On Collectors, Communalism, and a Clamorous Chicken (Ch. 6)
Dearest readers, good friends, and ardent enemies1,
I present to you chapter six of Ink-uilab. This experiment appears to be morphing into a monthly periodical but I’ll refrain from committing to anything resembling the constraints of a coherent schedule.
This one is about the paradoxes of mystical poetry, the schisms in Indian secularism, and the archetype of the ‘collector’. It also features a domesticated chicken.
On the scars of secularism:
Today, the 6th of December marks 30 years of the demolition of the Babri Masjid at Ayodhya. The incident was been, undoubtedly, the most significant flashpoint in the communalized conflict in India since the Partition of 1947. The event fanned the flames of social disharmony, triggering bloody clashes during the 1990 Hyderabad riots, the bloodshed of the 1993 Bombay pogroms, and atrocities during the 2002 Gujarat riots. Today, although the dispute is ‘legally settled,’ it continues to be a pawn on the political chessboard and reflects, in the words of Amartya Sen, “a diabolic beastliness that communal sectarians have planted well into India’s body politic.”
Historian Ram Guha, in a fantastic piece for Fifty-Two, revisits his diary and reflects on life before and during the demolition of Babri. Beyond capturing the energies and tensions of Delhi’s intelligentsia as they grapple with the realities of communal violence, Guha contemplates personal emotions and responsibilities in the face of tyranny.
I recently had a chance to rewatch Anand Patwardhan’s critically acclaimed and controversial documentary Ram Ke Naam [trans. ‘in the name of Ram’] which explores the campaign to build the temple at Ayodhya. Patwardhan interviews Ayodhya residents and civil servants, priests and maulvis and offers insight into the geist of the stakeholders. A moving scene captures a rousing speech by A B Bardhan:
My younger wide-eyed self penned some thoughts in the lead-up to the 2019 Supreme Court verdict on the dispute. The piece was never published and argued that a secular solution to the problem lay in building a ‘monument to unity’ similar to the Temple of All Faiths in Kazan, Russia. On reflection, the proposal discussed in the tract was highly idealistic and has not aged well. If the idea’s implementation could be deemed romantic as of three years ago, anything even close to such a compromise would be an impossibility today. Here’s an excerpt from the uncirculated piece: “Cases of this secular union are innumerable and rousing: From the secular spirit manifested in Akbar’s variegated court to the idealistic principles established by Nehru. [update: Although, an upcoming book by Pratinav Anil questions the veracity of this claim.] The communal harmony was embodied in Mughal courts, as Vedic scriptures were translated into Urdu, and regiments led by Hindu generals. Did we not fight shoulder to shoulder against our oppressors in the Revolt of 1857? Was it not the collaborative efforts of freedom fighters, of all faiths, that propelled us towards democracy? …. Aside from representing Indian secularism, the monument could be designed to represent the interlaced architectures of Bharati cultures, infusing styles from across the ages and faiths. Indo-Islamic architecture, scattered across the land, is standing proof of the heterogeneous state we reside in …. Without question, the execution and adoption of a mutually acceptable remedy is a daunting task, and the journey to conciliation is impeded by bureaucracy, corrupt polity and those who profit of religious conflict. Yet, we must find solace in the secular spirit of the populace, the progressive perspectives shared by Muslims and Hindus nationwide, as well as the liberal judgements by our Court (such as the repealing of 377.) If these positive forces unite and implement a fraternal solution, it will unequivocally act as a proclamation of Indian pluralism and a message to the self-appointed guardians of Indian culture.”
On a Clamorous Chicken:
Mumbai-based filmmaker Rishi Chandna’s documentary about a ‘domesticated’ chicken and his home in a Mumbai apartment is greatly enjoyable. ‘Tungrus and his Pet Chicken from Hell' is a unique exploration of the bonds between humans and animals within the chaos of cosmopolitan Mumbai. This short film about a recalcitrant rooster hell-bent on wreaking havoc is well worth a watch:
I’ve been transfixed by the uncertain ‘absurdities’ that pervade megacities like Mumbai. Tungrus’ power struggle with his rooster within the gladiatorial arena which is a cramped suburban apartment is but an example of this absurdity. Chandna, seemingly inspired by the notion of urban absurdity, writes: “Mumbai, India, where I live, is a constant clash of contradictions. You have elders who grew up in villages living with their cosmopolitan children, villagers who have moved to work in the city, and city folk who crave rustic weekend getaways. Different perspectives collide and breed tension, even within households. In this cross section of humanity, few things are considered too bizarre to be off limits, and the mundane parts of daily life can intersect with the insane.”
Tungrus and his chicken The film also forces us to confront the mortality of animals - an issue that is particularly important in light of growing debates on animal ethics. Is it ethical to keep pets? Is it ethical to eat animals? Is it ethical to eat a pet? Is it less morally dubious to eat a pet if it is a Mephistophelian chicken with an anarchist streak? I await Singer and Nussbaum’s treatises.
