A lone horseman rides in from the horizon, raising golden dust. It’s early morning in Jaisalmer, and as a city wakes, Maharawal Brijraj Singh, the royal descendant of the city founder, is returning from his ride. Time pauses a while - it could be a page from any year in history, but then there has to be a move forward - and it’s 2002.
Rajasthan is a land of rich extremes. Whether it’s the undulating golden sands that shimmer for miles or the brightness of its blazing sun, this Indian state has always been romanticised by legend and on film. What perhaps also distinguishes Rajasthan besides its colourful and spirited people, is its sheer variety in palaces and forts.
Move on to the historical city of Jaisalmeer, the famed fort that was built in 1156 by Maharawal Chandravanshi Rajput Jaisal. This golden fort that was once the centre of travel and trade, is in the last hundred years, facing the tests of Time. Listed as one of the 100 most endangered sites in the world by the World Monuments Watch in 1996, the fort of Jaisalmer faces a unique problem - that of increased tourism, ironically, the one activity that keeps it going.
The Maharawal dismounts and enters his palace and soon the concerns of the modern world envelope him. There is the issue of the conservation of an entire fort to be looked into - to be put forth in planned phases, so that a thousand year old historical edifice does not bite the dust at the turn of the millennium. “I finished my studies, my B A at Indore and returned home to Jaisalmer - I was keen to begin working there, for my father passed away when I was quite young,” says he.
Jaisalmer is a city of half a lakh people and about 2,000 and more live within the crumbling walls of the fort, a beauty in architecture. “It is perhaps the oldest lived in monument in the world,” says Brijraj Singh. The fort, built of dry sandstone on foundations of clay, sand and rock, houses open drains that once proved adequate. But it is that elixir of life, water, that threatens the fort. Water, that was once drawn from wells, used and wasted sparingly, is now piped to serve so many more inhabitants as well as the tourists who visit the ancient fort. “Tourism is important to our people,” says the royal caretaker of future Jaisalmer, “It is the only source of income for my people.” Water from the drains now saturates foundations, penetrating the walls of historic buildings. It is an entire history at stake. The Maharawal convened the Jaisalmer chapter of INTACH in 1996 with support from the World Monument Fund, and the Jaisalmer in Jeopardy Fund, the restoration of four streets within the fort have begun.
In Chennai after a visit to Tirupathi, the Maharawal hopes to make Jaisalmer accessible to more visitors. “India is such a vast country - and we want those down South to know more about the conservation activity,” he says, “We also invite tourists to visit, see the beauty of Jaisalmer.” A royal guest house of the family has been turned into a heritage hotel, the Jawahar Niwas Palace Hotel.
The Maharawal’s typical day begins with a ride around the orchards of his city, followed by paperwork at the palace, visiting the sites where conservation work is in progress. Evenings are spent playing cricket with his two sons and those who work in his palace hotel.
Politics has never been an option because, “...all the people of Jaisalmer are one, and I do not want political loyalties to divide their love for me.” Instead, it is the Sarva Dharma Samanvaya Samiti, an organisation that he has floated, that seeks to unify his people under one peaceful banner.
“I know my people love me and look up to me for everything,” says the young Maharawal, “I want to take the work forward - I love Jaisalmer and feel bonded to the city and its people.”
The Rajputs have always been historically regarded as the ‘custodians of the north’. For Maharawal Brijraj Singh, history has already charted his life’s course.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Glim’mers of Hope - Dr Bala V Balachandran talks of his vision for a future India – in terms of driving educational programmes and enhancing rural lif
It’s an unexpected setting but yet, in a quaint Chennai paradox, there it is. Walking into the temporary premises of the Great Lakes School of Management, set in Shrinagar Colony in Saidapet is something of a shock. From outside, the building looks like a smallish business esablishment, no more.
Walk in past the security sign-in and there you are. Groups of students dressed in jeans and tees or crumpled salwars, mill around looking at ease in what appears to be a global environment. Perched at the reception desk quite casually, scribbling away at a slip of paper, quite oblivious to the people around, is Dr Bala V Balachandran, Kellog Distinguished Professor of Accounting, Information and Management; Director, Accounting Research Center; who is also Hon Dean at the Great Lakes Institute of Management(GLIM) that offers an intensive twelve-month post-grad programme in business management.
If Dr Bala’s various credentials impress, his beginnings offer glimpses of the man who took wing to the US of A, simply for the vast choices in academia that country offered. Born in a small village in the Chettinad region, Dr Bala was brought up at Pudukottai till he was eighteen years of age. He went on to take a Masters from the then fledgling Annamalai University, after which he took on the post of a lecturer. But academics beckoned and Dr Bala looked to greener pastures in this quest for knowledge – America became the given destination. An illustrious academic career followed… which included the No.1 rank and gold medal for his Phd from the Carnegie Mellon University – a feat that remains unsurpassed so far.
Now, 37 years later and a US citizen to book, Dr Bala is back to the city he loves best, a country he wants to give something back to. “I am an Indian,” says the academic whose many students today can be counted among the world’s achievers, “I am back in Chennai because in a sense this is a city where my roots are, my mother and a brother are here. I have lived here and want to return something to the community.”
This longing to `give back’ drives Dr Bala’s other passion – creating quality primary education and spearheading wealth generation in the country’s villages. A programme which has already been drafted on paper, he tells us, one that he has co-written with 77-year-old Kohli, Dept Chairman of TCS and the person he dubs as the `Father of IT’ in India. “Village schools don’t work when there’s just one teacher to oversee all subjects,” he says, “Very often the father makes the children help him in the fields – school then becomes the casualty.” Dr Bala goes on to describe how this vision melds popular media(vis: films and filmstars) to technology(the portable computer/television) to take education to where the child is. “For example,” says he, “Just imagine this laptop or TV fixed to the plough belting out various subjects; and say a popular filmstar like a Jyotika or an Ajit singing it to a tune set by Rahman. The repetitive nature of such a medium would ensure that the subject is memorised well.” This, says the academic, should trigger off an interest in the education process in the children, in turn, drawing them into the world of books and learning. He also describes how such education can be aided and monitored through centralised village systems.
If such a system seems far-fetched, Dr Bala is emphatic that it is workable. “Ensure that every major company adopts at least 2-3 villages,” says he, “Make the NRI put money and `brains’ into the community he came from. For instance, if every NRI puts in a 1,000 dollars and an initiative to help back into his native village – we can make this country prosperous. I am from a village myself and I know how I struggled…”
This coming together of the `American Greatness’ in academics and research with the Indian ethos and values - is at the core of Dr Bala’s vision for India - to bring to enlightenment, its vast knowledge potential. So it’s no surprise that this Padmashri, who has been among the prime movers in setting up B-schools in Gurgaon(Management Development Inst) and Hyderabad(Indian School of Business) bills his state-of-the-art up-and-coming GLIM campus on Old Mahabalipuram Road as a `gurukulam’!
Walk in past the security sign-in and there you are. Groups of students dressed in jeans and tees or crumpled salwars, mill around looking at ease in what appears to be a global environment. Perched at the reception desk quite casually, scribbling away at a slip of paper, quite oblivious to the people around, is Dr Bala V Balachandran, Kellog Distinguished Professor of Accounting, Information and Management; Director, Accounting Research Center; who is also Hon Dean at the Great Lakes Institute of Management(GLIM) that offers an intensive twelve-month post-grad programme in business management.
If Dr Bala’s various credentials impress, his beginnings offer glimpses of the man who took wing to the US of A, simply for the vast choices in academia that country offered. Born in a small village in the Chettinad region, Dr Bala was brought up at Pudukottai till he was eighteen years of age. He went on to take a Masters from the then fledgling Annamalai University, after which he took on the post of a lecturer. But academics beckoned and Dr Bala looked to greener pastures in this quest for knowledge – America became the given destination. An illustrious academic career followed… which included the No.1 rank and gold medal for his Phd from the Carnegie Mellon University – a feat that remains unsurpassed so far.
Now, 37 years later and a US citizen to book, Dr Bala is back to the city he loves best, a country he wants to give something back to. “I am an Indian,” says the academic whose many students today can be counted among the world’s achievers, “I am back in Chennai because in a sense this is a city where my roots are, my mother and a brother are here. I have lived here and want to return something to the community.”
This longing to `give back’ drives Dr Bala’s other passion – creating quality primary education and spearheading wealth generation in the country’s villages. A programme which has already been drafted on paper, he tells us, one that he has co-written with 77-year-old Kohli, Dept Chairman of TCS and the person he dubs as the `Father of IT’ in India. “Village schools don’t work when there’s just one teacher to oversee all subjects,” he says, “Very often the father makes the children help him in the fields – school then becomes the casualty.” Dr Bala goes on to describe how this vision melds popular media(vis: films and filmstars) to technology(the portable computer/television) to take education to where the child is. “For example,” says he, “Just imagine this laptop or TV fixed to the plough belting out various subjects; and say a popular filmstar like a Jyotika or an Ajit singing it to a tune set by Rahman. The repetitive nature of such a medium would ensure that the subject is memorised well.” This, says the academic, should trigger off an interest in the education process in the children, in turn, drawing them into the world of books and learning. He also describes how such education can be aided and monitored through centralised village systems.
If such a system seems far-fetched, Dr Bala is emphatic that it is workable. “Ensure that every major company adopts at least 2-3 villages,” says he, “Make the NRI put money and `brains’ into the community he came from. For instance, if every NRI puts in a 1,000 dollars and an initiative to help back into his native village – we can make this country prosperous. I am from a village myself and I know how I struggled…”
This coming together of the `American Greatness’ in academics and research with the Indian ethos and values - is at the core of Dr Bala’s vision for India - to bring to enlightenment, its vast knowledge potential. So it’s no surprise that this Padmashri, who has been among the prime movers in setting up B-schools in Gurgaon(Management Development Inst) and Hyderabad(Indian School of Business) bills his state-of-the-art up-and-coming GLIM campus on Old Mahabalipuram Road as a `gurukulam’!
Fire and Ice - Blowing Hot… Vikram spews fire for photographer Sharad Haksar even as he hotfoots it up the Kollywood ladder
Vikram is all concentration as he gets ready for a photo-session. He peers into a little mirror balanced on the table as he, with the help of an assistant, painstakingly sticks square bits of paper with letters of the Tamil alphabet on them, all over his face. As he turns to look at you, his face reads `Pithamagan’ in Tamil, again and again and again.
Face to face with this new star that has taken time to rise over the Tamil firmament, and you know that success hasn’t gone to his head. Not really. He’s being just himself, the actor who watched the drama on the stages of Kollywood from the sidelines, waiting albeit patiently, for this one great big break.
It was a patience that paid off, with the one big break that was Sethu. The unusual role of the passionate young man thwarted in love with not your usual rosy ending, Sethu lit up the bright lights of the marquee for Vikram, with his title name `Chian’. “I waited in the wings for ten years,” recalls Vikram, “Everyone likes to believe that it was a struggle, and hold me up as a text-book case of how you can strive and win.” But Vikram used those ten years fruitfully, doing Malayalam and Telugu films. “The only time I was desperate,” he confesses, “Was during the making of Sethu. It took two years and I stopped doing other films. I put in so much of hard work, I had waited ten years and if I wasn’t going to be accepted, I was going to leave(the industry).”
Sethu, tragedy though it was, hit big time. And Vikram has moved on, doing not more than one film at a time, at his own pace, working with scripts he can empathise with. Since Sethu there have been many films to mark his progress – Kaasi, Gemini and more recently, King. The actor who says, “The script is most important, it has to move me. I have to become the character I play,” has nevertheless managed to tread the fine line between performance and popularity without damage to his credibility. In that sense, Gemini, that re-wrote the take at the till in recent times, was a commercial film that Vikram says he enjoyed doing. “I tried to be realistic in my portrayal of the hero,” he tells you. But playing the young man on the wrong side of the tracks did not bother him as much as his role in Sethu. “I watched Sethu in the theatre thirty times!” he laughs. In contrast, he has watched Gemini just once.
Has commercial success has changed life for this youngster who began his life under the arclights as a `pucca junior artiste’ in an ad film co-ordinated by his wife? “I would like to believe it hasn’t changed me,” he says, “I do every film like it’s my first. I want to be there for a long time. Ten years is a long time to relax. I am working really hard, that’s where I guess I have changed – I am working really hard. I really love what I am doing.”
Personally, it is the lack of privacy that could be an issue, but the actor continues his daily schedules undeterred. He walks and cycles around Besant Nagar, where he lives, but the only difference now is, “There are a lot of people cycling behind me,” he says with a laugh, “I meet people, I talk to everyone. But it’s cool.” And yes, he misses going to the beach, for Gemini has re-written his stars and made him a celebrity. For his children, it is a change, “stepping back to watch their father as an actor” signing autographs and handling fans. Vikram worries that he may be `robbing them of their normal childhood’.
The young man who began his career as a copywriter in the ad industry has no illusions about his stardom, however. “Films are transient,” says he, “I waiting for good films and good scripts – like Mouna Ragam, Nayagan, Sippikul Muthu, Padinaaru Vayadhinilae…I like my space and I do one role at a time, getting into the skin of the character.”
He is also biding his time to play the real bad guy. “Not the anti-hero,” Vikram assures us, “But a real evil man, a man with no shades of grey about him.”
Face to face with this new star that has taken time to rise over the Tamil firmament, and you know that success hasn’t gone to his head. Not really. He’s being just himself, the actor who watched the drama on the stages of Kollywood from the sidelines, waiting albeit patiently, for this one great big break.
It was a patience that paid off, with the one big break that was Sethu. The unusual role of the passionate young man thwarted in love with not your usual rosy ending, Sethu lit up the bright lights of the marquee for Vikram, with his title name `Chian’. “I waited in the wings for ten years,” recalls Vikram, “Everyone likes to believe that it was a struggle, and hold me up as a text-book case of how you can strive and win.” But Vikram used those ten years fruitfully, doing Malayalam and Telugu films. “The only time I was desperate,” he confesses, “Was during the making of Sethu. It took two years and I stopped doing other films. I put in so much of hard work, I had waited ten years and if I wasn’t going to be accepted, I was going to leave(the industry).”
Sethu, tragedy though it was, hit big time. And Vikram has moved on, doing not more than one film at a time, at his own pace, working with scripts he can empathise with. Since Sethu there have been many films to mark his progress – Kaasi, Gemini and more recently, King. The actor who says, “The script is most important, it has to move me. I have to become the character I play,” has nevertheless managed to tread the fine line between performance and popularity without damage to his credibility. In that sense, Gemini, that re-wrote the take at the till in recent times, was a commercial film that Vikram says he enjoyed doing. “I tried to be realistic in my portrayal of the hero,” he tells you. But playing the young man on the wrong side of the tracks did not bother him as much as his role in Sethu. “I watched Sethu in the theatre thirty times!” he laughs. In contrast, he has watched Gemini just once.
Has commercial success has changed life for this youngster who began his life under the arclights as a `pucca junior artiste’ in an ad film co-ordinated by his wife? “I would like to believe it hasn’t changed me,” he says, “I do every film like it’s my first. I want to be there for a long time. Ten years is a long time to relax. I am working really hard, that’s where I guess I have changed – I am working really hard. I really love what I am doing.”
