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The Product Maker: FN Souza

Though it may very well be due to an ignorance of the totality of the Buddhao-Indo-spiritual aspects of Indian culture - Westerners, in the 1990s would probably have found most works by Indian artists, especially those works by Indian artists claiming to have endowed their works with a religious element - to be self-indulgent, run-of-the-mill, poorly-drawn renderings (of course, this could be said about most Contemporary American art, as well.). Nevertheless, since their work appears to have appealed to Indian sensibilities, as fine art, many works by those Indian artists had acquired a modest, commercial success - which, when considering the low income, at the time, of India's middle-class, that would have been an acceptable accomplishment. On the other hand, Indian interior decorators, functioning in a profession that by its very nature is commercial, tend to excel as innovative creators of unique, fascinating and pleasingly-habitable spaces.

Nance was in the habit of frequenting the cocktail lounge cum bar at the Gupta Yatri Nivas: a government-run, relatively-inexpensive hotel - where he stayed whenever in New Delhi. The decor of the bar was international-chic, with an Indo-modern flavor - which was enhanced with the addition of hand-fashioned, whitewashed, tiny-mirror-bearing cabinets (made of a cement-like substance). They were of a type Nance had seen in the interiors of the round, adobe-type huts of fishermen, when he was on a Gujarati-government-sponsored tour of Kachchh.

Nance sat sipping an India-made whiskey and soda (no ice) contemplating his soon-to-be-realized return to the States. His thoughts were interrupted by loud, alcohol-enhanced, boisterous voices coming from the far end of the bar. Two men were talking about their knowledge of New York City - but, soon, they began arguing about things Indian: both subjects Nance thought he knew something about.

Nance sidled over to a table adjoining that of the verbal combatants. One of the men turned out to be Manu Mehta: a businessman involved in international trade, a world traveler, a Gujarati, a Hindu, and a supporter of an India-wide use of Hindi (this, despite Gujarati's being his first language). The other gentleman, he was to learn, was Manual De Pereira: a Goan artist, a born Catholic and a supporter of English (not Portuguese) as the national language for all India.

The artist, Manual De Pereira (with a barely-perceptible, Indian accent superimposed on that of an Americanized-English) was taunting Manu Mehta: "You speak of Hindi as being India's language, yet here we are in India, both Indians, using English to convey our thoughts."

"That is exactly why I say that the teaching of Hindi should be stressed! India is losing her identity, and the use of one language, Hindi, throughout India would unite us all," was Manu Mehta's Indian-accented reply.

"How can you say that, after all, Hindi is but a made-up language?" was De Pereira's chiding and combative response.

This sort of banter went on for a few minutes before Nance felt compelled to add his two cents. Referring back to De Pereira's knocking of Hindi, Nance asked the Goan artist, who had obviously absorbed an Anglo-American, Euro-centric view of the world: "What language would you say is not made up?" And, before he could answer, Nance added, "I for one can't conceive of a major, modern, written language which, of course, includes English, that hasn't been made-up. The grammar of every widely-spoken language has always been deliberately standardized - at least to some appreciable degree - and when written, so too was its spelling and the shape of its letters or symbols."

As are all Indians, when learning English, Manu Mehta had been exposed to the West's negative view of India and her culture. So, despite being an intelligent man with pride in his Indian heritage, he, much like the vast majority of folks, worldwide, found it near-impossible to counter the prevailing Euro-centric view of world history with its stress on Western supremacy - which was being expounded by the far-more-fluent-in-English, Manual De Pereira, his Goan-artist antagonist.

*

This anti-all-things-to-do-with-life-in-India attitude is so prevalent, that Indian consular officials residing in America are unable to comprehend why anyone (whether or not with Indian ancestry), would desire to remain in India for any length of time - unless for devious reasons.

*

Manual De Pereira, much like many of India's Christians, had been totally indoctrinated into believing the Euro-centric world view created by Western historians for European consumption. It was a Bible-based, Judeo-Christian, cosmetically-doctored world view that praised the West for the indignity they imposed on Indians by enslaving them, stealing their land and deliberately causing some twelve million Indians to starve to death - while claiming that colonialism was being imposed for the good of the Indo-Caucasian peoples of the Subcontinent.

