I am a collector.
It started with stamps. Growing up in the 1950s, my father, to encourage my interest in stamps, bought albums. The pages came with rows and markings for pasting the stamps. It was an exciting venture. In those days, people wrote letters, which arrived in envelopes with stamps. The news of a letter’s arrival caused a flutter in my stomach. I had pen pals in Japan, Britain and New Zealand and couldn’t wait to receive their letters, mostly for the stamps.
As I entered my teens and a little bit before, I lost interest in stamps. Girls of my age collected comic books. But I had no interest in comic books. I found the cartoons a little ridiculous. In short, I didn’t collect anything.
I didn’t become a collector as such till much later, in my 20s. I moved to the United States when I was 23. In my department, I met my colleague Eugene Beecher, whom everyone called Gene. My first visit to his house was somewhat overwhelming. It was unlike any other home I had seen or been in. It was packed. There was old style furniture, rugs and kilims, artwork, folk art and objects from many parts of the world. Visiting him, my eye couldn’t rest for anything too long. Immediately, something else demanded my attention, more urgently than what I was looking at. I realised I like what Gene collected.
That’s how I got into collecting. Over the weekends, Gene and I would go off in his van to local auctions and flea markets, scrounging around for stuff. And later, when I started travelling for work, it was Gene who said: buy some local art. So I did. And I developed a passion for stuff, as it’s sometimes called. I began to love beautiful things, mostly handmade, from local materials by artisans. And antiques. Whichever country I travelled to, I bought. Sometimes, more than sometimes, I had to buy an extra bag to bring back the stuff. That didn’t deter me from my buying. Soon, my apartments and homes started filling up.
In the late 70s and all the 1980s, I travelled for work to countries in Europe, Latin and Central America, Japan, China, Africa, Southeast Asia, the Pacific and the Middle East. I continued to collect stuff during my travels, as every continent and country had something beautiful to offer.
Back in India in 1991 my travel continued. In 2004, my family and I moved built and moved into a house a little outside the city of Delhi. It was a larger space than anywhere I’d lived. As we settled into the space, my collections came into their own. It was the first time that all the artefacts I had could find a place in the home. I could look upon them, admire them, and think back to the places I had bought them.
In the last few years, as I have aged, I have been thinking about down-sizing. My husband and I have talked and still talk about moving into a smaller, more manageable space. A few years ago, we put the house on the market and thought we’d move to Goa — an idyllic, more green and smaller state in the southwest of India. What will you do with all your stuff, friends would ask, when we shared our plans with them. What indeed? When a semi-serious buyer came into the transaction, he wanted to buy the house and everything in it. Everything, I asked? Yes, apart from your antiquities, he said.
There was more consternation. What could I say yes to, and what would I resist in giving up with the sale of the house? Fortunately, the deal fell through, and I didn’t have to lie awake nights making these difficult decisions. It’s like a mother being asked which of her children she would sacrifice first. Imagine.
What have I collected, you must be thinking? Well, items made of wood, brass, glass, mud, copper, tin, paper mâché, ceramic, textiles.
I have kilims from Afghanistan from my trips to the country in the 2000s. They are in every room in the house. I love looking at them, and their bright colours light up the home. It also reminds me of the trips to the country, the friends I made, and each kilim has a story behind it, a memory, a wonderful memory. I have hand blown glass bowls made in centuries old tradition from the province of Herat. From Nuristan, a hand painted wooden cupboard in which I store napkins for the dining table and my collection of tea cosies and wooden boxes too. I bought these with my friend Gretchen, who was visiting me in Kabul from the U.S. A few years ago, I painted them.
During my various trips to Egypt, I acquired two delicately designed metal and glass lamps made in the workshop of my designer friend Azza Fahmy. I have old baskets from the Philippines, which have seen better days, but I refuse to let them go. Textiles from my travels are draped over tables and bannisters. Two handmade large pieces of work have been displayed on walls, mounted on a pressed wood backing — one from the Indian state of Rajasthan and the other from South Africa. I have silver jewellery from my travels. I’ve never been much of a gold person, but silver is my constant companion.
