Sab chalta hain to hum bhi age badhte hain

Despite the challenges of rampant corruption, disorganisation, bureaucracy and inefficiency, India manages to keep going. We Indians seem to have excelled in making our lives work. We survive, and even thrive, in adverse conditions. We deserve a pat on our back for our determination and resilience.

Recent personal experiences forced me to think deeper about our attitude to life. As a reader of my published essay suggested in response,  "we have to change the attitude of indian sab chalta hain to yeh sab nahi chalega..."
But do we really need to change our attitude of acceptance, and of continuing to perform our duties without stressing upon expectations, foreseen rewards, or brooding over the grass being greener on the other side? After all, isn't this attitude of ordinary Indians like us, keeping us alive and moving forward despite all odds?

India is a land of contrasts and contradictions. We’re colourful, confusing, wonderful, and at times, simply obnoxious. We are like this only, but what makes us so? How have we maintained our character, spirit, and that intangible but unique Indian identity amid all the chaos? Daily life in India is rife with challenges. Rapes, robberies, murder and mayhem make lack of law and order the order of the day. Yet India manages to keep functioning. Tenacious people have found a way to keep things limping, if not running. Indians somehow make their lives work. They survive, and even thrive, in adverse conditions. ...
Our ancient philosophical heritage of tolerance and acceptance has been distilled into today’s catchphrase ‘sab chalta hai.’ This philosophy makes us unique in our acceptance of the most outrageous and harsh aspects of life. Powers above us have decreed how life must be. It is not for us to challenge, but to accept and continue to do our duty without expectations. We take in our stride man-made and natural adversities, put behind us the gravest injustices and crimes, and get on with our lives. It is this shared attitude that binds our mish-mash of ethnic, cultural, regional and linguistic identities under a broader identity as Indians. Scams, scandals, bribes are happening everywhere. Everyone has a finger in the pie. Why waste our time and energy fighting what fate has willed? ‘Sab chalta hai’. Let’s accept it and continue with the business at hand, rather than wallow forever in the muck.

I personally experienced the unifying nature of our common philosophy recently. I also realised its positive and constructive aspect. I lost my father, and had to do the mandatory rounds to get the death certificate. An official helpfully offered to spare me the bother, if I would pay him an advance of Rs 800 for his services. I promised to think it over. I then directly approached another office, to which the papers had been forwarded. There, after several fruitless visits, I felt as though I was chasing wild geese. “Nonsense!” said other applicants waiting with me in queue. “The certificate is issued on the same day. They must be after money, but don’t tip more than the going rate of 80 to 100 rupees.”
“Why don’t you flaunt your press connections and jolt them into working,” advised a friend. Easier said than done. In a world which refuses to look beyond appearances, I cannot live down the impression I give of a soft-spoken, muddle-headed eccentric with hair like a bird’s nest. A relative offered the most pragmatic advice. “Put yourself in the official’s shoes,” he said. “The poor fellow has to pay under the table to put his kid through school and college, get the garbage in front of his home cleared, and even just to stay undisturbed in the same job and not get transferred to Huliyurdurga or Periyapatna. With salaries being low and disbursements often getting delayed, how else can he make ends meet?”

‘Sab chalta hai’

When I see things your way and you see it my way, there’s a chance that we can work things out without conflict. This is at the heart of our national character. Like most of my compatriots, I’m tolerant, peace-loving and somewhat shiftless. I firmly stand by our time-honoured philosophy of live-and-let-live, simply because it’s the path of least effort and resistance. “Sab chalta hai,” I said to myself with a shrug, hinted at a ‘little something for his trouble’, and got the certificate promptly. I could have troubled the overburdened Lokayukta with a formal complaint and the headache of dispensing with yet another petty case. But, being a typical easygoing, tolerant Indian, I chose to expend my limited energies constructively on writing this essay instead. See how our ‘sab chalta hai’ philosophy can bear positive fruits? I left the office with my certificate and a feeling of comradery towards the man who had at once seemed to me to be an enemy of the people.

Our ‘sab chalta hai’ mantra is a rallying cry that binds our radically diverse country. The gaping chasm that divides the ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’, differences of ethnicity, and a multiplicity of religion and language, are all bridged by our attitude of acceptance. We have retained our myriad differences whilst evolving a national identity which accepts our diversity under its fold.

