(PhD in Visual Culture and the Law, Currently 2nd Year Art History Degree with the Open University)
Jai Maa Kaali! Inquilaab Zindabaad! Inquilaab Sada Zindabaad!
(Hail the Dark Mother! Long Live the Revolution! May the Revolution Live Forever!)
(All info gained and discussed here given in the hyperlink below)
Charles suggested the butterfly symbol as identification for the future.
– The butterfly stands for ‘metamorphosis’. When we are seeing the portrait of a King in the outdated, undemocratic monarchy and the reiteration of the same conservative politics, ethics and being. A first born in a patriarchal culture.
– The butterfly is supposed to be oneness with nature – ostensibly to support Charles’s nature work. Is it the red monarch butterfly? If so, the suggestion is that monarchy is natural and unquestionable. When it is a social construct and decidedly unnatural to have someone rule over you. The shared redness of the colours – the royal colour – suggests Charles’s oneness with royalty in nature.
– The butterfly’s transformation is perhaps also implicitly being linked to the transformation of society as we become one with nature. He is being idealised as a hero for the movement for environmentalism and sustainability – but do we have massive amounts of money like he has so that we can be heroes like him? No. It is a false celebration.
– The butterfly is ideology.
– And yet, the interview, Charles says the butterfly is how he will be identified by ‘children’ – the imagined viewer is the child that is gullible enough to swallow this ideology.
– The blackness in the butterfly – which stands out as a deliberate contrast to the overall scheme of red – is ironic given the accusations of racism made against the old guard in the royal family with the issue of Megan and Harry – as though he is being reconciled with blackness. Or it has chosen him and his shoulder for a perch to rest on. This seems like ideology again: a soothing fiction for the public.
– Red is warm. Suggestion that Charles is warm-hearted.
– Hands on the sword – suggestion of Charles as masculine strength and power – pretty ridiculous. Even the portrait artist has to hide it at the bottom of the portrait outside of the focus because it is preposterous to think of him like that. The sword image diminishes the touch of gentleness and warmth from the butterfly landing on his shoulder as though he is a Disney Princess at one with nature. It shows the reality of the ideology – that Charles represents the coercive force of Conservatism, Patriarchy and its rule of (unjust) ‘legitimate’ force in our society.
Me standing next to the poster of Mother India, the film I got my name from. In real life, her co-actor Sunil Dutt saved the actress playing Mother India from a fire which broke out. Her name is Nargis, a flower – why women are flowers for me. They fell in love when she looked after her hero Sunil (her son on-screen) in the hospital.The purple flower is broken – purple for Athens, my identity at school was Athenian in Athens house… 💜The Valentine’s card made thinking about Helen this year.
Museums and a charity bookshop aside from copious amounts of art history study, where I managed to make myself well into the assignment (still 3 hours of wake time left since it is only 20.38 as I am writing). Here’s the itinerary:
1.British Museum – Greece, India 2.The Wellcome Collection – Jason and the Adventure of 254, The Cult of Beauty 3.The British Library – Beyond the Bassline: 500 Years of Black British Music 4.The National Portrait Gallery – The Time is Always Now: Artists Reframe the Black Figure, Francesca Woodman and Julia Margaret Cameron: Portraits to Dream In
I will write about each of the exhibitions in due time – all except for The Cult of Beauty.
What can I say about the cult of beauty? In reality, Helen is the most beautiful woman in the world to me because she was kind to me. It was her behaviour that I was attracted to. She is beautiful. There is no question. But I did not notice her when I first met her. The effect was over time based on her behaviour. It is the same with all the women that I am interested in right now. Over time. That is the essence of beauty in real life – beauty through relationship.
As I was looking at Greek art and Indian art, I was struck by a curious thought. We all know that the ancient Greeks got a new confidence when they defeated the might of the Persians. It shaped the racism that was to come afterwards. I have been shaped similarly. I have been shaped by the Indian Independence movement when we beat the British. Because the quest for me is still freedom. I don’t believe that India has got it yet. Because the nation is not freedom. The Western law is not freedom. Anarchy is freedom. The village is freedom. Self rule in its unmitigated form. Dharma, not law. Freedom is still to be achieved. Freedom is still to be fought for. The war is not over yet. The scholar is still in the war. I am still being shaped by the past victory to consolidate our position. It is not suspicion – it is fact. The prize is still for the taking. Remain The Tiger. Don’t break. Tiger is still alive. Tiger has been alive for six thousand years and will live until the end of time. For freedom from oppression.
I am shaping to the new layout in my room. A new place to think and to dream and to create. I stare at the bookshelf for inspiration. I stare at it with love. It is what I want to become. So many books to read. So many things to learn. Hope springs eternal. Ambition is undefeated. The dream of education.
I saw the Rosetta stone today. I saw it with Helen. We read it together. I still have my memories if nothing else.
I compared the ‘Crouching Venus’ with the ‘Crouching lions’ in the Nereid monument. The woman is defensive, the lion is aggressive. The woman retreats from the gaze, she is hiding. The lion is fierce display. The woman is shame, the lion attack. The woman looks as though she is not moving at all, the lion looks like it is just about to flash like lightning. Which one, though, is the more powerful? That shame will douse any flame from any man. When you see them shrink from you as though you were a wild beast, all you feel inside is dismay. The lion, you would fight with. With the woman, you have to turn away.
