[Reader-list] The text of the matter. The poems. [posting # 7, publicity-promises...]

[Prayas Abhinav]

Hi all, 

What did the photographs, in isolation of any commentry, any words to
accompany, say to you? did they say anything at all. I have been
working on the poems, which are phrased a conversations between a
resident and the city. In these conversations, flights take place into
the lives of the narrator and the histories of the city, a
relationship develops between them.

As it happens on any other day, out on the roads - the backdrop of
everything is the advertisements, the hoardings. These conversations
dwell extensively on them, but knit other peripheral stories, issues,
details in too.

What emerges is a body of text - poetry, which goes round and ound and
round, takes you around the city and reveals the obsessions of these
two new friends.

I am including all the poems here, for you to read. If you would like
to read them with the accompnying photographs (recommended) please
visit this link: http://www.prayasabhinav.net/section40.html. Access a
pdf of the poems here: http://www.prayasabhinav.net/IMG/pdf/all3.pdf .

In this presentation, I pose the compositions I had posted last time,
the photographs and the poems together. It gives a fuller taste of the
experience, of wandering aimlessly on a street in Ahmedabad - gaping
at a hoarding, freshly clothed & awaiting your eye.

How does this read? 

At the workshop, I will talk about my approach to these hoardings -
the "monuments to the market" and the process of writing these poems,
doing these compositions and shooting these photographs. Will look
forward to a good discussion.

Do write!

Best wishes, 
Prayas

------------------------------->>

They let me know
in time
for me to buy. 
I would do anything for Amitabh,
even buy that!
Showing me this AD
is business.
I can't ever have a car,
more than one
mobile phone, 
Barista would be nice and cool,
traffic junctions are a conspiracy.

* 

He wants me to stay,
I drive around, I dislike
his voice - present everywhere. His arms
stretched to relieve me
of all claims to loneliness, 
he wants to invite me
to a life of bent spoons, 
bent spoons, telepathy, black magic. 
I run away, I keep running away.
On the fourth floor, 
I can ring a bell, sit on a sofa
wait for the day to be over. 

* 

He shows me 
how his car
outshines my old scooter.
He shows me how her armpits
do the selling, 
he says - "lose yourself in me,
hide your logic." I merely sling on irony.

*

His camel cart
does the talking today.
He says people are enjoying
his new campaigns.
No one minds, he says
no one minds. 
He says this city is 
a participating
market.
I dance for him, I listen to him,
I love this city, its abandon. 
I ask him for some time
to drive out to Sarkhej.
He says he has to hardsell telecom. 
He says, he wants to buy a sofa-set. 

* 

I go for a walk
he says, "look at the sky,
I have emptied it 
for you."
I wear pink
he offers me blues, and greens.
Somewhere in our courtship
a bouquet will appear. 

* 

He says this
wall cannot speak,
he says temples 
don't understand market-speak.
He says, temples
hide from the city.
He says, temples should
have computer games.
I say, I like the sun in his hair.
He says, computer games have divinity
anyone can win. 

*

Manav Mandir is neither prudish
nor conservative, he says.
The temple prays for Amaron batteries
Time's coaching classes for CAT
and some property -dealer.
Prayers don't cost money.
He says Manav Mandir
unfurls saffron flags on each
festival day, 
bhajans ring out as a chorus, 
the priests invite him, especially. 
I feel safe with him, his faith
in the right place. Any temple which'll pray
in the open market, will always remain. 

* 

He said the road to heaven
is paved with good hospitals,
transparent as glass
pricey and as such for tourists only.
He never wanted glow-signs, blow-ups, hoardings
to have back-sides, he wanted the whole city
electrified with the gold dust
of advertisements.
But, he says, he has to share power,
he doesn't like to share me,
he comes home to pick me up,
he gets me a free BSNL; a private number, to reach me. 

* 

Somewhere else the sun shines,
here the sun searches for
customers. He says
the sky searches for
eye-balls, the streets
search for lost souls.
He says if we go straight
on this road
reach the highway,
we can strip ourselves
of the pressures
of urbanity.
He says, cities are made
to be driven out of.