My complete essay is published in Deccan Herald

Vanity Bagh

Vanity Bagh           Author:Anees Salim
Picador India             Rs. 499/-

Imran Jabbari, an ordinary, harmless lad of a down-at-heel mohalla, gets sucked in by his dreams of making it big in the underworld. As his story unfolds, we see a chaotic world teeming with folks who seem human and eccentric, rather than truly threatening. Even Abu Hathim, the ageing don of Vanity Bagh, is a spent force. In fact, he perhaps never was a great force to reckon with.
Abu's son, Rasool, and beloved little grandson Sinbad, have been killed by his enemies, and he now lives a reclusive life. Tales of his past exploits are occasionally shared in hushed whispers, inspiring awe among young Imran Jabbari and his five friends. They decide to make a mark in their simple and directionless lives by forming a dreaded gang of their very own.

The boys, who call themselves 'five and half men', are hired to dispense a batch of stolen scooters to different corners of the city. When the city rocks with scooter bombs, Imran and his friends realize that they have been involved in a terrorist act.

One of the prime accused in the 11/11 serial blasts, Imran is destined to live in captivity for the next fourteen years. He kills time plotting jailbreak until he is assigned to the bookmaking section of the prison.

Imran is a remarkably imaginative person. Each time he opens a book and stares at its blank pages, he sees stories from Vanity Bagh: the unending rivalries between Vanity Bagh, nicknamed Little Pakistan, and Mehendi, a Hindu neighbourhood. He remembers the people of his neighbourhood; his sweetheart Benazir, his family, and all the others who live out their lives around Franklin, the tree at the heart of the mohalla.

Imran's wasted life evokes sympathy for a misguided soul, a spirit that had some potential and could, given the right circumstances, have made a more positive impact on society. Despite the simmering undercurrents of communal tensions; of the spectres of poverty and ignominy threatening to engulf the main players, this tale does not project overwhelming bleakness. While waiting for that big-time assignment to fall into their laps, the gang of five and half men tackle a rough gang of fishermen for a rugby match. Imran's father, the Imam, keeps a machete for self-defence. His wife smartly uses it as a vegetable chopper to fool snooping cops. An old tree forming the focal point of the mohalla, is whimsically named Franklin for reasons of local history. Many of the people in Imran's mohalla are named after well-known people from Pakistan. These light touches can make us smile, given the nondescript ordinariness of these people.

Hands are chopped off and innocent lads are tricked into planting bombs by mysterious enemies. But even Abu Hathim, the most dreaded resident of Vanity Bagh is human rather than overtly menacing.

"And when Hindus wanted to burn all of us alive it was this criminal who saved the mohalla," Ammi said passionately. "Where were the mullahs then? Where was your masjid committee hiding?"...

"He was not guarding the mohalla," the Imam said. 'He was just trying to save his family."

It is this quality of ordinary humanness, of simple people caught up in complex circumstances, that redeems this story of Imran and his neighbours of Vanity Bagh.




 

India - through the lens

I recently enjoyed an exhibition of photooprahs of Inda by eminent photogrpahers from all over the world. The photographs span several decades, capturing the varied facets of Indian life. Magnum photographers’ vision of India is reflected in their images. Though India’s colour and light are cited as an inspiration to these photographers, their work reveals much more than its surface beauty.
Some pictures convey more than a thousand words. Artistic photographers can capture vital images of human life, natural beauty, or even an era in history. Remember Steve McCurry’s unforgettable photograph of an Afghan refugee girl, taken in the 1980s?

Her innocent green eyes convey the horrors of war and its toll on innocent victims. Henri Cartier-Bresson’s iconic photographs of Gandhiji’s last days proceed from Gandhiji surrounded by his followers or serenely spinning his charka, to a shattered Pandit Nehru coming forward in the dark night to announce Gandhiji’s death. This image, along with Cartier-Bresson’s photos of crowds mourning around Gandhiji’s funeral pyre, captures the sorrow of an entire nation.

Common factor

A special bond unites these two photographers from different generations and countries with an exclusive circle. They are associated with Magnum Photos, an international co-operative founded in 1947 by Cartier-Bresson and three others, which includes some of the world’s leading photographers. In the decades since, work has brought several Magnum photographers to India. They have also captured unique impressions of their own. A recent retrospective by Tasveer Arts showcases their rich perspectives of Indian life.

