THE MANGO TREE

The centre of the universe is not the place where I am standing, but the Mango Tree in front of my balcony. But because of different seasons its centre of importance shifts, particularly when there are no mangoes on its branches. Almost a decade back, when I shifted into my flat, there was no such tree over there, but indeed a structure conducive for the growth of a Mango Tree, or any other tree, was always there. This space where these small and big trees exist belongs to the entire colony, a public space, where people relish their evening strolls, or let their children jump a little, and also scatter biscuit and chocolate wrapper around, carelessly. The Trees are mostly non-fruity ones, so everything is cool, except this Mango Tree.

Right now, the entire colony is talking about this mango tree, but the flats which are directly facing this mango tree are constantly thinking about it. I am also looking at the mango tree, but among other things, what puzzles me is the question why the tree gives birth to hundreds of mangoes when it does not want its entire crop to grow? As I notice some little green mangoes keep on falling on the earth, naturally. Why? It fascinates me. This is perhaps, what we call mysteries of the nature, so no need to interfere or worry on that account. But still there are plenty of mangoes on the tree, and everybody is silently looking at them, who simply want to eat them. But there is some helplessness in their looking at them.

The reason for this is that the 70-G-wallay (family living in the Ground floor) happened to water this mango tree sometimes , and now they have the birth right to harvest the entire crop of this tree. True, I am witness to that, but I doubt if they actually had planted the tree. I believe, somebody had carelessly thrown a mango kernel into the park which has given birth to this controversial tree. The 70-F-wallay, 70-S- wallay, and 70-T-wallay (families living in First, Second and Top floor) feel that they too have the right to eat some mangoes. These families live closer to this tree, but other families which are facing it too have the similar desire but, I guess the intensity of the desire to eat these mangoes is directly proportional to the distance of the eyes that are looking at this mango tree.

The trouble is that the 70-G-wallay leave no stone unturned to ensure that the mango tree is under their control during the crop time. They don’t even let a singing bulbul, or a peaceful dove, let alone stray colony monkeys to come near this mango tree. They use all the ways and means to keep the other away from the reach of this tree. They must have even counted the number of mangoes on the tree which are still unripe, quite green but distinguishable from the green of its foliage. The 70-G-wallay are Baniyas (the traditional business community) and hence have a natural tendency to think about their personal benefits only. I must say, with some confidence, that such families are the predecessor families of the entire world capitalism, like monkey is known as the predecessor of the man. A limited thought, but business is usually created to be inherited by their successors, usually sons. So, there is a tradition, to own the factory, an orchid, an oil well etc. Right now, here in this colony, there are people who want the entire mango tree to be felled since they don’t get their share of mangoes, but there are people who are content with the idea of a tree alone. Although, the later category of people are quite in minority but they are happy that there is a place for a dove to make a nest, or twig for a squirrel to jump from this tree to another tree.

Yes, some children from outside, say from other underprivileged families, whom I guess have never tasted a mango in their life, do come and try to steal a mango or two from this tree by throwing a stone or a small stick. The 70-G-Wallay quickly come out from their flat and use all kinds of popular vernacular to chase them away. The rest of families again remain silent, who otherwise would not like these outside children to venture into the protected colony, where I too happen to own a flat.

The result is that every year, the 70-G-wallay harvest the unripe crop lest it might be shared or stolen by others. The entire unripe-unripe crop is harvested, because the fear of losing the crop intensifies with the passing of each day, which is just good enough for ordinary pickle at the best. The real mangos never see the light of the day.

I don’t about the whole world, but in India, the nature of business is such that the entire crop of Mangoes is usually plucked from the branches while it is still growing, still green. The golden fruit becomes golden only in the dark rooms of Mandi (Fruit markets) where they are dumped for couple of days, or weeks, to hit the stalls on the very day they turn golden, golden red or golden green. Who knows if some chemicals are injected into the mangoes to give them a more golden look, or make turn them even tastier? After all we are lured by products which are masked, glossed, either on TV, cinema, or in the Malls, or in the life directly. After all, the idea of mango is usually smarter than the actual mango.

But there are spaces where Mangoes are allowed to turn golden on the trees itself, and subsequently relished with their maximum sugar and vitamin levels. But, as we know that is outside the structure of business and people like 70-G-wallay don’t have a clue about that. So, has anybody ever tasted a real mango?