*

He doesn't say it
but it is obvious;
disease spreads 
in the spaces
around the hospitals.
And the hospitals
act as a net
letting no one fall.
He says, hawkers and
small-time cooks have
failed to capture the culinary
imagination, of our bellies.
He says, Tirupati oil is as bad as any, but
they have good models, good money - they can buy hospitals.

* 

All at once
everyone speaks,
nothing is clear,
most things are smudged. 
Standing at the crossroads,
a little song could sound like
a siren, a fire engine, cycle bells. 
He says, at crossroads
everyone is in a hurry
to reach the next crossroad,
if there were no red-lights
there would be no money in eye-balls
would be no breath in cities, 
hope would be a forgotten concept. 

* 

How can they be sure,
that we look only at 45º upwards?
We can look at the sky,
we can look below.
A mass of tangled wire,
men stumbling over each other,
the back-side of nothing is pretty?
I don't know if I can generalize
may I?
He says, this city is made for moving in one
direction at a time.
Dodos, atom-bombs and algorithms have so space here. 

*

Neem trees, chrome green
leaves, yellow and black of
auto-rickshaws seems pale
compared to the brick red and flowerpot
of IIM. 
He says, IIM didn't offer its walls
to stick Ads, 
it is an encroachment.
But it gets in the customers 
and gets in the money.
So, its OK.
MBA's would not go pulling banners down
anyway. They would understand,
their eyeballs are valuable. 

* 

I was walking home
camera in hand,
brown-skin, orange-shirt;
he waves at me,
calls out - "click me!"
Our eyes did not meet,
how did we communicate?
With our hands and legs - I clicked
I walked away.
He says,
this hoarding needs fixing.
It needs halogens,
it needs to fetch more money.
He says,
these hoardings have to be well-lighted iron-walls
capture mind-space, even in the dead of night.
When no one's there,
one still has to sell tea.

* 

Three headed
an ill-balanced trinity of tin,
colour wheel, 
blue, brown, white.
Today, these hoardings innocently
reflect the sky,
as I cycle by, I glance the
texture the waves on its surface.
He says,
before a child is named, 
she can be called anything.
So, I dream of words floating in
photographs of exile, 
present a possibility for further imagining.

*

Cattle-rearing, this city is an encroachment.
Tar all over fertile-land
party-plots and sand. 
The blind-school puts up
calls to worthwhile charity,
Tata Indicom pretends to play pool.
He says, this city is growing,
this city is growing.
All consumption, all projections,
are optimistic estimations,
this circle used to be good
for traffic jams, now no more. 
He says, this city is learning new tricks
everyday. 
Faster than the traffic lights
faster than the monsoon clouds, flying away.

* 

Golden sleeve
of this urban jacket,
rarely anything sunny
looks beautiful, not hot.
Sardar complex has rented each
board on the plaza to Tata Indicom,
does it look like it
from a distance?
>From a distance, 
all flats look empty.
He says he feels nice
the way Vastrapur has developed,
land is more pricey than food grains, 
he likes the way it has become
a public private sweepstake,
violating empty town-plans
burning up green-belts,
implanting hoardings. 

* 

Crossing a street 
with national brands
burning in the background.
People say Ahmedabadis are rowdy,
uncultured, numb-fingered
cash counters. 
Why wouldn't they be?
They have flown from a city of
vision to a urban
town-planners misspelled fantasy.
>From history to disconnection,
from farming to STD booths and NGOs.
Ahmedabad has lost her villages...
He says a megacity is a megacity is a megacity.

*

Scooters parked
communicate for their masters,
a shadow, jet-black on-the-pavement
the garden green and re-built,
Vastrapur lake has been a swamp
now it is swank
and there're no traces
of the past.
Scooter-ads cost only Rs. 8./ad
and can be put up surreptitiously.
He says, he knows all the traders
in the city, what they sell, for how much -
thanks to getting stuck in traffic-jams. 
He says, everything serves a purpose, 
advertisements are the newspapers
of a consuming city.

