Sonya Fatah's Notebook:

Going Once, Going Twice, BANG, Sold!

I've been reading or hearing about contemporary Indian art for several years. Back in NYC tons of little galleries were showcasing the best of the Indian masters and then there were auctions by Sotheby's and Christie's — the works were fetching enormous sums of money just as India was gaining its rightful space in the community of nations.

The piece of Indian art that fetched the highest price to date was an F. N. Souza oil on board, titled "Birth", that sold for close to $2.5m at a Christie's auction.

Anyway, I digress. When my friend Lola called me a few days ago to tell me that she had an extra invitation to an elite art auction, and would I like to go? I thought, why the hell not. I'm not going to be bidding on anything but lets see what the world of Indian art has to offer. Better yet, I wanted to see a live auction. Neither Lola nor I had been to an art auction before so we were brimmng with the curiousity of first timers. The venue — the Taj Man Singh — suggested a posh affair, and the collection of art, I was told, would draw quite the crowd.

The auction, organized by OSIAN, a self-proclaimed, 'pioneering arts organization' in India, was timed around the organization's film festival, Cinefan. As a first, I have to admit I was a bit disappointed. I had expected the room to be abuzz with art buyers and Delhi's art-erati. There were about 100, maybe 120 people there and many of them seemed to be voyeurs like me. You could tell by the number of people holding paddles that this was more of a buyers market than a few years ago when people were willing to sell all their valuables for a little piece of art.

Still, it's always interesting to experience an art auction first hand. A row of smartly dressed telephone operators sat at a long, white table on the right of the chairs, fielding calls from interested buyers. A few, maybe three or four, were successful in making purchases. Lola brought my attention to a suited fellow with a thin moustache sitting in a chair below the auctioneer's podium.

"What a funny role his is," said Lola, my equal as a novice and voyeur in the world of art auctions.

Indeed, this fellow, had the role of bobbing his head from side to side to scan the crowd ( if the total number at this auction could be called a crowd) for any waving paddles missed by a tired auctioneer. To be fair, he did direct the standing man's attention to a few quiet calls and half-raised, somewhat unsure paddle holders forcing them into the competition.

I had been expecting the auctioneer to be a robust, rapidly yapping half jester, partly a stereotype in my own mind and partly a result of my only other experience with an auction: a bike auction on the greens of Tappan Square in Oberlin, Ohio, during my first year at Oberlin College. I can still hear the fellow (and he was robust), rattling off a series of potential and existing bids ranging from $2 to maybe $10 for hundreds of used bikes. It was fantastic. By comparison, our friend at the podium at the OSIAN art auction, was disappointing.

Some of the art, however, was lovely.

See these examples:

Bombay Monsoon Street Scene by Syed Haider Raza (watercolour on paper)

Landscape by Frances Newton Souza

A Fabled Building by Avinash Chandra

Circus by Sakti Burman

Unidentified Soldier by Rameshwar Broota

Ravana and Jatayu by Kalal Laxma Goud

Once a swine, always a swine

Why is swine flu called 'swine flu'? This is a question posed by a concerned doctor in today's The Hindu op-ed page. Isn't swine a bit of an insult, a negative word? Would we call the three little pigs, the three little swines, he asks? Doesn't the use of the word swine aggravate public hysteria? Whatever. These are semantics. Not sure how much changing swine flu to pig flu is going to do for the outbreak's public image. The damage has already been done.

Though I must admit I've been a bit concerned myself about contracting swine flu, not so much for myself as for the four-, nearly five-, month-old under my maternal watch. I mean, how do you protect a little one from an illness that doesn't have any clear, unique symptons? And we are, after all, in one of the world's most densely populated cities. Short of locking him up in a room and keeping him away from any sort of activity, I can't say for sure that I'm protecting the little tyke.

The authorities here say they're doing everything possible to keep swine flu in check. Not sure how that sort of statement translates to blocking all private labs from screening concerned parties for Influenza A and B. They've also decided that only one hospital in this city of many millions, can screen and then quarantine the infected. Fat chance of me going there to get myself tested if I know that all the city's potential swine flu candidates are lining up in the heat for hours waiting to be treated. I mean, that's like getting a prescription to catch swine flu.