The question is that there is just one mango tree, and thousands of eyes on its couple of hundred odd mangoes on the tree. Right now, the people like 70-G-wallay who control the production of plant don’t let the mangos grow naturally. So they too have not tasted a mango, and neither let others to taste a real ripe one.

So has anybody tasted a real mango, if there is one, and if yes, who deserves to eat that, and relish?

With love

Inder salim

                                                                         inder salim : face to face

     River Yamuna, Delhi 2009                                                                                River Yamuna Delhi 2002

                                                 Whenever God from heaven will be looking down on Earth..
 

  

         http://www.amnesty.org.in/articles/AI_India_participation_at_the_Delhi_Marathon.aspx

 
photo by Maria ( amnesty staff )

other runners while performing with the hang post ( material foam ) being photographed

                                         Survelliance Camera in jama Masjid Delhi.               People  in front of the camera

 
Eid celebration at Gandhi Smadhi                                Protest at Gandhi Smadhi
                                                                                     ( Loot in the name of Gandhi:
                                                                                       Destruction of farmers, reward to Capitalists )   

  
 
Letter from Tagroe to Gandhi                                    Namda ( kashmiri handicraft )
                                                                                     gifted by Amtul Salam to Gandhi and Bha

I TALKED TO HIM IN FRONT OF PARLIAMNET IN LONDON, HE WAS THERE SINCE WAR IN IRAQ, HE IS NOT FROM LONDON AND NEITHER A MUSLIM... I STRANGELY SAW MY MIRROR IMAGE....

                   TEXT ON STONE:
                   WE ARE ALL IN THE GUTTER, BUT SOME OF US ARE LOOKING AT THE STARS

d

IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE: THE OTHER 1857

One million died,
And I was born:
INDIA 1857

Blood all around, cries, cries of scattered limbs,
Raped women and beheaded children,
Men, either hanged or blown to pieces in front of cannons
or drowned alive,
That was my umbilical cord
Which I didn’t saw, but my mother
Who is memory now…

My father and me grew up, hand in hand
Marching, left right, left right left,
Hey, you Indian Sepoy,
Keep your nails in check, else I chop off your fingers.
That was Him to him in between left right left.
Hey, you little boy, clean your hands before meals
Else I chop off your fingers, that was him to me.

Blue and red uniform brought food to me
I remember, how I grew up with saxaphones, drums of Military Parade
And that simmering disquiet against that Sun-that-never-sets.
I remember, how violence met non-violence.

Two million died
And I was cut into two:
FREEDOM AT MIDNIGHT-1947.

Celebrations, and unrest, hunger amidst few rich
Few rich who hired me to perform.
Perform and perform in those blues and reds
Performing those crammed notes, I died.

Nobody died,
But I was Dalit: a born non-existent:
A BAND-WALLA

A monsoon wedding, or a simple wedding
And they tell me to perform
In my predecessors blues and reds
Which brings food to me and my family.
And ah! I play Bollywood tunes.
Meri piyaari Bahaniyaa banighee dulhanihya
Ban kay aayiangey dulhey rajaa
Bhaiya rajaa bajayega bajaa
( my beautiful sister will become the bride, as he will come as a groom ,
this brother will perform)

Perform, I will, to resurrect, ‘the other 1857‘,
I promised to my brothers and sisters back in India.
In Trafarlgar square, London
As I saw myself, living, inside the white concrete slab with ‘text’
Under General Sir Henry Havelock of1857, who is
Silent, but standing confidently high in his robes,

So this other 1857, too
Silent, but standing confidently in his robes..

Tatoo: East and West.                                                      Mother and Son ritual before marraige.


Bride Groom with Cow                                                                            Bride next to Cow

Suraj ( suraj is sun in hindi ) is cold, Come let us auction it today, to warm it a bit.

Suraj is cold, fatigued, hung on the tree of our times, like a punctured tube, come let us heal it a bit.

Sun in his life eclipsed thousands of years ago, when Manu Simriti wrote its text on his face. Let us erase that bit by bit.

