Deep diving into the condition, after a recent attack in which I lost a week, it was a pleasant surprise to find that the classification of migraine as a specific kind of clinical entity first happened in the 2nd century CE by Aretaeus of Cappadocia. In his work On the Causes and Symptoms of Acute and Chronic Diseases, he used the term “Heterocrania” (which later evolved into “Hemicrania” and then “Migraine”. He also identified that not all headaches are equal, noting that some headaches are accompanied by nausea, throbbing, and auras- classic characteristics of migraines, amongst others. This got me thinking about the visual representations of migraines in visual arts, more specifically in medieval European paintings. I’m yet to find any representation of migraine which features all the characteristics at the same time. But it is interesting to look at works that depict these sufferings individually.

The foremost characteristic of a migraine is the headache- the very pain, which perhaps, every human goes through at least once during their lifetime. That is why migraines are also often dismissed as “just headaches”, because everyone has it. Regardless, herein comes the classic image of a migraine- a figure clutching his head in his hands. In paintings of St. Jerome, we often find such a standard model. For instance, in Saint Jerome in His Study by Dominico Ghirlandaio, we find the priest-scholar in a pensive state, leaning on his study table, supporting his head on one of his hands, brows furrowed. With his other hand, he is writing, while there also lies open a book on one side.

What is St. Jerome pained by? Is it the burden of a headache or is it the burden of all the knowledge? For in medieval times, migraine was not always considered a medical condition but also a symptom of the heavy burden of wisdom. Ignorance is bliss but heavy seems St. Jerome’s head, with all the knowledge acquired and perhaps, the resultant pain. St. Jerome’s posture is also how melancholy was often depicted in medieval paintings but what is melancholy, if not the accompaniment of any kind of chronic pain/illness?

Yet, St. Jerome looks relatively calm, considering the excruciating levels that a migraine headache may reach. So much so that one even starts harbouring silly fantasies of lobotomy. In such a case, The Cure of Folly by Hieronymus Bosch almost appears as a desirable solution for one in such pain.

In the oil painting by the Dutch painter, a figure sits leaning back on a chair while a surgeon standing behind him operates on the sitter’s head. As the surgical instrument pierces the patient’s head, he looks at us, the viewers, one eye squinted, his mouth agape. He does not look comfortable; he is clearly wincing. But maybe, he is also looking forward to the respite he will receive soon after the extraction of the “stone of madness” from his head.

In medieval times, headaches were also thought to be caused by a “stone” lodged inside one’s head. As a child, I had no awareness of this but I vividly recalling pointing to particular places in my head and telling my doctor parents to remove those parts. The inscription on the Bosch painting also reads: “Master, cut the stone out, fast.” Only a person with migraine can ever understand the seriousness of such a seemingly unserious request!

Severe migraines are also accompanied by sights of “aura” or “glitches”, meaning one’s vision gets temporarily and partially impaired. Some might also experience a blurring of their vision, especially when reading. Such visual disturbances can be said to be exemplified by the paintings of Hindegard von Bingen, a 12th century nun and polymath, who experienced divine visions.

In the manuscript illustrations to her work, Hildegard is portrayed with reddish-orange fiery tongues emanating from her eyes and head. These flame-like projections can be strongly correlated with the hazy or multi-colored blots often seen by people during intense migraine. Yet Hildegard sits, indicating to a tablet with a pen-like instrument to the elderly scribe. This reminds me of how many migraine-sufferers have to go about doing their daily tasks everyday, without a wince, even when they cannot see properly.

Hildegard is also clad in clothes from head to feet, which again reminds me of the extreme cold that migraine-sufferers feel in their entire body even when it is hot. Temperature fluctuations are pretty common during this stage, therefore, are icy hands and feet, shivering and chills.

Since the past few years, I have also experience menstrual migraines every month. Initially, when I started experiencing night sweats, I thought it was perimenopause. Turns out, night sweats are common during hormonal migraines when estrogen levels drop, even when it is cold. A little like Juliana of Nicomedia being boiled in a cauldron of water from the Book of Hours, one experiences extreme cold and heat, alternately. In the scene, Juliana stands inside the cauldron, arms crossed across her chest, looking heavenwards, perhaps calling upon God to rescue her from situation? She is naked, in contrast to the men who wear full-limbed clothes. She must have been shivering initially, only to eventually feel the water boiling up.

Because of bright light of any kind and extreme cold/heat being the arch nemesis of people with chronic migraine, darkness is often the most beloved friend. One will often find a person undergoing this anguish retiring to a dark room or undercovers, if the situation allows. Nothing rests the eyes like a dark void. But when the pain is intense, even the darkness provides no relief, like the nightmarish figures in Henry Fuseli’s The Nightmare. Here we see a disheveled woman spread across her bed, head and hands hanging over the edges of the bed. She might have been sleeping peacefully, even if carelessly, had it not been for theape-like figure perched comfortably on her stomach. If the figure was placed on her head, the image might have been more accurate. But migraine also induces nausea and vomiting, and therefore, the placement of the figure on the stomach may also stand for this.

Sadly, hope is far from sight. Because there stands a horse-like figure with fearful glazed eyes and barring teeth in the corner. All migraine patients know that there is no cure for this condition; it can only be regulated, which means one will undergo the same suffering again. Whether it will happen again in hours or days will depend on how carefully planned and managed one’s daily life and environment is.

Another element besides light, that is the foe of migraine-sufferers is sound. The louder, the worse. Not only does loud noise trigger migraine, sound gets amplified during the affliction. So much so that forget music, even people talking in normal volumes becomes unbearable. Musical parties are a bane and musical concerts are unthinkable. The Angel Playing the Lute by Rosso Fiorentino is an apt symbol of this. The angel seemingly lightly strums the strings of the lute, but he is also despondent. Head heavy, he rests his cheek on the body of the lute. Hair disheveled, eyes downcast, he looks nowhere in particular. If only he had been able to enjoy the sweet sounds of music without a care in the world!