Can't entirely blame the authorities, of course. One doctor told me that it's impossible to take care of swine flu in India because everyone lies about their health. No one wants their family, neighbors or relatives to discover that they are marked goods, so they'll never admit to having potential swine flu symptons. Tres possible.

Though I have to say the officer manning the swine flu post at the airport, whom I encountered upon my return from Thailand, seemed only mildly interested in his job. of course his job was to collect forms from deplaning passengers attesting to having no fever, flu etc, etc. — a mildly interesting job, to be fair. A friend who has been in and out of the country three times this month says he accidently found all three of his forms in his bag. He forgot to hand his in, and our friend at the counter forgot to ask him for it.

So there we have it. To date, we know that 22 people have died in India and some 1,300 have become infected, according to the Times of India's coverage. The paper also informs us that doctors are being shunned socially because people are wary to go near them. In response, some doctors are refusing to treat potential swine flu candidates.

Not to worry though, the top man in India, Dr. Manmohan Singh, says no one needs to panic. Hear hear, let's take a chill pill.

In Delhi, too, tears over Michael Jackson

Last evening, I was out in my neighbourhood with baby Riyan in his sling, shopping for groceries when I passed by a group of young boys doing what I thought was the moonwalk. Billie Jean? I dismissed the thought, and went about my business quickly as the heat enveloped us even though the moon was out. These kids aren't of the Michael Jackson generation, I thought.

The scene reminded of my childhood in Pakistan when Michael Jackson became the first truly global celebrity, next to Madonna. Early teen birthday parties inevitably ended up with a bunch of us on the dance floor copying moves we'd watched on MJ dance videos. And since this was the generation before the advent of the internet, YouTube, bloggerdom and whatnot, we got Michael Jackson's songs fresh off the pirated "Thriller" bandwagon. Cassettes, obviously, not CDs. 

When I got home from shopping and switched on the TV, there was MJ on television, covered by all the Indian English-language networks here. Folks interviewed on the streets said the world had lost a legend. I didn't think to switch to the Hindi language stations or the other regional language channels to see if MJ's death had become an obsessive part of their coverage as well.

This morning when my maid and Riyan's nanny, neither of whom speak English, were discussing Michael Jackson, I figured this was news pretty much everywhere. "You know he was so big," Riyan's nanny said. "He was a fantastic dancer. He taught the world how to dance. He was so little when he started performing. I know all his songs."

She was looking at one of the photographs up on my wall, and she suddenly shrieked: "Isn't that Michael Jackson with you?" she asked, really excited. I turned to look. It was a photograph taken of me while reporting on a story in a school outside Johannesburg six years ago. I'm in one corner of the frame and a bunch of young school kids are in the center. Ummm, no, I thought. Those are kids from South Africa who share only one thing with Michael Jackson: they're black. No, of course, not, I told her. Obviously, I've never met him before.

Then Sheetal, my maid, added that everyone in her neighborhood was also talking about him. The point was made, though. Everyone in Delhi — regardless of age, class, gender or exposure was talking about Michael Jackson and commiserating about his premature death.

Funny, I thought this generation in New Delhi wouldn't really be plugged into Michael Jackson — maybe its just a result of the television hype and their parents and older relatives taking walks down memory lane.

I thought I'd check out how folks in India's cyberspace remember him. Of course, I came across Ambitabh Bachan's blog. Bachan — everyone calls him Big B — is Bollywood's biggest star here in India. When he fell ill a few years ago, thousands gathered outside his hospital hoping for his recovery, many spending hours immersed in prayer. I remember feeling surprised and deeply moved. Bachan, who started blogging recently, gives MJ a very personal send off — check it out. In it, he talks about his son (another top-billed Bollywood actor today) dressed up as MJ at age 7 or 8.