Billions of years ago, when Suraj was a dragon fly, a fish, an elephant and all that we imagine Suraj to be, like we imagine for ourselves. Let us restore those primordial similarities between him and us.

Suraj is cool. I quote him, " Mein har haal mein Kush hoon " ( I am content, whatever the circumstances ). So let us learn from him a bit.

Suraj is a Mochi ( cobbler ). His father was son of landless mochi, and his father’s grandfather was also a landless mochi, and his great grandfather was a landless Mochi as well. He has a wide and tall family tree, history of which is written in dust, shoe polish and shape of his hands. Come, let us learn how read it, a bit.

Suraj has a shop called ? "Mochi ki Dukan". It is big, it is big, it is bigger than biggest. Besides getting our shoes repaired, you can march back in time and see how animal skin was stitched first in a cave. So come let us visualize his skilled hands working & the journey of human civilization, simultaneously.

Suraj is a Quran, a Geeta and a Bible. Come let us read him a bit.

Suraj has Kamlesh, like blue bee has its flower. So come let us give them a little twig in this globalized garden of our world.

Suraj's Kamlesh has a Rasoi "Kamlesh ki Rasoi"  ( Kamlesh's kitchen ) which Kamlesh borrows from her daughter in law. In this Rasoi ( kitchen ) she uses rags of the rags of rags as fuel to warm milk for her dear grandson, and to cook food for her and rest of the family.

Suraj is cold, I imagine my hand on his forehead, it is freezing, I move back a little, I see Kamlesh coming to warm Suraj with her cooked food.

Between Mochi ki Dukan and Kamlesh Ki Rasoi there is a little distance, but there is a colony full of people like Suraj and Kamlesh.

Small children, cleaning themselves by shitting openly on the roads. Young girls pumping water from tube wells which are closer to stinking drains. Millions of House flies in this colony are part of the air which one breaths. The air is heavy with words like Behenchod, Behan ka Loda, chootiya, maa ki choot, bonsadi kay. which we all breathe.

please click for 20 odd images <http://mochi-ki-dukan.blogspot.com>
 

So friends, I am here with Suraj and Kamlesh. I have opened a shop Mochi Ki Dukan within a shop which is famous for organizing shows which sell. So I am at a right place.

So this auction, of art and life, blended as one.

This is a performance by  Indersalim in collaboration with Suraj  and his family.  The auction of works  begins now. Remember, the sale proceeds of this auction will go to Suraj and his Family,  Just remember it.

 
some one has posted a video fragment of this performance :
http://youtube.com/watch?v=KwNMdDyrS8g&feature=related

 workers drilling for tube well near grains of rice                     Potters wheel  with Bhugni
                                                                                                    ( toy  bank for children to save money  )

1994-95, when I was much into that oil on canvas thing, when I was a little different than what I am now, but how all the traces of one's being finally revisit..... that is what i realized today. It was just a cleaning of my attic that I had a second look at my works after all these years. Some other large canvases, constructions,  besides the portrait series which I uploaded for the friends to share.

Construction: My Mother, Milk and Fire                         My father's denture set, oil on canvas

Performance: attachment/detachment. ( The Attic organized by open Mike ).

(Thread of a surgeon between the foreskin of my penis and to a place where I was once connected to umbilical cord )

Hi, I am Inder Salim, This evening I would like to be something else.” Can I borrow your cap. Pointing towards Bob Holman ( american poet) . " i feel so naked " Who throws his cap, and I catch it, then I wear it)

Pointing towards Bob: You are a pregnant woman, but I am not attached to you.

 Hey you, ( towards a friend in the audience )  you are a terrorist, and to another, you are a politician, But I am not attached to you.

You over there, last row, near the window, You are a begger, begging for food. But I am not attached to you.

Hey, you ( towards a couple with a camera ) you are mountain, and you, you are a tree, and there is a rivulet between you, but I am not attached to you.

You Anie ( Anie Zaidi recited earlier a poem about a boy who was lost and never found, perhaps her own brother, Raju ) You Anie, you are Raju, and you over there, you are the train in which he was lost . But i am not attahced to you.

Hey, you with a cap on the head, you are a George Bush, and you, lady with long hair, you are Osama Bin Laden. But I am not attached to you.

