A dancer’s creative churning
By Nonika Singh
ON stage Rajendra Gangani, a Kathak exponent, dances like a man possessed. As the reservoir of energy unfolds, his scintillating pirouettes and fluid graceful movements not only connote a personal triumph, but also signal the resurrection of male presence in the classical dance form.

A painter of visual poems
By S.S. Bhatti

HARJEET SINGH PUREWAL is one of the foremost painters of modern Punjab. For the past over three decades, painting has been his view and way of life. Indifferent to publicity and the evanescent thrills of pursuing ambition, he has used art as a never-ending contemplation of the essential divinity of man.

Painting in oils on canvases of a variety of sizes, including the square format, Purewal has brought to his works the quiet nobility of his own soul. It pulsates with creative energy that makes its presence felt — without being loud.

The choice of the subject-matter springs from the same source: the desire to make a visual statement which bears the subtle refinement of civilised discourse without forsaking the vim and vigour of a certain culture. In this sense, Purewal’s paintings are poems in oils — pulsating with the haunting lyricism of love poems: odes to beauty. More by instinct, than by ratiocinative cerebration, the artist picks up themes which can be visually expressed with utmost simplicity and directioness.

Purewal’s development as a painter can be seen in three broad phases of what and how he painted. Having kept track of his work since his student days at Government College of Art, Chandigarh, I can identify them as: (1) landscapes (2) rural life of Punjab (and Haryana) and (3) mysticism. Of course, there are several paintings which will not fit into this scheme so very neatly. Just the same, this classification does cover the major turning-points in his career as a professional who has been painting since the mid ‘60s.

His earliest phase focused on the painting of abstract landscapes which drew one’s attention to the concrete by what the psychologists call “associative cerebration”. In simple terms, the viewer found the familiar aspects of nature in the artist’s unfamiliar representations. The whole canvas was a moving pageant of colours, mostly primary (red, yellow, blue), painted in ribbon-like bands from one end to the other. Their overall pattern would be offset by the yellow circle (i.e. the sun) and highly-simplified bird forms. Carefully placed curvilinear ribbons would suggest the aloof majesty of hills and mountains. Bands cutting across the sun would reveal the sun rays playing hide-’n’-seek with their creator.

Purewal’s method of applying paint distinguishes his works from those by other artists. He applies it in patches — varying their hues, tones and fints in such a manner as to create a vibrant pattern of satiny shimmers. This technique enhances the ethereal quality of his paintings manifold. In spite of the painter’s youthful vigour, the expressive energy is restrained to a comtemplative calm.

In his paintings of rural life, Purewal has focused his attention on such cultural events as “peeng” (swing), drawing water at the village well, cowherds tending their cattle and the unignorable folk-dance of Punjab, the Bhangra, which has taken the modern civilisation by the storm by its irresistible robust bodily movements.

Whether it is the “peeng” or the Bhangra, Purewal deliberately dissolves the horizon into an effusion of mystic hues. The postures, the movements and the expressions are all captured with great visual power despite the persistence of satiny brushwork. The rawness of the primary colours aptly, if instinctively, underscores the uninhibited choice by the rural folks of colours which vibrate with irrepressible energy to catch the joie de vivre by the scuff — without any compunction of conscience.

Equally interesting, among this group of paintings, are girls carrying bales of cotton on their heads — expressing the inalienable principle that labour of love, during workaday existence, is the only sure way of keeping life above the torpor of dailiness.

Other paintings are women holding on to one another, veiled to see what’s on — to satisfy their sense of curiosity. Since they face you with their backs. The mystery (that is embodied in woman) is deepened in the visual encounter. Here, Purewal introduces another innovation. He paints the bracelets, rings, as well as the decorative borders of “cholies” and “chunnis” directly with the paint-tube. The resulting bas-relief makes the design palpably present to the viewer. Even when the women face you, as in another painting, their curious eyes look askance at our society’s ability to remove the big question mark!

