Indian art, both contemporary and from the past, was the high point of a number of shows that opened in London recently. Malvika Singh was there to witness the excitement

Aam Aadmi, 2009, painted bronze mangoes in hay, wooden crate on wood and iron table
Clear skies, clean air, bright, crisp sunshine: London was at its crackling best while showcasing the past and present creativity, style and beauty of an erstwhile colony, India, today an energetic and confident nation, making statements through both the tangible and the intangible, and proudly connecting with the world on an international stage.
The pieces that fit snugly into each other to imagine the great jigsaw that is London make for a canvas that is as diverse as the nations that were once its colonies. Britain did not discard the many cultures it had absorbed and made its own, in a manner of speaking, when it began to beat a retreat into its ‘lonely island’ status in a changed world. That was, and remains, its strength at a time when many countries seem impatient while dealing with different identities, traditions and cultural ethos. Indians are comfortable in Britain.
On the evening of September 30, walking in Piccadilly was like being in the vicinity of Kala Ghoda in Mumbai, one of the cultural corners of that city, or in the Mandi House area of New Delhi where the theatres and art galleries sit. Indians from Delhi, Mumbai and London, as well as Londoners who enjoy the exciting art scene in the city, were walking up to the famous Hauser & Wirth gallery to the opening of Subodh Gupta’s Aam Aadmi show. It was overwhelming, the number of people at the opening, quite unlike the usual attendance at such events in London. Warmth, camaraderie, appreciation and bonhomie merged seamlessly. The guests spilled onto the sidewalk for a breather and then crossed the road, passed by the entrance to the Royal Academy, where another international sculptor and an Indian, Anish Kapoor, had his exhibition, and walked further onto Bond Street where the other gallery with Subodh’s work beckoned the invitees.
Joining this party on the streets of London was the mayor, Boris Johnson, and his wife Marina. He chained his bicycle at a designated point, was enthusiastic about being present at this great opening with his wife, whose mother is Indian, and was shown around the gallery by Subodh.
First came the box of bronze mangoes, looking real and ripe, titled Aam Aadmi — unable to escape and rise out of the crate they are boxed into. It was a quiet, strong political statement. Subodh trained in Patna at the College of Arts & Crafts, and today, 20 years later, is one of India’s most creative example of ‘Made in India’. He is inspired, eclectic and unpretentious. He is a fine artist who thinks, dreams and imagines with abandon. His putting together of ladles, spoons, kitchen utensils and buckets, all in stainless steel, into stupendous forms has made an extraordinary impact on contemporary art over the last many years.
The forms and materials used by Subodh allow ordinary people to connect with the statement he is making. There is nothing esoteric about his work. He uses the tangibles of life that help him speak a language comprehended by all rather than a few, which is what makes Subodh special. I will never forget coming up the Grand Canal in Venice, to the landing jetty of Palazzo Grassi, and being confronted with the great skull made of buckets called A Very Hungry God. A sense of pride overwhelmed me. Indian contemporary art had arrived, and the young man from Bihar had put his stamp on the world. There was a bit of that earlier phase on view as well. A large thaali, a flat dish filled with oil, into which coins of the world were placed, was a wonderful invocation to the exhibition preview.
The crowd on that first day was unprecedented. There was much camaraderie, lots to drink and eat, and an amazing and diverse group of people to meet. It was like what India can be when at its best.
Across the road, showing his work at the Royal Academy was Anish Kapoor, who had left India in the early Seventies and settled in London. The show was quite extraordinary in scale, a trifle gimmicky in parts, and had taken London by storm. The English have ‘adopted’ Kapoor as one of their own and Indians try desperately to connect with him, which makes him international. The 70-foot-high Tall Tree and the Eye, reflecting life below it on steel spheres above, represented what the artist had done in Chicago and elsewhere. Inside a gallery, and never done before, a cannon blasted a 20-pound shell ever so often that splattered red wax on the wall, spelling out ‘what-a-violent-world’. Another room gave one the sense of entering an ancient excavation site with mounds of concrete, dead lingams piled on top of each other. To me, this was a vivid description of the state of the male gender, diluted and limp, in a rapidly changing world. Many political positions here as well. Subodh’s perspective was ‘Indian’ and Anish’s was clearly inspired by the larger world outside of the subcontinent to which he belongs. It was an interesting juxtaposing of two great artists on the same street in London at the same time.
From an energetic contemporary India beckoning Londoners on Piccadilly, I experienced the other face of the same coin as I walked through the elaborately crafted Maharaja show at the Victoria and Albert Museum, displaying an opulent, extravagant past in sharp contrast to the message that came from Subodh’s show. At the entrance is a life-size replica of an elephant, dressed with meticulous detail, prepared for a royal procession. Stunning. And then, the walk through the many aspects of the life of an Indian king, shown using the bits and pieces and the endless paraphernalia that continue to evoke awe.
Designed with care, the overriding message of this show was fine, elaborate extravagance, albeit a trifle overbearing for the average person. The changing time-frame that the viewer is ushered through made the exhibition different from similar ones in the past. Man Ray’s photographs of the Holkar royals and two portraits of Yeshwant Rao Holkar I (one in traditional gear and the other in Western attire) were an interesting bridge from where India moved on from being a sumptuous though fading royal-colonial subcontinent to being a vibrant modern democratic republic.
At Christie’s that same week, there was a charity event in honour of Pratham, an Indian NGO that works proactively in the field of education. There was also a viewing of the personal collection of art, furniture, carpets, shawls, dinner services, crystal, and other such objects belonging to Ismail Merchant that were scheduled to go on auction the following week.
A walk through the gallery was like visiting Merchant at his home. It was delightful to imagine him, James Ivory, Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, Shashi Kapoor, Leela Naidu and other greats sitting on those chairs and sofas, chatting animatedly about films, life and living, drinking wine out of fine glasses from a Nawab of Hyderabad’s stores, eating off delicate china, all coming together to tell the story of a past age and time, of Heat and Dust.
That week in London was overflowing with the energy of today and the nostalgia of times gone by. The test of this multifaceted celebration of India was that there was no ‘government’ person representing us, strutting about officiously, cutting ribbons, but instead, independent India, along with its artists and curators, were reflecting the myriad and complex aspects of its culture and society, highlighting the delicate nuances and creating exciting and historical exhibits for the world to see. They had arrived on the international scene and made a statement by breaking away from the dependence on bureaucratic patronage, by refusing to remain entangled in the knots that strangle creative expression. Many salutations and a standing ovation.