Digressing from the European visuals, and in conclusion, I would like to bring in a manuscript painting from 18th century Assam. The painting from the Anadi Patana manuscript represents the different retributive punishments sinners undergo in afterlife. One person is decapitated, another’s hair is pulled by a hellish punisher, another drowns in a water body, another’s eyes and head are poked by animals. In pre-modern times, illnesses were often tied to the supernatural and considered to be demonic afflictions. “Headache demons” attacked people causing extreme physical pain. According to the Anadi Patana folio, the head seemingly has no respite from pain even in the afterlife.

A baithi dhamaal was to be performed by artists from the Baba Gor dargah at Ratanpur, Gujarat. Dhamaal consists of the ritual song and dance of the Sidis which blends their African ancestry and Indian Sufi devotional traditions. There exist differences between the sacred dhamaal that is performed on urs and in shrines, and dhamaal which is performed at secular spaces. Yet, during both, zikrs are sung on Sufi lineage and the patron saints of the Sidis, as Sufism and the worship of pirs or saints form an important part of their ritualistic culture. The verses also regularly refer to the travels of the ancestors of the Sidis across the world of the Indian Ocean centuries ago. These performances act in constructing and preserving a Sidi identity, from recalling their diasporic history to the transformations in their socio-economic positions and roles in India.

The baithi dhamaal (in which performers are seated) at KNMA was to feature the songs Avale Bismillah, Salmini Salmini and a malunga solo with a zikr on Baba Gor. The compositions were to be voiced by Sidi Sabbir Husain Kamar, Sidi Sakirbhai S., Sidi Afjalbhai, Sidi Naeem Allabaxbhai, Sidi Firozbhai and Murzan Ismail Sidibadshah.

Each rendition began with the blowing of the nafil or shankh (conch), signaling the formal beginning of it. The first piece was Avale Bismillah, a long devotional song sung mostly in Urdu. The lyrics referred to the religious beliefs of the Sidis, their patron saints, the movement of the Sidis across oceans and continents, and gratitude to Allah. Interestingly, Prophet Mohammad is called “the supreme nangasi”, the lead musician who leads the song. Just as dhamaal operates in a call and response format, the verses say that people await the command of the Prophet. In turn, among the common peopleare also nangasis, the lead musicians in dhamaal, and their deeds are rewarded by God. We also had amidst us and as part of the troupe, Sidi Afjalbhai, who is the current nangasi at the Baba Gor dargah. Besides Allah, the song also referred to Baba Gor (or Gori Pir), the 14th-century merchant who arrived in India from Ethiopia and posthumously, became the patron saint of the Sidis. According to the song, Baba Gor, crossing oceans and seas, gave to the friends of Allah lahar (waves) of joy and rapture. True to this joyous rapture, the Avale Bismallah, as most of the other pieces, eventually rose to a crescendo from the initial slow tempo.

The second composition Salmini Salmini had many references to east Africa, sung with some Swahili words used only among certain coastal communities around Mombasa today. Quite striking was the vocal punctuation, a shrill call given by Sidi Afjalbhai at the conclusion of certain sentences. This call prompted a synchronized response from the other singers.

The fourth composition was Salvale Nabiyo, which also featured a zikr for Prophet Mohammad. While much of dhamaal focuses on the Sidi saints, Salvale Nabiyo serves to connect the performance within the broader Islamic (Sunni) tradition. It also climaxed with 3 of the seated performers getting up, in succession, and breaking into seemingly spontaneous and joyful dance-like movements. This not only broke the seated (semi)circle, but it also marked a transition from the sonic performance to a kinetic one. If I may step away from the position of my role as an observer-researcher, I have to admit that I also wanted to participate in their dance at that moment. This only indicates towards towards the affective force of a dhamaal. After all, a central element of dhamaal is the invocation of a state of ecstasy or trance.

But while this rounded up their performance on a very visceral note, perhaps the most layered and overwhelming composition was the third piece. This was a solitary malunga composition featuring a zikr dedicated to Baba Gor. The musical instruments used by Sidis carry religious significance for them and thus, these are also held in great veneration. The malunga is a musical bow made of bamboo and comprising of a single string and a gourd. The player strikes the string with a thin bamboo stick, simultaneously shaking the mai misra (a coconut rattle named after Mai Misra, the sister of Baba Gor) in the same hand. Sung in raga Malkauns, the piece, therefore, brings together both temporally and spatially the brother and sister saints who are also patrons and protectors of the Sidi community.

Murzan Ismail Sidibadshah, singing this song, was the eldest in the troupe. As he stood slightly bent but firmly holding and playing the tall imposing malunga and the shimmering mai misra, his voice rose and fell, yet maintained a quietude, and betrayed his age. However, in the same process, as Dr. Preeti Bahadur noted, was also revealed the weight of history that Sidis carry through their songs, dances and musical instruments. Sidibadshah sang about Baba Gor, but he also sang about Adil (Bharuchwala) and Kamar (Sidi Badshah) who were the composers of this song. Kamar Sidi Badshah was also the father of Sidi Sabbir Husain Kamar, one of the members of the troupe, and as his father’s composition was sung, Kamar and the rest sat still listening. “Those who go, tell those who are coming / Here is the home of Pir Baba Gor”, sang Sidibadshah. What we were witnessing was a responsibility of remembering.

Here is the home of Pir Bava Gor”, sang Sidibadshah. What we were witnessing was a responsibility of remembering.

What we were witnessing was also, perhaps, resistance, as Sidibadshah sang:

“In the village of Ratanpur

In the country of Hindustan

Lives one who is mad with devotion

Of Pir Baba Gor.”

The Sidis face considerable socio-economic and political marginalization, despite being present in the country’s history for centuries. Statistically, their religious identity has been prioritized over their ethnic vulnerability which means they are often folded into the (Sunni) Muslim population. While the community is often celebrated for their specific history, they are often segregated in pockets. But, through the zikr, the singer/s assert that they live in Ratanpur, in India, these followers of Baba Gor.

Apart from nama-prasanga, dhamaal is the other ritualistic performance tradition that I have spent some time reading about. And I was reminded of the fact that watching a performance after reading about it is revelatory. From realizing what the mai misra actually does to the performance, to what happens when the performance rises from a slow tempo to a faster one, to differences in roles of the singers, to the changes in the gestures of the performers, watching the artists live was not only informative, it was also evocative.

