ek din kutch aisaa beeta,
A day could tell everything. Of how the month went by, or the year went by or how the life goes by
A day in JNU and I am writing on how paths are forming what i do. These are the very moments of how i move around in my bedroom, in my toilet, the house, and how i drive the car to JNU, the route taken, the traffic i face, the mountain scape of JNU, the paths i get lost on, the criss crossing of paths inside, of how i see small-small walking paths which make up how the mind changes in every moment.
Its true, it really is, i can’t prove it, I can’t make you walk on the same path, but something of it is true. The path is what constitutes thinking or whatever that moment is?
I will share in a descriptive method how this line forms. It is simple when I will tell you descriptively / openly. It will make sense. Your mind could connect with what is happening. Then you can try it at your end too, dear reader.
Behind the School of arts and aesthetics, there are multiple ways to get to the central library. And there multiple ways if you take any of the way. The key is to notice where a moment begins and it ends. Every scene is formed as a frame, like a path which has rubbish lying, another with a row of flowers, then where posters come up, a place which is formed as a curve and is behind the building, at someplace you go through open corridors, another you face steps and a mini podium space.
The food varies, the coffee varies, the behaviour varies, and it creates shifts, multiple shifts. These are ways of developing what i feel as invisible marks, a methodology in mark making. It is not a walk around the campus but deliberate ways of landing into lectures, seminars, staircases, conversations, paths, like a guard stretched his arm on my way to the school of physical science because i thought he wanted to hug me, then it felt like he was saying do not go any further and when i was close to him, he said, “itnaa bara saap”!!!
he had seen a mud cool snake slide from the concrete path and under a big rock. I am still stuck inside the darkness of that whole in the rock, and then i met with a peacock a bit further and tonight i saw the tiny frog under the swinging garbage bin.
A lecture talks about emancipation, then a bird is eating into my chicken biryani, another is dwelling into scientific enquires of the sky, another is tearing apart every city of the world and makes you a see a graphic movie which is the story of every city. another lecture takes you into rituals and performance and they continue like a drama inside a room, challenging you to distinguish between reality and fictional.
But then you draw, and i draw in these classes, the pen keeps moving, scribbling away the intensity of the lecture, then i maybe draw when i move around making invisible marks on foot like a refugee on the run, knowing that he can not be detected except the borders here differ. i will not be arrested of anything. I am free to move into anything.
But the route of being here is different. In the morning, the traffic moves in one way only. every one is driving with me. No one drives against me. Maybe that is why we don’t end up crashing into each other. We turn left / right of we want to go the other way.
And in my home, i don’t run around like it is a campus. There is place for me to sleep, shit, eat and entertain myself. It is not the campus. It is a fixed room. So i draw lines of information through making lines on the net. My search engine is my path of lines. My marks are the history of where i travel and see. It is not like the marks drawn on the wall. And, but, it is all mental.
In the university, the body is walking.