These photographers memorably project the India of yesterday, today and of times to come.
My detailed aricle can be read in Sunday Herald

Zafar Anjum: resurgence of writing and literary friendships

I first 'met' writer Zafar Anjum in January 2002, when I took a tentative first step into in Francis Ford Coppola's zoetrope virtual studios. His thoughtful and balanced critique of my short story paved the way for many years of writerly exchanges and a warm personal friendship. The Internet not only expands our horizons, but is also a great leveller, connecting people from diverse backgrounds and cultures. We lived in different parts of India in those days, came from different generations and spoke different languages. A personal meeting was fated to finally happen over a decade later, but meanwhile, the virtual friendship flourished. As we read and offered constructive suggestions on each other's short stories through the Zoetrope workshops, we bonded over our shared interest in reading and writing. I still remember the characters from his early stories who stayed with me: the lonely and cantankerous old lady redeemed at last by rather seedy looking 'angels' with grubby fingernails; the young man pondering over old friendships which fizzled out for reasons he cannot fathom; a nervous newly-married man who dies a pathetic and painful death; and more.

Through the years, we shared through e-mails and online chats our writerly disappointments and also the rare little tirumphs that gave us  hope to continue struggling. That long wait through many, many rejections before a short story won acceptance from a literary journal; the pressures of bracing oneself to write a major work and then hoping some editor would give it a nod of approval. These experiences also moulded us, and our approach to life and to writing. "You can say I am becoming a recluse, and a more inward person," he once told me. "I am trying to connect more to my inner self and trying to live beyond my ego. I feel happier and calmer this way, and this approach is also closer to my basic nature.This does not mean I am not meeting other folks. I go to select parties and chill out, but not very often."

Years ago, I began saving such thoughtful mails from my handful closest writer friends. I knew they had it in them to soar high, writing more and better stories and books that would would be widely appreciated one day. I remember how I would joke with Zafar that these exchanges would one day lead to the biography of a major literary talent. That day now seems to be dawning.

Singapore-based Indian author and journalist Zafar Anjum today has a wide and varied published body of writing to his credit. I'm proud of my first and longest standing writer buddy, and  look forward to congratulating him on many, many more books. Zafar recently had two books released: The Resurgence of Satyam (Random House India) and The Singapore Decalogue (Red Wheelbarrow Books, Singapore).  He has also authored Kafka and Orwell on China (Samshwords, 2011). His earlier works include a novel (Of Seminal Fluids, 2000) and a volume of translated poetry (My Silence Speaks, 2001). He has recently finished his second novel Murder in Clivesganj, a thriller set in a small town in India, which is awaiting publication. I've had the pleasure of reading excerpts from this literary mystery and hope to see the complete book in print soon.

His short stories have recently appeared in three anthologies, Love and Lust in Singapore, The Best of Southeast Asian Erotica and Crime Scene: Singapore.  Zafar’s journalism and fiction have appeared in The South China Morning Post (Hong Kong), Today (Singapore), India Se (Singapore), The Bangkok Post (Thailand), Jakarta Globe (Indonesia), The Hindustan Times (India), The Times of India (India), Tehelka (India), The Pioneer (India), Outlook (India), Mainstream (India), China Daily (China), The Little Magazine (India), Little India (US), Malaysiakini.com (Malaysia), Small Spiral Notebook (US), Jamini (Bangladesh) and The Six Seasons Review (Bangladesh), among others.
He is also the founder-editor of Kitaab, a website dedicated to Asian writing in English. Currently, he co-edits a global website for writers, Writers Connect.

The Arts Creation Fund grant from Singapore’s National Arts Council for writing The Singapore Decalogue came to Zafar from "out of the blue. I had applied without any hope, and I could not believe it when I got it," Zafar says. "There was huge competition. I was the first Indian PR (permanent resident) to get this grant, if I am not mistaken. It gave me confidence and lot of push when I needed it most."

"In this collection of short stories, I have tried to create vignettes of life in Singapore. This is my tribute to this city state, which has built its social capital with great wisdom, civic sense, and quotidian practicality...

 

"In these stories, I have tried to portray the hopes and frustrations of a few interconnected characters (that was truer for the earlier draft when the characters were varied). The bustling metropolis attracts all kinds of people who want to make a life here. What happens to their dreams? What kind of struggles do they go through? Do they feel alienated? What do they love about the city? And so on.

Through the panoply of characters, mainly built around a main character, Asif Basheer, an aspiring poet from India, I have woven together a web of stories that throw light on various contemporary themes. The initial aspiration, following in the footsteps of Tolstoy and the Polish filmmaker Krzysztof Kieslowski (especially his film cycle, The Decalogue), was to explore themes based on the Ten Commandments, but I finally transformed the idea. I was anxious, even afraid, that the stories might come across as too moralistic or formulaic if I went down that route. Nevertheless, my moral concerns about making choices in life still shaped and informed the stories in The Singapore Decalogue."