* 

Shree Asharam Ashram, 
in Ahmedabad
puts up posters, 
all over town
when Asharam comes to Ahmedabad.
Asharamji looks at you with peace,
joy, contemplation.
I know every time he is here.
He says, gurus are important
for a city's economy. Important
to maintain some colours of religion, 
belief, tradition. Else everything
will become Vastrapur - be turned around
in 5 years. Become cosmopolitan, hungry,
speak funny blends of Hindi and Gujarati.
He says, Ahmedabad is big enough
to have more ashrams. 

*

Strands of pan-masala, gutkha
posters of bac-free,
packaged drinking water.
Bottles with red lids,
cream-rolls, biscuits, ruppee-chocolates
next to a petrol-pump. 
The petrol pump provides free air
the panwalla offers a free dust-bin.
He says, it doesn't matter
that the city provides no drinking water - 
there is enough bac-free.
Everyone is willing to pay!
he says, its time everything free became cheap (instead),
its fun to collect bills, 
and its fun to collect bills. 

*

Fist in the air
stone wall of silence
a tree by the lake.
AUDA has been widely praised
for the way it has taken hold
of the city, of Vastrapur,
each flower has a name.
Each time I turn my head, 
I have a different preposition
to accommodate. 
He says, traders need to breathe,
its an environmental issue.
He says - by the temple, by the lake
credos don't change, occupations don't change
they appear to. 

* 

When I went searching for hoardings
I thought buses are the perfect bait,
they move, they sell, they come late. 
Buses move slowly
because they are old,
there is too much traffic,
and its not safe. 
They move slow, so 
ads on the back
are thrust in your face
optimally. He says, originally it was
a side-income. But now it earns them
more than selling tickets, day after day,
It helps keep things cheap...
enough, to seem democratic.
its the price we have to pay.

* 

Fun Republic corner,
you'd think they dance there
they show movies.
Head-lights like tail-spins
they sell oil, they sell phones, they sell directions.
People walk into view, 
you appear to study them
bedsheets sell as cover-ups
dominoes used to be a game. 
He says, Fun Republic has been economic plaster
for the city's broken bones,
there can be no questions, they need their way
they need to show us a good time.  
Show us, what we are afraid of. 

*

Motorcycles were never see-through
but if things barge into you
constantly, you constantly
have accidents with apparitions
your attention is being sold...
things happen.
He must be a 20 something
passing by fun-republic
coming back from work
had to steal a glance.
He says, cloth banners
dress our poor punctured streets.

* 

Stranding frozen on the street
or photographed.
These cars go about the city
swallowing baits,
raising no objections.
I had 20 post-its on my wall
each spoke of a new idea,
I was perpetually stuck on far-strung
hanging shops in the sky,
what does it mean?
It means our cities are poor
they can't afford policies
it means there is nothing worth preserving here.
He says, the municipality needs money
to spend on shoddy makeshift roads,
on pretty brochures,
can't we spare a glance for out city.

* 

Kishore Kumar has passed away
into the generation gap
a testament to cheaper prices.
McDonald's now invites everyone,
why would I wait in queue to get a handful
of fried potatoes?
McDonald's feels charitable
in this country of dying sentiments.
At dusk the violet sky;
He says, he likes McDonald's low prices
he doesn't like the rush
the noise,
the craze, the addictive taste.
He says, Americans will always misrepresent India
aim below the belt,
try to squeeze us out.
He says, no McDonald's is ever pretty.

*

Discussing simple matters
under gateways of great offer.
A closed-shop leaves a 
sales-pitch out to get wet.
Yellow stairs, palm leaves,
remnant motorcycles.
Baskin-Robins is too expensive
to sit and start forgetting everything
they have small tables, stupid chairs.
Bordering with havmour, 
there's enough competition.
He says, there should be a civic hygiene policy,
a civic advertising policy.
He says, this city doesn't remind one of anything
it is a barrage of steel and stone
brick and mortar bridges,
which fall in the rain.

* 

Hawkers and salesmen are possessive
of their territories.
Here, Tata Indicom captures a colony
by offering a free signboard.
"No hawkers and salesmen allowed"
What if, it is a Tata salesman?
A signboard cannot stop an army
of paid-by percentage operators.
Guards sit idle.
Everyone wearing a tie
might not be selling aquaguard.
Bare brick structures are a part
of Ahmedabad, decidedly.
Spare stone, would-be pavements
are a part of Ahmedabad.
He says, 'door-to-door' sales
is not a bad idea.
But you always catch 
everyone in a bad mood.
No one sells anything.

