On a Trip to Kazhugumalai - My article in The Hindu

Here is an article I wrote based on inputs from Pa Ramachandran, sculptor and Asian Studies scholar and my visit to Kazhugumalai, about 50 km from Kovilpatti

click here to see the article.

Start reading about Carbon Credits - My Article in Chaikadai

Chaikadai has published the article I wrote on the implementation of carbon credits exchange in different sectors in Chennai. The editors have put in links to key concepts so that this article makes a good starting point for a reading on the subject.
click here to view the link

My Poems published in Muse India

Dear Reader Here are some of my poems (four) that muse India has kindly deigned to publish...

click here to view the link

Humour makes the world go around. a fast disappearing quantity how I envy those from whom jokes slide out as easily as pebbles sliding down a well oiled slope. The shine of humour is not unlike the gentle clinking sound of pebbles either so I'm glad that analogy came to my mind.

But when writing a story will the humourous portions have come out all that spontaneously or is it in rewriting that the humour really comes gets pinned on
to the core? I suspect it is the latter. I am going to try my hand at it. Wish me luck folks.

Project desalination - An Article for Himal

An article I wrote on desalination plants that are about to be constructed in Chennai has been published by HImal Southasian web magazine as a web exclusive article.

click here to view the link

The link may take some time to upload...If you have trouble viewing it copy and paste this link to a browser

http://himalmag.com/component/content/article/4729-project-desalination.html

காற்றில் பதிந்த வேர்கள்

எவ்வளவு முயன்றும்
மண்ணில் பதிய முடியா வேர்கள்
ஆகாசத்தில் ஊன்றி
நீல காற்றை சுவாசித்து வளர்ந்தன...
வேர்கள் அறியவில்லை
இது ஒரு வினோத முயற்சியென்று...

Serious Men - by Manu Joseph

It's a clean and transparent plot - Ayyan Mani works in the institute of Theory and Research in Mumbai as a personal assistant to the director Arvind Acharya. While the latter boasts of a stellar career in research and a zealous search for the ultimate truth, the former lives in a chawl and has only one aim - to make the lives of his wife and son a bit better and more out-of-the-ordinary than it actually is. Acharya's arch rival in the Institute is his friend from schooldays Nambudri and his gang of radio astronomers. Portrayed as "lesser" scientists this gang is more easily led by fashionable research than the Director Acharya and this often creates friction between them in matters of funding and space. Into this equilibrating stream arrives turbulence in the form of the beautiful Oparna Goshmaulik, who comes to collaborate with Acharya on his pet project - looking for microbes from outer space.

(Well naturally when I describe Oparna as turbulence I am only stating the way she is projected in the novel and this has no inputs from me personally)

The mesh of interactions between Ayyan, Acharya and Oparna form the basis of the story of Serious Men.
The novel is extremely well written, excellently easy to read and flows fast and has a clarity of writing that many a writer would envy. There are also some points where I tend to feel more sensitivity would have made it a work of art instead of a commodity. Since the novel's already a big hit there's no danger in me stating reasons for saying that here -
Ayyan Mani's portrayal as a Dalit and Oparna's fatal attraction to Acharya have a plastic and forced quality about them - they are seen plainly to be the devices that were put in to make the plot work. Similarly, the shallowness of the experiment that Acharya is all so fired up about strikes a discordant chord. This too appears too deliberate - why microbes, why not neutrinos? It's very fishy.

Manu Joseph's defence for writing about a dalit in negative terms is that he has broken a barrier, an elitist mindset towards viewing the Dalit with compassion... buried into this defence itself is a monolithic image of Dalits that I really object to. Besides all this, making him a cunning man who eavesdrops on his bosses calls (he goes to ingenious lengths to do so, which is where the science fiction really works) and steals quiz papers and does all kinds of underhand things in the novel...Not to mention the way he speaks of women in general and brahmin women in particular.

There's much more one can say, about the absence of anyone except Tamils Bengalis and Malayalees in the institute etc but it's better to read the novel and decide for yourself...

A Short Note Against Death Penalty

'An Eye for and Eye makes the whole world Blind'

And this is a much milder statement than what is applicable to state sponsored death penalty. The above statement is reminiscent of a feudal system where retribution of a personal kind is sought between equals or people of comparable power. In the case of the death penalty, we have the huge and powerful state acting on behalf of certain individuals to enact the death penalty. So it is a much stronger statement that has to be written against death penalty than the above one.

Can one state orchestrated murder be the answer for another? The all powerful state can easily afford to invest time and resources on the analysis of what is the sickness that gives rise to violence and crime. By matching a death for another, it need not pretend to be less powerful than it is or, in other words, try to make out that it is only equal to the murderer.

Above lines are in response to rajan kurai's note on facebook

Fasting for justice

Today Anna Hazare is the face of TV - thanks to his very successful promotion at the beginning stages of his movement and mobilising of huge crowds. There are multiple views on him which have come out into the open and it is anybody;s guess how things are going to take a turn. But another person who has been on a fast for nearly eleven years now - Irom Sharmila Chanu, a manipuri girl, daughter of a Class IV employee of an Imphal Veterinary Hospital was only twenty-eight when she began a fast to end the draconian Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act of 1958.

It was 2 November 2000, when after a bout of insurgency the army shot down ten civilians including a 62-year-old woman and 18-year-old Sinam Chandramani, winner of the National Bravery Award of 1988. It was a thursday and Irom Sharmila was on a fast as was usual and seeing the brutality she was moved to take this drastic step. The next day, she ate some pastries and sweets, that was her last meal and her Fast commenced on 4 November 2000. Now it is set to enter its 11th year. After the initial few days, she was accused of attempting suicide and arrested by the government, since which time, she is being force fed by means of a tube through her nose.

Described as delicate and fair skinned with curly hair and not what you would expect if you were looking for charismatic rhetoric or cliched heat of heroism (Tehelka - 5 Dec 2009), she is a quiet but phenomenally determined person. 4 November 2000 when she took her mother's blessing was the last time she saw her face to face. The reson being not to lose her determination to go on.
Now, over ten years later, Irom Sharmila's health has deteriorated, her menstrual cycles have stopped and she is depressed yet steady in her resolve to go on. Her fast has received a bit of media attention, she has been given many awards yet teh reason for her protest remains...
Will the government take another look at her in this situation?

Even as I write this post protestors are gathering around three women who are going on a fast to protest the death penalty been awarded to Three people Santhan Perarivalan and Murugan in Rajiv Gandhi's murder case. They have been awarded 21 years in jail and should they be awarded death too after that, is the question in everyone's minds. Human rights activists are pushing for abolition of death penalty at all as a punishment, as it is inhuman to put a person through that particular brand of torture. Will they win the government's sympathy?

தொட்டிச்செடிகள் - நான்கு கவிதைகள்

தடயம்



தினம் கடக்கும் பாதையை
ஏதோ நினைத்து திரும்பி பார்த்த
வழிப்போக்கியின் நிலை இன்றெனக்கு


மலைச்சரிவு, தூரத்து பனிமூட்டம்
குளிரில் பெருத்த மரக்கிளை பறவைகள்
பனிவிழுந்த புற்களை நிமிண்டும்
கன்றுக்குட்டியின் அவசரம்,
வெள்ளை ஆந்தையின் கவனப்பார்வை


நடுவே அகலும் தார்ச்சாலையில்
ஆங்காங்கே மழைநீர் குட்டைகள்
நீரில் பட்டுத்தெறித்த வெளிச்சத்தில்
நம் கால்தடங்களின் பின்னல் கோலாட்டம்.


அங்கே கண்ணில் பட்டவை சில
நீரில் கரைந்து மறைந்தவை சில.



நெருடல்



நேற்று விழாவில் பார்த்தது
அதே முகம்தான்
சந்தேகமில்லை
அர்த்தங்கள் பொதிந்த புன்னகை
பூத்தொடுக்கையில் விட்டுவிட்ட ஊசியைபோல
இலக்கை தேடும் அலங்கார பேச்சு.
மெளனிகளை வலிய இழுக்கும்
அதிகார உடல்மொழி
இவனேதான் விஷமி

மறைந்திருந்த நினைவுச்சுருக்கம் ஒன்று
இரவு பறவையாய்
ஒரு இரைச்சலுடன் வெளியே கசிந்தது

இனி துயிலின் கருமையில்
அமைதி மட்டுமே ஒளிரும்.



தொட்டிச்செடிகள்

வெயிலுக்கு பயந்து தினமும் நம் பலகணியில்
நிழலான கூடலை தேடிக்கொண்டன அந்த ஜோடிப் புறாக்கள்
பிடிவாதமாய் மல்லிகை தொட்டிகளின் நடுவே குடைந்து
மெதுவாய் கட்டுகின்றன எளிய கூடு ஒன்றை.
குட்டிப்புறாக்களின் வரவை எதிர்நோக்கும் உன்
கண்களில் மீண்டும் ஒரு இளம் கண்ணாடி பளபளப்பு.
புறாவுடன் எனக்கான சண்டைகளை .உணரா ஜொலிப்பு அது.
அடுக்கு மல்லிகை தொட்டிகளில் படுத்துக்கொள்வது
எல்லாவிடத்திலும் இறக்கைகளை விட்டு செல்வது
சின்ன மொட்டுகளை நோண்டுவது, எச்சமிடுவது என்று
புறாக்களினால் தொல்லை பலவிதம், அறியமாட்டாய் நீ.
உனக்காகவும் காதலுக்காகவும் விட்டு வைத்த
புறா ஜோடியோ இடத்தை காலி செய்வதாயில்லை
சில காக்கைகளையும் இன்று விருந்துக்கு அழைக்கின்றன.
எங்களின் சண்டைகளெல்லாம் சரவெடிகளாய் நீளுகின்றன
புறாகாற்றை சுவாசித்த மல்லிகை செடிகளும் இப்போதெல்லாம்
இடப்பகிர்வை நினைத்து செல்லம்கொஞ்சுவதில்லை.







