A: Chocolate cake. Chocolate is always a highlight. Cake is always a highlight. So chocolate cake is doubly a highlight.
S: Everything I do, I enjoy doing. There were many highlights.
A: Okay. So what did you do outside of work? What were these highlights then?
S: I went and got a haircut first thing after work. Zero on the sides. Looks much fresher. Then, I had a cool shower. It felt amazing in this heat. After that, I had a home cooked dinner of chicken and rice, a phone call with my girlfriend and then a beautiful walk in Valentine’s Gardens. When I got back home from that, I applied to do my Master’s in Art History at the Open University and messaged several of my friends to organise a graduation summer part for my First Class Honours, as well as others to arrange a visit to the Henry Moore exhibition this week. Then…
A: There is more?
S: It is not so much.
A: How do you fit all of these things in?
S: I’m fast. What can I say? Anyway, I also enjoyed chocolate. Cadbury’s Creme eggs that I got for sale after Easter. And one especial highlight was watching the trailers for my favourite director coupled with my favourite actor. Rajkumar Santoshi with Sunny Deol. For Batwara 1947 (Partition 1947).
A: The story?
S: What else would it be? The hero is Sunny Deol. He is protecting The Mother. That is my name and my honour. That is why Sunny Deol is me and I am Sunny Deol.
A: It is always protecting The Mother with you.
S: I am named after it. What else do you expect? I have been born to protect her honour. And she has many enemies. Many that would dishonour her and do away with her. We fight against the patriarchy for The Mother.
A: Non-Indians claim Indian men are misogynistic.
S: It is the Indian man that can honour The Mother. Lies we don’t listen to. And cowardice we do not follow.
S: It really does not take long to do good things in this world.
A: How so?
S: You really can do good wherever you go.
A: Really?
S: You know, just a few days ago, I stopped a fight. Two young men were beating up another younger man together. I stopped them.
A: Surely that was just a one off?
S: Not at all. On Saturday, I shared my photographs of an event with the organisers even though I was not paid for it. Yesterday, I arranged something for volunteers at a place I work in by giving my time not only in organising, but also on the day.
A: This is something that you often do.
S: Because I always aim to make life better for anyone that I know.
A: Any other good deeds recently?
S: Checking up on an elderly friend because she is not well. Again yesterday.
A: And anything else yesterday?
S: Yes. To illustrate this idea that you don’t have to do too much to do good things, let me tell you about my visit to the Oxfam book shop. Now, I was there shopping and I picked up this book by Steven Pinker about language, ‘Words and Rules’. It was on at £4. However, I browsed through the book and saw that it was a signed copy, with the author’s signature on the front page. Here was this signed copy in my hand. I could have bought it for just a few pounds. But I didn’t. When I got to the front desk, I told them that it was signed and that it was worth a lot more than the money they had put on it. In fact, it turned out that the book was worth £100 pounds. Therefore, in just a few moments, I raised a hundred pounds for the charity. They are now going to sell the book online. They thanked me profusely. I said ‘What kind of person would I be if I ripped off a charity?’
A: So that was another good deed.
S: Not only that, but while I was at the desk, I let a young woman go in front of me while they handled my query about the signed copy. And then, on top of that, I lent her my pen so that she could write in the card that she was purchasing.
A: You did a lot. But then, you realise, that by telling me about it, it appears that you are promoting yourself.
S: It is not promotion. It is rightful pride in helping others. When I achieve something, I am rightly proud of it. All of these examples above show that I am committed to helping others. That I try to be a good person. And yet, despite all this help that I give to others, however much I try to be a good person, did you not see how hard it was for me to meet someone? Because you are never rewarded in this life for being a good person. You go through life making things better for everyone but instead of rewarding it, people exploit it. They try to use you and then throw you away. They have no love in their hearts for you and your goodness. The ones that value goodness, they are few and far between.
S: You know, about five hundred people have read about my results at university, that I got a first class honours degree in Art History and Visual Cultures.