* 

Hutch takes over a building
and a street full of lampposts.
Hutch takes over the market
at Premchand Nagar crossroads.
No one minds Hutch,
Hutch makes amusing ADs
Hutch sends beautiful bills
no on minds paying Hutch.
In this building
on the 9th floor, 
VSNL has a billing office
for broadband customers.
He says hutch has connected
all of Gujarat.
He says, the stark white sky
is also Hutch's doing;
suspended in a 
remarkable symphony,
Hutch has a sweet face.
expensive lace
lines the roads.

*

Autorickshaws pass by now
nights-street is empty
focus didn't help
a devaluation of surroundings
didn't help. 
Ajay Devgan opened here
silhouettes in the sun.
In 2000 Fun Republic drove Roopali 
out of business. 
Roopali sits still by Nehru bridge
nothing more to show. 
This is an empty frame. 
He walks with me
in the rain,
he takes me to a movie
we glide up escalators
get bored at intervals
200-full feels like house-full
the applause is numb. 
He says, Saturdays
are lively again, 
in Ahmedabad. 
Ghosts have more space to run
a place they call home.
He says, Roopalee has the distinction
of being a silent observer
to the world changing a city
into an old grey metro,
being aware of histories
having turned to white dust. 
He says, this city has too many
gates taking nowhere to nowhere,
doors standing free of walls. 

* 

Looking out
why would anyone cross the street,
which goes nowhere. 
Bright hoardings
look on at a dry river. 
A walled city with no walls. 
They said the city needs to grow,
this city needs to grow. 
Where will the clothes
hang to dry
when it rains everywhere, 
everywhere. 
He says, this city has a hungry heart
plugging away at the seams, 
the plan is all wrong.
The old walls still remain
steel sheets dance in the mind. 

* 

On what's left of the old threads
of Ahmed Shah's City,
we dry clothes on them.
Mostly white,
some black scarves, 
some black scarves. 
Everything is displaced in June, 
the dry Sabarmati fills over
hoardings still search for ADs
grass and neem trees, 
limping back to life in the 90s
ambition got the better of us.
He says, 
this bridge will go down
straight into the centre.
We will beat around the bush. 

*

The renovated darwajo
Dilli Darwaja, down the road from Mirzapur
framing an empty equation. 
It feels abstract,
walking through a door
when the walls have been blown apart
by a city growing faster than
a child's sterile question bank. 
He says, the renovation did not work
portions were left
incomplete. 
The wooden door remains, appears to be
300 years old. 
Imagine a bigger procession
passing through,
imagine the city walls still being there
time standing still at the city's edge. 

* 

Selling milk under the gate
Kitchen Express offers pickle
stone claps, red name plate. 
This is a catalogue
yellow banners which mean nothing from a distance...
"sticking posters on this monument is prohibited"
but posters have been stuck;
in every photograph
posters share monumental space.
He says,
we cannot think about these things
too much. 
History stands in the middle of the road, 
can the world change
for a gate with no purpose?
A gate with only polluted processions to speak of. 

* 

Some stay
some move.
Tirupati at it again,
Siddi Sayed mosque
inspiration behind IIM-A's logo
Neem trees, dream schemes. 
No ADs for CAT exams here,
Pareks - the original mall, still stands.
These roads are tired, 
everyone is moving
away. 
He says, Ahmedabad started somewhere here
and then the story slipped out.
Now, Muslims search for space, 
mosques are historical. 
No Taj here, 
calculations here, 
buildings
which look appropriate
in the heat. 
*

A historic sales-pitch
frozen in stone. 
This one-way road 
takes you to Dilli Darwaja. 
Its impossible to know where you are
in which time, 
centuries alternate, dynasties alternate
love and hate. 
In that sense
nothing can disappear
everything leaves a trace
traces accumulate and make cities
municipalities.
He says, in summer this city's 
wind tunnels
behave like
sympathetic friends.
Kota stone, wooden roof
balconies which won't
take no weight. 