வெள்ளியிரவு

கோடைநாட்கள் இம்முறை அளவுக்கதிகமாய் நீண்டன
வெற்றுக் காகிதங்கள் மட்டும் கொண்ட புத்தகமாய்
காற்றுவீசாத மணிநேரங்களாய்

அடுக்கடுக்காய்

நாட்கள் தவறாது ஒன்றின்பின் ஒன்றாய் வெயிலின் அணைப்பில் கட்டுண்டன
இருண்ட கண்களை தினமும் அழுத்தியது கனவுகளின் பேயுருவம்
நிற்பதறியாமல் வழுக்கிச்செல்லும் கடிகாரமுள் தினம் ஓடுகிறது சுற்றிச்சுற்றி.
அவ்வப்போது தலையிட்டு வெம்பிய இருளை ஒற்றியெடுக்கும் நிலவோ
கடலின் நடுவே வெள்ளி துகள்களை பூசி ஒப்பனை செய்யும்.
வெண்மை குழையும் ஆழிக்கடலின் கரையில் இரவுகளை தேடுவோம்

அப்போதெல்லாம்.

Some more aspects of River of Smoke - Part II

I completed the volume today. It must be marked out as a special day for it has been long since I spent as much time on a long novel on a per day basis. What was so special... As Ghosh said at the Chennai launch of the book - Creative writers often tell you to write what you know, my idea was to turn that around and write about the new things - he has really achieved that in River of Smoke. There are many many things that you come across for the first time, including words! In the "fanqui town" where the foreigners camp to do their business with Canton, words are being invented all the time to bridge the communication gaps between the varied nationalities of people who are interacting.
LIfe at Canton is new, mention of all the plants and flowers and how they made their way into Europe from Canton is a fascinating story. The life of seafarers in the eighteenth century is new, These are all reasons to read the novel in all its detail.
As mentioned in my previous blog on Amitav Ghosh and the same book, This is a story of various people coming to canton for business, in the main, Bahram Modi the parsi Gujarathi who is in the opium trade, Neel Ratan, who works under a false identity for Bahram in order to escape imprisonment, and Robin Chinnery the gay painter who is there to look for a certain species of plant - the golden camellia. While the others eventually turn into supporting actors, the main character here is Bahram Modi who is in the thick of controversy for smuggling opium into China against the growing opposition from the mandarins. He is destined to confront his own actions and face the consequences. His character has been brilliantly sketched and one can almost visualise the scenes when he is forced to look inward and later look at the other Brits involved in the trade.
Robin Chinnery adds colour to the narrative and his innocent adventures lighten the situation somewhat.Neel's character has been well carved out - his learned bookish frame of mind a pleasant contrast to the burlesque extroverted and strangely inspiring-of-loyalty personality of his boss - Barham.
Events come to a pass at the end and each person has to reap the consequences of their decisions - Not a disappointing read at all. In fact a Must Read one can say.

I felt it was a novel about the elites so perhaps the omission of differentiation of society was deliberate, yet it could have been avoided. Another aspect that was a bit jarring was the repetition of Barham's opium dreams. The author need not have used the word Pariah or having used it, he could have created a better context for it...after all it was such a minor incident where it came about, having avoided so many other things he could have avoided this too, but well! Worth reading for every other reason.

India on the Neutrino Trail - an Article for Himal's Blog

Here is a link to an article of mine written for the Himal Southasian Blog.It is about the India Based Neutrino Observatory. click on the title above.

Book Review - River of Smoke

River of Smoke traces the stories of three sets of people on their journeys across the sea to Southern China where they are headed for different reasons. Bahram Modi, the Gujarati Parsi Opium Merchant and his friend the watchmaker Zadig are bound to Canton for their respective businesses. Modi's son with his lover, a chinese boat woman, Ah Fatt and his acquaintance, Neel Ratan, a raja who is now in hiding for having escaped from jail for forgery, join Modi in his trip to the Cantonese factories for employment. Paulette, an amateur botanist and her Mentor Firth are seeking a rare variety of camellia - the golden camellia which is supposed to have amazing properties of rejuenating a person, also make they way to the gardens of Canton and their search brings Paulette once again in contact with her childhood friend and artist, Robin Chinnery.

The Pearl River winds the stories of these people together to form a rich tapestry of different cultural landscapes. The story of Opium Trade in China and the attempts of the government to put an end to it makes for interesting reading and the story of Robin and Paulette lends colour and excitement to the narrative.

Robin's character - an ebullient Bengali youth - is reminiscent of a character from one of Ghosh's earlier Books - Tridib in Shadow Lines - One wonders whether they were inspired by the same character.

There are real-life characters that we recognise immediately, for example Napolean Bonaparte... there are also others whom we suspect were based on real characters - for example the single honest American merchant among the scores of others who are bent on trading opium without a principle or care on how it would affect the people and whether it is an ethical practice. Also the Character of John Slade, editor of a news paper and a starkly sketched picture of opinionated journalist seems to have existed in reality.

I have still not finished reading the book and it seems there will be more incidents to marvel at. What everyone will notice at first instance is the lingo... as someone at the launch pointed out, there are so many languages that Ghosh touches on in this book - lascar pidgin; the kreole of people in mauritius, gujarati parisi, chinese-english etc etc... all tied to his own mother tongue bengali somehow, just as he manages to tie the Pearl River to his own Hoogly....

Book launch - River of Smoke - part II

Penguin formally released copies of River of Smoke here today. Presiding over the function was Mr Gopal Krishna Gandhi, who is himself a writer and a formidable speaker. Mr Amitav Ghosh was there to answer questions on his book and sign copies for the audience who had gathered in enthusiastic numbers.

After a short introduction and without much ado Gandhi held aloft a copy of the book and then there was a short speech by Ghosh, most of which was about his admiration for Mr Gandhi who had changed the course of governance in West Bengal, where he has been governor in the past. He emphasized on this especially because Gandhi during his speech quipped at the totally dispensable role he would be playing as "releaser of the book". Now that is totally unwarranted because his excellence and calibre are really well known among book lovers who have seen him in action at several book launches.
Gandhi's reference to the "gatecrashing freesnackers" to whom his presence would be especially irritating was perhaps a bit too uncharitable for someone in his position. Still you can;t have a perfect evening always!

The questions posed to Ghosh were skilful and the author opened out to them with aplomb. When asked how much he enjoyed the fame and the taj coromandel book launches, he replied that it had not come easily and explained how he had remained in relative obscurity for years when he worked with Ravi Dayal a much smaller publisher and his books were read by a few intellectuals only. He recalled with warmth his earlier publisher. A member of the audience asked him how he had worked with lascar pidgin, and whether there was a dictionary he had on this. He said that he had tried to learn sailing when embarking on this book and had realised that the ship hands would have been speakers of various languages, and so there should be a dictionary somewhere. Quite surprisingly, he had chanced upon one such dictionary in Harvard, not failing to add that the publisher had been a Bengali.
Mr Gandhi's perceptive question 'how did you differentiate between Parsi Gujarati and plain Gujarati?' was much appreciated by the author. He laughingly admitted there was too a dictionary of Parsi Gujarati available...

So leaving us all in an admiring trance, the evening surged forth, with a bunch of people wafting towards the author for signing their copies of the book, and some others on whom the edict 'gatecrashing free snackers' had bounced off lightly, went on their way to the bar.

Book launch - River of Smoke

Now I am a little more than halfway through the book. It will be such a thrill today to meet the author. Amitav Ghosh is here in Chennai and he will be launching this book at Taj Coromandel today.

I have a couple of questions to ask him about the book. I wonder if I'll have a chance to ask...

மொளகாப்பொடி - தூள் கிளப்பிய நாடகம்...

நேத்து பாமாவின் சிறுகதை மொளகாப்பொடி நாடகமாக்கத்தை (ஸ்ரீஜித் இயக்கத்தில்) பார்க்க போயிருந்தோம். நாடகத்திக்கின் துவக்கத்தில் ஜீவா ரகுனாத்தின் அறிமுகத்தில் தொடங்கி கடைசி வரி வரை ரசிக்கும்படியாக துளிக்கூட பார்வையாளர்கள் கவனம் குறையாத அளவிற்கு நாடகம் சுவாரசியமாயிருந்தது.
எல்லா நடிகர்களும் சிறப்பாக நடித்திருந்தார்கள் அதிலும் சில கதாபாத்திரங்கள் மனதை விட்டு அகலாத வகையில் இருந்தன. குறிப்பாக கங்கம்மா பச்சையம்மா இரண்டு பேரின் எதிர் எதிர் பாத்திரப்படைப்பு மிகவும் சிறப்பாயிருந்தது. பச்சையம்மாவாக நடித்த லிவிங்க் ஸ்மைல் வித்யா அந்த பாத்திரமாகவே மாறிவிட்டார் என்று தான் நிசமாகவே சொல்ல வேண்டும்.

