potpourri..: art

“It's a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven't any right to give him one: he'll have to wait until he belongs to somebody.

(… … …)

I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together. I'm not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it's like." She smiled… … …

"It's like Tiffany's," she said.

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Yes, I have found that place where Me and things belong together. And, I agree that it would have been a little inconvenient for him, not having a name. My father in law had chosen a name for him when he was born. That is his bhalo naam. (Bengalis, as a matter of compulsion, are bestowed with two sets of names. Bhalo naam and Daak Naam. The former is for the world at large, while the latter is a nick name, a term of endearment used only by very close relatives and friends). I have a daak naam for him which, like most nick names, is weird and funny and reserved for very close people. I will not embarrass him by sharing it here. I can however share the surname. No prizes for guessing….a part of the family will obviously share the family name.

Having a name however, is not something exclusive to him. His innumerable brethren are given beautiful names by their family members. I believe that the beauty of a home begins with the name. It infuses the first traces of life into his otherwise inanimate structure and makes him breathe and grow along with you.

P.S: A friend had a house in Shantiniketan. It was named “Bhalo~basha”. Bhalo’ in Bengali means good, ‘basha’ means home and ‘Bhalobasha’ means love. Some words are just meant to create magic, irrespective their profuse use, isn’t it?

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He had the perfect bachelor’s life until I stepped into his existence. Preceding our marriage, he was a rented space and was one of the most disorganized being I had ever come across. His damp and drab walls made a sorry sight. We civilized him slowly. To begin with, we chose the paint for the walls, the upholstery and the basic furniture. When I look back at the seven years spent with each other, I realise that I hardly knew anything about making a home beautiful except a game called “Colour man, colour man what colour do you choose”. The bedroom was painted with the colours of sand and sun……three yellow walls complemented with a caramel-coloured sand-textured fourth. When I got married, textured walls (read, a different fourth wall) was not so common. Hence, that wall was a matter of great pride for me. It still is. It smells of the sea.

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Home when read a little differently says “Oh me!”…….

Your home is like a mirror that holds your reflection.

Ours grew with us. Needless to say, he grew up to be like us. The saying “haar ghar kuchh kehta hein” applies to every house in their varied and special ways and my house is no exception. He is as vocal as his owners and there lies his individuality. The colours he basks in, the ‘clothes’ that he wears, the smell he emits, the music he plays and the food he serves speak volumes about the inhabitants….vibrant, happy-go-lucky, mad, bizarre and adequately lovable.

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While writing for a contest hosted by Asian Paints, it is but natural that I will flip through the pages of their website. And, this is what held my attention, untainted and untouched for several minutes. I chanced upon the Asian Paints’ Colour Next project. They displayed various inspirations behind their colour-trends for the year gone by. I am in general, a non-follower of trends. But those were beyond beautiful, exceptionally motivating and awe-evoking. The patchwork below is totally my kind of inspiration. The cinnamon flavoured walls filled up my senses while the “dhal-gaya-din” mirrors, the Clockwork Red and the Gold Spots were born to woo the vigorous DIY-er in me.

Source: http://www.asianpaints.com/colournext/lookbook.html

DIY reminds me that this house is a huge soft board for pinning my DIY projects. Cookie tin-jewellery boxes, lampshade-vases, coconut shell-candles, light bulb-plant holders, desk calendars-turned-photo frames can be found here there everywhere.

A part of the house got painted a few months back on the occasion of the brother-in-law’s wedding. The empty Asian Paints tins were painted brightly and converted into hanging planters for the terrace garden. I also made lanterns out of some of them by drawing ”join-the-dot” outlines and hammering nails along the periphery of such patterns.

DIY does not appeal to me in its literal connotation only. It is also about serious recycling and about making memories out of things you don’t want to throw away ever. For instance, the pine fruits collected from Manali (my honeymoon destination) are painted in glittery colours and made a part of the décor.

Do you remember that roll of thick thread that used to come with a specific brand of water purifiers? I do not remember their exact purpose. I do not need to. See this beautiful swan crochet mat, woven by an aunt-in-law from that roll of thread. What better purpose can there be?

