The Hindu (Thiruvananthapuram)
As the KNMA’s tribute, opens in Venice, we wonder how the modernist and his bold statements would have fared today
In 2011, after M.F. Husain died in London at the age of 95, writer and lmmaker Ruchir Joshi wrote a sobering tribute to the artist’s life in The Telegraph, Kolkata. “Though he was possibly the nicest person among the Progressive Artists Group,” he wrote, “Husain was also perhaps the one with the least talent and originality.”
Joshi went on to emphasise Husain’s intense debt to both Picasso and Matisse, while acknowledging the complicated legacy he had left behind. “If Husain’s departure [in 2010] for Qatar... marked a defeat for a certain idea of modern
India,” he wrote, “his death presents a challenge to those of us who felt diminished and humiliated by the old man’s exile.”
Whether you are an admirer of his art or not, Husain remains one of India’s most signicant artists over a decade after his death. His work continues to be coveted by collectors, while the staggering multiplicity of his imagination remains unparalleled. The Rooted Nomad, opening this month at the Magazzini del Sale in Dorsoduro, Venice, is not only a deep dive into the modernist’s chequered life and multidimensional work, but also a timely reminder of the values he cherished and enshrined through his art and actions. (Incidentally, Husain, who participated in the 1953 and 1955 Venice Biennales, was one of the rst artists from India to show his work there.)
Presented by the Kiran
Nadar Museum of Art, and
Icurated by Roobina Karode, director and chief curator of the KNMA, this immersive exhibition aims to signal Husain’s enduring relevance to a wider, global audience. One of the most signicant challenges of curating such an ambitious show is the selection of works from “Husain’s vast oeuvre and prolic practice”, says Karode, “especially since his iconic works have been showcased extensively both inside and outside of India”.
The idea has been to bring a “fresh perspective in representing him, while conceptually and experientially bridging the gap between the artist and the global audience”.
Merging the physical and virtual
The exhibition unfolds in two parts, as Karode explains: an introduction to the artist through a physical experience of his original works, such as Yatra (1955) and Blue Ganges (1966), which then leads the viewers into an immersive
Nautch Girls (Delhi, c.1862-1863), Charles Shepherd and Arthur Robertson; and (right) Umarao Jan, a from Lucknow (c.1874), Daroga Abbas Ali. n the tapestry of Indian history, the courtesans, often referred to as tawaifs, stand as guardians of a legacy that transcends mere entertainment. Their in§uence permeated not only the cultural sphere, but also left an indelible mark on design, fashion, and traditional crafts, between 500 BCE and the 20th century. During the research for my book Courting Hindustan: The Consuming Passions of Iconic Women Performers of
India, I developed a profound understanding of the unique position they occupied in society.
I discovered that the courtesans of the Mughal courts were often adorned in the nest Indian textiles: rich silks, intricately woven brocades, and vibrant handloom saris. They would showcase these textiles during cultural gatherings, festivals and royal events, attracting the attention of nobles and royalty. To perform in, they favoured jamdani adorned with §oral motifs, geometric patterns, and intricate borders, or Dhaka muslin, both of which allowed for graceful ease of movement.
Begum Samru, the ruler of the kingdom of Sardhana in the 18th century — who began her career as a‘ nautch girl’ — occupies a chapter in Courting Hindustan. Petite and slender, she appeared in public draped in brocades woven with elaborate patterns in gold or silver threads. A keen statesman, she cannily adopted the language and religious customs of the dominant European forces, mainly the British. However, she often used traditional Mughal clothing to signal her proximity to the Mughal emperor Shah Alam II. So, while she wore her pashmina with pride, (virtual) experience in the latter part of the space.
Husain, forever inventive and curious, an artist who pushed against the imagined boundaries between ‘popular’ and ‘serious’ art, would have loved this approach. As a young man he had painted posters for she also ordered chintz, the glazed cotton fabric imported from India and favoured by the British.
Style icons of their time
Courtesans were avid patrons of jewellery. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies and pearls were crafted by skilled artisans into elaborate pieces — from maang tikkas, naths, jhumkas, and hath phools, to chokers, kamarbandhs, and anklets — that they wore as a symbol of their status and wealth. They also popularised pieces such as the chhapkā or jhūmar.
There is one rather touching anecdote about Begum Akhtar, the 20th-century legend of Hindustani classical music, and her jewels. Between music seasons, she used to leave a satlada (seven-stringed pearl necklace) of tremendous value, a gift from the Nawab of Rampur, with sitarist Arvind Parikh. He, in turn, would oªer her money to smooth over lean times. When the concert season started again, Begum Akhtar would return the borrowed money in exchange for the necklace.