True, the dhamaal was happening in a secular museum space, in a strictly controlled environment, in front of a very specific audience. True, the Sidis were a minority (both numerically and socially) in this space. True, this specific performance, and all other Sidi performances in non-religious spaces, are meant for economic means, devoid of rituals. However, an absence of rituals or beliefs do not always completely deprive a performance of these very elements they are rooted in. Resonances of these elements can still be found, if not in the rehearsed acts of the performers, then in the comparatively unchanged verses of the songs passed down generationally. Moreover, Baba Gor, despite being a historical figure, actually acts as an anchor for the Sidis. He stands for all the oceans crossed, all the shores reached, all the healing learnt, and the Sidi fortitude achieved.

But while we may celebrate the Sidis, even after centuries of existence in the subcontinent, they still have to sing of their presence. How many people and communities do have to do that? It is true that many ancestors of the Sidis also arrived as soldiers, midwives, merchants and traders, and not only as enslaved people. Eventually, they also rose to more socially, economically and politically formidable roles. Yet much of the Sidi population in modern India still face systemic exclusion- quiet pressures which were signalled by the ebbs in the voice of Murzan Ismail Sidibadshah singing:

“In the village of Ratanpur

In the country of Hindustan

Lives one who is mad with devotion

Of Pir Baba Gor.”

The bad boy genius of Italian art history is in India. Or rather, his most recently re-discovered work of art, is. Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571–1610) was one of the most revolutionary and prominent figures of European art. One of his paintings, Mary Magdalene in Ecstasy, is currently exhibited at the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art in Saket, New Delhi. The painting is on display from 18th April till 30th May.

I went to see the exhibition on Saturday and expectedly, the museum was bustling with visitors. However, as soon as I entered the exhibition arena, I noticed a sudden silence that swooped upon the crowd. Some became quiet as soon as they entered the gallery. Others, even when discussing the painting, did so in hushed tones. I am not sure if silence is a pre-requisite for looking at, studying or even contemplating upon a painting. But it is understandable because the setting of the exhibit compels one to become still and even speechless.

The gallery is a small one with a capacity of probably, just 30 people at a time. But it is completely dark, so dark that one cannot see the face of another person just a few meters away. At one end of the gallery, the painting is mounted at eye-level on a wall, enclosed within a glass case and dimly lit. The painting is further topped by a gothic arch which is faintly visible from the light.

The entire setting makes one feel as if one is entering a shrine. The silence of the spectators feels reverential. At the altar is a figure of Mary Magdalene. Seemingly, God, here, is a woman, but unlike most stoic icons of gods, this one is in throes of human emotions that can be variably interpreted. Caravaggio’s figures were incontestably Catholic but unlike most religious artworks that inspire awe or otherworldliness, his works also have a human and secular cast over them, making them more approachable and relatable. And Mary Magdalene in Ecstasy is no exception.

Caravaggio belonged to the Baroque movement of art but none of the opulence typically associated with Baroque paintings is present in Mary Magdalene in Ecstasy. Yet it is lavish with passion and fervour, bordering on both pain and pleasure. Mary Magdalene’s head is thrown back, resting on her left shoulder. Her lips and eyes part slightly. A single teardrop from her left eye runs down her temple. She leans back on the chair she is sitting upon. Her tunic slides down exposing her shoulders and chest. She clasps her hands, perhaps for want of someone to hold on to. Red hair let loose, she is disheveled. The painting itself also exudes a quietude for she is listening to celestial choirs that only her ears are privy to. Mary Magdalene was a disciple of Jesus. But we are at the shrine of a very human-like and Caravaggioesque God. The fluid draperies of red and white garments contrast with her skin, which though feature folds, also appear marble-like. The painting is viewable from a distance of a few metres and this distance further fuels that feeling of the painting’s profound presence.

However, it is not only the talent or hard work of an artist that draws people to his/her art. Historically, it has also been their biography and boy, does Caravaggio have a life story! With humble beginnings, Caravaggio grew up to be a rebellious outlaw, hated by the elite, a torment for lawmakers. Impudent, quarrelsome, drunkard, murderer, he was someone who apparently wielded the sword as dexterously as the paint brush. For his misdeeds, he was repeatedly arrested and imprisoned. It is believed that he created Mary Magdalene in Ecstasy during hiding after an accidental murder in Rome. Perhaps, work must not stop! This background story also makes the painting as interesting as the painter’s life was incredible and irresistible. The outrageous life led by Caravaggio has been narrativized in films, television shows, plays and novels and thus, been greatly instrumental in fueling what Robert E. Spear has called Caravaggiomania all over the world.

In turn, the drama that fuelled Caravaggio’s life can also be said to find visualization in his paintings. The composition, lighting, choice of figures, costumes, settings, intended emotions- all impart a cinematic and photographic quality to his paintings. One podcaster (History on Fire, episode 11) has likened his paintings with “Quentin Tarantino painting scenes from the Bible”.

But Caravaggio is not the only prominent European artist who has set foot in India in recent times. In February 2025, about 200 works of Salvador Dali were exhibited at the Visual Arts Gallery in the India Habitat Centre, New Delhi. The similarity between the two artists lies in the sensationalism attached to both. Who is to know if Caravaggio too would not have gone to the same extents to draw public interest or excitement for his works, given his penchant for scandal? Regardless, what does the coming in of artists of such international and historical fame to India mean for the art scene in India? Does this trend suggest a growing interest and infrastructure within India to host and appreciate art of such international stature? The experience of viewing world-class art can raise the standards and expectations for art exhibition in India, encouraging higher levels of professionalism and ambition. The presence of internationally renowned artists can also stimulate the art market in India, attracting collectors and curators, and increasing the overall interest in and value of art. This can have a cascading effect, benefiting Indian artists and galleries as well. Such exhibitions can also help integrate the Indian art scene more fully into the global art world. It will foster connections between institutions, curators, and art enthusiasts across borders, leading to potential collaborations and a greater understanding of each other’s artistic traditions.