Personally, it is the lack of privacy that could be an issue, but the actor continues his daily schedules undeterred. He walks and cycles around Besant Nagar, where he lives, but the only difference now is, “There are a lot of people cycling behind me,” he says with a laugh, “I meet people, I talk to everyone. But it’s cool.” And yes, he misses going to the beach, for Gemini has re-written his stars and made him a celebrity. For his children, it is a change, “stepping back to watch their father as an actor” signing autographs and handling fans. Vikram worries that he may be `robbing them of their normal childhood’.
The young man who began his career as a copywriter in the ad industry has no illusions about his stardom, however. “Films are transient,” says he, “I waiting for good films and good scripts – like Mouna Ragam, Nayagan, Sippikul Muthu, Padinaaru Vayadhinilae…I like my space and I do one role at a time, getting into the skin of the character.”
He is also biding his time to play the real bad guy. “Not the anti-hero,” Vikram assures us, “But a real evil man, a man with no shades of grey about him.”
I - Actor Kamal Haasan on cinema, his oeuvre and why it is important that he is indeed, himself!
On cinema and what it means to him
I think writers, actors (those in the arts), they use it for self-analysis. I use it for myself. The rest of it makes for merely great copy. For me, let me confess that in the whole universe, the central point is me. For without me, I cannot realize or even understand what is happening around me. It will be wrong to play the humility game in a situation so primal as this one.
If you ask me what cinema means to me, it means `cure’. Cure for my ailments, my sickness, my sadness, my personal anger is quenched, drenched, cooled down, my hunger for applause, my need to speak out something vociferously is satisfied…
There are different kinds of anger - everyone goes through it and all that anger stems from the fact that you are angry with yourself… it is your failing. These are the things that cinema helps me analyse. It is as good as religion for me. This is what religion does to the common man – stops him from going mad. If religion is important for him, then cinema is important to me.
On when he first recognised his hunger for applause
When I first walked, my mother(must have) applauded. Perhaps that’s where it began. All of us hunger for it. You love applause too. You haven’t heard it in that tone I have, of two hands meeting, loudly. Everybody hungers for it I think – they like it. It is just that I am fine-tuned towards it, because of my profession and it has a phonetic expression for me.
On critics and criticism
I don’t believe in what the critics say, be it encomiums or negative criticism. In both cases most of them are ill-informed. Here, I am talking about a journalistic critic who is self-conscious and is performing for an audience. So he is editing some of his honesty, ego, camouflaging some of his ego (to write his critique). I discovered this from a friend, a critic, who would put down his pen and have a private chat with me… And also listening to him on a private platform is easier for me… So I don’t take them all too seriously.
I am yet to find somebody telling me a point that is so pertinent that it will change my life.
On his career, where he is now
Where I am, I am late, I know. I have missed a couple of buses. For example, Marudhanayagam could(at the peril of humility!) possibly been like Ang Lee’s film in the West, but much more stronger, like The Passion of the Christ… I sort of punch my fist to my palm and say I missed that bus. It’s still there but it should have been done in ‘98-‘99. I had everything in place except for the finance. I needed ten million and I could never have raised it in India.
On professionalism in cinema
I love Tamilians, I am one. But there is a kind of moffusil clamour, a shandy clamour in business(here), that is no good. There were people who showed professionalism - Vasan had it. Even Meiyappa Chettiar had it. Nagi Reddy has it. L V prasad whose grandson is producing this film(Vasool Raja MBBS), he had it. He built an empire and from my childhood, I have seen it being built and grow into such a mammoth tree that I could rest in its shade.
On cinema and personal life
It’s like the farmer – he lives on the field. Where does his work begin? A lazy farmer will start work whenever he feels like and becomes frantic at harvest time. As for me, I do try to catch everything, but sometimes, I do miss rain and sometimes Nature fails me.
Fortunately, cinema is a versatile medium unlike computer language or programming or surgery or accountancy. They work hard on weekdays and look forward to Saturday and Sunday… There’s disciplined holiday time.
I don’t know how to take a holiday. Life has been one big holiday for the past twenty years when I made some changes – very firm rules, I will do only what I feel comfortable with. Think a lot about it - even if it’s a wrong move, if I enjoy it, it feels good, it is not upto my intellect, I will still do it… and Munnabai(Vasool Raja in Tamil) is one. This is not a film I can (take)pride in after a Hey Ram. But I think it is fun. So what if you are a Schoppenhuer, a Socrates or a Bernard Shaw… your wit and smile should never leave you…
On the roles he would like to play
I am like a reader, if you ask him what he wants to read, he will not be telling you the truth if he choose just one subject. Browsing in a book shop, he buys what he can afford. But if you gave him the choice, he would like to buy everything. That’s the choice I have – but what pushes me to a film is the logistics of the moment. But otherwise, I like comedy. I think comedy is very serious business.
I think(it is) only when you know how to laugh, that you know how to cry…
On real life and being Kamal Haasan
I snoop around like a spy… I watch life that way, because life becomes self-conscious when I am around as a star. It is a handicap. You have to look at a star with that compassion because they have lost touch and very few know that they should try and keep in touch. That is the reason why many turn to drugs, get lost or commit suicide.
I don’t regret it but it is a requirement for me, I want it this way, I wanted this altitude. Now I can’t complain about the thinness of air.
On `celebritydom’
Unfortunately, you can’t live by a different set of rules. Mine had been set already. It comes from a time from the time I was 12 and was a quasi star. A fallen star since nobody remembered me as the same child star who acted in Kalathur Kanamma. So in a way I have experienced being a fallen star. Probably that’s why I `need to know’ things as an important supply of information and as a survival ingredient.
On being Kamal Haasan, on screen
Of course, it happens that a star sometimes overpowers a role. But I try not to do that. One of my biggest success in recent times I would say, in my parameters, is Mahanadi, where you forget the star, where the story overpowered everything else. Another performance I would rate as being important as Mahanadi is Hey Ram. Because in this film, you don’t see the actor. Someone recommended me for an award for the film. But what kind of acting was there? Where is the histrionics? That’s where I see the success of the performance.
Probably I am getting closer to better acting by not making it apparent.
On happiness
Happiness cannot be explained by humour or an ideal situation. Happiness is even realising that you have survived a tragic moment. It is a very funny thing, but people do not have that gratitude for life. They complain. If you are living to complain you have survived that catastrophe. Instead of complaining about Marudanayagam, I have lived now to give an interview on a debacle that could have ruined many careers. That’s the strength of it.
On stardom
Well, I think the same rule about spermatozoa applies here. There are forty million but only one will hit homeground. I was aware of that when I myself was a star struck youngster. So it is a game of heavy chance.
You put in hard work, but still you may fail. There are forty million ways of failing.
Retire
On work and retirement
I have been in cinema since I was a child star, for nearly forty-five years. It is only when I am not able to work comfortably, that perhaps I would retire. Retirement would be due to physical fatigue or failure, rather than of the mind. I am a fan of Kurusowa and a student of Balachander, who is still active. I don’t see why I can’t continue…
It’s a Kamal film!
Yes, unless the director is absolutely full and contributing, it is my film, there are no two ways about it. (I say)if you are a confident director come, take me on. If you are not, then we shall work together.
I think writers, actors (those in the arts), they use it for self-analysis. I use it for myself. The rest of it makes for merely great copy. For me, let me confess that in the whole universe, the central point is me. For without me, I cannot realize or even understand what is happening around me. It will be wrong to play the humility game in a situation so primal as this one.
If you ask me what cinema means to me, it means `cure’. Cure for my ailments, my sickness, my sadness, my personal anger is quenched, drenched, cooled down, my hunger for applause, my need to speak out something vociferously is satisfied…
There are different kinds of anger - everyone goes through it and all that anger stems from the fact that you are angry with yourself… it is your failing. These are the things that cinema helps me analyse. It is as good as religion for me. This is what religion does to the common man – stops him from going mad. If religion is important for him, then cinema is important to me.
On when he first recognised his hunger for applause
When I first walked, my mother(must have) applauded. Perhaps that’s where it began. All of us hunger for it. You love applause too. You haven’t heard it in that tone I have, of two hands meeting, loudly. Everybody hungers for it I think – they like it. It is just that I am fine-tuned towards it, because of my profession and it has a phonetic expression for me.
On critics and criticism
I don’t believe in what the critics say, be it encomiums or negative criticism. In both cases most of them are ill-informed. Here, I am talking about a journalistic critic who is self-conscious and is performing for an audience. So he is editing some of his honesty, ego, camouflaging some of his ego (to write his critique). I discovered this from a friend, a critic, who would put down his pen and have a private chat with me… And also listening to him on a private platform is easier for me… So I don’t take them all too seriously.
I am yet to find somebody telling me a point that is so pertinent that it will change my life.
On his career, where he is now
Where I am, I am late, I know. I have missed a couple of buses. For example, Marudhanayagam could(at the peril of humility!) possibly been like Ang Lee’s film in the West, but much more stronger, like The Passion of the Christ… I sort of punch my fist to my palm and say I missed that bus. It’s still there but it should have been done in ‘98-‘99. I had everything in place except for the finance. I needed ten million and I could never have raised it in India.
On professionalism in cinema
I love Tamilians, I am one. But there is a kind of moffusil clamour, a shandy clamour in business(here), that is no good. There were people who showed professionalism - Vasan had it. Even Meiyappa Chettiar had it. Nagi Reddy has it. L V prasad whose grandson is producing this film(Vasool Raja MBBS), he had it. He built an empire and from my childhood, I have seen it being built and grow into such a mammoth tree that I could rest in its shade.
On cinema and personal life
It’s like the farmer – he lives on the field. Where does his work begin? A lazy farmer will start work whenever he feels like and becomes frantic at harvest time. As for me, I do try to catch everything, but sometimes, I do miss rain and sometimes Nature fails me.
Fortunately, cinema is a versatile medium unlike computer language or programming or surgery or accountancy. They work hard on weekdays and look forward to Saturday and Sunday… There’s disciplined holiday time.
I don’t know how to take a holiday. Life has been one big holiday for the past twenty years when I made some changes – very firm rules, I will do only what I feel comfortable with. Think a lot about it - even if it’s a wrong move, if I enjoy it, it feels good, it is not upto my intellect, I will still do it… and Munnabai(Vasool Raja in Tamil) is one. This is not a film I can (take)pride in after a Hey Ram. But I think it is fun. So what if you are a Schoppenhuer, a Socrates or a Bernard Shaw… your wit and smile should never leave you…
On the roles he would like to play
I am like a reader, if you ask him what he wants to read, he will not be telling you the truth if he choose just one subject. Browsing in a book shop, he buys what he can afford. But if you gave him the choice, he would like to buy everything. That’s the choice I have – but what pushes me to a film is the logistics of the moment. But otherwise, I like comedy. I think comedy is very serious business.
I think(it is) only when you know how to laugh, that you know how to cry…
On real life and being Kamal Haasan
I snoop around like a spy… I watch life that way, because life becomes self-conscious when I am around as a star. It is a handicap. You have to look at a star with that compassion because they have lost touch and very few know that they should try and keep in touch. That is the reason why many turn to drugs, get lost or commit suicide.
I don’t regret it but it is a requirement for me, I want it this way, I wanted this altitude. Now I can’t complain about the thinness of air.
On `celebritydom’
Unfortunately, you can’t live by a different set of rules. Mine had been set already. It comes from a time from the time I was 12 and was a quasi star. A fallen star since nobody remembered me as the same child star who acted in Kalathur Kanamma. So in a way I have experienced being a fallen star. Probably that’s why I `need to know’ things as an important supply of information and as a survival ingredient.
On being Kamal Haasan, on screen
Of course, it happens that a star sometimes overpowers a role. But I try not to do that. One of my biggest success in recent times I would say, in my parameters, is Mahanadi, where you forget the star, where the story overpowered everything else. Another performance I would rate as being important as Mahanadi is Hey Ram. Because in this film, you don’t see the actor. Someone recommended me for an award for the film. But what kind of acting was there? Where is the histrionics? That’s where I see the success of the performance.
Probably I am getting closer to better acting by not making it apparent.
On happiness
Happiness cannot be explained by humour or an ideal situation. Happiness is even realising that you have survived a tragic moment. It is a very funny thing, but people do not have that gratitude for life. They complain. If you are living to complain you have survived that catastrophe. Instead of complaining about Marudanayagam, I have lived now to give an interview on a debacle that could have ruined many careers. That’s the strength of it.
On stardom
Well, I think the same rule about spermatozoa applies here. There are forty million but only one will hit homeground. I was aware of that when I myself was a star struck youngster. So it is a game of heavy chance.
You put in hard work, but still you may fail. There are forty million ways of failing.
Retire
On work and retirement
I have been in cinema since I was a child star, for nearly forty-five years. It is only when I am not able to work comfortably, that perhaps I would retire. Retirement would be due to physical fatigue or failure, rather than of the mind. I am a fan of Kurusowa and a student of Balachander, who is still active. I don’t see why I can’t continue…
It’s a Kamal film!
Yes, unless the director is absolutely full and contributing, it is my film, there are no two ways about it. (I say)if you are a confident director come, take me on. If you are not, then we shall work together.
What Do They Want, Anyway?
Jane, played by Ashley Judd(in the film Someone Like You) may be pissed off. Men love her and leave her even while she’s looking for Mr Right. Sounds familiar? Well, it should. Writers and filmmakers are hooked. The theme is women and what they want. Whether it was the romantic Mel Gibson starrer What Women Want or Anita Nair’s deftly written Ladies Coupe, the hottest discussed topic these days is from a woman’s point of view.
Forget the bra burning and the soapbox equality. Nobody talks of ‘rights’ anymore. Instead, it’s emotions and expectations that get discussed. “It’s only correct that a woman’s new found confidence should be focussed on,” feels S Sundararaj, Principal Consultant at Satyam Computers, “This is of course an age when women are no longer just homemakers - they are important decision-makers in every home. It is high time the media and movies highlighted this.”
“Yes, there’s a change in attitudes prompted by the increasing number of women taking up jobs,” says A Karpagavalli, sociologist, “It’s a phenomenon that has been galvanised by women’s education, urbanisation and the break-down of the joint family system that pampered the males in the family.”
But take a break from all the happy media hype and hunker down to real life, where the man who dishes out regular hot meals to his harassed and pressed-for-time partner is one in a million. The Chennai woman cannot exercise the choice that Judd does in the film - even less can she expect her partner to be Mr Right or the New Age Man. “The change, as I see it,” comments Sushila Ravindranath, CEO of Hansazone.com, “Is within traditional parameters. Young women are asserting themselves in various ways, but within these limited parameters.”
Working women doubling up as homemakers with little help from unsympathetic spouses is not new. “It is still not unusual to find men who think the woman’s place is in the kitchen,” says Ashwin Rajagopalan of Pratika, an image consultancy firm, “But today, there are a lot of women in jobs, working and they are being accepted as co-workers and as bosses.”
With two-income families becoming the norm in urban and semi-urban areas, men have become forced to accept a certain shift in responsibilities and status, and as Ashwin says, “Men who grow up seeing their mothers work will find it easy to adjust to such changes.” Adds Karpagavalli, “Men of the next generation will be able to adapt better.”
Jane, in Chennai, will have to move into Gen Next to exercise her freedom of choice. And find Mr Right.
Forget the bra burning and the soapbox equality. Nobody talks of ‘rights’ anymore. Instead, it’s emotions and expectations that get discussed. “It’s only correct that a woman’s new found confidence should be focussed on,” feels S Sundararaj, Principal Consultant at Satyam Computers, “This is of course an age when women are no longer just homemakers - they are important decision-makers in every home. It is high time the media and movies highlighted this.”
