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The Lives of the Hindu Gods in Popular Prints: The Ownership of Imagery Michelle Cheripka Yousuf Saeed Dr. Mary Storm India: National Identity and the Arts Program, New Delhi Spring 2015 TABLE OF CONTENTS ABSTRACT 2 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 3 INTRODUCTION 4 THE GODS IN (ART) HISTORY: The Historical Context of Hinduism, Art, and Ravi Varma 7 Hinduism in the Nineteenth Century 8 Power and Patronage as the Catalyst for and Keeper of Art 10 Ravi Varma’s Legacy: Lithographic Prints as a Fulcrum of Fine Art and Hinduism 11 Ownership of the Art of the Gods 13 THE SACRED: Images of the Gods in Modern Temples 14 Modern Temples: A Survey of ISKCON Temple and Chhatarpur Mandir 15 Shri Hanuman Mandir: The Sanctification of a Roadside Shrine 18 THE SECULAR: The Museum and Collector’s Perception of Art and Religious History 20 Out of the Picture: A Look at the National Gallery of Modern Art 21 On Collecting Ravi Varma 24 THE SACRED IS SECULAR: The Mass Production of Religious Images 26 Brijbasi Art Press, Ltd.: The Modern Day Printing Press 27 The Plurality of Mass Produced Images and their Interpretations 29 The Politics of Interpretation: Hindutva Appropriations of a Universal Message 31 CONCLUSIONS 34 Fluidity of Space 35 Analogues as Analogous 36 Delhi 36 BIBLIOGRAPHY 38 RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FURTHER STUDY 40 APPENDICES 42 GLOSSARY 48 1 ABSTRACT When Ravi Varma first began his printing press in 1892, he created a series of chromolithographic prints that depicted the Hindu gods and other Indian mythological figures.1 These images, some of which were based on his original oil paintings and commissioned work, made both the gods and fine art accessible to the masses, thereby challenging distinctions between sacred and secular spaces. This study explores the legacy of his mass produced images in Delhi and its surrounding areas by looking at the different spaces they inhabit today. In particular, my research focuses on: the temple as a space for the sacred; the museum and private collection as a space for the ​ ​ secular; and the modern day printing press (and the spaces those images permeate) as a space for ​ the sacred secular. How do these spaces mediate our engagement with a (religious) image, and ​ ​ how do these images determine how we perceive our environment? I argue that ownership of an image enables you to own the interpretation of that image and then examine the consequences of various attempts to do so. 1 Priya Maholay Jaradi, Parsi Portraits from the Studio of Raja Ravi Varma (Mumbai: Jenaz Printers, 2011), 26. ​ ​ 2 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I’ve always skipped past the acknowledgements section whenever I’ve read a book, so I won’t blame you if you do the same. But it would be unfair not to recognize that the work that went into this paper extends far beyond the words you’ll read on these pages. The paper before you has been consolidated and transformed, pared down from a multitude of conversations and experiences; it is the product of thoughts inspired by people who are smarter than I am combined with some detours that kept me sane. I want to express my sincere thanks to the following for their help along the way: To Storm ji, for your intellectual generosity, endless patience, insightful feedback, and constant ​ reminders to cut the faff and to stay away from the airy­fairy world of my own thoughts. You have made me a decent writer, a sensitive researcher, and a cultured dessert aficionado. I wish I had the words to express my gratitude for everything you’ve done for me. To Yousuf Saeed, who has been generous with his insight, advice, and address book. You have ​ been an incredible mentor and this project would have been exponentially harder and far less meaningful had I not had your guidance. To Annisah, Brenton, Gen, Joyce, Lawrence, and Sarah, for listening to me work through my ​ ​ ​ ideas, for putting up with my camera dangling in front of your face all semester, and for making me laugh. I’m grateful that we had the chance to do this wonderful and crazy thing – to ​ experience this wonderful and crazy place – together. ​ To Mama, Papa, Kayleigh, and Michael, who, despite being continents and oceans away from ​ me, have supported me through every step of this journey. You’ve made all of this possible. To Shantideva, for inspiring patience, both within myself and with others. ​ To the SIT staff – Arjun ji, Fatimah ji, Guy ji, Kuldeep ji, Prahlad ji, and Savita ji. You’ve fed ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ me, clothed me, and taught me so many different things that have allowed me to open myself up to India. Thank you for laughing only a little bit when I thought the Hindi word