Perhaps one might argue that it is not necessary to view an artwork first-hand in order to learn about it. Indeed, due to technology, people can now view artworks displayed or stored in collections in even distant corners of the world. This has facilitated people in knowing about different and also lesser-known artists, artworks and artistic traditions. But even blown-up photographs of Mary Magdalene in Ecstasy do not indicate the uneven and glossy texture of the painting. I also did not expect the painting to be this large in size. As a matter of fact, I did not even know that I was expecting it to be small until I saw it. Sometimes, the viewing of an artwork can also be a communal experience. The last time I experienced falling silent, spontaneously, along with a group of strangers was when I entered the Sistine Chapel. It does seem ironical that an artist who led such a “loud” life produced a work that is quieting people down. Now I am curious to know what a solitary viewing of the Mary Magdalene in Ecstasy will feel like. And this is what I hope to experience by visiting the museum during early hours on a weekday.

The colour blue is elusive in nature. It rarely occurs in nature, and living organisms use a range of optical strategies to create the appearance of blue. Ever since I learnt of these facts, blue plants and animals have always fascinated me and made me wonder how they managed to arrive at that colour. So, this particular butterfly with its streaks of blue caught my eye immediately this morning. I had to capture the aqua blue patterns on its wings.

Photographs are important for what they show. But what do they also hide?

Much as we are in the habit of attributing objects with the agency to do things, it is actually human beings who are responsible for the doing with these objects. Therefore, photographs don’t show or hide. It is the photographer who does this. It is up to the human lens to decide what is to be shown and what remains removed from our view. And what the photographer chooses to show or hide stems from what she thinks is important or otherwise. This, in turn, rises from her personal and extra personal background and circumstances.

Regardless, this politics of sight is important. It sheds light upon and does things to both the subject of the photograph and the photographer herself. How the subject is seen determines how it is perceived and treated. As W. J. T. Mitchell said, “images are active players in the game of establishing and changing values.” And for those working to change the world for the better, visual culture has always played an active role in their plans of action. Conversely, Susan Sontag said, “Much of modern art is devoted to lowering the threshold of what is terrible. By getting us used to what, formerly, we could not bear to see or hear, because it was too shocking, painful or embarrassing, art changes morals.”

Art also exposes morals. The artist, inevitably, leaves more of herself on her art than she would like, signs it even. So, photographs reveal also what the photographer has chosen to hide. This choice is deliberate and also inevitable to some extent. It is difficult to show all sides of a subject in a single flat photograph. Picasso tried to remedy this with Cubism. It is even more difficult to show what is actually happening in a scene through a photograph.

I found the butterfly pictured lying on the street, flapping its wings, narrowly avoiding being trampled by wheels and feet. It was injured and perhaps dying. Yet this does not feature in the photograph. Instead, what we see is a still butterfly against a concrete ground that may also have been a pillar or wall. It might appear to be resting, at peace, when actually it was not. We are just tourists to one frozen moment of the butterfly’s reality and tourists cannot gather much.

Perhaps the tourist does not even want to know much. Here I am reminded of Phil Collins’ song Another Day in Paradise. He wrote this song after an encounter with a homeless woman who asked him for his help.

“She calls out to the man on the street

He can see she’s been cryin’

She’s got blisters on the soles of her feet

She can’t walk but she’s tryin’”

Remind you of our particular winged insect?

However, Phil Collins

“…walks on, doesn’t look back

He pretends he can’t hear her

Starts to whistle as he crosses the street”

One chooses what one wants to see and show. I chose to see the colour blue and emphasized that through my photograph. Perhaps I could have represented the more painful parts of the episode. But my interests lay elsewhere- in the pleasant attractive designs of the butterfly’s wings. And so, I captured it, posted it online, walked on, did not look back. I pretended that I could not hear the butterfly’s struggle and fear. Just before I left, I also noticed a dog slowly approaching it. But it’s just another day in paradise for me, just as it was for Phil Collins. However, the photograph/song remains, revealing more of the photographer/singer than the butterfly/woman, and acting more like an unintentional self-portrait.

The main character, who is known to us as just Fleabag, is a 33 year old woman. The term ‘fleabag’ means a dirty unkempt person, but the name does not refer to her physical appearance. Indeed she dresses well and is conventionally good-looking (perhaps too good-looking as someone who is supposed to be in mourning when her mother dies). But what is dirty or wrong about her are her actions. She is a bad girlfriend, insensitive to Harry, who seems nothing but a sweet boyfriend. She takes him for granted that he will return every time after she breaks up with him. In the end, she is taken aback when he leaves her for good. She is also pretty confident about other men and situations but she soon finds out that she cannot predict everything and everyone. Fleabag also wrongs her sweet best friend, Boo, by sleeping with her boyfriend which would ultimately lead to her accidental death.

But we soon find that it is only Fleabag herself who thinks of herself as a fleabag. She is not a completely bad person. Despite her guilt which lays heavily upon her conscience, we get to see many sweet moments between her and Boo. Fleabag also cares for her sister, Clare, deeply, not only pushing her to pursue her professional dreams, but also being there for her in times of distress. In fact, her father, who loves her as his daughter but does not generally like her as a person, says, “I think you know how to love better than any of us. That’s why you find it so painful.”

Fleabag is smart, observant, funny (sometime also self-deprecatingly so), spontaneous, selfless, honest, vulnerable, and also an able businesswoman (at least, when she has the necessary capital). She is also aware of all the mistakes she has committed that has made her own life so messy. She openly admits that she “used sex most of her adult life to deflect from the screaming void inside her empty heart.” And it is this self-awareness that salvages her. Because the show aims to indicate that everybody makes mistakes but people are not only their mistakes.

“People make mistakes” is reiterated by two characters in the show, the bank manager and Boo. In Boo, I had found my favourite and ideal character. She was funny, sweet, thoughtful and sensitive. She also seemed to exude a kind of naivety. Fleabag was a bad friend to Boo, who she even calls her sister. As if I already did not like Fleabag enough already, this was the final nail in the coffin for me. But the complete quote by Boo is: “That’s the very reason why they put rubbers on the end of pencils… Because people make mistakes.”