“Yes, there’s a change in attitudes prompted by the increasing number of women taking up jobs,” says A Karpagavalli, sociologist, “It’s a phenomenon that has been galvanised by women’s education, urbanisation and the break-down of the joint family system that pampered the males in the family.”
But take a break from all the happy media hype and hunker down to real life, where the man who dishes out regular hot meals to his harassed and pressed-for-time partner is one in a million. The Chennai woman cannot exercise the choice that Judd does in the film - even less can she expect her partner to be Mr Right or the New Age Man. “The change, as I see it,” comments Sushila Ravindranath, CEO of Hansazone.com, “Is within traditional parameters. Young women are asserting themselves in various ways, but within these limited parameters.”
Working women doubling up as homemakers with little help from unsympathetic spouses is not new. “It is still not unusual to find men who think the woman’s place is in the kitchen,” says Ashwin Rajagopalan of Pratika, an image consultancy firm, “But today, there are a lot of women in jobs, working and they are being accepted as co-workers and as bosses.”
With two-income families becoming the norm in urban and semi-urban areas, men have become forced to accept a certain shift in responsibilities and status, and as Ashwin says, “Men who grow up seeing their mothers work will find it easy to adjust to such changes.” Adds Karpagavalli, “Men of the next generation will be able to adapt better.”
Jane, in Chennai, will have to move into Gen Next to exercise her freedom of choice. And find Mr Right.
Chocolate Should Be Sweet - So should childhood. But beneath the civilised veneer of society are tales that children tell. Of sexual abuse
Dear Reader...
Have you been sexually abused in your childhood.
I shall be as direct:
Yes.
But yes, read on. For Pinki’s well-researched book tells you facts that shock. Like how one in ten children in India are subject to sexual abuse. And how, most of it takes place within the safety of the child’s own home. Shocking? It may well be, for research has shown that Child Sexual Abuse or CSA knows no class barriers.
It is hard not to be affected as you hear Pinki Virani talk about child abuse to a select but fairly large crowd that had gathered at Crossword, the bookshop, last Friday. It is hard not to be affected as she talks of the different kinds of abuse that a child could be subjected to. It is hard not to be affected when an excerpt is read out from the book. A page from Genevieve’s past that replays a memory of childhood abuse and the lingering bitter taste of that remembrance. It is that kind of book. It is difficult to read through, yet hard to put down. Bitter Chocolate is a harsh rendering of a harsher reality.
Addressing a gathering to talk about her book and about CSA was a frightening experience for the journalist-author. “The thing is, I wrote about it and when it was actually time to stand up and say, look it happened to me, I realised it was easier to write.”
It was a gathering, very much like the one in Chennai, listening, and understanding. Then something surprising happened afterwards. Three women approached Pinki, and before she could react, hugged her tight. “There I was, forty-one years old and I had just been comforted by hugs by three strangers,” recalls the author, “I felt like a child.”
Researching the book was not easy. Listening to young victims relate what they had gone through upset Pinki, giving her nightmares. But she carried on writing, talking to psychiatrists, social workers and others. “At the end of it,” she says, “If 50%... no at least 10% of the people who read it, who hear me talk, go home and protect their children, it’s enough.” The book is a comprehensive, almost frightening collection of little tales of abuse, of insensitive adult reactions and of pathetically inadequate laws. At the end of the book, Pinki has provided detailed data, including phone numbers and e-mail ids of people who work in the field.
The response from the public to her tour to publicise Bitter Chocolate has amazed and surprised her. “One woman got up and said, `...it happened to me. I’ve never said it before.’ Another boy got up and said, `it’s happened to me too’.”
For Pinki, it’s been a catharsis, though it wasn’t intended as a book, she confesses. “It is such a private bloody thing,” she says intensely, “The last thing you want to do is deal with it publicly.”
Have you been sexually abused in your childhood.
I shall be as direct:
Yes.
But yes, read on. For Pinki’s well-researched book tells you facts that shock. Like how one in ten children in India are subject to sexual abuse. And how, most of it takes place within the safety of the child’s own home. Shocking? It may well be, for research has shown that Child Sexual Abuse or CSA knows no class barriers.
It is hard not to be affected as you hear Pinki Virani talk about child abuse to a select but fairly large crowd that had gathered at Crossword, the bookshop, last Friday. It is hard not to be affected as she talks of the different kinds of abuse that a child could be subjected to. It is hard not to be affected when an excerpt is read out from the book. A page from Genevieve’s past that replays a memory of childhood abuse and the lingering bitter taste of that remembrance. It is that kind of book. It is difficult to read through, yet hard to put down. Bitter Chocolate is a harsh rendering of a harsher reality.
Addressing a gathering to talk about her book and about CSA was a frightening experience for the journalist-author. “The thing is, I wrote about it and when it was actually time to stand up and say, look it happened to me, I realised it was easier to write.”
It was a gathering, very much like the one in Chennai, listening, and understanding. Then something surprising happened afterwards. Three women approached Pinki, and before she could react, hugged her tight. “There I was, forty-one years old and I had just been comforted by hugs by three strangers,” recalls the author, “I felt like a child.”
Researching the book was not easy. Listening to young victims relate what they had gone through upset Pinki, giving her nightmares. But she carried on writing, talking to psychiatrists, social workers and others. “At the end of it,” she says, “If 50%... no at least 10% of the people who read it, who hear me talk, go home and protect their children, it’s enough.” The book is a comprehensive, almost frightening collection of little tales of abuse, of insensitive adult reactions and of pathetically inadequate laws. At the end of the book, Pinki has provided detailed data, including phone numbers and e-mail ids of people who work in the field.
The response from the public to her tour to publicise Bitter Chocolate has amazed and surprised her. “One woman got up and said, `...it happened to me. I’ve never said it before.’ Another boy got up and said, `it’s happened to me too’.”
For Pinki, it’s been a catharsis, though it wasn’t intended as a book, she confesses. “It is such a private bloody thing,” she says intensely, “The last thing you want to do is deal with it publicly.”
Oops! She Just Did It! - An off-beat story and an all-woman technical crew mark Revathy’s first venture as director
Snow, lush green slopes, colourful costumes and love as gyrating bodies. Even as well-known filmmakers continue to prance up the path to popular mass-appeal, Revathy is singing her own tune. “It just happened,” she grins as she relates how the all-woman technical crew for her soon-to-be released directorial venture, Mitr, My Friend fell into place.
It all began when Priya Venkateshwaran, an assistant to Manirathnam related a story to hubby Suresh Menon. What started off as an interesting script blossomed into a feature film idea. With friends Prabha Koda and Usha Rao handling costumes and Fowzia Fathima directing photography, a team of women came into being. Sudha Kongara co-scripted, while Thamarai wrote the lyrics, Sudha handled the Sound Engineering and Bina took care of the editing. “The only person we actually looked for to complete the team was Bhavatharini,” says Revathy, “I was pretty confused whom to ask - then I heard that Bavatharini was bringing out her own albums.”
Mitr, My Friend talks about the middle-age angst faced by an Indian woman living in the US, who has chosen to remain a housewife. With her teenage daughter finding her feet in a world of her own and a husband busy with a career, the heroine’s life falls into a vaccuum. Interestingly, the story is also told from the point of view of a husband unable to handle his wife’s dilemma. “How they grow to become friends forms the crux of the story,” says Revathy, “Because marriage is also about friendship too.”
Inspired by the Hyderabad Blues genre, Mitr... takes on a whole new world hitherto untread upon in mainstream Indian filmdom. For one, the heroine is not the conventional pretty young thing(PYT), but an older mature woman, played by actress Shobana. “There is no scope for an older actress in our films. She is slotted either as a mother or a sister,” says Revathy, who is determined to find a market for her venture, “We are treading on new terrain.”
So much so that the one song that was recorded for Mitr... proved difficult to handle. “I could not film the song,” laughs Revathy who had no intention of creating on a song and dance routine, “I intend to use it as a background score as a part of the script.”
Revathy is optimistic about the film which has been made in English, Hindi and Tamil. “I feel a good film will always do well,” she states as she talks about her plans to release the English version in the US, Canada and India. “The Hindi version will be released in certain pockets and the Tamil one, in Tamilnadu, of course.”
A pucca storyline. No songs. Soul-searching script. No PYTs. An older heroine. Oops! Is this an off-beat film? Revathy shakes her head vigorously. “You can’t label me,” she says emphatically, “I am just a filmmaker.” And she just did it!
It all began when Priya Venkateshwaran, an assistant to Manirathnam related a story to hubby Suresh Menon. What started off as an interesting script blossomed into a feature film idea. With friends Prabha Koda and Usha Rao handling costumes and Fowzia Fathima directing photography, a team of women came into being. Sudha Kongara co-scripted, while Thamarai wrote the lyrics, Sudha handled the Sound Engineering and Bina took care of the editing. “The only person we actually looked for to complete the team was Bhavatharini,” says Revathy, “I was pretty confused whom to ask - then I heard that Bavatharini was bringing out her own albums.”
Mitr, My Friend talks about the middle-age angst faced by an Indian woman living in the US, who has chosen to remain a housewife. With her teenage daughter finding her feet in a world of her own and a husband busy with a career, the heroine’s life falls into a vaccuum. Interestingly, the story is also told from the point of view of a husband unable to handle his wife’s dilemma. “How they grow to become friends forms the crux of the story,” says Revathy, “Because marriage is also about friendship too.”
Inspired by the Hyderabad Blues genre, Mitr... takes on a whole new world hitherto untread upon in mainstream Indian filmdom. For one, the heroine is not the conventional pretty young thing(PYT), but an older mature woman, played by actress Shobana. “There is no scope for an older actress in our films. She is slotted either as a mother or a sister,” says Revathy, who is determined to find a market for her venture, “We are treading on new terrain.”
So much so that the one song that was recorded for Mitr... proved difficult to handle. “I could not film the song,” laughs Revathy who had no intention of creating on a song and dance routine, “I intend to use it as a background score as a part of the script.”
Revathy is optimistic about the film which has been made in English, Hindi and Tamil. “I feel a good film will always do well,” she states as she talks about her plans to release the English version in the US, Canada and India. “The Hindi version will be released in certain pockets and the Tamil one, in Tamilnadu, of course.”
A pucca storyline. No songs. Soul-searching script. No PYTs. An older heroine. Oops! Is this an off-beat film? Revathy shakes her head vigorously. “You can’t label me,” she says emphatically, “I am just a filmmaker.” And she just did it!
Sifting Memories, Shifting Sands - Model, cookbook writer and actress Padma Lakshmi revisits old haunts
Her bare feet sink into the sand, tracing footsteps that were taken several years past. They skim the memories of childhood, bringing back in a rush, warm summer afternoons playing in the sand, falling off trees and playing hookey with cousins. The sun is sinking low into the west, over treetops, over tall buildings, over the flight of a hundred birds flying home to roost. It’s a typical February evening in Chennai, and Padma Lakshmi is enjoying the feeling of being home, being her old self... just being.
“That,” she points to the well-grown tree shading the front yard of her grandparents’ apartment block, “Perhaps is the tree that epitomises my childhood.”
She may have set the ramps of Milan and New York afire modelling the creations of Ralph Lauren, Emmanuel Ungaro and Sonia Rykiel; given cuisine a new twist of fusion with her Easy Exotic cookbook, or grabbed tabloid headlines courtesy her high-profile relationship with Salman Rushdie, but the gorgeous Chennai lady is a Tamilian at heart.
“I am here in Chennai for at least a month every year,” she says, “I need to come here because my grandparents are here and they are more like parents to me.” But she’s also here to renew her link to her roots, to the city that moulded the initial years of her life.
It is the beach and the blue sea that form the link we are seeking. “I remember how clean and uncrowded it was,” she says as we walk the sands at Elliot’s Beach in Besant Nagar, “I used to pick shells here.” She does attract some attention as we walk down, from the courting couples, the regulars, the odd visitors - who pause to stare interestedly at the tall, languid and striking picture she makes in a muted yellow top and a multi-coloured striped long skirt. Padma may seem oblivious, but really, she does know she’s attracting attention, as she says later, “Sometimes I feel it’s happening to somebody else. I can’t believe it’s me.”
Which is one reason why her Chennai visits are so quiet and muted - they help her catch her breath and be a child again, pampered by indulgent grandparents, and as she says, “I can live like a child - not to worry about anything at all and enjoy each day for what it is.”
Soon we head back home, which is the third floor of an old fashioned apartment block. No lifts. Her long legs take two steps at a time and she suddenly turns to ask, “Shall we go up to the terrace?” We do, to a typically Chennai terrace tiled red, and streaked black with time. “You could once see the sea from here,” she says. No more, for all you can see is a skyline with the tops of apartment buildings, the water tank that serves as a landmark, a few temple gopurams. But the terrace makes Padma happy. It is familiar place, you can see, a favourite haunt to be revisited. And the memories pour out.
Of long happy days playing in the sand. Climbing trees, catching dragonflies, playing cricket. Breaking windows, snitching hibiscus flowers from a neighbourhood mami’s garden or taking a ride behind a cousin’s bike to enjoy soft ice creams on a cone at the old Aavin parlour in the Adyar triangle.
Chennai may be a long way from New York and Hollywood which form her base today, but the connection, remains. Padma has floated a film production company, Lakshmi Films, under which banner she hopes to make interesting, good cinema. “I want to make a film here in Chennai,” she says, as she talks about her search for a scriptwriter who would give life to a storyline she has evolved in her mind. “I would like to do a project here, maybe act. Then I would be able to come to Chennai more often.” Her forthcoming film is the much-expected Glitter starring Mariah Carey, which is due to be released in theatres in India soon.
But then, that is the celebrity picture. Before me I see a laughing face, long strands of hair flying wildly in the strong breeze, talking unselfconsciously about memories of being punished at school, St Michael’s, for getting into a scrape. “There was this teacher who would make me kneel when I was naughty,” she laughs.
We are interrupted by the shrill caws of crows roosting and Padma looks up at the wide branches of her favourite tree, relating an oft-told tale by her grandmother - of the cuckoo laying an egg in the crow’s nest.
The tree stretches its many tentacled arms as if to reach for the sky - its dense foliage protectively enfolds as the evening darkens. Padma says softly, “I want to be known for what I have achieved.”
“That,” she points to the well-grown tree shading the front yard of her grandparents’ apartment block, “Perhaps is the tree that epitomises my childhood.”
She may have set the ramps of Milan and New York afire modelling the creations of Ralph Lauren, Emmanuel Ungaro and Sonia Rykiel; given cuisine a new twist of fusion with her Easy Exotic cookbook, or grabbed tabloid headlines courtesy her high-profile relationship with Salman Rushdie, but the gorgeous Chennai lady is a Tamilian at heart.
“I am here in Chennai for at least a month every year,” she says, “I need to come here because my grandparents are here and they are more like parents to me.” But she’s also here to renew her link to her roots, to the city that moulded the initial years of her life.
It is the beach and the blue sea that form the link we are seeking. “I remember how clean and uncrowded it was,” she says as we walk the sands at Elliot’s Beach in Besant Nagar, “I used to pick shells here.” She does attract some attention as we walk down, from the courting couples, the regulars, the odd visitors - who pause to stare interestedly at the tall, languid and striking picture she makes in a muted yellow top and a multi-coloured striped long skirt. Padma may seem oblivious, but really, she does know she’s attracting attention, as she says later, “Sometimes I feel it’s happening to somebody else. I can’t believe it’s me.”