The third phase comprises a group of paintings the themes of which are man’s metaphysical quest and the self-illumined inner life. There is a bold departure from the previous technique. It is now impasto: the thick laying on of pigments, which results in a bas-relief full of raw textures and pulsating patterns. And yet the delicate, feather touch remains. This speaks volumes for Purewal’s highly refined sensibility — as also his advancing spiritual journey through many an inveigled territory of colour and form.

In this group of paintings, Purewal creates metaphysical and symbolic works of enormous power. The Shivlingam is used as a central shape for a vault whose outer rim is the multi-cusped arch familiar in Sikh architecture.

The crowning motif is Lord Shiva’s trident (the Trishula) and the centre of gravity (visual) comprises a monogram of major religious symbols. Om (Hindu), Ek Onkar (Sikh), Cross (Christian) and Allah (Islam), a perfect symbol of camaraderie and creedal harmony. The monogram is so beautifully delineated that it is hard to imagine a better design. Behind it are the three curvilinear bands, the trilokas, at whose heart burns the divine diya (earthern lamp).

The foreground is an impasto doodling of great emotive power which acquiesces (for the time being) in the figure of a meditating man, with his subtle bodies reaching out (of his mortal frame) to the beckoning horizons of the spirit world. Sticking to his patent uncluttered canvas, Purewal makes a convincing statement of an esoteric subject in a forthright, communicable way. Truly a work of art that induces meditation!

In another painting, a similar theme is expressed differently. The impastoed sun is the goal and dominates the canvas painted with rough textures of ochres, yellows and browns. The meditating figure is that of the Guru, seated on a lotus in the water, against the backdrop of white-robed apparitions at various stations of their spiritual journey. The immensity of life in the vast emptiness of the cosmos is convincingly expressed.

In sharp contrast to these genres, Purewal paints circles on a square format. The corners are embellished with motifs, as an offering to the deity. The sun is vibrantly textured in various hues which move on to a concentric circle with the involved serpent (kundalini). Few paintings retain the mystery of the subject-matter such as spiritualism when reduced to mere geometric shapes. But this one curiously does — putting a gorgeous feather in the artist’s cap!

The power of these works of art derives from the artist’s firsthand authenticity of the joys and thrills of actually taking a spiritual journey. Purewal has been an active member of Prajapita Brahmakumaris Mission since 1979. The paintings of the third phase are thus a telling chronicle of his congenital inclination towards matters spiritual moving ever closer to its fulfilment in the soil of simple living and high thinking. For him, art, indeed, is meditation!

That art is a view and way of life, not entirely a means of livelihood, is forcefully brought by Purewal’s works. That he is one of Punjab’s very distinguished painters (despite his self-imposed oblivion) leaves no doubt in my mind. I only book forward to seeing his latest work at IndusInd Bank in Sector 8, Chandigarh, in the first week of March, 1999.

A dancer’s creative churning
By Nonika Singh

ON stage Rajendra Gangani, a Kathak exponent, dances like a man possessed. As the reservoir of energy unfolds, his scintillating pirouettes and fluid graceful movements not only connote a personal triumph, but also signal the resurrection of male presence in the classical dance form.

Why and how male dancers — to begin with Kathak was an exclusive preserve of the so-called tougher sex — gave way to female danseuse, Gangani explains thus, “As the dance moved from temples to courts, apart from being an artistic expression it translated into a means of recreation, a symbol of indulgence. As an element of erotica seeped in, women (who are conventionally considered more beautiful) stepped in and male artistes were sidelined”.

However, in the recent past, Gangani informs us, the trend has reversed. With the audience interest in the purity of dance forms rekindled, the number of male dancers has once again begun to swell. Gangani, however, is not a product of this new revival, albeit a link in the unbroken tradition of Jaipur Gharana.

Son and disciple of the great maestro Kundan Lal Gangani, hailing from a family whose dancing legacy dates back in time (many centuries ago), it would be tempting to dismiss the best performer’s (at Asian folk costume week Beijing, China) achievements as sheer genetic inheritance. But he insists, “Sure, dance runs in my blood. However, my detractors shouldn’t forget that dance, a performing art, can be honed to perfection only via dogged pursuit and years of tapasya”.