* 

A special oil 
for rickshaws, 
a street which encircles
the bus-route...
he won't stop you mid-way
and ask you a question. 
People here are amazingly silent.
This place has structure,
pavements,
Castrol. 
He says, Mirzapur was once
an address.
Now it is on the way.
My old school is around the corner
this is the small patch of land,
where I often stood with my friends, after school. 

* 

Barely in the frame, 
they live neither in Khadia
nor on the relief road.
Kavi Dalpatram Chowk 
is a renovated heritage monument. 
I presume, they live there. 
At Dalpatram Chowk, every window
faces the other. 
It is a neighbourhood. 
a friend from Mumbai, 
took me there. 
I fought with her, 
she said, everybody hates strangers,
but some strangers know their way. 

*

Pigeons scampering 
after grain. 
The wall
sprouting again, 
Ahmedabad has gone
from walls to malls
in five years. 
>From Marutis and Premiere Padminis 
to Honda two-wheelers rushing past,
from bad connections to wireless networks.
The sun is selective,
this street wears many shades 
of grey,
to close the door and get away
is nearly impossible.
Wind can knock your door
you can step out to pigeon shit. 
This city can
turn your mind
to funny directions. 

* 

Some walls aren't flat
they have footholds,
they have levels,
they have tunnels. 
TVS hasn't counted past
10 lakhs in three months,
horseride, camelride, bikeride
a huge curve, 
a submarine. 
he says, West-Ahmedabad
has enough space,
it needs no walls. 
But money needs iron bars.
The bridge, being a traffic sign. 

* 

The same bird 
flapping wings
across the frame.
This view is a compilation. 
"Don't start what you can't finish", is it?
He says, he signs his name
with a ball-point pen.
He says,
he understands the joy
of flying, of living again. 

*

>From the cricket ground
to driving a motorcycle,
flowers across the divider
cricketers wear caps
and fielders pick on grass
waiting for a hit in their direction. 
Scaffolding standing tall
a lamppost
waiting for the night. 
Looking at this picture, 
could one say
when
Ahmedabad takes a break?
No. He says.
Businessmen take a break
when there is no money left
to count. 

* 

Magnetic eyes
school boys
Amir Khan
quiz-with-no-prize
at-the-end.
The wall wears tatters, 
Ahmedabad doesn't treat 
its walls well.
She will come back home at night
and say,
she is tired 
of living behind 
closed doors.
She will sing a song
of reality.
I will stare at her, 
guiltless.

* 

Don't want to waste your time
watching TV?
Go snuggle among trees
and sell biscuits. 
Everyone is troubled, 
from imbalanced sex ratios
to talks of gender. 
First paint a wall white,
then make sure
at least 25 people look at it.
You are ready
to earn some money. 
Somebody will want to
paint Nescafe, Coke here
leave the wall peeping, 
spying on you;
day after day. 
Don't want to waste your time
watching TV?
Clean the shrubs
brush away the dust
prepare to look away. 

*

A space ship
in spotlight
bunches of leaves
in sharp clarity.
Innocent sky
wires walking over;
an effect of 
brilliant altitude.
She has disappeared 
from the landscape,
she has punctured
all expectations
all balloons.
He says, 
tax payers protect
tax payers protect
tax payers.
Everyone else merely
interprets
meanings of
welfare.

* 

This temple, off CG Road
is pretty popular, 
how street corners
experience spiritual awakening
is amazing...
Neem trees again
summer pillion riding,
saffron street receding
into the distance.
He says,
the bark of young trees
has nothing to say. 

* 

BSNL. Blue, open and high
a national connection,
bookings open
long welcoming waiting lines.
Searching for a way
to combine
budget with ambition?
You are at the right place. 
Reliance is a choice
conditions apply,
beware - companies multiply...
New malls
open every minute.
Who-all will shop
till they drop?
How will new fools
sign up, spontaneously
for loyalty programmes?
Be one among 20 million customers,
unknown if not anonymous.

*

Advertising has no shelf life
no historian
no collector,
no champion. 
Remembering, 
what made us buy
is not very pleasant. 
Forgetting broken promises
of a better weekend, 
a happier Monday, 
savings of 0.25 Paise -
could never be pleasant.

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