T e n t a t i v e C o l l e c t i v e

The ‘Tentative Collective’ is a group of people who collaborate to create interdisciplinary works of art in public places. These works hope to create new spaces for social engagement in ephemeral ways. Our projects strive to be collaborative, site sensitive, and inclusive to a diverse range of participants. We tend to choose everyday sites in urban settings: from dividing walls and roundabouts to various streetscapes. We ask how one can re-invent makeshift, tentative and mundane opportunities in everyday urban life. Our projects create room for conviviality, marking the sites we encounter with additional layers of memory and meaning and taking away interdisciplinary learning about the way cities are lived.

For the last three years this collective has gathered dozens of collaborators from at least 5 different neighbourhoods in Karachi. The collective works on a project by project basis, open to new collaborators and project leaders interested in creating art in public space. Its structure shifts to adapt to the various contingencies of the sites and collaborations we enter. The Tentative Collective was established in 2011 by artist Yaminay Chaudhri.

(This is a variation of a paper published earlier for the Karachi Conference)

Since November 2012, using a rickshaw powered projector Mera Karachi Mobile Cinema has been screening community-generated cell phone videos in the neighbourhoods in which they are made. Initiated in response to the prompt “What do you do on your day off?” the videos provide snapshots of everyday life in Karachi.

With an estimated population of 21 million, Karachi is home to multiple ethnicities and is one of Asia’s fastest growing cities. The video projection events by Mera Karachi Mobile Cinema transform expectations of everyday private and public space, and create new zones for collectivity and conviviality. This work has travelled to various residential neighbourhoods and most recently Cantt Station (or the old railway that was built during British colonial rule), the Sea View waterfront, and Lyari. Multiple visits to each place generate new insights into the ephemeral identities of the various actors and the subjective spaces they inhabit.  In this project we were interested in creating a means by which individuals can wrest the city’s narratives from the homogenizing gaze of mass media, destabilizing stereotypes and unpacking assumptions along the way.Our exploration was complicated by the gendered nature of public space, by the parameters of permeability and penetrability, securitization, and by

Mera Karachi Mobile Cinema Yaminay Chaudhri/ Tentative Collective

the amplification of desire in the presence of vernacular mobile technology. By responding to the above, we explored alternative perceptions of the city; invisible public space; and the power dynamics between seeing and showing. We took cues from the philosopher John Dewey:

“Experience occurs continuously, because the interaction of live creature and environing conditions is involved in the very process of living.

Under conditions of resistance and conflict, aspects and elements of the self and the world that are implicated in this interaction qualify experience with emotions and ideas so that conscious intent emerges. Oftentimes, however, the experience had is inchoate. Things are experienced but not in such a way that they are composed into an experience. There is distraction and dispersion; what we observe and what we think, what we desire and what we get, are at odds with each other. We put our hands to the plow and turn back; we start and then we stop, not because the experience has reached the end for the sake of which it was initiated...”(Dewey, 1934)

With this introduction, let us enter the experience of four screenings using poetic form as a methodology of representation. The first screening was held in Ali Akbar Shah Goth, a low-income settlement situated near Karachi’s shoreline and comprising Bengali and Burmese-Rohingya migrants whose livelihood is tied to the export-oriented fishing industry; The second one was held in an upscale neighbourhood known as the Defence Housing Society where the videos were projected at a popular café/ cultural hub, the T2F; The third and fourth were held at various locations inside Cantt Station. Our navigations in Ali Akbar Shah Goth were facilitated by Zebunissa (Zeb), a Muhajir migrant and long-time resident of this neighbourhood. She had joined our project as a community leader. At Cantt Station we were facilitated by the Kolachi brothers, a group of Coolies from Ghotki, interior Sindh, in particular Fawad Kolachi, Himat Kolachi and Fazal Kolachi.

Screening # One

Our rickshaw puttered and sped off from a suburb by the sea, equipped with machines, and us in the back. It was bright still. We cruised through the broad, paved boulevard. Khayaban-e-Ittehad.February sea breeze, open views, exhilaration. Turned towards in-coming traffic to get onto the Korangi Creek flyover. swarms of motorcycles, vans and buses at the Korangi Crossing. Disorder. Stabilized vibrating cameras, made them discreet. Passed a zoo, kites, images of Altaf Hussain in his forties. We turned right, after a cricket ground. The road ended in a ditch. Followed traffic wrong way. Pressed on the railings. Put down the cameras. Took another right onto the narrow street which goes to the Fish Market. Slowed down just before the big cricket ground. Landed in front of a small empty plot marked by mobile phone shops, trash heap, and an empty flag post with a concrete base. Surrounded by eyes now. dead fish. Burning plastic. Sewage. I held my breath. We stopped.