Gangani’s personal saga began in early childhood. While the first performance came somewhere between the age of four and five, by 15 he had been elevated to the status of a guru. Today, in the prime of youth (early 30s), he straddles the twin world of training others and a performing artiste with remarkable ease. Many of his disciples, including his own brother Harish and others like Swati Sinha and Parul Singh, have already begun to carve a niche. His own prowess had been rewarded in the shape of many a honours — Sangeet Rai, Shashtri Nritya Shiromani et al.

Besides innumerable solo performances at Konark Festival, Kathak Mahotsava, Chidambram Natyanjali Festival and Sharat Chandrika Delhi, he has also teamed up with exponents of other classical dance forms. Though his only ambition in life is to keep the banner of Kathak afloat by embellishing it further, he has presented recitals harmonising Kathak with Mohiniattam and Bharatnatyam. For instance, he paired up with Dr Deepti Omsharan Bhalla, a Mohiniattam expert, and Flamenco dancers across the seven seas. The common meeting point between varied dance styles, he avers “is the universal rhythm”.

As an artiste who has toured extensively (UK, France, Germany, Italy, China) and braved audiences of all hues and shapes, he remarks, “In India the connoisseurs will certainly laud your every single nuance and expression, but the ignorant will simply boo you down. However, abroad even the not-so-discerning viewer makes a conscious effort to comprehend the intricacies of art form”. The ensuing mind block prevalent in Indian minds, he feels, is thanks to centuries of colonial rule when art and artistes were frowned upon.

However, in post-Independent India, the existence of institutes like Kathak Kendra, Delhi, where incidentally he is on the faculty, has only promoted the cause of Kathak. He says, “But for these centres it will be impossible for those desirous of learning to imbibe the art under the auspices of all-time greats like Birju Maharaj for a paltry Rs 25 per month”.

About the recent fad — enrolling into such institutes has become an elite pastime — he comments, “At least their unbridled energies are being channelised in a creative way. Plus in times to come these children will comprise appreciative audiences if nothing else”.

Defying the cliched “an artist is an island unto himself”, Gangani artiste feels that audience interaction is of paramount significance. He deliberately picks up compositions and oft-repeated anecdotes like Sita swaymvar, Jatayu moksha, Dropadi cheer haran, which are part of household lore and audiences can relate and empathise easily.

Amongst contemporary subjects, Mahadevi Verma’s poetry figures on his “My favourites” list. Then there is Surya Kant Tripathi Nirala. As his lyrical body movements meet their match in the poetic lyricism of Nirala (the poem “Swadhinta” in which the poet reminds us that nature alone is free), one is forced to admit that the creative churning of an artiste too can not be contained. Unrestrained and uninhibited it flows out of his very being, forging new paths, carving new frontiers and achieving milestones through its sheer force.

Makings of a big hit

PYAAR MEIN KABHI KABHI (Sony Music; Rs 50): Sony Music hit big time with their very first film album, “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai”. Encouraged, they are ready for experimenting with brand new faces. This film directed by Raj Kaushal has eight new heroes and heroines and quite predictably, the singers and lyricists and the music directors are also new. Well, almost, considering that Shaan does not have very many film songs to his credit.

What is unusual is that there is not just one set of music composers. Some songs have been set to music by Vishal, Shiraz and Samrat; some are by Shekhar Ravjiani; some by Salim and Suleman and some by Vishal and Shekhar Ravjiani together. The result is that there is a lot of variation and refreshing change of tempo.

The same variation is noticeable in singing also. Shaan and Krishna Kumar have rendered two solos each. Mahalaxmi Iyer has sung one. Then there are duets by Mahalaxmi Iyer and Shekhar Ravjiani; Krishna Kumar, Jeanne Michael and Salim Merchant; and Vishal, Siraj and Samrat.

