Education is hollow without Art - Siddharth Darapuri

 

Education is hollow without Art

- Siddharth Darapuri

"Cultivation of the Mind should be the ultimate aim of human existence" - said Dr. B. R. Ambedkar. Well, what could be more stimulating and productive than art? The art of creating something, where the brain intercepts an idea and grows it into a manifold entity. Whether it’s writing an article, a poem, a story or making a painting, a sketch, or anything that is original and has a manifestation of 'I' in it; creativity is the highest form of human expression.

As Ernst Fischer writes in 'The Necessity of Art', "For make no mistake about it, work of an artist is a highly conscious and rational process at the end of which the work of art emerges as mastered reality - not at all a state of intoxicated inspiration". So why does art (creativity, broadly) struggle to find its place in formal education?

Speaking of India, our popular education system is leg-shackled to archaic ideas of Brahminical pedagogy tweaked to supplement the 'Market'. Artistic merit is largely earned through degrees and social position i.e., privilege. These individuals seem to create towering standards, that will fall into place, if this base of 'privilege' shifts.

The arrogance of this 'merit' forces - replication. Only replicas of these so-called acmes can work perfectly. We'll use the analogy of a photocopier to understand this; the industry is the photocopier and the workforce is the ink, electricity, service parts etc. used to keep the industry running. They are only supposed to do what they are meant to do. They are nothing but, "cogs of a machine". Individual creativity has no place here. To effect this, our ancient rote learning system is used.

Though indifference towards art is often witnessed in our culturally old-fashioned but neo-liberal Indian society, I recall an incident from my days at college that reconfirmed this. It was a ‘free-period’ and while the whole class was busy talking, playing games or surfing the internet on their mobile phones, I chose to draw. The substitute teacher came to me and asked me what was I doing. I told her that I was drawing and she immediately retorted, “Why did you join an engineering college if you wanted to draw?”. I bet Leonardo Da Vinci would turn in his grave if he heard this.

We should realise that it was creativity that gave rise to education. Someone had an idea and upon successful implementation, she/he started to teach people how to do it.

Again, creativity is becoming rare and we are only "manufacturing" service parts that could perpetuate the existing machinery. More specifically, we are manufacturing lubricants to oil a machine no one wishes to change.

Even the most sophisticated technology is fruition of an idea. That's where an artist comes in. The artist has the talent to provide you with the first blueprint; while you'll be pondering upon the practicality of the machine. You are fettered, and the artist is not. Education, as it is now, has confined you with bookish rules.

It surprises me that how much effort is put into education to separate science from art.

“The more bookish you are, the greater the technocrat you'll become”. I believe we failed as policy makers when we decided to distinguish art from science when great scholars, theorists, architects and inventors like Vinci, Raphael, Maria Merian and even Ambedkar, were passionate artists themselves. They came up with ideas "ahead of their time" as they could think and represent what they visioned on paper quickly giving them a head start.

Poetically, Nature is a dreamer and an artist. The theropods dreamt and became birds, the first microorganisms dreamt and became the theropods. The potential of creativity is greatly undermined. It is time we let humans be humans, naturally.

 

AT THE FEET OF THE MASTER: ENCOUNTERS WITH DR. AMBEDKAR

 

AT THE FEET OF THE MASTER: ENCOUNTERS WITH DR. AMBEDKAR

 Bhagwan Das B. A. (Hons.) L.L.B. Chairman, Ambedkar Mission Society

 

My father was very fond of reading newspapers. When his eye-sight began to fail at a very young age of 43-44, I had to read out a paper for him daily in the evening. I was just about sixteen when he died. While still very young he used to talk very fondly about Dr. Ambedkar which many people in our circle pronounced as `Umeedkar'. They knew little about the construction and origin of Maharashtrian names. But `Umeedkar' to us meant something more than a mispronounced name. It meant "harbinger of hope'— 'Umeed lane wala'. Some two months after my father's death Dr. Ambedkar, then Labour Member in Viceroys Executive Council visited Simla in connection with some official work. Many people called on him at his official residence. I was aIso one of them. Accompanied by Mr. Rangaswamy Lingason, Executive Engineer, Rangoon who was temporarily employed under the Central Public Works Deptt. I called on Dr. Ambedkar. Mr. Lingason did not like to take me inside because he was afraid lest be should displease Doctor Saheb. I sat outside the bungalow which had been white-washed and furnished overnight. Mr. Barker, a Youngman who worked as personal assistant to Dr. Ambedkar asked me to wait for some time. Mr. Massey, Personal Assistant, did not feel very happy but did not outrightly refuse permission. Of these gentlemen Mr. Lingason died premature death while posted as Executive Engineer at Madras. Borker died in an air accident. Mr. Massey lives in retirement at Karnal.