I saw Michelangelo’s Pieta in the shop and I really wanted it. I am looking for a sculpture in my room now there is space so that I can be like Freud who collected these curios. My statues of the Hindu gods and goddesses are in the corner we have made for my mother to worship. I won’t get a female nude because of my mother, of course. The naked Kali she tolerates because that is the religion. I will have to find something else that I am interested in.
I got a finial bangle of some Egyptian cats to wear. One of my friends told me to get a bracelet a while back instead of getting my ears pierced. It was expensive, but what do I work for anyway if I am never going to spend the money? I have wanted one like it since I was a kid but never got round to it. I love finial bangles and torques. I was going to get the lion one first – my middle name is ‘Sim’ which means ‘Tiger’ from the Sanskrit word ‘Simha’ like the god ‘Nar-Simha’ (Man-Tiger). The word is the same for ‘Tiger’ and ‘Lion’. However, I got the cat, because the Tiger is a cat too. And I liked the design better and it was more visible than the lion design. The woman serving me helped me to put it on and take it off, although she actually looked like she didn’t want to serve me. That’s kind of what you expect from a lot of these women. The one in the charity bookshop was exactly the same. Why do you work in retail and customer service if you don’t actually want to even talk to someone when they are engaged in a one minute talk with you?
Books I’m interested in that I saw:
How to be a Renaissance woman – the role of women in chemistry and botany as they made make up for themselves
Plant Life – laser cuts and flaps in this children’s book
I was watching the dancing hands of an Indian woman as she was talking to her husband or boyfriend on the tube as I got back. It was an energetic dance. I had my headphones in and wouldn’t have understood her language anyway. All you can do is observe as an outsider and speculate on what they are talking about and why her body was moving like that. Next to me, a very beautiful Indian woman was sitting there. She was the most beautiful woman I saw all day. She looked at me as I was getting off, then walked past me as I stood on the escalator. As I passed through the barriers, I saw her walking towards the end of the tunnel. Believe it or not, I started walking fast – it was a race. I wanted to see if I could get past her. Before she finished going up the stairs, amazingly, I managed to get past her. I won the race. How could she beat me? I have the body of an athlete. I can walk as fast as some people can run. Why did I race her? I’m an athlete. I’m competitive. I don’t like anyone beating me. Helen has won. She beat me. But that is something I can’t do anything about. Because in the arena of choice, the women are the queens in this country.
Astounded by how silent London is when you are a lone bachelor around the town. The only people that talk to you are other men – quite a few in the tube today and then one in the shops on the way home as I was carrying flowers. No wonder so many men are desperate for female company. Luckily, I work in the industry that I work in which is full of beautiful women to talk to.
Why don’t I just buy myself a wife from India and the children will come? People have asked me. People tell me to do it all the time. Why not? Because I have principles. Because I am a lover, not a buyer. I am not going to buy someone with my British passport and my superior wealth to them. Despite this culture calling us Indian men misogynistic pigs (when they are misogynistic themselves), I believe in choice. Not arranged marriage with its casteism and its inequality. And because I want someone that I can talk to things about – someone who has had access to art and culture and the frame of reference that I know about and have studied for them to talk to them. I would rather go it alone than compromise on love and my principles. But what do I get for having principles: the treatment I get from women here in this country. You can’t win, whatever you do. Not if you have been raised like an Indian man in a white culture.
I never used to have a bedroom of my own until I was eighteen. And even then, for years, we had the only computer in the house in my room, so everyone was always there all the time.
Since I have been a teenager, I have always had posters of women in the room. Women are beautiful and they are the most beautiful visions in the world to me. So why would I not want them around me all the time? The first poster was of Jennifer Lopez.
Today, I spent the whole day buying, building and putting the bookcase into my room. There were piles of books everywhere cluttering the whole place up and I am half way through so many of them or have just started.
This is how I have planned my room to look now. I moved the desk from the wall where the bookcase is now. So now I am sitting in front of the window which has the better view and the light.
You can see all the subjects I am interested in and all the languages I am interested in learning when I have the time. You can also see that I am a neat and tidy person. I like to live in beauty. I don’t want any mess around me. There is enough mess in human society and ugliness for you to have to see the same thing when you are at home.
We went down to the IKEA, me and my parents. I marvelled at the taste that you can buy in interior design so cheaply. So many different contexts that I travelled in throughout the day. And it all looked so good. I love interior design. Of course I do. I love all art and culture. I value talent. I’m not like other people that can’t give it its value.
When we’d got the bookcase, I built it together with my father. We did the job in about an hour. He was in charge, of course. I just followed the instructions and helped out without being told what to do most of the time. We were smacking the bookcase with our hands and slapping it about to get the dowel rods in and pushing the pieces together with brute force – that’s how we do stuff. We don’t need tools. We can do the job with our hands because we are tough and strong – although we did use the hammer here and there.
This is the bedroom where everything happens. I do most of my thinking here. I do my writing here at my desk. I make my artwork at my desk. I am always looking at beautiful people and beautiful things. And I just look at the books I own sometimes, thinking how lucky I am that I can be surrounded by art, culture and education.
The room has been planned and arranged by my mother. I didn’t choose the colours or the layout. She gave me the biggest room in the house for me. Women want to arrange their territory. Why would I interfere with that? With things like this, I let the woman have her way. I have lived in the smallest bedroom in the house for about seven years before this bedroom. I have lived in a shared bedroom for most of my life. I can live in any situation. But you can see how I have arranged and the stuff I build up around me. I try to live the life of beauty, art, culture and education.