for ‘city’ was nadi instead of nagar. ​ ​ ​ To Columbia University, for having the good sense to include this program on the list of ​ approved study abroad courses, but also for teaching me to think critically about everything I learn. To SIT, for creating and supporting a program that has been so inspiring and life­changing. ​ To Delhi and to India, for allowing me to make a home here and for teaching me about the world ​ and about myself. I will miss you more than you know. 3 INTRODUCTION Walking throughout Delhi, it is impossible to escape the gaze of the gods. A tile of Shiva watches passersbys on the street; Hanuman stares at you from the front of autorickshaws; a picture of Laxmi oversees a shop’s every transaction from her perch near the cash register. These gods are not simply a part of the visual imagery in Delhi; they are active participants in everyday life here. Their presence mediates the way in which a person interacts with their environment; conversely, space also mediates how you engage with the image before you. So what does it mean that these images are both a part of private art collections and also taped to a rickshaw? The disparity between these spaces – and the presence of these images within them – can be traced back to Raja Ravi Varma, a nineteenth century artist who began a printing press in Mumbai in 1892. Since then, the visual vocabulary of calendar art, bazaar images, and temple icons has changed; though some retain the formal elements used by Varma, such as photorealistic, three­dimensional renderings of the gods, they are not all depicted in this way. Yet they have all inherited an important quality: they create fluidity between spaces. Meaning is created in the production of an image, but it is also created when an image is taken out of circulation and a person owns it, subsequently placing it into a specific environment and a specific context. As they pass from one person’s hands to another’s, that person engages with it in a new way, finds a new use for it. She puts it somewhere and thereby determines its meaning; its message expands. On a site visit at a local temple, a man asked me about my research and I explained to him my interest in religious images in different spaces and contexts. He proceeded to tell me that I could observe and observe and observe, but I will never come to any conclusions: every person 4 has a different way of interacting with images and religion. On some days, surrounded by my piles of books and pages of notes, or looking at an advertisement featuring a picture of Laxmi’s face, I tend to agree with him. On those days, I repeat to myself: one month is not enough time ​ for research. But the seeming impossibility of being able to synthesize this information, and the ​ infinite ways that the images have been used, is part of the reason why this research is important. How can images be universal and yet still so highly personalized? Who has access to art and religion? How does ownership of a physical object give us the power to perceive and create meaning out of the world around us? I began my research by going back to the types of spaces that Ravi Varma’s artwork first disrupted: I conducted observational fieldwork in temples and museums, and compared this to my observations of everyday life in Delhi. In order to contextualize my findings, I spoke with several people whose backgrounds and/or professions speak to their interpretation of these different sacred and secular artistic spheres: among them were art collectors, restorers, devotees, scholars, calendar distributors, and shopkeepers. In the discussion that follows, I chose to focus on several specific physical spaces as an entrypoint to talk about how we view art and religion. In order to convey my ideas about these places more clearly, I created a spectrum that visualizes these spaces in terms of the extent to which they are sacred or secular (fig. 1). “Sacred” spaces refer to places that are infused with religious significance and therefore dictated by Hindu practices, such as the temple. “Secular” is not atheist by definition – atheism being the absence of a Hindu theology – but rather encompasses spaces that do not explicitly incorporate religion in their aims and practices. The space in between these two extremes will then be referred to as the “sacred secular” that combines elements of both types of spaces. For example, 5 the streets of Old Delhi might be thought of as a secular space, but the prevalence of god posters and other religious imagery embeds a deity that sanctifies the space. Though it is a simplified representation of a complex idea, I use this diagram to illustrate how these images transcend space, pushing us to reconsider the various ways we define it.

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