கங்கம்மாவாக நடித்த ரம்யாவும் சிறப்பாக நடித்தார். நாடகத்தில் நடித்திருந்த பல நடிகர்கள் இதற்கு முன்னே மேடையேறியதில்லை என்று தெரிய வந்த போது ஆச்சரியமாயிருந்தது. அந்த அளவிற்கு எல்லாரும் ஒருங்கிணைந்து செயல்பட்டார்கள்.

நாடகத்திற்கு வந்திருந்த சில நண்பர்களுடன் பேச முடிந்தது, மற்ற சிலரை பார்க்கக்கூட முடியாத அளவுக்கு கூட்டம். அப்படி எல்லாரோடும் பேச கிடைத்திருந்தால் நேற்று மாலை இன்னும் கூட சிறப்பாயிருந்திருக்கும்...

The bashful book reviewer's dilemma

I have very mixed feelings when someone asks me about the work of reviewing books. The more I meditate on the experience the more they get mixed. On the one hand it is a great pleasure to read a new book and to comment on it. It is an invitation to be analytical and judge the book, you'll be thinking. And so it is, in principle!

In reality it is a work that has an aftermath. Just like any kind of original writing, if your review is anything but boringly bland and supportive of the writing You will make enemies. And how!
Now what would you do if the book you were given had typos all over the place? You cant very well go around declaring that the author has asserted an artistic license on can you?

And reviewers are very conscious that what they say will be read by the author and publisher's faculty but even if the whole world is up in arms you cannot gloss over it when there are logical blunders, errors in organizing the text and even in dates - mind you I am not referring to the disputed ones, just factual slip ups.

I have written many book reviews and it is a beastly task one has on one's hands. Sometimes the book reviews are not published - it is at the discretion of the editor. Even during my short stint as book reviewer, I have collected one story to narrate. Someone who was friends with me for a long time refused to speak with me for long and during one chance conversation when we met, the person says, ' but you give such good reviews for big publishers, it's only with the smaller ones that you take off.'

Does this person know of how many reviews I wrote were rejected? Sometimes those of books printed by big publishers got rejected too. Do you know what a pain it is to read a boring book diligently and to write a review and then to see it being rejected. No!

The book reviewer's job is many times unenviable and a thankless one and I would gladly relinquish it for some other more interesting position of writer. In fact I am definitely being given a rest with respect to book reviewing and though I try, I can't just say it was fun while it lasted.

Amitav Ghosh's River of Smoke

The second volume in Amitav ghosh's Ibis trilogy is here now. 560 pages of hardbound prose...

It promises to hold your interest through and through... watch this space for a review within the week...

Retro Round and Ring-a-ring...

No TV programme can emote like Star Vijay's Super Singer! This week they are on a "retro round" which means old jing bang tra la la songs from the seventies and eighties. We saw the judges, singers Shrinivas, Sujatha and Unni Krishnan in their nostalgic eighties costumes mimicking Kamal haasan and Rajnikanth. And all the participants in jazzy punk hairdo's and bell bottom styles a la elvis presley... heart warming to see them in the old favourites.
Then the inevitable Rajini songs came in for they were top of the pops in the eighties were they not... but as if to make up for their prior lapse when Singer Shrinivas went overboard with feeling for Rajini who is still sick and recuperating from his illness, was a little over the top... konjam over ma!

Journalist's murder - an act of brutality

Everyday you hear stories of murder and violence and they do affect you badly. The latest in this line, Journalist Dey's murder leaves one speechless.

Dey has become a hero but he is not alive to relish it. The number of such heroes who died on duty is on the increase. what a meaningless pursuit of democracy if all that happens to one is being shot at the end of it. Some of these deaths are explained away as arising from the needs of the deprived and hunted people. So why can't this be erased and why can't the deaths arising from the greed for money and power be done away with. Would life be any less interesting if power games in their present magnitude were done away with. And who is it interesting for anyway? The few billionaires-many-times over who indulge in it? Won't jobs be created through creative enterprise and common welfare practices like cultivating green patches or some such endeavour? Won't research thrive if it is on less esoteric subjects?

On every count a massive rethink is needed and at every level. Who is (or who are) the person(s) going to deliver this message when every group that has a voice is only demanding more power for their own needs?

Today as we were driving on Radhakrishnan road, just at the signal where the road touches the beach, the traffic lights flashed red and the vehicles ground to a halt. We suddenly heard a thud and turned around to see what was wrong. A bike following some distance behind did not have time to halt and butted into the car in front and toppled over. The poor man was hurt in the thigh and we got down, the crowds surrounded him and it seemed like he had no major injuries though he was obviously in discomfort.
The car driver was more upset that his car had been knocked against. A passing autorickshaw driver remarked, 'all four in the car are drunk!' Evidently the anger of the car driver was not so much because his car had been hit, rather because he wished to preempt the mobike driver , just in case of trouble. His buddies shushed him up and took him aside. The biker slowly hobbled away to a quiet spot to nurse his aches and pains and we made off, as the signal changed colour.

This is not an uncommon scene these days. I often have my heart in my throat when riding on a bike these days. People driving much above speed limits and bikers zigzaging past a static traffic are the very devil. Even if you avoid getting intimidated it seems like most of the time you survive on the trust you place in the other person's capacity to zig peacefully. Some good means of enforcing road manners must be evolved.

The crow sat and the palm fruit fell!

Do miracles happen in real life? If so a miracle is sorely called for to set right all the problems in this world. Sometimes miracles happen for no reason at all. Every step you take is a miracle.
You go out thinking that when you find time you have to call a friend and Lo the friend ends up calling you within the minute. Smiling you think now all you need is someone calling to give you a job and well! if not a job, someone does call you that day to give you some work to do which will carry you over that month. Then you step into the streets thinking that your two long calls have delayed yu and that you are going to land up in the nick of traffic and presto! just when you are in the middle of mount road, a chute opens up and you and your vehicle alone can go skimming past to touch base on time. The event you plan to attend is of course five minutes late - no people have not been waiting for you - it's the same old miraculous thingy in the air.
Your favourite people attend the event and you meet old friends you have been planning to call.
The list is endless. You can go on counting your miracles and they happen. So why then sometimes does the universe not respond however you cry and plead? If only I could answer this question here!

Writing about Birds

The rain and strong winds are throwing the traffic into tangles. I wait at home for people to return home. waiting is never easy, at least for me it isn't, I believe it is difficult for anyone... so I inevitably go and log on either to facebook or gmail or worst comes to worst to the counter to see whether anyone has visited my blog.

What is this strange urge to write and to want someone to come and read your writing and comment on and appreciate it? It would serve no great purpose nor is anyone under any illusion that a facebook status message or a blog article is going to change the world. To change the world was never on the agenda anyway.

We keep working and not always the way the world wants. But the closer we are to what the world requires the greater is the chance of success. For instance if you write about dogs or birds no one is gonna read your article except for some special friends who may happen to like whatever you write. But if you write about birds on environment day or about how science endangers birds lives, then you may get one or two listeners more. If you write about how some member of the royal family had a penchant for birdsong and hence kept a cageful of birds then there is the added glamour to the whole thing. Better still if you write about a clan of people who eat birds after a secret ritual you have the audience eating out of your hand.

Lecture on Wetlands in Chennai

Yesterday I attended a talk on the wetlands around chennai. It was an illuminating talk and I learnt about many places I did not know used to be major ecosystems in chennai - like the Padi Villivakkam lake, there is no lake there now apparently only a small ditch with plastic and rubbish being thrown in.

It was interesting to note that the way this landgrabbing usually takes place is by filling up the place with rubbish. Though it was surprising that the speaker was referring only to the small vendors who do this,or the narikuravas, whom he came down on quite too sharply -- was it that he did not want to be explicit?

It would be an ideal world if various people would sit around a table have a chaay and discuss which would be best for all concerned. Of course realtors and business folk should also agree to let go of this for the good of humanity at large! Sigh! How sweet a dream that is!!!

The speaker filled his talk with slides of various birds and beasts and insects that he had photographed out of his own love of the art and it made the slideshow very engaging and lively.

He was speaking in two languages and that made it a bit distracting, he could have only spoken in Tamil, but there may have been a good reason for using english that I do not know of...

Burnt fingers

It's not everyday you talk to a publisher and tell them there's a mistake in the book. No! and it's not often you do it in flair, the very first meeting you have with them, and also do them the favour of sending in a written review!!!

This is putting your foot in your mouth in style!! Well, that's what I did today! There's no pardon for me! Friends out there in the ether - reach out and let me know that I'm not half as bad as I feel!!!!

Small is beautiful

One is struck time and again about the pointlessness of doing things... for example laying a road or buying a car. Just take a look at the road outside your window. Do you see a pit in it? I am sure you will unless you live in a dingy room overlooking mount road or live on a tree on the highway.
Where did that pit come from, It was nothing but that noise last night - Boys digging it to plant a pole there for some game they wished to play, or someone who decided they wished to dig a pathway for the excess water in their house, or someone making a stealthy connection to the drainage pit, or the workers from the corporation or EB coming to check on your lines.
So when all these factors go to destroying your road, the point is why make a road at all in the first place.
So with the petrol prices going up - my question is why do you need to buy a car? At least if you must, stick to a small one that consumes less and lets you enjoy life more, and us too.

