Riding into the sunrise - 2Thepoint

1 | P r e p a r e d b y T e a m C u r r e n t A f f a i r s R e v i e w

Riding into the sunrise

There are many functions to mark New

Year’s Day but probably two unique

events were the Kulkuain or pigeon-

fancying competition and the tonga race

from Mathura to Agra or Mathura to

Delhi. The most famous pigeon-fancier

had some 2,000 pigeons, which he took

from Delhi to Agra via Mathura and then

flew them in 10 lots at Akbar’s tomb in

Sikandra, where the main Kulkulian

competition took place on January 1. The

chaudhury of the tonga race was

Mohammad Qureshi Pehalwan, who ran

an eating house in the Jama Masjid area

and owned several fancy racing tongas,

different from the usual ones as they

were lighter built and could seat two

persons, though a third one could also

squeeze himself into it. The horse was a

full-bred, strong and not emasculated like

the one seen in the street-run tongas and

ekkas.

High stakes

Now about the annual tonga race in which

participants were from Delhi, Mathura,

Agra, Bareilly, Shahjahanpur, Aligarh,

Firozabad and Kasganj. The stakes were

high and the winner got a hefty amount

and a safa or ceremonial turban tied to his

head, usually by the District Magistrate or

Superintendent of Police of Agra district,

while for the local race in Delhi this was

generally done by the Lt-Governor amidst

much applause. People lined up at the

starting and ending points of the race with

garlands and whatnot, some of them

keener than the others because of the

bets they had made-and these ran into

thousands of rupees a long time back,

when the buying power of money was

much more and there were no ₹2,000 and

500 notes. But a hundred-rupee one was

enough for a lower strata family for a

week and ₹ 1,000 more than enough for a


month, with rice and wheat at ₹1 a seer

(flour is ₹240 for a kg now), mutton ₹130

a seer and vegetables dirt cheap

compared to present day prices when

even potatoes cost ₹ 25-30 a kg, and

onions also that much, Chana dal 4 annas

a seer, with the one given to horses just

about an anna or two. So the tonga race

winner became a lakhpathi in one go in

those cheaper times.

By the time of the prize giving ceremony

the crowd grew manifold, joined by those

returning after the New Year service from

the Sikandra church, where once the 18th

Century printing press pioneer, William

Carey worshipped and later the two

“Wolf-Boys”, rescued from the jungles of

Bulandshahr and Mainpuri, one of them

named Dina Sanichar as he was found on

a Saturday.

One can cover the distance between Delhi

and Agra on horseback no doubt if in this

age of cars, trains and planes one cares to.

At a leisured pace, in stages, it might even

be enjoyable if the sun is not too hot. But

to make a race of it would be killing. And

that was what it was, when two Delhi

horses, one owned by the hotel owner in

Jama Masjid and the other by a resident

of Bazar Sita Ram, ran the course from

Agra. The bet was reported to be ₹ 10,000

for the winner and there were

transactions running into 10 times the

figure.

Leaving the usual margin for exaggeration

common to such occasions, it was without

doubt a heavy wager. But nobody seemed

to have reckoned the odds. The horses,

beautiful specimens both, died before

covering even the first stage to Mathura,

barely 40 miles from Agra. The first fell

after doing less than 25 miles and the

other 28. Perhaps, it was too much to

expect the horses to cover the distance of

40 miles at one stretch in the heat of an

October afternoon; for even though the

race began early in the morning, the

horses were reported to have been racing

for five hours. After Mathura, the next

stage was to have been Palwal and the

last Delhi.

Punishing pace

The Mughal emperors used to ride the

distance. But it was in easy stages, with

change of horses every few miles. The

many monolith Kos Minars on the Delhi-

Agra road are said to have marked the

staging points.

It is said that a drummer was posted atop

each monolith and would start beating his

drum as soon as he saw the emperor’s

entourage approaching in the distance.

No doubt, horses were often driven hard

and sometimes to death then, but to ride

horses at a gruelling pace for a long

stretch for no reason, except a bet is

foolish and cruel.

As for the pigeon-fanciers, even now in

the Walled City of Delhi there are several

mohallas where the kaboortarbaz, as they

are called, make the morning and evening

ring to cries of “Aah” to call back the air-

borne pigeons. However, there was a time

when, like the patangbaz or kite-fliers,

they too went to open spaces near the

Yamuna bank to engage in kulkulain or

competitions after feeding coarse grain to

their flocks. Now, because of

encroachments on the river bank and

consequent lack of space, the pigeon-

fanciers compete only from their


rooftops. There’s even a Kabootar Bazar

where pigeons are sold and exchanged.

Hafiz Mian was a great kabootarbaz in the

last century and his main rival was Deen

Badshah. Each of them had pigeons, both

of Indian and foreign breed. There were

Russian, Turkish, Afghan and Burmese,

and some other South Asian breeds, and

of course, those from all over India. Their

cost even then was great, with the

acrobatic Lotan kabootar occupying place

of pride in the kabootar-khana or specially

built wood and wire mesh cages, with

pigeon-holes for the birds to roost. The

greybaz was also a highly prized bird like

the Kabuli. Dennis Bhai’s old father, Elias

Sahib used to say that his son could

recognise the breed of a passing-by

pigeon by just examining its droppings.

Dennis Bhai had greenish eyes, just like

some of his pigeons, and when he married

he found a Muslim girl with the same kind

of eyes, making a friend remark, ‘Wah

Dennis, dulhan bhi khoob chuni hai.

Aankh se aankh mila di,’ (Bravo, you have

found a bride with matching eyes). Dennis

Bhai is dead but his dulhan, Kesar still

survives as a tall, fair, slim pretty lady

ageing with grace, whose eyes glow with

excitement whenever she sees a flock of

pigeons darting across the sky to the

frenzied whistling of a rival kabootarbaz.

Source: http://bit.ly/2TNUowb

Moving recitals at Urs

Such as Christmas comes every year

coinciding with the music season in

Chennai, the second Urs of Qutubul

Akhtab Hazrath Hafiz Syed Habeeb

Mohammed Hasan Moulana Khadiri

Baghdadi (Raz), the 31st descendant of

Prophet Mohammed (PBUH) and the 19th

descendant of Baghdad’s patron saint

Hazrath Abdul Khader Jeelani (Father of

http://bit.ly/2TNUowb


Khadiri order and leader of Aulias), was

held at the Dargah on December 13.

As the ancient clock at the heritage

structure struck 10, H.Habibullah Shah,

Sajjad-e-Nasheen and Muthavalli began

the proceedings with zikhr majlis. The

names of Allah were chanted and soon

the congregation joined in the recital of

poems and hymns in praise of Prophet

Mohammed. Childhood friends Afzal Bijli,

Tahir, Ameen, Yousuf Qureishi and

Samiullah rendered the salaam (salutation

to the Prophet).

In this age of technological revolution, it

was heartwarming to see the oral culture

being preserved through the recitals of

Qasidas (Burdah and Ghousiya). The

beauty of Qasida Burdah, a poem written

by Imam Busiri in praise of Prophet

Mohammed, is that each verse ends with

Arabic alphabet mim in a style called

mimiya.

On the other hand, Qasida Ghousiya

establishes a spiritual connection between

the reciter and Hazrath Abdul Khader

Jeelani (a gifted saint crowned with the

crown of perfection). Longer than a ghazal

but following a rhyme pattern, both

subtle and smooth, this poem is a

masterpiece in Arabic literature. Joining

the chorus was Dr. Mohammed

Salahuddin Ayub, the Chief Khazi to the

Government of Tamil Nadu, who was

among the ulemas and dignitaries who

attended the Urs.

The traditional flag hoisting ceremony,

which marks the beginning of the Urs was

held on December 8. H. Habibullah Shah,

who authored the biography of the saint

(Hayat-e-Qalandari), said, “The sufi saint,

who was born in Baghdad came to

Hyderabad to propagate the spiritual

aspects of Islam. Having gained training

from his mentor, Hazrath Syed Saleh

Maulana Madani of Colombo, he was

conferred Qutubiath (highest order in

Islamic spiritualism). Spreading the

message of peace and love, the saint was

revered by the people of Chennai in

general and the locals of Mannady in

particular.”

Source: http://bit.ly/2RO6xPr

http://bit.ly/2RO6xPr


Find the missing ‘you’

A mudra is a kind of “seal” in that its

purpose is to seal a thought in our mind.

Yoga mudra is also called cin mudra or

jnana mudra. There is a well-known story

behind this mudra. Siva, representing the

Divine, once took the form of a boy of

sixteen. Seated, absorbed in meditation,

with an aura of deep calm, and radiant in

appearance, he was approached by sages

who saw through his disguise and

recognised his true nature.

The sages asked with reverence, “What is

the essence of the Vedas and all spiritual

teaching?” Siva gave no answer but showed

them this simple mudra — he raised his

palm toward them and brought his index

finger down to join its tip to his thumb.

The sages understood what he was saying,

though he had never said a word! The

guru’s discourse was silence, but the

students’ doubts were dispelled.

So what did the sages understand from this

simple mudra? The index finger is the

individual — the self or the ego. The thumb

is the Divine. The other three fingers are the

three qualities of the mind and nature

(sattva, rajas and tamas). When the mind

moves away from the flux of these qualities

and reaches stillness, the individual is

united with the Divine nature within.

This mudra is called cin mudra because the

word cit (which becomes cin when joined

with the word mudra) means

“consciousness.” It says let go of the ego of

the mind, and you will experience the true

nature of consciousness.

This mudra is also known as the jnana

mudra, the word jnana meaning “to know”

— to know one’s true nature or the nature

of the Divine, that is. Classically, the

explanation of this mudra involves the

Divine and the idea of joining with it. While

the anjali mudra is useful to define the


attitude of humbleness in the practice, this

yoga mudra points to the goal that is at the

end of the practice.

From the ancient yoga texts, we learn of the

experiences of those who achieved these

heightened states of awareness. The

fundamentals that these sages have

described come from empirical knowledge,

from their own experiences. The role of the

guru is to help us understand the teachings

and guide us in our practice.

There is a famous parable that illustrates

this. A group of ten men on a journey

reached a river on their path. They

managed to cross the river, and emerging

on the other side, they wanted to ensure all

ten had made it safely.

The last one to cross began counting and

found only nine men. He was alarmed and

alerted the others. Each one counted in

turn and found only nine! As they were in

tears, mourning their missing companion, a

passing sage came upon them and asked

them what the problem was.

“Alas, sage!” they cried. “One of us is

missing, lost in the treacherous waters of

the river!”

The sage smiled and said, “Let me count.”

And he found ten. Of course, each person

who was counting included everyone but

himself. Only with the intervention of the

sage, or the guru, were they able to find

themselves! But a key point to note here is

that the sage did not bring the tenth man

with him. He only pointed out what was

already there. The realisation was not from

outside, but from within.

The guru is only the catalyst. The student is

the practitioner, the one who has to seek

and undergo the transformation. If we look

within ourselves, we will find the one who is

missing!

Source: http://bit.ly/2RjThCS

http://bit.ly/2RjThCS


Glimpses of Bangalore in London

The total area of Old London is about one

square mile and that of old Bangalore or

Pete is about two square km. But old

London has transformed completely. Today,

it is the centre of many multinational banks

and other trading companies who have built

a large number of modern multi-storey

buildings. Yet, some historical monuments

like London wall, Fire Monument, London

Museum do exist among these skyscrapers.

But, such transformations in Bengaluru Pete

is minimal. To a larger extent, the charm of

old Bangalore has been retained.

Particularly on some festival days, the

surroundings of city market exhibit the true

color and fervor of bygone Bengaluru.

Street names like Gundopanth street

Basetty Galli, Kilari Raste and many more

such names of lanes and bylanes remind us

of native nature of this place. Hundreds of

years old worshipping centres, belonging to

various communities co-exist here to

convey the message of religious harmony.

Like in Londonium, here too, everyday

business runs to crores of rupees. But the

financial considerations have not

completely wiped out the true tradition and

culture of old Bengaluru

The comparison of these two cities cannot

be confined to their formative stages only.

There are many more aspects, wherein

Bangalore reverberates in London. A

remarkable instance to prove this fact is the

presence of Bangalore street in London City.

It is in Putney area of Wandsworth Borough,

South West London. It isabout a kilometer

long street and has a row of beautiful,

traditional, British style residential buildings

on either side of the road. At the beginning

and middle of the road, two plates display

the name Bangalore Street. An old building

also has the name on the wall. At the end of

the road a house has this name inscribed on

its entrance.


There is a Heritage Service Centre of the

Battersea library in Wandsworth Borough. It

contains all the names of the streets and

locations that come under London County

Council Administration. On page 48 of this

book published by the Council it says that in

1898, Bangalore as a name for that

particular street was sanctioned.

A file in the same centre has a letter

approved on May 20, 1901 given to a

builder to construct 27 houses in a row. The

blue print of this project has a road named

Bangalore Street.

Apart from these details we do not have

any other information about why it was

named so, that too, to be precise, 120 years

ago in a far off European city like London.

This could be the logical explanation: The

British came to Bangalore in 1800. They

were given a vast space near Halasuru to

build Cantonment. Gradually, the family

members of the army personnel also

arrived and settled down leading to the

development of a small township also called

by some as ‘Little England’. But later it was

officially named as Civil and Military Station.

In addition to Army personnel, many other

Britishers living here were engaged in

different professions.

When Plague broke out in this region in

1898, many of these people went back to

England and continued their avocation

there.

One such person was a contractor or a

builder who had worked in Bangalore for

quite a long time and had developed a liking

and regard for the city. In 1898 he returned

to his home town London.

After 1890, in Bangalore, famine and plague

outbreak led to the formation of new and

well-planned extensions like Chamarajapet,

Basavanagudi and Malleshwaram. Simlarly,

in England, the Victorian period between

1837 to 1901 was an era of development

and expansions. The countryside of London

was widened with newer localities to build a

greater London. Contracts were given to

construct new roads and buildings. This

British Builder from Bangalore must have

obtained the sanction to build a few

residential lanes in Putney of Battersea. He

showed his love and liking for Bangalore by

naming a road as Bangalore Street.

In the same Borough there is also a Mysore

Street named in 1894. A foot note just says

Mysore is an Indian State.

Anyone who wants to do a thorough study

of various aspects of Bangalore city, British

Library on Euston Road, London is a right

choice. Here, the India Office section of Asia

African studies located in third floor has

more than 35,000 files pertaining to a large

number of departments of this city. Even,

just to glance through this list on line, it

requires two or three days. Another set of

500 files contains pictures, maps, drawings

and other materials with reference to

Bangalore.

Close to British Library, near Russell Square

is School of Oriental and African Studies

(SOAS ) of London University. SOAS has an

amazing collection of photographs on

Bangalore taken in the last century. They

are given to SOAS either by the

photographers themselves or their

descendants for preservation. With prior

permission, these pictures can be


photographed free of charge. Lalbagh Glass

House with only three wings, Saint Mary’s

Church in Shivajinagar with a vast open field

around, the unveiling ceremony of Queen

Victoria Statue in 1906 at Cubbon Park,

front view of Atthara Cucheri (now High

Court) taken from Cubbon Park and

hundreds of such photographs are really a

treat to view.

Source: http://bit.ly/3aDSZi4

The great leveller: How Urdu blossomed

in the 19th century

Delhi and Urdu have been entwined in an

all-embracing affair right from the time of

Aurangzeb, when poets of “Zaban-e-Goya”

or the language par excellence began to

emerge, though the initial foundation was

laid by Amir Khusrau in the mid-13th

century, when he advocated Hindavi, a

mixture of the local idiom, Persian and

Arabic. After a long journey of nearly six

centuries, Urdu flowered in the 19th

century when, to quote littérateur

Rakshanda Jalil, “Everybody from the king

down to the impoverished vagrant singing

in the koochas and bazaars was smitten

with poetry”. Even the koonjars who sold

vegetables were infected by the scenario

and sing-songed their wares with “latkas” or

jingo rhymes like “Laila-ki-pasliyan” (the

ideal Persian beloved’s ribs) and “Majnu-ki-

ugliyan” (fingers of her passionate lover). All

this is brought out beautifully in Saif

Mahmood’s recently-released book,

“Beloved Delhi”.

Then came the First War of Independence

in 1857 and the twilight of the Mughals,

who were the enthusiastic patrons of Urdu,

with Bahadur Shah Zafar himself emerging

as a shair of pessimistic verse that

portrayed both his plight and that of the

shabby grandeur of the once exalted “Qila-

e-Mualla” into which his kingdom had

shrunk after its capture by the British East

India Company. That annus horribilis

http://bit.ly/3aDSZi4


became so volatile that the poets could only

decry the cataclysmic events that had

changed their lives and the fortunes of their

city forever. This was naturally reflected in

heart-wrenching verse.

But even before that, says Rakshanda,

“there existed a body of poetry known as

Sher-Ashobor or misfortunes of Delhi on the

social decline and in turmoil, portrayed by

Jafar Zaatalli (1658-1713), encompassing

virtually the entire reign of Aurangzeb.

Zaatelli’s criticism of the decadent Mughals

angered Emperor Farrukhsiyar so much that

he sentenced him to death. The crumbling

social order later found an echo in the

works of Hatim, Sauda and Mir Taqi Mir, the

best chroniclers of the plight of Delhi in

verse.

They were in a way carrying on the

traditional journey of Hindavi of Khusrau

out of Delhi – “From battlefields, camps,

shrines, marketplaces and work sites to

night-shelters or caravanserais”, where the

weary traveller could find both refuge, with

board and lodging, and an outlet for his

merchandise. The poets who epitomised

this owed a debt of gratitude to Amir

Khusrau, the best known exponent of

Hindavi that unfortunately got divided into

Hindi and Urdu. Both shair and sufi used

Ram as a synonym for God, which was also

adopted by Nanak and Kabir and made

Daadoo Dayal, the 16th Century Bhakti poet

of Gujarat exclaim, “He who doesn’t

oppress or consume what is prohibited is a

Momin (Believer) and will go to heaven”.

Genesis of qawwali

One side-product of Khusrau’s Hindavi was

the birth of qawwali, derived from the word

“Qaul” of Hazrat Muhammad and adopted

at the khanqahs of the sufis – the Chistis,

Suhrawardis, Naqsbandis and Qadris - that

affected Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti’s chief

disciple, Qutubuddin Bakhtiar Kaki’s

spiritual heir, Baba Fareed so much that he

took great pains to popularise it in Punjab,

after that it spread throughout Hindustan

and now abroad too.

Braj was the language most widely spoken

in the long-time Mughal capital Agra before

Delhi became the seat of the empire with

Persian as the court language at both

places. “But it was a voice from the Deccan

that changed this radically. The man who

brought this about was Wali Dakhni, who

came to Delhi in 1700 AD while Aurangzeb

was still on the throne. Delhi was at that

time home to several eminent poets of

Persian, Hatim, Abroo, Arzoo and Bedil

among them, who swore by the Persian

poetry of Saadi, Hafiz, Jami, Khaqani and

Urfi. It was in this milieu that Wali Dakhni

introduced his poetry, written in Dakhani,

called Rekhta (language of the marketplace)

that became Urdu as we know it today. Mir

and Hatim who mostly wrote in Persian

earlier, took to Rekhta too. Incidentally, the

mazar of Wali Dakhni was razed during the

Gujarat riots of 2002 and a road built on the

site overnight as though that could diminish

the enormous literary contribution of Wali.

In 1713 was born Mohammad Rafi Sauda,

who has come to be known as Mughal

Delhi’s first classical Urdu poet. The city’s

Urdu, however, had an atypical flavour,

different from its Awadhi or Deccani sisters.


Before Sauda it was Sheikh Zahuruddin

(1699-1792), later known by his takhalus

(pen-name) Hatim, who patronised the new

trend. He was followed, besides Sauda, by

Mir Dard, Mir Taqi Mir, Zauq, Ghalib,

Momin and Nawab Mirza Daagh Dehlvi, the

Casanova of Urdu poetry. Daagh later

migrated to Rampur and then to

Hyderabad, where he died in 1905 at the

age of 74, making his pupil Benjamin

Montrose “Muztar”, an Indo-Scot, cry out in

anguish : “Ek Daagh tha so who bhi tau

Muztar guzar gaya/Baqi bacha hai kuan ab

Hindostan mein”.

Adopting simple diction

Daagh, commented Pandit Anand Mohan

Zutshi, better known as Gulzar Dehlvi, was

the one who made Ghalib what he was.

Initially, Ghalib used to write difficult verse

that did not find much admirers but then he

noticed the popularity of Daagh because of

his simple diction and adopted the same

style. Incidentally, Daagh’s mother, Wazir

Khanum, alias Chhoti Begum, “who had an

eye for men”, married Marston Blake, an

English officer at the age of 16 and had two

children from him. Blake was unfortunately

killed in a riot in Jaipur in early 1880.

The begum’s later admirers were the

Nawab of Loharu, Nawab Shamsuddin Khan

of Firozepore Jhirka and the British Resident

at the Mughal court, William Fraser. She

married Shamsuddin Khan, who fathered

Nawab Mirza Khan Daagh Dehlvi.