A: It’s a big readership. It’s a good thing that you didn’t fail.
S: Indeed. I’ve been spared the egg on the face.
A: Why mention this?
S: Because, despite all of those people reading, only a handful of close friends congratulated me on the degree. The reality of life is that most people can’t spare a couple of seconds to write congratulations for a major milestone in someone’s life. It shows you what the reward of success really is. Indifference.
A: Perhaps they are not indifferent? Perhaps there are other reasons for not writing?
S: It is always friendship that trounces the objective recognition of achievement. That is why there will never be a meritocracy.
A: You should have written about all of the challenges you faced while doing this degree.
S: You want me to talk about how I overcame the heartbreak, depression, isolation, loneliness and the massive amounts of work and volunteering that I was doing throughout this part time degree? I think that you are wrong. Nothing will ever impress these people. They have never recognised my achievements and they never will. In fact, all of the barriers that I have had to face, it is them that have put them before me. Instead of helping, they obstruct. They are the ones that gave me heartbreak and isolation and depression.
A: If you will never be accepted, forget about wanting to be accepted.
S: One should forget. But then, the People have asked for acceptance. And this is the fight that we fight. Climbing mountain after mountain. Achieving success after success. But yet, never finding that acceptance and warmth and love.
The day was ending. Quickly, quickly, I was writing a list of things I had done today for A. It had been a day of art, nature, relationships, politics, literature, scholarship and social duty.
Reading news.
Shaving.
Phoning friends and family.
Contacting professional acquaintances.
Crossword, Scrabble and Jigsaw puzzle online.
Breakfast with parents.
Languages learning. Short stories and news in Punjabi, Hindi, Urdu, Spanish, French and German.
Reading psychology articles.
Messaging friends and sharing writing with them.
Reading history.
Listening to Hindi music.
Natural History Museum exhibition, ‘Jurassic Oceans: Monsters of the Deep’.
Window shopping in the Natural History Museum shop.
Natural History Museum garden visit. Took a photo of a family there for them.
Chinese lunch at Chopstix.
Buying books at the bookshop in South Kensington: – Art Deco – 100 years of Fashion – Rare Plants by Kew Gardens – The Language of Trees – History of Illustration – The Great Tree Story
Ice cream in Macdonald’s.
Sitting in St Martin in the Fields.
Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller ‘Landscapes’ exhibition at the National Gallery.
Watching the Palestinian protest in Trafalgar Square.
Shopping: buying sunglasses on a 70% sale.
Embankment Gardens visit.
Meet up.
Reading Skandar and the Phantom Rider.
Breaking up a fight where two young men were beating up a lone youngster.
Dinner at home – Chicken Biryani.
Writing.
Sketching.
would ask me about breaking up the fight. I had just got off the bus for home. Two lads were beating up a third lad. They started just as I had crossed the road from them. I was carrying a heavy bag of books on top of another bag I was carrying. I was rushing for home because I was very hungry. It was dark. I couldn’t see much, especially as I was not wearing my glasses. I was tempted not to get involved. It was dangerous. But I would not think of myself as a man or a Punjabi if I did not get involved. I shouted at the top of my voice, an order. ‘Stop what you’re doing or I will call the police! Stop right now!’ They looked at me and they stopped what they were doing straight away and walked off. I looked over to make sure that the kid that was bullied was okay. He was. He was grabbing his stuff that had fallen to the floor. Someone else would not have helped. A woman was there on the other side of the road where they were a few metres in front, just watching and not doing anything. But I was not a woman. I was a man. And I was not any man. I was The Tiger. I am the bravest. I am the warrior. Sometimes, people tell me that god sent me to help them. Just in time. It is not true. I myself am god on this earth. My name is the name of god. It is the duty of the strong to protect the weak. It is the duty of god to protect the People, the Oppressed. Thanks or no thanks.
(Photography by Suneel Mehmi. All rights Reserved.)