And indeed after 371 days 19 hours and 26 minutes when the second season picks up, Fleabag has made much progress in both personal and professional fronts. The rubber at the end of the pencil does not signify erasing the mistakes made but the possibility that one can start afresh. It is inevitable that one will make mistakes when unlearning old notions and habits but as long as one is aware and critical of oneself, there is also the possibility of change and progress.

One of the criticisms that the show has faced is that it consists of an all-white cast. Black characters do feature but mostly in supporting roles. This has also labelled the show as showcasing white feminism. My take on this criticism is that perhaps the all-white cast was intentional and it does showcase white middle-class feminism. Perhaps the intention was to actually show how women, despite their willingness to be feminists and despite their privileges, often fall way short of being progressive. I, myself, with my caste and class privileges often don’t do or am not able to do enough towards gender equality. Forget giving up my privileges, I often don’t even use them for those who don’t have them. Mere intention is not enough when we are all products of a patriarchal society with patriarchal ideas and values indoctrinated in us since childhood.

In the first episode of the first season, Fleabag and her sister Claire attend a feminist lecture where the speaker asks the audience, “Please raise your hands if you would trade five years of your life for the so-called perfect body.” Nobody responds except Fleabag and Claire. Their hands shoot up. Now I would never accept this amidst a progressive audience but in my mind, I, also, would have thought “yes” (although the irony of admitting this on a public platform such as Medium is not lost upon me). However, that the image of the ideal body has been indoctrinated in us for which we are willing to sacrifice years of our lives is not an excuse but an admittance. “We are bad feminists”, says Fleabag. Even when no one saw it, all those times I starved myself or spent money on myself to look the way that might satisfy the male gaze, I have been a bad feminist.

Fleabag is not didactic and preachy. It would have been easy to create a show where there were better characters who critique Fleabag and guide her towards betterment. But the truth of life is that we are only surrounded by flawed people. And the show acts a mirror of that condition of life. And perhaps, this is why it made it so uncomfortable for me to watch. It could not act as an instrument of escapism for me. It did not provide me with respite with the help of perfect feminist characters. Instead, it showed me as I am and my average life as it is. But it is not a hopeless nihilistic show. The show aims to prove that we are not only our mistakes and change at any moment is possible. At the same time, the show also does not justify or make any excuses for any of Fleabag’s mistakes. It is REALLY difficult to like her at times! So maybe the intention of Fleabag was to show not so much bad feminism as much as honest feminism.

Habits may be social but I like to think some may also be genetic. My paternal grandmother was a writer and now in her late 90s, unable to walk, barely able to hear and talk, with her befuddled memories, still scribbles in a diary. My mother did not write but she is also a reader. I have rarely seen my father read anything more regularly than the daily newspaper but he was also the editor of his college magazine.

Coming from a family which hailed literary pursuits over everything else, it was perhaps only natural for my brother to stat gifting me books since I was 5 or 6 and had just begun to learn to read. In particular, I had always wanted to learn the English language. There used to be a tape recording of me as child attempting to speak in English and uttering gibberish. Although, in hindsight, I wish I had shown an equal passion for my mother tongue, Assamese, I did end up learning English exactly as I wanted to.

And that had to do with reading everything I could lay my hands upon as a child- books, magazines, newspapers, biscuit packets, toffee wrappers, cartons of food, hoardings, shop signs… sometimes even age-inappropriate stuff!

At the same time, all that input also resulted me in writing. For a really long time, I wrote only poems and short fiction. Curiously, even though now I almost always read fiction, my writing has almost completely shifted to non-fiction.

But in hindsight, I think, books also made me a loner. Like demanding possessive lovers, they withdrew me from the outside world to a great degree. Or are people loners and then they find companionship in things like books? Be that as it may, I found a kind of solace in my paperback friends that no human friends or any other kind of art and literature or media have still been able to provide.

This year, however, for reasons still unknown to me, reading has eluded me. I have read far less than usual and it has disturbed me to all imaginable ends. I feel I have lost a vital part of my identity.

For I have lived to read. During an episode in 2019 when I was down and unable to read because of that, a therapist asked me what that one thing was that I would like to go back to if/when I am alright. And I said, “I would like to be able to read again please.”

Before that, in 2018, when I was down with dengue and due to severe weakness unable to even see letters on a page, I used to sit in the verandah of my home with a book on my lap. As the letters trembled before my eyes, I used to force my eyes to make sense of them. I remember wanting to get better physically because I wanted to go back to my books. There really was no other reason for which I wanted to live.

Sometimes I joke to myself that my entire personality is one-dimensional and it is based on books. Reading and books, perhaps, even come subconsciously to me. Otherwise, I have no explanations as to how my PhD research also came to be about manuscripts- just olden books!

And yet for all claims about reading so much, I know far less than most of my friends and classmates. I seem to possess the memory of a guinea pig and the attention span of a 10 year old. For this, I don’t retain much information. Nor am I very knowledgeable about very many things. I only read because they make me feel. Books take me to places and times and beings that transcend something, I know not what. Otherwise, I don’t think I actually feel emotions as much as an average human being.

Sometimes I feel all my emotions generated otherwise are very shallow. My mother says that even as a baby I did not care to be fed nor cried very much. Are some people just born object-like? While such wonderings don’t make me happy, I am glad that until I figure it out, I have my non-judgemental patient paperback friends who ask nothing of me but to come back to them as and when I want to.

Because of the current lull in my reading, I have made efforts to engage with the written word in a different way- write more than I did. In this way, I am not completely away from books. I am still with them in some ways. Until the day I will be back with them in all ways just as I used to, this will have to suffice.

They may burn my books

But I have already memorized them.

They may write new ones

To turn my children into soldiers of hate

But I have taught them differently.

They may stop printing my books

But my mouth will publish my words tirelessly.

They may break my pen, my inkpot

But my mind will keep scribbling

Dipping its nib in the pigment of my heart.

They will never have my books.