*

Obviously, if Irish Catholics were entitled to an apology by the Brits for allowing a million of their ancestors to perish as a consequence of both Brit actions and inactions, and if European Jews are entitled to compensation for their having been used as slave labor during W.W.II, then the ancestors of the citizens of all colonized peoples, not only Indians, surely deserve massive compensation for the crimes committed against humanity (albeit, non-European) by those who enriched themselves at their expense - notably the big-money folks who prospered from the colonizing activities of Europe's and Japan's empire builders.

*

No doubt, Nance's upbringing, with its school-taught view of American history, one that stressed the nation's breaking away from British rule and European domination, had him taking a dim view of the nonsensical notion that the West's colonial culture was righteous, ethical and all-knowing - and by inference, that rapacious colonialism was laudable for its contribution to the making of a civilized world.

The Gujarati, Manu Mehta, appeared to be much relieved when Nance took up his cause. Nance agreed with his view that Indians must have a more positive sense of their ethnic identity, and this was the main reason for his butting in. However, even if he hadn't agreed with Manu Mehta, Nance might have sided with him, though, perhaps, less vigorously, for no other reason than that his opponent was being unfair. The artist, Manual De Pereira, being better educated (at least in English), was most adept at skewing the truth when stating his case. No doubt it's a conceit on Nance's part to feel the need to side with the underdog. As a result, following a short pause in the conversation, Nance again gave vent to his urge to attack what he thought was the Goan's smug, pro-everything-West attitude - one so often exhibited by India's most-recent emigrants - but especially those, like the artist, De Pereira, who came to America.

*

Nance, turned towards De Pereira, and stated, perhaps a little too pedantically: "In the case of Hindi, and I'm sure you're already aware of this, it's the written language closest to the original Sanskrit. And, although Sanskrit is the oldest Indo-European language known to exist, much like Hindi, it's most assuredly been codified - or made-up, as you so pointedly stated, into its present form. I'd also like to say, in defense of Manu Mehta's stand on the use of Hindi, that, since Urdu and Hindi, both being Sanskrit-based tongues that have their modern roots in Hindustani (the lingua franca of the peoples of the most populous areas of the Subcontinent), it acts as a tie between both Hindi- and Urdu-speaking folks in both India and Pakistan. Moreover, since both Hindi- and Urdu- speakers understand the speech of one another, Urdu-Hindi would be the third or fourth most-spoken language in the world - English, Chinese and possibly Spanish being more prevalent. And, mind you, nothing about stressing Hindi as the universal language of all India would preclude the use of Bengali and the other Sanskrit-based languages, or Tamil and the other Dravidian-based languages, from being used whenever and wherever individual Indians might wish."

*

Manu Mehta and Nance, after exchanging names, occupations and lineage, shook hands - as fellow Gujaratis (this, despite Nance's not having visited India or Gujarat, where his father was born, 'till he was well into his sixties). Nevertheless, Manu Mehta, who was still in an agitated state (despite Nance's siding with him), paid his bill and left. It was obvious that he couldn't find the words to counter what he took to be the artist, Manual De Pereira's insulting anti-India jibes - and, being a powerfully-built man, but a Hindu in the Gandhi mode, he decided he'd better leave before he lost his cool and became violent.

*

Being an artist himself, Nance looked forward to having a conversation, combative or not, that included the Goan. His original intent, when joining in their conversation, was merely to put his two cents in, not to take sides. Nevertheless, since he found the Goan's attitude identical to that of the blindly pro-West, anti-all-things-Indian voiced by so many middle-class Indians, Nance had sided with the Gujarati.

It was after Manu Mehta left the bar that Nance began to realize that Manual De Pereira was an intelligent, knowledgeable and worldly old codger, albeit, with a bit of a mean streak. By most generally-accepted criteria, he would be considered a success, albeit, a modest one. He had a dealer buying his work for resale to people claiming to be collectors (his work bordered on the pornographic) and, with the proceeds from the sale of his work - which he turned out with production-line speed - he earned enough to allow him, when in India, to stay at a moderately-priced hotel like The Gupta, and when in New York (through the benevolence of a dealer), to reside in a small, rent-controlled apartment cum studio. His situation was one many artists might envy.