Shamsuddin was later hanged for complicity

in the murder of Fraser, while Wazir

Khanum wed her third husband, Turab Ali.

She finally married Mirza Fakru, Bahadur

Shah Zafar’s son and died after him in 1879,

leaving Daagh disconsolate.

Source: http://bit.ly/37sOS6u

http://bit.ly/37sOS6u


Odisha's patachitra art comes to Chennai

In one corner of Forum Art Gallery, an

elderly man sporting a waistcoat and a

dhoti, sits on a charpai. He is busy at work.

The fine outlines of a half-done figure of

Krishna, with tiny loops and other similar

elements of line drawings, garner my

attention to the small canvas. The man

stoops over the canvas, blissfully unaware

of his surroundings. His hands move with

the dexterity of an experienced

practitioner, a simple brush made of

squirrel hair, fastened tightly to a straight

twig in tow — the work too doesn’t say

otherwise. This is Sharat Kumar Sahoo, a 50-

year-old National award winning patachitra

artist, at work. Around him, perched on the

walls, are works of 11 artists — all from

Raghurajpur, a tiny hamlet in Odisha —

which together make for ‘Jagannatha: a

hand-picked collection of fine Odisha

patachitra’.

The walls are crowded with works that are

replete with many small elements that

catch one’s eye only when observed closely.

Patachitra on coconuts bobs along the

walls, resembling balls of varied sizes with

colourful patterns. Ganesha, who basks in a

brownbackground with inklings of black all

over, has many intricate interpretations of

the elephant god within the larger figure. “A

form within a form — this is a usually seen

concept in Patachitra. This is the work of

Bijay Parida,” says the curator, Suguna

Swamy who has also extensively worked

with the artists in Raghurajpur. Despite the

numerous elements present on the cloth

canvas, the primary figure of the Ganesha

doesn’t get lost. His modak, trunk and tusks


— all remain as highlighted as the other

elements.

The cycle of seasons, Radha and Krishna

revelling with gopikas and the various

stages in a woman’s life — these are

recurring themes in the artform. “The idyllic

life in a village, mythological narratives, a

woman’s elaborate adornment rituals also

feature quite often in their works,”

continues Suguna pointing to another more

colourful work depicting a woman as she

goes about her daily chores. In different

panels, each stage is detailed carefully,

bringing out a narrative quality when

observed as a single work. At the farther

end of the gallery, the overpowering black

catches my eye. As I move closer, the

Konark pillars, the sun and other motifs

from the the Konark temple can be seen

intricately drawn and etched in black.

The artists mostly use vegetable dyes and

colours extracted from minerals. The

shades in this case, take on a softer tenor,

which soothe the eyes with their pastel

hues (black and earthy shades dominating).

However, acrylic colours too make an

appearance rarely, when the subject

demands it. The canvas, on the other hand,

is prepared by coating a cotton cloth with a

mixture of chalk and gum extracted from

tamarind seeds. In addition, they also use

palm leaves that take on the form of a

foldable manuscript.

Means of livelihood

“As you walk through the streets of

Raghurajpur, people stand on either side

inviting you into their homes,” says Suguna

adding that most of the young artisans

prefer to involve themselves in marketing

their ancestors’ works to tourists. For the

entire hamlet of 120-odd families,

patachitra is a means of livelihood.

Consequently, the artistic value gets buried

in mass production meant only for earning a

steady income.

Sahoo’s typical day starts at 4 am and goes

on till 9 pm. At night, table lamps come to

his rescue. Occasional breaks excluded,

most of his time goes into working on the

piece, which he does sitting on the floor

without the help of magnifying glasses or

stencils. He had started out when he was 13

years old. And what are his favourite

subjects to work on? He doesn’t have an

answer. He mumbles shyly , “I get

challenged only by very intricately detailed

work.” Though the older artisans, who have

traditionally inherited the skill, prefer to

stick to the common subjects, the younger

generation seems to be open to change.

“Most of the tourists come here because of

the traditional value of the art. But we

would be happy if we get the chance to

introduce changes,” 29-year-old Prasanta

Moharana chimes in as he etches out two

figurines of women, on a bookmark. He

then, dunks a piece of cloth in black ink and

swipes it across the figurines — they

emerge black as he wipes out the extra ink.

Source: http://bit.ly/2Rt7xJT

http://bit.ly/2Rt7xJT


No more strings attached

Tholu Bommalata artisans keep their

traditional art alive by shifting their puppet-

making skills to other contemporary works

of art.

S Gangadhara appears to be inhabiting his

own world where none of the surrounding

noise, conversations and laughter reaches

him. He is focussed on his colour palette

from where he selects a shade to apply on

his half-finished leather lampshade. He

carefully paints the petals of a flower and if

at all some customer interrupts him with a

question, he looks up, responds politely and

gets back to the job at hand.

Gangadhara accompanied by his wife Radha

are at the Saras Development of Women

and Children in Rural Areas (DWCRA) Bazaar

. They display their brightly coloured lamps

and wall hangings in their stall.

Gangadjhara is a practitioner of the

traditional art of Tholu Bommalata. While

traditionally, Tholu Bommalata was

associated with leather puppetry, the

changing times have forced the artists to

innovate. So from making puppets, the

artists now create lampshades, wall

hangings, paintings and bookmarks.

Gangadhara’s family has been puppet

makers for years and years. He and Radha

are from Nimmalakunta in Anantapur

district, where the art is a hereditary

occupation. “Though our main profession is

puppetry, we have started making other

things as puppetry no longer fetches us

enough money to fend ourselves. We

attended workshops that were held by

various organisations, which taught us to

experiment with the art form and help us

earn a living,” he says.

Through various fairs, exhibitions and stores

that sell handicrafts, today, their artwork

has reached households not just across the

country but around the world. The State

government and several other NGOs

conduct workshops regularly and this has

helped artisans to improvise, innovate and


keep up with the times. “There are over 200

families in our town that are involved in this

profession. However, none of them is solely

dependant on this and practise alternative

professions like agriculture,” says

Gangadhara. Puppetry was a popular form

of art and entertainment where puppeteers

travelled around village to village staging

stories with their leather puppets. Episodes

from the Ramayana and the Mahabharatha

were enacted to the delight of the

audience. Not straying too far from their

puppets, what these artists depict on their

lampshades and wall hangings are also

mythological figures and animals. Peacocks

and elephants make a frequent appearance.

Goat hide and sheepskin are moulded into

lamps of various sizes and shapes. These are

then decorated with intricate designs and

vibrant oranges, reds, yellows, blues and

greens usually derived from vegetable dyes.

Source: http://bit.ly/3aCSp49

Is there a classical Indian way of dancing?

Miti Desai, a Mohiniattam dancer gave a

lecture demonstration in studio Swastika,

last Saturday titled, “The Centre from which

it all spins – Mythology, Belief and

Transcendence”. She begins by asking,

“What is the Indian worldview?, What is the

Vedic worldview? What is the purpose of

Indian classical dance?”. The purpose of

Indian Classical Dance, she stated, is to

“reach the formless through form”.

Explaining the philosophical underpinnings

of classical dance, she implied that while

each dance has its form, its shape and

geometry it is not a mere physical exercise,

http://bit.ly/3aCSp49


it is meant for the dancer to experience

something beyond the form. The poetry on

which dance is choreographed, is also

similar. It seeks to evoke visual forms of

mythological gods and goddesses –

describing the image of Krishna or that of

Shiva. However, she states that the purpose

of even this imagery/ visual form is to

enable the artist or the audience to

experience something intangible and

formless. Form is only symbolic of the

formless.

Her dance sharings were preceded by an

explanation of the symbolism in each of the

choreographies. She would tell the

mythological story and decode the symbolic

meaning of Hindu mythical gods – Krishna

and Shiva. This narrative of “reaching

formless by engaging with form” resonates

with the dominant Vedic worldview in

Hinduism, that idol worship is a means to

experience god in his or her formlessness.

She also traces the roots of classical dance

to Vedic philosophy and “Shastras”. By

situating her dance sharings in this socio -

cultural rubric and decoding the meaning of

the poetry and the choreography, she made

her dance cognizable and accessible for the

audience. The intimacy of the space, the

proximity with the artist allowed one to

appreciate the performance from a

perspective very different to the one we

experience in auditorium.

However, when we invoke the term “Indian

Classical Dance” we are faced with a crisis

or a problem question,“What is Indian

Classical Dance?”. A similar question with

roots in the same post-colonial identity

crisis was posed by A.K. Ramanujan, “Is

there an Indian way of thinking?.” He posed

this question to the world in the form of his

seminal essay that goes with the same title.

This question, has been re-introduced

multiple times in the context of different

disciplines and activities– Is there an Indian

way of film making, of designing or even

eating. His essay, while posing a question

also offered a method to reflect on this

question i.e. asking the same question

multiple times with a stress on different

words. For example - “Is there an Indian

way of thinking?” could be interpreted to

mean is there one or many ways of Indian

thinking. “Is there an Indian way of

thinking?” implies if there is a certain kind

of thinking that could be branded as Indian?

Or “Is there an Indian way of thinking?”

would be a question about the existence of

such a thing as Indian thinking. In

approaching this question, one begins to

understand that what constitutes “Indian”

or “Indian thinking” is very elusive.

Applying the same method to classical

dance, we could ask “Is there an Indian

Classical way of dancing?”. Framing it as a

question modifies a cultural assumption

into a thought experiment. For starters, we

can safely say that there is more than one

way of dancing the Indian classical. Firstly,

because each dancing body dances

differently. Then, there is no Indian Classical

dance in the absence of the different forms

that have been identified as classical.

Hence, when we speak of Indian classical

dance, we have to speak in terms of which

form. It is the early 20thcentury

reconstruction which seeks to create a


common past for all these dance forms.

Asking this question shakes (atleast a little)

the typical potted identity of classical dance

which traces itself to the principles of

Natyashastra, to an itemised repertoire and

to a few key figures who institutionalised

the form. This need for a homogenised

singular identity decontextualizes the form,

erasing its more immediate regional

context, language and landscape it is

connected to.

So when Miti Desai spoke of the purpose of

Indian Classical Dance, the absence of the

regional spoke louder. Mohiniattam, the

dance of the enchantress, emerges from

Kerala and its socio-cultural practices and to

only situate the form in the singular

overbearing narrative of classical past is

turning a blind eye towards the regional.

Even if we were to speak of a shared

purpose of all the classical forms, it

becomes important to acknowledge how

this purpose gets instituted. When classical

dances are a modern reconstruction of

region specific community practices, could

the purpose of “reaching formless through

form” be an age old transfer of knowledge

among all forms?

Source: http://bit.ly/2tFqQGM

Art and the bliss within

It is significant that certain words have no

exact opposites. One of them is Ananda or

Bliss. We have unhappiness for happiness or

hate for love but there is nothing,

exclusively opposed to Bliss. Similar is

Moksha or liberation, also a state of bliss. If

there is any term opposed to them, then it

has to be an amalgam of both happiness

and misery. Those who have been blissful,

may never be able to articulate the state,

http://bit.ly/2tFqQGM


well enough or as it is. Only the one who

tastes it, will know it, making it

Anirvachaneeya or indescribable. There are

two variations of bliss — one that is

positive, dynamic and creative and the

other that is negative, passive and

dissolving. The former represents the

fullness and the latter the void.

There are also three broad means to

acquire Ananda, according to Sastras —

Kamananda, that arises out of the

enjoyment of all that is desired and

achieved, Dharmananda, out of

performance of noble deeds giving

tremendous satisfaction and finally

Mokshananda. The last one is the baffling

truth that, bliss AS IT IS, is within ONESELF.

It permeates EVERYWHERE from this point.

This Aananda does not necessitate any

action whatsoever, in search of bliss but

rests in essence, in the eternal Being that

pulsates within. Constantly meditating upon

‘Satchidananda’ — Bliss I AM — gets

reflected in every necessary will, thought

and action. The grace simply flows out of

such a Being.

This throws light upon a similar but special

and incomparable experience, that of RASA.

In drama, the Vibhavas, Anubhavas,

Vyabhicahari and Sattvika Bhavas

purposefully evoke the predominant Sthayi

Bhavas, leading to Rasa, contemporaneous

with every worldy aspect and

corresponding moral lessons, that is being

dealt with. This means that Kamananda and

Dharmananda are both present, rather

‘represented’ while Mokshananda, is also

within the grasp.

The five-fold stages as enumerated by

commentators are physical, mental,

emotional, imaginative and transcendental,

that lead to the absorption into the ONE

‘CIT-EKARASA.’ This is called Samvit

Vishranti/beatitude, by Trika Shaivas. It is

considered nothing short of Brahma-

Aswada — Sahodara, a brother of the divine

experience of super consciousness. The

symbiosis of consciousness with aesthetics

predates Abhinava Gupta in the Vijñāna

Bhairava, Siva Sūtras, Tirumandiram and

others that variously assimilate the broad

philosophical rationalisation of the esoteric

science of energy — Tantra. Trika stands for

accepting divine existence as Bheda,

Bhedabheda and Abheda — dual, dual and

non-dual and non-dual or ONE.

Natya believes that the form and formless

are part of one unified reality, exemplifying

the conception of the supreme personality

of God, as the Universal Self, beyond

Purusha and Prakriti — the WHOLE. Every

manifestation that mirrors this is equally

true, albeit relatively from the ultimate

view. It is Yogaja Marga that integrates the

supreme and the worldly as against an aloof

Vivekamarga that segregates the illusive

Maya from the transcendental Brahman.

With the force of art, comes the discovery

that this Jiva is Siva-Sakti. An egoistic ‘I’ can

re-unite with ‘I’ the Brahman.

Pratyabhijna, the philosophy maintained by

Bharata, a Trikasutrakara, when applied to

Rasa, is a recollection of the blissful self that

you are but has been forgotten by you. It is

a vibrating self-recognition of the ONE REAL

subject, brought about by reduction in

identity with THE MANY objective realities.


The catalyst in this is another person or

event (the actor/drama before you in this

case) that brings you face to face with THIS I

AM.

Enacting several roles, the artiste travels

from third person to second, then to first

person and finally, NO PERSON. Like the

self-realised yogin, one experiences oneself

as a sheer actor in the drama of life, in

various roles of outer being but remaining

absolutely detached from the entire play.

Iccha, Gnana and Kriya Shaktis are the

pathways to open the door to Siva who

blissfully rests with his Swatantrya Shakti.

Spanda is the term for this Aananda which

set in motion, the universe. It is called

Anahata, unstruck, uncaused, ceaseless and

spontaneous. This undifferentiated throb is

symbolised as the primordial mother and

father, dancing inseparably united.

It is the one Varna in the form of Nada

(sound vibration) in which lie all Varnas

(letters) latent, in undivided form. A

revelation of such mystical experience

through the world drama — one moment in

LAYA, is unique, whereby both the

phenomenal and the noumenon are known.

In a nutshell, the dancer and spectator

participate in Siva’s Bliss of Sakti.

Source: http://bit.ly/2tW34WO

Threads of tradition

The Crafts Council of Telangana which

recently honoured craftsmen and women

chosen from across the country with their

‘Sanmaan’ Awards. A few artisans share

their journey in the field:

To make them self-sufficient

Satish Nagender Poludas, (designer and

craft entrepreneur, Studio Kora) was the

first person in his family to enter the world

of design. “We are a typical Telugu family

http://bit.ly/2tW34WO


and my brother is into software,” he shares

with a smile. He took a fancy to design and

joined the National Institute of Design.

“Only after passing I realised it is all

hardcore and one has to start from the

grass roots.” With an interest in handicrafts

and handloom, he has been working as a

design consultant with Uzramma for many

years in creating Malkha fabric.

His team works with NGOs across the

country. “We connect with farmers through

our work on khadi,” he states. The team

travels across villages and helps in creating

work for the villagers. “We work with

farmers who grow indigenous cotton and

work on their requirements; it could be a

loom for ₹30,000 or even a meagre ₹50 for

a spindle. We give them ideas so that they

can start earning. We don’t have a big set

up or studio. We work with villagers in their

houses and set up things to make sure they

get work.”

Satish has dreams of setting up a village

near Vizag where artisans from across the

country can learn how to create and

become self-sufficient. “Now I have many

clients and have to travel a lot to earn my

bread and butter. In a few years from now, I

will work to make my dream come true.”

Stories through leather puppetry

Dalavai Chinna Ramanna (Excellence in

Craft, Leather Puppetry at the state level),

who’s getting the award for his creation of a

temple gopuram shaped floor lampshade is

the torch-bearer of his family and continues

the rich tradition of leather puppetry. He

grew up watching his grandfather and

parents create unique leather puppetry

forms and narrate mythological stories

through these stringed forms. “My mother

has travelled abroad doing many such

shows,” he says with pride.

A self-taught artist, he did not get any

formal training. “I used to watch how elders

worked and just learnt from seeing,” he

states. Hailing from Nimmalakunta in

Anantapur, Chinna Ramanna has been

travelling across the country with his

leather puppets for the past 20 years now.

The leather puppets tell stories from

different episodes of Ramayana. Some of

them include: Sundarakanda, Mahi Ravana

Charitra, Lakshmana Moorcha, Sati

Sulochana, Indrajit Charitramu, Ravana

Vadha and Sri Rama Pattabhishekam.

Interestingly Chinna Ramanna never does a

sketch; he draws directly on leather to

create his form. I never considered it tough.

If you think something is tough, you can

never do it,” he states.

His dream is to create a Padmavyuham

(from Mahabharatha) through his leather

puppets.

Khadi splendour

Hailing from Srikakulam district, Maavuri

Alivelu (Khadi Weaving at the state level)

carries forward the weaving heritage. “My

grandfather and father were known for

their weaving, especially dhotis,” she

shares. She belongs to the traditional

weaving community and has been carrying

forward the legacy. “After my husband

passed away, my sister and her husband

have been helping me run the looms,” she

says.


For the past 11 years, she has been working

with the jamdani style on khadi. “I am

currently working on weaving a sari with

jamdani design of Radha Krishna and hope

to bring it to the awards function,” she

informs.

The weavers face a lot of hardships, she

says. “It is not so tough physically but there

is a lot of strain on the eyes; one has to be

extra careful while weaving.”

Swachh Bharat in Kondapalli

The Swachh Bharat campaign gets a new

depiction in the Kondapalli toys of Moguloju

Venugopal (educational and craft

proficiency). Currently pursuing his

education in Polytechnic college, the

youngster came up with the idea of creating

a new theme with the traditional wooden

toys of Kondapalli.

The theme shows a model village with clean

air and greenery. He learnt the craft from

his artisan father Moguloju Srinivasa Chari,

who has been working in the field for the

past 20 years. “My father does traditional

themes like Dasavataram and I have

contemporary ideas,” he states. The family

lives in Ibrahimpatnam in Kondapalli and he

travels to Vijayawada for his college. After

college, he is at home honing the skills from

his father. “I love to do more modern

themes like showing a city life in

Kondapalli.”

Of stories and shadow puppetry

Rajeev Pulaveer, (Leather Puppetry at the

national level) belongs to the 13th

generation of traditional shadow

puppeteers in Kerala. “Shadow puppetry is

an art form, a ritual in Kerala temples,” he

informs. The traditional shadow puppetry in

temples is Ramayana-based. He is very busy

between January and May when he

performs every night from 10 pm to early

morning in temples of the Malabar region.

“The story of shadow puppetry is that

Bhadrakali was busy fighting demon king

Darika asura when Rama-Ravana war

happened, hence she misses out being a

witness to Ravana’s death. When she

expresses her wish to watch it, Shiva

replicates the scenes through shadow

puppetry and hence this form has become a

ritual performed in temples,” he explains.

When performing outside temples, he takes

up different themes; Indian freedom

struggle, Panchatantra stories,

Shakesperean dramas all told through

shadow puppetry. “Our new story is Story

of the earth. We talk about its history,

present scenario and future.”

Source: http://bit.ly/2tSp05h

http://bit.ly/2tSp05h


Stitching ties, crafting ideas

Sharing each other craft techniques is the

best possible way for artisans to grow in

their field of specialisation as well as imbibe

each other’s culture. Like in the case of

Indonesian troika of Bregas Harrimardoyo,

Caroline Rika Winata and Yuvita who are

working in tie-dye and pottery in a seamless

and harmonious way with their Indian

counterparts in the fortnight-long mela at

Dilli Haat. Just like crafts of the host

country, the texture of the Indian cuisine

also arouses their curiosity as they take a

break from work and partake kidney beans,

Kashmiri rista and Lucknowi biryani.

Organised by Dastkari Haat Samiti, the mela

marks 70 years of diplomatic relations

between India and Indonesia and celebrates

25 years of Dilli Haat. All of them have

brushed up their skills in indigenous craft

techniques. And the pottery and household

items that will come from this constructive

collaboration will be on display at the 33rd

edition of the Crafts Bazaar at Dilli Haat on

January 14.

Cheerful and diligent, potter Bregas is

enjoying every bit of his work at Dilli Haat.