( I requested the guest poet Bob Holman to cut the thread ( the umbilical cord )

He hesitated, but finally did the job,

And I returned back to the audience and said

Now, I am attached to YOU.

x

(I)
Jean Genet writes in his Lady of Flowers : “ he lifts her from the ground without touching her with his hands” and in his introduction to the master piece, Jean Paul Sartre, writes “ on his Penis , of course “ I believe, this is not all about sex and metaphysics, but something more, even politics. Sartre writes further “ It is the breath of Genet that blights the soft flesh of Divine; It is the hand of Genet that pulls out her teeth; it is the will of Genet that makes her hair fall out; it is the whim of Genet that takes her lovers from her. And it is Genet who amuses himself by driving Our Lady to crime and then drawing from him the confession that condemns him to death. But cannot the same be said of every…” Sartre keeps on writing and writing on Genet, till he finishes the introduction, and then marches ahead to write a 600 page book titled as ‘Saint Genet’: another master pieces.
Now who is this saint who decides everything about his characters. They have no free will as we might believe. Sartre writes “ Our Lady is a dream that contains its own awakening”
After reading the book, one keeps on wondering about those so called individual destinies. It is a swampy world which gives us enough space to squirm and cry even, but finally our own weight drowns us into an abyss of nothingness. The word ‘a prisoner’ is a very strong metaphor, which enables a person to take an imaginary flight to escape, but with a possibility to realize that well known ‘existential core of the being’ before it overwhelms, in totality.

(II).
a casual surffing on the Gita ( Hindu's most sacred text ) gave me : http://members.aol.com/markar1/LifeEternal/Krishna.html. I lifted a fragment:
In conclusion, Lord Krishna asks Arjuna to abandon all forms of dharma and simply surrender unto him. He describes this as the ultimate perfection of life Krishna made the two armies fight, and ordered Arjuna to kill the enemy. Arjuna said, 'I can't kill my own brothers,' and Krishna replied, 'Do as I tell you.' But Arjuna would not listen. Then Krishna said, 'Look into my face,' and Krishna opened his mouth, and Arjuna saw in it all his brothers and relatives whom he had not wanted to kill. So then he took up his bow and started killing them. But Krishna said, 'If you had full faith in me, you would never have doubted or asked questions.' And then he delivered the lecture which is now known as the Bhagavad Gita.:
‘Virat Swaroopa’ reveals the fact that everything has happened and you have no choice but to act. No wonder that Lord Krishna is almost praising himself in“ Yada Yada Dharmase….
''God takes birth in human form when ever dharma/mazhab ( religion ) is at risk on Earth..’

.
Some Mr. Rajendra funnily writes in his web site, I simply lifted here :

“If God comes where there is adharma,( absence of religion) that means the place where God takes birth is certainly not a good place to live...No wonder all good places on the Earth to live are far away in Europe and USA...hahahaha”

That was Rajendra in his web site. That is in a lighter vein, but what is thoughtful in all this ?  Paradox is non-erasable in this case; no wonder that times have taught us to pass through the maze of these very paradoxes with a strange readiness to pay for our choices. We invite pain! Ah, choices, what choices are there ? God comes and goes at his own will. He lifts us from the ground without touching our bodies.
Genet writes in ‘Miracle of the Rose’ “ I went to theft, as to the liberation, as to the Light.” Do we still cling to the same meaning of ‘Light’ when it comes to Genet as it emits out from Gita? Genet, as we know, profoundly lifted the Palestinian Freedom Fighter to the status of an icon. Like his characters he finds a mother in the mother of a freedom fighter. He almost merged his own ( terrible ) past in the political will of the people who are fighting a just war. He was the light himself who was now burning for the people to know the deeper meanings of light. No doubt that religious institutions offer us a light but certainly that light is light-years far from the light Genet talked about.