There is a great feeling of satisfaction when you have arranged your space and the basis of your culture – your reading, writing, art-making and thinking space. Life feels organised for once.
Woman in the male imagination is the awesome and sublime power of nature. Uncontrollable, devastating.
The other name for Durga the Mother Goddess, the one with the tiger, is Shakti or ‘power’. Kali, her other face, is unchecked rage and blood lust. The beserker. Total carnage.
Amongst the gods, there is only one that can control and shape the flood of woman’s power. Over and over again in the myths. It is Shiva, the lord of the beasts (pasupati).
In one myth, Shiva is the only one powerful enough to funnel the flow of the river Ganga (Ganges) from heaven as she falls to earth. Devastatingly she floods down with raw energy. Serenely, he takes her force into his untamed head of hair to bring her down to earth.
In another myth, Kali’s dance of blood lust is only brought to an end when Shiva lays down before her so she dances upon him. It is the cosmic dance – the creation of the universe. Shiva’s control that channels the raw power of woman, the flood of her rage and power.
In both myths, there is one striking aspect of Shiva. That he is completely inert and still, passive. This is his power. Where woman floods with elemental force, Shiva sits down quietly to let the flood enter his hair, or he lays down before it. It is with stillness that the flood of woman’s power is channelled to create life – whether through the water or through the creation of all things. In response to total emotion, like Kali’s, in response to being moved, like in emotion, like the movement of the flood of the Ganga, Shiva is meek and unemotional. Unmoving. Unmoved.
Have you ever argued with the woman you love in the heat of her passion? You cannot fight them. Because you cannot hurt them when they are already hurt. It is wrong. It goes against the responsibilities of being a man. It is dishonourable. So you have to become inert. In response to fury, you reply without emotion. In response to provocation, you are still. In the face of accusation, you are silent. Shiva embodies the only way to act: with absolute restraint and self-control. The one you love is attacking you with everything she has got. She wants to kill you. The only one that can hurt you is hurting you. And you? You have to put your head upon the sword that she offers, and offer her your naked throat. You have to become Shiva. It is the only way forward. Psychologically, even if you are losing the argument, but your opponent is getting more and more heated, by becoming cooler and cooler, you win. That is what it means to be Shiva. Absolute stillness. Stillness in war, as personified by Yudhishthira in the Mahabharata, the leader of the hero brothers (Yudhishthira means ‘still in war’).
You can read more of my poetry and my other books including fiction and prose on my personal blog which features the Open Access MEHMI PRESS:
The Cosmic Dance – Kali dances on Shiva as this is the only way to contain her bloodlust and destruction.
What can I say? I love Kali. So every woman I love becomes Kali. And I become Shiva. It is fate. It is the cosmic dance.
……
Easy. Simple. Unimaginative. There is a preconception amongst some of the non photographers that a portrait is nothing much. Not a real exhibition of skill. Especially the selfie.
Yet the way that you pose and the way that you present yourself to convey your identity is a skill. Whether you want to look appealing or hostile, whatever emotional bond you want to create with the viewer through the craft.
Today, I took it to the basic level. I held the camera at arm’s length in front of me and pushed the button. The magic of technology.
How did I convey my identity?
First off, I posed in front of the bookshelf which is my library. So that indicates that I am a reader.
Then, it was time for the framing. I chose to cut off bits of my face. To add the mystery. It is a technique taken from Japanese art too – I volunteer at a Japanese art gallery. Japanese art itself is influenced by India and Buddhism. So there is that happening there.
Lighting is positioned to catch in the eyes which have been described as my best feature by others, not just women. These eyes are the eyes of my grandfather. It is the family connection. Eyes themselves are described as the ‘windows into the soul’.
The face is filled with light to alleviate the appearance of wrinkles – I am standing next to the window. Light creates a flattering portrait.
In one portrait, I look into the camera. Intimacy. A direct and confrontational challenge. We stare into each other’s eyes. The aggression. The other two images, I look away. The creation of distance. The air of introspection. The books in the background add to that idea of the introvert.
No props. The face fills the frame. There is no distraction. The complete focus is on me. Therefore, the images become intense and illustrate my intensity.
All considered decisions. Yet, the portrait itself is regarded not only as a vulgar, but also narcissistic form. Even though we always present ourselves in our best light to other people. At least in public.
……
Called my friend in the morning who is recovering from the operation for support. She is still suffering. When I call her, she doesn’t want me to go. I said bye about four times. That is what love is.
Contacted my mentor who is recovering from cancer to hope his operation goes well.
Leg is fucked. But the doctor got in touch so I called back because I missed the call as I was talking to my friend. No appointment. But they will call again tomorrow to try and sort one out. How fucked is the leg? Painful. Swollen. But I still ran on it to get to the bus and I caught it. So how fucked is it actually? If you believe in your body and you have mental strength, you are invincible. The Tiger is capable of smiling whatever happens. And helping others despite anything. I have been raised to be a hero and a warrior. There is a saying in India: Men don’t feel pain.
Writing about the Japanese art for the Japanese art gallery in the morning. Then, wrote an article about Indian film songs for the new volunteering space. Then I wrote some new tour excerpts for some other plants for the Gardens. So all the volunteering stuff is done. About four hours invested into art, education and culture and to save the world by inspiring people about plants, climate change and the environment.