He is grabbing eyeballs from art aficionados

for his work in pottery pieces. “I am using

Indian clay and glaze and mixing it with the

Indonesian technique. Usually, I make

patterns on pottery pieces with graffito

technique. It is like surface carving. I

normally do it in the Indonesian stoneware

technique. Here I am using Indian terracotta

clay. So I will glaze red terracotta and

combine it with black patterns to create

new designs, colours and patterns.”

He rues that Indonesia does not have the

same quality of clay as found in India. “We

do not get the red terracotta clay which can

produce such fine cups and bowls. I am

using both Indonesian and Indian patterns.”

Apart from the work front, it is his

partnership with master artisan Harikishan


that he cherishes more. “We have been

working together like brothers for more

than a week.”

Both of them share the same passion and

dedication for crafts but have had different

experiences in their respective careers.

“Our techniques and designs differ but this

work at Dilli Haat has been extremely

productive as we have shared new design

ideas and techniques which we were

ignorant about.”

Impressed with his commitment to craft,

Harikishan says Bregas loves to work with

him . “When we both open the kiln after

firing, it feels so good to see the results of

our common work,” he adds.

“It is like we have been given birthday

gifts,” comments Bregas, with a broad smile

on his face, as he shows some of the

samples.

Similarly, the innovative work done by

Caroline Rika Winata with Abdul Wahab

Khatri in tie-dye is there to be seen at Dilli

Haat.

Learning experience

While they are jointly making lamp shades,

they are also striking conversations and

thereby sharing knowledge of each other’s

technique. They have used indigo dyes in a

manner that the shades reflect the colours

of the sky.

Carolina says: “I am an expert in the

Indonesian tie-dye technique. Here I am

collaborating with Abdul Vahad Khatri, an

expert in Bandhini. It has been a thoroughly

enjoyable experience working with such a

talented artisan .”

For Carolina, learning the Indian intricate

patters of Bandhini, a part of tie-dye

textiles, is fascinating. “I find the whole

process interesting yet complex. As

Bandhini patterns are so small, it is a

challenge to make small motifs like Abdul

does. The Indonesian style of tie-dye is with

repetitive pattern of block print style, while

Indian artisans have a painting style.”

Working next to her, Abdul says the duo will

make a shawl, two sarongs and one lamp.

“We have to work with adequate light as

there are so many tiny dots that we have to

construct in Bandhini,” he adds.

Indeed, Bandhini dates back to the Indus

Valley Civilisation. It is done in Rajasthan as

well as Gujarat. Abdul, hailing from Gujarat,

says Kutch’s Bandhini is special as

traditional designs are still intact in their

pure form. “Its popularity can be gauged

from the fact that big names like Tarun

Tahiliani, Ritu Kumar and Abraham and

Thakore have worked with us.”

It is a win-win situation for both as Abdul

too is learning the Indonesian version of tie-

dye. “So far, we have made a joint piece

with scripts in both languages.”

Jaya Jaitly, founder of Dastkari Haat Samiti,

says: “Both are tie-dye but there is a

difference. The Indian version is about

creating small dots in big numbers. It is finer

and elaborate, whereas the Indonesian tie-

dye is simpler and bigger and is about

creating textures.”

Dissecting their work as a craft revivalist,

Jaitly, says: “One scarf has Indian festive

kites floating in the Indonesian Mega-

Mendung, which means thunder clouds in


the Indonesian language but in India it

means clouds. This collaboration will lead to

creative artworks that will integrate the two

cultures.”

Common heritage

On the need for jugalbandi between the

two Asian nations, she says, South Asian

nations are preferred because they have

been maintaining the culture of crafts. “The

West and the highly industrialised nations

have simply lost it. From Africa to Japan,

craft is still alive. We are probably the

richest in crafts. But we want mutual

progression.”

Giving an example, she says: “Take batik for

example, it could have gone from here to

there or vice versa. It is so old and the

relationship between Indonesia and India is

so old that it does not matter from where it

is. It is part of our common heritage.

Similarly there are skills which are more

developed. So it takes invigoration; one’s

own repertoire and long standing people-

to-people relationship.”

Source: http://bit.ly/30XCybQ

Dotted canvas of memories

Apart from kites, bhogi and routinely

reminiscing about the real beauty of the

harvest festival in villages, Sankranti also

brings out the artists in many households.

Muggu, the beautiful patterns at the

entrance on doorways of homes, is a big

deal during this festival. Festive patterns are

different from what is done regularly at

south Indian homes. Of late this practice is

on the decline with the chore being

delegated to the househelp.

http://bit.ly/30XCybQ


In Hyderabad, the tradition of muggu at

homes reaches a peak during Sakranti

season. At the break of dawn (earlier, it

used to be by the first cry of the cock) the

ladies prep the ground by cleaning it and

giving it a fresh coat of light cow dung paste

or spraying the slurry. When it is still slightly

moist (not wet) rows of dots are put in

quick succession, with limestone powder or

rice flour and then connected to form

aesthetic patterns. Digital artist Sagar

Rachakonda shares, “As a kid I was

mesmerised at how these patterns were

made and I learnt them. Now I love doing

them. Over the years I lost touch with the

practice until one day at a friend’s place,

another friend pulled out a muggu pattern

that dated back to her great grandmother.

My friend handed me the pattern and said

‘do something’. Thus began my work.

Currently I am not working on them

because I am writing a movie script. I am

not the traditional muggu artist. I do digital

muggus which have flexibility and can be

used in any way. I am digital artist and work

to create patterns that can be printed on

any size with any colour,” says Sagar

Rachakonda. Sagar’s works are big in size

and he takes pride in creating new patterns

which have also found place in an exclusive

kolam website — www.ikolam.com

Sagar isn’t the only one who takes pride in

his culture and draws inspiration from his

childhood memories for his art. Well-known

artist Thota Laxminarayan’s art celebrates

village life. His signature cows in most of his

work represent his connection with them.

“Having been born in a family of farmers, I

cannot think of a life without cows. No

power tiller, no machine can replace them.

Having lived that life I cannot detach myself

from them. My colours and strokes are

dedicated to my background and that keeps

me happy,” he says.

Sankranti or Ugadi, Thota’s canvases are

vibrant and shows the life one leads in

villages. Some of his work celebrates rural

games, the everyday scene of young boys

walking cows to the fields, feeding them or

even flying birds that peck at ripe paddy,

clearly a reflection of Thota’s memories.

“Honestly, a lot of people connect with my

thoughts. Come Sankranti the cows are

treated in a special way, village folks engage

in games, the scene there is so lively,” he

adds. Would he want to switch his muse?

“How can I? There is no way I can detach

myself from my roots,” he insists.

Source: http://bit.ly/30WBJjl

http://bit.ly/30WBJjl


The rise and fall of the crazy star

Among the most colourful Britishers in Delhi

in the 19th Century was Major-General

David Ochterlony, nicknamed “Loony

Akhtar” or crazy star because of his

eccentricity, on whom a treatise has been

written by ex-CRPF Addl. Director-General

Jasbir Singh Gill.

David Ochterlony was born in Boston on 12

February, 1758, the eldest son of Capt.

David Ochterlony of Scotland and his

American-born wife Katherine Tyler, a niece

of Sir William Pepperell. After Captain

Ochterlony died insolvent in 1765, the

family moved to England where Katherine

married Sir Isaac Heard, who was both a

father-figure and close confidant to

Ochterlony (Jr) throughout his life.

Sir Issac used his influence to send

Ochterlony to India as a cadet in 1777. Due

to his determination, negotiating skills and

understanding of Indian culture, Ochterlony

rose through the military ranks, serving

under Lord Lake in the battles that released

Emperor Shah Alam from Maratha

influence. Ochterlony was appointed the

first British Resident at Delhi, responsible

for the protection of the Emperor and the

safety of the city. He successfully defended

Delhi in 1804 against an attack by Jaswant

Rao Holkar, a Maratha chief, and for his

services was bestowed with the Mughal

title of “Nasir ud-Daula” (Defender of the

State) and appointed permanent Resident

at Delhi. One of his favourite summer

retreats was Shalimar Bagh, Delhi, where he

caught a fatal chill.

Ochterlony’s greatest success came in the

Anglo-Nepalese War when he commanded

one of four columns under General Hastings

that destroyed Kaji Amar Singh Thapa’s

Gurka army in 1815. Ochterlony used his


knowledge of the terrain and intercepted

letters to wage a skilful mountain warfare.

He also employed his diplomatic skills by

enlisting former enemy troops. For his

success, he was created a baronet. When

the government of Nepal refused to ratify

the Treaty of Sugauli, Ochterlony swiftly

moved against it, forcing an immediate

ratification of the treaty and bringing the

war to an end on 5th March, 1816. For his

services, he was Knight Grand Cross of the

Order of Bath.

In 1825, Durjan Sal tried to seize power in

Bharatpur after his uncle Baldeo Singh died,

leaving his infant son Balwant Singh as Raja.

Ochterlony supported the rightful heir and

issued a proclamation for defence of the

Raja that was however repudiated by Lord

Amherst. Amherst’s lack of confidence is

said to have left Ochterlony feeling

“abandoned and dishonoured” and to have

hastened his death in Meerut on 15 July

1825, and was buried there at St John’s

Church, though he had built a mausoleum

for himself at the Mughal Mubarak Bagh in

Delhi. Incidentally, two months after his

demise, Ochterlony’s action at the

Bharatpur was vindicated by the Governor-

General in Council on the persuasion of Sir

Thomas Metcalfe, his great friend and

admirer.

It is said that Sir David Ochterlony took the

evening air in Delhi followed by his 13

wives, each on her own elephant. It was not

unusual for British officers serving in India

to become comfortable in Mughal-

Hindustani culture. Ochterlony’s courtly and

diplomatic manners earned him the trust

and admiration of Shah Alam and his

retainers. His favourite wife was Mubarak-

al-Nisa, an ambitious woman who gave

herself many titles including “Begum

Ochterlony”. He had six “natural” children

with two or more of his Indian wives, but he

feared that they would not be fully

accepted by either English or Mughal

society. His children were part of a new

class in India known as Anglo-Indians.

His only son was Roderick Peregrine

Ochterlony, born in 1785. Roderick had

both an English and Mughal education. In

1808, he married Sarah Nelly, daughter of

Col John Nelly of Bengal at Allahabad.

Mubarak Begum, Sir David Ochterlony’s

favourite wife, fought against the British

during the great Indian rebellion of 1857,

demonstrating the drastic breakdown in

British-Indian relations caused by racism,

segregation and oppression. By then the

India that Ochterlony had made his home

no longer existed. The Begum built a

beautiful little mosque in Lal Kuan, Delhi,

which is known as Mubarak Begum-ki-

Masjid.

Neemuch was a British Cantonment

established by Ochterlony after taking the

land from Maharaja Scindia in 1818.

Construction of a fort was also started in

1819 which was completed in 1837. He built

a British Residency at Neemuch which was

known as “Ochterlony House”. This was his

official residence for three years. A plaque

on it in English, Urdu and Hindi reads: “This

house was built by Maj-Gen Sir David

Ochterlony Bart. GCB The First Resident in

Rajputana and Malwa who established his

headquarters at Neemuch and occupied this


house as his official residence from 1822 to

1825.”

The Cantonment was disbanded in 1936. In

1939, all the barracks and other buildings

including Ochterlony House and Neemuch

Fort were taken over by the Crown

Representative’s Police which was raised at

Neemuch on 27th July. Neemuch is the

birthplace of the CRPF and one of its most

important stations. Since 1961, officers’

basic training is also being conducted there.

Ferreting out facts

“During my basic training, I and other

officers used to dine in Ochterlony House

since it was the CRPF Officers’ Mess. Finding

ourselves in a totally new environment, I

dug out details of the history of Neemuch

and Ochterlony House. I again visited

Neemuch in 1981 and 1983 for some

courses but the curiosity existed to know

more about the place and Ochterlony’s

exploits,” says Gill who was again posted

there from 2003 to 2005.

Source: http://bit.ly/37tcOXa

In Manto, we trust

Black Margins or Siyah Hashiye is one of

Saadat Hasan Manto’s most searing

compilations, and it contains terse prose

pieces in Urdu, some only a few lines long,

that capture, in just a breath or a gasp, grim

images of Partition that continue to

unsettle the reader long after the words are

forgotten. Published in 1948, after Manto

had migrated to Pakistan, the writings were

the glowing embers of disenchantment that

had lodged themselves deep in the writer’s

psyche. Nandita Das’ eponymous film

depicts a gloomy shadow cast over

Mumbai, even if it largely escaped the

http://bit.ly/37tcOXa


rioting that took place in other parts of the

country.

Test of time

Hearsay or rumours, or personal

testimonials of survivors, had created an

atmosphere of festering dread that Siyah

Hashiye collates. Some experiences might

have been first-hand accounts that had

exchanged many hands, other the re-

imagining of horror. Even in their pithiness

they smack of strong reportage. Manto’s

tendency to focus on human nature gone

awry did not endear him to sections of the

Pakistani literati, depicted as stone-faced

and cold in the film. The collection was

dismissed as overtly ‘sensational’ by a

reviewer. The test of time has served it well

though. In Manto’s embracing of the

underbelly and the stories lurching within it,

there is a stark revulsion certainly, but the

gaze is empathetic, and the outlook secular,

long before such a term had gained

currency.

Writing with conscience

This week, on Manto’s 64th death

anniversary (January 18), Studio Tamaasha

has announced a tribute to Siyah Hashiye.

Manto - A Black Margin will take place at

the Mysore Association in Matunga. It’s a

rare sojourn away from their usual hideout

in Aaram Nagar, but the new venue will

allow a larger audience. Of late, Tamaasha

events have been growing in popularity,

and often cannot accommodate all who

turn up for their events. The event will

consist of a melange of cultural activities —

an exhibition of paintings, stand-up

sketches, a contemporary dance piece, a

session by Narendra Mohan that will

critically analyses the text, and a dramatic

performance directed by Sunil Shanbag.

Given the source material, brevity will likely

be of the essence.

Over the years, Manto’s works have

provided prolific fodder to the theatre

fringe without any letup. His writings were

never written for the stage, although he had

penned several radio plays, but when

delivered with a certain rigour, they provide

challenging excursions for conscientious

actors. The solo performance circuit, if

there is such a thing, is littered with

discharges of anguish that had first found

expression on his pages. Gravitas gives way

to declamation at times, and deadpan

reflection to melodrama, but in the end,

Manto’s punches land with characteristic

élan.

Big ticket ventures into Manto’s dark turf

include the plays by Neelam Mansingh

Chowdhry — Naked Voices, Dark Borders

(also based on Siyah Hashiye) and Bitter

Fruit. In the latter, the director’s penchant

for a ‘theatre of images’ combined well with

scenographer Deepan Sivaraman’s own

fecund visual proclivities. In Chowdhry’s

Manto pieces, there is a sensuous beauty to

the proceedings brought alive by actors’

bodies conditioned to both sprightly

movement and verbal expression. The plays

are often a photographer’s delight. The

devising of metaphors from sand or cloth or

tarpaulin are aesthetically charged, and the

set-pieces sometimes too dazzling to the

eye but, in a visceral sense, the

grotesqueness of human nature as


observed and recorded by Manto comes

through.

Intense performances

In contrast, Atelier Theatre’s foray into

Manto with Kuchh Afsane, attempts to

work with ugliness directly, foregrounding a

rawness of presentation and a roughness of

performance. The interplay between men

and women in enactments of pieces

likeThanda Gosht or Boo, comes across as

unseemly rather than potent. These

versions veer from one end of the aesthetic

spectrum to another, but perhaps it is Das’

film that manages much more in terms of

how a Manto story might be staged or

filmed — the film is interspersed with

dramatic enactments of Manto’s tales.

At any one point, there’s always a Manto

piece being performed in some part of the

city (and Delhi is no exception). This week

apart from the Tamaasha tribute, there are

plays like Mujeeb Khan’s Ismat Manto’s

Jugalbandi and Manto ka Deewanapan;

Mudit Singhal’s Manto ki Roomaniyat,

Mohit Sharma’s solo performance Toba Tek

Singh; and Jashn-e-Qalaam: Manto Bedi and

Chughtai at the Harkat Studios; all jostling

for space in a crowded arts calendar.

Source: http://bit.ly/2tJBGLV

Weaves of Kashmir come alive in Chennai

An Omar Khayyam poem finds itself on a

150-year-old rug from Balochistan. Beneath

it, is a 100-year-old rug made by prisoners,

sprawled across the floor. Stacks of neatly

http://bit.ly/2tJBGLV


rolled rugs with varied patterns, colours,

finish, and excellent craftsmanship, lean on

walls. On the farther end, a lone weaver,

equipped with a sickle-like tool (called

‘khour’) sits in front of a wooden loom, his

hands moving swiftly through the array of

threads, knotting and un-knotting. A typical

day at RugWeave is all this and more; the

handmade rugs store, at the basement of

Eldorado building in Nungambakkam,

intrigues collectors and art enthusiasts

alike.

Nisha Tariq and Zeeshan Tariq are third-

generation enthusiasts of carpets: thanks to

the family business that inspired them to

explore rugs. The business, which was

originally started by their grandfather, was

taken over by their father SM Tariq, who

settled in Chennai 35 years ago. Zeeshan,

who once went to Kashmir to collect some

orders his father had placed, was touched

on seeing the plight of the weavers. On

sharing this experience with Nisha, the duo

decided to act on it. “We always saw

weaving as a commodity and never as an

art. Despite being in the business for these

many years, we never tried to understand

the working behind it,” says Zeeshan.

This later led to Project Haath, an initiative

to rehabilitate weavers across the country

(especially in Kashmir and Central India) and

revive the near-extinct art. “Now, Project

Haath has about 650 weavers under its

wing. We provide them as much support as

possible by selling what they make and also

creating awareness about their

community,” says Nisha. RugWeave is

directly collaborating with weavers from

Kashmir and through other intermediaries

with weavers from Central India, especially

Badouli.

Project Haath

“In Kashmir, weaving is not community-

specific. It is mostly dependent on

economic background. Once they are

educated, people tend to move on to other

jobs because weaving rugs is labour

intensive,” says Zeeshan, adding that the

craft is passed on through generations.

However, the advent of machine-made rugs

and demand for modern designs started

affecting the industry badly. “The decline in

the number of weavers ultimately led to the

steady increase in costs as well,” continues

Zeeshan, an ardent collector who also

studies carpets.

That the craft is labour intensive leaves the

weavers with no incentive to continue, adds

Nisha. Soon, the duo plans to organise

workshops to understand the craft; an

antique rug gallery might also take shape.

They also plan to introduce a collection for

the colour-blind by the end of 2020.

Now, the store houses a loom from Kashmir

to show people the work that goes into

making a carpet. Yusuf Mohammed, a third-

generation weaver from Ganderbal, weaves

in the store when he is not doubling up as a

salesperson. “But the latter is what sustains

him, not weaving. This situation needs to

change,” says Nisha.

The loom and the art

The wooden loom, equipped with metal

plates that hold the threads taut, stands

upright against a wall. Yusuf sits at the

loom, the ‘khour’ in one hand and a ‘punch’

in another. Beside him, lies a paper, bearing


a burnt-out-brown tinge, with

measurements and instructions; these

come from the designer. He is now working

on a silk carpet which would take him at

least a couple of months to finish.

Yusuf has been weaving for 20 years now.

Following the footsteps of his elder brother

who initiated him into the art, he moved to

Chennai to work at the store six years back.

“During harsh winters back home, people

take to weaving when no other work can be

done,” says Yusuf recalling the days he

helped his brother during winter, because

his school was closed.

“About 15 years ago, over 60 % of people in

my hometown were into weaving. Now that

has reduced to about 20-25 %,” explains the

weaver. As he prepares to get back to his

‘taleem’, he says, “If the art is not

recognised, future generations would not

carry on in this field.”

Source: http://bit.ly/38FbHnw

Veerbala: feats of four female historical

figures encapsulated

The epoch-making queens of yesteryears –

Kittoor Chennamma, Rudrama Devi, Rani

Lakshmi Bai and Razia Sultan – were played

out in geographical pattern starting from

south of India to the north, chiefly through

two dance forms of Bharatanatyam and

Kathak, though four different forms would

have been more welcome from the

audience point of view.

Historical events like the queens’ defence in

protecting their chosen regent and defiance

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to British ‘Doctrine of Lapse’ were the

crowning glory that brought these women

to the forefront of history, barring Razia

Sultan, who had other political issues to

tackle. Trying to recreate history, especially

that of constant protest and war, in a solo

dance format within a short time-frame is

no cakewalk for any artiste, but how the

four dancers managed to do so in their

medium is something to write home about.

Vidha Lal as Razia Sultan came out in flying

colours in more than one aspect. Her

costume and change of headgear in

accordance to the tone and tenor of the

sequence of events was admirable. Kathak

being more a show of virtuosity and less of

drama, the artiste struck a fine balance of

the two without ever allowing it to be an

appliqué work. The lyrics and the abhinaya

with sanchari were given equal importance

and moulded beautifully within the confines

of footwork presentations. She was able to

capture the various facets of queen Razia’s

persona – the delicate beauty of her

physical being (phool kamal si komal

kaya...), her fiery tiger-like spring when

confronted with a combat and her love

story. Certain details like emulating Razia

riding a horse and bringing it to a halt

cannot be missed – they underlined Vidha’s

artistic creativity.

