We Make The Hindi Times!

(L-R) Christine Styles, Nek Chand Foundation
trustee and widow of Tony Rajer with daughters,
Victoria and Sarah Davitt

About six months ago, I met with Christine Styles, the widow of Anthony (Tony) Rajer, Nek Chand Foundation trustee, and vocal advocate for the preservation of the Rock Garden, to discuss whether or not 
I was a good candidate for the international volunteer program.

Two things she said stuck in my mind. The first was that the program was a little like camping, and the second was that in addition to mosaic making, there was also the need to go through all the items in Nek Chand’s office and archive all the gifts, awards and other items.

Nek Chand holding the oil portrait I painted for him prior to coming to the Rock Garden

Hey, who took my bread?

I ignored the camping comment, though it did come to haunt me later on when I realized I could have benefited from a few ropes, hooks and other rappelling equipment for climbing and walking up, over and on 12 ft walls after drinking a little too much cheap Scotch whisky, 

Poisonous snake in our bedroom

as well as field guide to wild animals, reptiles and insects of North India, though that is for another story.

What I did think about over and over again was going through the stuff in Nek Chand’s office. From a very middle aged, selfish and lazy point of view, I kidded with my friends in the states that if I couldn’t hack doing mosaics, I would find my way to a desk job for four weeks to avoid having to do any real work.

Boy did I get that one wrong.

Learning to cut tiles the easy way by
banging on them hard

In retrospect, it would have been much easier to sit with a little cement placing tile after tile around a cement column in a random design, taking regular breaks for the fresh squeezed orange, pineapple or pomegranate juice or the fresh little Indian snacks that seem to me like little baked dough balls with spicy vegetable mash inside them.

(L-R) Adam gets a lesson on how to apply cement

(Not that doing mosaics is easy work. It is darn hard work. You have to sift the dirt, mix the cement and then rotate your body in positions that the yoga gurus would never approve of. You have to reach spots your body was never meant naturally to reach to slap on some cement that may or may not stick a small tile to a cement column, in a pre-determined pattern that should have been designed while I was being a slacker.

And the real shock (if you have never actually done a mosaic on a column or exterior or large surface before) is how long it takes to actually fill up the space! Now, I work slow, but it took me three days at four hours each day to finish about 12” up and totally around the column. (The rest of the time I was drinking juice, having chai tea, eating dough balls or having my picture taken as a celebrity white person who they want to photograph and talk to because you are such a novelty.) 

I watched my companion volunteers toil away, committed to learning the craft and completing a column.

I realized early on at the rate I worked, it would take about three months, which would put me into the summer season at 120 Fahrenheit, at which temperature I melt.  My two daughters would be very distressed to learn I actually melted in the Rock Garden and no trace was found of their mother. All that would be left would be a few random t-shirts and stretch pants from Goodwill,  20 bottles of iodine tablets that I never opened and a few packets of freeze-dried eggs and ham, which even the monkeys refused to touch.

John Maizels and Nek Chand at press conference for unveiling of Tony Rajer's memorial sculpture

(What I didn’t realize is that I was trading the frying pan (literally) for the fire. But really, I have to credit John Maizels, the other Nek Chan Foundation trustee and founder of Raw Vision magazine, and the world bible to art brut and outsider art, for throwing me into the fire. 

At the end of a hard days work - tired but happy

One night at dinner he asked if I would help Alan,  this filmmaker from the UK with a broken foot, since he knew I was a photographer. That is actually how I ended up doing something that I will remember for the rest of my life as a highlight and pinnacle of my short and mostly insignificant time on earth. Like you read all the time and never believe – things happen when you least expect them.

Alan arranging items for photography in our outside studio

The next thing I knew, Alan and I were setting up a makeshift photography studio in the stone courtyard of Nek Chand’s office,  trying to remove and clean pictures and enlarged photographs of Nek Chand with international dignitaries to take a digital record of them. 

Lokrum packing up items we removed from the office

Alan and I would take them out of the office and Lokram, Nek Chand’s gatekeeper for years and years watched us in disbelief. No one had touched that office since 1978 when it was built. There is such tremendous respect and awe for this world renown artist, that no one would dare make the decision to remove an item without his express consent...that is until the crazy American woman and the anal retentive filmmaker showed up.

Literally, every piece of mail, photograph, letter, request, award or document since 1978 sat in a pile or paper bag behind, next to, around or under Nek Chand’s chair.

 The valuable documents were interspersed with newspapers, magazines, utensils, bags of chick peas, rat droppings, and bits of rope, fabric plastic containers, old electronics or anything else that was given to Nek Chand or brought to the office that might one day become a valuable part of a Nek Chand sculpture.

