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| Afrida Tanzim Mahi (1997-2018) |
[The last and first time ever I met Afrida Tanzim Mahi in the flesh during her solo art exhibition at Kalakendra (14 January, 2018), just a day before her self exile. Neither am I an intellectual to discuss socio-economic influences behind her decision, Nor an artist to glorify her euthanasia (decision of killing self).
This writing is a father’s untold words to his beloved daughter who perhaps took birth in a different time in a different society, but had a unity in a Platonic ideal world of Art (Don’t fear that doesn’t exist in ‘reality’).
I’ve suffered a scathing philosophic and existential crisis after learning her death news, I would also put a bit light on them.]
1.
When I saw and touched Afrida’s paintings at the gallery, the first thing I asked her, “Why are they so much gloomy and disturbing ?” She could not answer my query and answered, “Thanks for your honest appreciation.” But I felt a unity with her point of view towards the double standard world and language of art cause I myself overcame two suicide attempts at her age, yet she is not that much junior to me. If I could paint with my guitar, definitely those would have been synonymous to Afrida’s works.
I’m not an art critic yet it’s easily possible to understand the paintings Afrida created were effortless ‘masterpieces’. Masterpieces, cause she could express her thoughts through the creations that needs not to be a Fine Arts major to feel.
In my opinion, perhaps unconsciously influenced by Plato, we have two existences- in physical world and in the ideal world of arts.
In physical world we belong to classes like upper, middle and lower while in the ideal realm of arts we represent our creations no matter from which class of the physical world we came from. Our existence in the second realm introduced us in the virtual world and made me longing for being a biological father of an artist like Afrida, that I shared many times with my wife.
2.
Eldest sons from a lower middle class family, according to the present socio-economic context in 2018, most of us were brought up under constant pressure of securing highest GPA, being prepared for BCS and government jobs shunning every kind of ‘extracurricular’ or creative activities cause ‘you’ll have enough time to do such trivial things’. Perhaps the most humiliating part was the scathing criticism of not being someone like ‘my colleague’s daughter/son who have enrolled into medical or engineering universities.’
This doesn’t stop here, humorously, even after marriage we go through a sugarcane juice machine named ‘family,’ under constant pressure of earning more money, gathering land and properties for children, obviously, sans any kind of ‘unusual’ activities in free time as it can also be utilized to earn a little more money for solvency--- ‘do you have enough time to do these trivial things’. And again here is also another blistering comparisons ‘my friend’s hubby did so and so what have you done …….?’.
Notice an endless loop with a common condition “bury your creative bullshits six feet under and face the ‘harsh reality’”
I know a good number of my readers would strongly argue with my ‘middle class emotion’ at this point, but who cares ?
Afrida, a poet’s daughter from a solvent family, needed not to face such types of ‘harsh reality’ moreover she mastered the invaluable ability of being indifferent to both praise and criticism. As far I know Afrida’s parents from their hearts inspired their daughter a lot and supported the artistic saga she started.
As a result her euthanasia (decision of killing self) will naturally be misinterpreted in the physical world where financial solvency is the only standard of an ideal healthy life and happiness.
I believe Afrida’s existence in the ideal world has the answer to the philosophic and existential crisis I’ve faced centring her death. She left behind a secret tunnel between her existences in both the worlds--- her creations--- as she said in a statement, “….my art is the only proof of my existence. They portray me, every told and untold story.”
3.
I’ve died twice. First when I found the textbooks and academy failed to answer my questions. And for the second time when I failed to solve the equation ‘money == happiness’. So, for a dead man, being suicidal is something unusual. Years after my two repeated suicide attempts, now I laugh at my ‘past myself,’ how trivial were those emotions, how cheap were those pretentious ‘invaluable messages’ I wanted to give the society by killing myself ! !
Afrida, I wish I could tell you the tales of ‘costly cosmetics’ sent from expatriate relatives that finally expires date, become sticky useless substances in a middle class family’s showcase in the hope of using later in bigger occasions…. I’m sure you could have created more masterpieces.
Look Beti (daughter), how trivial is life! We all will forget you in the course of time. Some of us are writing about you and your works being tantalized with the idea when your biography will be written, certainly our references will also be included. Huh ……. Beti, life is so trivial. Nothing to be serious with it. Rest In Peace.
Faquir Foysol works with Pishach Project.
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