Young and energetic Dakshina

Vaidyanathan Baghel fit the role of

Rudrama Devi to a T. She very cleverly

customised the martial dance of Telangana

(Prerini Shiva tandavam) to suit her medium

of Bharatanatyam which gave her a larger

scope to use her footwork and gestures

with rigour to suit the warring queen.

Through brilliant footwork patterns to jatis

(mnemonics) the dancer showcased the

martial skills of queen Rudramma of

Kakatiya dynasty, from horse-riding to

sharp-shooting to sword and spear fights.

Her mime to rhythmic utterances was

eloquent. So was her (the fierce queen)

changed demeanour as the affectionate

queen and guardian grandmother watching

her heir apparent wielding the sword,

through a small window slit of her tent. The

most memorable and touching sequence

was Dakshina’s convincing abhinaya to the

queen being attacked by a weapon in her

abdomen region; her changing expressions

of wrath, followed by valiant and then an

expression of shooting pain and

spontaneous tears as she holds her bleeding

chest and struggles to draw out the weapon

before she falls to the ground was superb

even as it fulfilled the artistic norm of the

navrasa (here it was raudra, veera, karunya,

shanta respectively). The artiste was able to

draw a complete personality of the queen

Rudramma as a young heroic warrior, an

able administrator who ushered a number

of social welfare schemes for her people; a

maternal mentor to her grandson, the

would-be king of Kakatiyas. The regent

succession issue as opposed to the British

doctrine also figured here, very briefly.

Subadrakumari Chauhan’s lilting poem on

Jhansi-ki-rani went for a toss with being

adapted to a slow music and rendition as

Kathak artiste Poorna Acharya tried to

portray Manikarnika (queen Lakshmibai’s

maiden name) through her childhood,

marriage, widowhood and later taking up

reigns of Jhansi with her minor son, refusing


to yield her kingdom to the British. Poorna’s

attire and her change of scene like marriage

denoted with a red chunari are worth a

mention. The stick dance where she literally

took a prop (stick) to show a fight was

impressive just like the abhinaya of tying

her child to her back before mounting her

horse! The mime of riding her horse looked

rather ridiculous as was the dancer’s Kung-

Fu stances adopted by the warring queen as

she takes on her enemies! The optimum

footwork to dance was good in bits and

pieces.

Kittoor Chennamma, a popular queen of

Karnataka who also fought tooth and nail

for her adopted regent opposing the

Doctrine of Lapse was depicted by

Bharatanatyam dancer Shivaranjani Harish.

The artiste had more to convey in abhinaya

rather than dance per se. The nadai (gait)

she adopted was the only Bharatanatyam

element without props, that was

prominently displayed and striking too like

emulating the slow trot of a horse to

mnemonics. The martial exercises ( la

Kalaripayattu ) she adopted in the format of

her dance seemed theatrical. The live

orchestra with Vasudevan on the vocal was

excellent. Curated by Usha RK, ‘Veerbala’

was hosted at India Habitat Centre.

Source: http://bit.ly/37G4aVD

Hyderabad’s Chowmahalla Palace, fit for the

Nizams once again

While Hyderabad’s heritage structures and

sites are being seen as prime real estate up

for grabs, the restoration of the

Chowmahalla Palace to its age-old

http://bit.ly/37G4aVD


grandeur, putting it on top of the city’s

must see bucket list, is a silver lining.

“This has been the most extensive effort to

restore the Palace to the state it was when

it was built. We have restored the original

colour after trying out 500 samples and

colours,” said Anuradha Naik, conservation

architect, working on the project. The

structure dates back to late 18th century

when construction began in 1750. It was

completed in the mid 19th century during

the reign of Asaj Jah V.

Once spread over 60 acres near the city’s

Mecca Masjid, the palace complex with its

eight buildings is restricted to just about 12

acres now. A big moment was the

coronation of Mukarram Jah Nizam VII in

1967 after the demise of his grandfather

Nizam VI Mir Osman Ali Khan.

After 1976, however, the palace complex

was left untended and uncared for till

Princess Esra, former wife of Mukarram Jah,

stepped in to begin restoration efforts in

2000.

“For nearly seven years, a team lead by

Rahul Mehrotra, Marthand Singh and Najib

Jung worked to carefully catalogue, ideate

and curate a unique experience that gives a

hint of the life of royalty. The other

buildings are also being restored in stages,”

said Kishen Rao, director of Chowmahalla

Palace, who has been involved in the

project right from its inception.

“We used a lime-friendly product and

matched it to the original colour. We

scraped off layer after layer and found the

original colour. We used a 20% darker

shade as lime fades as it sets in. The real

challenge was marbling the front pillars,

which was done for the first time. It took us

six months of trial and error and close to

500 samples to get it right,” recalled Ms.

Naik. The result is a stunning

transformation in which pillars appear to

have a glaze of newness.

Bright finish

Inside, there is a subtle change in the colour

schemes and a more resplendent finish to

the walls and ceiling with delicate daubs of

colour on the intricate stucco work that

dominates the building.

“This is an ongoing process. The upper floor

of the darbar hall has been carefully

restored taking care of the steel spans and

beams,” said Princess Esra with a hint of

pride.

Source: http://bit.ly/2TZ07j1

http://bit.ly/2TZ07j1


How the Kerala floods unearthed a site filled

with ancient terracotta figures

On a sunny day last August, a few men were

fishing in the river Pamba in Kozhippalam

near Aranmula town in Kerala’s

Pathanamthitta district. Like most villages in

the area, Kozhippalam was devastated last

year in the biggest floods to hit Kerala in

living memory. Most houses in the village

were empty, as people were scared to

move back into homes that had been

subsumed by the Pamba so recently.

But that day, the Pamba was calm, and the

floods seemed to belong to a bad dream,

except for the trees lying uprooted on the

river bank. Suddenly, one of the fishermen

saw some terracotta figures peeking at him

through the filaments of the roots.

Wondering if the floods had unearthed a

piece of ancient history, the fishermen

informed C.N. Sukumaran, a fellow villager.

And the rest, as they say, is history — quite

literally in this case.

Sukumaran, academics, historians and

enthusiasts soon got together and

approached the government. Things moved

fast. Kerala’s Department of Archaeology

swung into action within a matter of weeks.

What till then had been just a ‘riverfront

plot’ owned by ‘someone settled in

Mumbai’ suddenly became a hotbed of

activity.

Down history lane

The narrow lane at Anjilimoottil Kadavu —

just wide enough for our SUV to pass

through — ends at a plot with a rusted gate,

half open, reluctantly allowing in history

enthusiasts interested in a glimpse of the

excavations in the adjacent compound. The

floods that had wreaked havoc a couple of

months ago had pulled down the

compound wall that separated these two


plots, and thus made the excavation site

accessible by road.

Inside, the trenches baked in the heat of the

sun, and the coconut palms and banana

plants shone an even brighter green in

contrast. The artefacts in the trenches were

partially visible from the outside, but were

still held tightly by the soil that had

protected them for centuries.

Under the sun

Unearthing these figurines under the hot

Kerala sun is just the beginning. They also

need to be cleaned of the mud they have

been covered with for centuries. The fallen

compound wall has now become a platform

to dry the hundreds of terracotta faces,

limbs, and torsos dug out so far. They will

now need to slowly be joined together and

brought to life, a task that could put a

Ravensburger jigsaw puzzle to shame. Once

put together, the pieces will hopefully

become characters in a historical epic of the

area.

Among the artefacts discovered were idols

of mother goddesses (Sapta Matrika), naga

(serpent) idols, and many figures of men.

Each one tells a story. In the coming

months, experts will examine these and the

pottery shards to understand their origin

and the period they belong to. Some of

them, , like the stylized naga caressing the

upper half of its face with its tongue, have

never before been discovered anywhere in

Kerala, says K. Krishnaraj, lead

archaeologist, as he gently brushes mud off

the eyes of one of the faces. The site, with

its trenches waiting to be excavated and its

discoveries drying in the sun, is a surreal

sight. A bygone era returning to life.

Iconographic studies and

thermoluminescence dating (TL) of the

pieces are expected to tell us more about

their age and the lives of people who lived

here and worshipped these gods. Who were

they? Were they natives or settlers? When

did they live? What did they eat? Was this a

holy place of worship of a lost civilisation

along the Pamba? What has been

discovered so far appears to be only the tip

of the proverbial iceberg.

Serendipity is not alien to archaeological

discoveries. While the team was busy

excavating these figurines from a couple of

hundred years ago, another story was

waiting to be told across the Pamba, in

Vellangoor. Rajeev Puliyoor, a Malayalam

teacher in the College of Teacher Education

in nearby Elanthoor, brought some of his

students to the Anjilimoottil Kadavu site.

One student called Gopika saw the idols and

said, “This is nothing. There are bigger such

buried in my house.” Puliyoor, who is

working closely with the excavations,

immediately informed the archaeology

team and they went to the student’s house.

Mysterious stones

Mathesseril Gopalakrishnan Nair, Gopika’s

father, runs a palm leaf plate and bowl

manufacturing unit. Very matter-of-factly,

he took the experts around his land and

showed them the various pieces lying

around. There have been long cuboidal

stones, obviously manually shaped, lying

about his land for as long as he can

remember. His family had never bothered


to discover what they were. As a teenager,

Nair had tried using the stones to build the

house he now lives in. Fortunately for the

world, the stones were too fragile for

construction.

When the team revealed that the stones

were part of cist burials from the Megalithic

age, Nair was hugely surprised. The slabs he

had treated so casually were part of 2,500-

year-old graves, shaped by people adept at

stone-cutting. The archaeologists believe

more slabs lie under the earth.

Meanwhile, Nair has more practical

concerns. “I am going to wait for the

compensation the government will offer

before I move out,” he says.

As for Aranmula, the cultural capital of

what’s often called the Pamba Valley

Civilisation and famous for the metal mirror

and the annual boat race, it has just added

one more feather to its cap.

Source: http://bit.ly/2tHJsWB

Once upon a canvas: Ramayana as told by

Raghupathi Bhat

Dressed in the traditional white panche, or

dhoti, paired with a salmon pink kurta and

angavastram, artist Raghupathi Bhat is

intently painting the scene of King

Dasharath’s putra kameshti yagna (ritual

sacrifice for a son) when I meet him in his

modest studio on the leafy road to

Chamundi Hill in Mysuru. He makes a few

final strokes in chalk on the terracotta

background and the scene comes magically

to life: Dasharath, placed at the centre,

towers above his entourage, who

respectfully bow to him. This huge canvas,

measuring 6’x4’, is part of Bhat’s latest

http://bit.ly/2tHJsWB


series of 12 back-to-back line drawings on

six wooden boards, each depicting a scene

from the Ramayana.

These out-sized chalk drawings are a first

for the artist, who is known for his exquisite

Ramayana miniatures on tiny 4”x 3” cards.

Bhat had created 60 of these for the V&A

some 30 years back and the series remains

the pièce de résistance of his oeuvre.

White lines

The present series of chalk drawings is

expected to have a brief life. But the size of

the frames gave Bhat the space to make

extensive use of folk art, to which he is

partial. The panels accompanied the

theatrical adaptation of Kuvempu’s Sri

Ramayana Darshanam, which was staged at

Mysuru and Bengaluru in November last

year as part of the 50th anniversary

celerations of the awarding of the Jnanpith

to the poet laureate.

There are personal connections between

Bhat’s sequence of mega drawings and his

other Ramayana-based paintings, which

number a whopping 900. His all-time

favourite is the ‘Sugriva Sakhya’, a tribute to

the strong bonds of friendship between

Rama and Sugriva that blossomed out of

adversity. Another favourite, the ‘Jatayu

Sambhavna’, also stands out for the way the

gigantic bird dominates the frame.

The walls of Bhat’s home are alive with

paintings of rishis in vibrant natural colours.

“I am fascinated by our ancient Indian sages

and use these images frequently in my

work,” he explains over cups of steaming

filter coffee. He considers art a spiritual

exercise and meditates or recites a mantra

before he picks up a brush.

While he paints within a traditional style,

Bhat’s works are not mere reproductions of

archetypal images. “Artists cannot afford to

be mere imitators of their forebears if they

are to stay relevant. So I have interpreted

ancient themes in a contemporary way,

based on my own understanding of

mythology,” he says.

Much of Bhat’s artistic career has been

spent in the revival of the traditional art of

Ganjifa — paintings on oval playing cards,

each around 8 cm in diameter. Ganjifa cards

have a fascinating history going back to the

first Mughal emperor, Babar, who

introduced them to India in a card game,

also known as ganjifa. The game spread like

wildfire across North India. Traditional

artists enthusiastically adopted the form

and the Hinduisation of Ganjifa followed,

spawning a new variety of cards and games.

Ganjifa has almost disappeared as a game

now, surviving mostly in small pockets such

as in the environs of the Jagannath Temple

in Puri, Odisha. But the cards stay alive as

collector’s items. They have inspired Bhat

and a handful of traditional artists in

Odisha, Maharashtra, Rajasthan and Gujarat

to take up the art as a form of miniature

painting.

Bhat had been fascinated in his childhood

by the tiny ganjifa cards called chhadas

commissioned by the Mysore maharaja,

Krishna Raja Wadiyar III, in the 19th

century. He developed a passion for the

fast-disappearing art and decided he would

do everything in his power to preserve it.

That was 40 years ago. There were no


artists in Bhat’s family, no mentors from

whom he could learn this delicate art. So he

had to teach himself.

Wet cloth and clay

Having mastered the art, he now trains

upcoming artists at his studio, in a

continuation of the guru-shishya tradition.

There is art even in the way the cards are

made — by soaking pieces of old cloth in a

mixture of tamarind seeds and gum,

priming the cloth with ganji or rice gruel

and then coating it with a layer of clay to

strengthen the material and give the

painting longevity. Then the cards are cut to

size and the background is filled in with

vegetable colours. A few strokes of his

squirrel-hair brush, and an amazing world of

thought, feeling and creativity comes

magically to life on the tiny card.

Attention to detail and complex

iconography characterise Bhat’s ganjifa

cards and it is these two qualities that

marked his V&A miniatures too. “Some of

the figures were so small that they had to

be drawn and illuminated by a brush

containing a single hair — as in the episode

of the final battle between Rama and

Ravana. The clean, clear lines pulsating with

life capture the great energy released at

that time,” he says.

Source: http://bit.ly/2O4585Y

Krishna and Kansa come alive for 11 days every

year in this Odisha village

Majestically seated on a bedecked

elephant, the colourfully attired

Bhubaneswar Pradhan, nicknamed

Bhubana, often breaks into hysterical

laughter and yells at passers-by while

twirling a moustache that seems to get

http://bit.ly/2O4585Y


bushier each year. Bhubana, a tent-house

supplier by profession, loves putting on this

new persona.

Bhubana lives the life of King Kansa, the

mythological demon king, and rules the tiny

western Odisha town of Bargarh, which

turns into Mathura, his kingdom, for 11

days every year. He rules from a decorated

open-air platform, which is his Raj Darbar.

Six kilometres away from his court is the

village of Ambapalli, considered the

mythical Gopapur, on the banks of the River

Jeera, which in turn is given the role of River

Yamuna. Ayush and Asutosh, two

schoolboys, who act out the roles of Krishna

and Balaram, respectively, crack jokes and

play childhood pranks in Ambapalli.

In another part of Bargarh at Adimata

Mandir near Khajurtikra, preparations are

on in full swing to celebrate the arrival of

Krishna in Mathura from Gopapur.

In what is probably the world’s largest

open-air theatre event — sprawled over 30

sq. km. in Bargarh district — over 110 actors

effortlessly and magically retell the

mythological stories involving the childhood

of Krishna and how the evil king Kansa

meets his death at Krishna’s hands in the

annual festival called Dhanu Yatra. More

than 2,000 people in soldiers’ attire become

part of the king’s processions at different

locations. It’s a breathtaking sight.

What sets the event strikingly apart from

other mythological plays is its grace and

grandeur that is taken to new levels by the

synchronised participation of hundreds of

invisible artists in multiple locations. The

ordinary people of Bargarh make

themselves available to be ‘ruled’ by the

tyrannical king while residents of Ambapalli

deem themselves citizens of the

mythological place, Gopapur, and shower

their love on the child gods, Krishna and

Balaram.

Drawing parallels

“We don’t eat meat for the 11 days during

the festival and every household washes

the feet of Krishna and Balaram and pays

obeisance to the gods who are believed to

have incarnated in the form of Krishna and

Balaram,” says Iswar Bhoi, an inhabitant of

Ambapalli.

It has been 70 years since the festival was

started, and its charm and mystique has not

diminished a bit.

According to legend, the Dhanu Yatra was

first conceptualised about 150 years ago

when some devotees of Krishna of Bargarh

found similarities in the geographical area

of Bargarh, Ambapalli and River Jeera with

Mathura, Gopa, Brindavan and River

Yamuna. But an organised Dhanu Yatra

festival began only in 1948.

According to some of the organisers, the

people of the area found a lot of resonance

during the first celebration of Dhanu Yatra

as they drew symbolic parallels between

India’s fight for freedom from British rule

with the victory of Krishna, the embodiment

of truth, justice and righteousness over

Kansa who personifies arrogance and

wickedness.

Traditionally, the yatra is celebrated for 11

days from the fifth day of the bright

fortnight till the full moon day in the month

of Sagittarius (Dhanu or Pausa) of every


Hindu calendar year. The play begins with

Kansa’s accession to the throne followed by

the wedding of King Kansa’s sister Devaki

with Basudev.

Unlike the unmitigated villain that Kansa is

portrayed as in mythology, King Kansa in

Dhanu Yatra is a benevolent emperor who

genuinely cares for his people and kingdom.

Wherever his royal procession goes, the

people on the street play along and they all

get a role to play. “They all join in without

any persuasion or invitation. Though the

directions and fines imposed by King Kansa

are not legally binding, they accept it as

marks of obedience. People pay the token

monetary fines and are even ready to

undergo mild punishment,” says Sureswar

Satpathy, secretary of the organising

committee.

Ministers, the district collector and the

superintendent of police are regularly

summoned by King Kansa to his darbar on

the illuminated makeshift stage. They are

subservient to the “king”, and they give

accounts of the welfare works they have

executed in the area.

Usually, the directions of King Kansa carry a

social message. On the second day of the

Dhanu Yatra this year, which will end

tomorrow, King Kansa hopped off from the

elephant and entered an Odisha State Road

Transport Corporation bus. He ordered the

drivers not to drink alcohol while driving

and exhorted passengers to protest against

any ill-treatment. The king slapped a fine of

“two lakh gold coins” on the authorities for

not keeping the bathrooms in the bus

terminal clean. The penalty was, of course,

in jest, but the message went through.

Washing away sins

“I have played many characters in dramas in

my life. But the social recognition I get for

playing King Kansa is beyond everything

else. My fellow villagers call me Kansa Raja

during the festival and even after that,” says

51-year-old Bhubana.

The myth of Dhanu Yatra is so intertwined

with local culture and daily life that

‘Mathuranagari’ becomes the dateline for

almost all the vernacular dailies that report

the event during the 11 days. The contour

of the major events of the tale is always

fixed, but the minute details and

conversations between characters depend

on the skill of individual artists and can be

impromptu, evolving according to the

situation; there is no written script. As many

as 21 places such as ponds, temples, rivers,

cultural and commercial centres become

open-air stages where the various episodes

are enacted.

Dhanu Yatra provides an opportunity for

local performing artistes to showcase their

talents. More than 3,000 folk singers and

dancers as well as professional artistes from

some 130 troupes perform during the 11

days.

In reality, Bhubana, the tyrannical Kansa, is

anything but an atheist. To wash away the

‘sins’ he commits during the Dhanu Yatra,

he visits the holy town of Puri after the 11

days and takes a holy dip in the sea. He

seeks forgiveness for all his blasphemous

utterances against Krishna and Balaram

during the festival. The Krishna Leela that is

enacted during the Dhanu Yatra is not a

mere theatrical performance by a bunch of


artistes. It is so entrenched in people’s

minds that it becomes almost real. And the

community bonds get stronger during the

festival.

Source: http://bit.ly/2uy0hmO

Three hidden jewels of Hindustani

classical music

In the firmament of every art form, there

are many little hidden and often overlooked

stars. They are almost always upstaged by

weightier or more popular and perhaps

more dazzling or exotic candidates. Perhaps

for this reason, they take on an unassuming

quality. And yet they know how to hold

their own, as well as be true to themselves.

In gardens it could be the periwinkle or the

sada-phuli, needing no tending, growing

brightly even out of the gap between paving

tiles and compound wall. No one sets up

night cameras to watch them blooming for

one night of the year, like the Brahma-

kamal, but there they appear, nodding,

upright, perfect in form and colour.