The empty beer bottles rolling on my floor in their drunken merriness (after India’s last World Cup win) were preserved by dressing them up with my left-over fabric and using them for growing money plants.

For people whose money and plants grow at an inverse proportion, resorting to home-made ideas is the best option anyways. :/

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The mention of wealth and green thankfully stroke a more positive chord in my heart. It is said that, “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” My guardian angel (read father-in-law) has bestowed them both upon us.

No house is complete without a green patch. If space is a constraint, one can resort to indoor plants. On window sills, center tables, low rising cupboards, book racks and even restrooms, they look lovely.

In my personal opinion, the charm of a garden grows manifold if you add a swing to its landscape. Depending on the size of the garden, it can range from Ray’s Charulata-swing to the one in the picture below.

My garden is not complete if I do not mention these children. I am in love with them. The Worse Half dislikes cats. (The reason behind both the emotions, I think, is my uncanny resemblance with cats. We are lazy, ~~fat~~ ~~round~~ chubby, awesome-outside-awful-inside, love to eat and sleep, hate physical exercises and in blind love with ourselves). Pursuant to an amicable settlement, they are allowed in the garden and not inside the house. : (

Home is where the cat lies…

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If books were like Olympic medals, our house would have suffered multiple neck injuries. The house has over 1500 books in his collection which is increasing by the day with each member’s contribution. Here is a snapshot of the library. (98.5% credit goes to the father-in-law).

The Man has followed his father’s footsteps. Initially, I used to complain when rooms were ‘sand-duned’ with books all over. But thereafter, I realised that in a book-loving house, owing to their alarming rate of increase, books are bound to be a part of the décor. This reminds me of an old conversation had with my roomie.

“Why is this huge stack of books lying here? Will you please spare the bedroom atleast?”

~ Have I ever told you anything when you stack nail paints on the dressing table?

“But that’s where they are supposed to be”

~And, books dear, are supposed to be everywhere.

Point. <3

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“When we are hungry, love will keep us alive” – Eagles

“So will cinema” – Parama Ghosh

When faced with interrogation from someone as to why I have framed photographs of movie stars on the bedroom wall, my honest and prompt reply was: “Is it not boring if you have to wake up every morning and see the face of the same man in your bedroom?” While the best option from my “Men I want to date” list made it to the bed, the bank accounts and the life insurance policies, the next best options made it to my wall.

The runners-up in my husband’s “Women I want to date” list have similarly made their place on the drawing room’s wall.

In terms of being religious, the walls of my house get full marks. Most of the walls are adorned by pictures of Gods and Goddesses. (We haven’t spared the cushions even! Sigh….)

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Khush-ons….

P: “I am in love with cushions.”

J: You are biologically gifted with so many. The love shows from the lack of any effort to get rid of them.

Leave aside those mean jokes. The point is, cushions add a lot of character and comfort to the house. I love them in vibrant colours and textiles. Being a lover of all things Desi, the cushions, bedspreads and curtains reflect an overdose of Kalamkari, Kantha, Bandhni, Bagru, Madhubani and other indigenous fabric.

This picture taken on a lazy afternoon warmed my heart. It brilliantly summed up few of the most exquisite things Bengal ever produced. The Kantha, the picture from Tagore’s Shahaj Pathh recreated on Batik (“ডাক পাড়ে ও ঔ, ভাত আনো বড়ো বৌ”), Alpona painted on the terracotta plate and the “Diva” on the magazine cover…..if this is not beautiful, then what is?

Neglected art forms invariably draw my affection and attention. Batik is one such. The “mere-dholna-sun” cushions (on two sides) in this picture are resist-paintings in the form of Batik and bought from a village artisan from Shantiniketan.

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Curtains, clocks and collectibles…

The love for Indian fabric and motifs is reflected in the curtains too. For people whose lives thrive on colours, the curtains become an evident representation of the same. I have noticed that changing curtains in 3-4 months work wonders to the rooms. Changing curtains is not as easy as changing bed sheets…both in terms of money and energy. So you can do what I do. Interchange curtains from one room to another, mix and match, make loops on one end of the dupattas/stoles you hardly use and hang them from the curtain-rods. Compliments will flow like P.C. Sarkar’s ‘Water of India’ at the sight of your Bandhni, Ajrak and Chanderi curtains. ;)

The traditional Gamchha of Bengal transformed into curtains

My house is as metro sexual as Salman Khan and flaunts his accessories likewise. Here is a sneak peak.