My husband complains that every surface in the house is covered with artefacts and books. I don’t see why not. What else are surfaces for, I ask?
I have lacquer products from Thailand, Japan and Myanmar. Some are old and some new. In Yangon, we watched how lacquerware is made. One essential ingredient is horsehair. I never knew that. The owner of the workshop, in showing us how strong the products were, put out a cigarette on one of them and then, if that wasn’t enough, proceeded to jump on it for about ten seconds. It was impressive and amusing. In the open markets in Yangon, I spotted a paper maiche dog which I brought back and an antique puppet head with a string attached to the top of the head. On pulling on the string, the eyeballs roll. I did a pencil drawing of it.
In my travels to Thailand, I became fascinated by the spirit houses in homes and commercial establishments. I liked the idea of having a house for spirits to come and visit and the daily ritual of offering of flowers, fruits and incense. Some years ago in Bangkok, I bought a spirit house. I wanted an antique one, but they were rather large and carrying them back to India was a challenge. I found a small one, delicately carved. It now sits on a table on the first floor, and I offer incense and flowers around it.
Then, there is the collection of tea pots. A few years ago a friend came by with two young daughters who ran around the house counting the tea pots, twenty-six in all. I was shocked. I had no idea there were so many.
After coming into a Zen Buddhist practice in 2009, I think deeply about the nature of attachment and detachment. Am I too attached to these objects? What if I lost them all one day? How would I feel? While I am pondering on these questions, walking around the house or sitting and chatting with friends, an artefact catches my eye and my mind goes back to the place and time I found it. It’s a happy memory, I promise you. If I bought the objects with friends, the story of these adventures come to mind, and the process of spotting them, choosing to buy them and carting them home is a fond memory. My head is full of stories. Memories and stories.
I lean towards the Japanese expert Marie Kondo and her approach to stuff. Keep things that you love, she recommends. I love a lot of my stuff, but recently, I have begun to look at everything I own — clothes, shoes, bags, books, artefacts, crockery, cutlery, kitchenware, ceramics — and ask my myself: do I really love them enough to keep them? Can I be parted with them? In this exercise I have given away many things and continue to. A favourite ritual is when friends visit to thrown open my closet door and say, please choose something for yourself. Some friends are a bit taken aback, while others enthusiastically dig in. I feel a little bit of me is with them.
Masks and antique objects have fascinated me since childhood, and I have a rather large collection of them. Some I have given away. There are wooden masks and artefacts from Papua New Guinea, Nepal, South Africa, Indonesia.
Some people come into my home and say: your house is like a museum. It’s true. It is. A museum of my life’s experiences, memories and things dear to me. As my collection shrinks, slowly, in my heart I know I will always be a collector, of things beautiful. They give me pleasure and make me happy. What else could I want?
The objects in my home have inspired me to artwork. Sometimes, I assemble them and paint them, in watercolours, gouache and acrylic. Watercolour is my preferred medium. Here is a lacquer and tile box from Japan. I added the butterfly as a bonus.
Years ago, my husband and I were shopping for a wedding gift for a friend’s son. We spotted several animals made of tin. I kept a couple for myself. One is a heron like bird and sits on my work desk. So, I put it together with a cane basket from Bali, brought back by a friend and my favourite bottle of lavender buds which sits on my worktable.
I’ve not been a stuffed toy person. However, in the province Bamiyan in Afghanistan, a Japanese journalist who married an Afghan runs a hotel I stayed in. She also started income generating projects for women, which make, among things, a peace bear. I couldn't resist and got one. I am so happy I have a peace bear in my home. It reminds me that we need peace, internally and externally. A few years ago, I did a watercolour of it.
On a visit to Pakistan some years ago, I wandered around the well-known Anarkali bazaar in Lahore. In a small shop selling antiques. I found this milk jug which reminded me of my youth. I bought it, along with a few other Chinese ceramic boxes with painted flowers.
So, I could go on, and on. But I think you get the drift.
I am glad I am a collector.