My Friend Sancho, by Amit Varma: book review and interview with writer

Review of the book:

Journalist and well-known blogger Amit Varma’s first novel, written in 2008, is out on the stands. Looking smart and new in a grey paperback cover carrying an embossed lizard and shocking-pink heart flaunting the title “ My friend Sancho,” the book really calls out to be picked up and read. The shock is not over, yet, as you find on reading the first few pages of the novel:
“I should introduce myself now. My name is Abir Ganguly. I work for a tabloid in Bombay called The Afternoon Mail. I am 23. I eat meat. I am heterosexual. I don’t believe in God. I masturbate 11 times a day. I exaggerate frequently, as in the last sentence. I am ambitious in the sense of what I want to be rather than what I want to do….”
Sometimes, such frankness in expression, when it stems from a deliberate desire to shock, can put me off, but I read on for good reasons: (a) The adventure or fantasy hinted at on the back cover had made me curious enough to go on. (b) My desk training held me back from judging it too quickly. (c) This novel, I knew, had been nominated for the Man Asian Literary Prize 2008! Amit Varma was in the longlist with promising Indian voices such as Tulsi Badrinath, Daisy Hasan, Salma and others whose books I had read before.
So I continued, and soon I found myself sinking into a fast and entertaining story of the life and thoughts of Abir Ganguly, the tabloid journalist. Abir, who has been put on a crime beat, is called over by one of his sources, Inspector Thombre, to cover, during action, an arrest he and his men are planning to make. Waiting outside as the cops enter the supposed gangster’s house, Abir and his camera man are stunned when they suddenly hear gunshots… the suspected criminal has been shot, they realise! Abir gets a clue that it’s a mistake, when they hear the inspector mutter, “…at least, it’s only a Muslim,” as if that would mitigate the consequences… Abir and his colleague beat a hasty retreat. Things may have ended there, if not that he is asked to do a big story on the same crime. In this manner, he gets to know the daughter, Muneeza, of murdered Mohammed Iqbal, and also gets to see the workings of Thombre’s mind. The rest is about the developing relationship between Abir and Muneeza, narrated in a very unsentimental, witty, style in the cyber language of the day!
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Amit Varma was born in Chandigarh in 1973 and was educated in Pune. Starting as a copywriter, he got his first break into cyberspace, as managing editor of Cricinfo, India, in 2003. He then started blogging at India Uncut, in 2004, which soon made news -- picking up the Best Indiblog award (2005 Indibloggies) and nominations for Best Asian Blog (2006 Bloggies) and the 2008 Weblog Awards. A regular writer of op-eds and columns, his weekly column for the, Mint, called “Thinking It Through,” won him the prestigious annual Bastiat Prize for Journalism in 2007. In 2008, he gave up regular employment to focus on his first novel, My Friend Sancho. Now he is a based in Mumbai and is well into his second novel.
As things went, My Friend Sancho was not the winning entry in that competition; yet, it is unique and deserving in many ways. It is worth celebrating the author’s rare gift of being able to make the reader laugh out loud in places. One can feel the force of the new-age Indian English writing in it and celebrate its promise of the emergence of a generation carrying no memory of the wounds of the partition.


Interview with Amit Varma:


1. It was a lovely experience to read My friend Sancho. Did you have to rework many times to make it sound this spontaneous?

Once I hit upon the voice of the book, it flowed naturally from there. The book is a first-person narrative by the character, Abir Ganguly, and once I established the character and got his voice, all I had to do was stay true to it. After that events dictated themselves, and I merely followed Abir where he went.

2. How did you hit upon this concept?

I began with just a character and a setting —Abir Ganguly, this young, smart-alecky journalist, and his tabloid newsroom. I wanted to take him out of his comfort zone and see how he changed in the process. So the story evolved to have him meet this girl he would otherwise never have noticed, if not for these circumstances. His attraction to her makes his reexamine many things about himself, and that's the central drama in the book

3. Were you always sure that you wanted to be a writer; can you tell us about the chief influences on your writing?

Yes, I've wanted to be a novelist almost since I first learnt to read. I've procrastinated over the years, done various other things along the way, but I've never seen myself as anything but a storyteller, a person who writes one novel after another. I'm glad that I've finally gotten down to it.

There are too many influences on my writing to pinpoint a few. But what I aspire to do as a writer is bridge the gap between popular and literary fiction, with books that are both entertaining and thought-provoking. Other writers I can think of like that include Haruki Murakami and Nick Hornby.


4. What does (or did) journalism mean to you? How did it shape or affect your creative writing?

I used to be the managing editor of Cricinfo and have written for the Wall Street Journal, the Guardian and the Observer, as well as many Indian publications. I used to write a weekly column for Mint and a fortnightly column for Mail Today. However, I gave it all up to focus exclusively on writing novels last year, and that is what I'm doing now.


5. I have seen the reference to your blog (www.indiauncut.com) in the novel. What is the role of blogging today?

Blogging is a very versatile medium for writers of all kinds, and allows a writer an opportunity to connect with a readership in near-real time. I enjoy it a lot, and am fortunate to have built up a decent readership. It has nothing in common with writing novels, though—these two are totally different disciplines.

6. How does it affect writing and sales of books?

I think it helps. Look at these literary blogging sites, they actually increase the appetite for reading things you like. Unlike the media, blogs have more space and are not constrained by word limits or anything. If you wish to write a three-hundred word review or a forty-word one, it’s entirely up to you to choose.

7. The cover design is really a different idea. You can actually feel the embossed lizard and wonder what this character is going to do in the story. Did you think of the design too?
We actually used the blog to post a cover-design competition for those who are trained to do cover-designers but are not professionals. We announced a prize for the best design and this is the one that we found. Hachette has managed to identify some excellent cover designers in this process, too.


8. How much of the story is real? Is Abir Ganguly is based on yourself and your journalistic experience?

Very little. My experience in journalism is very different. I was never in the newsroom or on a crime beat. I used to write on economics and politics. Abir is a 23-year-old full Bengali and I am a 35-year old half-Bengali. In terms of setting and so on, yes, it is familiar from my life. Otherwise Abir is a very different person from me. He is young and story traces a sort of coming of age of this guy who doesn’t take life too seriously and has no definite moral compass…

9. As a first time author, it must have been a struggle to get past the filters of publishers... or was it?

Actually it wasn't. I believe if you tell a story well, it speaks for itself. I had offers from four publishers, and finally chose Hachette India.

10. And what a success!! You were in the longlist for the Man Asian Literary prize!!! How does that feel and how has it affected your life and working style?


I was delighted to be longlisted for the Man Asian Literary Prize, but the validation I really want is the enjoyment of my readers. Now that the book has been published, I'm waiting to see if readers enjoy it. If they do, I shall feel fulfilled; if they don't, then awards won't help me feel better. I write books for readers, not for awards.

11. About the recent boom in Indian writing…

India is not just a single country, it’s not even two, it is a population of a billion people each with their own story to tell. So there really are many stories to be told.

Interview of Subroto Bagchi - Author of The Professional

The Professional, by Subroto Bagchi, Vice Chairman and Co-founder of Mindtree Ltd., was released in November, 2009. In this interview he talks about his views on professional ethics. To begin with a quote from the book cover – ‘Great public efforts are often rooted in deeply personal experiences and sometimes very private feelings’.


Corruption is not unique to India, so what is the focal issue for Indian professionals in this?
(1) The fundamental difference between corruption in India and other countries is that, in other places, it is not necessary to ‘take care of people’ in order to get a voter-ID card, a house allotment, or just to deal with the policeman.
The very fact that corruption is mainstream means there is a need to speak up.

(2) Independent India is entering adulthood. Today, we are a member of G-20. In 1980 when we were nearly defaulting on an IMF loan, there is no one who would have expected this of us. Now, we have grown in a way that people say India will determine the future of the world. Adulthood brings responsibilities and there are certain minimum standards that a country must follow to be worth its entry into the club of few.

The next sixty years is the age of the young Indian professional. When that professional engages with the world, the rules of the game will be quite different.

(3) Having said all that, finally, it is not for someone else, some kind of reformer to teach you this. At the end of the day it is a personal choice. Take the story of Mahadeva, a young boy whose mother’s died, orphaned at age eight, running around with the urchins, living on people’s alms - to that guy, all options were open. He could have become a pickpocket, a smuggler, Dawood Ibrahim... it would have been condoned by society, for who could blame this orphaned boy? But he did not choose that. Mahadeva is central to the question. No one can impose a rulebook on you. Finally, it is a choice between the right thing and the convenient. Neither can you expect a red carpet for making the right decision. Doing right is not about heroics. It is about who you are.

(4) Every professional has to develop within himself a self-awareness and depth. It is better to be a good criminal than a vascillating professional.

Who is the book for?
The book is not just for the corporate sector. I want the book to be read by every medical student, law student, chartered accountant, every professional who should know the difference between good and ugly.

If you go to a different country … as a software engineer, or a rocket scientist, or the next booker-prize winner, suddenly the world is aware of you! To handle that world you will need a change of attitude. You can take a short circuit, jump the queue for short-term gains, but when you take the longer path, you are building an inheritance for your forthcoming generations.


Issues in your organization -
Integrity issues such as sexual harassment or forging an LTA bill are not small professional mistakes: A few days ago, I was counting the number of professional mistakes that we had made that were above US $250,000 in their impact and I counted ten. [I found] It is okay to make a mistake in negotiating a contract, make a wrong hire, or mess up a software design, but it is not okay to forge an LTA voucher!