Which is one reason why her Chennai visits are so quiet and muted - they help her catch her breath and be a child again, pampered by indulgent grandparents, and as she says, “I can live like a child - not to worry about anything at all and enjoy each day for what it is.”
Soon we head back home, which is the third floor of an old fashioned apartment block. No lifts. Her long legs take two steps at a time and she suddenly turns to ask, “Shall we go up to the terrace?” We do, to a typically Chennai terrace tiled red, and streaked black with time. “You could once see the sea from here,” she says. No more, for all you can see is a skyline with the tops of apartment buildings, the water tank that serves as a landmark, a few temple gopurams. But the terrace makes Padma happy. It is familiar place, you can see, a favourite haunt to be revisited. And the memories pour out.
Of long happy days playing in the sand. Climbing trees, catching dragonflies, playing cricket. Breaking windows, snitching hibiscus flowers from a neighbourhood mami’s garden or taking a ride behind a cousin’s bike to enjoy soft ice creams on a cone at the old Aavin parlour in the Adyar triangle.
Chennai may be a long way from New York and Hollywood which form her base today, but the connection, remains. Padma has floated a film production company, Lakshmi Films, under which banner she hopes to make interesting, good cinema. “I want to make a film here in Chennai,” she says, as she talks about her search for a scriptwriter who would give life to a storyline she has evolved in her mind. “I would like to do a project here, maybe act. Then I would be able to come to Chennai more often.” Her forthcoming film is the much-expected Glitter starring Mariah Carey, which is due to be released in theatres in India soon.
But then, that is the celebrity picture. Before me I see a laughing face, long strands of hair flying wildly in the strong breeze, talking unselfconsciously about memories of being punished at school, St Michael’s, for getting into a scrape. “There was this teacher who would make me kneel when I was naughty,” she laughs.
We are interrupted by the shrill caws of crows roosting and Padma looks up at the wide branches of her favourite tree, relating an oft-told tale by her grandmother - of the cuckoo laying an egg in the crow’s nest.
The tree stretches its many tentacled arms as if to reach for the sky - its dense foliage protectively enfolds as the evening darkens. Padma says softly, “I want to be known for what I have achieved.”
The Girl’s For Real! - Meet model Padma Lakshmi, actress and cookbook writer and Salman Rushdie’s new girl
Padma Lakshmi, the Chennai girl who made news on the fashion ramps of Milan is back in the news again. As the media feverishly speculates on this ‘Chennai-girl’ who has been seen accompanying writer Salman Rushdie, 53, to parties and premieres in New York city, Chennai itself, seems unperturbed. The tall, dark-haired South Indian beauty, who has a degree in theatre, wandered into the glam world of modelling quite by accident. “I was studying in Spain for my bachelor’s degree and was in my last semester,” she said to this paper in an exclusive interview, on her visit to Chennai last year, “A modelling agent saw me and gave me his card - I didn’t want to call him and ruin my degree.” But fate intervened when a friend who ensured that she met the agent. And Padma made her way to the ramp, and into the limelight.
Padma remembers summers spent in Chennai. “I was here until I was four,” she said, “And I have come back every summer without fail for three months. In ’78, I studied in St Michael’s Academy in Adyar for a year.” But she was not sure whether she would assimilate into an Indian way of life as an adult. “I am used to having independence,” she said, “My grandfather does encourage that type of independence and I am largely who I am because of him.”
She is the heroine of The Caribbean, a mini series made for Italian television set in the New World, the Americas. This pirate tale set in the 1600s, is the story of the brother who migrated to the New World and falls in love with an American Indian tribal queen. “It’s a story of two brothers... and there is a duel, and one of them travels to the New World and the first thing he sees is me on the beach...,” she says.
Padma is also the heroine of Sandokan, the Darkness and Light, the sequel to the Kabir Bedi film Sandokan, that tells the story of the son of Sandokan. The film had Bedi playing Sandokan, and Marco Bonini playing the son.
Her foray into acting was quite another chance. “I co-hosted a TV show live for six hours,” said the model who is fluent in Italian and English, “I am a classically trained actress and I have studied a lot of modern American playwrights.” The model-actress was not averse to a foray into film-making a la Deepa Mehta. “I have script ideas,” she said, “But if I do make a film in India, I would like total control. I would write, I may not act...” At the time of interview, Padma talked of a script in progress, set in an Indian scenario.
Padma has also written a cookbook, Easy Exotic - A Model’s Low-Fat Recipes From Around the World. The cookbook, amazingly, like everything else in Padma’s life, just happened. At a party for the premiere of a film, she got talking with the head of Miramax films who remembered a friend who had been to dinner at Padma’s house and had loved it. “I said yes, I love to cook and it’s always been a fancy of mine to write a cookbook, I just said it out of my hat and he said, why don’t you.” Miramax had just acquired a publishing concern and Padma went on to meet the editor concerned with ten pages of text about her childhood in India. “I wrote about how I would sit on the floor while the women would cut vegetables,” she said, “Cooking is so much a part of my cultural upbringing.” It turned out, quite coincidentally, that all the people who worked on her book, from the editor to her assistant, were women!
The cookbook contains recipes culled from Padma’s travels as a model and an actress - all tuned to a basic ‘Indianness’(“They call it ‘fusion food’,” says Padma.). The dishes featured are low fat, one dish meals that are nutritious and easy to cook, and coming from a model, that isn’t surprising!
The girl who wished to “make some sort of creative product” on her own, is as individual as they come. “When you are satisfied, you are dead,” she declared, as she talked about her journey into creativity and creative satisfaction.
Padma remembers summers spent in Chennai. “I was here until I was four,” she said, “And I have come back every summer without fail for three months. In ’78, I studied in St Michael’s Academy in Adyar for a year.” But she was not sure whether she would assimilate into an Indian way of life as an adult. “I am used to having independence,” she said, “My grandfather does encourage that type of independence and I am largely who I am because of him.”
She is the heroine of The Caribbean, a mini series made for Italian television set in the New World, the Americas. This pirate tale set in the 1600s, is the story of the brother who migrated to the New World and falls in love with an American Indian tribal queen. “It’s a story of two brothers... and there is a duel, and one of them travels to the New World and the first thing he sees is me on the beach...,” she says.
Padma is also the heroine of Sandokan, the Darkness and Light, the sequel to the Kabir Bedi film Sandokan, that tells the story of the son of Sandokan. The film had Bedi playing Sandokan, and Marco Bonini playing the son.
Her foray into acting was quite another chance. “I co-hosted a TV show live for six hours,” said the model who is fluent in Italian and English, “I am a classically trained actress and I have studied a lot of modern American playwrights.” The model-actress was not averse to a foray into film-making a la Deepa Mehta. “I have script ideas,” she said, “But if I do make a film in India, I would like total control. I would write, I may not act...” At the time of interview, Padma talked of a script in progress, set in an Indian scenario.
Padma has also written a cookbook, Easy Exotic - A Model’s Low-Fat Recipes From Around the World. The cookbook, amazingly, like everything else in Padma’s life, just happened. At a party for the premiere of a film, she got talking with the head of Miramax films who remembered a friend who had been to dinner at Padma’s house and had loved it. “I said yes, I love to cook and it’s always been a fancy of mine to write a cookbook, I just said it out of my hat and he said, why don’t you.” Miramax had just acquired a publishing concern and Padma went on to meet the editor concerned with ten pages of text about her childhood in India. “I wrote about how I would sit on the floor while the women would cut vegetables,” she said, “Cooking is so much a part of my cultural upbringing.” It turned out, quite coincidentally, that all the people who worked on her book, from the editor to her assistant, were women!
The cookbook contains recipes culled from Padma’s travels as a model and an actress - all tuned to a basic ‘Indianness’(“They call it ‘fusion food’,” says Padma.). The dishes featured are low fat, one dish meals that are nutritious and easy to cook, and coming from a model, that isn’t surprising!
The girl who wished to “make some sort of creative product” on her own, is as individual as they come. “When you are satisfied, you are dead,” she declared, as she talked about her journey into creativity and creative satisfaction.
“There’s a Cultural Silence Around Domestic Violence” -
IN CONVERSATION WITH GEETA RAO GUPTA, PRESIDENT, INTERNATIONAL CENTER FOR RESEARCH ON WOMEN(ICRW), ON THEIR RECENT RESEARCH ON DOMESTIC VIOLENCE IN INDIA
How did the project come about?
USAID India had developed a strategy whereby they wanted to use some of their resources to focus on issues of relevance to women. They invited us together with some Indian researchers to do a ‘quick conversation’ with NGOs and government representatives in India to find out what issues we should focus on. It was through that exercise that domestic violence came up as a priority issue.
What exactly did the NGOs come up with?
They wanted work done on the issue. They wanted more resources put into effective responses to violence against women. They also expressed a lack of data, a lack of community based surveys done on the issue. There’s a lot of denial and there’s a cultural silence around domestic violence.
What did the survey throw up?
We did this household-based survey in seven sites in India on a sample of 10,000 households. The data established the 40% prevelance of domestic violence.
How high is this when compared to other countries?
It is on the higher side. The recent review of similar population-based research done across the world revealed a range of 10% to 50% prevelence.
What were the findings?
Domestic violence exists across all classes, all religions and all castes. We also found that women who were employed outside the home, who earned an independent income, did not necessarily experience less violence. Third, we discovered that a very important variable was the differentiation between the education and income levels between the husband and the wife. When the wife earned more or was better educated than the husband, the prevelance of violence was greater.
Is there enough work being done by NGOs on issues regarding women?
Oh, India has one of the most sophisticated women’s movements compared to the rest of the world. It has a very rich tradition of non-governmental responses. It has one of the most innovative, creative and highly developed community responses to a whole range of social issues.
You have also done a second survey...
Our second phase of research was focussed on masculinity, trying to understand men’s definitions of themselves and what they considered to be the ideal Indian male, male honour and those kinds of concepts. We also looked at community level responses to resolving conflicts within the home.
What will the ICRW do with these findings?
We’d like to create a momentum for change. And our work for the past five years on this issue has already begun that. We developed media spots on the subject that were aired on three TV channels last month.
What do you hope these spots will achieve?
Just create a dialogue within people’s living rooms and a greater awareness of the issue. Violence within the home is a reflection of society’s acceptance of violence as a mode of solving problems.
How did the project come about?
USAID India had developed a strategy whereby they wanted to use some of their resources to focus on issues of relevance to women. They invited us together with some Indian researchers to do a ‘quick conversation’ with NGOs and government representatives in India to find out what issues we should focus on. It was through that exercise that domestic violence came up as a priority issue.
What exactly did the NGOs come up with?
They wanted work done on the issue. They wanted more resources put into effective responses to violence against women. They also expressed a lack of data, a lack of community based surveys done on the issue. There’s a lot of denial and there’s a cultural silence around domestic violence.
What did the survey throw up?
We did this household-based survey in seven sites in India on a sample of 10,000 households. The data established the 40% prevelance of domestic violence.
How high is this when compared to other countries?
It is on the higher side. The recent review of similar population-based research done across the world revealed a range of 10% to 50% prevelence.
What were the findings?
Domestic violence exists across all classes, all religions and all castes. We also found that women who were employed outside the home, who earned an independent income, did not necessarily experience less violence. Third, we discovered that a very important variable was the differentiation between the education and income levels between the husband and the wife. When the wife earned more or was better educated than the husband, the prevelance of violence was greater.
Is there enough work being done by NGOs on issues regarding women?
Oh, India has one of the most sophisticated women’s movements compared to the rest of the world. It has a very rich tradition of non-governmental responses. It has one of the most innovative, creative and highly developed community responses to a whole range of social issues.
You have also done a second survey...
Our second phase of research was focussed on masculinity, trying to understand men’s definitions of themselves and what they considered to be the ideal Indian male, male honour and those kinds of concepts. We also looked at community level responses to resolving conflicts within the home.
What will the ICRW do with these findings?
We’d like to create a momentum for change. And our work for the past five years on this issue has already begun that. We developed media spots on the subject that were aired on three TV channels last month.
What do you hope these spots will achieve?
Just create a dialogue within people’s living rooms and a greater awareness of the issue. Violence within the home is a reflection of society’s acceptance of violence as a mode of solving problems.
“India is Full of Colour” - Meeting with Dominic Lapierre
It’s little past half past one when Dominique Lapierre strides into the coffee shop at the Trident and heads straight for the buffet. “I am going to eat,” declares the starved author who has just completed a signing spree at a couple of Chennai bookshops.
On the move, promoting his latest book co-written with Javier Moro, It was five past midnight in Bhopal, the journalist and writer(Freedom at Midnight, City of Joy) is unfazed by the heat and dust. “What attracts me to India is its history, its beauty and the quality of people I meet,” he says, “Even the pirate publishers that I have come across...” That is said deadpan, for Dominique has just picked up a Tamil version of Freedom at Midnight, an unauthorised one at that. He continues, “But above all, it’s the humble people, who are so resilient and so full of courage - they should be an example to the world.”
It is this courage he has sought to capture in his book that maps the Union Carbide tragedy that took place on 2nd December 1984 - from the journey of Ratna Nadar and his family, from the hills of Orissa to the slums of Bhopal and then, into the arms of disaster. It’s the story of a pesticide, Sevin, and how it came to be manufactured in Bhopal using a deadly gas called methyl isocyanate. It’s also the story of the more than 16,000 people killed in Bhopal by a toxic leak of this very gas. Calling Bhopal the ‘City of Begums’, Dominique says, “It deserves something better than this tragedy. It should be a place for visitors to go, because it’s so beautiful.”
“It was very difficult to research the book in the beginning,” he says, “Then as usual, it snowballs. Someone tells you to meet someone else... and then... We met about a thousand people to write this book.” But from the Union Carbide side, however, there was silence. “Union Carbide wouldn’t see us,” says Dominique, “They refused to answer our phone calls, they did not reply to our faxes. They were not keen that anyone write a book on the crime they committed.”
With over 15 lakh copies being sold in Europe and 40,000 copies of the Indian imprint already in reader’s hands, It was five minutes past midnight in Bhopal is a book that’s bringing acclaim to its authors. So does Dominique enjoy being a celebrity? “I am not a celebrity,” insists Dominique who says, “Being well-known is a good thing because it facilitates the work I do. But apart from that, I don’t want to be classified as a celebrity.”
The next project is in the pipeline, he admits, but is reluctant to talk about it. We are told that it is once again about people in ‘very extreme and extraordinary circumstances’, but whether it’s set in India or elsewhere is something Dominique is loath to reveal.
For a person hooked to the warm climes(“I’ll not be writing a book on the Eskimos!”), and who hopes to retire someplace close to Cochin in Kerala, India is never too far from his dreams. “Some countries are black and white,” declares the author, “But India is full of colour.”
On the move, promoting his latest book co-written with Javier Moro, It was five past midnight in Bhopal, the journalist and writer(Freedom at Midnight, City of Joy) is unfazed by the heat and dust. “What attracts me to India is its history, its beauty and the quality of people I meet,” he says, “Even the pirate publishers that I have come across...” That is said deadpan, for Dominique has just picked up a Tamil version of Freedom at Midnight, an unauthorised one at that. He continues, “But above all, it’s the humble people, who are so resilient and so full of courage - they should be an example to the world.”