Bought some books on history and the V & A and its history at the charity bookshops in the local area. That was one hour gone – that’s why I had to run for the bus.
Bought some lilies for myself and my mother – I walked down. Another forty five minutes. As I walked, I admired the gardens in the local area. It is the time of growth.
I took the photographs, made the artwork. But what would the day be without a poem about Helen? Here it is. For her. Even if she is not reading.
The Pink Roses: Innocent love. Love beginning to deepen into red. The youth of the feeling. The virginity of emotion. Fresh always. No matter how many times you have fallen before.
The White Rosebud: I thought my love for her was dying. I thought I had to kill my love. It comes to life again. Nothing is ever over in life while the air gives you breath. Look how majestically the bud sails up into the moon…
The Daffodils: Spring awakes, the mind shakes/eternally the heart breaks/what nature makes/she unmakes/I smell the daffodils and the scent of the new/I smell the daffodils and begin to heal and laugh anew.
I took this day as a complete rest day. I had applied for my normal shift on a Sunday and I didn’t get it. So I made do with what I had.
In the morning, I met up with my friend in the park. I deliberately told him we would meet up early so I wouldn’t have an excuse to lie in bed and not do anything. We got massively muddy. We see each other basically every week. He is even going to go on the first two days of my holiday with me and drive me down somewhere. He wanted to come with me on the rest of the holiday too, the other four days, but he couldn’t. Whenever I meet up with him, I lose all my stress. Because even though we argue over everything – including Helen and my approach to her and what I write in my blog – he makes me feel relaxed and we can talk forever about things. One day recently we talked together for about thirteen hours non-stop – one of my last holidays. So after that, I was completely stress free, despite everything that has been happening.
My friend’s advice to me about Helen? They all say the same thing. Leave her alone, she doesn’t deserve you. And if you can’t do that, my friend added, make her jealous by talking about other women and then write about the lifestyle that you live – the lifestyle of a king when you can do whatever you want, when you eat the best foods in the world, when you can have whatever you want whenever you want it, etc.
Why talk about other women with Helen like I do here? What’s the logic behind it? There isn’t any logic. The logic is because if she is interested, she has drawn it out all this time despite knowing that I am fairly attractive and that I am going to be talking to other women because they are going to be interested in me. And she hasn’t done anything about it. So she must not really care that much about me. Or maybe she thinks that no one is interested in me. She is wrong. I only talk about the women that I am interested in here. Do you know, that almost every week, some Indian woman likes me or sends me a message on the Indian dating app? Top women with really high status jobs. The only thing is, I am not attracted to them. This week, a very physically attractive Indian woman liked my profile and we matched. Do you know what the problem is with her? She is two years older than me so that would create difficulties with any potential babies. Other women on the dating apps have liked my profile and some of them have messaged me. And they haven’t been right so I haven’t responded. Helen has this thought in her head that I am desperate and I will go out with anyone. Other women in real life have thrown themselves at me. I don’t go on about it because I’m not going to sit around notching up all the attention I get. I mean, five women in one day a couple of weeks ago came up to me on the street to tell me they liked my clothes and one of them asked me to kiss her. Do you think that happens to other men? It doesn’t.
Well, that’s Suneel as seen through the eyes of Helen. Who, despite what she acts like, reads this diary every night. To see what I am thinking. Most probably.
So, what was today’s menu?
BREAKFAST (usually always the same unless I can’t wake up): orange blossom honey, canadian maple syrup, walnuts, hazelnuts, cashew nuts, almonds, brazil nuts, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, dried goji berries, raisins, lemon peel, oat biscuit with yoghurt and strawberry, a banana, dried apricots, dates, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, yoghurt with chia seeds, flax seeds and lemon and lime marmalade, green tea.
LUNCH: Marks and Spencer’s Pigs in Blankets with Heinz Baked Beans.
TEA: A plain chocolate and vanilla Magnum.
DINNER: Marks and Spencer’s sweet and sour chicken with rice, Mark’s and Spencer’s Thai Panang curry, Marks and Spencer’s White Chocolate, Strawberry and Raspberry Mousse.
While I got everything on reduced for lunch and dinner, we are talking about twenty five pounds worth of food there from lunch onwards. Breakfast probably adds another fiver onto it. So, like I said, I live and eat like a king. I just don’t go on about it, because why boast when other people that are reading are likely struggling? That’s not nice.
On the way home, I bought some lovely daffodils which you can see in the photo – it was the one store that was open.
I spent a lot of time watching videos, but because I am what I am, I spent a few hours writing social media posts for the Japanese art gallery I am at. I also applied for the same thing as a volunteer at another website because I was interested in the subject matter. So I think I wrote quite a good post and sent it off as a specimen of my work.
I had a leisurely shave and a shower for once. Water makes me feel good. It’s why I enjoy swimming so much – or did when I had the time. When we are babies, we swim in our mother’s stomach. That’s why I love the water so much. It soothes me, it makes me feel relaxed and good about myself. It is comfort – a mother’s comfort. Water is woman. It is the same feeling of being loved. Love all over your body.
