Glimpses #1 Prehistoric art

A peep in to the past….

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60,000 years before Homo Sapiens developed writing as a method to symbolise, calculate and emote, Neanderthals made the first hand prints on the cave walls of Maltravieso. On a temporal scale, the history of painting is around 24 times larger than that of Socrates, 10 times larger than that of writing, 6 times larger than that of food production and 5 times larger than that of the Holocene geological epoch. Painting as an art form has metamorphosed since then, to a point where we can just smear our fingers across our gorilla glasses and get hyperealistic portraits.
In this series I shall try to capture important developments in painting and how those made a lasting impact on the course of the development of homo sapiens and the society.

Humans did not begin with a Monalisa – the first paintings, in terms of their aesthetic appeal, were a child’s scribbles. But the significance of a painting is not limited to pleasing the eyes of the beholder, for if that were the case, paintings would have gone extinct after the proliferation of photography. If paintings have managed to coexist with selfie culture, there’s a reason behind that.
Paintings are to emote. They are to convey the heart’s deepest feelings, which words can never communicate. You can never tell your beloved how beautiful they are. You run out of words, gobble up thesaurus after thesaurus, and it dawns upon you that language does not have enough to describe a single one of their ethereal attributes. That’s why we turn to metaphors. Painting is the most vivid metaphor humans have developed to compensate for the incompetency of words. A Neanderthal could not speak a language, yet it could love and be loved, it could emote like humans. And so it turned to paintings.

The emotional spectrum of a Man is not limited to the shades of love, it ranges from bleak dejection to thunderous rage to effervescent euphoria. And the dictionary runs out of words every time. So we paint. And so did they.

Cave art shows a wide range of subjects including animals, hunting scenes, daily activities and deities. The art evolved from symbols to shapes to scenes to sequences to stories. It was such an important part of life that it took a ritualistic character. A Homo Sapien was alone and new to the world. The complexities of nature scared him. So it resorted to painting for comfort, protection and expression.

Red paintings by Neanderthals….
Horses….
Bulls….

Cave art does not make you fall for it at the first sight, instead, it asks you to look carefully, remove all the biases and perceptions you’ve consumed in the manufactured environment of the 21st century, get back to those palaeolithic millenniums and watch that young lady smear bisons on bare rocks. Look at her clothes, at her hair, at her face, travel with her for a day, go hunting with her, sit by her in front of that fire, let her offer you some rhinoceros balls, watch her sleep. Know her and then look at her art; you might discover a poet in a cavewoman. This may occur to you as some next level romantic shit, but the truth is that we began to paint because we could feel and contemplate, and had an ardent desire to express, and that’s evident in early cave art.

Mesolithic rockart at Bhimbetka shows how despite being thousands of miles and years apart, humans did not forget the art and purpose of painting. If you happen to visit those ancient homes and pass by those masterpieces, don’t pretend that you cannot understand them and move on – stay for a while and think about that girl in the cave, smearing a bison as her people watched in awe. Maybe she was a Vinci of her own time.

Losing Weight πŸ˜‘

When your BMI goes red.. πŸ”₯πŸ”₯πŸ”₯

Gaining weight is a gradual process with certain stages involved.

In the first stage, your mother stops mentioning every four second how scrawny you’ve become and how the mess owners shall be burned in hell for not feeding her kid enough. Instead, she starts talking about mundane stuffs, like rising prices of onions and Naagin 3.

In the second stage, your friends start calling you fat. There’s not much to worry here. I mean most of the time they are kidding.

In the next stage, you begin noticing the unpleasant bulge. And you can’t find your abs anymore.

Then, your jawline fades away. Your face gets filled. Your selfies don’t look so beautiful as before.

In the next stage, a lady in the metro calls you Bhaiyya.

Then, all of a sudden, one day, you weigh yourself and boomchikaboomboom, you’re FAT.

It happened last Tuesday. We were off to Hauz Khas Village when on Kahsmiri Gate, we clocked a weighing machine. It stood in oblivion, a modest lady perched on the chair next to it, her hands clutched around a grubby coin purse.

“10 rupees. “Observed Thangabali with the excitement spaniels reserve for raw bones.
And so we weighed ourselves one by one. I could not help but feel the singe of jealousy as I remembered the 16th century Badshah who was being weighed in gold and silver amid intricate rituals. All that bullion would be given away, after the medieval priests transferred the fate of the emperor to that luminous heap of metallic wealth. And here we were, lined up like inmates of Shawshank State Penitentiary, feeling fresh pangs of misery after watching the figures on the screen.