We are just saying that if you want to be one of our tribe, you must be like this.

Englishman's Cameo , by Madhulika Liddle: A Review

Book Review Published in The New Indian Express

The focus is certainly on Mughal India, at Hachette, as hot on the heels of Raiders from the North, a fictionalised life of Babur, comes, The Englishman’s Cameo, by Madhulika Liddle. This is a murder mystery set in Shah Jahan’s Delhi. It is different from the former, in that it deals predominantly with the society of those times and very little with the famous emperors and warriors whom we often read about. The mughal period always allows room for descriptions of pomp and splendour and while the author does make use of this, the focus remains all the time on the lives, and deaths, of the main characters.
Muzzafar Jang, a young aristocrat and a nonconformist, is pulled into the investigation of the murder of a nobleman, Murad Begh, just to help his friend, Faisal, a jeweler’s apprentice, who has been implicated in the crime wrongly. Jang is in the privileged position of having friends in all strata of the society, and he uses this to advantage in cutting through the complicated webs to find out the criminal. This is a hazardous journey that even endangers his life.
The story holds some very interesting characters such as the extraordinarily beautiful courtesan, Mehtab; the ageing romeo, Akram, and his girl, Gulnar who become Jang’s co-conspirators in unravelling the knot; the sphinx-like inscrutable Nusrat; The clever Kotwal, Khan Sahib; Yusuf Hasan, his strongman; and lastly, the Englishman of the Cameo, who shall not be named here, for fear of spoiling the story for readers…
The author has a gift of conjuring up strong images, as for example, in the passage, ‘the tehkhana… was where many families retreated during the long, hot days…’ holds a description of architecture that subtly describes the people’s ways of coping with the vagaries of the weather.
To cite another instance of such a conversation:
‘… Not a bad man but he didn’t take to my pets, so I ended up not liking Turki at all.”

“Your pets?”
“I was nine at the time,” Muzaffar replied…”I’d built up quite a little collection of creatures, and most of them lived in cane baskets, or – during the day – on my shoulder.”’
This is an exchange that reveals how different Jang was from the conformist courtiers and nobles. While having an army of pets would be pretty normal behaviour to many present-day readers, the surprise in the voice of Akram, to whom Jang makes the confession, underlines the norms of that day and time. This is just one of the many occasions that allow one to notice and comment how ably the author brings out the background of space and time without actually describing it in so many words.
The novel could have used some tempo, however, and the story flags in places. Pages keep turning at a languid pace and nothing seems to be happening. Partly one is kept engaged by the descriptions, but perhaps something could have been added to speed up the flow. This is especially jarring because it happens more than once that when Jang is about to reach a clue, the corresponding character, who holds the answer gets murdered. One of these features – the languid pace, or the tantalising disappearances – could have been done away with. In fact, towards the very end, the book suddenly picks up speed and races to close, this could have been built into the story right from the middle part. Also, some stereotypes could have been avoided, as for example, the passages describing the Englishman with his ‘typically’ English humour.
The book, with its references to places in and around Dilli, may well bring on a wave of nostalgia in Delhi-ites. Whether it is the burning corpses in the ghats by the Yamuna or the crowded markets or the dusty winters that the author describes, she really does make suitable emotions ring in the reader’s mind. Madhulika Liddle has made a great start and one hopes she will continue to write more adventures for Muzzaffar Jang to live on.








Madhulika Liddle’s first novel, The Englishman’s Cameo, was released in Chennai on 13 October 2009. This is her first long work of fiction, but it’s far from being her first published work. Madhulika discovered her propensity for storytelling at age six, when she would entertain her family by telling stories. Even so she had to go through the route of working in the hospitality sector, advertising, and instruction design, before she would commit herself full time to writing fiction. Yet, despite holding jobs elsewhere, she has written many stories that went on to win international acclaim.
Her story, A Morning Swim, won the Commonwealth Broadcasting Association’s Prize (2003); A collection of five of her stories won the Oxfordbookstore e-Author, Ver. 4.0 competition (2006).
About her writing, she says, ‘The first of my stories to get published was a thriller-horror story about a haunted office, back in 2001. Since then I have written short stories in a variety of genre – humour; social drama; crime; and romance. Nearly all of these have one thing in common – a surprise ending! I write on two other passions: travel and classic cinema – Travelogues for Lounge (of Mint) and the international travel website www.igougo.com; About Old Cinema in the blog www.dustedoff.wordpress.com.

DS. You mentioned that you were interested in writing a mystery novel with a historical slant and later decided to set it in Mughal India. Did this have to do with the publisher's interest in that period in history? (Hachette has been publishing other books in that line recently.)
ML: Actually, the decision to set the story in Mughal India came right on the heels of the decision to write a mystery novel – mainly because I'm so fascinated by Mughal history. Hachette didn't have anything to do with it, since the book was begun almost five years back, when Hachette India didn't even exist.

DS. Did they provide you with resources that helped in your research of history?
ML. No – none. All the resources I used are either from books I own (or have borrowed), or in some cases, online resources such as digital libraries, museum collections and university sites.

DS. Are you a birdwatcher? What prompted the very specific references to birds in your novel?
ML. Yes, I am a birdwatcher. Very amateur, but I like to think I know more about birds than the average Dilliwallah! Since Muzaffar, in some ways, is a little like me (he likes reading, has a short temper, and so on) I decided to give him another trait that I possess: the love for birds – therefore the very specific references to birds.

Madhulika is already working on a set of short stories, which she may publish with Hachette. She says, ‘Muzaffar Jang was actually born in an earlier story of mine Murk of Art, which was published in the anthology, “21 under 40,” brought out by Zubaan. She believes that Muzaffar Jang, the main character in The Englishman’s Cameo has emerged into quite a character and will probably continue his detective work in novels to come.

Shining Seventies - Musical Evening with SPB and Lakshman Shruti

The evening held a musical treat what with SPB, Shylaja, SPBCharan and Gopika singing melodies from the seventies -- when flowery phrases and trumpets and bongos ruled the roost!! Musical support was by the Lakshman Shruthi Orchestra.

A beautiful list of Melodies carefully chosen and pre-rehearsed... (SPB, who designed the show, worked at making the list for two whole days, eleven hours each day).. was designed to transport the audience and it did achieve that.

To list some of the songs presented... நான் பேச வந்தேன், அவள் ஒரு நவரச , பூந்தேனில் கலந்து, ஆயிரம் மலர்களே, ராமன் ஆண்டாலும், ஒரே நாள் உன்னை நான், கேட்டதெல்லாம் நான் தருவேன், உன்னை நான் பார்த்தது...all absolutely calculated to bring on the nostalgia.

Shylaja was in form, singing the songs of P Suseela with a flair. Her voice is exceedingly beautiful and holds a hint of sadness that brings involuntary tears to your eyes when you listen. Listening to her I canot help wondering at what a great gift it is to be able to sing.

Kamaraj Arangam resounded to the sound of trumpets and bongos as SPB Charan continued some of the songs sung by his father. His style and tunes where impeccable. He seemed to find some of the songs funny, well, he wasn't even born when the songs were written so what appeared flowery to that generation might well appear fulsome to this young producer.

Many quips and jocular shoulder grazing happened very typically of the SPB genre of humour. Altogether one was glad to have attended the event and left holding a promise from the organisers of a forthcoming Part -2 of the Shining Seventies

Rubbish Heap Versus Oxygen Tank

The last time I passed by Pallikaranai Marsh was about fifteen days ago. I went there again yesterday and was amazed to notice that the rubbish heap that borders the marsh had grown to engulf more of the Marsh land again. The birds were conspicuous in the absence - whether this was due to my going there in the afternoon or whether they had given up the territory - remains to be seen.

Vijay Music Awards

What with the news bringing in stories of Superstars in distress, arrested Paedophiles and foiled attempts to establish uniform standards of education,Vijay TV goes on unabashed with their entertainment drive with a meaning - this times by instituting awards for the best musicians in the film industry.

As is everything to do with films - this was a sure fire hit product, even more special because of the generous dose of "evergreens" gracing the occasion - Kamal Haasan, KJ Yesudas, Khusboo, all dressed in white to give us that dream time in all it's glory.

Words of wisdom were spoken by the stalwarts. "Hard Work, application,humility, the oceanness of music".... We were glued to the box as the pearls were shed in all modesty by the greats!

To revisit the newsmakers, even as everyone is praying for the well being of Rajinikanth, the controversy of equal education for all is making the headlines. When will our folk understand that more is not necessarily better, especially as long as the syllabus goes. we wait and watch as the experts and other academicians debate this...

A word of praise

A word of praise goes a long way. especially one that is genuine, or what you can believe is genuine. Though you always work harder when you get a kick, the occasional word of praise is really called for....

Totally Blank

I have never encountered a complete blankout before -- and I can write pages about it!!!

Making way for the pigeons

I have been focusing so much on the painful things in life that the ridiculous totally escaped me . The last two months have had life nudging at us and making us laugh out loud when we saw what is happening to us. We are slowly being edged out of our own home space, not by the big baddies of the world but - would you even believe it? - a bunch of pigeons and squirrels and the occasional crow.

It is ridiculous when you think of it - We are the ones usually toted the villains of the piece, the insensitive humans driving out the birds and flowers out of existence. But in this case, starting from the way the birds built up their encroachment, it's nothing short of a strategic well-planned advent.