When listening, it is much more pleasant to have someone that talks with some bounce in their voice, some energy. Fortunately, when Bridgette introduced herself, her voice was abundant in this dynamic quality of bounce. We had both come in together at the very beginning of the exhibition in the morning on the opening and she shot a hello at us all on the front desk as I was filling up on the water on the table in this inclemently hot weather.
(Photography by Suneel Mehmi. All rights Reserved.)
I met her very shortly afterwards at her corner in the exhibition and asked her to give me some direction to her work. There were two rows of exquisite open boxes along the wall which had been chased in gold. The boxes were full of sumptuous designs and objects such as sea shells and butterflies. ‘Gilding,’ she declared, or something of the sort. She was a gilder. She was the first one that I had ever met in my entire life.
‘What attracts you to gold?’ I asked her. She told me that gold was full of light. And that the light would last into the darkness of night. The artworks would glimmer with gold, catching whatever light was left. I did not investigate further and forgot to mention that one of my nicknames at home was actually ‘gold’ as well (‘sona’). For her, it transpired, gold was the day and the sunlight. Gold was the guardian of light.
Gilding, it emerged, was something like a magical alchemy. It involved an array of esoteric qualities like squirrel’s hair for the tip and rabbit skin glue. The whole practice of Bridgette’s degree course seemed to revolve around such rare materials – the Mughal inspired paintings that she had in one corner involved the use of a single hair to get at the details of the miniatures. In this gilder, I was confronting something of the spell caster. And perhaps it was magic to catch the sun in gold and the morning in the night with these works.
(Photography by Suneel Mehmi. All rights Reserved.)
Aside from the Indian miniatures, which included a lovely falcon that had been presented amongst the rich and unique hues of (malachite?), Bridgette’s work was influenced heavily by Japanese gilding and by the Baháʼí Faith, which was evident on a closer examination because the boxes were accompanied by quotations from the religion.
The pieces were composed as boxes. Bridgette told me that this was because there was both an exterior and an interior which could be admired, the hidden and the visible, more to see and explore. And, as I thought, as the boxes could be closed, we had the closed and the open, the entrance into and the shut door of art which was still art itself. Was this an exploration of the visibilities and invisibilities of art? Was it a comment upon the content of art?
One piece particularly aroused my admiration and attention, which was the butterfly box. The butterflies echoed the box because they had two ‘wings’ and shared a mirror symmetry. The butterflies invoked the idea of the soul since the Greek word ‘psyche’ for the soul also meant butterfly. I wondered what Bridgette made of the soul although I did not ask her. Were these souls flying or landing on the branch in these butterflies? The barrenness and bareness of the branch contrasted strongly with the opulence and the elegance of the butterlies, nature versus the man made. The butterflies themselves lacked senses, eyes and antennae. They were abstract and disembodied forms with the blues of heaven and the spiritual set amongst the gold. They were a symbol of metamorphosis and change, perhaps again referencing alchemy from this gilder, the transformation of base metals and nature into gold. Gold as the ultimate apotheosis, the ultimate aim of the alchemist. Gold as telos, as perfection and completion.
The butterflies re-emerged in ‘Going Home’, which aroused more questions about whether the previous butterflies as souls had been landing or flying, whether they were coming home or flying away from home, whether they were orientated or disorientated. In this, the butterflies seemed to symbolise Bridgette’s own situation. She was an American artist that had been studying in London. Was she going to go back home or was she going to keep on flying through this world here?
‘Crown of Rememberance’ seems to share the same maze like insinuations in design like ‘Going Home’. If the structure is a maze, it appears that there is no escape. It is a self-contained world, the world of gold and art.
In ceramics, Bridgette dazzled with her colour schemes and her designs. There was many a beautiful piece which I could see in shops such as ‘Liberty’s’ in London.