“72 KG. “It showed with a beep.

The fuck.

The last time I had checked, it was 56. Well, agreed that I was in std V but anyway.

Aghast, I frantically punched instructions on my phone and got the BMI calculator. To my dismay, it pronounced me OVERWEIGHT.

The only sigh of relief came when it declared Thangabali as Class 1 obese. But it did not stay for too long, for our BMIs weren’t too far from each other.

If I put on more weight I’d get there. The funny thing about weight is that it’s quite easy to gain it. You literally have to do nothing to gain weight. I pictured myself stuck in a door, succumbing to a heart attack. Also, I started having imaginations of my dick completely buried under my flabs and me and my girlfriend screwing our brains out trying to find it.

Fuck. I have to lose weight.

I had enough reasons to get thinner. I mean when it gets below the belt you HAVE to do something. So I prepared a diet chart and enrolled in this collective programme of weight loss by signing an MOU along with Thangabali and Low IQ. The remarkable condition in this MOU was that anybody who broke the rule would have to suck the dicks of the other two members. We vowed to abide by the rules and not consume anything that had unacceptable quantities of calorie. Everything from rice to Monaco was banned. I stopped smearing ghee on rotis and we reduced the amount of spices thrown inside the pan by half. I subscribed to a dozen fitness channels, did a PhD on the use and benefits of Green Tea and started walking up and down the stairs whenever I was not busy doing postdoctoral research on green tea. I began eating soaked chickpeas in the morning. I reduced the number of rotis from 8 to 5 per sitting. It was all good. My expenses reduced like Airtel shares after Jio revolution.

And then, I bought peanut butter. It promised low calories and weight-losing properties. Low IQ wanted to taste it. So he nicked a pinch. Then Thangabali took a spoon. Neta took three, declaring at the end of the third that it was not that great. Popatlal took a spoon. By the time it reached me, it was already half empty. That was the greatest possible economic shock that could be produced at a microeconomic level.

Anyways, we have already broken enough rules, and if we stick to the MOU, we’d be continuously sucking each other’s dicks. There would be a waiting line even. And Low IQ has broken enough rules to live with a dick in his mouth for the next three years. So we never brought up that condition.

I aim to reduce at least 17 kgs. I have a couple of other options. Like I could increase my height instead. Ya…Using maths to deceive nature. Or I can get a fat girlfriend, and we could keep removing each other’s flabs for most of the foreplay.
No maybe reducing 17 kgs would be better.

Where do they go in winter?

a royal pack without the jewels… πŸ’”

I am here, watching the swans float with their herd, a twinkle of pride barely alive on their beaks. These are no ordinary swans, they have a royal lineage. Their ancestors swam before the Khiljis and the Tughlaqs. These birds are proud but not rich, nor is the lake, which despite being beautiful, hums a melancholy…

I suddenly remember Holden Caulfield asking, “Where do the Ducks go in winter? ” ; and the greater question these simple words ask.

Where do the swans float during winter, I wonder. A royal family, now devoid of its opulence, wandering, with whittling pride, in a barren lake that once had birds flying overhead, and the sound of wild boars and packs echoed through the woods ahead. The glory is bygone now, but the last flicker of pride remains. Nobody cares for them. They don’t care for anybody. But when harsh times come, where do they migrate to?

Where do the swans go in winter, I ask myself. At once, I realise there’s no one answer to this question. They just disappear maybe. Or maybe this lake doesn’t freeze in winter….

A note from Homo Sapien Sapien

πŸ’•

With small hands I try to embrace the world…. and then…..

Since I sparked that fire beneath the hill or since I smeared my fingers across the rocks, I don’t know since when I began to aspire. I don’t know since when it all started – the slow opening of my arms to gather the world in my embrace, and then a subconscious desire to strangle it, then the lust to choke it to death. I died and was born again – like a phoenix – and every time, my arms grew bigger. I forged iron to kill myself, be born again, forged more iron to kill myself, be born again, taking little more pieces of the world with every war. Now I am here with all the nukes, waiting to be killed again, my arms bigger than ever.

I am homo sapien sapien, and I shall take over the world.