I was employed in the C.P.W.D. and was desirous of getting transferred under the Department of Labour. I waited for seven hours sitting outside the bungalow and then late in the evening I was ushered in by Mr. Barker. That was my first meeting with the greatest man of our community our leader, our master and guide. I spoke for a few minutes and he asked me about my parents and education and what I was doing then. He was getting ready to go to Khan Bahadur Mushtaq Ahmed Gurmani's place where he had been invited for dinner. It was a brief interview but my joy at meeting the 'leader', ‘Umeedkar' knew no bounds. Had my father been alive I would have been talking throughout the night about my visit. But he had been dead more than one and half months. There was nothing to learn but to observe and understand, in this short interview.

Again, I met him at Bombay in 1945 after my return from Burma front where I served with the R.A.F. on a Radar Unit. I had been visiting him in the company of other men, mostly political leaders but kept my mouth shut and ears open. Lastly, I was taken to Dr. Ambedkar by Mr. Shiv Dayal Singh Chaurasia in 1953. Mr.  Chaurasia introduced me as a young man very fond of reading and a serious student of our problems.  Kind and courageous words but how could they impress an intellectual giant. He was taking down some notes in his own hand, sitting huddled up in a high legged chair, a peculiarity in `26 Alipore Road'. He preferred to take notes with his own pen and enjoyed doing so. He gave an impression that he did not like our visit and started castigating the younger generation.

'Look, I work here for thirteen hours at a stretch. Youngman of today waste their time in wild title tattle. This was followed by a diatribe against young men in Hindi. `Kona men khara ho kat bidi pita hai. Sham ko chhokri ko baju me le kar cinema jata hai.’There was a point in that and an irrefutable charge. Many young men of our age do nothing excepting enjoying the fruits of someone else's labour. Mr. Chaurasia mentioned something about the dissenting note which he proposed to write on the Backward Classes Commission Report. He chided Mr Chaurasia, "I know your chairman Kaka Kalelkar. I know what you people are capable of..."

Once again, we met to discuss this report of the Commission, and the conversation digressed to some other subject not - directly related to Backward Classes Commission.

This was the beginning of a new phase of our relation. I visited him more often, offered my services, and stole opportunities to discuss the problems which troubled my mind.

 I was reading a book on archaeology. He showed his interest and put me a question snatching away the book frog my hand," Why are you studying archaeology?"

'In order to understand anthropology and sociology better', I replied. "I did not read archaeology", he interjected.  `True Sir, but I feel some difficulty in comprehending the first three chapters of any book on anthropology and sociology. Besides this, Sir I have not had the opportunity of studying these subjects under the guidance of a teacher.  With that the book was gone and he was lost in himself. He returned that book after some five days.

Taking courage in my hand I sought permission to peep into his library. He had asked me earlier to arrange the books in a proper order sorting out subject-wise and placing them in a manner so that he may not have to spend much time in searching for the required books. There were 14000 books on diverse Subjects in this library. But at the same time, he did not like anybody to peep into his library. " My wife is very chary about my books"' he said. He jealously guarded his books. He could borrow and did borrow but not prepared to lend. I knew his love for books and also the difficulty of Libraries in Delhi had in recalling them from Baba Saheb. I could not 'be easily put off, so he started narrating a story.  "Look, I tell you a story.  There was Padre who conducted a Sunday School for children. After the prayer meeting was over, he entertained these children with tea and snacks. One day one of the children quietly disappeared from-the dining table. Bishop went looking for this child and found him standing beside an almirah containing Bishop's books. Hungrily and fondly, he was peering through a picture book. Seeing the Bishop standing behind him, the child turned his head and enquired, "Is this your book? "Yes, my son" replied Bishop.  "May I borrow it? Bishop snatched the book away from the child, placed back in the almirah and quickly shut the door. 'This is how this library has been built my son," he said and lead the child back to the dining table. We laughed and laughed and request was drowned in the laughter.”

Courtesy: Bheem Patrika, October 1973