It is this courage he has sought to capture in his book that maps the Union Carbide tragedy that took place on 2nd December 1984 - from the journey of Ratna Nadar and his family, from the hills of Orissa to the slums of Bhopal and then, into the arms of disaster. It’s the story of a pesticide, Sevin, and how it came to be manufactured in Bhopal using a deadly gas called methyl isocyanate. It’s also the story of the more than 16,000 people killed in Bhopal by a toxic leak of this very gas. Calling Bhopal the ‘City of Begums’, Dominique says, “It deserves something better than this tragedy. It should be a place for visitors to go, because it’s so beautiful.”
“It was very difficult to research the book in the beginning,” he says, “Then as usual, it snowballs. Someone tells you to meet someone else... and then... We met about a thousand people to write this book.” But from the Union Carbide side, however, there was silence. “Union Carbide wouldn’t see us,” says Dominique, “They refused to answer our phone calls, they did not reply to our faxes. They were not keen that anyone write a book on the crime they committed.”
With over 15 lakh copies being sold in Europe and 40,000 copies of the Indian imprint already in reader’s hands, It was five minutes past midnight in Bhopal is a book that’s bringing acclaim to its authors. So does Dominique enjoy being a celebrity? “I am not a celebrity,” insists Dominique who says, “Being well-known is a good thing because it facilitates the work I do. But apart from that, I don’t want to be classified as a celebrity.”
The next project is in the pipeline, he admits, but is reluctant to talk about it. We are told that it is once again about people in ‘very extreme and extraordinary circumstances’, but whether it’s set in India or elsewhere is something Dominique is loath to reveal.
For a person hooked to the warm climes(“I’ll not be writing a book on the Eskimos!”), and who hopes to retire someplace close to Cochin in Kerala, India is never too far from his dreams. “Some countries are black and white,” declares the author, “But India is full of colour.”
To Nab a Brigand - IN CONVERSATION WITH FORMER DGP WALTER DAWARAM, CHIEF OF THE SPECIAL TASK FORCE TO NAB FOREST BRIGAND VEERAPPAN
Did you expect to be made to head the STF by the new government?
I am thrilled by the appointment, but at the same time, I knew I would get the chance.
Are you going to reconstitute the STF?
I have already asked for volunteers. Basic training is enough. All you need is guts. Stamina. And a willingness to rough it out. You have to live off the forest, like Veerappan does.
Do you think Veerappan could have been easily caught before?
Yes, the day Rajkumar was released, if they had entered the forest, within twelve hours they could have caught Veerappan. That was an opportunity missed.
Your posting here has been quite controversial...
No controversy, what controversy?
Tribals living around the forest area have protested against your appointment as head of STF.
There are some front organisations at work here. From ’93 to ’94, I was in charge of the operation. Even if there were allegations of human right violations, how do they crop up only last year? After seven years? It is only after the TNLA joined Veerappan that such allegations have been brought out.
But it has become an issue now, after your appointment as STF chief.
They will try to deter me, but CM has reposed faith in me. She said I will have to do the job. I will do it.
You have said, it will be an “all out” operation.
Yes, it will be an all out operation. The only thing, is that after the five-year gap, we will have to start from scratch.
Will you being using high tech surveillance equipment?
Hi-tech equipment is not necessary. From a helicopter, you can see only a canopy of trees and Veerappan will certainly be alerted.
Do you see this as a personal challenge?
See, I have a responsibility to the dead. People have lost lives under me in the Veerappan operation. All their sacrifices should not go in vain.
I am thrilled by the appointment, but at the same time, I knew I would get the chance.
Are you going to reconstitute the STF?
I have already asked for volunteers. Basic training is enough. All you need is guts. Stamina. And a willingness to rough it out. You have to live off the forest, like Veerappan does.
Do you think Veerappan could have been easily caught before?
Yes, the day Rajkumar was released, if they had entered the forest, within twelve hours they could have caught Veerappan. That was an opportunity missed.
Your posting here has been quite controversial...
No controversy, what controversy?
Tribals living around the forest area have protested against your appointment as head of STF.
There are some front organisations at work here. From ’93 to ’94, I was in charge of the operation. Even if there were allegations of human right violations, how do they crop up only last year? After seven years? It is only after the TNLA joined Veerappan that such allegations have been brought out.
But it has become an issue now, after your appointment as STF chief.
They will try to deter me, but CM has reposed faith in me. She said I will have to do the job. I will do it.
You have said, it will be an “all out” operation.
Yes, it will be an all out operation. The only thing, is that after the five-year gap, we will have to start from scratch.
Will you being using high tech surveillance equipment?
Hi-tech equipment is not necessary. From a helicopter, you can see only a canopy of trees and Veerappan will certainly be alerted.
Do you see this as a personal challenge?
See, I have a responsibility to the dead. People have lost lives under me in the Veerappan operation. All their sacrifices should not go in vain.
CD Story - Multimedia CDs for children offer ‘edutainment’, not just entertainment. But finding the right CD is not so easy. A report
Amusement is the name of this new game, but there’s some learning happening too. CD-Roms that offer to keep your child entertained with games, songs and other multimedia bytes, while at the same time imparting some ‘educational’ information are the hottest substitute to non-stop TV watching.
Parents who have discovered this new medium cry “Eureka”, even as others new to the scene grope to find the CDs they want from a rack crowded with offerings. The trick is to spot the right ones and the price is certainly no indication of a better product.
Most city bookstores sport crowded shelves with piles of CDs to choose from. What makes the choice harder is the fact that most of them look the same, sporting titles like ‘Toddler’(roughly for the two-year-old) to First Grade, Second Grade, etc. Also confusing are various ‘educative’ titles that look like they provide encyclopaediac information on a specific subject, but are actually just games. For instance, one parent picked up a ‘Discovery Channel’ CD titled ‘Evolution’ with the assumption that it would lead her eight-year-old through the story of evolution of life on earth. Sorry guys, that one was a game, even if it was one that featured crocs, reptiles and dinosaurs.
“The Disney Series are good,” offers the shop attendant at Landmark, the Nungambakkam book store, “They are colourful and very popular.” The series are also just a wee bit more expensive than the Scottish series JumpStart(very good, and not to be confused with other similarly coloured and similar sounding JumpAhead or LeapAhead) and Fischer Price(also quite good).
While making a choice, ensure that the CD caters to your child’s age group(mentioned on the CD itself). Also, make up your mind what you wish to buy - if it’s mathematics, language or history or any other specific subject. There are quite a few options in maths, while most history subjects deal with European or American history.
Software Show in the basement of Gemini Parsn Complex(ph:8268434) boasts of a fairly wide collection, and here too, the people in charge spend a lot of time helping you make a choice. The astonishing number of game CDs boggle the mind, even as you attempt to pick ones that serve your purpose. There are quite a few desi productions on the Panchatantra and the Ramayana and some English fairytales too, but it is advisable not to pick them up unless you view a demo first. The Software Show is hosting an exhibition-sale of CDs till the end of the month.
If it’s just pure fun and games you are looking for, then the Phoenix Story Times series(available at any bookstore) on the Panchatantra or Shakal(from Amar Chitra Katha stories) are a good choice. This is one Indian-produced series that stand out in a market clogged with phoren offerings.
A good CD could cost you anything between Rs399(??) to Rs1,400 and more. But like mentioned before, price need not be a criteria. With careful choice, you may just find that the lower priced CD is more useful and interesting.
And psst - read all the fine print on the CD cover!
Parents who have discovered this new medium cry “Eureka”, even as others new to the scene grope to find the CDs they want from a rack crowded with offerings. The trick is to spot the right ones and the price is certainly no indication of a better product.
Most city bookstores sport crowded shelves with piles of CDs to choose from. What makes the choice harder is the fact that most of them look the same, sporting titles like ‘Toddler’(roughly for the two-year-old) to First Grade, Second Grade, etc. Also confusing are various ‘educative’ titles that look like they provide encyclopaediac information on a specific subject, but are actually just games. For instance, one parent picked up a ‘Discovery Channel’ CD titled ‘Evolution’ with the assumption that it would lead her eight-year-old through the story of evolution of life on earth. Sorry guys, that one was a game, even if it was one that featured crocs, reptiles and dinosaurs.
“The Disney Series are good,” offers the shop attendant at Landmark, the Nungambakkam book store, “They are colourful and very popular.” The series are also just a wee bit more expensive than the Scottish series JumpStart(very good, and not to be confused with other similarly coloured and similar sounding JumpAhead or LeapAhead) and Fischer Price(also quite good).
While making a choice, ensure that the CD caters to your child’s age group(mentioned on the CD itself). Also, make up your mind what you wish to buy - if it’s mathematics, language or history or any other specific subject. There are quite a few options in maths, while most history subjects deal with European or American history.
Software Show in the basement of Gemini Parsn Complex(ph:8268434) boasts of a fairly wide collection, and here too, the people in charge spend a lot of time helping you make a choice. The astonishing number of game CDs boggle the mind, even as you attempt to pick ones that serve your purpose. There are quite a few desi productions on the Panchatantra and the Ramayana and some English fairytales too, but it is advisable not to pick them up unless you view a demo first. The Software Show is hosting an exhibition-sale of CDs till the end of the month.
If it’s just pure fun and games you are looking for, then the Phoenix Story Times series(available at any bookstore) on the Panchatantra or Shakal(from Amar Chitra Katha stories) are a good choice. This is one Indian-produced series that stand out in a market clogged with phoren offerings.
A good CD could cost you anything between Rs399(??) to Rs1,400 and more. But like mentioned before, price need not be a criteria. With careful choice, you may just find that the lower priced CD is more useful and interesting.
And psst - read all the fine print on the CD cover!
No Black or White - Life is full of colour for Manjit Bawa
The colourful canvases on the walls of the Alliance Francaise gallery are trademark Bawa. “Bawa did the paintings specially for this show,” says Geetha Mehra, director of the Sakshi Art Gallery. Sakshi organised the exhibition of Bawa’s portraits last weekend.
The genial, bearded painter, wearing startling white, is at his casual best. Missing is the wild hair and the flowing robes that characterise his pictures. “He’s quite a natty dresser you know,” confides a close friend of his.
He appears like one of his paintings, smooth and flowing, moving through life in a background of happening colour. This showing of his is totally about people, there are no Bawa animals to be seen. Are they portraits? “No,” says Bawa, “I have captured a spark in a personality, something that caught my eye...” The paintings show people in various attitudes - a girl reading a book, a man looking into space, in thought. There are no violent emotions portrayed - a smooth calm is all-pervading.
Bawa hit the headlines recently when he withdrew a miniature painting just as it was to come under the hammer at the auction house, Christie’s, saying it was a fake. A former apprentice of Bawa’s, Mahinder Soni, backed by art gallery Arushi, claimed that all Bawa’s miniatures were done by him. Allegations rushed back and forth and the controversy continues to simmer. Does it bother the painter? “No-o-o,” says Bawa. “I knew this could happen some time... That was a copied painting.”
“It’s only illiterate people who whip up a controversy,” he declares, “If someone copies my work or style, it cannot become his. Everyone has been copied, Jamini Roy, Ravi Verma... But they remain just that - copies.” Bawa talks at length about the dearth of real art appreciation and art critics in the country. Nobody takes art seriously, is his grouse.
When he’s not painting, Bawa loves to have people over and cook for them. “I love good poetry, I love good cinema,” declares the footloose painter, “I love to travel too.” Bawa says he watches Manirathnam films and enjoys A R Rahman’s music too, other than some favourite classics of his. No, films can never become an obsession for him, like it did for M F Husain. And yes, there’s cricket too, when the boys are playing well.
Talk about colour and Bawa boasts, “I buy the best colours in the world when I travel. I pick and choose, the best shades, those that dry fast...”
That’s Manjit Bawa for you. No blacks or whites!
The genial, bearded painter, wearing startling white, is at his casual best. Missing is the wild hair and the flowing robes that characterise his pictures. “He’s quite a natty dresser you know,” confides a close friend of his.
He appears like one of his paintings, smooth and flowing, moving through life in a background of happening colour. This showing of his is totally about people, there are no Bawa animals to be seen. Are they portraits? “No,” says Bawa, “I have captured a spark in a personality, something that caught my eye...” The paintings show people in various attitudes - a girl reading a book, a man looking into space, in thought. There are no violent emotions portrayed - a smooth calm is all-pervading.
Bawa hit the headlines recently when he withdrew a miniature painting just as it was to come under the hammer at the auction house, Christie’s, saying it was a fake. A former apprentice of Bawa’s, Mahinder Soni, backed by art gallery Arushi, claimed that all Bawa’s miniatures were done by him. Allegations rushed back and forth and the controversy continues to simmer. Does it bother the painter? “No-o-o,” says Bawa. “I knew this could happen some time... That was a copied painting.”
“It’s only illiterate people who whip up a controversy,” he declares, “If someone copies my work or style, it cannot become his. Everyone has been copied, Jamini Roy, Ravi Verma... But they remain just that - copies.” Bawa talks at length about the dearth of real art appreciation and art critics in the country. Nobody takes art seriously, is his grouse.
When he’s not painting, Bawa loves to have people over and cook for them. “I love good poetry, I love good cinema,” declares the footloose painter, “I love to travel too.” Bawa says he watches Manirathnam films and enjoys A R Rahman’s music too, other than some favourite classics of his. No, films can never become an obsession for him, like it did for M F Husain. And yes, there’s cricket too, when the boys are playing well.
Talk about colour and Bawa boasts, “I buy the best colours in the world when I travel. I pick and choose, the best shades, those that dry fast...”
That’s Manjit Bawa for you. No blacks or whites!
They Reach Across - Two performers who are redefining the classical art
Akram Khan is neatly packaged in black and is faintly alarmed that we want to photograph him as he is. “It’s what I wear to rehearse in,” he protests mildly, even as we sush his inhibitions and train the camera on him. The black, finely tuned torso fairly vibrates with energy, yet outwardly, there is nothing about this performer-choreographer to tell you that he is just about to burst with rhythm and story.
Yet he does and on stage he is simply riveting. It’s not just ‘dance’, it’s something more. You see it in the young man even before you watch him perform. Bangladeshi in origin and trained in Kathak by Pratap Pawer of the Academy of Indian Dance in the UK, Akram remembers being pushed into the art by his mother at the young age of seven. “I remember how much our home was steeped in classical music and the arts,” he says softly, “My mother wished to pursue dance and she was firm that I learn Kathak.” Reluctance soon turned to fascination and Akram has never looked back. To him, as Western as he may be, there is a humming cord that connects him back to the region of his roots. “Chennai seems so much like Dhaka,” he observes, “It’s just that there are not as many rickshaws here.”
As Asian as he is in sensibility, he does not find Kathak restrictive in its classical form. He finds equal freedom in his tightly choreographed solo, Loose in Flight, which he performed at the Museum Theatre as part of The Other Festival.
Do the young throng his performances, or is his audience mostly those among the older generation? “I don’t know as yet how it is here,” he confesses, “But in London, it’s the younger generation who come to see my performances. And they are young Westerners too.” The lightly coiled up body in black, still and attentive to what is being discussed, is the same that bursts into flight on stage. Akram’s vibrant talent is something that will travel beyond the mere classical.
So too, will the theatre of Pondicherry-based Veenapani Chawla, choreographer who runs the theatre group Adishakthi. This year, her Ganapathi, on the elephant-headed God, relied heavily on the rhythmic beats of drums. The group, that brings together different kinds of folk and martial arts, primarily from Kerala and Orissa, into what can be loosely termed as ‘performing theatre’ has made its mark in Chennai.