The encouragement to the young talent has apparently come at the cost of some quality, which is particularly noticeable in Hum naujawan hain … where the lyrics are particularly the weak link.

One song that stands out is Musu musu … by Shaan . It is based on a folk song from the North-East and has the makings of a big hit.

Re Deewani (Archies Music; Rs 50): This cassette of eight songs by Ram Shankar begins promisingly with Re deewani …, which has a good beat. But somehow the other songs do not match the promise. Ram Shankar dabbles into Indi-pop whereas his voice is more suited for typical Indian songs. No wonder he falls between two stools. You have the feeling that by only changing the tempo of the music, the effort to come up with pop music is being considered to be complete.

Take for instance Sharab chhoot gayee … This is straight up the alley of Altaaf Raza and can hardly be called pop. Anyway.

Lyrics are by Dhruva Khanna and music by Gopal Khanna.

Oye Bol Mitti De Baweya (Venus; Rs 30): Aroon Bakshi got recognition by doing bit roles in Bombay films. Then he joined hands with Sapna Awasthy to sing some folk songs. Now, he has branched out to come up with this solo cassette of Punjabi songs.

Dharmendra is patron-saint of all upcoming artistes in Bombay and this one also begins with a commentary by the evergreen star. His brother Ajit Singh Deol has also written the lyrics of one of the songs, Tere roop to mein sadke jawan …. Other lyrics are credited to Naqsh Lyalpuri and Mere Rab Ne (whatever that means).

Aroon shows good classical training although his attempt to sing in a robust manner does not carry conviction. The title song and Ranjha ni faqir ho gaya … have the stamp of quality.

SONI KUDI (Magnasound; Rs 60): Magnasound have all along been focussing on non-film music and are on the lookout for the singers who can strike it big. But their search is not likely to end with Shekhar Krishnamoorthy. He has sung here in a flat voice more suited for amateur college functions that the big league. It is a mix of Punjabi, Hindi and English but he is about as fizzy as the beer bottle opened yesterday.

For once, Jawahar Wattal has not been able to work his magic. All songs have been composed and directed by Wattal except Chhoti chhoti baatein … and Tumko geeton mein … which has been composed by Raghukumar.

Lyrics are by Praveen Saxena.

Chief cause of irritation

APROPOS of Raj Sadosh’s write-up “Seven years of glory” (February 5), it is good to know that Aks, a dramatic club of Punjab, has discontinued the practice of having a chief guest at its functions as the club feels that it used to disturb their commitment to be punctual.

I have a part-time association with a profession that often takes me to the cultural programmes held in my district. What I find most sickening at these shows is the presence of a chief guest. That they often reach late at these functions is well-known. However, what everyone may not be aware of is that a number of such delays are deliberate.

On at least two occasions, I happened to be with the VIPs who had been invited to be the chief guest at certain functions. I noticed that they deliberately left for the venue of the functions after the scheduled time (about 45 minutes in one case and one hour in the other) even though they did not have anything important to do at home. I engaged one of them in a discussion. He quipped that it did not behove a VIP to reach at such functions on schedule. The argument, indeed, gave me the shock of a lifetime. He just had no regrets over keeping hundreds of people waiting for him for no reason whatsoever.

Another thing about the chief guests that I find extremely irritating is the large number of security personnel who accompany some of them. Their presence often robs the functions of their beauty and grace.

Moreover, with their long and insipid speeches, the chief guests often get on the nerves of the audience. The chief guest’s speech should ordinarily mark the conclusion of a programme. However, I have often seen that they are made to address the audience right during the programme itself as the organisers are not very sure of many people staying back to listen to the chief guest if he speaks at the end of the show.

At one of such functions held in a college, the chief guest, who delivered his speech right in the midst of the programme, candidly admitted that the organisers had told him that if he chose to speak at the end of the programme, he might not find many listeners around. So much for the common man’s interest in such speeches!

SURENDRA MIGLANI
Kaithal