I watched a reel by Mia Khalifa on Instagram saying that men are easy and she has gotten every man that she has ever wanted because men are ‘cheap and easy’. Whereas she has turned down lots of men. So she isn’t. Maybe that’s how they think of themselves, these young women. It’s a triumph to hurt someone and turn them down because it makes them feel valued about themselves. And us men? We are nothing and not even worth having. It’s weird how gender dynamics work in this society. If I said that women were worthless and not worth having, I would be an incel, a misogynist. But because she is a woman, she can say what she likes and it is shared on public platforms and recommended on my feed.
Do you know what love is? When Matthew Perry (Chandler in Friends) found out that Julia Roberts had said she would only make a guest appearance on the show if he was in the scene, he sent her some red roses. And then they started faxing each other every day. That’s how they fell in love. That’s what love is. Love is commitment and communication.
Do you know what love is? After Napoleon Bonaparte became the man that he was – after he had been a poor immigrant with nothing – he met a woman that had rejected him when he was nothing and nobody. And he asked her why she had rejected him. That’s what love is. You don’t forget. Whatever happens.
But you know those stories? They don’t mean anything in this contemporary context. Do you know what love is now? Love is swiping on a dating app and meeting some stranger. Because the people around you keep you in constant reservation in case someone else better comes along. Because you are Indian.
Do you know what happened to Matthew Perry? He couldn’t believe that he was with Julia Roberts. He couldn’t believe that he could keep her. He was insecure. So he broke up with her in two months. And at the end of his life, he died alone. Even though he was starved of love. That is also what love is. It comes to weak men that can’t handle it.
Do you know what happened to Napoleon? When he became the man of the moment, he cheated on his wife and discarded her. That is also what love is. It comes to weak men that can’t handle it.
Love is not perfect. In love, you have your moments. The good ones and the bad ones. My friend who has had a wife for so long said that to me. Don’t assume that you are going to live in happily ever after even if you do find someone. You have to be able to work at it and commit. You can’t let your insecurities get the better of you.
I look at love and all of the barriers to it: gender differences, cultural differences, the way women have been indoctrinated in this society, what I have been brought up to believe women are like from movies and films and songs, the fear of these people, the inability to talk, rampant racism in society. Without the illusion that there is going to be a happy ending, without the need for a family, why would anyone want to be in love with anyone here?
But with love, there is nothing you can do about it. When you love someone, you just do it. It might be impractical, inconvenient, irrational, even wrong. You can watch how differently they treated everyone else to you and downgraded you. They can be unfair to you. But you still love them anyway.
flew the dragon from the heart fired the dragon from the heart the anger of the blood was in him the madness of the brood was in him flew the dragon fled the pain frolicked the fire and fed the hunger
The whole day went fine. The journey home went fine. Then, just before dinner, I asked a question. And then my whole day was spoilt. When you have really built your hopes up for something, there is an inevitability about it not coming to fruition. When you depend on other people, often in life you are going to be disappointed.
So four days of my holidays are cancelled. I was going to go Italy. How long has it been since I have been abroad? And have I ever gone to a foreign country which it was me that picked? Never. So, I have to decide now. Either I can give up on this holiday. Or I can go somewhere by myself. And, for the first time in my life, I can go to a foreign destination that it is me that wants to go to.
I spent all day talking to my boss who is a traveller and she was recommending Sicily to me and the people I was going to go with. I was really getting into the idea of going.
You know, when you plan something with other people, this is almost always what it turns out like. When I say I am going to do something and I agree with someone, I never back out of it. At any cost. I see it through until the end. Even if it is the bitter end. That’s why I don’t actually really trust other people.
It is sad. Because recently, someone I knew for only a few months invited me on a holiday. And then people you have known for that amount of time are doing this to you. What do you expect out of people, really?
I’ve started getting used to the fact that someone is always going to ruin my day and my plans.
The first time I asked Helen out, we had stopped being together in that context. I missed her. She was the happy point in my life. So I asked her out so I could have her with me. Just me and her and no one else interrupting all the time. It was a solution to a problem of scarcity. But Helen doesn’t have the same problem that I do. There wasn’t a scarcity of happiness in her life. So the time that I was talking to her, I was just another man that was talking to her. And Helen does not lack an abundance of men talking to her. For me, she was special. For her, I was no one. That’s how love in this society operates. The women have the abundance of love. Maybe some men do. Not me. I haven’t had many women in my life or much love from them. What can you do? I am Indian. I was brought up in a white society. That’s what it was and is for us from them.
When a woman is angry at you when there is a suspicion of interest on one side or the other, does it have an evolutionary element to it as a successful strategy? Because when this woman is angry, for seemingly nothing, it makes you pay attention to her. You think about her. You start wondering why she was angry at you. You start doubting yourself. You have to conciliate her. So she gets the power. This is not the first time. It has happened many times with these young women in my life. Ones that I have liked and ones that I haven’t. Over what? Is it just a strategy to gain attention and control? What is so maddening about the way I talk and act? If I was really that bad, why do 99% of people not say anything about it to me?