In the 1966 animated short film Chromophobia by the Belgian filmmaker, animator and comics artist, Raoul Servais, an army of grim-looking soldiers arrive in a town and strip it off of all colours, turning it into a black and white place. Multi-coloured flags are shot down and replaced with black and white ones with the symbols of skulls and bones. Balloons are burst and replaced with black bats. A cock turns into a raven. People in their colourful clothes are dressed up in black and white striped garb reminding one of prisoners. This chromophobic army lands with parachutes on the top of cathedrals blackening their rooftops. Stained glass turn into cobwebs with spiders. But it is a happy ending and peace, in the form of a white flag and brightly coloured balloons finally arrive.

A similar army, in the form of thoughts and ideas, descended upon the once-colourfully painted Western historical artworks and architecture such as the ancient Greek and Roman statues and the cathedrals of Europe over time, stripping them of colour, except mostly black and white.

This purging of or prejudice against colour has been termed as ‘chromophobia’ (literally, fear of colours) by the Scottish writer and artist, David Batchelor, and it has had a long history in Western culture, indicating, first of all, to its subjectivity.

Colour is a perception. But colour is also an interpretation. When the poet and artist, Joanna Fragoulis describes colours to her blind friend in one of her poems, red assumes the emotions of both anger and love. Blue is coolness, calm and sleep. Her friend sometimes smells of pink as does the sky smell of green after it has rained.

This emotional and expressive power of color had been intensified by the efforts of the Fauvists who “distorted” colours by assigning them the “wrong” objects. André Derain’s Charing Cross Bridge, London (1906), is a riot of colours with a pink-yellow sky, distant buildings in green and the yellow river Thames. Picasso’s Poor People on the Shore (1903) is rendered completely in different hues of blue.

So, associated with emotions, rather than reason, colour furthers suspicions about its unreliability. Colour is in the eye of the beholder, as the hierarchization of it is in the mind of the beholder.

In this hierarchy, white and black seem to feature at the top tier and only when in confinement and isolation from other colours. Only a “voluntary poverty” of other colours can render them their position of significance. In this “voluntary poverty” of other colours, white is more than the colour itself. Rather, whiteness, as against other colours, is clean, pure, moral and rational. Similarly, black symbolizes sophistication, self-control and power.

As against this, one reviled colour is pink and particularly its vibrant, bubblegum versions. When the protagonist of Legally Blonde (2001), Elle Woods, enters Harvard, she is discredited solely because of her signature colour by her batchmates at Harvard, clad in greys, blacks and browns. Black and white are also colours but pink, traditionally associated with femininity is not taken as seriously and is considered to be frivolous. The French painter Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres had this to say of colour: “Colour enhances a painting, but she is only a lady, because all she does is to make still more attractive the true perfections of art.” Such kind of colours, therefore, are an after-thought. So colours, unless they are black or white and their near counterparts, usually linked with the feminine, as opposed to the masculine, are inessential and graded lower in the scale of significance and desirability.

In this way, colours and aesthetic practices which they are a component of, act as both a reflection of and influence on culture. And yet we often find differing and contrasting takes on colours within the same culture. Raghubir Singh, a pioneer of colour street photography in India, called colours a “blessing that is written into the Indian idea of darshan- sacred sight- which we have known since childhood.” But while according to Singh, colours are an intrinsic part of the Indian cultural ethos and black did not quite fit his idea of darshan, according to photographer Raghu Rai, certain situations look well in black and white which even “silences the noise of colours”.

Here the concept of gaze, or how a particular person looks at the subject of art, comes into play and it is also this gaze that affects their use or lack of colours. The making of films completely or mainly without colours has risen in recent times. As the British actor and director Kenneth Branagh says, even the colours black and white are not completely devoid of emotions and a poetic quality. Branagh’s movie Belfast (2021) which also won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay this year was shot entirely in black and white. Of the chosen coloured medium, Belfast had to say that “…black and white allows you to feel people” and “makes for a poetic dimension to things that can otherwise seem a little banal.” Similarly, director Mike Mills of C’mon C’mon (2021) disagrees that black and white is less emotional. He says, “I found intimacy in (using) black and white.”

And yet Mills seems to agree with the notion that colour is to be relegated to the realm of the superficial, the supplementary, the inessential or the cosmetic, and that its mere utility is supposedly purely decorative, and therefore it can be done away with. This tradition places drawing or design in opposition to colours or colouring-in. Mills says that black and white is “a drawing, not a painting… There’s something very immediate and quick and unfussy and unfettered about a drawing…” The cinematographer of Belfast, Haris Zambarloukous, calls colours “distractions.”

Ironically, even though colours have been suspected of being synthetic and distracting, black and white may be used to for this very same quality in them in films. Movie makers shoot in black and white to remove the film from real life, “to bring theatricality, and lose temporality”, as said by cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel of The Tragedy of Macbeth (2021).

The importance of colour over that of design even though both of them are necessary to reproduce art is also found in the opinion of the critic, colour theorist and sometime Director of the Arts in the 1848 Socialist government in France, Charles Blanc. To him, line figured above colour, and there are only a few ways to avoid falling down to this lowliness of the resource called colour: control or subordinate it.

The purging of colour is usually accomplished in one of two ways. In the first, colour is made out to be the property of some ‘foreign’ body- usually the feminine, the oriental, the primitive, the infantile, the vulgar, the queer or the pathological. In the second, colour is relegated to the realm of the superficial, the supplementary, or the cosmetic. Either way, colour is routinely excluded from the higher concerns of the Mind, a result of a “moral puritanism and aesthetic austerity,” according to the French philosopher, art historian and professor of aesthetics, Jacqueline Lichtenstein. In this way, if colours are symbols so is the active exclusion or poverty of it.

But why did this particular distaste for and prejudice against colour evolve to its enormity particularly in the West and in colonized societies? I have three speculations: one related to drugs- something the ancients Plato and Aristotle themselves associated colour with, the second related to the challenges to our ideas of vision and limitations of the human language, and the third related to racist ideas about colour.