Courtesans were the style icons of their time, a role to which they brought as much dedication as they did their art. The most prominent cultivated a signature style, which has been immortalised in literature. Consider Mirza Hadi Ruswa’s creation, Umrao Jaan Ada (in the eponymous Urdu novel), who was known for her rich silks, intricately embroidered costumes and exquisite jewellery. Or Vasantasena, the protagonist of the Sanskrit play Mrichchakatikam, who lled up a child’s clay cart with her jewels. They were the spiritual foremothers of Gauhar Jaan, one of the rst recording artists of India, whose glamorous photos were printed on matchbox
(Clockwise from left) curator Roobina Karode; Husain in 1995; behind the scenes in Venice; and movies, and later in life he actually made several lms (the Bollywood actor Madhuri Dixit being one of his muses). Performance was in his DNA, as was a penchant for making bold statements about his beliefs, often to his detriment in his homeland, India.
Indeed, the title, The Rooted Nomad, captures the twin forces that ruled his life: his deep roots in India, having come of age before Partition, nurtured by the syncretism of yore; and a restless urge to traverse the world, to soak in the cosmopolitanism of a nomadic life, where every idea was his for the taking. “The breadth of his experiences,” as Karode puts it, “deed a narrow vision of India.”
Not only did Husain reject religious polarisation, he also refused to abide by the established rules of the art world. From being a cinema hoarding painter to designing furniture pieces to making wooden toys and directing lms, “all helped him to arrive at a modernism that was rooted in the sensibilities and his understanding of India as an emergent nation”, she adds.
Apart from his instant sketches made in situ, drawings, calligraphy, and poems, the space will also feature photographs of Husain by artists and friends Parthiv Shah and Krishen Khanna, among others. “The only painting that is overwhelming in its size [82 x 130 inches], scale and impact is Karbala [1990, “an intensely evocative imagery of migration, mourning and martyrdom that unsettles the viewer”], which
KNMA will be exhibiting for the rst time,” Karode shares.
A man who refused to censor himself
What would India in 2024, heading into elections, fuelled by communal hate and disharmony, make of a gure like Husain? An itinerant soul, who let his imagination run unfettered, mapped his beloved nation barefoot, was excommunicated in old age (on self-imposed exile in the last years of his life), but feted all around the world, he would most certainly have been unwelcome — an anomaly in a country where the dominant political project is directed at creating a homogenous population with like-minded belief, values, and aspirations.
The more interesting question, perhaps, is to ask what Husain would have made of India had he lived to see this day? How would his inventive spirit, which left its imprint not only on canvas and lm, but also over architectural sites and public spaces by creating murals and frescoes, feel about being left out of the grand project of self-transformation that India is undergoing?
During his lifetime, Husain repeatedly stepped into hornets’ nests. He angered bigots and fanatics of all colours, refused to censor his art, and provoked reactions that made us, as a nation, question ourselves and fragilities. That it’s no longer possible to show Husain’s work in such an immense scale in the country is a bitter reminder of the many miles we have regressed since the artist’s passing in the last one decade.
More than seven decades since his work was rst exhibited at the 1953 Venice Biennale, KNMA is honoured to bring this project to Venice [coinciding with the 2024 biennale]. This 360-degree immersive experience will unveil Husain’s dreams and desires through moving images and soundscapes. It is a labour of love for India’s most compelling modernist, who I admired greatly and with whom I enjoyed a long friendship
KIRAN NADAR
The exhibition is on till November 2024. covers around the world. Frederick William Gaisberg, an engineer with Gramophone and Typewriter Ltd, notes in his memoirs that Jaan arrived to record her songs wearing the nest outts, and she never repeated her jewels.
Inspiring Sanjay Leela Bhansali
In the 19th century, courtesans from the subcontinent had the cultural cache of movie stars, in§uencing fashion, style, and even politics. Dutch exotic dancer and alleged war spy, Mata Hari, fabricated a past in which she was born an Indian princess. In her gem-encrusted head dresses and sari-like drapes, she clearly took inspiration from the South Asian courtesan.
In Veena Talwar Oldenburg’s 1990 paper, Lifestyle as Resistance: The Case of the Courtesans of Lucknow, the author cites civic tax records from 1858-77 to reveal that the tawaifs were, in fact, the largest and highest tax paying class, with “the largest individual earnings of anyone within the city”.
By the 1940s, the courtesans’ glory days had come to an end, but their legacy continues to inspire designers and artists — and most recently, director Sanjay Leela Bhansali. His upcoming Net§ix period drama, Heeramandi, will take viewers behind the storied walls of a Lahore tawaif-khaana, as the freedom struggle gathers momentum in the subcontinent.
On April 26, the writer will give a lecture on courtesans as part of Sarmaya Talks. At Joss, Mumbai, at 6 p.m.
The fourth in a series of columns by sarmaya.in, a digital archive of India’s diverse histories and artistic traditions.