After two days of taking a few things out and having Lokrum put them back, we had a Mexican standoff. I started to remove a black cloth from a fabric sculpture and Lokrum started to wave his hands in the air and walk in fast circles shaking his head as he spoke to us in Hindi, probably with expletives about how westerners never understand their culture and how much he couldn’t wait to retire and move to Florida to a small condo on the beach. All I know is that after that scene, we never saw him again. I heard he had blown out his knee, but I am betting he took the first flight to Palm Beach and sold a few Nek Chand sculptures to pay for a flat and a fishing pole.

(L-R) Helper, Alan, me and Nek Chand's current assistant
 after a day of sorting and trashing 

I say it with sincerity that I regret wholeheartedly if there was a connection between our arrival and his departure, though it wouldn’t be the first time I have seen people run when they saw me coming to get a job done. 

The next day, without Lokrum, Alan and I agreed we needed some help to communicate to Nek Chand so he could instruct his staff to be cooperative. With help from Sarah, who speaks Hindi (again Sarah to the rescue) and John Maizels, we got approval from Nek Chand to remove everything we wanted from his office, as long as we put it back again. (Right...just try putting a sleeping bag into its original bag!)

The next morning, three helpers, and I, filled up the courtyard with what looked like piles of trash, but were actually, invaluable maps, architectural drawings, city memos, award letters, fabrics, etc. until there was no place to walk. And that was only 25 percent of the office. 

Alan came in a little later that day and I could see from the look on his usually unflappable demeanor, a slight expression of astonishment and terror at the devastation I had caused in about 90 minutes, while he was across the street buying basically a potato knish with hot sauce from a street vendor.

And that is when we really knew we were in for a prolonged period of very hard work to sort, clean and box what looked important so it could be put aside to be sorted again by subject and date so that one day, there would be an organized, digital record of what how Nek Chan achieved the development and near completion of his remarkable Rock Garden. The temperature in the courtyard was often over 100 degrees Fahrenheit and sometimes exceeded 120 degrees in the sun, so it was terribly hot as well. 

And that is what we are still working on today. We have completed cleaning out all the bags and boxes that we are aware of in his office, and initially sorted trash from what could be important. We have set all the pictures and awards back in his office and are now going through flat documents.

The article in the Hindi daily paper about our archival process with photos of yours truly and Alan looking at a portfolio album we found with Indian stamps inside.

We have found half rat eaten architectural plans hand written by Nek Chand as well as speeches and documents from the city outlining additional plans that have not yet come to fruition. We have reviewed photographs of hundreds of well wishers, volunteers, visitors to the park, other artists and dignitaries who have visited the park and had their picture taken with him. There are speeches, awards, marketing brochures, interviews and gifts of art from adoring fans and well known artists from around the world. All of it now has a place back in his office or will have a place in a box with a subject name by the time we are done.

There is no way we can complete such a monumental task as archiving a 30-year plus history of anything in three-to-four weeks by two amateur archivists. And there must be a discussion about where the archives will be stored for their protection and access. 

Three of the hundred of river rock sculptures at the park

But for now, we have begun a process to protect and document the lifelong passion of a man started by being drawn to the mystical shape of a river rock,. He chose to carry that river rock by bicycle to a safe, secret place and began to build a world around it to honor its creation. 

Ultimately he graced that location with an entire world of river rocks, sculptures and architecture that the world cherishes and enjoys today and hopefully will be able to do so forever.

Detail of the miniature version of village where Nek Chand grew up in
what is now Pakistan and said to be a major inspiration
in the creation of the garden.uu

The least we can do is honor the man by documenting and protecting what inspired and motivated him to continue his journey for so many years and in the face of such obstacles achieved such greatness to become one of the world's most recognized visionary folk artists.

Next....a look at the many faces and shapes of the more than 2000 park sculptures....

j

The Finished Mosaics

The finished mosaic columns completed by the Feb 2013 International Volunteers-(L-R)  column 1-jan and Adam; column 2- Anita; column 3-Jody and team; column 4-Adam; column 5,6,7 - Sue and team. (I only did a small bottom part of column 1)

closeup of Anita's column

The columns have been completed and all the volunteers except Alan and I have left the Rock Garden one by one. What remains for posterity are seven columns (one out of view)on a hall in Phase III completed by the team of international volunteers who gave their valuable time and experience to the park. 

closeup of Adam's column

When you look at the enormity of the park, and of the millions of hours of labor that went in to creating the park and its sculptures, seven columns seems almost insignificant in the total scheme of things. However, I can tell you, those columns took hours and hours of hard labor and each of the volunteers are leaving with an experience that will remain a strong memory for the rest of their lives.

One of the gifts of living in the park for so long, is that you actually become familiar with the mosaics that embellish walls, amphitheaters, sculptures, stairs, houses and any other cement structure at the garden. Over time, you get to know who did which ones as much as is possible in a park this size. 