(III)
These days I often see a synonym of Earthworm as InderSalim. Inder as earth and Salim as worm, and vice-versa. I like this wonderful creature of earth which eats nothing but simple earth. In Kashmir whenever I worked in the vegetable field with my father, seeing an earth worm was inevitable. This he/she ( bisexual ) creature was often cut by the tools that we used to dig, but the animal has a mechanism not only to defy death but a power to restructure itself and live. Akin to Divine, the character in ‘Lady of Flowers’ by Genet, I remember how I used to lift an earth worm without touching its body , of course with a small twig, and throw it out of the garden; and see how birds immediately make a meal of it. But the earth worms continue to inhabit the calmer surfaces of earth and continue to enrich the earth with their shit, even.
But then do we need Inder salim or an earth worm? Most of the world, I believe desperately need a worm and a piece of earth to live and to celebrate. Here, I feel that environmental issues are quite blended with the political issues of our times. In that sense, inder-salim is a subjective choice to realize my inner light. The other, which is strongly embedded in the Hindu and Muslim of our times might not consider the seduction I am providing by calling myself InderSalim,
The question I ask myself is, “can Inder-Salim as a concept can be applied to Kashmir? What if secularism goes deeper into earth and mixes itself with the potent forces of it. The idea of ’a just Kashmir’ might be interesting if both the institutionalized secularism and the institutionalized religions abandon their deep-state like projects to appropriate the thought : Light .

( If this is Age of Reason, we need to support both Taslima and Hussain against the…in spite of the fact that neither Hussain is a genius nor Taslima is a great writer )

( Salman Rushidie rightly said that few goondas can not change his opinion. That was the head line recently about the protest by some mullahs against Rushdie coming to India. Obviously, it becomes imperative for an intellectual to reflect on the issue of Taslima and Hussain. I too wrote TASLIMA/HUSSAIN in red and green on the back of my leather jacket, roamed the city, did some small performances with concept. That is the least one can do to highlight the support for the two. It is for the benefit our our own respective earth worms. Sooner or later we need to enter the core of our earth like existence. No choice..G

1. FOR VIVEK NARAYANAN ( poet )
   BY INDER SALIM ( reader )

   … therefore, doubly naked: you and me
   In a room called Universal Beach.

   It is only now…
   Before ‘now’, it was somewhat quarrelsome
   Between word and the word: animal like, but now:
   The taste of the word: anOTHER word,
   Hammered to a new tool,
   At the flux-beach where waves don’t hasten to end,
   But begin to question, rotundly.

   The new: ‘the horizon’,
   The only slogan: ‘the new, the horizon’
   The thought: beginning of the self-rule,
   Of the pebbles at the shore.

   Perhaps, to carry sad weeping rivers to
   Sea, to see depth, to bring showers
   Of resolved conflicts, to touch
   Life: unstitched at all three end of a square,
   (Although triangle like) .

   Blasted to meaning,
   a dumb pyramid: the poet
   The poem and the reader,
   To reassemble shreds of pain
   From war zones, from such other zones.

   Face to face, lacerated, humiliated, but
   Intimate, therefore, reborn
   with limbs and genitals of others,
   with new faces, to face new faces,
   to create new memories, and utter new words
   to feel new,
   And united, to dance on the
   Universal Beach.

   This Beach’s umbilical cord,
   Connecting you and me,
   And a sea of other poems…
   
   posted in Kafila.org

........................................................................................................



Baital ( half roasted body of a ghost ): Happy New Year, Happy New Year
Vikram ( the wise king): Year-Year, Year-Year
Baital : Take Care, Take Care

( and disappeared from his shoulders with a loud laughter.)
……………………………………………………………………..

Ek theee Missis Gandhi, Ek theee Missis Bhuttto..
Both had two different historical-fathers
Two different hairstyles,
And a unique urge to rule.

Both inherited the family business to make bombs
And the modus operandi to explode them in public space,
Both had an acute sense of optimism
And a success graph to show.

One day they both met in heaven,
And discussed the simple reason
why the cursed bomb exploded in their own hands.
Both smiled gracefully; a profound regret within. …………………………………………………………..

Once Kashmir protested by burning villages, trees and animals of those
Who celebrated Zulfikar Ali  Bhutto’s hanging.
Sheikh Mohd Abdullah too saw merit in Anti Jamat-i-Islami sentiment.

That was the day her father ceased to be, and average
Indian regretted the action. Today again, average Indian
Mourned the death of Benazir.

People have similar emotions, confirmed.
………………………………………………………………
“Ants carrying their future egg to safety?”
A little boy said on seeing Benazir Bhutto’s creamy coffin
being carried by people from hospital