Palestine in my [he]art

As a teenager living in Hyderabad in the mid 1970s, I had briefly befriended a group of Palestinian students studying at the Osmania University and living in an apartment in my neighborhood. I don’t remember their names or much else about them, but I do remember tasting Hummus for the first time when they shared some with all of us after a game of ‘gully cricket’!

Our President Pranab Mukherjee’s diplomatic gaffe while attempting to pronounce the word Hummus during his recent state visit to Israel was amusing, but certainly pardonable. What was less pardonable was his refusal to touch upon the subject of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. It was indicative of the degrees by which the official Indian attitude has shifted since the days of India’s stout defence of the struggles and aspirations of the Palestinian people.  Those front-page photos of Indira Gandhi receiving bear hugs from the likes of Yasser Arafat and Fidel Castro have now been replaced by images of Modi with Netanyahu and Arab princes in similar, though somehow less sincere, postures.

I was more than delighted, then, to say yes to Sudhanva Deshpande’s request, on behalf of Jana Natya Manch, Delhi, and The Freedom Theatre, Jenin, to create a series of artworks for their upcoming collaborative tour, Freedom Jatha, this winter. Despite not having kept up with Middle Eastern politics to the extent I would have liked to, I recognized at once that this was a historic initiative.

Having accepted the assignment, I have now begun to immerse myself in stories of the Palestinian movement, and have understood afresh how this tour is so precious — because it goes beyond governments and their changing priorities. It is, in fact, a first of its kind — in its attempt to initiate people-to-people contact on a significant scale, to establish friendships at a real human level, to speak the language of art not diplomacy, to exchange creative ideas, and to learn from and celebrate each other’s struggles.

With actors from the Freedom Theatre, Jenin, and Jana Natya Manch, Delhi, at my studio last month. (Photo Rahul Yem)
With actors from the Freedom Theatre, Jenin, and Jana Natya Manch, Delhi, at my studio last month. (Photo Rahul Yem)

Even as many of us in India are coming together against rising fascism at home, we need to join hands with brave fighters for freedom, peace and justice in other lands. Today, its very important for us to make possible this India Tour by contributing whatever we can in terms of solidarity, support and financial assistance. We have so much to learn from the experiences of our Palestinian friends, and the amazingly creative responses they have fashioned in the course of their struggles. And above all, this an opportunity for us to show the world that we Indians, despite the attitudes and activities of our so-called leaders, are indeed people with a global vision for peace.

How can anyone not want to be part of it?

I am often asked: how do I get ideas for my artworks? Do words come first or images? What are the sources of my inspiration? There is of course no set formula, but research and immersion in the subject is important for me. I’ve always engaged with places and their people extensively before getting down to telling their stories. My first graphic novel, River of Stories, was about the Adivasi people of the Narmada river valley and their struggle against a mega-dam project, which I did back in the early 1990s. Honestly, initially I didn’t even know I was going to make a book as I went around meeting people, talking to them and making hundreds of sketches.

River Title copyOne evening, I remember, I saw this man on a motorcycle, driving on a bund with the river behind him, his white hair luminous in the light of the setting sun, billowing a cloud of dust behind him. Call it epiphany, but at that moment, I knew I wanted to tell his story.

As it happened, in the end, he didn’t even figure in the book at all. But in my mind, I am clear that he had gifted me a story of which he was, and was not, a part. When working on a project, this kind of an emotional trigger is critical. Till that happens, I can’t produce any work.

This time, I was faced with a peculiar problem. I knew something about the Palestinian situation, but I’ve never travelled to that part of the world. I haven’t felt that soil, I’ve never breathed that air. I was of course looking at stuff on the internet — images of Gaza, the resistance struggle, Israeli atrocities, the checkpoints and the Wall, Palestinian iconography. But I needed more than that.

Then Sudhanva sent me his diary from a visit to the West Bank earlier this year. He had also shot photos. I read the whole text, all 10,000 words of it, in one go. It was as if I was experiencing Palestine through him. And ideas started to flow. I did a sketch depicting weapons turning into olive trees. I’ve always liked wearing gamchhas, and was naturally drawn to the keffiyeh. I did many sketches with the keffiyeh in it.