Come to think of it, there were many MJ costumes at dress-up parties back in Karachi in the 1980s. Even the barber shops would have "Thriller"-era posters up. Our local music store, Billboard, always featured posters and the latest of Michael Jackson or Madonna ("Live in Japan" concert). It's neat to see that in New Delhi even today's teens know MJ. With this massive memorial in Los Angeles that has eaten up hours of airtime, it's likely there will be a revival of his music. No question the music houses will quickly be recording his latest pieces.

The other night, Rajiv was playing Michael Jackson for Riyan, who, at 3 months plus, is among the most removed on earth today from the King of Pop. Looks like the moonwalk will live on.

Gay pride in New Delhi

Last year, I was traveling for work when New Delhi hosted its first gay pride march, so I really didn't want to miss it this year. A bonus incentive was to take little Riyan, my 3-month-old baby, to his first march. But with temperatures ranging between 43 and 48 degrees C, I wondered how practical or kind it would be for a mother to take a baby already suffering from diaper rash to an outdoor march amid the cacophony of Delhi's outdoor music, blaring horns, heavy traffic and crowded streets. Of course, I persevered despite the hovering presence of common sense.

It was stiflingly hot but a 10-minute pre-monsoon shower turned the dry heat into slightly more bearable but humid weather. Rajiv (my partner) and I locked Riyan into his car seat after running the AC in our battered orange Fiat for a few minutes to cool down the perspiring car, and went to scope out the scene. After the success of the marches in Calcutta and Bombay, we were hoping New Delhi's gay community and all those who support the fight for equal rights would come out in big numbers, heat or no heat.

What is gay pride like in a country where homosexuality is outlawed? Colonial era legislation states that "carnal intercourse" is "against the law of nature." If convicted, a defendant can be imprisoned for up to 10 years. Things are changing, however. Just today, a New Delhi high court made a landmark ruling that, in effect, decriminalizes gay sex. It's a huge deal for activists who have been fighting the current laws for many years.

On Sunday, when we attended gay pride, however, there was no such news. Rajiv, Riyan and I decided not to march in the heat but to join the march where it ended, at Jantar Mantar, a large park in central Delhi named after a collection of massive calculation instruments built by a Rajasthani ruler in the 18th century. There is an enclave beside the park where all protest marches in Delhi wind up after they've run their course.

There, by 6:30 p.m., an hour after the march began along a main road very close to Jantar Mantar, a crowd of some 500 to 600 had gathered. There were rainbow flags and bandanas, a lot of people were wearing sparkly, sequined, colorful masks, some carried posters, others were there in solidarity. Almost everyone was soaked in sweat as activists addressed the crowd from a covered dais.

Little Riyan's eyes darted from left to right taking in the crowd, the noise from humming generators that were runing the television vans, the colors, the excitement. A couple, dressed to the nines, with rainbow boas slung across their necks despite the heat, cooed and coddled Riyan for being, officially, the youngest attendant at Delhi's 2009 gay pride parade.

So how does gay pride here compare with gay pride in, say, Toronto? It doesn't, of course. It's tiny, by comparison, and there are no shortage of nay-sayers, and of course folks who don't even know what being gay means. Still, the march went off without any disturbance and was watched in Delhi's living rooms thanks to the presence of all the major channels.

Surprisingly, New Delhi's police force was unmoved. They've probably seen all sorts of demonstrations at Jantar Mantar, so I suppose little surprises them. They stood by and watched with limited interest. It was a hot, hot day, and they were probably counting the minutes left to get off duty and drown out the heat with a glass of cold, chilled King Fisher beer or some "tharra" (the local, homemade variety.)

The next day, my maid asked me where we had taken Riyan. I told her, the gay pride parade. What's that, she asked. I tried to explain what it was and who (including one of India's top fashion designers) was in attendance. She covered her ears with her hands and shook her head in horror. "Don't tell me anymore! What terrible things happen in this world," she said.

So, gay pride parade, a success? Yes. But, as everywhere else, a long, rocky journey ahead. Today's legal ruling, though, was a big step in making gay pride a meaningful annual event.

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