The Theatre of Real Life

“The Theatre of Real Life”

 

As a visual artist, exploring new spaces fascinates me. I was exploring the city of Ahmedabad on foot when on a fortunate day, I came across a pre-partition neighborhood in the by lanes of the city. I was intrigued and spent days making photographs of the residents of these colonies. Although I was curious, I ensured that I build my imagery keeping in mind the cultural, social, and historical paradigms within which these colonies have evolved. My point of interest was documenting the parallel of spaces and people residing in them, mostly old people. I witnessed old age for the first time looking at my grandparents and eventually observed my parents grow old. My understanding of old age in the physical sense is the changing texture of the body, the smell of the body becoming distinct, and the diminishing eyesight.  In a spiritual sense, as one grows older, the intangible nature of it surpasses the physicality of it.

 

What do you do when one’s responsibilities are done with? or when your passion becomes something of a past? more importantly when relationships you so nurtured all your life are now busy ticking the boxes just like you did at one point. 

 

Walking through these neighborhoods and looking at its residents -in terms of its residents, I was wondering - how important is it to have a companion? Can one endure old age without companionship? And what about the memories I have made with the partners, will that all I’ll be left with to distract myself from the cruelties of an aging body?

 

Meeting some of the octogenarians in the neighborhood was like confronting some of my biggest fears, reminding me of the transient nature of time, love, and our own narcissism. Everything came down to the insignificance of material existence. All that we have collected, some given away and others held onto for the sake of memorabilia didn’t matter anymore to fading eyesight and memory.  We, as time passes, are silently reduced to figments of imagination or a mere interpretation of someone else’s version of us.

Bringing to mind

 

All the World’s a Stage

 

And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,

… … …

 

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes, And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

 

 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

                                       

                                                                                                                        – William Shakespeare

 

In my exploration, I met various protagonists of this play, in their respective personal spaces governed by memories, longing, and nostalgia for the past. My visuals are an homage to them. It makes me humble and insignificant and makes me realize how our perceived greatness disappears and we are nothing but the most vulnerable characters preparing for our exit, “patiently waiting” as many confided in me, as all is forgiven and it’s time to move on from the clutches of emotions and desires that had us captive for times immemorial.

 

“The Theatre of Real Life” will end soon. The last scene of the theatre is going on. It may start again only from the beginning, and this time the masks we wear will be different but the struggles we encountered will all be the same.