Amongst birds it could be the unobtrusive

little jewels, like the tailor bird, the prinia,

the sunbird — their sighting is not remarked

upon, they’re often bustling about in your

garden, but no one runs in to take out a pair

of binoculars or reports a ‘sighting’. But

were you to stand and look closely at any of

them, they are utterly compelling, beautiful,

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and yes, with complex layered personalities

too.

The examples from the world of painting,

craft, science, cinema, literature, music are

many — of people, forms, renditions,

discoveries, that one can say have not got

their due. And yet, to talk about ‘getting

their due’ is to assume that they want

more.

Being with the self

However, at the risk of

anthropomorphising, they seem to be that

quintessentially ‘at ease with oneself’

person. They do not need validation,

popularity, a thousand likes and two

thousand followers! They are, what is called

‘swa-chhandi’ entities — a difficult word to

render into English. Loosely interpreted, it

means, a person capable of being with the

self, self-loving; not self-absorbed in a

negative way, but complete within him/

herself, a free spirit.

In Hindustani Classical Music, there are

three ragas that answer to this description.

Three hidden jewels: Dhani, Gavti and Desi.

Less performed, overlooked on the concert

circuit, overshadowed or eclipsed by stellar

ragas, these are ragas worth pursuing —

down the rabbit hole of YouTube, in

requests to musicians, and in learning and

discovery mode, if you are a student. They

are by no means ‘simple’ or ‘easy’ (which

raga is, actually? — the teaching of Bhoop

and Hindol and Durga to newbies does not

stamp them as simple) to render.

Thunder in the monsoon

Take that sparkler, Dhani. Sitting in the

shadow of big-brother Bhimpalasi, it has its

own following of worshippers. While the

Malhars take hold of our imagination and

provide the thunder during the monsoons,

listen to a varsha-rutu Dhani, even in the

non-monsoon, and you can smell the earth

responding to rain drops.

Kumar Gandharva’s robust ‘Aai ruta aii ruta

aai’; Malini Rajurkar’s plaintive‘Auliya

Nizamuddin…tumhare bina’; and the limpid

bhajan from the film Hum Dono, ‘Prabhu

Tero Naam’ are great ways to make our

acquaintance with this raga and its hues.

(Disclaimer: If you spend the rest of the day

wrapped up in its sweetness and poise,

rendered by maestros and unknown gifted

musicians too, don’t blame me.)

In search of

Listen to what Gavti or Gavati has to say, in

its quiet way. (I came to know only minutes

ago that this raga is also called Bheem.)

Again, a less-performed gem, it holds you

transfixed within its mellow afternoon

mood. Take a break from the exalted

devotion of morning ragas, and the

romance and strut of evening bigwigs, to

listen to Veena Sahasrabuddhe’s rendition

‘Moray ghar’; Nazakat-Salamat’s 1960

recording ‘Dhana dhana bhaag’; Shaheed

Parvez’s or Vilayat Khan’s Gavati; and

perhaps a Marathi natyasangeet ‘Prem

varadan’. (Disclaimer: if the afternoon

simply slips away from you in the warm

embrace of this raga, and leaves you with a

kind of searching, longing, it’s not my fault.)

The third hidden beauty is Desi (no relative

of the much more performed Desh). Like

that sunbird in your garden, it loops and

pirouettes gracefully in the rendition —


hence counted amongst the vakkra ragas.

Not easy, by a long chalk, and hence comes

fully into its own in the hands of maestros.

If there’s only one (but luckily for us there

isn’t only one) Desi to be heard, it surely is

Nikhil Banerjee’s on the sitar, though the

raga is even more difficult on an

instrument. ‘Aaja gavat mana mero mann’

from Baiju Bawra is an easy identifier.

Omkarnath Thakur’s ‘Kadamb ki chhaiya’

seems to be a veritable sawaal-jawab with

his maker, in the upper reaches.

(Disclaimer: If this raga pulls you off the

road, raises questions, gifts you with a

feeling of disquiet, it’s not my problem;

keep listening and the raga itself will show

you the way to address or dissolve those

very questions.)

Source: http://bit.ly/2O24GoN

New look to the Moonlight Street

The Delhi Government plan to give a new

look to Chandni Chowk (from Lal Mandir to

Fatehpuri Masjid) is a laudable venture.

Implementation would take public views

into consideration. Traders, general

merchants and residents of the Walled City

have all been invited to send their

suggestions on how the Moonlight Street

should look like after the redevelopment of

what has over the centuries become a

rabbit warren.

The redevelopment plan, says Pradeep

Sachdeva, noted architect and designer

working on it, proposes ample walking

space for the pedestrians, with six-metre-

wide footpaths, multilevel parking for

vehicles in Parade Ground is a good part of

the plan. Once parades were held there

when there was no Delhi beyond the city

walls. Before that this place was occupied

by the houses of Mughal noblemen

attached to the Red Fort. Their havelis were

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demolished after the First War of

Independence in 1857 and the resultant

space used by the British to exercise their

troops.

Pedestrian-friendly

The pedestrian walks and one-way traffic,

with light vehicles would be introduced in

the area to change the chaotic look.

Replanting of trees to give shade and lend

beauty to the environment are also a part

of the plan. The artist’s impression of how

Chandni Chowk will look like after the

scheme is implemented gives an idea that it

will look almost like the Mughal promenade

it once was, when a canal flowed in the

centre, with gravel roads on either side and

huge peepul, neem and tamarind trees

providing the much needed shade (the

trees now to be planted will be the lighter

ones). Bhistis sprinkled water on the roads

every day. The canal, which was part of

Nehar Sadaat Khan, one stream of which

flowed into the Red Fort and the other

passed through Daryaganj before joining

the Yamuna, was closed after 1857 as it had

begun to stink – both because of the

stagnant water and also because the

corpses of those killed as rebels and traitors

by the East India Company’s troops were

left rotting in it.

Another reason for the closure of the canal

was that the civic administration had

decided to merge the pathways into just

one road after the setting up of the

Northbrook Fountain. If a pool is built in

front of Town Hall, it will reflect the

moonlight. Then perhaps one might get to

see how Moonlight Street looked like in the

olden days. But as of now the pool is just an

idea.

Presently, the shops look shabby without

any uniformity and all sorts of signboards

cluttering up their entrances. Also the

overhead wires spoil the look of the place

as they are just a jumbled-up mess whose

intricacies are only known to the BSES staff.

And sometimes they too find these wires a

jigsaw puzzle that cannot be easily solved.

Under the plan, there would be no

overhead wires. They are all being put

underground in specially built ducts. To

make Chandni Chowk look like the one

conceived of by Shah Jahan’s daughter

Jahanara Begum, there should be horse-

driven carriages to recreate the old

ambience but the plan is only for rickshaws

which can even venture into the narrow

katras. In its heyday, Chandni Chowk was

supposed to be the magical street where

jewellers, food sellers, fruit sellers, cloth

sellers and flower sellers made the whole

place come alive, especially in the evenings

when begums from the fort came for

shopping. Some say they came gliding down

in boats over the central canal. But this

sounds a bit far-fetched as the canal was

not wide enough for boats to ply on it.

Venice of the East

According to the Italian traveller Manucci,

Chandni Chowk in those days was the

Venice of the East where one could buy

anything from a hairpin to an elephant.

There were jewels which any king would

have envied and there were dolls with

turquoise eyes and females like affrits

(nymphs) who lent grace to the evening air.

When the moon was full, the moonlight was


reflected in the canal and made one feel as

though one was in an enchanted land

where fairies roamed amid mortal men.

Making room for exaggeration, one cannot

deny that Chandni Chowk was truly the

show piece of Shahjahanabad, which was

planned as an improvement on the old

capital, Agra, so that royal provisions with

their elephants, camels and horses could

pass through without let or hindrance.

Pradeep Sachdeva, actively working on the

redevelopment plan, says some of that

ambience is proposed to be restored if

things go as planned.

At the side, in the place where now stands

the Town Hall was a sarai or inn which was

so beautiful that the words “If there is a

Paradise on earth, it is here, it is here” were

inscribed on its gate. The sarai was meant

for travellers from the Middle East-

merchants, soldiers, statesmen – with a

garden round it where peacocks flaunted

their feathers. It was the Begum Bagh of

Jahanara, renamed Queen’s garden after

1857 in honour of Queen Victoria and now

known as Gandhi Park. May be the

redevelopment plan for Chandni Chowk will

be able to recreate some of this magic,

though Sachdeva says the planners were

not thinking on such ambitious lines but

concentrating on the practical aspects

which were easier to achieve than romantic

ideas.

Source: http://bit.ly/2U0UiSi

Origin and evolution of Chakyar Koothu

In the first-ever staging of Chakyar Koothu

as part of the lec-dems at the Music

Academy, noted exponent Rama Chakyar

enacted an excerpt from ‘Panchali

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Swayamvaram.’ His demonstration was

highlighted by V. Kaladharan’s collaborative

commentary on the origin, evolution and

present day dynamics of the art form.

Kaladharan explained that Chakyar Koothu

is thought to be an offshoot of Kutiyattam,

the most ancient extant form of Sanskrit

theatre. During the tenth and eleventh

centuries, Chakyar Koothu began to be

presented on stage. Initially, Kutiyattam and

koothu performances were restricted to the

koothambalam. It was Painkulam Raman

Chakyar (active years: 1905-1980), a rebel

with a cause, who first staged koothu at a

function, bringing it to the general public,

incurring outrage and earning ostracism.

Undeterred, he was instrumental in getting

it included in the curriculum of

Kalamandalam.

Chakyar koothu accords great importance

to the vidushaka (jester/ narrator) and his

vachikabhinaya that combines prose and

poetry. While Sanskrit slokas are chanted by

the main personae and female characters

are expected to converse in

Prakrit/Manipravalam, the vidushaka is

given the licence to speak in the local

language, Malayalam, which developed and

gained its unique identity in the 16th

century, with the devotional poet and

linguist Ezhuthachan translating the

Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Stories

from these epics form the core subject of

koothu.

The vidushaka’s observations are laced with

wit and sarcasm. His expressions are

emphatic, while choreography is minimal.

He establishes an intimate connect with the

audience by evoking laughter, drawing

parallels and similes and commenting on

current socio-political events, lending an

accessible slant to koothu. In toto, the

angika, vachika and satvika vocabulary are

esoteric and complex.

The episode dwelt upon the reason for Lord

Krishna’s presence at Draupadi’s

swayamvara. Accompanied on the mizhavu

by Kalamandalam Vijay, whose solo

percussive prelude heralded Chakyar’s

entry, the veteran artiste threw himself into

his role of vidushaka with gusto. A lean,

spare man carrying a kamandala and

arrayed in the distinctive aharya of a gold

bordered white costume, topped by a

conical red and black hat and, Chakyar

performed the preliminary steps.

Announcing the names of distinguished

monarchs such as Duryodhana, Jarasandha,

Sisupala and Karna present at the

swayamvara, he welcomed them to the

momentous event. He dwelt upon the

attributes of Lord Krishna, who is the

‘agama swaroopan’ possessing the six

qualities of Bhagavan. Turning to the

audience with a knowing smile, he

transported them to the scene of action by

saying that he knew full well, that even old,

grey-haired onlookers had assembled to

catch a glimpse of Draupadi’s famed

beauty.

At Dwaraka, Balarama asks Krishna why he

wishes to attend the swayamvara when he

already has multiple wives! And

Satyabhama refuses to accompany Krishna

as she cannot bear to see him marry

another woman. Krishna clarifies that

Arjuna, Draupadi’s destined husband, will

turn up there as the Pandavas, believed to


have perished in the fire, were alive and

well.

Among the last Titans of this vibrant

tradition, Chakyar expressed his concern

about the nuances of the language slowly

fading into oblivion and whether he would

be able to present performances to

dwindling audiences ten years down the

line. His energetic portrayal and wry

humour combined with the element of

inclusivity of the audience, likening them to

characters in the story, carried a charm

undimmed by age.

Source: http://bit.ly/2RWgXfD

What happens to passionate private collections

once their patrons are gone?

The banks of the Sabarmati encased in

impenetrable cement seem to hold a lesson

for the cultural life of Ahmedabad. Once

accessible from the steps of Sabarmati

ashram, the rambling riverfront, home to

small communities and even the popular

circus, was messy, vibrant and dynamic,

much like the city. That is now consigned to

memory and photo archives. The concrete

bank seems to serve as a metaphor for

another kind of ossification, in the city’s art

resources.

Textile tour de force

Ahmedabad, unlike Mumbai or Kolkata,

other cities with a mercantile past,

continues to be a city of privately held

museums. While the Tatas, the

Readymoneys and the Gurusaday Dutt

collections passed into government hands,

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Ahmedabad has largely held on to the

phenomenon of the patron-collector.

Inaugurated by Nehru in 1949, the The

Calico Museum of Textiles, housed in the

former Sarabhai residence, remains a gem

of collecting endeavour.

The profound attention to the textile wealth

of India make this museum a one-of-its-kind

repository. Gautam and Gira Sarabhai’s

initiative, however, needs more

contemporary and informative ways of

sharing — a more informed guided tour, for

instance. The museum as repository of

knowledge rather than a dazzling rushed

tour, which is what it is at present, would

perhaps be closer to the spirit of its

founders.

Two other private museums are more

recent and modest in scale but nevertheless

speak eloquently of the city’s private

collections. Amit Ambalal, author of Krishna

as Shrinathji and originally the inheritor of a

textile fortune, is both collector and artist,

who has given a decisive turn to the

readings of art production in the Gujarat-

Rajasthan region.

Recognising the Krishna haveli painting of

Nathdwara as a distinct sub-school, he

initiated from the 70s an extraordinary

collection of Nathdwara Pichhwais. While

the large-scale, early Pichhwais of the

Sarabhai collection point to one phase of

the aesthetic of haveli painting, the Ambalal

collection is dynamic, tracing from the mid-

18th century painted fragment to the

diffuse ‘iconic’ images of Narottam Narayan

and Ghasiram that combined photography

and painting.

Remarkably, Ambalal has recently

transported a late medieval temple from

Burhanpur in Madhya Pradesh to his home.

According to his son Anuj Ambalal, during

the 16th century, the Sultan of Burhanpur

had invited jewellers from Patan, Gujarat,

to settle in Burhanpur. The Jain jeweller

migrants built a temple dedicated to

goddess Padmavati, using skilled wood-

carvers from Patan. With time, the old

temple deteriorated and was dismantled,

and a couple of years ago, brought from

Burhanpur to Ahmedabad. Based on

photographs of the original, master

craftsman Prabhudas Mistry reconstructed

this compact architectural jewel in the

sprawling Ambalal lawns, where it now

houses 30 extraordinary Pichhwais of

Krishna as Shrinathji in the Nathdwara style.

All at home

The third significant collection, born of an

enduring relation between printer Anil Relia

and M.F. Husain, is on display at the Relia

residence, Amrat. It has Husain’s rich and

vigorous oeuvre in spontaneous sketches, a

mobile scenography for the film Gaja

Gamini (2000), a family portrait, even a

glass mural for the swimming pool, and

paintings from different Husain narratives.

Together with the impressive Relia

collection of portraits and rare pieces like

Ravi Varma’s ‘Sita Bhoomipravesh’, the

collection straddles some masterpieces

from the colonial period to the present day.

These three private collections — and there

would be others in the city — are poised in

a limbo of sorts. Supported entirely by their

patrons, they have closed or very limited

access. They exist outside state support,


and there’s no readymade template for

such passionate collections to weather the

passage of time.

No longer sleepy

In contrast, another institution has seen an

extraordinary revival. Visitors to Navajivan

over the last few years might remember the

Gandhi archive and the repository of his

writings and his early printing presses as a

sleepy institution. In the last two years, a

team of photographers — Vivek Desai,

Himanshu Panchal and Mitul Kajaria — have

helped transform it into an active hub,

lending the archive a contemporary buzz.

Navajivan now has a printing lab, one of the

finest in Ahmedabad, that works mainly

with young photographers. It has Café

Karma, a popular eatery, a shop with khadi

and handicrafts, and, what is perhaps its

most significant achievement, the Satya

Gallery, which offers free space primarily

for photographers to share their work. In

the shrinking institutional space for

photography, Navajivan is helping build

audiences and interest in the medium, even

as Gandhian thought hovers gently in the

background.

Ahmedabad, the locus of ‘the Gujarat

model of development’, is perhaps an

accurate example of the state of the

country’s cultural institutions. As long as

there’s a dedicated patron, the collection

flourishes, but once it is overly settled or

deprived of fresh finds, it starts to ossify.

The L.D. Museum of Indology, with its

extraordinary treasures including the N.C.

Mehta Jain medieval paintings, and even

the Sarabhai Calico Museum, are instances

of once vibrant centres that need more

energy and better viewer interface. The

state can be a distant patron but not a

disinterested one, or else important

repositories might petrify for want of funds

and museological expertise.

Source: http://bit.ly/36xZGPt

http://bit.ly/36xZGPt


Throne that inspired Milton

The Red Fort is in the news from time to

time. Now primarily because of the annual

Independence Day function and the effect

of time and pollution on its red sandstone

and marble edifices. In the days of the

Mughals, however, it was the hub and

centre of all State activity. But even after

1862, when Bahadur Shah Zafar was sent

into exile in Rangoon, it continued to

occupy pride of place. When the Prince of

Wales, the heir apparent of Queen Victoria,

who later ascended the throne as Edward

VII, visited India in 1875, the fort was

among the prized historical sights he was

keen on seeing after reading about the

Throne of God as described by Milton. As a

young man he had heard a lot about it,

especially during the revolt of 1857 when

for some months it had become the real

capital again and to recapture which had

become the main objective of the British

forces.

Spanner in spectacle

In 1877, Lord Lytton held the first Delhi

Durbar, the second one was held in 1903,

when Lord Curzon replaced the stone

elephants in front of Delhi Gate of the fort

to make amends for Aurangzeb’s

iconoclastic zeal. In 1911, during the

Coronation Durbar of George V and Queen

Mary, the focus was again on the fort

because it was from a balcony built on the

central side of the Musamman Burj by

Akbar II that the royal couple greeted the

people of Delhi. In the Mughal days, the

emperorappeared before his subjects every

morning at the Burj to assure them that he

was all right and all was well with the

kingdom.

When the British capital was transferred

from Calcutta to Delhi, Lord Hardinge was

to ceremoniously enter the Red Fort, but

the procession was attacked with a bomb

by the revolutionaries in Chandni Chowk.

The Viceroy was injured and the mahout of

his elephant killed, thus disrupting what


was supposed to be a grand spectacle on

December 23, 1912. Netaji Subhas Chandra

Bose had given the call, ‘Delhi Chalo’ to the

Azad Hind Fauj during World War II. Though

his dream of hoisting the national flag on

the Red Fort did not materialise, three

officers of the INA were tried in the fort and

Jawaharlal Nehru and Asaf Ali were among

the five eminent lawyers who defended

them in 1945. The trial was reminiscent of

the one of Bahadur Shah Zafar by the British

after the 1857 revolt.

Then came Independence in 1947 and

Jawaharlal Nehru, as the first Prime

Minister of Independent India, unfurled the

Tricolour from the ramparts of the Red Fort

to much rejoicing on August 15, setting the

pattern for the ritual ceremony every year.

The Diwan-e-Am or Hall of Public Audience

has been the venue of many public

receptions to visiting dignitaries and also

the Republic Day eve mushaira. Recently a

fashion show was also organised there. So

the Red Fort continues to remain in the

limelight. But of late disturbing signals have

been emanating from this grand citadel of

national pride. Atmospheric pollution,

vandalism and the decay wrought by time

have combined to pose a threat to the Red

Fort. There were reports earlier, that the

walls of the fort had developed cracks

because of constant watering to maintain

the green patch on the ramparts from

where the I-Day speech is delivered. Those

reports were denied. But now a daily has

highlighted a story saying that the Dewan-e-

Khas has developed cracks and the Moti

Masjid is in bad shape.

What the paper actually meant was not the

Dewan-e-Khas but the Khas Mahal. A three-

room set consisting of the Tasbih Khana or

the rosary chamber. The Khwabgah or

emperor’s sleeping quarters and the Tosha

Khana or robe chamber, facing the Dewan-

e-Khas. The building was constructed by

Shah Jahan in 1648 and it took nine years

for it to be completed. Below the Khas

Mahal, animal fights were organised, and

the most ferocious of the encounters used

to be between lions and elephants. Talking

of the Dewan-e-Khas, or Hall of Private

Audience, one cannot overemphasise its

importance during the Mughal days when it

had two enclosures, one for the high-

ranking nobles (Lal Pardari who could go

behind the red royal curtain) and the other

for those of lesser rank. The enclosures

were done away with by the British after

1857. It was in the middle of the Dewan-e-

Khas, built of marble, that the famous

Takht-e-Taoos or Peacock Throne was

installed by Shah Jahan. The marble kursi or

seat on which it rested is still there but the

throne was carried away to Persia by the

invader Nadir Shah in 1739.