Zeb was waiting for us near the flag post in her burqa. She climbed on. We asked her for permission to film, we usually leave the DSLR cameras at home. Zeb snatched the camera to shoot for a while.

The gali got narrower.A crowd started appearing. No confusion.Just a buzz. We were led towards the selected wall. The ground of the gali was soft and bumpy, raised where it met the boundary of each house that defined it’s edges. The boundaries were concrete punctured by doors and windows separating spaces of intimate activities from the gali. Our purple lights seeped into interiors through crevices in the facade. Eyes peered back at us. The boundary became chaotic, permeable,and blurred.

As the rickshaw docked in the Thekedar’s gali, we noticed that the whole vehicle was tilted to one side. The crevices in the gali delivered bodies, pick axes, a shovel and within seconds men began to level a patch of ground so we could flatten out. The projector was pulled out. A frenzy of wiring and connections facilitated by a hundred eyes. Light.Light hit the surface of the concrete- the boundary- the wall- the exterior- one edge of the gali.

And created an ephemeral window of moving images of everyday life—in an everyday space.

We were submerged. Chatter. Clapping. Cheers. Recognition of faces on the wall. Zeb’s familiar voice on the microphone.

Farooq’s orange teeth pointing at his video.A kid fighting. An arm hooking his collar from above, pulling him out of the thick jumble of bodies. Concentration.Electricity. I can smell the sweat of the man standing next to me. He is suspended in the projection.

Screening # Two.

Hurried loading, nervous drive to boulevard.June heat. Humid, still air.Red qameez, less sweaty without burqa.Khayaban-e-Ittehad. Slow left turn onto commercial street.Naala. barb-Q chicken.Expensive fruit. Men.Waiting for a Hilux,apartment blocks with balconies. Corrugated metal facades and boundary walls with bougainvillea.Men.An opening. A vacant lot with three media vans and several Honda cities.Music leaks from inside every time a lady is dropped off at the door. The interior was air conditioned. Waiting for our cue in the parking lot. A hesitant crowd gathered. A police van drove by, guns hanging out.We turned off our lights. Restart. The promo rung through the neighbourhood.Teenagers took selfies with the rickshaw.Were people having more fun inside? Zeb arrived with Noor Ameen, Farooq, Poleecha and a friend. We hugged. The girls were not wearing their burqas that day.They huddled around the rickshaw, refusing to hold the microphone.People were divided. Pulled apart into groups and layers. The T2f team stood near the door. Familiar faces gathered near the rickshaw. Noor Ameen refused to come into the lot. His video played without him. The fight scene dragged uncomfortably longer than I remember. Tailors, shopkeepers, and drivers stood in an outer ring cheering for Farooq. Someone gave feedback: “The theme is unclear. There should be a narrator telling us what we are looking at. Like a documentary you know? I also think the videos need to be shorter, with more special effects”.

Screening # Three(Platform one, inside Cantt Station)

There were rumours of a country-wide strike.Double sawari was banned. It was Friday rush hour on Shahra-e-Faisal. We passed barricades: metal snowflakes, black and yellow stripes, concrete blocks, horizontal bars, policewalas.The traffic to Cantt Station was diverted to the second gate.Silence. Hardly any pedestrians, the parking lot seemed empty.Platform one.Policewalas stopped us with authority. They were not informed of our arrival. Anger. It was 7:15, we should have been setting up.The Station Master was absent.Name dropping, flirting, confidently filming with a large DSLR camera and we were allowed entry.I walked down the platform with a policewala. We re-invited people he had just turned away.Free, public screeningThe Kolachi brothers surrounded us. Coolies hugged our family and friends. Policewalas looked amused.

Fawad took the microphone, a blue projection on his face,throwing a shadow on the saloon behind him. He invited distant viewers into the huddle.They were around us on other platforms, waiting for trains, smoking on benches,snacking near khokas, gathered in bunches,peeking intermittently.

Metal, grease.Teeth, orange uniforms, purple light.

A rectangle projection on the surface of the saloon. Doors and windows negotiated the depth of a new surface.

Daood pushed a toy train down a restaurant table.Himat sang about a lover who would arrive today.

Waaga paya e ma naasiMera dilbar aj aasi…He was going to dress up. He was waiting.

The song was Sindhi. The jokes were Sindhi.Coolies laughed in unison. Guests whispered, asking for meaning.Dislocation.Translation.Messages passed around. Generosity.

Screening # Four(Main Façade, Cantt Station)

“We won’t do it if the Coolies are not allowed to attend.”Day two. We were late. This was a private, VIP, screening in one of Karachi’s most public spaces:an inauguration of Cantt Station by Pursukoon Karachi’s art festival.“...15 minutes only. Just a trailer”, we had said.

The Governor’s entourage blocked our entry into the station. Metal snowflakes, black-yellow stripes, concrete blocks, bars, security rifles. Uniforms.On the wall, a stencilled figure tossed a handgun into a trash can.We waited for the entourage to drive out of Cantt Station. Security rifles pointed at our rickshaw briefly. “So sorry. Stuck in traffic, please buy us time”.

Security. Everyday pedestrians appeared to be missing. A coolie rushed over and said, “if you hadn’t arrived today we would have died of shame.”

Cantt station transformed- -sandstone chiselled, façade brightened and lit

banners hung in perfect symmetry, a purple silk stage in the emptied parking lot, trees glowing with fairy lights.It felt like Grammar School on the night of May Queen Ball.

A dream of several pasts. Hygienic.Organized. Selectively public.

Who were the guests? Was it their first time visiting Cantt Station? Had they ever taken the Thezgam or the Business Express? Was “coolie” a slight or a reclaimed and vernacularized term for porter?

Each of the 20 coolies allowed into the screening had an identity tag around his neck for this event. They were standing in familiar territory transformed into guests.

Fawad clutched the microphone cable, he stood between the projection and the façade. He started to speak. Paused.Waited for the Railway Minister to walk by to the rickshaw.Everyone took positions. Heads tilted up.The ‘Kolachi Brothers’ appeared in large letters across the façade.

Himat’s song in Sindhi: Garhain saal thi gaeNaheen yaar miliyaNaheen dosth miliya...

A rectangle on the façade dissolved into the interior of a train car. Daood’s face zoomed in on the audience. His eyes got bigger than the windows.The projection moved across the masonry.It looked back at the viewers with confidence.

(Many years passed bydidn’t find a loverdidn’t find a friend)

After five minutes, the Minister stopped the projector to mingle.Handshakes and huddle. Himat was beaming. Kalimullah laughing. Fawad poised, “Aaj thak Coolie musafiron kay peechay bhaagthay thay. Aaj Musafir Cooliyon key paas aa rahay hain.”

(Till today coolies used to chase after travellers. Today travelers are coming to wards the coolies.)

The minister spoke. Unexpectedly charming,“Yeh Taqrir naheen Mukalima hai” (this is dialogue, not a speech)

We clapped. “Pakistan Zindabad.”

Fawwad was cornered by the others for not asking the minister for benefits at the screening. Hence having lost the first opportunity, he sat down with three others and wrote this note. There was no doubt that the pathos of the situation was clear to everyone involved. (“Salaam Alaikum. This is a request. That night we weren’t able to say anything to you because of the public. Our request to you is to please provide some facilities to us also--The Kolachi Brothers.”)

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Our work creates ruptures in the everyday while simultaneously creating new opportunities for conviviality and inter-class/ inter-ethnic dialogue. It is a way to experience the city we live in wihtout claiming to outline, resolve, or summarize the everyday complexities of the neighbourhoods we enter. In fact it tries to lay bare our biased subjectivities in various parts of the city as participants and directors of unequal privilege. The ‘everyday’, like our field work and screenings, is a shifting body of experiences between individuals, communities, courtyards, houses, streets, neighbourhoods--a mixed combination of the above--and so on.

Multiple connections emerged on the screen during the course of our explorations. We used everyday mobile phones as narrative tools to create site specific aesthetics that were easily accessible, urgent and vernacular. Collectively, our videos were collaged into shifting bodies of work. This body of work can be read as a kind of productive poetic form, open to interpretation and reorganization. Consequently, the use of poetic form in the text of this essay was an attempt to involve the reader as an active participant similar to our collaborators at each screening who not only become the audience but also the producers and presenters of their work. The body of this essay is a metaphor to the experience of making, projecting and viewing our work.

Admitting our subjectivities about the city opens up a possibility to understand public space through the lens of the shifting body. In Ibrahim Haidery for example, the gali or the street, appeared to be the public arena for children and men, while the courtyard or front room of each house a public space for women. Bringing women into the street for our screenings was very difficult. But instead of making that a benchmark of our success (i.e. coercing women to come out of their homes into our reading of the ‘public’ realm), understanding the spatial complexities and the zones of power that were held by women allowed us to think differently about gendered architectures. This also helped us re-evaluate our own spaces of power within academia and social life, and more critically our agency within these foreign neighbourhoods we had entered. This agency shifted dramatically between Haidery, Defence Housing Authority and Cantt Station. (There is a lot to say about Sea View and Lyari but it will likely veer into another paper altogether). In each location the level of participation we expected was circumscribed by existing politics of power and separation in varying

degrees of opacity.

With an open mind towards these opacities, our screenings aimed to intervene as ruptures within the everyday politics and rhythms of the site. Preexisting models of such occasional ruptures in the everyday were examined for cues. Protests, political rallies, carnivals, religious celebrations, or incidents of violence each found ways of suspending and overriding the normative rituals of the site for a short period of time. Zeb once told me a story about an argument between two women on her street. The verbal abuse led the women out of their homes into the gali without burqas or veils of any kind, and details of private life (along with their bodies) were on display. The entire street watched the drama unfold and the issue of parda or public display was not brought up once. This is not a validation of violence, nor do we start fights in the neighbourhoods we enter! But it is revealing to unpack ruptures in the everyday that create layers of new activity. These ruptures (including our screenings) blurred the boundaries between spaces and people, dissolving rituals and codes of predetermined behaviour. We hoped that our screenings would formally and conceptually rupture the everyday machinery to allow conviviality between unlikely participants.

Ending the essay temporarily, I’d like to draw attention to the formal ruptures of space that occur when light from our projector hits the everyday surface of a boundary wall whose ‘normative’ functions separate interior from exterior and private from public.

Projection upon projections-Apertures,Membranes,Blur.Multiplicity-Connecting lines,Overlap,Bodies,Disappearing ground.A City within cities.

Glossary

Gali Narrow streetThekedar ContractorQameez Long shirtNaala Covered or exposed channel for sewage and storm waterHilux Pickup truck typically retrofitted with security guards Double sawari Pillion riding- or when more than 2 people sit on a motorbikePolicewala Policeman Zindabad Long live

Acknowledgments:

I thank Nausheen H. Anwar for insights on earlier versions of this paper. Several generous friends, strangers, family and the Karachi art community for their continual support. Sazgar, The United States Institute of Peace, The Asia Research Institute, National University of Singapore, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. This project was made possible by numerous donations from individuals, and organizations.

Bibliography:

Anwar, N. H. (2013, June). Negotiating New Conjunctures of Citizenship: Experiences of ‘illegality’ in Burmese-Rohingya & Bangladeshi Migrant Enclaves in Karachi. Citizenship Studies , 414-428.Anwar, N. H. (2014). The Bengali can return to his desh but the Burmi can’t becasue he has no desh: Dilemmas of Desire and Belonging among the Burmese-Rohingya and Bangladeshi migrants in Pakistan. In M. Bass, The Question of Return. Amsterdam University Press.authors, V. (2011). Art and Activism in the Age of Globalization. (R. D. Lieven De Cauter, Ed.) Rotterdam: NAi Publishers.Authors, V. (2006). Participation: Documents of Contemporary Art. (C. Bishop, Ed.) Whitechapel Gallery & MIT Press.Bourriaud, N. (2002). Relational Aesthetics. Paris: Presses du Reel.Chaudhri, Y. N., & Anwar, N. H. (2013, December 4). Mera Karachi Mobile Cinema: Projection, Perception & Public Space. Retrieved from Asian Urbanisms Blog: http://blog.nus.edu.sg/ariurban/2013/12/04/mera-karachi-mobile-cinema-projection-perception-public-space/Dewey, J. (1934). Art As Experience (Perigee trade paperback edition/ August 2005 ed.). New York, United States of America: Perigee.Hanning, J. (1996). Documents sur l’art n° 8. (N. Bourriaud, Ed.)Hasan, A., & Raza, M. (2011). Migration and Small Towns In Pakistan. Karachi, Pakistan: Oxford University Press.Khan, N. H. (2010). Restore the Boundaries The Manora Project. Karachi, Pakistan: Rossi & Rossi Ltd.Minh-ha, T. T. (1992). “Speaking Nearby:”A conversation with Trinh T. Minh-ha. (N. N. Chen, Ed.) Visual Anthropology Review , 82-91.Minh-ha, T. T. (Director). (1982). Reassemblage [Motion Picture].Raza, A. H. (2013). Migration and Small Towns in Pakistan. Oxford University Press.

A poster made by Bashir photographer for “Sahil Aur Hum.” (The sea-shore and us) He was the community organizer for a screening on Karachi’s waterfront, gathering people from several ethnicities who worked as vendors on Sea View--one of Karachi’s most loved public spaces.

March 15, 2014. Sahil Aur Hum (the beach and us). This screening on the side of a docked ship at Sea View waterfront attracted over 150 people. The participants included video producers from Cantt Station, video producers from the waterfront, vendors on the beach, animals, all terrain vehicles, guests and their families.

www.TentativeCollective.comwww.Facebook.com/TentativeCollective

T e n t a t i v e C o l l e c t i v e