They first built a nest on the small hole surrounding the exhaust fan in the kitchen. On the outside of course. And we were all like " oh how sweet"... and then it was the balcony adjoining it and now the front balcony. Step by step sure as it can be, It's a damn takeover bid If you ask me. Now they flock in groups of two and three into our balcony and we keep shooing them away. They then invite crows and other friendly neighbourhood visitors, the adventurous squirrel once started to make tentative visits , now it's there all the time, shrieking its head off!!!

Well the jasmine plants in our narrow balcony don't seem to mind. But I sure do, and you would too, if your only balcony is sprayed all over with generous doles of white pigeon shit - you would not have time to exclaim that a few birds can produce so much in a day before the next load arrives!!!

Sudden Shower

Last night we were all taken aback by a sudden thundershower. It seemed that all the nervous tensions of the week had suddenly become too much for the heavens to bear up and that they suddenly let go. The political scenario appearing confusing,with celebrations on one side and mire on the other it has been difficult to predict where things are heading. It's testing times for TN politics - will it resurface and be as fit as it used to be.

Rajanikanth's illness and rumours that he is doing badly did the rounds. His family are all set to come around and reassure people that he is doing fine and will get well soon. The rumours however continue and we hope that he will indeed get better soon and come back to being the superstar that he is.

Columnists

A certain amount of inspiration is needed in everyone's life at every instant. This is a time when we can do with some ourselves. To that end I was searching for something I can do to give me a boost and I picked on this book of American woman columnists. A very interesting breed of persistent women, many of whom made it into the industry during the world war II when dearth of males made it compulsory for the management to engage women in what was otherwise a very male dominated industry - the press.

It is suprising how much attitude is needed to survive, as much as you need persistent hard work, wit and a voice. A columnist has to contend with many attacks, such as being predictable, being conservative, being a woman and so on and yet has to persist week after week churning out material that is consistent and engaging.

A friendly call

After many days I got a phone call from a friend. We know each other since childhood but went about our own lives and very recently got back in touch with each other. It is such a pleasure to see someone you knew as a school kid looking so mature and shouldering huge responsibilities. The devil cannot help but sit on my shoulder and prod me to feel once again a little twinge on comparing my own in-a-shambles existence. But I cannot also help but reflect on how big time achievers especially women have to crumble inside to get what they want out of life.. what labels and abuse are stuck on them as they trudge along unabated.

This post is in appreciation of the marathons that women run to achieve and realise their dreams.

Ponniyin Selvan

It has become a fixation with me to complete reading Ponniyin Selvan. Reading five volumes of what appeared as a serial in a magazine in the 1950s (first time ) is not a joke I am beginning to realise. But the grip of history on our minds is amazing and I am totally fascinated by this tale of the cholas...

The story flows but in fits and starts and there are long pauses and descriptive passages to keep the reader engaged which you wish would pass so that you can get to the story.. in any case, it is an amazing read and right now, in the third chapter, I am so so so happy to read about Poonguzhali: The brave girl, in love with Ponniyin selvan, enthrusted with the job of safely smuggling PS to a Buddha Vihar, flouting the attempts of the rivals to arrest him or harm him.

The normally staid Kalki must have gone overboard with this Anubhavam I guess, he waxes eloquent about the night and the earth's love affair and teh scent emanating from the Thaazampoo shrubs lining the canal, the starlight and the treachery of the Earth, stole from its lover by the break of day!!!!!! The sad thing is Ponniyin Selvan sleeps through all this and our heroine only gets to gaze at him with all her heart....

Hmm. 2 1/2 down, 2 1/2 to go, but I'm determined to finish this and put it on my list.

On watching Il Postino

Barely recovering from watching Il Postino... what a tribute to poets and poetry...
It will take time for me to recover from this film enough to write about it.

THE STORY

For those who have not seen the film... The Poet Pablo Neruda is in exile and takes off from his native country, Chile, to stay in an italian island until the ban on his entry is lifted. Most of the people in the island are illiterate and so a postman is needed to serve the mailing needs of just the poet and his wife. The villagers, especially the postman and the post master are excited that so famous a man should be staying in their village.

Slowly a relationship develops between the postman and the poet. Infected by the poet's love for imagery, the postman starts writing poetry. He befriends the poet, who also helps him in his budding romance with the village belle. Interspersed with the story of their romance is that of a right-wing politician who is trying to win over the villagers from their affinity for the communists.

The postman gets married and Neruda is his best man. Soon, exile over, Neruda has to go back to his hometown and a year passes by. There is a demonstration and the postman is killed in the firing on the communists. Some years later, Neruda visits the village hoping to meet his old friends, but the postman is no more. He has to make do with meeting his wife and child.

The film ends with Neruda walking on the shore of the beach, remembering the days he spent with his friend and a poem of his flashes on the screen. The poem is about How Poetry came to him...It could be written by the postman himself...



SOME COMMENTS

Somewhere deep the postman touches you with his poetry and idealistic ambitions. Still I can't forgive the director for killing off the postman at the end. Or is it that poetry can never be born without a death happening inside you at the very least.

Pablo Neruda's poem appearing at the end of the story makes you feel that like in Borges' story, where the writer meets himself from a time in the future - his future self, here too, the postman was Neruda too, and the older self came to him to waken him to poetry.... Well. it must be good to have your future self come in and tell you to buck up or else you will miss the nobel prize!

Well that was a happy way to see the death of the postman, but the line on the video cover still beats me - it says "Romantic Comedy" ... WTH????

Cat Island Pictures in Today's Hindu

Today (22 April 2011). There are two photographs of Cat island in the pages of the Hindu. they look like the before and after pictures in a VLCC advert, only reversed! The before is a lush green lake area with many winged visitors, egrets, pond herons etc, the after is the aftermath of a oil slick wash up. A pathetic grey dirty landscape more sickening for its monotony of texture than absence of birds or grass. When is Chennai going to hear this wake up call to protect its vanishing green cover?

Yesterday's post on my blog had some pictures of the Pallikaranai marsh that resembled the Cat island pictures very closely, happily they looked like the healthy one. But already troughs are being dug around the edges, how long before the concrete overtakes and buries the reeds of the marsh?

In March 2011, there was a fire in fifteen places on the marsh that destroyed a lot of the bird life and greenery. Will the government take steps to protect the marsh. One organisation that is involved in protecting this marsh is Care Earth. Care Earth represented in this case by Ranjith Daniels, is an organisation involved in educating and training tribals around TN in matters of conservation. In the case of the Pallikaranai Marsh, they work with the TN Pollution control board.

Birds of Pallikaranai Marsh -April 2011

A swift look at our feathered friends on a summer evening. We were lucky to catch sight of Egrets, Herons, and Moorhens flaunting their summer plumage and gathered in groups enjoying the greenery. Some summer flowers add life to our balcony...! Too bad the birds flew away when I got close... I had to make haste and shootthem when it was still possible, which explains why some pics are blurred!

SIGN - an art show

Sign, an art show conducted by a group of fourteen young artists at Indigo and Laburnum art galleries in Cholamandalam Artists Village, Chennai... draws to a close today.

The artists have taken a fresh approach to conveying the signs of conflict in life today. Predominantly influenced by the metro and its intrusion into our minds, the artists have tried to capture in images this very intrusion using new media and mixing techniques.

The tip of a cigarette smokes away in the room corner - an illusion caught on red board and cottonwool.

swimming figures from an installation, a pool with dying fish, fashioned out of a log...

You copied my tree of life! is a painting that causes the viewer to reflect on ownership and possession...

The sculpture of matchsticks reflects on post-retirement blues... a bizarre state of mind heaping on the floor charred matchsticks...

A painter searches for peace within the leaves of a forest tree...

Experience is just baggage - is the visual claim of one artist who displays an installation of a bag laden with bits of coloured paper...

An artist has the role of stirring the minds of a civilization and making them stop in their blind hurtling rush towards development. Sign - has the impact of the artists' effort.

The media is being kept on its toes now. What with the Fukushima disaster just about setting new standards of what can be called a disaster, totally displacing the media from the scams and the election manifestos, walked in Anna Hazare completely captivating media and websites with his fast for the Lok Pal bill. Very soon it is predicted that they will drift towards the cricket fever. Not even the world cup would have been as much fun we are assured, and the IPL sweeps over us, drowning us in a euphoria of challenges and betting and not even the elections are going to detract the media from this fever.
One struggles weakly to grapple with the speed at which events take over from one another. Is the news then really news or is it just another heavy dose of reality TV? Smaller bits of news like Saibaaba's ill health and the demise of yester year star - Sujatha - really failed to hit the headlines but were rather like small players in a world of big business...

Riders in the Storm

Workout in my friend's gym - music playing loud - mixture of rock songs from the 1980s... one song that I have not heard in over ten years goes.. 'Riders on the Storm... There's a Killer on the Road' and the whole mood is that of a traveller driving down a highway in the dark of the night with a swirling rain storm raging...


I was marvelling at how the words conjure up an image of darkness and thrilling chilling suspense, while the music paints in the background of the rain and thunder... Poetry should be like that - combining the mood of the words with the rhythm of the metre... How I wish I could write like that with abandon and passion...


Neruda seems to be a master at this...

Notice these lines from The Wars -

`...Toy of the Asians, doll
scorched by aerial murderers,
show your blank eyes
far from the waist of the child
who fled when you burst into flame
as every wall blazed
and death held the rice-fields...'