The Takht-e-Taoos, which cost a fortune

and besides gold and silver, contained the

finest jewels of the Mughal empire,

surpassed even the fabled throne of

Solomon the Magnificent. In fact, the

French traveller Tavenier went into raptures

describing the throne glittering with rubies

and diamonds, “its pearl fringed canopy

supported by golden pillars”. Some say it

inspired Milton to describe the throne of

God in “Paradise Lost”. But Tavenier, his

supposed informant, saw the Peacock


Throne only in 1665, two years after the

publication of the epic. Even so, the wealth

of the fabulous land of Ind does find

mention in Milton’s work, for the poet was

as overawed by it as he was by ancient

Greece, and the treasures of the court of

the Great Mughal were inspiration enough

for him to soar on the wings of poesy, to

the seat of the Almighty, and in the process

symbolically lose his eyesight because of its

sheer magnificence (more dazzling than a

throne of fiery flames with wheels of

burning fire). All this should make it all the

more imperative for those concerned to

ensure the preservation of the Qila-e-

Maulla or Red Fort for posterity.

Source: http://bit.ly/37zsqsr

History lessons about Madras High Court

The Madras High Court complex, said to

house the largest number of courts in Asia,

looms large at the junction of Broadway

(Prakasam Salai) and First Line Beach (Rajaji

Salai). Its red brick buildings, colonnaded

halls and shaded avenues were raised at the

turn of the 19th Century when the

Presidency towns of Madras, Bombay and

Calcutta were issued patents by Queen

Victoria to establish High Courts. Apart from

resounding to landmark judgements, the

Madras High Court’s Saracenic buildings

have survived a shelling by a German ship

during the First World War, still house the

city’s old lighthouse and have their own

Postal Index Number.

Construction began in 1888 under JW

Brassington and the buildings were

completed in 1892 when famed architect,

Henry Irwin was at the helm. Irwin’s works

that include many well-known colonial-era

buildings, such as the Government

Museum, Chennai, Amba Vilas Palace,

Mysore and the former Viceregal Lodge,

Shimla, have long fascinated his great

grandson, Mark Tatchell, a retired research

http://bit.ly/37zsqsr


scientist from the UK. Tatchell will present a

talk on Irwin, hosted by the Department of

Museums, Government of Tamil Nadu, and

the Indian National Trust for Art and

Cultural Heritage (INTACH), Chennai

Chapter.

Later, over the weekend, NL Rajah, senior

advocate and author of a book on the

history of the High Court, and Sujatha

Shankar, convenor INTACH, Chennai, will

conduct a heritage walk around the Madras

High Court. Tatchell will join the walk as a

special guest. “INTACH hosts regular walks

that explore the city in a bid to keep alive

our heritage,” says Sujatha. The walks are

usually held on the second Sunday of every

month, but “we timed this one around

Tatchell’s visit”.

Source: http://bit.ly/2RXx5ha

A story well told

Kathak as a dance form has a unique iconic

niche in the landscape of major Indian

classical dance forms. Based on the 12th

century story of Surthani, a Mughal

Princess, a thematic kathak dance recital

was presented by SpACE (Samarpan

Association for Culture and Education ), a

Bangalore based Kathak Academy, at

Khincha Auditorium, Bharatiya Vidya

Bhavan.

The story of Bibi Nachiyar portrays how

with a single-minded devotion a Mughal

princess achieved the status of a Nachiyar, a

goddess. Bibi Nachiyar epitomizes utmost

devotion and sacred love towards the Lord.

http://bit.ly/2RXx5ha


Starting with the customary invocation to

Lord Ganesha, the remover of hurdles,

through their opening item ‘Ganesh

Vandana’, and after a slokam on Lord

Vishnu, the show began with great aplomb

presenting the scene of a welcome dance in

the court of Mallik Gafur, the Mughal

emperor. How he invaded and plundered

many temples and how he took away the

idol of Narayana and gifted it to his

daughter Surtani, how she fell in deep love

with the Lord and how Srivaishnava Saint Sri

Ramanujacharya along with other devotees

repossessed the idol from Mallik Gafur, how

the princess unable to bear the pangs of

separation reached Melkote and merged

with the Lord and how she achieved the

rare distinction of being accorded the status

of a deity in the Hindu Temple of Melkote.

With talent and an excellent training to

match, SpACE has finely put together the

historical script of Bibi Nachiyar, turning it

ably into performative text. The group

aimed at a wholesome dramatic experience

and achieved it by presenting their dance

recital as a pulsating cultural artefact. With

the introduction to the story and the

narration of scenes in the background giving

the socio-political-religious significance,

projecting relevant pictures on the huge

screen behind, they held the audience’

attention riveted.

The dancers’ swift pirouettes (spins) and

graceful footwork performed to the musical

tempo and beat, their impressive artistry

and fluid movements, brought on a visual

splendour that kept the audience engrossed

. It was interesting and inspiring to see all

age group dancers, tiny tots to seniors

perform with equal grace and gusto. The

child-artists who presented the childhood of

Krishna were adorable. The jugulbandi

scense between Vishnu devotees and the

court dancers of Mallik Gafur was very

impressive.

The dancers of SpACE truly succeeded in

carving a space, as a talented group of

dancers. They put together a beautiful

presentation to showcase a saga of deep

love that was divine and beyond any faith or

religion.

Anjana Gupta, the Director of SpACE,

speaking about future activities, said:

“We are a kathak-only academy, and focus

on theoretical, musical, choreographic and

dance as an integrated system of learning.

“With just four students at the beginning

our student strength grew to 33 in 18

months. We are now about 70 students and

seem to be steady at this number. We have

been fortunate to have had many gurus like

Birju Maharaj, Neeraj Parikh, Ganesh Desai,

and others as a part of our knowledge

dissemination initiative.

“We have been working with universities,

dance boards and other organisations to

cement our learning on what works, and

what our students and their parents’ value.

We are expanding our dreams to build a

University that will deliver both master’s

and doctoral programmes in Kathak. Two of

our students have agreed to gift land to this

venture, and we hope to generate

donations to take this idea to fruition over

the next ten years.”

Responding to the question why she had

chosen Kathak , Anjana said: “I see Kathak


as a synthesis of several cultures – this

makes this form very flexible and

accommodative, giving great room for

creativity, experimentation and growth.”

Source: http://bit.ly/2RCNuc1

The tricky issue of renovation

Two years ago, The Hindu Friday Review

published a story

(https://www.thehindu.com/features/frida

y-review/Not-just-brick-and-

mortar/article14617822.ece) on issues

relating to renovation work in temples and

how the Madras High Court order had put a

temporary halt on repair works. Later, the

High Court directed the appointment of a

committee to assess the extent of damage

and approve the ‘essential’ repair works in

the temples under the care of HR and CE

administered temples.

Friday Review takes a look at the scene. In

2013-14, the Tiruppani leadership at the HR

& CE headquarters received around 600

applications. Since the High Court order and

the subsequent setting up of a screening

committee, the number of applications for

renovation has come down to about 100.

This may indicate that not many temples

are undergoing renovation, but reality is

different. While temples located in remote

areas and are in genuine need for

restoration are finding it difficult to get

their applications processed within a fixed

timeline, renovation works are undertaken

in many temples without the approval of

the committee.

The new process includes recommendation

from an archaeological expert, approval

from the zonal-level Heritage Committee

http://bit.ly/2RCNuc1

https://www.thehindu.com/features/friday-review/Not-just-brick-and-mortar/article14617822.ece




after a power-point presentation by the

respective Joint Commissioner, approval

from the State-level Heritage Committee

and, finally, the go ahead from the HR & CE

Commissioner.

Deserving temples are facing hurdles at

various stages of this process. The Executive

Officers are finding it challenging to go past

even the JC and the regional screening

committee. This was the case at the

Jambukeswarar temple in Tiruvanaikkaval,

where consecration took place recently.

Two years after application, only minor

works have been approved. A large portion

will be undertaken only this year with the

EO having to secure several approvals,

breaking the whole renovation work into

several small parts.

Sources in the HR & CE say that the

allocation from the HR & CE towards

renovations has dropped dramatically from

Rs. 416 crores in 2015-16 to Rs. 70 crores

(excluding Palani) in 2017-18. A leading

official also said that there are just 650 EO

posts for 40,000 temples and out of these

only 250 have been filled up. The rest have

remained vacant for several years.

In the over 1,000-year-old Kailasanathar

Koil in Brahmadesam, near

Ambasamudram, a temple managed for

decades by a single archaka, approvals have

been hard to come by. There are cracks in

the seven-tiered Raja Gopuram at the

Eastern entrance and the entire structure

presents a faded look with the

Kumbabishekam having taken place 15

years ago. The huge outer wall on the

Southern side is beginning to fall.

The temple houses some of the most

exquisite stone sculptures. An

archaeological expert had visited and

submitted his recommendations in mid-

2017.

The case of shortage of EOs is best

exemplified in the case of the

Brahmadesam temple. The then EO, who

had almost 70 temples in his charge, had

made some progress with the application

for restoration. Post his transfer, the

incumbent EO, who has 75 temples under

his purview, is yet to take charge. This has

put the temple’s restoration plans in limbo.

Brahmotsavam, the grandest festival that

was celebrated in Panguni, had been

stopped four decades ago citing financial

reasons. The huge tank was refurbished

three years as a one off exercise, thanks to

the initiative of the archaka and the

Theppotsavam was revived. But a lot more

needs to be done to restore the temple to

its ancient glory.

Three years ago, Friday Review had

featured a story on the renovation plans at

the Damodara Narayana Perumal temple in

Thiru Kannangudi Divya Desam

(https://www.thehindu.com/features/frida

y-review/history-and-culture/for-a-new-

lease-of-life/article7846908.ece). After

completion of most of the repair works in

2016/17, the date for the Samprokshanam

was fixed, but twice it was called off by the

HR&CE at the last moment.

The consecration has been delayed so much

that the fresh coat of paint on the Raja

Gopuram has begun to fade.

https://www.thehindu.com/features/friday-review/history-and-culture/for-a-new-lease-of-life/article7846908.ece




Sowmya Narayana Perumal temple in Thiru

Koshtiyur is another example of the

renovation work coming to a halt following

the High Court order. The Balalayam at the

Nambi and Ramanuja shrines was done four

years ago, but the shrines have remained

closed with the restoration efforts not

gaining any momentum. Balalayam for the

Ashtanga Vimanam was done 12 years ago.

Gold plating of the Vimanam remains just a

plan.

The temple has also not been able to secure

the required 75 kg gold. For a long time

now, the devotees have not been able to

have darshan of the Vimanam, Raja

Gopuram and most of the shrines at this

temple. Priests have also incurred loss due

to the shrines remaining shut. It is hoped

that the HR & CE and the Sivagangai

Samasthanam will take appropriate action.

At the Azhagiya Nambi temple in Thiru

Kurungudi Divya Desam, a case is pending

over the shifting of the idol of Lord Siva to

its original place next to Nambi shrine. This

idol was moved 15 years ago to a separate

shrine. The temple has been awaiting

Samprokshanam for 35 years and it is not

likely to happen till the case is solved.

Source: http://bit.ly/3aZxRmy

Beyond the sights and sounds of

Ardh Kumbh Mela

The idea of myth in India called gaatha is a

lived experience of a circle of stories that

translates into rituals and pilgrimages. The

Kumbh Mela, arguably the greatest lived

phenomenon of a gaatha, is anchored on

http://bit.ly/3aZxRmy


faith to transcend into timelessness and

sustain in the face of the struggle of life.

The gaatha of the churning of the ocean at

one point has the majestic eagle – The

Garuda who snatches the pitcher (Kumbh)

of Amrit – nectar of immortality and flies

away only to spill drops of nectar in four

locations. When astrological stars combine

in six (Ardh/half) and 12 years (poorna/full),

the essence of nectar is revived and Kumbh

Mela as the pilgrimage is renewed. This

year it is the Ardh Kumbh in Prayagraj

(Allahabad).

The Kumbh in Prayag, attains a greater

importance since the cosmic energies are

augmented by the confluence of rivers – the

Ganges for purity, the Yamuna for devotion

and hidden Saraswati for knowledge; and

just as the Gods and the demons ran in

frenzy following Garuda to seek the nectar,

so do the millions of believers who move as

a sea of humanity to collate at the locations

of Kumbh. They grapple to capture the idea

of liberation with the one action of purpose

– a holy dip in the waves forming the

confluence called Sangam at Prayag. Says

Tulsidas, the celebrated 16th century poet,

“Beautiful is the meeting of the white

(Ganga) and the dark Yamuna. Such that

Tulsi's heart leaps with joy at the sight of

the waves transcending energies for the

soul.”

The UNESCO awakened to this centuries-old

organic phenomenon only in 2017 and

inscribed the Kumbh as part of the list of

the Intangible Cultural Heritage of

Humanity. There is no invitation, the

assembly of millions is self-driven. The

multitudes begin their pilgrimage by

boarding trains, riding bullock carts,

tractors, buses, their belongings on their

heads in bags of jute, buying their

temporary chullahs for making food,

boarding in the temporary tents along the

dry sandy banks of the river their faces are

lit with the live energies of faith.

Tale of the Teerthraj

In the 3rd section of the text called

Matsyapurana, there is the explanation of

reaping rewards by visiting, reading and

listening to the account of the greatness of

the place of pilgrimage. It also prescribes

internal sequel of pilgrimage, appropriate

time and gives an account of body-vibration

caused by the pilgrimage. Prayag, the

location for the Kumbh 2019, has its own

spiritual cosmic topography that emerges

out of the natural and mythical worlds and

makes it the imperial beholder (Teerthraj)

of pilgrimage spots. The pilgrimage

geography is lined around the central

location Sangam (confluence of the rivers).

Prayag is where the first nectar drops fell

and it is here that Brahma, the creator of

the universe performed the first series of

fire sacrifices (Yagya).

Unlike Varanasi, the rivers change their

course in Prayag, it is, for this reason,

Prayag has few built ghats (landing steps).

The pilgrimage geography recreates the

gaatha of the churning of the ocean – The

Vaasuki Naag Temple recalls the role of the

Serpent Vasuki who was transformed into

rope for churning, while the Beni Madhav

Temple is the city deity like Vishwanath

(Protector of the World) in Varanasi. The

occurrence of Kumbh also has the

allegorical associations with astrological


happenings, the time of sacred baths which

have the potential of great rewards are

allotted with careful mathematical

calculations, and to recall this there is a

fascinating temple of Bhishma - a figure

from the epic Mahabharata who lay injured

on a bed of arrows awaiting the appropriate

movement of the Sun in an auspicious

space of the month of Maagh before he left

his mortal being.

The phenomenon of ascetics

The culture of becoming a Sadhu, an ascetic

in the Hindu tradition is varied and

complex. In the historical sense, a variety of

the sects of the ascetics called the akharas

functioned as traders, and later as

mercenaries which are also why they came

to clash with the British East India

Company. Gradually, they lost their sources

of income, and today most akharas survive

on support by faithful many of whom are

NRI Indians and a large number of traders

especially from Rajasthan, Gujarat, and

Kolkata.

Swami Akhanadananda of the Swasti Juna

Akhada says, “There are 13 registered

akharas who are present in the Kumbh.

Each section of akhara has a leader

Mandaleshwar. The sadhus belong to two

main categories, the Swati Nama and the

Giri Nama. In all the categories, the

constant test is sustaining detachment,

controlling the senses, seeking the truth of

existence and finding moksha the path of

release from the cycle of birth. A Swasti

Nama like me remain in the material world

but sustain a strict code of detachment and

seclusion for meditation; the latter seek

their liberation through meditative

practices in the mountains (Giri). The Naga,

(ascetics without clothes and covered in

ash) come in the category of Giri Nama.

They reach a height of detachment where

the ego represented shedding of clothes

and ash represents what their bodies will

ultimately become.”

The Kumbh is sociologically the biggest

event for the ascetics. Akharas ensure the

participation of their members. The main

ritual bathing days generates power

struggle. Depending on the number of

members attending, the order for the great

bathing dates is drawn in which the akharas

will get to perform the ritual bath. On the

said dates details are drawn for rituals and

the manner in which the processions of the

akharas as a living exhibition called Peshwai

is enacted. Chariots, adornment of

weapons, music and other kinds of

performances become visual tools for

asserting power. Apart from the main

bathing days, the calendar of the akharas is

marked by dictating instruction to ascetics,

inducting new members and spiritual

discourses along with outreach exercise to

attract devotees who in turn financially

support the akharas.

Unaccounted Sociology and Economics

During the Kumbh, Prayag as a pilgrim

location exhibits an economic opportunity

but also sociological complexities.

Traditional communities like the Prayagwals

(pilgrim priests), and the Nishads or the

boatmen are important stakeholders. While

the priests keep the Bahi khathas (or pilgrim

records) and perform rituals, the Nishads

(boatmen) called Mallahs or Kevat although

low in caste hierarchy gain sacred


legitimacy through the gaatha from the

Ramayana.

It is believed that it was the Nishad from

Prayag who took Ram, his wife and brother

across the river when they were exiled.

Hence carrying devotees symbolises a

sacred activity. The Kumbh generates a

large amount of income for these

communities, who raise their prices and are

well networked. They use code language

concerning ways to deal with pilgrim clients

to maximise profits.

The Kumbh Mela is a sociological a

temporary city with complex dynamics.

Managing non-violent crowds, facilities and

maintaining hygiene and control of disease

is a mammoth task for which historically

there is very little data. A Mela Committee

was set up after the 1954 stampede. I grew

up listening to experiences. My mother,

(writer Manorama Jafa) says, “We were

students in the Allahabad University, I never

want to go back, for all I remember was

picking dead bodies after the stampede.”

Another important occurrence is the

abandoning of women. Late at night even

today, there is the announcement of

women who are ‘lost’, a large number of

them are widows. My own great

grandmother had set up a widow home in a

locality Lukergunj to provide shelter to

abandoned women of Kumbh.

Over a period of time, not pilgrimage but

exotica tourism has surfaced. In the quasi-

religious spaces ‘designed’ meditation, yoga

programmes, luxury tent cities, and

exhibitions have emerged. Alongside, the

ascetics display explicitly for their audiences

- while some eat fire, blades others through

Yogic powers pronounce prophecies. There

is no doubt it is a performance of nirvana,

display of colour and diversity where the

poignancy of faith in the moving waves of

the rivers drowns human politics and greed.

It is a phenomenon where the faith of

millions will defy all adversities to reassert

hope for humanity.

Darshan:

As colours and picturesque canvases

emerge, the Kumbh becomes an intriguing

frame for dynamic freezing of human

action. Raghu Rai, the maverick genius of

Indian photography has been

photographing Kumbh on multiple

occasions. His responses as an artist Yogi

are distinct especially against the rage of a

large number of photography tours, and the

frenzy that grips media from all over the

world – most, who do not realise how

intrusive their actions become for the

faithful who is focused in a private journey

of liberation.

Rai says, “When in Kumbh, I am on a

journey, I am not thinking, all I am doing is

internalising the feeling of the faces and

their body language. I hope like they (my

subject) hope as they take a dip to gain

their God. I, like them, seek to feel their

freedom to travel the waves of energies.

This country is a dynamic symbol of endless

faith, where the millions are directed to

take a single dip and have an interface of

the ephemeral idea of Nirvana in a

moment. Yes, it is all about a moment,

when my click happens. I journey to capture

that faith as they touch and speak to me.

Photography of Kumbh is a spiritual journey

of expressive feeling.”


The media, which in recent times includes

travel photographers and bloggers operate

to facilitate not the pilgrim but the tourist

exotic gaze. It is about feeding the capitalist

market forces. The journey of internal

spirituality so seminal beneath the external

experiences goes missing while in

telescoping the event without

understanding in either photography or

writing even through these visual and

written accounts are entertaining to the

urban Indian and the Western audiences.

Most ascetics and other traditional

stakeholders are aware now of the currency

they represent and thus their Darshan

transforms the arena of detachment into

forums of material exchange. Talking about

the photographic and travel blogging tours,

Rai says, “Photography and writing are

meditative, lonely journeys and not group

activities. They can be merely fun…”

Kumbh is a metaphorical representation co-

scripted from gaathas, sociology, history

and lived flowing traditions. It symbolises

enactment and renewal of a focus for

sublime peace which emerges from a

chaotic space, from a screen of eyes of life

and fire of faith and yet in the experience of

the Darshan the Eyes of Life remains a

losing struggle for permanence.

Distinct Impulses:

In every Kumbh gathering, your eyes will

catch some usual acts that display the

power of Yoga, meditation manifesting

marvels that provide a spectacle of ascetics

at all levels of spiritual development. Those

who eat razor blades, stand in freezing

water or stand on the head for days.

However, the ongoing Ardh (Half) Kumbh-

2019 has a couple of first time features:

Against the removal of the archaic ruling of

Section 377, the inclusion of the Kinnar

(transgender akhara) as the 14th sacred

sect of Hindu ascetics is a big milestone. Adi

Shankaracharya (8thc) organised the Hindu

ascetic sects in 13 Akharas to protect the

Sanathan Dharma, (path of eternal duty).