“Our myths are packed with meaning,” says Veenapani talking of the making of Ganapathi, “They have resonances that do have contemporary meaning.” That these contemporary interpretations do make meaning for the young is something that does not surprise her. “We had a series of workshops in Bombay. We had 70 people in that workshop,” she exclaims, “Young people from colleges, such idealism and such a desire for theatre....” She talks of the idealism that is coming alive among the young... “more now that ever before, more now among the college students.”
Even as the world changes like never before, classical art is buffeted by metamorphing interests. But Veenapani is unfazed by the process of change. “It is the older generation who may not be able to read it correctly,” she says, talking about who may empathise with her production, “This generation has the healthiest attitude. They want everything.”
When change is an integral part of life, art too moves with it, whatever its medium. Like the myth of Ganapathi, it’s creation, growth and destruction in the cyclic sense. Art needs to reinvent to grow.
Yet he does and on stage he is simply riveting. It’s not just ‘dance’, it’s something more. You see it in the young man even before you watch him perform. Bangladeshi in origin and trained in Kathak by Pratap Pawer of the Academy of Indian Dance in the UK, Akram remembers being pushed into the art by his mother at the young age of seven. “I remember how much our home was steeped in classical music and the arts,” he says softly, “My mother wished to pursue dance and she was firm that I learn Kathak.” Reluctance soon turned to fascination and Akram has never looked back. To him, as Western as he may be, there is a humming cord that connects him back to the region of his roots. “Chennai seems so much like Dhaka,” he observes, “It’s just that there are not as many rickshaws here.”
As Asian as he is in sensibility, he does not find Kathak restrictive in its classical form. He finds equal freedom in his tightly choreographed solo, Loose in Flight, which he performed at the Museum Theatre as part of The Other Festival.
Do the young throng his performances, or is his audience mostly those among the older generation? “I don’t know as yet how it is here,” he confesses, “But in London, it’s the younger generation who come to see my performances. And they are young Westerners too.” The lightly coiled up body in black, still and attentive to what is being discussed, is the same that bursts into flight on stage. Akram’s vibrant talent is something that will travel beyond the mere classical.
So too, will the theatre of Pondicherry-based Veenapani Chawla, choreographer who runs the theatre group Adishakthi. This year, her Ganapathi, on the elephant-headed God, relied heavily on the rhythmic beats of drums. The group, that brings together different kinds of folk and martial arts, primarily from Kerala and Orissa, into what can be loosely termed as ‘performing theatre’ has made its mark in Chennai.
“Our myths are packed with meaning,” says Veenapani talking of the making of Ganapathi, “They have resonances that do have contemporary meaning.” That these contemporary interpretations do make meaning for the young is something that does not surprise her. “We had a series of workshops in Bombay. We had 70 people in that workshop,” she exclaims, “Young people from colleges, such idealism and such a desire for theatre....” She talks of the idealism that is coming alive among the young... “more now that ever before, more now among the college students.”
Even as the world changes like never before, classical art is buffeted by metamorphing interests. But Veenapani is unfazed by the process of change. “It is the older generation who may not be able to read it correctly,” she says, talking about who may empathise with her production, “This generation has the healthiest attitude. They want everything.”
When change is an integral part of life, art too moves with it, whatever its medium. Like the myth of Ganapathi, it’s creation, growth and destruction in the cyclic sense. Art needs to reinvent to grow.
The Banana Milk Shake - A story for children
Archith was plonked comfortably on the deck chair, eyes riveted on Cartoon Network, when daddy happened to pass by. “Sit up straight,” barked daddy. Archith, who was attempting to imitate a bag ‘o bones sat up - he warily looked at dad out of the corner of his eye. Oops! I don’t like that look in his eyes, he thought. For yes, daddy was standing there, hands on hips, looking worriedly at Archith.
“For a seven-year-old, Archith,” began dad, “You are the skinniest guy I’ve ever seen. You are just skin and bones!” Oh, oh, thought Archith, not again!
“You need to fatten up,” continued dad, “I know just the thing for it.”
“Yes,” piped up grandpa, who was sitting just behind at the dining table, enjoying a juicy ripe, yellow mango, “He needs to have banana milk shake every day. That will fatten him a bit.”
Daddy turned to look speculatively at his father. “Banana milk shake?” he mused, “Not a bad idea.”
Mamma who was passing by, was immediately roped in for her recipe. “Well,” she said, “It’s the simplest thing you could do. Some banana, some sugar and milk.”
“I’ll make it,” said dad, immediately setting off panic buttons in Mama’s head. “No, no,” she protested, “You...”
“I am going to make it,” dad was resolute.
“Don’t make a mess,” was mamma’s last weak words as Archith caught her sympathetic glance. Archith sat unmoved, but his mind raced. It was not the first time that a `Fatten Archith Programme’ had been launched. He had resisted each time and came out victorious. But it was such a bother. And it disrupted his peacefully skinny existence.
Mamma hovered around Operation Banana Milk shake. “That’s too much banana!” she exclaimed, but her protests were brushed aside. “More banana, better Archith,” she was told by no-nonsense daddy. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she walked out even as two-year-old Advith walked in. “Banana milk shake, yum, yum,” he said. Daddy looked at him with pleasure. “I’ll give you the first glass, little fellow,” he said.
Archith’s heart sank. Advith of the food mania was the bane of his life. Even as his younger brother put away enough food to feed three Archiths, he still seemed to have space for things like banana milk shake. Yuk!
Chilled glasses filled with milkshake appeared on the table. “Taste it!” mamma was ordered. She peered into a glass doubtfully. “Isn’t it too thick?” she queried. “Is it?” dad himself, was now appearing anxious, anxious for a verdict.
Mamma hated banana milkshake herself. But she took a sip anyway, not to set a bad example. “Ummmm...” she said, after a sip. Then she put the glass down, “It’s quite delicious.”
“Gimme, gimme,” said Advith and he began slowly sipping a glassful. Archith waited for the assault.
It came immediately after. “Drink this!” A glass was shoved under his nose and daddy stood quite threateningly by the side. Archith pursed his mouth and shook his head in mute mime. What followed was familiar, with Archith refusing to drink and daddy getting quite upset and extremely hot and bothered.
Mama decided it was time to intervene. She took the offending glass of banana milk shake and dragged Archith off into his room.
“Daddy is quite upset,” she told him, “He had made the milkshake himself. Don’t you think you should taste it?”
“Mamma, please,” begged Archith, “I don’t like the look of it.”
“Well...” Mamma shrugged and set the glass down. “Give that to me,” a gruff voice said from behind. Both of them turned around. It was dad. He took the glass of milkshake and drank it up.
Mother and son looked at each other. Then Archith put his arms around his father’s legs. “Dad,” he said, hesitantly, “I love you but I don’t like milkshake.”
“It’s okay,” said dad gruffly, “But look at you, get skinnier than this and there’d be nothing left!”
Mamma looked rueful. Archith looked apologetic.
“Burp!”
Everyone turned around to see a plump two-year-old waddle into the room with a satisfied look on his face. “Burp! Nice, daddy!”
“For a seven-year-old, Archith,” began dad, “You are the skinniest guy I’ve ever seen. You are just skin and bones!” Oh, oh, thought Archith, not again!
“You need to fatten up,” continued dad, “I know just the thing for it.”
“Yes,” piped up grandpa, who was sitting just behind at the dining table, enjoying a juicy ripe, yellow mango, “He needs to have banana milk shake every day. That will fatten him a bit.”
Daddy turned to look speculatively at his father. “Banana milk shake?” he mused, “Not a bad idea.”
Mamma who was passing by, was immediately roped in for her recipe. “Well,” she said, “It’s the simplest thing you could do. Some banana, some sugar and milk.”
“I’ll make it,” said dad, immediately setting off panic buttons in Mama’s head. “No, no,” she protested, “You...”
“I am going to make it,” dad was resolute.
“Don’t make a mess,” was mamma’s last weak words as Archith caught her sympathetic glance. Archith sat unmoved, but his mind raced. It was not the first time that a `Fatten Archith Programme’ had been launched. He had resisted each time and came out victorious. But it was such a bother. And it disrupted his peacefully skinny existence.
Mamma hovered around Operation Banana Milk shake. “That’s too much banana!” she exclaimed, but her protests were brushed aside. “More banana, better Archith,” she was told by no-nonsense daddy. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she walked out even as two-year-old Advith walked in. “Banana milk shake, yum, yum,” he said. Daddy looked at him with pleasure. “I’ll give you the first glass, little fellow,” he said.
Archith’s heart sank. Advith of the food mania was the bane of his life. Even as his younger brother put away enough food to feed three Archiths, he still seemed to have space for things like banana milk shake. Yuk!
Chilled glasses filled with milkshake appeared on the table. “Taste it!” mamma was ordered. She peered into a glass doubtfully. “Isn’t it too thick?” she queried. “Is it?” dad himself, was now appearing anxious, anxious for a verdict.
Mamma hated banana milkshake herself. But she took a sip anyway, not to set a bad example. “Ummmm...” she said, after a sip. Then she put the glass down, “It’s quite delicious.”
“Gimme, gimme,” said Advith and he began slowly sipping a glassful. Archith waited for the assault.
It came immediately after. “Drink this!” A glass was shoved under his nose and daddy stood quite threateningly by the side. Archith pursed his mouth and shook his head in mute mime. What followed was familiar, with Archith refusing to drink and daddy getting quite upset and extremely hot and bothered.
Mama decided it was time to intervene. She took the offending glass of banana milk shake and dragged Archith off into his room.
“Daddy is quite upset,” she told him, “He had made the milkshake himself. Don’t you think you should taste it?”
“Mamma, please,” begged Archith, “I don’t like the look of it.”
“Well...” Mamma shrugged and set the glass down. “Give that to me,” a gruff voice said from behind. Both of them turned around. It was dad. He took the glass of milkshake and drank it up.
Mother and son looked at each other. Then Archith put his arms around his father’s legs. “Dad,” he said, hesitantly, “I love you but I don’t like milkshake.”
“It’s okay,” said dad gruffly, “But look at you, get skinnier than this and there’d be nothing left!”
Mamma looked rueful. Archith looked apologetic.
“Burp!”
Everyone turned around to see a plump two-year-old waddle into the room with a satisfied look on his face. “Burp! Nice, daddy!”
Cola Wars Go Green
The allusions to Eve are all too obvious. Even as a sultry siren with a sinewy snake in attendance pouts her way through a long cool drink of Mirinda Apple at a vantage point over the Gemini flyover, bang opposite, a pretty model offers you ‘colours’ in a a range of fizzy drinks from Fanta.
Welcome to another round of the Cola wars and this time, it’s colourful. No more dull brown cola or predictable orange. The colour is a zesty green and it’s no coincidence that both the cola giants were there in the market at about the same time. “The stocks have gone,” says an attendant at a city grocery store when asked for an apple drink from either of the cola brands early last week, “You must come in the morning if you want it.” The manager of a medical store next door echoes him, “The apple flavours get over by early afternoon,” he says, “Try tomorrow morning.”
The build-up to the new green branding has been sharp and short.
While television is yet to add the edge, the market is abuzz with curious consumers. As Steffi, a marketing professional says, “I have tried all the new flavours for the heck of it.” She likes the apple flavour of both brands but shows a thumbs down for the watermelon. “I have not tried them as yet, they have not been available in the vicinity,” says Girish of Imagequity, a reputation management firm, “But yes, I would want to try them.” Not a fizz fan, Girish hopes the apple flavours would provide some variety from the mango drinks he favours.
This new avenue into the fizzy wars, feels Anita Gupta, general manager of Hindustan Thompson Associates(HTA), is all about youth and their current obsession with fruity flavours. “It’s also about fun,” she says, “And the young are always experimenting.”
Aggressive advertising by the cola giants is mostly addressed to their own franchise, feels Mani Iyer, who has been in the advertising industry for 36 years. “So one cola brand wants to create an extension into its franchise through a new flavour,” he comments, “And the other doesn’t want to be left behind.”
Finally, fizz is all about fun and hardly much about assuaging real thirst in a city hungry for water. But cola enthusiasts are not complaining. As they swap notes on the new flavours and enjoy the battle for their favour from the sidelines, the cola wars have moved to a new turf. It’s green.
Welcome to another round of the Cola wars and this time, it’s colourful. No more dull brown cola or predictable orange. The colour is a zesty green and it’s no coincidence that both the cola giants were there in the market at about the same time. “The stocks have gone,” says an attendant at a city grocery store when asked for an apple drink from either of the cola brands early last week, “You must come in the morning if you want it.” The manager of a medical store next door echoes him, “The apple flavours get over by early afternoon,” he says, “Try tomorrow morning.”
The build-up to the new green branding has been sharp and short.
While television is yet to add the edge, the market is abuzz with curious consumers. As Steffi, a marketing professional says, “I have tried all the new flavours for the heck of it.” She likes the apple flavour of both brands but shows a thumbs down for the watermelon. “I have not tried them as yet, they have not been available in the vicinity,” says Girish of Imagequity, a reputation management firm, “But yes, I would want to try them.” Not a fizz fan, Girish hopes the apple flavours would provide some variety from the mango drinks he favours.
This new avenue into the fizzy wars, feels Anita Gupta, general manager of Hindustan Thompson Associates(HTA), is all about youth and their current obsession with fruity flavours. “It’s also about fun,” she says, “And the young are always experimenting.”
Aggressive advertising by the cola giants is mostly addressed to their own franchise, feels Mani Iyer, who has been in the advertising industry for 36 years. “So one cola brand wants to create an extension into its franchise through a new flavour,” he comments, “And the other doesn’t want to be left behind.”
Finally, fizz is all about fun and hardly much about assuaging real thirst in a city hungry for water. But cola enthusiasts are not complaining. As they swap notes on the new flavours and enjoy the battle for their favour from the sidelines, the cola wars have moved to a new turf. It’s green.
Drunk on Lines - A self-taught artist reveals his quest for expression
The lines move up and down, lyrical and evocative. Smoothly flowing into figures and shapes, the lines finally, tell a complete story. The lines are A V Ilango’s and the story is Ponniyin Selvan, Tamil writer Kalki’s legendary historical novel, that’s now been translated into English by Karthik Narayan.
For a lonely soul whose childhood was filled with rustic colours - the endless green fields of Gobichettypalayam, reds and browns of village festivals and more - the line, according to Ilango, “has been chasing me.”
The line formed the theme of his life, despite a career as a maths professor. The line chased and turned him inwards till it emerged from his brushes with a life of its own. “I have always had the feeling that something in me wants to express itself,” says the self-taught artist, “The feeling expressed itself in art.”
His first ‘teacher’ in art was the shopkeeper in Poona from whom he purchased the five basic colours in oil paints. “He told me to use linseed oil as the medium,” laughs Ilango, “And that was the only technical information I got. I had no formal training.”
What began as a quest for expression turned into a serious vocation, with active support from his wife Chandra, herself a professer of French.
“Before I had my first exhibition,” says Ilango, “I had a dream that I would become very famous. But that was not to be - it was a bubble.” The real world brought him back to earth very fast with a realisation that one could not live on art.
All the while, the search for the elusive ‘line’ remained. “Till ’85-’86 the line never came to me,” he laughs, “The in ’86, there it was and then, the line began to chase me.”
Ilango, in his own words, became drunk on the ‘line’. It formed the pattern of his life and became his theme songs. The passion for the line comes through in his series of drawings that focus on ‘bulls’ and in his illustrations for Ponniyin Selvan.