I had another word with Bridgette just before I left. She works extremely hard at her craft and is evidently multi-talented as an artist. She is full of ambition and drive. I was impressed by her and her work and wished that I could do something to open some doors for her. In her outfit full of stars, she was clearly living in the same celestial sphere as the golden butterflies, but also here with us on this grey earth. Such is the reality of the artist that flies in the skies, the reality of the alchemist that deals with the base metals hoping for the magic and the transformation of gold.
S: It was a busy day at work. And then, in the evening, I went to a park, saw a music performance, photographed the artist and finally, met my girlfriend for a date in the park. Followed by a meal of two Whoppers, fries, onion rings, Dr Pepper and a Chocolate milkshake. There was a curious happening on the tube back home.
A: What happened?
S: A young Afro-Caribbean woman suddenly came and sat down next to me between stations. She was putting me between her and a ranting and raving football fan that was off his head down the carriage. He was shouting out football slogans at the top of his head and moving around in a bizarre manner.
A: She chose you as her hero, out of all of the people on the carriage?
S: Yes. Women have always chosen me as the hero. I am named after Sunil Dutt who saved the life of Nargis on the set of Mother India. I come from the Sikh community where it is our duty to protect others. When my grandfather died, the women chosen me as the man that would protect my grandmother in the nights by staying with her in her house, because she could not sleep otherwise. When there is anything that happens out there in this London, they choose me as the hero. It is destiny.
A: Why did she choose you?
S: Because I am evidently the man. I am evidently the hero. It is not a coincidence. It happens again and again. The weak come to the strongest for help. Because only we can deliver it.
A: You are proud to be the hero?
S: I am proud to live the destiny that was chosen for me. I was chosen to be the hero.
A: You looked after her?
S: I spoke to her. I consoled her and reassured her. I asked if she was okay. I took away her fear. It is my duty to protect.
A: What makes you the hero?
S: I have told you. My name. My background. My strength. My manhood.
A: So this is what it means to be a toxic male.
S: However toxic anyone thinks that I am, still they come to me when they need a hero. That is this society.
A: You are the writer. Which is easier to write, the dialogue or the story?
S: When you have as much experience and knowledge about writing as I do, then you will be equally adept in all fields. What is the difference? I have been a poet, a journalist, a writer of fiction, a scholar and researcher. There is no difference.
A: Why then do people say that there is a difference?
S: This Western culture believes in the discrete, in disciplines and categories. I am Indian. I do not.
A: It comes down to a question of being Indian?
S: Indian thought conspires in the individual Indian to produce everything.
A: You truly believe that you are a Renaissance man?
S: Greater than the Renaissance man. An Indian man.
A: Give me then a story.
S: A scientist found that the best way to get into space was to create a giant bee. After all, the bees defy gravity, so we are told. He invested in quite a few hives and moved to Cornwall whose weather was the most appropriate and conducive. He bred bees. Years passed. However, the biggest bee he was able to develop only got to the size of a tennis ball. Nature had put her foot down. There was to be no bee line into space.
A: Amazing. You made that up just on the spot?
S: It does not take time. I have a million stories on my mind. I can do it whenever.
A: Where did you find this ability?
S: One that has a fervent imagination does not need to work on an imagination. In any case, I told a bed time story every night to my nephews. The most demanding audience. That is from where I have honed my craft.
A: And a dialogue?
S: We have been having a dialogue just now. That is the Indian way. We do everything at once. And it all gets done to a superlative and supreme degree.
S: Achilles was the greatest because his mother’s love protected him. She gives him invulnerability.
A: You have spoken of this before.
S: Harry Potter has it too. The protection of The Mother. I, too. I have the protection of The Mother.
A: You believe that you are invulnerable?
S: You forget the basic truth. I believe that I can do everything and therefore I can do everything. And that belief comes from my mother’s belief in me. That I am not just a man.
A: And what else does this mother’s protection give you?
S: Not just confidence. Not just a can do attitude. Love itself is strength. The love that you get from someone, that is strength.
A: You are channeling her energy?