The young people nowadays are suffering from mental illnesses and depression. It is not a good time to be young. And when you don’t have status and your ambitions aren’t being fulfilled, it stresses you out. Status gives you everything in this world: respect, love, admiration. But look at me. What status do I have? Yet I don’t get stressed out. You know why? Because I know that I am more intelligent than almost everyone else. That is my status. I know things that other people don’t know. I have observed and read. My ambition was to be more intelligent than other people and know more. I keep all my secrets to myself for the time being. Because why would I reveal them when I am not going to get any recognition for them? I’m not going to kill myself to try and cure ignorance and selfishness in this world – because you can’t. The world is ruled by the devil, like the Christians say. Someone might know more about specific things than me. But the things I know about are colossal and determine the ways that people think. Plus, the other thing is that I have achieved all my ambitions. When I wanted to be a teacher, I became a teacher. When I wanted a PhD and become a doctor, I became a doctor with a PhD. When I wanted to get the best results at sixth form and university, I got the best results. When I wanted to work in museums and art galleries and give tours, I got a job and did that. When I wanted to become a published author, I did that. When I wanted to be an athlete at school, I did that too. That’s why I don’t get stressed.
And what about not being able to meet someone I like that likes me back? Do I get stressed about it? No. I have been through a lot of psychological symptoms because of it. Maybe I am secretly stressed in my unconscious. But not in my conscious mind. Because there is a solution. Just like the situation with Helen when I asked her out, there is a very simple solution. Buy the babies from a surrogate mother. Forget about having intimate company with a woman. I just have to harden myself enough to do it.
And the other thing is, I know that I am a good catch. I don’t lack confidence in myself. I am handsome. I am well built and muscular and athletic, with lots of power and stamina. I am well read and cultured and educated. I am good at talking to other people and they find me interesting. I take care of other people. I try to be kind and polite and listen carefully to other people. And I stay clean and wear nice clothes and fragrances. I am good at looking after children and I put other people before myself. I am loyal and I don’t cheat. I work hard at my relationships. So if someone doesn’t like that or can’t see it, I don’t beat myself up about it. They can go with someone that can’t love them as much as I can just because of their money, status, skin colour and height. What else do you really expect from other people?
Someone said something really nasty to someone I know today. Those same people who you want to see with a smile on their face and hear their laughter, those are the same people that someone out there is trying to hurt, to take the smile off their face and make them cry. It is a sad world out there. Someone told me that she cried which was upsetting.
The other day, I mentioned that one of my new friends drew a portrait of me in pen and ink. Today, I decided to return the favour. So I drew a portrait of her on my touchscreen laptop and sent it over to her. I did it in watercolours and pen and ink. I’m not going to share it here for obvious reasons – people are entitled to their privacy. When you work on a portrait of someone, it gives you a chance to study their face carefully. The shape of it. You construct it again with the lines, you look for what gives it that light within it. When the Indian poets and lyricists describe a beautiful face, they describe it as full of light. It is not a falsification – when I see a beautiful face, it really does shine with light. And that light is mysterious. Where does it come from? What does it mean?
Actually, I wanted to be a portrait artist and a portrait photographer. I am still thinking on whether I should invest in a very expensive camera to make it happen. Because the most interesting thing in the world is the human face. It is the thing with all the signs on it. It is the fount of communication. You learn how to talk and communicate by looking at your beautiful mother’s face for the most part. The thing that stops me? The ones with beautiful faces are not interested in being models for me. So what am I supposed to do? The only model I have is me. No one else. So it would just be selfie city.
I was almost late into work this morning because of the stupid tube line. I hate being late. Or being threatened with being late. Because I have been brought up to believe that punctuality is good manners. So sometimes, I arrive up to an hour early for work and things. I don’t understand how we have to put up with these ramshackle arrangements in supposedly one of the most developed countries in the world. The expectation levels here for service are so low. You see it all around you – poor customer service, poor delivery of product. What happened to pride in your work in this country? All the people seem to be ill trained, cowboys, half-hearted and work shy. Of course, most of them are just working for the money. They have no interest in their jobs. And they go to university and do a university course which they are not really interested in as well, most of them. But perhaps I am being harsh. Because I don’t hang around in super professional circles where they are probably all like me and have high standards for work.
It was a good day at work with the tours. Lots of good feedback. Everyone that does my tour tells me that they loved it. I wrote it myself, I worked hard in my spare time out of work to get it done. So it feels good to get the love. And I worked on an important message for women artists and women’s perspectives. Because what people don’t realise is that we are women. Ethnic minority men and Indian men. We are feminised. The traditional role of women has been given to us – rebels like Eve against God, the wellspring of a different knowledge, association with what is bodily and visual. You could keep on going on: equation with powerlessness and weakness, etc. That is why I have studied feminism. For us. Not to become a white, middle-class feminist who talks the talk of inclusion and diversity and then treats us like trash anyway while propping up white, middle class, oppressive structures in society.
Women keep on telling me that they don’t want to be seen as bodies. And me? I see myself as a body. I have worked hard on my body to become strong. I have been disciplined. I have been known for my body since I was a teenager. I have been known for my face since I was a child and my looks. Western philosophy says when you think of yourself as a body, you are supposed to be depressed. Because you see yourself as an object and Western culture has traditionally devalued the body in favour of the fiction of a soul. In my culture, your body is your income. Serfs and labourers are what we are. If you don’t have a good body, you die of starvation. For us, the body is valuable. For us, beauty is important. We come from the village, not the city. We come from a culture that sees the highest symbolism of things in the body like the idols of the gods and goddesses.