Says Swami Akhandananda (Juna Akhada),

“There was always the intention to give

representation to transgender (kinnar)

ascetics by way of exclusive akharas. After

the last Kumbh in 2013, the various heads

of all the akharas, along with the

Sankracharyas formalised the decision. This

akhara like others follow rules, and is

granted similar privileges.”

Swachh Bharat!

A whiff of dust fills the nostrils thrown up

by the enthusiastic women sweepers who

laughingly intermittently appear in the

exhibition ground – Sanskriti Gram in the

Kumbh annoying visitors, welcome to

Swachh Bharat, and celebrating Mahatma

Gandhi’s 150th anniversary! The Uttar

Pradesh Government and the Mela

Committee have left no stone unturned

from over 1.2 lakh eco-friendly public

toilets, over 20 thousand sweepers, the

public announcement on using toilets, video

screens in various parts of the Mela ground

and in the city on hygiene and sanitation.

However, the crowning glory is the Toilet

Cafeteria. Interior designs of toilet

accessories are augmented by messages like

‘Do not forget to wash hands after a visit to

the toilet!’. An engaging part of this café is

the tuition towards hygiene and toilet


habits by the American ascetic and disciple

of the power Guru Swami Chitananada

Sadhvi Bhagwati Saraswati, who I first got a

glimpse walking with the swami with a

group of young priests directing in her

American Hindi – ‘Come, join the bliss of the

Sangam with aarti – lighting the way to

Nirvana’

Source: http://bit.ly/317uCF0

The temple was not a Vedic institution:

Manu V. Devadevan

Kannada poet, historian and political

theorist Manu V. Devadevan’s most recent

work, The Prehistory of Hinduism, received

much acclaim. Devadevan, who teaches

history at Indian Institute of Technology,

Mandi, specialises in the political economy

of precolonial South India. In this interview,

Devadevan talks about the factors leading

to the formation of modern Hinduism —

the unprecedented proliferation of temple-

building between 1000 and 1200 CE, giving

rise to inherited religious identities among

the laity; the rise of the ‘guru’ as a central

authority figure resulting in older texts and

practices going out of fashion; and the

emergence of popular Indian ‘godmen’,

catalysed by private television channels and

the Constitutional provision that confers on

them the right to acquire and manage

property in the name of religion. I also

asked Devadevan about the recent

controversy over Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey

holding up a ‘Smash Brahminical Patriarchy’

placard and he speaks of the hollowness of

terms like ‘brahminism’ in today’s political

climate. Excerpts:

In your book, you posit two approaches to

studying Hinduism: the ‘primordialist’ and

the ‘constructionist’. Can you elaborate?

http://bit.ly/317uCF0


Until very recently, it was believed that

Hinduism was one of the oldest religions in

the world. Its beginnings were placed in mid

second millennium BCE which is the date

generally assigned to the Rig Veda. At times,

its antiquity was pushed back to early half

of the third millennium BCE, when

Harappan urbanism began to develop. This

view, which lays emphasis on Hinduism’s

putative antiquity, is what I have called the

primordialist position. It has lost little of its

popular appeal. There are also a number of

historians and Indologists who continue to

endorse this view. Opposed to this, an

interesting body of writings produced in

recent decades argues that Hinduism, as an

idea and an identity, is not older than the

19th century. This is the constructionist

approach. The constructionists show

greater awareness about the political and

economic processes that enable or assist

the making of religious identities. In their

understanding, religious identities — such

as Hindu, Muslim, Christian — are

consciously constructed under specific

historical conditions. They hold that such

identities do not exist in any essential or

homogeneous form for several hundred

years. Informed by this historical insight, it

has been possible for constructionist

research to show that the making of a

Hindu religious identity does not antedate

the early 19th century.

You have argued that inherited religious

identities only existed for specialist

‘renouncer’ communities and were non-

existent among the laity before 1000 CE...

Constructionist research has made us

sceptical of the claim that Hinduism is more

than 3,000 years old. Nevertheless,

historians have shied away from extending

its insights to explore the emergence of

religious identities per se in the Indian

subcontinent. Not surprisingly, we come

across a number of historical studies that

wax eloquent on religious groups in India

from the earliest documented times, as if a

religious identity is intrinsic to human life.

We are told of the Vedic religion, of the

heterodox Buddhists, Jainas and Ajivikas,

and of Shaiva, Vaishnava and other groups

that are of Puranic and tantric origins. A

close examination of the sources shows that

these identities were monastic in nature

before 1000 CE. Until the close of the first

millennium CE it was possible to become a

Buddhist or Jaina or Shaiva or Vaishnava

only by initiation as a monk or nun.

Religious identity was the preserve of a

renouncer, and did not extend to the laity.

It was not inherited. This changed between

1100 and 1200 CE in what is arguably

among the most momentous of historical

transformations in India. In these centuries,

local elites — including peasant proprietors,

merchants, chiefs, and warlords — began to

associate themselves with religious life on a

hitherto unnoticed scale. Temple building

was the means through which this

relationship found expression. By the end of

the 12th century CE, the character of

religious identities had changed beyond

recognition. The laity now flaunted religious

identities and bequeathed them as

inheritance.

How did the sudden interest in temple

building lead to the formation of separate

religious groups?


The oldest written references to temples

are from 300 and 400 CE, and the earliest

surviving temple structures date back to

500 and 600 CE. The temple was not a Vedic

institution. Its origin was intertwined with

the evolution of pooja, a form of idol

worship based on the agamas and tantras,

different from the sacrifice-based worship

of the Vedas. Not surprisingly, temple

worship was met with resistance from the

Vedic orthodoxy. It is for this reason that

texts such as the Manusmriti are not

favourably disposed towards temples.

Peasant proprietors and local elites were

the earliest to build temples and set aside

land for their maintenance. By 700 CE, the

Pallavas of Kanchipuram, the Chalukyas of

Badami, and other such monarchical states

had begun to promote temple building.

What happened between 1000 and 1200 CE

was an unprecedented proliferation in

temple building. I have been able to count

as many as 170 temples built in these two

centuries from a mere eight taluks in

Karnataka. As a matter of fact, we do not

know of a single city or town from this

period that did not have one or more

temples.

A major fallout was that the focus of

religious life shifted to the temple. With

inheritable land endowed for its

maintenance, the temple became an

economically autonomous institution,

wielding great power and influence. It

helped in cementing the agrarian and other

economic relations of the day as well as in

forging new ties of trade, kinship,

matrimony and fealty. The making and

consolidation of inheritable religious

identities — Shaiva, Vaishnava, Jaina, etc.,

in their numerous forms — was part of this

temple-centred process.

Your book looks at the growth of

monasteries in the 15th and 16th

centuries, and the guru emerging as an

authority figure. What are the parallels, if

any, with today’s godmen?

The guru emerged as a major figure at

about the same time as the making of

religious identities among the laity. The

centrality of this figure is emphasised in a

few earlier sources as well, as in the

Buddhist Hevajra Tantra, for instance. From

the 12th century onwards, we find him an

indispensable part of religious life. As we

reach the 15th and 16th centuries, our

sources give the impression that all of

religious life hinges on the guru. There is an

intimate bond between guru and disciple,

which lasts for a lifetime and spills over into

the next birth as well. There is no

knowledge without the guru, no release and

redemption without him. The figure of the

guru becomes the new source of authority.

Long-standing texts and practices retain

their significance only to the extent that

they find endorsement from the guru. We

must remember that for much of history,

the masses were an unlettered lot. As late

as 1901, the literacy level in India was just

over 5%. Until the 10th century CE, complex

ideas and doctrines that were part of a

religion and its philosophy were

systematically taught in institutions meant

for the purpose, as was done in later times

as well. But there was a greater preference

in the earlier times for svadhyaya, i.e.,


learning without assistance from others.

One of the instructions that a teacher gave

the student at the end of his education was

to never stray away from self-learning

(svadhyayat ma pramadah). This mode of

learning had to take a back seat in the

changed circumstances when a religious

identity was not anymore limited to a

learned/ trained renouncer, but extended

to the illiterate masses too. It is not

unreasonable that erudite textual traditions

made way for the guru as source of

knowledge and deliverance.

I don’t think there are parallels in our times.

There has, of course, been a proliferation of

godmen since the early 1980s. This has a

history of its own. These godmen have

much to say on religion and ethics, but the

experience of the divine they speak of is no

match to that of saints from the recent past

— Ramana Maharshi, Ramakrishna

Paramahamsa, Nisargadatta Maharaj. Our

godmen have made a name not so much by

religious experiences as through

instructions in healthy living, stress

reduction, fitness through yoga, meditation

and pranayama, etc. They have a clientèle

that’s mostly urban, middle-class, espousing

neoliberal capitalism, and lamenting the

death of tradition. The godmen serve as

lifestyle management gurus for this class of

clients.

At least two other factors have led to the

rise of godmen. We know that godmen

engage in a wide assortment of activities.

The most important activity of godmen is

real estate management. Article 26 confers

upon them the right to acquire and manage

property in the name of religion. This is a

fundamental right. Another provision in the

Constitution that recognised the right to

property as a fundamental right was Article

31. This was repealed by the 44th

amendment to the Constitution. Today, the

only way to claim land ownership as a

fundamental right is through Article 26.

What this means, in historical terms, is that

our godmen are progenies of Article 26 of

the Constitution. The second factor is the

emergence of private television channels

since the early 90s, which helped many

godmen to expand businesses

exponentially. It also produced a large

number of invisible clients for whom the

godmen brought counsel into the comfort

of their living rooms.

Your comments on the brouhaha over Jack

Dorsey holding up a placard saying ‘Smash

Brahminical Patriarchy’?

I find such slogans very interesting for a

rather bizarre reason. They embody a

strange contradiction as it were, for they

occur as value-loaded expressions even

when they are semantically hollow. The

word ‘Brahminical’ is reduced to a porous

signifier that can contain anything and

everything that a progressive mind abhors.

It is in this sense similar to the shallow ways

in which terms such as ‘feudal’ and

‘medieval’ are used as adjectives for

anything that is authoritarian and

undemocratic. Ask the placard holders what

‘Brahminical’ means, and you will either

face an outburst of reactionary self-

righteousness, or be accused of affiliations

with Hindu fundamentalists. The more

sober among the placard holders may

present you with a poor summary of the


Manusmriti and a poorer assessment of its

advocates, as if there are people in India

whose lives are modelled after the

Manusmriti to the last letter. The time is

perhaps ripe now for us to admit that

progressive movements in India have not

only used the word ‘Brahminical’ with little

sense of awareness or discretion, but have

dogmatised it beyond redemption, even by

the standards of mediocre political rhetoric.

Source: http://bit.ly/2S2wPxb

Finding an amphora in Arikamedu

It’s as if I were trying to hitch a ride from

Puducherry to ancient Rome. No one wants

to go to Arikamedu. Eventually, a rickshaw

driver shows mercy by agreeing to take me

for ₹350. It’s twice the amount I paid 10

years ago but I accept his pricey offer,

because I recall the archaeological site

being a seven-kilometre drive from

Puducherry, deep inside a jungle.

The rickshaw crosses the bridge over

Ariyankuppam River, which is more of a

lagoon, but the suburbs of Puducherry

continue to sprawl in a multi-storeyed,

concrete landscape rather than giving way

to the huts that I remember. As we turn off

the Cuddalore highway, the road meanders

past Le Paradise Inn AC Bar — which I’m

absolutely sure wasn’t there before.

Women sell fresh catch squatting in the

roadside dust and a narrow path between

boxy houses leads to what’s left of the

jungle. We bump on a dirt track through

rubbish-strewn greenery, the occasional

cactus stares back aggressively, until the

discreetly green-painted Archaeological

http://bit.ly/2S2wPxb


Survey of India fence comes into sight. No

information board welcomes me to

Arikamedu. A handful of cud-chewing cows

are the only other visitors.

The fence protects a striking ruin with very

Roman arches. But it’s actually the remains

of a 250-year-old French mission, built

around the time the first rudimentary

excavation took place. French scientist

Guillaume Le Gentil observed that villagers

were already busy recycling the ruins, which

explains why there’s no ancient town above

ground. But looking closely at the mission’s

walls, I notice two different types of bricks:

one of a familiar size used even today,

whilst others are flatter, larger slabs. I let

my fingers slide across their rugged

surfaces. I feel I’ve seen similar flat bricks at

historical places around the Mediterranean.

It seems the mission was built with looted

bricks.

Romans and the romantics

In the absence of signposting, the way to

explore the site is to follow a path that

leads off from the ruin through the jungle

and towards the river. Butterflies are

disturbed by my steps and flutter up from

the grass. Souls of Romans? Reborn as

tropical insects? According to excavation

reports, somewhere underneath are the

foundations of a 45-metre-long 1st century

warehouse, surrounded by streets and

drains and pits — the latter perhaps used

for dyeing the fine muslin cloth that Tamil

bards called ‘milky mist’. Archaeologists

found imported Roman tableware and wine

amphorae shards suggesting that somebody

who lived here had extravagant habits, but

there were also traces of bead-

manufacturing, signifying that the harbour

housed a mixed population of indigenous

artisans and foreign businessmen.

The site runs half a kilometre along the river

and reaches 200 metres inland at its widest,

and it may harbour more secrets than

archaeology has so far uncovered. In one

clearing, myopic as I am, I come upon a

meadow of bluish flowers, which on closer

inspection turns out to be mineral water

pouches and the explanation for their

presence is in a nearby grove — empty

whiskey bottles and discarded plastic cups.

A romantically inclined couple scamper out

of the undergrowth. I don’t know whether

to apologise for disturbing or take the uncle

approach and explain that historical places

should be used for history purposes only.

But in the end, I tell myself that if Romans

drank wine here, then why shouldn’t a

certain romantic tradition continue?

At the riverfront one may descend at one’s

own risk by an old rope down the scarp. It’s

dicier than expected and I tumble to the

bottom of the steep embankment, which is

basically a mud-caked flat. As I crawl in the

black goo, I’m amazed at the fact that

nothing has been done to develop this as a

tourist destination. Yet it directly links two

of the greatest ancient civilisations, the

Indian and the Roman. As if to prove this, I

spot pot shards in the mud and layers of

bricks in an archaeological jigsaw puzzle laid

bare by recent cyclones. This then is the

quay that used to jut out into the river and

from where, 2,000 years ago, Indian spices,

cloth, jewellery and other luxury products

were shipped to European markets.

Unsolvable riddle


Holding on to that thought and with my

shoes slowly sinking in the mud, crabs

running amok whenever I move, I’m struck

by how, without appropriate signage, this

remains an unsolvable riddle for anybody

who isn’t an expert. It’s not as if nobody has

thought of doing something about it. One

scholar, S. Suresh, discusses in his book

Arikamedu: Its Place in the Ancient India-

Rome Contacts a plan for a Tamil trail to

highlight sites that in ancient days traded

with the West. There has also been talk

about an onsite interpretation centre. Years

ago, a UNESCO World Heritage tag was

proposed and Arikamedu is currently on a

tentative list of ‘Silk Road Sites in India’. But

nothing has happened and when someone

built a museum nearby, he was forced to

shut it down because it’s illegal for private

citizens to collect and display archaeological

finds.

Back in town, where the French left an

occidental esprit behind in 1954, I head for

Rue Saint Louis where a merchant’s 18th

century villa has been converted into the

Puducherry Museum. Unfortunately,

there’s not much information available here

either: when I ask the man at the ticket

counter, who speaks a tiny bit of English, if I

can buy a catalogue or an ASI excavation

report, I’m given a free tourist brochure

that deals mostly with shopping in

Puducherry. I enquire if there’s anybody,

perhaps a curator or director, who knows

anything about the Arikamedu objects, but

he says no.

The museum displays a whimsical collection

of European leftovers like rotting pianos

and a pousse-pousse type of car from the

18th century powered by two natives who

ran behind pushing it. There’s also a room

housing Arikamedu discoveries including an

informative display of beads curated by a

British archaeologist 35 years ago, making it

a valuable museum piece in itself. Their

minuscule size made beads the perfect

export product — fancy Arikamedu style

microbeads have been found as far east as

Vietnam and Bali.

Wheeler’s discoveries

Luckily, I’ve been doing some additional

reading. Finds made by the French in the

late 1930s suggested that Arikamedu might

be a ville romaine that drew the attention

of Mortimer Wheeler, Britain’s celeb

archaeologist who at that time headed the

ASI. Wheeler excavated in 1945 and

announced his discoveries with great

enthusiasm: his report has many quotable if

factually dicey statements such as the claim

that Arikamedu ‘represents the site of a

considerable buried town on the

Coromandel coast.’ No ‘considerable’ town

has been unearthed, but Wheeler’s team

catalogued scores of shards representing

almost every imaginable kind of

Mediterranean pottery. Regarding

amphorae, it is possible to pinpoint not only

the place of origin but even date of export,

as the styles changed with fashions. A

normal-sized amphora held the equivalent

of 36 of today’s bottles and considering that

imported wine costs more than ₹1000 the

value of each amphora (at a time when

shipping was so much trickier) is easy to

imagine.

A coin-sized hole


But I’m especially interested in inspecting

the Arretine tableware that Wheeler

identified: a standardised high-quality

pottery that was used throughout the

Roman Empire from 1st century BCE to

300CE. I recall seeing, on a previous visit, a

fragment stamped with the name of a

prominent potter based at Arezzo in Italy,

suggesting that the plate was manufactured

around 25CE. Since it belonged to a limited

period product line it was significant for

dating all the finds, prompting Wheeler to

declare: ‘Upon the imported Mediterranean

wares the whole chronology of the site, and

its special importance therefore to Indian

archaeology, depend.’

I locate a handwritten label, ‘Italian Terra

Sigillata Plate (imported from Roman

Empire)’, but the holder is empty. Despite

all the sari-clad museum guards keeping a

sharp eye on tourists to ensure that nobody

clicks a pic, somehow the treasure of the

collection has disappeared. I’m in mortal

shock. There’s also a display of Roman coins

— of emperors Gallienus Antoninianus (

three pieces) and Tetricus Antoninianus (a

single piece) – but the occasional empty

coin-sized hole suggests that things have

gone missing here as well.

There’s still enough evidence left for us to

buy the idea that Roman influence was

present. However, along with his path-

breaking discoveries, Wheeler spread an

inflated narrative of Arikamedu being a full-

fledged Roman port. Later archaeologists,

such as Vimala Begley who excavated

comprehensively in 1989-92, disagreed with

him. According to Begley’s findings,

Arikamedu was inhabited and had lapidary

industry as well as pottery production long

before any foreigner set foot here — which

is probably why Romans came in the first

place to trade wine and fine-quality plates.

The rich bead finds suggest an indigenous

export-oriented business that perhaps

started as early as the 3rd century BCE; that

is, at a time when Rome was an expanding

city state but not yet a vast empire.

Scholars therefore postulate that the

excitement over a Roman port in India may

be exaggerated. Rajan Gurukkal argues in

his paper Classical Indo-Roman Trade: A

Misnomer in Political Economy that the

‘history of India’s maritime contact with

Rome, generally described as Indo-Roman

trade, has been a prominent theme of

discussion in her historiography, exciting

several historians with the imaginary notion

of a maritime civilisation…’ His conclusion is

that it should, rather than ‘trade’, be called

‘Roman-Indian exchange, an exchange of

serious imbalance, because of its being

between an Empire and a region of uneven

chiefdoms’. Himanshu Prabha Ray, author

of The Archaeology of Seafaring in Ancient

South Asia, who was personally present

during the excavations helmed by Begley,

elaborates that a ‘myth debunked by the

recent excavations is the identification of

the site as an Indo-Roman trading station…

More significantly, the archaeological

record confirmed that Arikamedu occupied

a nodal position in the inland, coastal and

transoceanic networks.’

Yakshi in Italy

The alternative conclusion may then be that

Arikamedu was essentially one of India’s

early international ports, making local elites


so wealthy that they could enjoy the

occasional amphora of wine, build the

temples that Tamil Nadu is famous for, and

patronise Sangam poetry. The references to

Indo-Roman affairs in ancient Tamil poems

prove the existence but not necessarily

permanence of alien settlements, and

certainly do not disprove the agency of

Indian traders.

In some recent texts, ironically, more

importance is given to Indians in the Roman

empire, which tilts the entire affair in the

opposite direction, despite there being only

fragmentary evidence for Tamil merchant

settlements in Egypt — though this paucity

could be due to the perishability of Indian

goods: spices, textiles. One of the rare

Indian objects discovered within the Roman

Empire, significantly enough in a merchant’s

house, is an ‘ivory statuette found in the

Roman town of Pompeii, which was buried

in lava’ as noted by Partha Mitter in his

Indian Art, which means that this sculpture

— some experts suggest it is Lakshmi and

others that it’s a Yakshi — would have

reached Italy before the volcano’s eruption

in 79CE. Might it have come from

Arikamedu? It’s an archaeological fact that

wines produced in the Neapolitan region

found their way here.