A favourite wedding gift of mine (the wooden clock and not the human) and a "Vikram aur Betaal" photograph.

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I also have a few collectibles which are wrapped in memories and tied up with strings of happiness. They range from bottled rainwater (from the first shower of a particular year), weaver bird’s nest, sea shells, masks, wooden toys and the like.

The pebbles lying near the lamp were collected from Victoria Memorial during our courtship days (if you are a Bengali and have not visited Victoria with your Laabhaar atleast once, you are destined to knock on Hell’s door and be punished severely).

The “Sondesher Chhanch” or moulds were used by our earlier generations for making sweets at home and beautifying them with patterns on top. I chanced upon them in a local Mela (Each for five rupees). I do not have the patience of making sweets with them. Hence….

These ceramic dip-bowls hoard remnants of a favourite neck piece and a vacation by the sea.

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Let there be light, oxygen and food….

These are the three things without which life would not be the same. These are also the three things without which my house will not be the same.

Light:

My favourite is the first on the top left. On a special request, a rural artiste from the handicrafts fair painted Kalighat-Patachitra on a raw silk lamp for me. It could have been a reason enough for my delight. However the woman’s hand gesture and the way she is rebuking her husband in the picture made my happiness grow manifold.

Oxygen:

The dressing table containing my Pandora’s boxes....junk jewellery, stationary and the little Et ceteras without which I may stop breathing….

Food:

A clean kitchen was my aspiration. And I have (almost) achieved that. *drum rolls*

My kitchen, like all its fellow rooms, is a victim of my recycling-ventures. Also, it boasts of the attractiveness of recent Yash Raj films’ trailers…..beautiful to look at, doubtful so far as the finished products are concerned. : (

Food for thought:

Bar accessories fascinate me as much as their contents. I have collected a few of them over the years. It is difficult to flaunt all of them like family heirlooms because I live with my in-laws.

These villainous shot glasses are favourites from the collection.

“Sardar maine aapka namak khaya hain”…

Ab Tequilla aur Nimboo bhi khha….

I also consider the framed picture as a bar accessory. A gift on our seventh, it reads a lovely note.

"Tum aur hum, jaise coke aur rum...Ek7 janam janam"

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The threshold:

So here we are. Aren’t you feeling exhausted after the whirlwind of a home tour? Let’s sit on the porch and chat some more. The cinnamon tea can give us company. Instead of biscuits, let me serve you a few chocolate cookies. Here they are:

· Your home is your home. Treat it like a family member and it will treat you like wise.

· Get inspired but don’t follow trends blindly. What may look great on Sonam Kapoor may make me look like a tent. So drop the “Cntrl C + Cntrl V” jacket and let him speak his own story.

My Ramayana-door. Ram, Sita and Hanuman (detachable) on the eye hole.

· For a perfect home, money is one of the last things you need.

· The secret of a beautiful house is its going through a Sholay-test and passing it. You see the same walls, same rooms, same curtains every day. Yet, every time you see them, your heart melts. That is the Sholay-test.

· Love him more. Love his attires and accessories less. Remember that the ceramic statues or the porcelain figurines in your house are things. And I believe, “the best things in life aren't things”.

· Of all the things I have written above (and felt secretly good about), the one that makes me feel very happy is this: I have seen people dread at the advent of child visitors at their places. I have seen people utter, “Ishhhh, the baby is touching that terracotta Ganesha. He may break it”. I heard friends telling me, “My son is very naughty; please remove everything breakable before he destroys them all”. I have NEVER EVER done that when children visit our home. I have NEVER EVER felt scared that my favourite things may be broken. I have not said a word when my maid’s son drew on one of our walls. Scolding him would have killed the artist in that child. My heart warmed when I saw this picture on the internet. It reaffirmed my belief that “Life is beautiful”.