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| Sumitro Basak (left) with Kunal Basu at CIMA Gallery. Pictures by Rashbehari Das |
Between the powerful and the powerless dwell the hopefuls. The “wannabes” are the real celebrities, for whom every act is symbolic of an exalted future, every choice a signal of ultimate fantasy. They, of course, are the fast- crawling worms on the growth curve that balance supply and demand, stirring wet dreams in every marketer. When desire meets promise, the result is explosive. Call it progress or crass materialism, the suckers and the suppliers are perfectly matched; like Romeo and Juliet they keep alive the tableau of our times.
While academics argue over who fathered whom — does advertising create needs or simply pander to latent ones? — the genie has slipped out of the box, and winks seductively from airwaves and billboards. It targets us in every waking moment, plunges us like Pi in an ocean of adverts, and whatever you might choose to do — sink or surf — the end will come blazing in the glory of a million brands.
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The marketing imagination has released the genie from its demographic roots. It is no longer the urban fetish it once was. Brand merchants have understood the only truth about real India: the hopefuls are everywhere — in B and C-type cities, huddled along national highways and biding their time in huts. And so, like the mountain come knocking on Mohammad’s door, marketers have leapt off the beaten track to paint the villages red (or blue or green, depending on their logos). Cow dung on mud walls has given way to dazzling pitches for phones and soft drink, urea and bank loans. Jerry cans and tree trunks, bullock carts and boats — all available space has been turned into canvases for the most maddening objects of desire.
The underwear arrests Sumitro Basak’s imagination in his most recent Fuxnama paintings. A symbol of virility and conquest, it churns the dream world of the hopefuls: smart branded boxer shorts standing as shorthand for bigger and better, the ultimate male fantasy translated into a philosophy of life. You remain invisible and unattractive unless you play the winner’s game with its pieces well laid out around you. You lose if you fail to board the lightning-fast train named desire. It is a philosophy well fertilised by myths, even contemporary lore — a vanquished Mahishasur begging Durga for power (not virtue); a Hindutva-inspired Ram flaunting six packs or the poor Rizwanur Rahman, victim of love — by a collective consciousness that equates domination with success. Look around, Sumitro seems to be saying, and you’ll see the cult of the underwear, bursting to kill and win.
Why FUX? Because it rhymes irreverently with Lux, the biggest underwear brand that has colonised rural markets, just as it colonises our gaze in Sumitro’s paintings: the red and yellow logo and underwear imprinted on a suckling calf, on copulating couples, fishes and lobsters, on cruise ships and alongside Kali. Even on human excreta. Hanuman wears a red gym vest as he springs across to Lanka (Fuxpur Dahan). Behula sets sail with a dead Lakkindor, dressed serenely in shorts and vest (Till Death Do Us Part); Dharma, in the form of a bird, transporting them later to Heaven which flaunts just as many brands of underwear — simply bigger and brighter than their earthly counterparts (Pakshi Rupi Dharma). Only the Devil dressed as a bird (Pakshi Rakshas) refuses to play the game of desire and entrapment, gobbling up FUX with glee.
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What prevents Fuxnama from descending into clever pastiche or a montage of images from contemporary consumer culture, even a belated evocation of Warhol, are the stories that link the diverse elements within each painting. Drawn from the artist’s observations, they build a sensitive narrative about living, dying and dreaming in the company of objects of desire. Like patachitras or medical charts, they tempt the viewer to discover the threads and make up their own stories. A bare-chested man in a green striped lungi carries a load on his shoulders as he strides forward on a bridge. The bridge is infinite in Bridge to Heaven, the sea beneath full of thrusting cruise ships and a giant piranha devouring a human. Kali rides an immersion truck alongside the man. A ticket counter sells ferry rides to Heaven. Stories crowd every inch.
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Not surprisingly, a literary sensibility coexists with visual imagery when it comes to deciphering Sumitro’s commentary. It isn’t enough to see, but to know as well — following his favourite novelists he invites the viewer to come to conclusions without striking any obvious posture.
Which story will you tell next, I ask Sumitro. He thinks for a while.
Maybe the Delhi rape.
The sun will take a bit longer, it seems, to set on FUX Raj and its ocean of tales.
FUXNAMA — recent works by Sumitro Basak — will be on display from March 15 to April 20, at CIMA Gallery
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