Soma and an olive

Drinking in the sight of the amphorae

shards, I can’t help but wonder what wine

meant to ancient Tamilians. Some scholars

argue that imported wine was for the

consumption of Romans settled here, yet

Tamil poets eulogised ‘cool and fragrant

wine’ that was guzzled from golden pitchers

‘that have been fashioned with high artistry’

such as mentioned in the 56th poem of the

Purananuru. Sanskrit texts mention that

each Indian village had a tavern, while cities

had entire quarters reserved for bar-

hopping. Jeannine Auboyer, in Daily Life in

Ancient India, provides a vivid description of

‘rooms filled with seats and couches, and

also counters where perfumes, flowers and

garlands could be bought. It was a lucrative

business, for the sale of fermented and

alcoholic drinks continued throughout the

day and well into the night.’

But the bar at my heritage hotel offers a

mocktail named ‘Arikamedu’ — a mix of

mango, cranberry and lime juices — which

feels off, considering what heady beverages

the place seems to have served up in

ancient days. If one were to name a cocktail

‘Arikamedu’, it ought to contain a splash of

Mediterranean wine, lashings of soma (can

be substituted with beer), and an olive.

On my last morning in town, I decide to see

what the mouth of the Ariyankuppam River,

which the Romans sailed up, looks like. I

presume I’ll find it if I walk south for as long

as the beach stretches, so I head down the

seaside promenade. Where Goubert

Avenue ends, the beach continues past a

popular bar called Seagulls to the old

French pier which is off-limits for tourists.

Sea of bottles

Behind the pier, black boulders have been

stacked to stop erosion. I climb up the rocks

and stumble upon a narrow street in front

of huts belonging to fisherfolk — men are

mending nets, women dry fish on the

asphalt surface. I cross a stretch of sand to a


makeshift tarpaulin camp from where a

kuccha road leads further.

After another kilometre I see fishing boats

moored in a creek. There’s a hillock I climb

for a better view of the Ariyankuppam, only

to bump into a defecating gentleman. A

sewage pipe vomits out a dark waterfall

into the river, as if all the puke of

Puducherry’s winter party season is

channelled this way.

A wading fisherman throws his net out

again and again. Occasionally the

tempestuous sea reaches his neck and I

worry for his safety. Nearby, three men on a

motorboat trawl the inlet, shrieking

‘yahoo!’ I climb down to where the

Ariyankuppam and the ocean meet and

some youths are finishing a pre-lunch

whisky bottle while filming themselves

dancing surrounded by hundreds of beer

empties — which makes me wonder what

future archaeologists will think if they dig

here?

The sea of bottles is a curious analogy to

the amphorae shards just about a thousand

metres upriver, but on the other side.

The other side of history, one might add.

But with a little signposting Arikamedu

might develop into a centre for

understanding India’s ancient relationships

with the rest of the world — from Europe to

the Far East, for the Arikamedu site was

obviously close to the heart of it all.

Source: http://bit.ly/2GBIii0

Will the real ‘kalamkari’ please stand up?

Pantheon Road in Egmore, better known to

shopaholics as Cotton Street, is stocked

with bright cotton fabrics with hand mudras

and Buddhas. Customers and shopkeepers

alike, call this fabric kalamkari.

One can buy a metre for ₹50. A cotton

kalamkari sari at textile shops in the city

costs a minimum of ₹7,500. Novice

customers go back thinking their kalamkari

purchase on Cotton Street was a loot.

http://bit.ly/2GBIii0


They seldom realise that they bought

screen-printed kalamkari, which is an

imitation. Kalamkari etymologically means

pen-work. “It takes seven to nine days to

paint a kalamkari sari and another four days

to make the cloth market ready, with 10

artists working on it simultaneously,” says

Subba Rao, an artist from Srikalahasti who

has been in this craft for 30 years now.

The screen-printed fabric, on the other

hand, is produced in bulk, using chemical

dyes. “90% of the kalamkaris coming out of

Srikalahasti are screen-printed now,” says

Naveen N, another artist.

Rajesh, the owner of MJR Kalamkari,

Srikalahasti, says he does both hand-

painted as well as screen-printed kalamkari

and adds, “I don’t like producing screen-

printed fabric. But I supply because there is

demand. If my customer asks for a

kalamkari sari for ₹1,500, I cannot offer a

hand-painted one and instead, go in for

screen-printed ones.”

Kalamkari has the Geographical Indication

(GI) protection under the Geographical

Indication of Goods (Registration and

Protection) Act, 1999. GI protection

prevents usage of alternative methods (like

screen-printing) to make the protected

product. It is a violation of the GI protection

to manufacture screen-printed kalamkari.

Various kalamkari artists’ associations have

asked the Government for a ban, but

nothing has happened. “These products are

eating into the market share of traditional

artisans,” says Pushyamitra Joshi, founder

of EcoFab, a micro enterprise that supports

rural artists.

It is difficult to tell an original from an

imitation. “An original will never have

repetitions. If I repeatedly draw a leaf for

example, each leaf will be different and

imperfect. Also, natural dyes are earthy,

blurred and sober, unlike the screen-printed

chemical colours,” says Vijaylakshmi Krishna

of Aavaranaa, Alwarpet.

“The base colour of kalamkari fabric is

always off-white because it is prepared with

myrobalan and buffalo milk. If the base is in

any other colour, you can safely say it is an

imitation. Because buffalo milk is used

throughout the process, the fabric has a

peculiar odour. The pigment penetration in

an original is equal on both sides of the

fabric. This does not happen in screen-

printing,” says Poornhima Sreekirishnan, a

third year student of the National Institute

of Fashion Technology, Chennai.

But lately, imperfections are being added to

the screen-printing moulds and

manufacturers are trying to add the odour

to it as well, making it harder to identify an

imitation, says Padma Rao, a designer from

Bengaluru.

“Artists should form an association to take

their plight to the Government,” says

Pushyamitra.

Source: http://bit.ly/2S7fdjI

http://bit.ly/2S7fdjI


Ekkalam: Trumpet for that folksy touch

During our recent visit to Srirangam for the

Vaikunta Ekadasi utsavam, we happened to

listen to a wind instrument that was played

during the opening of the ‘Paramapada

Vaasal.’ We found out that it was the Velli

ekkalam, unique to a few temples. It is an

aerophone musical instrument played

during temple festivals and processions. It is

also played during the ten-day Manavala

Mamunigal festival celebrated during

Purattasi at Sri Soundararaja Perumal

temple, Nagapattinam. It is usually played

along with a drum or with another ekkalam.

Ekkalam is a trumpet made of brass or

copper. It consists of four valves that are

fastened to each other, with a bell at one

end. The sound emanating from it is

produced by the vibration caused when the

performer blows it. The pitch is changed by

altering the lip tension and the power of air

blown into it.

At Srirangam temple there are two varieties

of this instrument — one in silver (velli

ekkalam), played along with Tiruchinnam

during the Vaikunta Ekadasi festival, and

the other in brass (Sembu ekkalam). Besides

the Vaikunta Ekadasi utsavam, the five-ft

long Velli ekkalam, is played during the

Pagal Pathu and Kaisika Ekadasi utsavams,

the Navaratri utsavam for Thayar and

during Lord Ranganatha’s procession.

The brass ekkalam, on the other hand, is

played when the daily rituals are performed

at the Srirangam temple.

Earlier ekkalam was performed during

consecration, Thaer festival and other

important utsavams. During Adi Tiruvizha at

the Mariamman temple, Padappai, the deity

is taken out in a procession to the

accompaniment of ekkalam .

In the ancient folk art form Ekkala kuthu,

the artistes would dance while playing this

instrument. Thotipati nayakars used to play

this instrument at weddings and other

social functions. Now the Ekkala kuthu does

not exist.


Ekkalam was used when people went for

hunting and while bringing the animal that

was hunted in a procession. References say

that this instrument along with

tiruchinnam, udal, brahmatalam, sangu, are

some of the favourites of Lord Siva that

came down to earth due to the efforts of

king Muchukunda.

In Kumbakonam, this instrument is heard in

some village temples. At the Swamimalai

Temple, while enacting the Surapadman

episode, the villagers from Sundara Perumal

Temple dress themselves as Lord Siva,

Parvati, Ganapati, Muruga and as soldiers,

play instruments such as tiruchinnam,

ekkalam, tharai and come in a procession to

Swamimalai. These instruments along with

Thappattai and Namari are classified as

Gramiya Pancha Vadyam.

References about this ancient instrument

are seen in the stone inscriptions found in

many temples and in the Periyapuranam.

Source: http://bit.ly/2uOhcSa

In full bloom

It is an embroidery technique from Punjab

that literally transports the discerning to a

pristine world where flowers of all shapes

and sizes mesmerise you.

Mela Phulkari, the ongoing exhibition at

India Habitat Centre, is an attempt to

showcase the art form in all its hues. The

twelve installations are named after months

of the Punjabi calendar as Chet (Chaitra),

Vaisakh (Baisakhi), Jeth (Jyeshta), Asaarh

(Aashaadha), Saavan (Shravan), Bhadon

(Bhadon) and Phagun (Phalgund)

http://bit.ly/2uOhcSa


“It is a question of identity, women’s

politics, feminism, empowerment and

memory. It is a way of telling that women

also weave their dreams and their desires.

They also stamp their identity while making

it. Earlier, it was seen as women doing it in

their homes. But now it has come to denote

women’s empowerment,” says curator Alka

Pande.

Dr. Pande, who lived for two decades in

Punjab and visited virtually every village,

says: “Earlier, Phulkari was seen as

something that women did in their homes.

Today, it is being done to seek employment.

So the cloth is handmade, hand-dyed, even

the thread is hand-dyed. Everything is done

with hand only. It highlights the power of

women and gives them an identity.”

Among the artists and designers whose

work is on display at IHC is Pratima Pandey,

a fashion designer and an alumna of NIFT.

She has done interesting installations such

as Soni, the epitome of beauty, elegance

and the women of today. Her lehenga with

a blouse and jacket was lapped by art

aficionados.

“Inspired by the rich, ancient heritage of

Punjab and its craft, the ensemble aims to

draw attention to a woman’s inner

consciousness of love and the desire to

dress up with care.” Pandey says it is a

beautiful craft but very difficult to make as

only a few craftspersons are around. “The

more orders we get the better it would be

for its revival. It is also very expensive so we

use it in a way that it is viable.”

Artist Jagdeesh Singh is showcasing the

magic of Phulkari through two installations.

“Phulkari is a treasure trove for us since

time immemorial. Rather than display my

mastery in Phulkari, I have taken a different

and difficult trajectory to showcase it on my

canvas. Delineating this ancient embroidery

in a four feet by seven feet long painting

was time consuming yet creatively an

extremely gratifying task. It took me an

entire month but I managed to showcase

embroidery, design appeal and aesthetics of

this centuries-old tradition. The uniqueness

of my painting is that the look is exactly the

same as the fabric in which women unleash

their creative spark.”

This year, Mela Phulkari is special as it is

celebrating the 555th anniversary of Guru

Nanak’s birthday. ”

On the significance of Mela Phulkari 6, co-

founder Harinder Singh says it revolves

around the theme of “Jaago Panjab.” “Time

has come for Punjab to wake up and show

the world what it is capable of. The word

jaago is also synonymous with a wedding

tradition of waking up the community of a

new bride as she readies to enter a new

phase of life.”

New lease of life

Describing the 12 installations as living

beings, Dr. Pande says these are the living

traditions. “By the way, the awakening

programme about the rich craft is still being

done in the villages of Punjab. They

Harinder and Kiran have a shop at Janpath

in New Delhi and Amritsar. That is their

commercial side but what they do through

this mela is commendable. Phulakri is not

dying; it is vibrant. And people like Harinder


are keeping it alive by putting it in the form

of digital prints on different fabrics.”

Source: http://bit.ly/2Sioh5A

Tribute to the saint-poetess

Andal and her story has inspired many a

dancer. The Tamil Vaishnav saint-poetess

(an Alvar) of the 8th century is revered as a

deity in many a Vaishnavite household. Her

30-hymn collection, known as the

‘Tiruppavai’, is a very popular garland of

verses on lord Krsna, which to this day are

religiously recited in many families in the

sacred month of Marghazi (Dec 15-Jan 16)

for higher good of mankind.

Recently, Delhi’s Taj Mahal hotel hosted

‘Andal’, a theatrical one-hour evening show

of dance and narration. The select audience

were treated to unique delicacies with a

south-Indian flavour – the Venn Pongal (a

cashew,pepper-tempered kichidi sans

vegetables) and Chakra Pongal (a jaggery

cooked rice with loads of cashew and ghee).

These two traditional items are the

customary offering to deity Andal in the

auspicious month, post recitation. The

flavour of Andal having been created at the

threshold, we were ushered in to an equally

delightful performance which placed us on

a time machine where we are taken back

and forth from present day perpetuation of

Andal’s 30 hymns for 30 days as a

mandatory observance to a peek into the

visual biographical details of the saint-

poetess through traditional Bharatanatyam

and then into the more revolutionary

romantic outpouring of the poetess’s later

work, “Nachiyar Tirumozhi” (a dream poem

where she professes her passion for lord

Ranganatha/Krsna).

Pure dance

http://bit.ly/2Sioh5A


Geeta Gopalakrishnan, the producer and

narrator of “Andal” recited chosen verses

from “Tiruppavai”, interspersed with sweet

memories from her childhood where her

grandma would wake all the grandchildren

up by dawn as stipulated in the scriptures to

purify themselves through a customary bath

and recitation of “Tiruppavai”, followed by

tempting ‘Pongal’. Ace dancer Anita Ratnam

was Andal embodied through her pure

dance and clarity of hasta mudras that were

a joy to behold. The digital screen flashed

pictures of Srivilliputtur temple where

Andal was born and deified along with

English translation of her verses for a non-

south Indian audience. Akhila Ramnarayan

lent the third dimension to the theatrical

with her sonorous rendition of the bold and

beautiful song of the second literary work

of Andal enhanced by Anita’s mime and

dance. Together the awesome threesome,

with an excellent live orchestra, brought

alive the saint of Southern India for the

Delhi elite.

Source: http://bit.ly/2SsNVF0

Lord Yama got his wish fulfilled on this day

The puranic episode of Lord

Vanchinathaswamy appearing before Lord

Yama at the ‘Kirthaatha Kundam’ on Maasi

Bharani and accepting the latter’s wish to

become the Lord’s vahanam was played out

at the Gandharanya Kshetram (abound with

Sandalwood trees) of Srivanchiyam as part

of the Maasi Mahotsavam that took place

recently. For centuries, this unique

procession of Yama carrying the Lord for

the Tirthavari utsavam and providing

darshan to devotees around the four Mada

streets has been the most sacred occasion.

One of the six locations along the banks of

the river Cauvery, the Vanchinathaswamy

http://bit.ly/2SsNVF0


temple in Srivanchiyam was once home to a

vibrant patasala with students learning and

reciting the Vedas and Sastras.

Doraiappa Gurukal (79) joined the temple in

1962 and served for over four decades. He

remembers the years when devotees from

the surrounding villages congregated on the

morning of Maasi Barani. “50 Brahmin

families lived in the agraharam and the

Mada Streets with Vedic chantings being

the integral part of their life. Hundreds of

devotees lined up the streets to watch the

utsavam of this old temple town. In no

other temple do you have an utsavam

where Yama carries the Lord. Belief is that

those who bathe at the teertham on this

day and are part of the procession will be

relieved from all sins.”

Legend goes that Lord Yama, worried at

incurring the wrath of many for being the

one responsible for deciding the mortality

of a person and depressed at having caused

the untimely demise of Markandeya Rishi

came to Srivanchiyam, created Yama

Kundam and undertook penance invoking

the blessings of Lord Siva.

Masi mahotsavam

Pleased with his prayers, the Lord appeared

in front of Yama, on Masi Bharani and

granted him the honour to carry Him

around the streets of Srivanchiyam on this

day. Every year, on the second day of the

Masi mahotsavam, Vanchinatha swamy is

taken out in a procession with Yama as his

Vahana for the Tirthavari utsavam at Yama

Kundam.

Tirthavari on the second day of the 10-day

mahotsavam is another speciality, and is in

recognition of Yama’s penance and his

noble thought of relieving the fears of

devotees from the sins of their previous

births.

When the town was getting ready for the

utsavam, there was disturbance at the

temple, as the temple complex was filled

with hundreds of paddy bags handed over

by Lessees (of temple lands). As is the case

with remote temples these days, there was

a shortage of people to carry the Lord on

the huge and heavy vahana. The situation

was brought under control with the efforts

of the HR & CE accountant. The paddy loads

were cleared from the temple precincts to

ensure the presence of Sripatham

personnel and huge flower garlands were

procured to decorate the Lord, Ambal and

Yama Dharma Raja. These arrangements

helped the priests to focus on the rituals

preceding the procession. On account of the

utsavam, Lord Yama and Chitragupta were

adorned in Silver kavacham.

At this temple, Yama has been accorded a

special status with a separate shrine at the

eastern entrance of the temple. It is a

practice that devotees will have a dip at the

‘Gupta Theertham’ and worship Lord Yama

before they enter the sanctum of

Vanchinathaswamy

How to reach

Srivanchiyam is six km from Nannilam off

the Nagapattinam-Nachiyar Kovil Highway.

From Tiruvarur, one can reach the temple

via Manakkal (around 15 km).

Source: http://bit.ly/2UyRhce

http://bit.ly/2UyRhce


The food-medicine-health link

Ayurveda is a limb of Yoga. Ayurvedic

medicine is made using a combination of

natural plant products, such as roots, stems,

leaves, flowers or fruits of plants, then

transformed through a specific process of

cooking. The same basic principles of

medicinal preparation are applied in the

preparation of food. Both food and

medicine are to be taken at the right time

and in the right quantity. For example,

when you are ill, you cannot reasonably

expect to get better immediately simply by

drinking a bottle of medicine or taking a

couple of pills. Medicine must be taken in

the proper doses and must be given time to

work. The same is true with food.

Whenever any medicine is given to a person

for treatment, dietary advice conducive to

solving that same problem is also given, and

both must be followed for real healing to

occur.

Generally speaking, good food is both

healthy and desirable in taste. To make sure

that food was not only agreeable but also

flavourful, various food combinations were

developed after taking into consideration

the nature of the individual food items

involved. The combinations also needed to

consider whether they would heat or cool

the system. The purpose of a combination

was, and is, to utilise the best

characteristics of both foods. In such a

scheme, it was only sensible that taste

would not be the only consideration. It is

not a simple matter of, for example, adding

sugar to lime juice in order to change its

taste, because both sugar and lime can

increase the heat in the system and lead to

imbalance.

Incidentally, the food combinations found in

North India were, and still are, very

different from those found in South India or

Western India. Both the climate and the


food items that grow in these diverse

regions aredifferent, and their respective

cooking protocols were adapted based on

place. In this context, it must be cautioned

that not all present-day Indian cooking

necessarily conforms to Ayurvedic

principles, either in terms of the

combination of foods or the methods of

cooking. The important point is that

Ayurvedic dietetics can be adapted to the

Western context, by taking into account the

foods that are grown and the type of diet

with which the person is familiar. However,

the combination of the different products

available and the method of cooking must

be founded on traditional Ayurvedic

principles. For example, during winter in the

northern countries of the West, it may be

better to have toast and warm porridge

rather than cold cereal for morning

breakfast, or to take soup or boiled

vegetables in the evening rather than salad.

Simple changes like these will help to

improve both digestion and assimilation.

The plants, fruits and vegetables that we

eat have, in a way, already been cooked by

the sun. Even so, while fruits can generally

be eaten raw, the leaves, stem and so on

should be cooked using external fire. During

the process of cooking, heat brings about a

transformation of the food product. Thus, in

addition to the external cooking of the sun,

food should be prepared such that it

matches the internal fire (metabolism).

Food items that are heavy or difficult to

digest can be made light or easy to digest

through application of heat during the

process of cooking. This is exactly analogous

to adapting a posture to suit the person. If a

person has a history of back pain, then we

should strengthen his back by adapting the

posture. We cannot simply forbid the

person from bending down.

Similarly, we need to adapt a food item to

the person and strengthen the digestive fire

if needed with the support of herbs. This

principle of adaptation is of central

importance in Ayurvedic Dietetics. We

change the product through cooking to

match the condition of the internal fire. For

example, the internal fire (Agni) is not very

strong in an infant, but it becomes very

active during adulthood and finally is of

reduced activity in old age. Therefore, we

must match the food product to suit the

internal fire. The same food item will need

to be cooked differently in order to match

the person and purpose. If an old person is

ill and wants to eat an apple, it may be best

to bake the apple and remove the skin

before they eat it. In the case of young

person who is sick, the apple may be eaten

raw without the skin. And for a baby, it may

have to be baked, the skin removed, then

mashed and finally served with a little

honey.

Indeed, changing the final edible product

through cooking to match the condition of

the internal fire (metabolism) of a person

forms one of the most important concepts

of Ayurvedic dietetics.

Again, we emphasise: This is similar to

adapting the posture for the person in

asana or changing the ratio of breathing in

Pranayama or changing the method of

meditation.

Source: http://bit.ly/31xx33T

http://bit.ly/31xx33T

Riding into the sunrise - 2Thepoint

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