Should I really write about Helen any more? What is the point of it? But yet, we write. We think about her. Especially when it comes to the time to write this diary. I was looking at a little girl today and wondering what Helen was like as a little girl. When did she get the ambition to come to England? The country she comes from is beautiful (I haven’t been there, I am thinking about the photographs). Everyone says they come to England for the opportunities. But is that really true for her? She is obsessed with ‘independence’ like all of those young women. Why are they all like that? What did they have to do before their ‘independence’? They are not Indian. They didn’t even have to do anything. They are all Western culture people or Westernised. They didn’t do what we had to do for the family and to be in the family. Helen is mysterious like the rest of them.
Everyone says that my diet is weird. Today I had a box full of chicken wings. Everyone kept on saying that the amount of meat was too big. It is less than what I normally eat. There were no fries or coleslaw or anything. I eat a lot of food. Double most people. Why? Because I have the body of an athlete. Because I have a big brain which takes up a lot of energy. Because I exercise every morning and walk about a lot. If I don’t eat a lot, I get hungry quickly and then I get headaches. I have a very high protein diet because that’s what I need to keep going. My metabolism is fast.
Helen walks around a lot when I am around. Up and down. But I notice she doesn’t do it when other people are around. The meaning of it? Because I stopped talking to her. That’s when she started doing it. She keeps on walking away and coming back or closer. It is like the game of ‘fort-da’ which Freud observed when the child kept on staging ‘the presence and absence’ of his toys to compensate for the absence of his mother (Google search). This is what it is with her when I stop talking to her. If she thinks I am acting in a weird way, then she is also doing stuff. I am the kind of person that notices. Because Helen is the most interesting woman in the whole world to me. Of course I am going to notice things. I just don’t go on about it, especially in this diary. I have my speculations which I keep to myself. I observe.
There is a moment when the shine comes off reality. Some people hide from the ugliness of the nuts, bolts and the naked mechanisms. They deny, flee. But then, what about those that lock their eyes on the terrible truths and try to change the fabric of things in this world? Are they heroes or monsters?
When I finish a piece of art, I am always proud of my handiwork. It is a piece of me. So I was pleased with this one. And when I do the work, because it is digital art, I always post it straight away to share it with the world. I make it for the world as a gift. I work quickly. I think of my art as calligraphy – skills learnt to convey expression in a moment, years of refinement to produce spontaneity. The influence is from Chinese and Japanese calligraphy, the beautiful writing.
I was wondering if Helen really wasn’t well or if I had just read that into the situation. She didn’t look well to me and then there are other memories involved. Me and Helen are almost strangers to each other now. We haven’t talked for a very long time because we are never together any more. She knows about me because I want to believe that she reads this diary every night. What do I know about her? What I know of her is based on her behaviour rather than what she has told me. Her behaviour is distinguished by kindness and care. That is her personality. That is the personality of all the women that I am interested in. It is has become the most important thing.
It has been playing on my mind that Helen doesn’t seem well. Am I contributing to that with this diary? Why does she read it? The fact is that Helen suffers, with or without this diary. And then, when I saw her it was after a day in the weekend. Perhaps that is why. But feeling unwell also goes with stress. But all this could be a misunderstanding. Perhaps Helen is not unwell at all. Sometimes, I see her face and it changes from how I remember it. How do I remember it? The flashing brown eyes when she ambushed me – because usually her eyes are dark and black. They changed colour. The time when she changed her hair and I couldn’t recognise her when I looked into her face. The serious look when she is talking about something which she thinks is important, the intensity of her. The frown that goes down sometimes when you say something. The smile, like the smile of the Mona Lisa.
When people around you are unwell – possibly Helen and then my other friends – you wonder if there was a god, does he get nightmares about the way that he makes people suffer on this planet? How does he live with the guilt of what he causes to happen if he were real? Because it is not just them that suffer. It is the people around them that care about them that suffer as well.
In this low period, time has run out. It seems impossible to get anything done before and after work. Life is rushing along. There are so many unfinished things. Because the motivation for everything is going. There is no excitement or goal to work towards. What is the point of everything? When you are never going to get love out of it? That has always been the motivating force for everything.
Today’s workday was amazing. Even though I can’t control anything in my love life or my personal life – because you can’t control the behaviour and choices of other people – I can control what happens at work. Because when I do things, I am dominant and people follow me, whether or not they give me the formal recognition for it. So today, I gave tours in the art gallery which I wrote, including to one of the curators, my favourite. She loved the tour and gave such good feedback. She told me that I had made her see things in these familiar posters which she had never seen before. I don’t go on about it all the time, but I am very clever. And people recognise that when I talk about things. I went to a meeting to improve experiences for visitors within the museum and I think I made what was quite a good suggestion. I also helped a colleague with a problem that she was having. People often come to me for advice there. Because all the people that are close to me know that I make an effort for them and that I will always help them because they are like my family to me. I did some things for some of the people there that I will not mention here but which made me feel good about myself.
But when I got home, no matter how good the day is at work, I have to return to the situation. My personal situation. Your job can’t love you back. You can get satisfaction from it. But you don’t get the most important feeling: the feeling of being loved. Only a woman can give you that love and your children. That’s what these career women in London don’t understand. If you leave your job, you will be replaced within a week. Life will go on. People won’t even miss you that much after a while. But in a family, you are irreplaceable. You rule over everyone’s hearts. But such is the world that people have chosen a career and money over what is most important: love.
Someone sent me a thank you note for something I sent them. It was nice and unexpected. I like looking back at these notes and thinking about how you might have improved someone’s day just a little with what you did for them.