Probably the most significant attribute a fiction writer can have is the ability to be a good listener. And bars, along with long-distance train rides, airline flights and late-night, city buses seem to attract people who want to talk. It was in the bar of The Gupta hotel that Manuel De Pereira proceeded to relate his life story, at least that portion that suited his purpose - which appeared to be to impress Nance with his stature as an intellectual, an artist and as a sexually-macho lady's man. This last, was probably the aftereffects of his having grown up in Goa, where so many Indian Catholics imitated the Latino (Portuguese) attitude towards sex - one intended to disprove the possibility of their having unmanly desires.

*

[Even in modern-day America, one finds a similar macho attitude expressed by Catholic Latinos (though mainly South American Spanish). It should be noted, though, that throughout the Indian subcontinent it's rare to find the same kind of macho-combative posturing that one comes across amongst a fair number of young, Goan Catholics when in Panaji. However, this isn't meant to suggest that Indians of other religions are incapable of being boorish, or of committing heinous acts.

[India's Christians, having ancestors who were coerced into adopting the religion of their masters- also adopted their masters' customs, as well as their attitudes towards Hinduism and Mohamedism. In doing so, they and their offspring were to profit disproportionately from India's having been politically and economically dominated by one or another of the old, colonial powers. (There were others, however, besides Christians, who also benefited unfairly due to their being favored by the British, Portuguese or French - but few of them were Hindus or Moslems - unless, that is, they were collaborating Nizams, Maharajas, or Nabobs, who gained favor with the Brits and their fellow colonizers by their being compliant and willing subordinate rulers.)]

*

It was during a dinner Nance attended in New Delhi, shortly after his first meeting with De Pereira, that he asked the wife of an Indian consular officer, a sophisticated woman who came through as being in the know about such things, if she knew of an artist named De Pereira. She did, and said (with much disdain, as she mentioned his name) De Pereira was included in a circle of Indian artists being bought by a handful of known Indian collectors. But, when Nance mentioned that he appeared to be an old man, of some seventy-five or eighty years, she seemed to doubt that the artist he had met could be the De Pereira she was referring to - who, she was quite sure, could be no more than fifty, or at most fifty-five years of age. Nevertheless, after Nance mentioned the type of work the artist produced, along with other aspects of his history and physical appearance, she stated that he must, most-assuredly, be the same man.

*

To forgo family and the possibility of producing heirs, as a means of insuring one's genetic future, in order to pursue the gift of eternal life as an artist: one listed in the annals of art history, is often considered a worthwhile endeavor for some. However, the artist, Manual De Pereira had neither heirs nor a celebrated presence. Having neither - unless one were to consider being numbered amongst the innumerable also-rans listed in "Who's Who in the Arts" as having attained the status of a celebrity (though he was known in India by most artists and a small group of buy-the-output-of-anyone-Indian, art enthusiasts) - he dwelt on those few years in his youth when he showed some signs of making-it.

*

Due to his downing one whiskey after another, Manuel De Pereira, in an increasingly-tipsy manner, continued to relate his life story. And, as he went on and on about his sexual exploits (while smoking continuously, and coughing with each drag), Nance couldn't help but recall an old joke:

There was this broken-down, scrawny, near-bald, bleary-eyed and bedraggled old man - his skin was shriveled, he was bent over, and needed a cane to get around. He was sitting on a bench in Thompson Square Park talking in a weak and rasping voice to a bunch of East-Village, long-term vagrant-hippies. He told them how he drank two bottles of vodka every day, spent hours every might in a cat-house and was a chain-smoker -- and that it never harmed him. "Wow," said one of his youthful auditors in disbelief. "And, you've lived such a long life. How old are you, anyway?" "Thirty-two," was the old man's response.

Well, De Pereira wasn't thirty-two, nor was he the man in his late seventies which he appeared to be. However, like the man in the story, his face was grizzled, he too was bleary-eyed, stooped a little, walked with a bit of a drunken shuffle, and, perhaps due to a prostrate problem, made trips to the john after every drink (and he drank fast).

