The India Habitat Centre is supposed to be THE place for cultural events in New Delhi, so Katrina and I decided to check out the Delhi Photo Festival there.
We found the “information office,” which I encourage you to say while making ironic quotation marks with your fingers.
Me (with a big friendly smile): Hi! I saw on your website that there is a guided walk through the Delhi Photo Festival today. I was just wondering what time that will take place.
Information Office lady (with a surly frown): There is no walk.
Me (smaller smile): Well, I saw it on your website. I think it might have been added recently because it had a yellow-highlighted, all-caps “latest news” headline.
Crabby lady: There is no walk.
Me (head cocked, forced smile, gesturing at her computer): Maybe you could just open up your website there…
Crabby lady (bangs on her keyboard and then turns away to answer the phone): Sigh…
Me (turning the monitor so I can see it): Yes, see, there it is in all capital letters – LATEST NEWS. The curator is leading photo walks. See it says, “great opportunity to understand the thinking behind the Festival and the photographs on display.” But there’s no time listed.
Crabby lady (refusing to acknowledge the screen): You have to go to the Visual Arts Office.
Instead, we went to lunch at the Eatopia food court. (Side note: One of the food court eateries is called Wild Willy’s Western and its counter is decorated with American pioneer paraphernalia, such as cowboy hats, spurs, holsters and guns. Nothin’ says “wild west” like that ol’ wrangler favorite, The Naanza™ – Tandoori Chicken or Paneer Tikka on a Tandoori Naan base.)
After lunch, Katrina had to leave for a doctor’s appointment, but I toured the photo festival on my own. The IHC is a huge complex of buildings with shady courtyards, small outdoor performance spaces, and wonderful little nooks full of artwork.
There were several engaging photography collections, such as this one by renowned Indian photographer and photojournalist Raghu Rai.
Having just immersed myself in Gandhi’s story earlier in the day, I was especially intrigued by the photographs of his grandnephew, Kanu Gandhi.
While popping in and out of the different exhibits, I accidentally discovered the Visual Arts “Office” (more ironic finger quotes), which consisted of a table in one of the galleries.
Me: Excuse me, can you tell me when the curator is leading the photo walk?
Helpful Visual Arts Office man: Five O’clock! Hope you can join us!
That was still a couple hours away, and I had already done my own photo walk, so I decided to skip the tour. Before leaving the IHC, however, I stuck my head in the door of the “Information Office” and said with a super huge friendly smile, “Helloooo! It’s me again! Just in case somebody else comes in and asks about the photo walk, it’s going to be at 5 o’clock! ‘K, byeeee!”
At the risk of dwelling TOO much on the IHC’s lack of customer service and/or marketing savvy, I have to say it is not easy to plan ahead in this country. I subscribe to the local newspaper AND the bi-weekly Time Out Delhi magazine, but it seems many events I would like to attend are top secret and poorly promoted. While noshing on my chicken biryani at Eatopia, I checked out the IHC events calendar and discovered a concert scheduled for the next day: “Reflections of Kabir in Gandhian Philosophy and African Ubuntu,” which I had not seen advertised anywhere else. With my brain all full of Gandhi and his ties to both India and Africa, I decided to attend.
Katrina, Tony and I met up with my friend Gopa and her family at the IHC’s Stein Auditorium, which was filled to about half capacity, for the FREE concert Friday night. Turns out (a) Gandhi’s philosophies and African gospel music both echo the teachings of Kabir, a 15th-century Sufi saint and poet; (b) Robin Hogarth, a Grammy Award-winning producer, auditioned high-school students in South Africa to participate in this project and brought a choir of seven children and two teachers to India for a month; and (c) Hindustani classical vocalist Sumitra Guha and her troupe had only one week to rehearse with the kids. The Indian and African styles melded beautifully; I actually teared up several times. The most powerful part of the concert for me was when the singers ended one of the songs in typical yoga style – “om shanti” three times.
Here the African choir sings a protest song that was banned for awhile in South Africa.