There is something inviolate about the Child. However abnormal the situation. We know of many stories where childhood ended at three even. Not just in warlike or other such dramatic conditions, but even in the most ordinary everyday situations like the case of nomadic labourers...

Thinking about Translation and Politics

I collapsed after my attempt at translating the Hollow Men. It was a poem that affected me deeply when I first read it many years ago and I wanted to see how it sounded in Tamil. At first it was a great thrill to form the phrases in Tamil, look for a way to represent the imagery and ask friends for their critical comments, but later it has thrown open a whole branch of thought. Should anyone at all translate into their mother tongue from English?

The question was thrown open by an editor I listen to, 'why translate from other languages into English'?

A fair question since Tamil literature is just now freeing itself from the shackles of authority and the dictates of caste and class forces. It is taking on forms more and more representative of lesser heard voices, suppressed clamour and ignored angles. In every sense, form structure etc there is a climate of experimentation and one does not want to be retro and wean away the audience from this.

But... the fact remains problems that need solutions - from the personal expressions of women and sexual minorities upto global crises of the misappropriation of science and technology and all resources, - still remains a universal need.

The solutions could be micro and perhaps even highly individualistic, but one can't deny that the problems are not new to us. Poems and Art trigger off thoughts that can release one to oneself and it is in that hope that I read "any origin" literature and translate into Tamil in the hope that readers who feel the same may enjoy the same contact sensation

Eliot's "The Hollow Men"

I have attempted to translate this (not at all sure whether I can do justice )
... First version...


THE HOLLOW MEN -

By T.S. Eliot. (1888 - 1965) - American born; arguably the most influential poet writing in English in the 20th century.


I


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

நாங்கள் குடையப்பட்ட மனிதர்கள்
நாங்கள் திணிக்கப்பட்ட மனிதர்கள்
ஒன்றாய் சாய்கிறோம்
எங்கள் தலை நிறைய வைக்கோல்.
வறண்டுபோன எங்கள் குரல்களைக்கொண்டு
எல்லாருமாய் கிசுகிசுத்தால்
தொனிப்பது ஒரு அர்த்தமற்ற அமைதிதான்
காய்ந்த் புற்களை உரசும் காற்றாய்
தெறித்துப்போன கண்ணாடிகளில் உராயும்
எலிகளின் கால்தடமாய்,
ஒலிக்கும் அது
காய்ந்துபோன கிடங்குகளில்.

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

உருவமில்லா உருவக்கோடுகள், நிறங்களில்லா நிறச்சாயல்கள்
அசங்கமுடியா விசை, இயங்கமுடியா அசைவு

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

நேரான பார்வையோடு, எங்களை தாண்டி
இறப்பின் ராஜாங்கத்தில்
சேர்ந்தவர்கள்
எங்களை நினைப்பது
தொலைந்துபோன ஆன்மாக்களாகவோ
வன்முறையாளராகவோ இல்லை
வெறும் குடையப்பட்ட மனிதர்களாய்
திணிக்கப்பட்ட மனிதர்களாய்.


II


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

கனவிலும் நான் காண தயங்கும் அந்த கண்கள்
சாவின் கனவு ராஜாங்கத்தில்
இவை தெரிவதில்லை
அங்கே தெரியும் கண்களெல்லாம்
உடைந்த் தூணில் விழுந்த கதிரொளிதான்.
அங்கே ஆடிக்கொண்டிருக்கும் ஒரு தாவரம்
காற்றின் இசையான ஒலியில்
குரல்களெல்லாம் ஒலிக்கும்
தேய்ந்து மறையும் நட்சத்திரத்தினும்
தூரமாய்
இன்னும்கூட தீர்க்கமாய்.



Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

நான் எதையும் நெருங்க வேண்டாம்,
சாவின் கனவு ராஜாங்கத்தில்
விரும்பிய வேடங்களாய்
நானும் கூட அணிந்துகொள்வேன்
எலியின் தோலை, காக்கையின் உடலை,
குறுக்காய் இரண்டு கழிகளை.
வெளியில் நிற்பேன்
காற்றின் போக்கில் அசைந்தபடி
நெருங்க வேண்டாம்....

அந்த கடைசி சந்திப்பும் இல்லை
அஸ்தமிக்கும் அந்த் ராஜாங்கத்தில்.

III


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

இது இறந்த உலகம்
இது கள்ளிச்செடிகளின் உலகம்
இங்கே கல் பிம்பங்கள்
எழுப்பப்படும்
அவைகட்கு இறந்தவனின் கையால்
மரியாதைகள்
மினுக்கும் ஒரு
மறையும் நட்ச்த்திர ஒளியின் கீழே...


Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

இந்த நிலைமை தானா
சாவின் அந்த ராஜாங்கத்தில் --

உணர்ச்சிகள் மேலிட நடுங்கி
தனியே விழித்து எழும்
அந்த நாழிகையில் கூட

முத்தமிட விரும்பும் இதழ்கள்
உடைந்த கற்களுக்கு துதி பாடுமோ?


IV


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms


In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

அந்த கண்கள் இங்கே இல்லை
இங்கே கண்களே இல்லை
இறக்கும் நட்சத்திரங்களின் இந்த பள்ளத்தாக்கில்
குழிவான இந்த பள்ளத்தாக்கில்

கடைசி சந்திப்பின் இந்த இடத்தில்
நாம் தடவி தேடுகிறோம்
பேச்சை விடுத்து
இணைகிறோம் வெம்பி பொங்கும் இந்த நதியின் கரையில்

பார்வைகளில்லை, ஒரு வேளை
கண்கள் திரும்பினால் மட்டும்,
என்றென்றைக்குமான நட்சத்திரம்,
ஆயிரம் இதழ் கொண்ட ரோஜா
வெற்று மனிதர்களுக்கேயான
நம்பிக்கை
V


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

கள்ளி செடியை சுற்றி சுற்றி தட்டாமாலை
கள்ளிச்செடியை கள்ளிச்செடியை
கள்ளிச்செடியை சுற்றி சுற்றி தட்டாமாலை
காலை மணி ஐந்திற்கு

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

கனவிற்கும்
நினைவிற்கும் இடையே
அசைவிற்கும்
செயலிற்கும் இடையே

விழுகின்றது ஒரு நிழல்


For Thine is the Kingdom

இந்த ராஜ்ஜியம் தங்களதாகட்டும்

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

கருத்திற்கும்
படைப்பிற்கும் இடையே
சுரணைக்கும்
பதிலுக்கும் இடையே
விழும் அந்த நிழல்.

Life is very long
வாழ்கை மிகவும் நீளமானது

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow

விருப்பத்திற்கும்
துடிப்பிற்கும் இடையே
அதிகாரத்திற்கும்
இருப்பிற்கும் இடையே
இயல்புக்கும்
இறக்கத்க்திற்கும் இடையே
விழும் அந்த நிழல்

For Thine is the Kingdom
இந்த ராஜஜியம் தங்களதாகட்டும்

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

இது தங்களது
வாழ்க்கை மிகவும்
இது தங்களது..

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.


இப்படிதான் அழியும் இந்த உலகம்
இப்படிதான் அழியும் இந்த உலகம்
இப்படிதான் அழியும் இந்த உலகம்
வெடிது சிதறி இல்லை ஆனால் விசும்பிக்கொண்டு...

Art Shows in Chennai

Perhaps in a move to dynamise the art scene in Chennai, there are a huge number of exhibitions going on in chennai - Paintings sculpture, installations etc...

Today I visited two expos - one at Ashvita and the other at Lalit Kala Academy. It was strangely moving to see the art objects. The Ashvita one was a bit disappointing because the catalogue showed some works which were not in the gallery -- they had been exhibited at Hotel Taj Coromandel I believe... yet many younger artists were exhibited and it was fun to see them trying to depict the unusual - A room with ears stuck all over the walls... conjured up an image of facebook, where so many silently take in what you post!

There was an artist who freaked out on a pink pig. I can understand wanting to depict what is looked down upon but the pig was so much of a cartoon pig, that it did not really evoke anything.

Benitha's work with cottonwool and brown ink was reminiscent of her own earlier work but touching nonetheless.

Next was a visit to LKA. This was a much larger one with many more works including sculpture, paintings etc. I did not make a detailed note of the names and titles of works, but all the sculptures and most of the paintings were very powerful images.
Man- woman; desire; persona; sexuality were the themes of most and very strong images, natesh's drawing from the female eunuch was a strong statement, for example.

Some artists had used words, which I could not understand why, but the other aspects were stunning and I could, even uninitiated, touch a small part of what the artists were trying to convey.

There were a few movies and the one "laughing at the sine curve" was really touching.
Outside LKA was an installation of 3-D pictures depicting the Union Carbide tragedy; with sound effects too, which was a great attempt.

After math of a lament

Dear Blog readers... Thank you all for reading and pondering on what may seem like a disconnected appeal to something in you that does not know why it is being summoned... The last post was written after feeling especially tired at one of the usual happenings in life - when one thread comes to an end and you have to pick up your suitcases and move on to find the next.
Sometimes when this happens, and it has happened so earlier, you feel a sense of freedom, this time it was not like that, that is why the lament at not knowing what to do... After a night's rest the scenario is different, thanks for your commisserations "L" May I know your real name?

Hunger pangs!

