Urban Architecture
Deserted street as an escape
I am a rhythmanalyst now.
My body, skin, eyes, ears, nose, brain, existence, my being.
Might even transfigure into or wear the garb of one.
Who am I if not a person incessantly trying to pry everywhere in the city.
The city but first my neighbourhood,
A place my existence has been a part of for the past 22 years.
I know too much about it
I am too close to it
I am it
But I am a rhythmanalyst now,
I’m stepping out, aside, a bit farther away, just for a while
Not to rid myself of it, I could never
But to be able to look at it, observe it, properly, thoroughly.
All I need is a secret vantage point.
A place from where I could see the world but no one would know
A place from where I could see this street, hiding in plain sight
See the old boundary wall of the park
Nothing and everything happens over there
It’s deserted yet occupied
Rather deserted by the world, hence occupied by certain people.
Mother has taught me not to go there, not engage with people who lurk there
But she is not a rhythmanalyst, I am
I shall forget everything I know, everything I’ve heard and much more
Forget that it's a place of the delinquents of the neighbourhood
Forget that it is unsafe for women to pass through that street at odd hours
Forget that you need to hold your breath while walking to avoid passive smoking
And avert your gaze while increasing your walking speed.
I can’t not like that place anymore.
I don't have a reason to.
What position do I hold when I see a young couple seeking privacy in the shadows, huddled on the boundary wall of the abandoned park, behind parked vehicles,
Gaps in between parked cars and trucks becoming spaces where kids hide from their parents to smoke,
Men talking and smoking while sitting on their vegetable and fruit carts stacked up once the market closes
Women working in the neighbourhood societies as househelps, briefly waiting to talk to each other for an exchange of gossip if they happen to meet in the afternoon
What position do I hold as a rhythmanalyst.
As a rhythmanalyst, I shall not simply observe and analyse
But also think of ways to respond
Respond through all the ways in which I gathered information, absorbed information
Do I celebrate their escape?
Maybe find ways to facilitate it.
Do I try to engage with them?
Ask to be their friend.
Do I make that space my own escape?
My haven.
Don’t tell anyone
Chakala neighbourhood gossips a lot, just like all other neighbourhoods.
There are several networks and friendships which involve people like maids, housing society residents, watchmen, istriwala, pan shop owner, sandwich uncle, chai wala, vegetable market vendors, women in the fish market, auto drivers, auto repair guy, shoe repair shop guy, woman who sells coconuts, kirana shops, delivery people, medical store uncle, settlement residents and many more.
The engagement was thought through the idea of mobilising these networks and friendships to spread rumours which make people visit that street even less. A rumour which would make its way all over the neighbourhood through everyday conversations and gossip.
I heard something the other day
From my maid
Actually I overheard a conversation between her and my mother
She had just come from the neighbouring building
One of her other jobs
She has several in this neighbourhood
She had heard from her friend who works in that building
Her friend heard from one of the watchmen nearby
Or the istri wala? I’m not sure
I often see them hanging out near the building gate
I think they’ve come from the same village
Or belong to the same caste
Watchman apparently heard from my building secretary uncle
Who is always sitting outside on that bench beside the pan shop
On the nukkad with other old men
Secretary uncle will never admit but he hears almost everything from the sandwich guy across the road from the pan shop
And the chai wala in the stall beside him
They heard from one of the vegetable market vendors
His wife is good friends with a few of the fisherwomen in the market
They might have also heard from the auto drivers
Specifically the auto repair guy,
Who’s always sitting at the corner of the road beside the shoe repair shop with his tools
He heard from the woman who sells coconuts
It's her family business
She and her sons always set up shop outside the kirana shops
They have some agreement of claiming the footpath space
She heard from one of the delivery guys from the kirana shop
Who also sometimes does deliveries for the medical store across the road
He lives in the same nearby settlement as my maid
I don’t know who started it.