The meaning of the word ‘colour’ has always sounded a little like drugs. The Latin colorem is related to celare which means to hide or to conceal. In Middle English, ‘to colour’ is to decorate, to beautify, to design and to misrepresent. In both cases, it means something less-than-true, something which drugs also induce. Aristotle called colour a drug- pharmakon. For Plato, a painter was merely “a grinder and mixer of multi-colour drugs.” Many hallucinogens and drugs, like mescaline and ecstasy, not only distort and intensify forms but also colours for the takers of these drugs. For the English writer Aldous Huxley, this state of heightened colours was one of “not-Self” or in other words, disorientation, loss of consciousness and loss of touch from what we see as reality. The Greek philosophers may have arrived at their conclusions from the reports of people who had been users of such drugs, or even from their direct use of such psychedelics- something that can only be guessed.

But then, what about this reality? For many colourblind people, the “real world” is coloured quite differently than others, challenging ideas about an “objective reality”. This indicates once again that colour, after all, is a perception and sight is a spectrum. Not only does colour challenge our ideas but it can also expose the limits of our language. “We think of red as a hot colour, but we think of grey as a cold colour. Why can’t we imagine a grey hot?” asks David Batchelor. At the risk of sounding far-fetched and flighty, the possibility of millions of people perceiving millions of gradations of colour differently and yet not having a perfect language for colour might have encouraged distrust against colour. As ever-present as colour is, it is also elusive.

The discrimination against colour does not only take artistic or technical forms but also moral, racial, sexual and social. Black escapes censure only as long as it is the colour of an object and not of a person. For the architect Le Corbusier, colour was “suited to simple races, peasants and savages.” Black-skinned women in history and mythology, such as Andromeda- the princess in Greek mythology, and Queen Sheba from the Old Testament, were whitewashed in Western art and movies. Although it is not known for certain how Jesus exactly looked like, the historical Jew from Galilee in Israel most probably did not have the European white skin and blue eyes he is depicted with in popular images that have proliferated across the world, mainly through trade and colonization. Man makes God in his own image or the way he perceives his own image. The Indian painter and artist, Raja Ravi Verma, despite not hailing from a world of fair women but definitely from colonial times, painted his women such as Damayanti and Shakuntala as fair. This, despite their literary and earlier versions describing them as dark-skinned. Even Blackface, the practice by non-Black people of painting their faces black or dark brown, is rooted in the mockery and dehumanization of Black people, and not in a desirability for the particular skin colour.

But regardless of the ‘why’ behind this chromophobia, we find that there is a cultural history and even a contemporaneity for the preference for black and white.

References:

· Batchelor, David. Chromophobia

· “David Batchelor: The Fear of Colour”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syrOAKvfJ_c&t=635s

· “Chromophobia”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2TaVi-oV2g

· “Color, Art and the Mind: Microconsciousness”

http://www.webexhibits.org/causesofcolor/mind.html

· “How black-and-white became Hollywood’s favourite new colour”

https://www.jordantimes.com/news/features/how-black-and-white-became-hollywoods-favourite-new-colour

· “How black women were whitewashed by art”

https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20190114-how-black-women-were-whitewashed-by-art

· “How legally blonde created a feminist hero ahead of her time”

https://www.denofgeek.com/movies/how-legally-blonde-created-a-feminist-hero-ahead-of-her-time/

· “Inside the world of Raghubir Singh, pioneer of color street photography”

https://www.architecturaldigest.in/content/met-breuer-raghubir-singh/

· “Invisible Interview: Raghu Rai, India- Part 2”

https://invisiblephotographer.asia/2012/11/14/invisibleinterview-raghurai-part2/

· “Men in Black: Chromophobia in Western Culture”

https://medium.com/swlh/men-in-black-the-fear-of-color-in-western-culture-33e42a5e92c2

· “Raghubir Singh’s Modernism in Colour”

http://www.millenniumpost.in/sundaypost/inland/raghubir-singhs-modernism-in-colour-270575

· “The Dark Shades of Raja Ravi Varma”

https://www.livemint.com/Leisure/ZHvhrHukWJz2CXdvwu6qlJ/The-dark-shades-of-Raja-Ravi-Varma.html

· “The long history of how Jesus came to resemble a white European”

https://theconversation.com/the-long-history-of-how-jesus-came-to-resemble-a-white-european-142130

· “This is a poem about colours”

https://medium.com/move-me-poetry/this-is-a-poem-about-colours-18a29aa43c74

· “What were early studies of color?: Color theory”

http://www.webexhibits.org/causesofcolor/1B.html

· “Why there are so many black-and-white movies in 2021”

https://www.vox.com/22745191/black-white-movies-belfast-passing-cmon

· “Why Hollywood is Embracing Black and White Again”

https://www.shondaland.com/inspire/a38279611/why-hollywood-is-embracing-black-and-white-again/

The Korean concept of “In-Yun” or “inyeon” came into more popular parlance with the release of the movie Past Lives in 2023 from which the above mentioned quote is. But it has it roots in Korean and also Chinese Buddhism that if destined, people will meet even if they are thousands of miles apart and do not even know each other.

For nearly 10 years, my partner and I have lived on the same university campus, attended the same schools for 2 years and also lived in the same hostel for a few years. Because we had mutual friends, we knew of each other but could hardly have been called even acquaintances. For nearly 10 years, we had different lovers.

Sometimes we talk about those years and marvel at how despite being in the same physical space, we were so apart. But we must surely have walked by each other in some part of the campus with even our clothes accidentally brushing against each other.

And then within the succession of some months, we began brushing against each other more frequently. He had to go to Germany in 2021 and I had to go there right after a few months, because of which I reached out to him for help and information. We had to be single at the same time. That we had to have our mutual friends present in campus who brought us together. We wonder and conclude that it was all timing. Going by In-Yun, it was something greater than timing. It was fate.

But In-Yun also talks about one’s past lives or loves. Each person, each meeting is a clue. If we ignore a clue, we will never find our love or destiny. If we don’t ignore it, we find them. I like this significance placed upon our past lives because I think it dignifies our past relationships too, instead of vilifying them and reducing them to mistakes.

But whispers of the past sometimes can be found even in our present.

When Nora tells her husband, Arthur, that she was a “crybaby” as a kid, Arthur, probably for the first time, realizes that there is a part of her life that he doesn’t know about. “You were a crybaby?” he asks.