Lately, I have started thinking I should end this diary. This diary was the expression of love and an invitation for love. But where is the love? But now, it has become a habit. What can I write to Helen now? A love poem? She knows I am thinking about her. Should I complain that she does not love me? What else have I been doing? The speculations about Helen, I keep to myself. The jealousies I keep to myself. The darkest thoughts, I keep to myself. If I told the reader some of the darkest moments and the thoughts, the intensity, they would be shocked.
My hope for the future is that someone doesn’t have to live through what I have had to live just because they have been raised differently and from another culture. But the reality is that things have actually got worse over time and not better. Things will always be like this in this country. Because it is hate that rules and not love. And these women, they are nice people for the most part. But the way that they are and how they treat you is just as bad as everyone else because they can’t accept or love difference. And they don’t even realise that this is what it is. And on top of that, they are repressed. Repression is even worse now than it was in the past. And I feel it is linked to the rejection of difference. I know it. I can feel it. I always follow my intuitions.
* NOTE: My amateur shots above. All images are copyrighted, but please ask if you want permission to share.
In the time when I had leisure at my command, I spent many happy moments in my garden photographing the microbeasts. I would scour the grass and the leaves, upturn the stones, scrutinise the spider’s webs, look in every nook and cranny. And there! I would find it, a beautiful little minibeast. The camera dangling around my neck would be de-lidded, I would focus the shot several times before I got one good image and I would try out several different angles to try and get the best shot. It would take a good while, the camera would shake because I was focusing on something so tiny, the shooting was basically impossible when the critters were moving around, and I had to take a good many steps to the side before I could get the insect out of the shade for a good, lighted image.
I worked with cheap apparatus (not the cheapest, but fairly close to it). My parents had bought me an entry level digital camera that was on sale as a present and I attached magnifying lens filters to the standard lens. This was the cheapest option instead of paying several hundred pounds for a macro lens. Even the activity itself was cheap – aside from a battery charge, it was basically free (an important consideration for why I did it – I was studying my PhD – which included an analysis of fictional representations of photography – at the time). Even the photo editing was done on free software (at first).
It was with some curiosity as to how a professional approached the task that I went down to the ‘Microsculpture’ exhibit at the British Library (one of my favourite places in the whole world, it must be said, as a bibliophile and a researcher). Levon Biss used the focus stacking technique in which you take multiple photographs from different angles and combine them together in an image that gives consistent depth of field over the whole shot. The results are nothing short of miraculous and awe-inspiring. Yet, for me, the amateur, there was always the thought: it was because he had more money, technology and resources than me that he could produce these photographic masterpieces.
The insects are set against a black background. They glisten like petrol, as though they were doused in the stuff. They are incredibly colourful and one wonders at their ‘fearful symmetry’.
The advances in technology have provided the conditions for these striking images. Biss was able to take thousands of photographs to combine together to give the perfect focus over every aspect of the form of the minibeasts. And there was the wonderful microscope that he had been using as well. All the painstaking labour that it would have taken to get each individual shot and then combine everything was all digitised and done relatively speedily. There was also a massive scientific endeavour which allowed Biss to retrieve such beautiful specimens from the insect archive. Although the exhibition bears his name, there are so many people involved in this contemporary process of photography: scientists, archivists, inventors, businessmen… I’m sure I’m not doing much justice to the list.
What were my impressions of the specimens? I am a lover of nature. I am also a lover of design. The specimens were almost presented like samples of design and this is the intent of the exhibition which emphasises them as microsculpture: a focus on the evolutionary adaptations of the bodies of the insects. There was a cross-fertilisation between product photography and nature photography. I liked the results, but I wonder how less scientific people would think of presenting living bodies as pure function. For me, the functional aspects contribute to the beauty seen. But I believe that we are just bodies and nothing more, machines that think based on the arrangement of matter of which we are composed.
The Western mindset is different to my Indian mindset. The West sees things and bodies as discrete objects. Hence, there is the insect against the black background, a solitary individual. I, the Indian, see things in their context. This is why I photographed in the garden, with real backgrounds. The presentation of the discrete, individualised insect is a reflection of a culture that values ‘independence’ (which is impossible, since we live in a network of dependency and relations). The exhibition is asking us to identify with these creatures as isolated and atomised (dead) objects: a reflection on this contemporary world.
My overall impression of the exhibition is the pure love of the crystal sharp, enhanced, blown up image that I was not able to produce. As an amateur that worked for free for my own amusement, I was nowhere near these productions. They are the result of massive investment, many hands, cutting edge technology. They are an inspiration. But in the history of photography, they are the work of a tiny minority. Us amateurs still rule. And, compared with my own humble shots, these highly finished and sharp images lack something in their presentation of a perfect, direct, ‘straight’ shot. They lack the element of chance, imperfection, technological limitation. Those ingredients created shots with more character and more drama, to my mind (I am talking about photographs that are my memories, my babies, my loved ones, over whom I am possessive). If the exhibition is science, if the exhibition is for the animal lover, the direct vision is what is wanted (let us not pretend it is objective and unmediated however. Selection and arrangement and angle all play their part). If the exhibition is seen as a demonstration of skill rather than technical proficiency, I would query whether it was really better than my potterings about in my back garden with basic equipment. But this, of course, is purely subjective: envious, of course. It is a good, pioneering exhibition and I would like to buy the book.
diary of a lone man 