THE PEDESTRIAN’S CANVAS
The everyday heat of Pondicherry had really started to wear me out. It’d already been a couple of days since I got here. College can be exhausting, and a tad bit overwhelming sometimes. Put all that aside, and you’d realise that the most rebarbative part was just the sickening monotony. I’d pay to swim against the tide, and maybe that’s why I chose Pondicherry for my much-needed and well deserved break. Hitting the waters was really fun, at least while it lasted, but the monotony of things hit me again. I needed something new, something really, really new under the sun. So I dusted the sand off my feet and set out to explore this place for what it truly is, for beyond its bricks and mortar.
It was a no-brainer for me to hit the streets because, obviously, that’s where the life of any city lies. It got the better of me, taking me by surprise, showing me the amalgamation of the local pulse with the French charm. Something about the tiny, inconspicuous details adds to the serenity of the place. From the tea seller hurling chants- “akka tea ka, arey behnji chai” at the ladies in colorful sarees to the typical barking street dogs after the cycling toddler, everything about the noise in the streets sounded like peace. The petite girl with white flowers in her hair, the coconut trees standing tall, the grass greener than ever, and just the man lighting his cigar without a care for the world. With the unanimous yellow houses complementing the sunny backdrop, it gave me all the self-affirmation I needed to spend my day measuring the alleys here. This place had me all captivated, everything to blame, especially the ambience of the Pondi Alleys, and by that, I very specifically mean the colorful walls and the refined murals of the French Colony.
The street art here is a colorful hodgepodge of whimsical murals and playful graffiti. From winking elephants to mischievous monkeys, it feels like these streets are like a canvas for artists to let their imaginations run wild. It showcases a harmonious blend of colonial and Indian influences, characterised by vibrant colors and bold brushstrokes. Depicting social, political, and cultural themes, the murals serve as a visual representation of the city’s rich heritage and history.
“Akka tea, AKKA”- the successively loud chants pushed me back to reality from all the beauty before my eyes. The persistence got the better of me, and I eventually gave in. “Yenna ji, tamil eh?”. If I didn’t mention already, the people here tend to be rather friendly, and so this tea anna striking a conversation was no surprise to me. With all the tamil I had learned from my NIT Trichy fellows, I mustered the courage to say, “Tamil theriyadhu”. He gave me a smile and replied, “Okay brother, no problem. Tourist-eh? How is Pondi?” With all the “Tanglish” I knew, I went on to explain how impressed I was with this place and just couldn’t resist myself from going on and on about the beautiful yellow walls and all the alluring art on it. And, of course the aunty in the red saree was eavesdropping and didn’t hesitate to give in her take on it. “Of course you youngsters call this nuisance art, all this scribbling these kids do here with their spray cans is nothing but a menace. How do you justify your maturity when my five year old is doing the same scratching and scribbling on the walls? What is it you kids call it nowadays, uhmm.. yeah “GRAFFITI”. Back in the day, it made sense when it was only used as a representation of our culture, our people, and our way of celebrating us. It was beautiful when these paintings actually had some meaning to them. Now you’ve made a joke out of it. All these random teenagers confessing their love by scribbling “ SK loves PS” all over public property as if the rest of the world cares, to a point where it’s hands down just vandalism.”
“People say graffiti is ugly, irresponsible and childish, but that’s only if it’s done properly”
I guess nosy aunties are not just endemic to my gully. On any other day I wouldn’t want to engage in a debate of such sorts, but she deserved a piece of my mind. “Sure, there’s all that you’ve mentioned. But you’re missing the very essence of street art, aunty. Graffiti was initially used as a symbol of rebellion against tyranny. Graffiti is the voice of the voiceless, the cry of the oppressed, the art of the rebels. There’s a fine line between Graffiti being art and graffiti being, you know, “graffiti”. It can be vandalism, but more often than not, I like to think it’s a delicate blend of both. Graffiti and street art as social protest is usually about expressing views against authorities. Graffiti legit portrays anarchy at the highest level, anarchy being the zenith of street style. Ironically, today it’s the same government that spends millions on painting all their local and metro stations, their bridges, the places of visit, the beaches, the subways and everywhere else. From murals adorning the sides of government buildings to vibrant graffiti installations in public spaces, street art has become a means for the government to communicate with its citizens, in a language they understand.”
Knowing aunties, this little conversation could go on forever. I wouldn’t dare to offend said aunty more than I already have. Besides, I’ve already had my mic drop moment, and now would be a good time to leave. Before aunty could go on an endless rant about lovers on the streets, I quickly added that I had a bus to catch. I could tell by the look of her face, that I literally cut her train of thought by interrupting. She added, “ Haan haan okay, even I’m done drinking my tea. Even I have work to do.” Aunty, however, looked like she was ready to find her next teenage prey and why not? Aunty seemed to have enjoyed our little tea session, and in all honesty, I did too. Maybe she wasn’t completely wrong. Maybe she didn’t actually hate graffiti as much as she did. Maybe she was just mad at her five year old for scribbling on the walls. And maybe it’s all just perspective.
The bus ride back to college hit different this time. It’s interesting how something so trivial as doodles on a wall could mean so many things to different people. To each their own, I suppose. It’s almost like how music to one can be noise to another, art to one can be vandalism to the other. People often use Graffiti and Street Art interchangeably, but coming to think of it, the only difference is essentially perspective. Synonymous to how one thinks of the concept of “graffiti ‘’ being the anarch, and the “street art” being the orderly; but in all fairness, isn’t anarchy just coloring outside the box?
Unpacking my bags, I noticed my senior’s declaration, “SK loves PS”, on one of my hostel walls and finally realized what street art was all about, the notion that everybody leaves behind a part of who they are — be it a cry for help or a cheer of joy. Why should this concept of art only be confined within the four walls of an age-old museum? Or is that precisely what makes street art so special; the idea that it’s every pedestrian’s very own canvas?
Room no. 20, AGATE
