Edited by: Sophia Noble
Sunday, September 16, 2023.
Yesterday, it had rained from morning to night as if the monsoon had, apologetically, rushed in to make up for its late arrival. Looking out at the grey sky, I took an auto from the Jor Bagh metro station.
The memory of water still clings to Meharchand Market like the glaze of moisturiser. Leaves, bright and fleshy. Footpaths, damp and algae-lined. Alas, unlike the rain, I had arrived too early.
—
Around 9:30 am, various shutters began to roll up. Sniffing the smell of tea, I jogged to a café at the intersection of Lodhi Road and Fifth Avenue. A vendor was tearing through several brown boxes, piling bottles of soft drinks in his arms and carrying them inside.
“Don’t know paintings. Ask locals,” he shouted, pointing to a man chatting rapidly on a call. A bag of vegetables hung on his bike’s handlebar. Sheepishly, I replayed HopOn India’s Lodhi Art District audio tour once again.
“Tourist ho?” (Are you a tourist?) the bike-man suddenly called out. I nodded. Shoving ten sachets of Nescafé in his pockets, he fastened his helmet. “Phone chhodiye (Leave your phone). Pick a galli (street) and walk. Paintings are everywhere,” he said, gesturing to the lanes.
—
Ten minutes have passed since. Across the road, there is a mosaic of glossy Christmas baubles and foil-balloon-like structures. A blend of oranges, pinks, reds, and browns. Sometimes they swirl into a centre. Sometimes they unfurl in thick, sharp streaks. The strokes are warm and stark against the cool-toned grass. I take my phone out and take a picture.
Something about the picture catches my eye. Looking up at the mural again, I take a few steps backward. The swirling structures spell a word when viewed from a distance: BOND.
I move closer. In the corner, there is a plaque that reads the author’s name and description of the mural: Bond Truluv’s Mere Rang Mein. The wall is flaky to the touch. But it is easy to conjure the feeling of smooth, cold metal under my fingertips.
A tangible bond. Between the trees and archways, the residents and their homes, the murals and their watchers.
A tabby cat scurries across the lane. Stretching back, she leaps onto a nearby grill gate. Halts. Then looks at me like a professor looking at a silent class. Concluding that I have no food to offer, she moves on.
Well, certainly not a bond between us.
—
A few murals later, the fast beats of a dhol fill the air. Between Sam Lo’s Cause and Effect and Yok and Sheryo’s Letters of Lodhi, a group of college students performs a fusion of bhangra and hip-hop. A boy yells at another. The others roared with laughter, slapping each other’s backs.
Sam Lo’s mural appears like a mosaic of sparrows facing their monochrome, almost holographic counterparts. On a closer look, I notice CCTV cameras with tendrils circling them—which become a part of the weft, as if discreetly stitched on a cloth to convey a secret message.
A lady poses beside Sam Lo’s sparrows. “She likes taking pictures,” her husband says fondly. In the mural’s Augmented Reality (AR) animation, a sparrow comes to life. She flies in a circle, watched by her reflections and CCTV cameras, as flowers rain on her.
“True freedom can only be attainable through interconnectivity,” the plaque reads.
Just like how the “Gupt Dwar” is written over an open passageway in Letters of Lodhi.
Or how the concept of Yin and Yang, complementary ideologies in Chinese philosophy—opposites yet interconnected and balanced, is rendered wobbly.
Develop a scrutinizing eye, it says, to words that are often used loosely.
—
An hour passes. Under a banyan, a street vendor prepares pineapple juice.
“There you’ll find the oldest paintings,” he says, pointing to a lane on Third Avenue, “No one takes care of them.”
The sun breaks through the clouds, dappling the streets with golden heat. I put on a hat and start walking.