*

Manuel De Pereira was born in Panaji (still called Pangim by many of Goa's Europhile diehards) some fifteen years prior to India's 1961 ousting of the Portuguese from the Subcontinent. Whether, in the past, Goa had been allowed to whither away as a backwater of the remnants of Portugal's fast dwindling possessions, or had always been a sleepy enclave of tropical vegetation larded with coconut-tree plantations, is not pertinent. For years prior to, and continuing on after India's takeover, Goans, in an effort to better themselves, were migrating to India proper in droves. Manuel De Pereira was numbered amongst them. So, despite Catholics in Goa having been the dominant peoples, with Hindus (usually low-caste) being the underclass, since Goa had been left to die economically and intellectually by the Portuguese, Catholics such as the De Pereiras, in an effort to give meaning to their lives, fled Goa for Hindu India - evidently, despite their claimed resentment for India's reclaiming the enclave, their ties were so great, that being reincorporated with the rest of Mother India was a mere formality.

*

As Nance's conversation with him continued, De Pereira let it be known that, as a child, he believed he was destined to be an artist (which may or may not prove the saying that artists are born, not made). He then told of his studying at one of the major art centers in India - it may have been Vadodara (then Baroda), Shantiniketan or JJ in Mumbai (then Bombay). He finally ended up in Paris where, possibly due to his being Indian (the talking-dog effect - it ain't what a dog says, it's just that he can talk) or perhaps it was the near-pornographic aspect of his work, he said he gained a certain notoriety and his paintings sold quite well.

But his fifteen minutes of fame (to be sure, though limited, something few artists ever acquire) was just that, for in no time he said he went out of vogue, was broke, disillusioned and was ready to come home. It was then, he went on to relate, that an American agent offered to handle his work, gave him an advance and arranged for him to rent the studio that he still lives in when in New York - and, which he sublets for a handsome profit when he's in India.

*

He then went on to relate that his paid, lady companion (when in India) of nine years had left him - without an ah, yes or maybe, and how when he tried to contact her upon his return to India he was advised that she had gone off and gotten married. It did seem that he was bragging, when he mentioned that, that particular Indian woman whom he had hired as a companion, teased him by saying he was older than her father. Perhaps she had a father fixation, but couldn't deal with a relationship based on having an affair with a man that looked like her grandfather. In all probability, she (much as her provincial-French counterparts, of a not-too-distant yesteryear, did after their withdrawal from Paris and their profession) always planned on leaving him - once she accumulated enough rupees (as a result of catering to his carnal needs) to pay for an always-expensive Indian wedding, as well as for a dowry sufficient to allow her parents to arrange for a marriage with a suitable boy.

*

Just prior to Nance's leaving, he again ran into Manual De Pereira. It was in the same bar; he was with a young man, a representative of the Indian dealer who was buying his work. The young man let Nance know that he had picked up two paintings from De Pereira the previous evening, and that this morning he had brought him the two blank, cotton canvasses that were lying on an adjacent table (each was about twenty-four by eighteen inches and taped onto a stiff cardboard), adding that he'd be back the next day to pick up the finished works. Pereira was expected to knock off two of his near-drawing-like, near-porno-like (provided one had a good imagination), acrylic renderings that evening.

*

Nance never saw De Pereira again. But, one conclusion he came to was that no matter where in the world, for an artist, the road to fame and fortune is rough going. Moreover, it becomes more and more evident, that the commonly accepted romantic aspects of the life of an artist, portrayed in so many popular novels (due to the inventive genius of their authors), and the subsequent exploitation of those novels by movie makers, are rarely, if ever, true to life. It's doubtful that any but a very few of those who've given up the major portion of their freedom will ever be acclaimed or become economically successful - or have a particularly interesting or eventful life.

Perhaps the young Indian woman, the one who, after earning enough money to get married, left De Pereira, was the overall winner. If what De Pereira said was true, the lady enjoyed herself while earning her dowry - and she had no need to drown her memories in drink.