On a Classification of Collectors:
In the last month, I’ve had an opportunity to meet with a multitude of ‘collectors’ and see their beloved collections. When I reflect on their personalities and habits as ‘collectors’ in a comparative sense, a few archetypes emerge. In the spirit of inquiry, I will attempt to sketch out a pseudo-Jungian taxonomy of the ‘collector.’ A few notes on the onset - Firstly, I will concede that few individuals can be categorised cleanly into labelled boxes - nevertheless, it can be possible to roughly group collectors by traits and motives. Secondly, none of these categories are value judgements, nor are they generalizable beyond my own experiences and observations. Third, this might end up being a convoluted excuse to praise collecting as an art form.
Onwards! I posit that there are five archetypes of the collector: the accumulator, the perfectionist, the magpie, the merchant, and the curator:
The Perfectionist:
The perfectionist is driven by an almost desperate need for completion, for the perfect collection, where nothing is missing and nothing is out of place. This desire for perfection is their ultimate motivation and their greatest reward. The perfectionist is a passionate creature - a seeker of all knowledge and a collector of all treasures - attainable within the constraints set by their collection. This single-minded quest for the perfect collection is commonly found among collectors of trading cards and numismatists, with one seeking a complete set of released cards and the other acquiring every minted variation of a certain coin. Perfectionists trawl auctions and websites, looking for the final puzzle pieces that would deem their collection complete.
No collector is immune to the disease of a ‘complete collection.’ Perfection calls out to the collector like a siren. Take the following case study: You may begin your collection by purchasing all the Harry Potter books to read them. This stokes your passion for the Wizarding World, and you buy the spin-offs by Rowling, such as the Tales of Beedle and Bard. You then find a certain cover of the series beautiful, for example, the Philosopher’s Stone 2008 Collector’s Edition from China (pictured below). You then proceed to buy all seven books in that edition. Next thing you know, you own over 1700 Harry Potter books including the Luxembourgish translations and ‘a Chamber of Secrets uncorrected proof with one of only six test/proof dust jackets.’
But is the perfect collection unattainable? Georges Perec writes, in his Brief Notes on the Art and Manner of Arranging One’s Books: “Like the librarians of Babel in Borges’ story, who are looking for the book that will provide them with the key to all the others, we oscillate between the illusion of perfection and the vertigo of the unattainable. In the name of completeness, we would like to believe that a unique order exists that would enable us to accede to knowledge all in one go; in the name of the unattainable, we would like to think that order and disorder are in fact the same word, denoting pure chance.”
The Accumulator:
The accumulator is the collector who collects items for the joy of owning them and thus accumulates a large number of items that they may never need or use (the explicit utility of most collections, however, is highly debatable). A more refined hoarder, the archetype of the accumulator is devoted to the relentless pursuit of collecting. We can differentiate an accumulator from a perfectionist on the basis of their philosophy on ‘multiples.’ If a collector is acutely aware of the number of identical items they own (regardless of whether they desire them), they are likely a perfectionist. An accumulator, on the other hand, garners duplicates - either intentionally or unintentionally. They are driven by an insatiable appetite for the acquisition and ownership of things, be they tangible or intangible, monetary or non-monetary, physical or spiritual.
Philatelists are oft-times accumulators, collecting loose leaves of paper, sticky stamps and cancelled envelopes in massive plastic tubs. While this may be an efficient way of compacting a collection, is there not the fear of losing a rare stamp or crushing a beloved postcard?
The Magpie:
The magpie derives pleasure from the very act of collecting. To them, the hunt itself is satisfaction, regardless of the items they end up acquiring. A magpie sets out to a flea market or antique-shop or bazaar or collector’s fair with no expectations. They spend their days searching for items that call out to them, scouring the market for the best deals, and bargaining for the lowest prices. They avoid collecting catalogues. They approach each trade as one of circumstance, and each item as an entity in and of itself. Ask a Magpie about an item in their collection and the odds are that they will mention ‘how’ or ‘when’ they acquired it. When interrogated as to ‘why’ they acquired an item, the answer can range from an elaborately rich story to a deadpan ‘it looked cool.’
The magpie’s quest - or hunt, if I may - is captured in The Bibliophiles, 1879 by Spanish painter Luis Jimenez y Aranda:
The Investor:
The investor is a collector that gathers items with the intention of safeguarding capital. While I am not in a position to discuss the investor’s legitimacy as a ‘collector,’ it is important to clarify that an investor is not a dealer. The former collects and acquires a collection of financial value. The latter is involved in the ‘trade’ of collections, drawing on their niche knowledge and networks to help collectors find and acquire items that interest them. It could be argued, however, that many collectors delude themselves into becoming investors. Capitalistic satisfaction offers an effective justification to the collector, and convincing oneself that their hobby is of inherent value is blissful.
