Spit and polish

That unadulterated killjoy, Jagmohan, Union minister for Urban Affairs, is at it again. He has, I believe, ordered that no paan will be chewed on the premises of some government buildings in the Capital from henceforth.Now if this isn’t a curb on our right to expression, I don’t know what is. Does Jagmohan even realise what this means? It amounts to nothing short of nipping the careers of millions of potential Jackson Pollocks, of denying these artists the medium on which to express their creativity.

For those who are clueless about Pollock, well, he was an US artist who abandoned the use of brushes, or rather used them only for flicking large amounts of paint on to the canvas. In time, these splatters came to be recognised as one of the greatest forms of modern art.

As Pollock had put it, ‘‘My painting is direct. I want to express my feelings rather than illustrate them.’’ Quite. Just the sentiments of his desi counterparts. In fact they have done one better. In their drive to excel, they have gotten more direct and dispensed with the use of brushes all together.

For them it is straight from the mouth and on to the surface. The technique is deceptively simple. All you have to do is pop a quid of areca nut and betel leaf into your mouth and masticate it awhile. When the saliva starts flowing nicely, direct the mouthful artistically to the waiting surface in a sharply directed spray. Our desi Pollocks react to corners in government buildings with the same alacrity that a dog does a lamp-post.

In this manner, over the years, most of our government buildings have acquired a distinctive aesthetics that is decidedly indigenous — and at no extra cost to anyone. The original Pollock demanded a queen’s ransom for his works, our versions do theirs for free. They have not thrown tantrums, or organised themselves into cabals. They have even brought their own materials to the venture and demanded no state subsidy for them. Indeed, they are not even particularly fussy about their surfaces.

While the corners of government buildings are the preferred base, often even a tarred road would do. In the Capital, the moment cars — ranging from the humble M’ruti to the bigshot Merc — stop at traffic lights, our desi Pollocks are hard at work, splattering on the macadam. Sometimes all four doors are flung open and the task is vigorously pursued. Verily, these are the unsung artists of this land. They paint away with no hope of personal recognition.

No art critic writes about them, or dwells at length on the ‘‘quotidian impulse’’ and the ‘‘true pavement virtuosity’’ of the ‘‘anonymous creator’’, or expand on the ‘‘innate abstraction’’ and ‘‘undefined contours’’ of the work in question.

I, therefore, have tried to make up by assiduously following the trail of the unknown artist, visiting numerous towns and cities to divine the depths of this tradition. To my mind, of all the great museums of this, the most subaltern of arts, I would rate the railway station at Muzaffarpur in north Bihar as the true showcase of the Classic Desi Pollock. Here I would say, without a trace of exaggeration, that every square millimetre of the place has been assiduously coated over by what looks like generations of splattering, layer by layer.

In fact, I have come to understand that the administrators of railway station don’t even have to invest in whitewash. Through the kar sewa — or rather the paan sewa — of their patrons, they have managed to maintain a fairly uniform vermilion on all surfaces of the building, from floors to walls.

It is this tradition that Jagmohan proposes to destroy with his narrow babu mindset. I would only ask him to tarry awhile and, as is his wont, go back to the excellent reading facilities available at Delhi’s India International Centre (only his Black Cats should be left behind at home) and imbibe our history of paan chewing. Shudraka’s Mrcchakatika talks about camphor folded between betel leaves and relished in the mansions of Vasantasena. And listen to what Abdur Razzak of Samarkhand, ambassador to the Vijayanagara kingdom, had to say about our masticatory obsession. Paan chewing, he noted, ‘‘deserves its reputation. It lightens up the countenance and exudes an intoxication like that caused by wine. It relieves hunger, stimulates the organs of digestion, disinfects the breath and strengthens the teeth. It is impossible to describe.’’

Razzak mentions other proprieties too, which a polite column like this one cannot expand upon. Suffice it to say that it is only proper that this country quickly adapts Tilak’s words and says to itself, ‘‘To splatter is my birthright, and I shall have it.’’

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