Invited for a Sotheby’s pre-auction lunch, where Indian art was on display for potential buyers, the first person I met was the inimitable M.F. Husain, shoeless as usual, looking as happy as a child. There is a certain calm about him: he is a man who has painted life in every colour and eliminated the shade of rancour. He carries on creating his own world of myriad hues, and no one can touch him where he is today. Looking at him walking barefoot in one of the most expensive parts of London, with his paintings being sold for several millions, an international celebrity close to completing his centenary, the pettiness of those who want to destroy his work recedes in stark contrast. Such success makes one immune to the barbs of lesser mortals. So while the Indian media and hypocritical politicians may occasionally weep that one of India’s most talented son is forced to live in exile — let me tell you that Husain is a happy man, even if we would wish he languished in homesickness!
Meanwhile, not unexpectedly, most of the paintings and sculptures on display sold at the subsequent auction for much more than the reserve price. This fact should be genuinely celebrated and not buried in mock outrage. We must remember that these sales are transparent and legitimate. There was a dismal era, not far back, when we were all ruing the theft and black marketing in ancient Indian art. And there was also a recent period when contemporary Indian art was at the bottom of the pile. Now, both old and modern Indian art is the flavour of the month, with constant exhibitions and burgeoning sales.
Of course, this Sotheby’s auction had become controversial thanks to the inclusion of Rabindranath Tagore’s paintings from the Dartington Hall Trust, the proceeds of which were to be given back in aid of the trust. There is, indeed, good reason to be concerned because when art or literature of historical importance goes into private hands it is always difficult to seek it out again. The Dartington Trust (to whom Tagore had bequeathed these paintings) has always maintained that, according to its rules, it cannot donate the paintings to anyone, including the Indian government — and that it did hope that many of the paintings would find their way back to India. How unfortunate that no one was able to scrape together the money to gift this enormously valuable collection back to Tagore’s country.
I have to say that when I did finally see the vibrant Tagore paintings, like any other Indian, I was also (momentarily) overwhelmed by a sense of loss. From behind the glass the translucent colours and yearning eyes seemed to accuse us of carelessness. Tagore is, beyond doubt, a heritage worth preserving — and his genius should not be allowed to be dissipated. So why couldn’t these paintings be housed in India? Or is this really a needless controversy? Perhaps the time has come to properly examine and take stock of why we are still not being able to protect and ring fence important works of art, cinema and literature.
Does the private sector, then, finally, have a role to play? Is the time right for alternative museums — run by private trusts to be set up — so that in case the government cannot bid to buy a piece of art, some privately run museum could do so? Perhaps money could also be raised by these museums, from the public, in specific cases. This often happens in the UK especially when paintings have been kept within the country by a determined fundraising drive.
We have also experienced that public spirit in India — but somehow not in the field of art — which has for far too long been considered the responsibility either of the government or of art galleries and auction houses. There should be now an attempt to create a third alternative — private-public partnerships for museums — so that if money is required, it can be easily sourced to save India’s heritage, whenever it comes up for sale. Unless we do this urgently, these kinds of situations are going to come up again and again and we will be helpless to prevent the loss of our heritage.

Meanwhile, I did some rather nostalgic self indulgent theatre viewing the other day. I went to see the vintage rock musical Hair — a late 1960s play which had been considered scandalous in its first avatar. It even had naked actors (all flower children espousing free sex) gathered on stage to face an outraged audience. Full frontal unabashed nudity! — accompanied at times with rather raunchy gestures. The most revolutionary part of the production was the music and the long unkempt hair. Of course, I had been far too young to see the play at the time — and now, properly “all-growed-up” I decided to see its revival at Shaftesbury Avenue.
From the opening energetic number The Age of Aquarius a song that many in India will remember, there were also other numbers which were not so popular for obvious reasons, given their startling lyrics. For example, Sodomy, fellatio, cunninlingus, pederasty… father, why do these words sound so nasty? The play was deemed radical at the time because it was staunchly anti-war, and because it had a long on-stage drug-induced sequence. It also had a strong Indian connection with most of the hippies on stage wearing beads and batik and longing to go off to India to lead a simple life baking bread. (Many of those long haired 1960s flower children are still undoubtedly wandering around in Manali and Goa!). The play still contains a sequence of Hare Rama Hare Krishna chanting devotees swaying in tandem. I am surprised no Right-wing Hindu fanatic has as yet called for a ban on this heady mix of sex-drugs-free love and the invocation of Indian gods!
Watching it today, nearly 40 years after it was first written, one is no longer taken aback by the obvious. In fact, I was heartily amused by the innocence of the “flower children”. What was literally hair-raising in the 1960s is merely quaint today. Nudity on stage is commonplace in the present — and “foul” language is heard constantly on prime time television. We have all changed a great deal and our ability to be shocked has been reduced dramatically.
Yet, despite our present tough veneer, the play has still managed to deal a bitter blow at the end — with the visual of an American soldier lying dead on top of an American flag. Some things horrify only because they still have not changed. In the 1960s young soldiers were dying in the Vietnam war and they are, sadly, still dying — but in a different battlefield. The children of peace, the flower children and the hippies had hoped that by placing a flower in the barrel of a gun, they would silence it. On the contrary, the sounds of battle rage on — and this time our anger against war has become mute. Unlike the anti-war protesters of the 60s who came out in their millions all over the world, now the protests are smaller, and with decreasing impact. It is this message which the play leaves you with and it is this which makes it remain relevant today.

The writer can be contacted at kishwardesai@yahoo.com