What becomes clear is just how many thousands of hands contributed to making it the artistic environment it is today. 

Portion of  Guest House Mosaic done by French woman and team

You get to know about the French woman who came for a year and stayed in our guest house to complete the magnificent mosaic on the front of the house. 

View of finished columns from interior walkway

Or you hear the story of a side wall that is still waiting to be completed that Sarah worked on in a group of volunteers. 

Another wall mosaic done by volunteers

Worm's eye view of finished columns from interior of walkway

And suddenly you are not one person coming out of nowhere to create mosaics, but part of an international pilgrimage of artists and volunteers and social activists who somehow find their way to this site to advocate for the continuation of Nek Chand's original vision of a fantasy world of gods and goddesses, mermaids and peacocks that delight adults and children alike.

Sue's third column

Sue's first two columns

Next, a progress report on our work to identify, sort and archive memorabilia from Nek Chand's office.

The Wedding Crashers

Guests enter through a fabric created hall, with wide, low bowls filled with candles and rose petals. They pass hundreds
of lit votive candles placed on tiers in Nek Chand sculptures and then enter the great hall at a mosaic pool filled with flower tops and rose petals and lit votive candles.

All the sculptures were individually lit, like these cement
trees/ elephant shaped designs.

It is wedding season in India right now, and that means weddings at the Nek Chand Rock Garden. So far, there was one wedding during the weekend we went to Amristar, and I missed it. However, we got wind that there was a wedding planned for Saturday night and that there would be lots of food. And if you have ever heard anything about an Indian wedding, then you know what a spectacle they can be.

And any chance we have to avoid eating the same meal every meal that they serve us in Tiffens (metal tins) is an invitation to crash from our point of view. Besides, Nek Chand told us we could go, so we had the official stamp of approval. So Sarah, Adam, Alan and I were the only westerners to crash the wedding and it was oh, so worth it. 

This is one of the larger stations that you encounter as you walk into the central area of the wedding floor. You pick up your plates, utensils and napkin and then wander around 30 - 40 food stations.

This was a central tent, under which guests sat and talked, 
ate and socialized

wedding guests who wanted their picture taken by a westerner - no matter we don't know one another

(L-R) Alan, Sarah and Adam

At western weddings, everyone seems to be aware of strangers in their midst. Not so in an Indian wedding. They are affairs of gargantuan proportions, more like a convention than a family wedding. Hundreds of people attend to eat, dance and feast. There is more food than one could possibly consumer, and they go on for hour after hour.

Sarah and I at the end of the evening. 
Notice her hand beaded dress.

By our standards, the wedding cake is small. It is an incidental part of an Indian wedding.

The bride and groom will sit in this settee all night to receive their guests who will quietly hand them money or gifts and take a picture with the lovely couple. The settee is on a stage, with rows and rows of couches in front of it, so that family and friends may watch the procession of greetings. The flowers are fresh.

waiter serving drinks to guests sitting in couches watching newlyweds on stage to receive gifts and well wishers from the receiving lines.

It is more like being in the midst of a large cruise ship evening than a wedding. No one makes any central welcomes or announcements. It is difficult to tell who the central players are outside the bride and groom.

The park is almost entirely hidden for the night by the yards and yards of fabrics that form an hexagonal barrier and private space. Hundreds of rugs are laid on the concrete floor to create a homey impression.

As the evening wears on, children and adults gravitate to the 30 ft high swings that are anchored in the center of the arches. This little girl wears her fanciest party dress while her brother looks on from the swing behind.

Hundreds of pin lights give the park the feel of being in a night time fantasy . Nek Chand's 10 ft. mosaic horses sit atop this fantasy and provide a magnificent backdrop to the night.

Promptly at 11pm, the band stopped playing and the workers whisked tables out from under guests to signal the event was over. The bride and groom are escorted from the stage, and as quickly as the wedding ball began, it ended. 

Everything is packed up and put into hundreds of trunks, carried out and as quickly as the magic begins, the park returned to its natural self to spend the rest of the night in quiet.

We sneak out the back from Cinderella's  ball and are greeted by the feral dogs looking for scraps. The wedding crashers go home full of good food and heads full of colorful visions. 

My mother would have loved it!

The Stupid Tax

Sarah calls it the "stupid tax."

(As I have said often to her and others, I won the roomate lottery. She is this young, brilliant, social activist who has lived in India for a year and a half and speaks Hindi. She has worked with people, like me, who come to a developing country, and have high expectations for achieving great things. She watches them, with quiet reserve, I might add,  repeatedly go through the same learning curve each time as they adapt, or don't adapt to the Indian culture.)

The stupid tax is the extra time and money you will often pay for learning things the hard way. For instance, an auto rickshaw should cost 50 -150 rupees ($1-$3) to go most places in town. The stupid tax is when you pay 200 rupees because you don't know from experience to bargain with the driver.

