how I look in the picture he has taken, so that I am assured I will be happy with him all my life!

Gaze

City Critique

 

I love this scrap piece of building near Churchgate station. One can see it while just entering the Churchgate station. The building is hollow, with windows poked all on its body, looking out to nowhere. I haven't figured out an entrance to this building. But the juxtaposition of windows and the composition that they create are beautiful. I wonder if such a place can become a gallery...or some place for light show or more interactive. 

They are replacing the old beautiful stone pavers from the entire fort precinct pavement into concrete ones. however, look at  the disinterest with which they are doing it. There is no sense of detail, no love for work. The new edges of the pavers are not even aligned with the tree linings. They cut the pavers absurdly every time, and keep putting pieces mundanely to finish their job. I wonder what UDRI is doing sitting just behind the place where this is happening. There is no Urbanity, no Design, no reflection of Research and no Institution in picture.

Some buildings in the city are so selfish and unfriendly that they do not want people to touch them, play with them or even use them. The edges of the Eros Cinema are cladded with sharp urban thorns. So they do not allow people who are waiting there to sit on its edges. Why can't public building be truly public. There is no sense of urban design, no idea of what a building can do. The Eros perhaps took this step because the visibility of the posters at the back might be hampered. Why couldn't the posters play with possibly the people sitting on the edge? 

Sigh!

We just need an earthquake...

We need to restart...

On the station

I spotted this completely traditionally dressed old man on the station today and could not help but take a picture. He looked absolutely contrasting against the fast passing train. It was a different combination of the old and the new. And while i turned behind waiting for the train, I could see all the people engrossed in different activities - a student studying his notes, a man reading newspaper, the smell of vada pavs, a man running towards the first class, people talking on the mobile phone, some people peeping on the station towards the train - so many things which the camera can not capture...






















Mornings are active, and seeing the sun rise every day is beautiful...especially from a moving train, which reels the city against the static sun, cutting profiles into the full orange circle and making new geometries all the time!

Nihara's house

I suddenly happened to go to Nihara's house on Wednesday. She shifted to this new place after marriage due to some personal reasons with her new family. The house was cozy simple space - the kitchen separated with a curtain, cut short by a bathroom, which was filled with buckets of water! They had a single cupboard, a single diwan, refrigerator and a television. What was the most fascinating thing was the cooking gas stove, which she could easily carry across the curtained partition of the kitchen into the living space and cook food along with the guest (or her partner otherwise). I felt that was  nice. In our conventional homes where kitchen becomes almost an isolated space with no connection with the rest of the house, here, the kitchen was brought in the living.

Since Swapnil met with an accident, he came home instead of attending his site visit. He then showed me a gift that he prepared for Nihara for her birthday (love marriages I say!). It was the backdrop of the television space (the photo frame, and the frame for the frames). The house is rented space, so there can be no permanent alterations. So all the objects are about (atleast one inch) away from the wall. The TV, diwan, cupboard, fridge, poofie...everything. Even a small aquarium, which has about 5 fishes. They feed them from time to time. I wondered if people actually become so lonely! Or is it just the fascination?

It was nice and cozy, still free...I could feel the freedom. Homes have become so institutionalized that they have become like museums. Why can they be a bit more relaxed. Like this one. I wonder how it fits with the other parameters of family, work, lifestyle... where each category has an individual aspiration. Does Nihara live with aspiration? i could not really discuss that with her. But "making one's home" is definitely an aspiration of the family. How does it cope up such expectation within a rented space - where life is lived an inch away from the walls? I wonder. Perhaps then, house starts becoming a collection of objects. And these objects seem alien, though fulfil the aspiration of a complete house.

We spoke about things, which were a kind of continuation to the five years of architecture. And this is what is always different in talking with Nihara, Madhavi ... the freshness of talk, which is always leading towards newer directions in life. I dont know if i am making sense over here, but these are abstract thoughts which i keep questioning...of what would friends talk in different phases of their life, what would the scenario be with different constraints with living...of what are the pleasure giving things later, how does the idea of these experiences change...? Unlike with my other groups of friends, who always end up consummating all discussion in a nostalgic past, talks with Nihara's company is a continuation of where we stopped last...with the flavour of same old jokes, old memories, but seen in new light.