The artist had found his niche.
For a lonely soul whose childhood was filled with rustic colours - the endless green fields of Gobichettypalayam, reds and browns of village festivals and more - the line, according to Ilango, “has been chasing me.”
The line formed the theme of his life, despite a career as a maths professor. The line chased and turned him inwards till it emerged from his brushes with a life of its own. “I have always had the feeling that something in me wants to express itself,” says the self-taught artist, “The feeling expressed itself in art.”
His first ‘teacher’ in art was the shopkeeper in Poona from whom he purchased the five basic colours in oil paints. “He told me to use linseed oil as the medium,” laughs Ilango, “And that was the only technical information I got. I had no formal training.”
What began as a quest for expression turned into a serious vocation, with active support from his wife Chandra, herself a professer of French.
“Before I had my first exhibition,” says Ilango, “I had a dream that I would become very famous. But that was not to be - it was a bubble.” The real world brought him back to earth very fast with a realisation that one could not live on art.
All the while, the search for the elusive ‘line’ remained. “Till ’85-’86 the line never came to me,” he laughs, “The in ’86, there it was and then, the line began to chase me.”
Ilango, in his own words, became drunk on the ‘line’. It formed the pattern of his life and became his theme songs. The passion for the line comes through in his series of drawings that focus on ‘bulls’ and in his illustrations for Ponniyin Selvan.
The artist had found his niche.
Grabbed by the Grabooberry! - A book for children with unusual visual interpretation
“We joke with each other that we’ll become famous after we die,” laughs Rathna Ramanathan. Anushka Ravishankar’s softer pitched voice joins in. The duo take amiable digs at each other - “I think we need a break from each other” - as they pose for a picture for Madrasplus. But the elation on their faces is plain to see. Yes, they are thrilled to bits, even if the Special Mention in the `White Ravens’ catalogue will bring them no awards, no medals, not even a certificate.
The Ravens catalogue lists 250 books for youth and children from publishers in 49 countries. Special Mentions are given to deserving books, and Anything But a Grabooberry, with delightful nonsense verse by Anushka, illustrated typographically by Rathna, has received one in the catalogue.
“Oh, yes, we are thrilled,” say the cheerful duo. The fact that the book may not immediately become popular reading does not bother them. “The book is a little ahead of its time,” Anuska says, “Some may like it, some may not. But we had so much fun doing it.”
The book, which begins by telling you, ‘I want to be a beehive’ runs into several pages of delightful nonsense verse, stating that it wants to be anything but a grabooberry.
The typeface takes off from where the words end, lending them the requisite visual imagery, so there’s no need for graphic illustration. Words turn into pictures. The bee literally buzzes across the page and an octopus with twelve tentacles stares at you from a page even if it’s just made up of letters and number in different shapes, sizes and fonts.
The book is excellent material for a child just about to begin reading. There is the thrill of discovering new life to words, “Oh look mama, there’s a bee!” “What is a grabooberry? Will it grab me?” Every reading lends itself to fresh meanings and interpretations. However, Anything But a Grabooberry is far from making it to the best-seller lists as yet.
Rathna admits that it will take time before the book takes off. “Adults see books differently from children,” she says, “And it is hard to change pre-conceived ideas of how a book should be.” Adds Anushka, “We somehow felt that the Indian market has missed the point of the book.”
Have we? “The book market is always full of surprises,” says Gita Wolf of Tara Publishing which has brought out the book. At Rs85 per copy, Anything But a Grabooberry is easy to pick up. And who knows? Life is full of surprises, right?
The Ravens catalogue lists 250 books for youth and children from publishers in 49 countries. Special Mentions are given to deserving books, and Anything But a Grabooberry, with delightful nonsense verse by Anushka, illustrated typographically by Rathna, has received one in the catalogue.
“Oh, yes, we are thrilled,” say the cheerful duo. The fact that the book may not immediately become popular reading does not bother them. “The book is a little ahead of its time,” Anuska says, “Some may like it, some may not. But we had so much fun doing it.”
The book, which begins by telling you, ‘I want to be a beehive’ runs into several pages of delightful nonsense verse, stating that it wants to be anything but a grabooberry.
The typeface takes off from where the words end, lending them the requisite visual imagery, so there’s no need for graphic illustration. Words turn into pictures. The bee literally buzzes across the page and an octopus with twelve tentacles stares at you from a page even if it’s just made up of letters and number in different shapes, sizes and fonts.
The book is excellent material for a child just about to begin reading. There is the thrill of discovering new life to words, “Oh look mama, there’s a bee!” “What is a grabooberry? Will it grab me?” Every reading lends itself to fresh meanings and interpretations. However, Anything But a Grabooberry is far from making it to the best-seller lists as yet.
Rathna admits that it will take time before the book takes off. “Adults see books differently from children,” she says, “And it is hard to change pre-conceived ideas of how a book should be.” Adds Anushka, “We somehow felt that the Indian market has missed the point of the book.”
Have we? “The book market is always full of surprises,” says Gita Wolf of Tara Publishing which has brought out the book. At Rs85 per copy, Anything But a Grabooberry is easy to pick up. And who knows? Life is full of surprises, right?
Papa Didn’t Preach - Yet, his daughter has set standards for herself. An encounter with Aishwarya Rajnikanth
Cleopatra’s nose, it has been said, would have changed the course of history, had it been shorter. For Aishwarya too, it’s the nose that betrays her lineage.
Sharply sculpted, the nose leads you to a pair of laughing, shy eyes and a face that wears a perpetual wide smile. And surprise, surprise! This classical Bharatanatyam dancer has none of the nakras that you associate with kids of Superstars aspiring superstardom themselves.
“It is something that I have lived with all my life,” says Aishwarya Rajnikanth, talking of the surname she bears that shines like a beacon before her, everywhere she goes. So much so that she has grown up with a perpetual awareness of what One Who Bears The Name must be. So there can be no masala dosas at Woodlands or bhajjis on the beach. But Aishwarya is not discontented. “We’ve got everything we need brought to us,” she says, surprised that we should ask, “And yes, we do go to the beach, but only late at night.”
She’s proud of papa, who has not preached, but who has nevertheless been an idol to her, a symbol of all that she needs to achieve. She also deems as precious every moment of time that she is able to spend with him. “He’s not a person who’s got everything easily. I know what hardships he went through to reach where he is today,” she says softly, “But he doesn’t talk about it to me at all. He’s too simple a person to talk about it. We don’t ask him too, because the time we get with him is very little - we make the most of it.” Aishwarya’s dearest possession is a book, Living with the Himalayan Masters, gifted to her by her father.
Being Rajnikanth’s daughter does have its downsides too. “We have lived a very protected life,” she says of herself and sis Soundarya, “We have had somebody accompanying us wherever we went.”
“I have a lot of friends,” says this youngster who wants to complete her course in Corporate Law, learn more dancing and do serious theatre. Yes, films are an option, but no. She’ll not run around trees because that’s not what she really wants to do. She’d rather write a script or direct and do something more that would benefit others. Right now, she’s not sure what direction it would take.
Yet, her goal is clear. “Someday, people will know me as myself, not just as my father’s daughter. When people will know my father as `Aishwarya’s father’...” Papa would be pleased.
Sharply sculpted, the nose leads you to a pair of laughing, shy eyes and a face that wears a perpetual wide smile. And surprise, surprise! This classical Bharatanatyam dancer has none of the nakras that you associate with kids of Superstars aspiring superstardom themselves.
“It is something that I have lived with all my life,” says Aishwarya Rajnikanth, talking of the surname she bears that shines like a beacon before her, everywhere she goes. So much so that she has grown up with a perpetual awareness of what One Who Bears The Name must be. So there can be no masala dosas at Woodlands or bhajjis on the beach. But Aishwarya is not discontented. “We’ve got everything we need brought to us,” she says, surprised that we should ask, “And yes, we do go to the beach, but only late at night.”
She’s proud of papa, who has not preached, but who has nevertheless been an idol to her, a symbol of all that she needs to achieve. She also deems as precious every moment of time that she is able to spend with him. “He’s not a person who’s got everything easily. I know what hardships he went through to reach where he is today,” she says softly, “But he doesn’t talk about it to me at all. He’s too simple a person to talk about it. We don’t ask him too, because the time we get with him is very little - we make the most of it.” Aishwarya’s dearest possession is a book, Living with the Himalayan Masters, gifted to her by her father.
Being Rajnikanth’s daughter does have its downsides too. “We have lived a very protected life,” she says of herself and sis Soundarya, “We have had somebody accompanying us wherever we went.”
“I have a lot of friends,” says this youngster who wants to complete her course in Corporate Law, learn more dancing and do serious theatre. Yes, films are an option, but no. She’ll not run around trees because that’s not what she really wants to do. She’d rather write a script or direct and do something more that would benefit others. Right now, she’s not sure what direction it would take.
Yet, her goal is clear. “Someday, people will know me as myself, not just as my father’s daughter. When people will know my father as `Aishwarya’s father’...” Papa would be pleased.
No Strings Attached - Sitarist Ravi Shankar’s daughter says that she plays the sitar for the love of it. Not because she’s her father’s daughter
The girl in black cut-offs and purple T-shirt who trips into the room on really high-heeled black sandals looks like any high-spirited teenager. The gold loops in her ears tremble as she plops herself down on the sofa cushions and tugs off her sandals with a quick, “I can’t wear these anymore.”
The eighteen-year-old could just be any other teen obsessed with studies, parties and movies. But she isn’t. She’s Anoushka, classical sitarist, purely classical, she tells you, who has not yet attempted to experiment with other music as yet. Not yet, “because she does not believe in doing something for the sake of doing it.”
Having a legend for a father, helps. Maybe. But Anouska insists that life as sitarist Ravi Shankar’s daughter has not made a difference. “I hang out with friends, go out dancing and parties like any other teenager,” says the youngster who lives in California, but plans to shift to New Delhi in the near future. “There was no pressure on me to learn music - but I did, and it took at least a couple of years for me to really grow to love playing it.”
Anoushka feels that her mother Sukanya did have a part to play in her creative journey, even if it’s her father’s influence that stands out - she has been trained completely by Ravi Shankar since the age of nine, beginning her lessons on the ‘baby sitar’ that was made specially for her. “My first music teacher was my mother,” says Anoushka, “She taught me to sing in the Carnatic style.” The young musician is excited to be in Chennai, her mother’s homeground, which she remembers as a place where one made toys out of coconut fronds or traced kolams on the floor.
She’s well aware that a famous father makes it that much more harder to prove oneself, but it really is not an issue. “People are going to say I am here because of him and that I am not as good as him, but that’s normal.” Anoushka is certain that she plays the sitar, not to carry her father’s legacy forward, but because she loves it. “But I am very lucky to have my father,” she smiles, “And there are bound to be comparisons.”
The eyes sparkle and her face is animated as she talks. Yes, she can carry off a sari, she’s just learnt to walk in one, but alas, her mom has to drape it for her. When she performs, it’s the salwar kameez for her... She’s absent-minded, she’s done a lot of silly things and if she were re-born, she’d perhaps choose to be studying literature, or theatre or work with women... But really, you can make out, it’s music she’d rather be really making.
Life for this young sitarist and classical pianist who has toured the world, is poised precariously on the edge of fame. She has recently released her second album Anourag. “I like it a lot better than my first one, Anoushka,” Anoushka declares, “It’s a lot more personal. I have not worried about much, just played and enjoyed the process.”
The eighteen-year-old could just be any other teen obsessed with studies, parties and movies. But she isn’t. She’s Anoushka, classical sitarist, purely classical, she tells you, who has not yet attempted to experiment with other music as yet. Not yet, “because she does not believe in doing something for the sake of doing it.”
Having a legend for a father, helps. Maybe. But Anouska insists that life as sitarist Ravi Shankar’s daughter has not made a difference. “I hang out with friends, go out dancing and parties like any other teenager,” says the youngster who lives in California, but plans to shift to New Delhi in the near future. “There was no pressure on me to learn music - but I did, and it took at least a couple of years for me to really grow to love playing it.”
Anoushka feels that her mother Sukanya did have a part to play in her creative journey, even if it’s her father’s influence that stands out - she has been trained completely by Ravi Shankar since the age of nine, beginning her lessons on the ‘baby sitar’ that was made specially for her. “My first music teacher was my mother,” says Anoushka, “She taught me to sing in the Carnatic style.” The young musician is excited to be in Chennai, her mother’s homeground, which she remembers as a place where one made toys out of coconut fronds or traced kolams on the floor.
She’s well aware that a famous father makes it that much more harder to prove oneself, but it really is not an issue. “People are going to say I am here because of him and that I am not as good as him, but that’s normal.” Anoushka is certain that she plays the sitar, not to carry her father’s legacy forward, but because she loves it. “But I am very lucky to have my father,” she smiles, “And there are bound to be comparisons.”
The eyes sparkle and her face is animated as she talks. Yes, she can carry off a sari, she’s just learnt to walk in one, but alas, her mom has to drape it for her. When she performs, it’s the salwar kameez for her... She’s absent-minded, she’s done a lot of silly things and if she were re-born, she’d perhaps choose to be studying literature, or theatre or work with women... But really, you can make out, it’s music she’d rather be really making.
Life for this young sitarist and classical pianist who has toured the world, is poised precariously on the edge of fame. She has recently released her second album Anourag. “I like it a lot better than my first one, Anoushka,” Anoushka declares, “It’s a lot more personal. I have not worried about much, just played and enjoyed the process.”
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Start to Finish! - A residential finishing school in Ooty offers diverse experiences to young women who are looking for a rounder completion to their
WE are at lunch with a bunch of demure young ladies in uniform. There is polite conversation as we eat – one cannot help but notice the almost perfect table manners of these young women who hail from as diverse places up North like Vadodara and Poona. And they are here to “learn everything under one roof” as Karthika Sokalingam who has come all the way from Sri Lanka to undergo the course, puts it.
It’s in the scenic environs of Ooty that the Good Shepherd Finishing School is set. Not the commercial, tourist-infested Ooty that most of us see – white buildings distinguish the school campus set in about 70 acres of what is called the `Palada campus’ that sits on a sloping hillside of verdant green. The air is cool and crisp.
The Palada Campus houses the junior sections of the Good Shepherd International Residential School. As classes wind up, bells ring and there’s the bustle of various activities… one group of ten year olds head to the centrally heated swimming pool as another class is cajoled out of it… some head for music class while yet some others move on to lab or computer class.
The young women we have just lunched with are the first batch of the finishing school students who have come here for a year’s learning of languages, etiquette, Home Science, personality development and more. “We tell parents `Give us a girl and take back a lady’,” says P C Thomas, founder and principal of the Good Shepherd group of institutions. He talks of the genesis of the finishing school idea. “I visited several finishing schools in Switzerland,” says he, “But none of them covered all aspects of a rounded education – that’s why we have made our finishing school academic-oriented.”
The group of girls from the first batch who are eager to tell us about their experience, not only learn the soft skills, but are taken through unexpected courses in this school. Besides piano, French, riding, self-grooming and others, they are taken trekking rock climbing and camping. First aid, repair of vehicles, parenting and pre-marriage counselling and more form the crux of their finishing process. As Shruti Agarwal of Vadodara who has completed her 12th standard in commerce says, “I have learnt independence and gained confidence. It is difficult to learn things in a small town like Vadodara. And this course is giving me a lot of exposure.” Shruti has plans to go on to learn accessory designing in London.