The Curator:
The curator’s world is one of order, precision and perfection, where each item is carefully placed, arranged and sorted. They are creatures of habit and find comfort in their meticulously organized collections and the sense of control these items bring. Perec says it best “Every library answers a twofold need, which is often also a twofold obsession: that of conserving certain objects (books) and that of organizing them in certain ways.”
Some curators enjoy displaying their collecting. They present their wares with a showman’s flair and revel in the wide-eyed fascination of their audience. Other curators enjoy their collections in isolation, taking solace in the haven of structured order they construct.
The anti-curator enjoys clutter. Perec says: “Disorder in a library is not serious in itself; it ranks with “Which drawer did I put my socks in?” We always think we shall know instinctively where we have put such and such a book. And even if we do not know, it will never be difficult to go rapidly along all the shelves.”
Fewer collections capture the essence of the ‘curator’ than Orhan Pamuk’s Museum of Innocence. A magical experiment in literary realism, Pamuk pairs his 2008 novel with an actual real-life museum collection. In the novel, a love-struck Istanbulite meticulously collects and arranges everyday objects that embody memories of his beau. In parallel, the romantic ‘magpie’ Pamuk compiles an expansive collection of items that bring the book to life, and reflect the spirit of everydayness in 1970s upper-class Istanbul. While his book narrates the romance between the businessman Kemal and a distant relative Füsun, Pamuk’s museum embodies the romance and allure of collecting. Reading the book in the museum itself has been one of my favourite experiences, and I would wholeheartedly recommend it to anybody that passes through the gates of Constantinople!
A glass case containing 4,213 cigarette butts, each smoked by Füsun, and labelled and mounted by the ‘curator’ Pamuk/Kemal
It would be inappropriate to mention the ‘curator’ and not share this gem on the wonders of book collecting. Walter Benjamin, in his essay titled Unpacking My Library in Illuminations, describes the incomparable joys of reading, sorting, parsing through, categorising and displaying one’s books. Here’s an excerpt: “Now I am on the last half-emptied case and it is way past midnight. Other thoughts fill me than the ones I am talking about not thoughts but images, memories. Memories of the cities in which I found so many things: Riga, Naples, Munich, Danzig, Moscow, Florence, Basel, Paris; memories of Rosenthal's sumptuous rooms in Munich, of the Danzig Stockturm where the late Hans Rhaue was domiciled, of Süssengut's musty book cellar in North Berlin; memories of the rooms where these books had been housed, of my student's den in Munich, of my room in Bern, of the solitude of Iseltwald on the Lake of Brienz, and finally of my boyhood room, the former location of only four or five of the several thousand volumes that are piled up around me. O bliss of the collector, bliss of the man of leisure! Of no one has less been expected, and no one has had a greater sense of well-being than the man who has been able to carry on his disreputable existence in the mask of Spitzweg's "Bookworm." For inside him there are spirits, or at least little genii, which have seen to it that for a collectorand I mean a real collector, a collector as he ought to be ownership is the most intimate relationship that one can have to objects. Not that they come alive in him; it is he who lives in them. So I have erected one of his dwellings, with books as the building stones, before you, and now he is going to disappear inside, as is only fitting.” Read the complete essay here.
As always, some verses, in parting:
It is hard to think of a poem that ties together the disparate themes of this chapter. Luckily, the absurdist mysticism of Kabir is universal. I present to you a poem by the monastic Yogi Gorakhnath, in the ulatbaasi (upside-down verses) tradition.
A fascinating exploration of the self and the truth though intertwined paradoxes, obscure references and naturalistic images, ulatbaasi invokes uncertainties and makes the reader confront their perceptions of the world. Linda Hess, a scholar of Kabir at Stanford, writes that ulatbaasi must be experienced as a “process of endless reversals” that should make “you feel like a fool.”
In the tradition of Kabir poetry, the experience is incomplete without music. Below is Mukhtiyar Ali’s hypnotic rendition of the esoteric verses:
A translation of Gorakhnath’s Beside A Well, Oh Seeker (‘Kuen Re Kinaare, Avadhu’) in full:
Guru and God
Both stand in front of me
To whom should I bow?
I surrender to my Guru
For showing me the way to God
Beside a well, oh seeker
I sowed a tamarind seed
The tree is blooming
With fish all over
The rabbit turns hunter
And prowls in the forest
He hunts down
The deer of attachment
The bull milks, oh wanderer
While the cow churns
Only the rare one
Eats this butter
Beside a well, oh seeker
A deer was married
She gave birth
To five baby-deer
With the grace of his guru
Gorakh says -
One who searches
Will find
so long!
BM
(All errors are my own, and a by-product of editing this during a rushed dinner at Hopper Dining Hall.)
‘As a matter of self-preservation, a man needs good friends or ardent enemies, for the former instruct him and the latter take him to task’ - Diogenes of Sinope
Where do u get all the time from to do the research & read so much 😒😒