In the last month, I have traipsed across three cities (towns?) — Beng-aluru, Chennai and Gwalior — in India and come to a single conclusion: We as a people have no concern for public aesthetics. We create the most beautiful textiles in the world, we imbue beauty in the most mundane of objects and have the most sophisticated and elegant dance and music forms, but when it comes to public art and architecture, the chip for visual aesthetics is non-existent.
There was a time when Bengaluru was my favourite city. I would run there to escape every upheaval in my life and return calmed. Every time my family saw me frazzled, they would say, “Time to go to Bangalore!” But not anymore. If any city has seen the highest amount of vandalism, it is Bengaluru. The chopping down of trees, digging up of roads, indiscriminate building of flats and malls in quiet neighbourhoods, the over-ground metro snaking across MG Road like a giant ugly python and the horrible traffic on the ramshackle roads have reduced the city into one big mess. But like the proverbial Rome not being built in a day syndrome, perhaps this is just a transition phase from being a paradise to a bustling Silicone Valley of sorts. All the fine things the wonderful city stood for are casualties, as it takes the shape of an impersonal metropolis.
Chennai, on the other hand, is surprisingly better. Here, the traffic is no better and new buildings are vying for attention as familiar landmarks hide behind plastic under construction shrouds. A disgustingly archaic and chaotic airport limps along, the humid weather adding to the woes, but thanks to the still conservative mindset that is not open to very quick changes, the energy of its cultural mores still remains rooted and strong. The occasional relic of the Raj still has the ability to bring a smile to one’s face, as do the fast disappearing charming Chettinad mansions.
Gwalior too, with its pretty palaces and sandstone buildings, has expanded laterally to include what were earlier the suburbs into the main city and five kilometres is still a distance that is considered far! It is fast emerging as a university town and the way to providing a platform to public art is being shown by a private university. The campus is literally dotted with a spectacular permanent show of sculptures across the country. Every nook and cranny exudes a very elegant feel with its very contemporary and often abstract works in wood, varied stones, bronze and fibreglass.
The point I am trying to make is that when cities are undergoing the throes of change, why can’t they plan their artwork simultaneously and not try to tack them on like bad afterthoughts? There is a law in place that insists that two per cent of every public building’s construction budget must be spent on art. When that is a given, better planning can ensure that our public spaces have a loved and cared for feel than haphazard sterile buildings or add on monstrosities that resemble a pizza gone wrong!
Even cities and towns that are not able to afford high end art can surely ask local artists to come up with affordable plans. In fact, it is my contention that the government should patronise middle level and junior artists in public projects and leave the corporates to fund the expensive artists. Why should one Subodh Gupta or an Anish Kapoor piece hog the entire budget, which could have supported at least 10 other artists? To find a rarity like the Chandigarh artist Nek Chand who spent his own money to recycle wasted old tiles to create new forms and beautify a large public park may not be as difficult as we think. Surely there are others who would love to be part of a private-public partnership and do their bit to make their city more beautiful.
There are so many pieces I can recall that stood to make Delhi a more striking place, but they have disappeared over the years. The few glaring and mysterious disappearances include Balbir Singh Katt’s piece where now the DP Roychow-dhry’s Dandi March stands, NH Kulkarni’s piece outside the Ram Manohar Lohia Hospital on the roundabout taken off during the Commonwealth Games is not back. M.F. Hussain’s ceiling of the then ITDC held property Hotel Kanish-ka on canvas is not to be found. Subrata Kundu’s mural on the Post and Telegraph building on the Sardar Patel roundabout too has disappeared. I think it is time someone did some answering as to where these public art pieces have gone?

Dr Alka Raghuvanshi is an art writer, curator and artist