There is a wonderful feel of winter in the air, very conducive to wandering about the city on a weekend afternoon to scout out new exhibitions and other such happenings. The Raja Deen Dayal show, at the new galleries of the Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts, is one of the most comprehensive and gracefully mounted expositions one has witnessed there in years. Done with creativity and panache, it makes a statement and keeps the viewer enthralled. However, as in all such government- or quasi-government-run institutions, the environment is dull and uninspiring, much like a cold and tacky bureaucratic babu office.
There is no souvenir shop selling reproductions, postcards, diaries, umbrellas and other such merchandise or memorabilia for visitors who have appreciated a slice of India’s heritage. There is no café where visitors can relax, imbibe the experience, chat with friends and have a cup of tea or coffee. There is no value addition, no sense of a good use of space, nothing. Bored government peons hang about, unhappy faces greet you as you enter these bhandars of our past, and in this day and age, we are left embarrassed by the harsh fact that our civilization and its strengths have been reduced to the worst of babugiri.
The IGNCA sits on a vast tract of prime land. I drive past it everyday and it looks like a desolate space. It needs to be activated with simultaneous events bouncing off its premises each day of the week, supported by cafés, eateries, wayside stalls, outdoor music, a comprehensive art bookshop, a souvenir shop of the best items made in India, and more. This can only happen if there is a governing body of lively professionals, not older than 60, to execute that energy.
In a country where hospitality is common practice and where welcoming a guest is virtually a sacrosanct act, all our cultural institutions defy that premise and remain cold and frigid like morgues. People are the repository of the many cultures and traditions of our civilization. But in India, the people who visit such institutions are treated carelessly, often with scorn laced with arrogance, by the bureaucrats who run these places.
In a stranglehold
These places do not beckon. They do not attract you. They do not embrace you. They are managed by disconnected babus, marking time, waiting for a ‘good’ appointment, or by retired babus with no other job at hand. The younger, and more vibrant, professionals, with a passion to break new ground and energize the hitherto staid and boring museums and cultural institutions, are nowhere to be seen in the management hierarchies of such places.
Will this attitude ever change? Will these institutions be given the due they deserve or will they remain in the hands of retired men and women in need of sinecures and government dole? Are we going to rejuvenate the public domain with lively spaces where the skills and heritage of India are showcased and shared with the people of this subcontinent? Why this stranglehold? Why this fear of diverse opinions in a plural culture that defines the premise of our civilization? Who will bell the cat and ‘restructure’ our cultural institutions in the way our economic sphere has been liberalized?
The ministry of culture is attempting partnerships with the Victoria and Albert Museum and the British Museum. But to what end if the National Museum continues to be ruled by a set of redundant rules, unchanged from the turn of the last century? Surely, the first step is to rewrite the mandate, initiate a fresh act of Parliament, have it passed, and then begin the revival? Until we respect our past, celebrate our present and aspire to a credible future, we shall remain an anarchic nation-state.