“Do you know, none of these girls have the TV watching habit?” says Tulsi Bhatia, Dean of the Finishing School, “All of them have developed the reading habit.” Tulsi goes on to tell us that there have been many add-ons in the course that had not been envisaged before. “Reiki and meditation, the making of cocktails and mocktails…” Tulsi laughs as she says, “We are also learning with them.” The girls have also undergone a horticulture workshop where they were taught how to grow mushrooms and distill aromatic oil.
What seems like an eclectic basket of activities make for an interesting year of study, as the girls say. Ann, a chemical engineer from Thailand, took a year off from work to undergo the course. “I wanted to learn English and more,” says she. Akshaya, who hopes to go on to do IPS or fashion designing.
We throw a question at the girls. “Do any of you aim at getting into a beauty pageant?” There are a few quizzing looks, the others shake their heads emphatically. “No, no,” they all murmur. A little probing, and almost all the girls tell us of ambitions other than those pertaining to beauty. We say almost, since Munira has already told us that she would want to do an MBA and then perhaps graduate in make-up and hairstyling. Still, ramp-walking does not seem to be an ambition, as yet.
“We encourage them to be better individuals,” says P C Thomas, when we talk to him later, “We want them to become good women, good daughters, good mothers and finally, good daughters-in-law.” He goes on to say that the girls are being groomed to take on life in the modern scenario with confidence.
“Most people do not know what a finishing school really is,” emphasises Thomas. While traditional finishing schools stop with etiquette, grooming and social skills, Good Shepherd hopes to take the concept further, in accordance with the needs of the present. In that sense, the school is also attempting to battle misconceptions regarding `finishing schools’ – of merely imparting `social skills’ to `society women’. “We want to go beyond that – expose the girls to a whole variety of skills and experiences,” says he.
The school is planning to expand the premises of the finishing school in anticipation of a larger batch of girls the next year. “We expect about 50 girls in the coming academic year,” says Tulsi Bhatia.
The school will shift into the Baroda Palace Campus(once a royal summer retreat) of the Good Shepherd School, that now houses the classes and the dorms of the higher secondary. But at the moment the first little group of `young ladies’ are gearing up to face exciting futures. But not until their one year at the finishing school is done.
The Good Shepherd Finishing School can be contacted at Ootacamund 643004, ph:423-255037, 550491, 550492; email:info@gsfs-ooty.org
Baby Brother Blues - Story for Children
“That’s mine! Give it back at once.”
“No, I want it, I want... Amma...”
“Give it back.” Slap, slap.
Amma marched into the room. “What’s going on?” she demanded. Suresh looked guilty. “Did you beat your baby brother?” she asked him.
“But amma! He took my...”
“Suresh!” Amma was firm. “I have told you a hundred times not to beat him. If you have a problem, you come to me.”
Baby Brother, all of three, sniffled and said, “I want that.”
He was pointing to the brand new Superman toy that Suresh prized and was keeping so carefully out of the little fellow’s reach.
“Give it to him, Suresh,” Amma told him gently, “He will play with it for some time and give it back to you.”
Of course, Baby Brother did give Superman back to him. Except that, by now, Superman had lost his glowing shield and his arm was revolving a bit loose on his shoulder. Suresh gritted his teeth. He was close to tears. Life was not fair. Oh why did he have to put up with a younger brother?
His best friend Amit had come a visiting. Suresh excitedly pulled out some of his favourite toys and they had a good game of good soldier vs bad soldier going. In the middle of particularly exciting part of the game when Amit’s soldier was jumping off a helicopter on a bad guy, Baby Brother toddled into the room, rubbing the sleep off his eyes with chubby fists. “Anna,” he exclaimed excitedly, “Me too, me too!” “Oh, no,” groaned Suresh, looking at Amit, who was grinning from ear to ear.
Baby Brother was certainly not shy. He plonked himself in the middle of the game, dislodging a few strategically placed soldiers, and began playing with the toys. Amit grinned and try to grab the soldier from his little hands. “No, no,” said the little fellow, “Gimme, I want it.”
“Give it to him,” said Suresh resignedly, “Let’s play something else.” But Amit wasn’t listening. He was busy teasing Baby Brother. He was putting the soldiers away, out of the reach of his little hands and saying, “Now try to get them.” Baby Brother jumped a few times, his arms outstretched upwards, but of course, the toys were well out of his reach.
Suresh felt a tightness clench his throat. “Hey Amit,” he said, “Leave him alone.” “Look at him jump!” laughed Amit, then turning to the little fellow said, “Jump higher... higher, come on!”
The little fellow jumped up and down saying, “Please, please... I want it...”
“Hey, what’s with you?” Suresh demanded, grabbing the toys and thrusting them into Baby Brother’s hands. Amit had now turned sulky. “I was just teasing him,” he said. “You can’t tease him,” replied Suresh quite angrily, “He is my brother and these are his toys too.” Amma, who was just then bringing in some milk and snacks on a tray, smiled to herself.
After Amit had left, Suresh sat down to complete his homework. By his side sat his Baby Brother playing... with their favourite Superman toy.
Interview with Walter Dawaram
It’s the mustache that does it. It distracts and takes away the attention, bringing
to sharp recall a similarly luxuriant spread on another more famous face. A face
you know to be that of a poacher, a smuggler and a killer, still at large in the
forests of Sathyamangalam. A scrawny, dark-skinned man, often shown to be
shouldering a rifle, living out a life that is fast becoming a legend. If albeit of
dubious proportions.
But the face that bears this mustache is not his, it belongs to the man who has
sworn to become his nemesis. A man whose name hangs nebulously in the
battle-scared unsacred history of policedom, a man with a colourful past and an
unfathomable code of ethics.
In these chequered times, being a cop is perhaps the hardest of all in Tamilnadu.
But Walter Dawaram, ex-DGP and the man who has several times in the recent
past said that he would go “all out” to catch the brigand called Veerappan, is
unfazed. The little tubelit room that barely holds a table and three chairs in the
Nellai Friends Club where he sits, is comfortably air conditioned, insulated from
the blazing heat of the Tamilnadu scorcher of a summer. Dawaram is preparing
to go after Veerappan, re-constituting a demoralised Special Task Force(STF)
in what could well be the encounter he had waited all his life for.
“I have immersed myself in sports after retirement,” he says calmly as he poses
for the pictures, “I have been the Vice President of the Indian Athletic
Association.” We see the first glimmers of a smile. The smile becomes wider as
he tells me, “You are perhaps the last journalist I will be giving an interview to
before I go after Veerappan.” He goes on to talk of the perils of talking to
vernacular papers and the pitfalls of being misquoted time and again.
He should know. A man who made news in his time, not just for his exploits as
a policeman, but in his relationships too, Dawaram has seen it all. The final
straw perhaps, was the Austalian Coralie Younger who went to press talking
about her relationship with the cop, and her twin children, who she said, were
fathered by him. From Dawaram’s side, there was silence. He weathered the
storm as the sensational news sizzled into silence.
He also does know of the ignominy of not being taken seriously. Like for
instance, when he offered to catch Veerappan five years ago. And when actor
Rajkumar was kidnapped. “There were no real efforts to catch the brigand,” he
says, “It was an operation that petered out. From 1993 May to December
1994, the STF under me, had many encounters with Veerappan and we
reduced the gang to five. Then when the government changed, I was transferred
as DG Training.”
After that, says Dawaram, repeated requests on his part to catch the brigand,
were refused by the new government. “They thought he would surrender,” he
says, “Or they had a soft spot for him. The STF was allowed to detereorate.”
The subject touches a sore spot as he goes on to recount how the government
talked of offering amnesty to the brigand. That’s when Dawaram filed an
affidavit at the Supreme Court asking that the brigand face trial. “I had lost ten
men under me, while killing 58,” he says, “And about twenty others were
injured. I have a responsibility for the dead. He can’t be allowed to go scot
free.”
The zing is back and the man is raring to go. “I am thrilled at having been asked
to head the STF,” he says, “I have asked for volunteers to join the STF. All you
need is guts, stamina and a willingness to rough it out. You have to live off the
forest all through.” And he is prepared to head them in his usual `go-get-em’
style. “I will be with my men all through, that’s how I have always been.”
As he talks once more about the inaction of the past five years, you realise that
for Dawaram, Veerappan is the itch, the sore, that has refused to go away. “In
the last five years,” he says, “There’s been no encounters, death on his side, no
casuality on ours.” The Veerappan itch remains, and to his chagrin, seems to
have grown back in strength again. “The worst thing is,” he states, “is allowing
extremist organisations to join him. He then became strong enough to kidnap
Rajkumar.”
“The day Rajkumar was released, if they had entered the forest, they would
have nabbed him in twelve hours.”
“We are back to square one now.”
The squares stretch long and far. Black, white and gray.
“It will be an all out operation.”
Ominous. Will he deliver?
Huh, scoff the disbelievers. Nobody wants to catch Veerappan. Not one
politician. It’s all a scam.
“It’s not a Mahabharatha or a Ramayana of a battle. It does not need any
techniques of strategies. It’s just a simple operation.”
Huh, scoff the disbelievers. Bet you fifty bucks Veerappan will never face the
music.
“Veerappan is a brigand. A smuggler and a poacher. Now he’s become a
`Tamil champion’ thanks to all those extremist outfits who have been in touch
with him. But he’s killed more Tamilians than Kannadigas.”
Walter Dawaram has been given a year to catch Veerappan.
“If he surrenders or if we can disarm him, we can catch him alive. Otherwise,
we have every right to shoot him.”
The thick canopy of the Sathyamangalam forests hide the brigand and his tribe.
They also hide a good many secrets. If only we knew….
Sandhya Sridhar
Die Another Day -The trendy MADrasi lives again, in a new avtaar in the city he loves and he aims to live again!
James Baand rules. The Chennai screens, of course, and in Tamil. If dishum dishum is old-fashion, then `lave’, I mean, love is in. Or shall we say kaadhal?
Kaadhal is everywhere. It’s on the buses, it’s on the bikes, it’s everywhere… even in class rooms. No wonder all our directors and scriptwriters are inspired to pen yet another `differently’ re-freshing love story. And here, kaadhal is a cone ice!
Where did my veshti go? Out of my wardrobe and my life. Jeans pants is fashion, says thalaivar. My thalaivar good fashion – he wear purple shirt and green pant – very, very smart!
But lot of MADrasis are smarter. Especially the girls, you know. They wear nice pants, nice dress and show nice legs. Also nice colour, colour hair. Then I see Sonali Bendre. She wearing very smart pants. Fashion, now I know, is a smart pant, I say.
I like to talk. So I get cell phone. Who I talk with? Lots of people, lots and lots… I talk on the road, I talk in the cinema hall, I talk on my mobike, I talk at home and even at temple. Fashion, is also a smart cell phone.
Where is our kaapi? Gone O gone and we have coffee instead and aiyaiyo, coffee pubs!
Then I see pubs, pubs everywhere, but not all serve kaapi. So I go and see and have fun. Fashion, I know again, is to be seen in a pub.
You dance? No, no not Bharatanatyam! Even though that’s all you can see in the city sabhas. I mean dance… disco dance. I like disco. You shake, shake, shake… great fun and great fashion. You know what I mean? I go mad on the dance floor…
Then I want to see cinema. I want to see all cinema – Hindi, English, Tamil. Very fashion, very fun. I go see, I sit on nice sofa seat, I drink Coke, I eat popcorn, I eat chips and have nice time. Everyone have nice time.
Then I go to East Coast Road. Very bumpy ride in my new Indigo car. Bump, bump, bump. Then we go to amusement park… what’s its name?… and we go on many thrilling rides… bump, bump, bump!
What? What you say? I am mad? No, no! We are like this only. We like life super fast. As Mr Baand says, I’ll Die Another Day.
The Return of Bahal - Aniruddha Bahal unwraps his journalistic exterior to unveil a startlingly radical writer. Bahal, who now runs the news portal c
You sit in the Main Street at the New Residency Towers in T Nagar and there’s the new and sensational novelist of the season sitting before you. Aniruddha Bahal seems mildly amused by the publicity circus that surrounds the launch of his book Bunker 13, but he’s there in the middle of it all, not merely traversing the Indian metros, but other parts of the world too, as part of the promotional activity. “I would be happy if more people read the book,” says this arts and philosophy graduate who briefly dominated the limelight as prime mover and shaker with Tehelka.com, the portal that orchestrated the sting operations revealing corruption in high places. Now the limelight is on him again, this time for a novel that’s receiving accolades and you want to know if all that attention is easy to take. “I am enjoying it,” he says, “Every author wants his book to do well.”
Of course, you tell him, Bunker 13 and MM, the novel’s protagonist, are but Tehelka and Bahal himself. There’s more amusement. “People like to believe that,” says he, “But I had begun the novel sometime in 1996, much before Tehelka happened.” Bahal was with Outlook then and he took a couple of months `unpaid leave’ to begin the book. “50 to 60% of the book was written then,” he says. He admits that writing is a result of the sum total of one’s experiences, but, he reiterates, the novel is certainly not autobiographical.
The novel is perhaps not autobiographical, you muse, as you race through its pages. Shockingly unusual and explicit (we are Indians, thank you very much) the plot is about MM, a journo, who lives life dangerously with drugs, wild sex, corruption and arms dealing. This isn’t certainly the Great Indian Novel. MM is our country’s most interesting fictional anti-hero in modern times. Halfway through the plot, MM is talking inside your head, disconcertingly so – as he deviously wends his way through a maze of intrigue.
Bahal began his life as a `salesperson’, you learn, selling office automation products in Calcutta for a few months. After a brief stint of dabbling in business, he joined India Today in ’91… “That’s where my journalism career began,” he says, “People ask me whether I’ll take writing full time… I think I’ll do a lot of writing and a lot of journalism – my life will be alternating between the two.” Being a recognisable face, he feels, will not spoil him for further investigative assignments. “People’s memories are very fickle and short,” he smiles, “Even the accolades are very fickle…”
“It’s flattering,” he admits to you, of reviews in the international press that have likened his writing to those of Joseph Heller, Norman Mailer and a Hunter Thompson. “But I have a long way to go, even if they have compared me to those guys.” The reviews in the media have been thick and fast you notice, many billing Bunker 13 as India’s first foray into the thriller genre. But Bahal tells you, “I would not like to slot my book.”
“Writing is a very intrinsic and internal process,” the man says, telling you that he enjoyed the making of Bunker 13. His second book? It is very much on, and he’s working on it. But he cannot worry too much about high expectations after a good first offering. “You can’t write if you think too much of what people will think of your writing.”
You change the topic once again to Tehelka and how it changed his life. “The Tehelka experience taught us a lot of things – it hardened us to a lot of beliefs. It kind of opened our eyes to what a certain system of governance would react to you if it was found on the wrong side of things,” says Bahal, “We got a lot of goodwill from the ground but then, the moment we needed help, no one would stick their necks out.” It’s a legacy of your colonial past feels Bahal saying, “It’s a sort of grovelling towards power. A grovelling to a system.”
But, there’s Tehelka, you tell him, then there’s Bunker 13. “That has in a way hurt me,” retorts the author, “People look at the book through the prism of Tehelka, which is not what it should be.” Then you return to the premise that MM could be Bahal and that somewhere within Bunker 13, there’s Tehelka.
This premise, you infer, could be wrong – facts are sometimes, weirder than fiction. Nevertheless, Bunker 13 marks the Coming of Age of Indian fiction.
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