Life eats away into you little by little until suddenly one day you find you are lagging behind, gazing at what might have been and with absolutely no energy to make reparations.
Wonderful new things seem to happen only in novels or in other people's lives. that too only occasionally.
When a change thus is thrust on you, when you are younger you only felt a freedom but with age and the eating away of you soul comes a blank cold muffling of every thing except a pang of loss and more pangs of not knowing what to do!

If you forget me - Translation of Neruda's poem into Tamil

(Translation comes after the english poem)
I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine


உன்னிடம் நான் ஒன்றை சொல்ல விரும்புகிறேன்

இது எப்படியென்று உனக்குதான் தெரியுமே:
அந்த கண்ணாடி நிலவையும்,
மெதுவாய் வரும் இலையுதிர் காலத்து சிவந்த கிளையையும்
என் ஜன்னலருகே நான் பார்த்தால்,

நெருப்பு கூடத்தினருகே
சட்டென புலன்களுக்குள் அகப்படாது படர்ந்திருக்கும் சாம்பலையோ
விறகு கட்டைகளின் சுருக்கங்கள் கொண்ட உடலையோ
நான் தொட நேர்ந்தால்,

எல்லாமே உன்னிடம் என்னை இட்டுச்செல்லும்.

ஏதோ ஜீவித்திருக்கும் எல்லாமே,
மணங்கள், வெளிச்சங்கள், உலோகங்கள், எல்லாமே,
எனக்காக காத்திருக்கும் அந்த
உனது தீவுகளை நோக்கி
பயணிக்கும் சிறு படகுகள்தான் என்பது போல.

இருந்தாலும்
மெள்ள மெள்ள நீ என்னை காதலிக்காமல் போனால்,
மெள்ள மெள்ள உன்னை நான் காதலிக்காமல் போவேன்.
சட்டென்று ஒரு பொழுது என்னை
நீ மறந்து போனால்
என்னை தேடவேண்டாம்
ஏனென்றால் நான் ஏற்கனவே
உன்னை மறந்து போயிருப்பேன்.

ஒருவேளை
இவையெல்லாம் வெறும் நீட்டிப்பு என்றும்
பைத்தியக்காரத்தனம் என்றும் சொல்லி
என் வாழ்வில் கடந்து போகும்
கொடிகள் வீசிய காற்றை
நினைத்து என்
வேர்கள் பதியும் இதயத்தின் கடற்கரையில்
என்னை விட்டுப்போனால்
கவனமிருக்கட்டும்,
அந்த நாள் என் கைகளை உயர்த்திக்கொள்வேன்,
என் வேர்களும் வேறு இடம் நோக்கிய
தேடலை தொடங்கிவிடும்.

ஆனால்
ஒவ்வொரு நாளும்
ஒவ்வொரு நாழிகையும்
அசைவுறாத இனிமையுடன்
எனக்காக பிறந்ததாய் நீ உணர்ந்தால்,

ஒவ்வொரு நாளும் ஒரு மலர்
என்னை தேடி உன் இதழ் வழி நெருங்கினால்,

என் காதலே, என் உடைமையே,
அந்த நெருப்பெல்லாம் என்னுள்ளேயும்
பிரதிபலிக்கும்.


எனக்குள் எதுவுமே அணைவதோ மறக்கப்படுவதோ இல்லை
அன்பே, என் காதல் உயிர்கொள்வதே உன் காதலின் ஊட்டத்தில் தான்.
நீ வாழும் வரையில் உன் கைகளில் இருக்கும் அது,
என் கைகளையும் விட்டு நீங்காமல்.

Translation of Rilke's " A Walk"

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A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.


Translation

நடை

என் கண்கள் அந்த ஒளி படர்ந்த மலையை முன்பே தொட்டன

நானிருக்கும் நடையின் தொடக்கத்தை தாண்டி வெகு தூரத்தில்

இப்படித்தான், நாம் கைபற்ற முடியாதது நம்மை கைபற்றுகிறது

அதனுள் ஒளிரும் வெளிச்சம், தொலைவிலிருந்தும் கூட

நம்மை ஒளிரச்செய்கிறது, அதை அடைய முடியாவிட்டாலும்

நம்மை மாற்றி விடுகிறது, நாம் உணராமலேயே

நாம் ஏதாயிருக்கிறோமோ அதுவாய்.

ஒரு கையசைப்பு நம்மை வழியனுப்புகிறது

நம்முடைய கையசைப்பிற்கு பதிலாக.

ஆனால் நாம் உணர்வதோ முகத்தில் படும் காற்றைதான்

My Search

There was a time when escaping into the frivolous cost one exactly nothing. The days when one could do that are gone. The world and its warring fragments push their noses into one's life in an unending onslaught.

There is no escape from this onslaught, for one can only protest it or do nothing. A protest or any action invariably leads you into a tangle and doing nothing into a merciless limbo where you cannot even hold together your own self-pride.

Border conflicts and suffering neighbours - you and the other - feasts amidst a land of famine - philosophies and poetry amidst the burning human condition. How true that there is no point in wanting to be creative unless the creation is tied by its own bonds of bruise and blood to the struggles going on all around.

If that is so repulsive one could go for a shameless pursuit of wealth. How repugnant to turn one's back to the cry of life and seek meaning within the synthetic trappings of what the world deems properous!

The forces of this synthetic prosperity are tremendous, the destruction wrought by the resulting blindness of people, humungous, next to these a person's struggle to build up a contrasting meaning is a fragile and feeble little wisp of an effort. This is like a tendril seeking it's support against the onslaught of a Tsunami wave.

Yet there is a dignity, in knowing and seeing the tendril for what it's worth. What a gift if that very tendril should turn out to be the route to a larger space, a greater common good! How grand if one should turn out to be the vehicle of this message of liberation!

But how fortunate if one could at least be a part of this path breaking effort!

Sikkil Gurucharan - Article in Deccan Chronicle for Music Festival 2010

Sikkil Gurucharan today literally has the crowds swaying to his tune. He started his career at age six and now, in his early thirties, he is much sought after. From child artiste to full-blown professional and crowd-puller: what a transition! But he feels differently, ‘for me there has been no real transition in those terms, though of course the musical sense has deepened! I like to feel I am in competition with younger musicians, it keeps me on my toes. Yet, technically, a transition happened about 2–3 years back: large audience, papers write about you and secretaries put you on their list. These things push you to the next level’.
He enjoys the pressure, the press interviews, attention and publicity, ‘it’s all enjoyable. Readers sometimes keep track of what you say so there’s a need to say the right things. This pressure even transforms into positive energy on stage’.
Gurucharan has experimented with new concepts. The Anil Srinivasan–Gurucharan duo has hit the records many times, but he does not feel there is a need to innovate, as ‘people come to the concert to hear traditional Carnatic music for what it is’. His collaborations with Anil Srinivasan have brought in a whole set of new listeners, from North India and outside India, who were more into Ravi Shankar or Pop and Rock.
Gurucharan is usually noticeably sensitive to his audience’s mood. How does he manage this, with sabhas asking for predetermined lists of songs to be sung? How does he manage to be spontaneous in this? He says, ‘The list is useful because it saves the audience from accidental repetitions by subsequent performers, but it is not so rigid and can be slightly modified to suit the mood of the singer and the listeners’.
He draws inspiration from the stories his grandmother, Sikkil Kunjumani, used to tell him. For example, about how Semmangudi ‘mama’ used to engage the audience. ‘When the audience looked slack or vague, he would change the tempo with a brisk krithi carrying his trademark kalpana swarams. It is necessary, and even very important, to be in tune and respond when the audience looks vague or looks away’.

Subhiksha Rangarajan - Article in Deccan Chronicle for Music Festival 2010

Subhiksha Rangarajan is a multifaceted artist: performing artist, painter and writer all rolled into one. Having started early, she is deep into different genre of music, even at age 22! In her concert for Karthik Fine Arts, she was using her abilities to the fullest and spun out exquisite strains of Abhogi, Bhairavi and Pantuvarali. Accompanying her on violin was another young talent, Akkarai Swarnalatha. Subhiksha’s strength is being able to build up the mood of the raagam, while Swarnalatha has the ability to first set up an environment and then place one note in its centre. Guru Raghavendra on the mirudhangam smartly added to this harmony.
Apart from her performance in sabhas, Subhiksha also sings for a contemporary Indian music band: Yodhakaa. What is Yodhakaa? Subhiksha says, ‘We compose music for lyrics that are drawn from Sanskrit slokas. Most of these are old songs, but a few lyrics have been written by our friend, Pranav. He also helped us with our other slokas. Our music is influenced by many styles from around the world: Latin, African, Jazz, and so on, but it’s not, ‘in the face’! We take care that the styles are blended into the sloka and other melodies’.
Carnatic music takes pride in being complete, so how are these compositions different? ‘We do not compose for the meaning or mood of the songs, rather we try to highlight the effect of the syllables! In the song, ‘Gnaanam’, for example, rather than stick to one raagam, we stress on the syllable ‘Paap’, and the instruments all try to imitate this sound’.How does she separate the purist carnatic style from such fusion compositions? ‘ It’s not different, really. If you ask any senior musician, they will say that the raagam is more important than the notes it is made of. I always sing thinking of the song as a whole. I always stick to that picture and not always the notes’.
Subhiksha’s approach is new and to be lauded. Art in its growth must also touch a common chord in all people; it is to be hoped that musicians of her generation will be endowed with that liberating gift.