As I sketched, some things became clear. One, that I didn’t want, at least as a first step, to have images of violence. Not that I condemn the armed resistance per se. An occupied population, even by international law, has the right to defend itself with arms if necessary. But I felt that Palestine represents for me a horizon of hope, of immense courage and fortitude, of gentleness and beauty. I wanted to capture these ideas in my artworks.

One evening, I did a drawing of a keffiyeh around a young girl’s face, whose one eye is the moon and the other eye a sun. When I looked at the sketch afresh next morning, it resonated with a certain quality – like I was trying to depict a protective space for something that was tender and fragile, yet full of hope for the future. Out of this emerged my final image, of the nest and eggs.

Peace Freedom Justice

I wanted to upturn some of the negative and violent associations that have been sought to be linked with the wearing of headscarves, turbans and head covers in recent times — and represent the Palestinian keffiyeh as the protector and nurturer of fragile values that remain under threat in many parts of the world — including our own.

KeffiyehYasser Arafat was one of the highly visible proponents of keffiyeh as a Palestinian statement — always draping the end of the scarf over his right shoulder in a triangular flap reminiscent in shape of the map of historic Palestine. Another Palestinian figure associated with the keffiyeh was Leila Khaled, a female member of the armed wing of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine.

Past Present Future

At some point, I also decided that words would accompany the drawings, but I didn’t want slogans. I wanted something suggestive, something that might trigger curiosity as well as an emotional response. Like fragments of poems.

Keys

For the people of Palestine, the Key symbolizes the principle of the ‘Right of Return’ – which asserts that Palestinian refugees and their descendants have the right to return to the property they were forced to leave behind in the former British mandate of Palestine – as a result of the formation of Israel, the 1948 Palestinian exodus and subsequent conflicts.

SolidarityBetween 1975 and 87, Palestinian cartoonist Naji Al-Ali produced a large number of powerful drawings featuring the character Handala. According to him, “The child Handala is my signature, everyone asks me about him wherever I go. I gave birth to this child in the Gulf and I presented him to the people. he has promised the people that he will remain true to himself. He is not beautiful; his hair is like the hair of a hedgehog who uses his thorns as a weapon. Handala is not a fat, happy, relaxed, or pampered child. He is barefooted like the refugee camp children, and he is an icon that protects me from making mistakes. Even though he is rough, he smells of amber. His hands are clasped behind his back as a sign of rejection at a time when solutions are presented to us the American way. 
I presented him to the poor and named him Handala as a symbol of bitterness. At first, he was a Palestinian child, but his consciousness developed to have a national and then a global and human horizon. 
Handala was born ten years old, and he will always be ten years old. At that age, I left my homeland, and when he returns, he will start growing up. Things will become normal again when the homeland returns.”
 Sadly, Naji was never able to return. He was assassinated in London in 1987. In this image, which I have drawn in heartfelt tribute to a great fellow cartoonist, Handala has acquired a new friend — an Indian girl who stands hand in hand with him. Her name is Madhubala.

Freedom Jatha Tour Schedule, 2015/16Freedom Jatha Tour Schedule, 2015/16

Have your say

comments

Raiot

Subscribe to Raiot via Email

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Orijit Sen Written by:

Orijit Sen is a graphic artist, cartoonist and designer based in New Delhi, India. He has been deeply involved with the development of comics and graphic novels in India, and his pioneering work "River of Stories" (Kalpavriksh 1994) is considered to be India's first graphic novel. He is one of the founders, along with his fellow designer and wife Gurpreet Sidhu, of People Tree - a collaborative studio and store for artists, designers and craftspeople, known for its promotion of innovative artisanal work and creative community building. Orijit is Mario Miranda Chair visiting professor at Goa University, where he has initiated an experimental research-based arts project, entitled "Mapping Mapusa Market", involving students, educationists and artists.

Be First to Comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *