The Great Wave

The Great Wave Off Kanagawa by Hokusai Katsushika. Courtesy: Wikipedia

I was surfing through the Amazon website looking for a birthday gift for my friend's daughter when I chanced upon a framed canvas print of The Great Wave (Kanagawa Oki Nami Ura) by Japanese artist Hokusai Katsushika. The woodblock print is one of the most famous examples of Japanese art in the world.

Hokusai Katsushika (1760-1849) was a ukiyo-e artist. The term ukiyo-e (浮世絵) means "picture of the floating world. The ukiyo-e genre of art flourished between the 17th and 19th centuries. Ukiyo-e artists created prints and paintings of women, kabuki actors, sumo wrestlers, travel, landscapes and erotica among other things.

If you look at the painting, you will notice a large wave looming threateningly over smaller boats with Mount Fuji in the distance. The extended wave has a claw-like appearance. The dark blue paint used by Hokusai, called Prussian Blue, was imported from England via China. The wave looks like a monster about to strike the boats. According to art critics, the painting symbolises the force of nature and the plight of humans when faced with Nature's wrath.

Hokusai produced this painting, generally considered his masterpiece, when he was around 70 years old. At the time of its creation, the Wave was not considered great art by leaders in Japan but over the years it has acquired something of a cult status, spawning countless reprints and inspiring poetry and music. The one I saw on Amazon was a cheap reprint that I now intend to buy.

The image is said to have inspired Claude Debussy's orchestral work, La Mer. Bohemian-Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke was also struck by the diligence of Hokusai and wrote the following poem, The Mountain.

"Six and thirty times and /
   hundred times
the painter tried to capture the /    
   mountain,
tore it up, then pushed on again
(six and thirty times and /
   hundred times).

Many years ago, much before I was born, my father's ship ran aground due to a tidal wave near Hachinohe in Japan. I remember all the stories growing up about how brave he was and how he'd managed to get out of a sticky situation. This painting reminded me of him and I couldn't help wondering how he'd felt when the wave had struck.

It is also uncanny how relevant the painting is in the current context of the pandemic.

We have two choices - we could be the panic-stricken fishermen in the boats facing the wave that threatens to obliterate our existence. Or we could be the serene, solid, resilient Mount Fuji in the distance - watching the drama unfold, knowing as Donald Finkel had written in his ekphrastic poem:

In the painter's sea
All fishermen are safe.

The painting has another message for us artists. Hokusai started painting at 6 and produced a masterpiece when he was 70. If that is not a case of persistence paying off, I don't know what is. So keep at whatever it is that you are working on. Things are bound to work out in the end.

Not on your Boat!

I am extremely wary of the sea. That I haven’t inherited my late father's seafaring qualities might have something to do with the fact that my earliest memory of him (and one I remember vividly) was going to see a movie called Poseidon Adventure when I was three. It was about a ship that was overturned by a tidal wave and almost everyone on board perished.

Now my father (whose ship had been run aground by a tidal wave in Hachinohe on the northeast coast of Japan in 1968, he survived by the grace of God) thought it would be a fabulous educational experience for his children. 

It wasn’t. 

It scared the living daylights out of me. And since then, I have kept a respectful distance from the sea. Ships and boats make me quite uneasy. Even slightly queasy.

Imagine my horror when I receive a gaudily designed whatsapp invite to a Titanic-themed Valentine's Day party in the condominium from my neighbour Mrs X a few days back. Once my eyes were able to focus on the rest of the card (after being temporarily blinded by the shining red hearts that filled up my mobile screen), I noticed a picture of Rose and Jack, hands spread out on the deck of the ship. The text said: enjoy a special evening with your loved one, dancing the night away on board the Titanic. Charges: Rs 500 plus taxes for dinner. A sumptuous fare of kali dal, paneer, chicken tikkas and biryani will be served. Booze unlimited.

Now, I am not sure why anyone would want to spend Valentine's Day on board an ill-fated boat that sank in the icy waters of the North Atlantic. That isn't remotely romantic, it is a recipe for disaster. I certainly wasn't going to. 

So I sent a polite message saying I was busy.

It should have ended there but the woman just wouldn’t take no for an answer. She sent me a message back saying “Why you are being anti-social?” She wrote that I should come with the hubby. He would enjoy it. They would be playing songs like Gallan Goodiyaan from Dil Dhadakne Do (a number I really love) and there was going to be red vaalvet cake for dessert.

Woman, even if you fly down Leonardo DiCaprio all the way from the US, I still wouldn’t go! No amount of chicken tikka and red vaalvet is going to convince me. I will listen to Gallan Goodiyan on YouTube and do a little jig at home. Perhaps if my father hadn’t taken me to see Poseidon Adventure all those years ago, I might have turned out differently.

So no, thank you. I'll pass.

In fact, the only boat I’m likely to set foot on is an ark should the world come to an end.

The End.