Yesterday, Alan and I paid the stupid tax for two hours as we searched for moving companies, whose names we had found on the Internet, who we intelligently thought should be able to sell us file-size moving boxes to begin the process of sorting and filing documents we have uncovered in Nek Chand's office.

Really? We really thought we would look up a name and address on the Internet and find a company that sells boxes, like we would do in a western country. Then we would hire an auto rickshaw for an hour and a half to go see them, get the boxes and other supplies and come back.

We went to the first address....no store. We call them. "Oh no mom, we are in Delhi, not Chandigarh. We use the address of our friend."

Store #2." Oh no mom, we do not sell boxes without packing and moving things by our men."

Store #3 - This number is no longer in service.

Ok, so who sells boxes? We drive to sector 17 (already one hour into this fiasco) to a stationery store we know, where Alan got bubble wrap two days ago.

Do you sell boxes? No mom, we sell packing tape. bubble wrap and file folders from the 1950s, but no boxes. But we do have some used boxes in the back that we will sell you if you want. So we go in the back of the store and find boxes that contained reams of white computer printer paper with tops.

"OK, we will take 20 boxes."

"Oh no mom, we cannot sell you 20 boxes. We can sell you two  boxes."

"But we need 20."

All ten guys give a bobble head at the same time (where they shake their heads from side to side and you have no idea what it means since we nod our heads up and down.) Mr. Singh, the owner (who always sits behind the counter with the money) says, "You will come tomorrow for more."

At this point, it is two hours into this project, so we take the two boxes and go. Along the way to the auto rickshaw, I see some empty boxes sitting in front of a retailer, which I steal and run for the taxi. Alan hobble behind me and we pay the stupid tax again!

More later on the unbelievable things we have found....
j

Turn Off The Drill or We are Leaving!

(L-R) top row - Shifa, Jody, Alan, Sarah, Adam
bottom row - Sue, me, Anita (Notice it is March and there are still  holiday  decorations

Last night we all got together at Lyons, our default, Indian restaurant in Sector 17 to have our final group dinner before we starting peeling off and going our separate ways today. Anita is the first to leave, then a larger group on Saturday, and then the rest next week some time.

From our perspective, since we have not seen otherwise, Lyons is considered a "nice" restaurant. It is located in their "premier" brand section of a strip shopping center that is their "Rodeo Drive." It was probably built in the 80s and has an all-white interior with marble floors, a white and chrome railing leading to the upstairs fancy bar, and  back lit marble panels on the floor and walls to give it an expensive kinda sheen.

(L-R) Sue, Adam, Shifa, Alan, Anita, Jody, Sarah-

It serves fancy Indian food at affordable prices ( $6-8) an entree, and ,lots of waiters who bobble their heads and pretend to understand you even though they are really clueless regarding speaking English. Let's be clear, it is really our responsibility to learn Hindi, but still, if you are going to appeal to tourists, shouldn't you have at least one person who understands English? But in all fairness, it is mostly a restaurant that appeals to business men who have expense accounts and upscale professional class families who are there for special occasions.

So we sit down and as we are served drinks, we hear what sounds like the loud whirring of a mixer, but it is unusually loud. We ask what it is and they mention lime soda drinks so we just let it go, assuming it is the mixer. But after a few minutes, the sound becomes more intrusive and we realize that it is a power drill and that they are doing construction in the bar upstairs.

It is so typical India to have this kind of collision of cultural expectations. We are sitting down for what we think is going to be a nice, quiet dinner, and they are probably ecstatic that the construction guy finally showed up to fix the problem upstairs. If it is anything like we have experienced, it can take days to complete a one-hour appointment.

Anyway, we ask that they please stop the drilling during dinner so we can hear ourselves think, much less talk, and they say, "yes mom, we are so sorry, just a few minutes."

The drilling continues. I tell the waiter we will leave in one minute if the drilling is not stopped.

"Oh no mom, we will stop the drilling."

Drilling stops, we are served first course.

Drilling starts again....our table is vibrating it is so loud.

I go over to the manager and tell him if they don't stop the drilling, then this party of eight is going to leave their meals on the table and we are not going to pay for what we have ordered, and the owner will be very unhappy with the bill.  I point to the door and let my fingers do the walking as we say in America, when we want to show someone we are planning to walk!

Dinner is served.
Drilling stops...........
Sheesh...
Dinner over
There are lots of things I will miss about India.
Drilling over dinner is not one of them.

Henna Hoodlums

Henna Hoodlums come to the Rock Park and hustle Sue

Henna  is a plant derivative that when combined with an acidic
mix, stains the skin.
It is applied on hands and feet and considered
a skin adornment for brides and women.

Sue with her completed design

Jody with her  design

Sarah is not impressed

I'm feeling touristy....