S: What else? I am her and she is me. All of her desires, I have achieved. The ambition that she has had for me, I have achieved it. Anything I have wanted, I have taken.
A: What else has she given you?
S: Language. Culture. Style. The destiny to be her voice. Her love has been an armour against this cold and hard, hostile world. It has sheltered. This love has been home. The refuge, the sanctuary.
A: When The Mother gives Achilles his invulnerability and strength, it is lacking.
S: This is the misogyny and the anti-Mother attitude of the Greeks and the West. In fact, there is no lack. Achilles has no heel.
A: You mean this Achilles?
S: In Indian culture, it is The Mother that is all-powerful and triumphant. It is The Mother that is all conquering. She is the one that protects. That is why no one and nothing can stand against me. They all fall. It is me that remains standing. It is me that achieves. It is me that becomes The Man.
The obsessive reader is here always. Amongst these words. Imbibing, scrutinising, perhaps digesting. Do they savour these words? Or do they read feverishly to sate the irresistible hunger of knowing? One wonders who this obsessive reader is. Why they are drawn so. Are they strangers or known to us? Are they friends or enemies?
Yesterday again, the obsessive reader is reading. But how much can one put into these little letters? Honesty is excluded from this society. One cannot say anything otherwise they pounce upon you. It is the cancel culture. Those that are frank are fucked. Those that are candid are cancelled. Those that are honest are hanged.
All of the major events of my life, I am having to hide from my writing. The relationship? I speak nothing of it. Friends and acquaintances, they must perish from publication. All of life, the most important things in life, they would kill you for mentioning.
Therefore, the obsessive reader is not getting much, I’m afraid. The system of censorship, the conventions of this conformist and oppressive society, they have gotten in the way.
Perhaps you will ask me why I do not sate the appetite of this obsessive reader? Why I will not dare to demolish the demonic system of oppression and censorship? Because, my friend, the cost is too high. I am frugal. I am the epitome of frugality. You would have me die for truth? For them? I do not even know who this obsessive reader is. Here is the question. Is the obsessive reader the oppressive reader? There is no way of telling.
S: I have had quite a few big achievements this year, the culmination of four years of work.
A: You must be feeling pretty pleased with yourself. As you have such a big head.
S: Not at all. Do you know something about expectation?
A: What?
S: If you have high expectations for life and for yourself, then you are never really satisfied.
A: Whatever do you mean? Everyone would love to have what you have.
S: I am demanding for myself. I have about sixty years of life left in me. I want to achieve everything that I have set my heart upon.
A: What you want, what you have told me, that is impossible to get. Be happy that you have achieved and accomplished so much. You cannot be the greatest genius the world has ever seen. You will never get the acceptance and the recognition that you crave. Look at the competition.
S: The genius is for the People. It is for the Oppressed. The recognition is for the People. It is for the Oppressed. It is for The Mother. And The Mother demands.
A: What she is asking of you is impossible.
S: Great men say that the concept of the impossible does not exist.
A: You believe? You believe that you are the greatest? You believe that you of all people can achieve the impossible?
S: The things that I know, the secrets of society, the secrets of the self. If there is one that has the prize of intellect, it is me.
A: You are unliked. It cannot happen.
S: Others are more liked. But when it comes to the objective truth of things, I hold it in my hands. It is the truth alone that is supreme. In the end, it is the truth alone that triumphs. Satyameva Jayate.
A: So even though you have achieved, it is not enough.
S: I crave absolute knowledge. Like Goethe. I am the Goethe of the modern age.
A: How can you compare yourself to him? He shaped the literature of his nation. What have you shaped?
S: The curse of true originality is that one is not accepted or even understood. The curse of the Revolutionary is that the conventional world will not recognise him. The curse of the one with the mind, that is ahead of his time, that fights against oppression, the curse is that the whole world is against him.
A: You have told me that you are powerful enough to fight the whole world.
S: The fight has not finished in me. I am eternal. I am fearless and therefore powerful. I am The Tiger.
diary of a lone man 