And Arthur continues, “Do you know you only speak in Korean when you talk in your sleep? Sometimes, I think it’s cute. Sometimes, I guess I get scared. You dream in a language that I can’t understand. It’s like there is this whole place inside of you where I can’t go.”

Whispers of the past can be found in the present in different forms. The mention of a past romance, the arrival or meeting of an ex-lover, changes in a behaviour that was different in the past, imagining our present lover with their exes, etc. “Even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue to exist” — wrote Rilke in a letter to the German painter, Paula Modersohn-Becker. We will never completely know everything about our partner from day one of their existence. This may evoke jealousy, suspicion, fear, insecurity, helplessness, anger, sadness- all undesirable feelings.

But when I think of all the In-Yun that I went through in my life as things that brought me to my partner last year, I don’t want to erase any of that. And when I think of all the In-Yun that he went through in his life as things that brought him to me last year, I also don’t want to erase of any of that. I would rather have all our In-Yun stamped permanently in our respective personal life histories if that means that we end up together. The accompanying undesirable feelings are only fleeting after all.

But non-erasure also does not mean that onecannot bid goodbye to those In-Yun. The writer and director of Past Lives, Celine Song, explains the movie in three goodbyes (in childhood, in youth and in full adulthood), indicating that all of life is an act of letting go, of possibilities, of what-might-have-beens. But Nora’s mother in the movie also says that when you leave something behind, you gain something too.

My partner and I had to leave our past lives for our present. The past may whisper, sometimes even speak aloud in the present. But for this inconvenience what have I gained? There is a story about In-Yun in which a fairy godmother comes and ties a red thread on the finger of every newborn. This thread winds and loops through the person’s finger and ties him or her to every person she encounters in her life until finally, the thread ends at the finger of the person he or she will love forever. I like to believe that the thread on my finger has reached its end at the finger of J.

The movie shows Amar Singh Chamkila as a factory worker with a passion for music which he wants to pursue professionally. But it does not come easy to him. Despite managing to deliver hit shows, when Chamkila asks his manager for his well-deserved earnings, he is reminded of his caste. Chamkila was born as Dhanni Ram to the Chamar Sikh community. His manager tells him, “Just because I let you sit with me, you forgot your identity? What do you think, you have become our equal?”

But Chamkila knows what people want to hear, what they enjoy listening to. And he knows that he can use the very interests of the society to fulfill his musical aspirations. He says in an interview that his lyrics are inspired by what he has seen and heard all his life because most people are just like him. They like his songs because they already live in and support a misogynistic society. He doesn’t write about women in any other way because he has never seen a different kind of society, meaning the society he has been a part of actually influenced his art. This is also supported by one woman who says that all men have such thoughts, and another woman who says that all wedding songs in their society are always full of such sexual objectification of brides and women.

And yet it is he who is threatened by the militant and religious guardians of the society as if he has badly transformed the society. He is told that if it is so difficult to stop singing the kind of songs he sings, he should quit singing and find some other job. But Chamkila knows that that would mean he would have to go back to making socks in a factory. Because of his caste and class background, his music is his only skill and interest he can use to live the kind of life he has always hoped to. In that particular interview, he says that a person cannot afford to think what is right and wrong when he is worried about his survival. One cannot think on an empty stomach or unfulfilled dreams which happens because of his social background.

It is not as if Chamkila does not foray into other genres of music after he is faced with death threats. His album containing devotional songs is also a massive hit. And yet during his live shows, and despite his insistence on singing devotional songs, he is bullied by the audience to resort back to his erotic songs- an audience usually marked by a very masculine presence. Women feature rarely in his live audiences. Chamkila realizes that he is doomed if he does and doomed if he doesn’t. So he chooses to do what serves his livelihood and dreams.

But his fault isn’t limited to his music. He is also ordered to give up drinking alcohol, eating meat and smoking tobacco. Amar Singh Chamkila comes from a marginalized background exploited by society but it falls on him to not be a “bad influence” on people. Through the song in the end, he sarcastically says that everyone else was pure and righteous, only he was the sinful one and that all the evil that was there was was because of him only. He did not wanted to die. He had wanted to live, make music which rang in his mind 24/7, and be famous and much more than a sock-maker in a factory. His songs reflected the thoughts and preferences of society as it was but in the end, only he and his wife Amarjot were punished.

It is true that all art forms (be it paintings, sculptures, movies, music, literature, etc.) does affect and influence people, especially impressionable minds, and create a society. Art has been used by all governments and people in the powerful privileged echelons to further their ideologies and interests. It has been used by marginalized people to put forth their experiences, resist injustice and protest against power relations in also discreet safer ways. Identities may not be forged by art alone but art does help in shaping and asserting them. That is why artists are often critiqued for any problematic work they produce because art does help in shaping and changing opinions.

However, at the same time, it is also true that art is not created in a vacuum and artists are themselves also a product of a society. Art is not an act in isolation. It is a participatory one and a site of interaction of the artist and the society. Artworks are a reflection of the time and place they are generated in. One single artist cannot come up with an idea that can change an entire society if that society did not harbour that idea already in some form. Especially, when it comes to a person like Amar Singh Chamkila, is it really believable that with the kind of background he has, when he cannot even place demands for basic rights of dignity, he has the ability to cause such a mass transformation in people? He only caters to what people already like, believe in and want. Moreover, he is not the only musician who makes such songs. But clearly, he is the easier to target and make a scapegoat of. The entire onus of being “good” falls on marginalized and oppressed people like him, and when they are not “good”, they are punished.

So art is part imitation and part creation. The position of an artist in the society he comes from matters. It is also true that some people do manage to battle against and subvert their socio-historical conditions. Also, there is no fine line that can be drawn between artists who may be granted some forgiveness for their art and those who cannot be granted so. But can artists like Chamkila always afford to detach themselves from their surroundings and risk further marginalization and ostracization when they are worried about their very survival? With artists like him, it is society that has an upper-hand in creating their art and sustaining it. Before or at least along with questioning artists like him, it is the society that bars theirs rights and dreams that should be questioned and asked to change.