The protagonist in these tales is Asif, a poet. "Whatever poetry he had written had remained unpublished. "In this world, it does not matter what you know. What matters is who you know," Asif tells himself. He comes to Singapore with an attractive job, and great hope that lady luck will smile upon him at last in this land of opportunities. Yet ominous dark clouds creep up to steal his sunshine. His company is under investigation, and tension is in the air. Meanwhile, this good-hearted young man from small town India takes in the sights and sounds of a brave new world. He shares his experiences with his wife Mariam, how "the Singapore he had heard of as a little boy, the place from where the Singapore banana used to come from, was no more a provincial backwater but a new age metropolis; a city put together out of raw jungle by sheer human will and imagination."

With his new friends, Asif explores the wonders of Singapore.He smiles to his pretty Filipina neighbours out of courtesy, hoping to spread positive vibes around him in an alien country. He notes the cool responses to his smiles and to his job application, and knows that the colour of one's skin matters as much and sometimes more, that an impressive resume to wily employers like Mr Fong.   Asif'ssensitive mind sees beyond the glitz and glamour and feels for poor bar girls compelled to please shady clients for money they need to support the families they love. Asif knows the money-making culture dominates Singapore, as it does in the rest of the world. Yet he sees the people around him with humane empathy.

Meanwhile, the mysterious Black Monk appears, reappears and vanishes, tossing enigmatic pearls of advice at our hero during major turning points in his life. He compels Asif and the reader to ponder the human dilemma.

Knowing as I do of some of Zafar's personal experiences during the last decade, I can see a little of him and his own perception in some of the characters and situations in these stories. In fact most of us writers put a bit of ourselves into the stories that we write. But Zafar's tales are pure fiction. The characters stand as convincing individuals in their own right. The writer's own ideas enrich a consummately crafted artistic work, while the writer himself remains far in the background as the creator of it all.

During one of our many exchanges, Zafar had said to me," It has definitely porous boundaries, fact and fiction merge. It happens with me too.
Over the years, I have seen that I am able to get into (how successfully--that I don't know) other people's minds more easily and write less personal stories. Maybe that is part of how we grow up as writers. Maybe we get more confident over time..."

I see that growth and confidence happening right now, in this very book.

"I had started The Singapore Decalogue first," Zafar says. "Meanwhile, I was also chasing the Satyam story. The Satyam scandal became a global business story pretty quickly after it hit the headlines in India in 2009. After all, it was India’s fourth largest outsourcing company and it was also listed on the Nasdaq in the USA. The Indian growth story was being keenly watched in the outside world and Satyam’s fall was not a blip. It grabbed eyeballs everywhere as it seemed to puncture the ‘India Shining’ story outside India. India, which was then a rising and shining outpost of globalization in Asia, suddenly had this blot on its resplendent reputation. Seemingly all was lost but not quite..

Personally, I see the story of Satyam’s turnaround as a positive story. This was a unique example to come from a place where corruption has been seen to be endemic. In the West, many companies have melted away after falling victim to financial scandals. The example of Enron comes to mind. Satyam survived a deadly implosion and how quickly it bounced back on its feet—that is an inspiring story to come from India where some much negativity floats around. That’s why I decided to tell the story of Satyam’s bouncing back."

Zafar and I finally met in the real world in January 2012, when research on the Satyam saga brought him to Bangalore. A warm, soft-spoken man with a sense of self-deprecatory humour, he brought a whiff of fresh air into a world crowded by the self-absorbed. I noted his old-worldy pehle aap courtesy, no put on airs, but quiet sincereity and straight-from-the-heart goodwill. His sense of fun and adventure peeped out when he ordered pungent Andhra style chicken with 'gunpowder' on the side. There we are dousing the fire on our tongues with ice cream on a cool winter day, while his friend graciously captured the moment with a click.
 

preserving our heritage

India’s rich legacy of art, architecture, ideas and ideals has been built up over many thousands of years. But today, how many of us pause to appreciate our common cultural inheritance? Our cultural tradition is widely praised in distant foreign lands. It offers humanity a beacon of hope from its dangerous course of rampant greed and aggressive rivalry. Meanwhile, Indians like us focus our energies upon the rat race.

We are so immersed in the daily grind of making money and competing with neighbours that we don’t even find time to visit our parents and relatives. Foregoing a weekend at malls and resorts to visit places of historic interest? Browsing through museums to view glorious relics of our cultural heritage? Not for us, thank you!

When we do get around to visiting our ancient monuments, we scratch our names on timeless relics and leave behind trails of plastic and litter. How can our children learn to appreciate our culture and heritage if we ourselves are callous? Does our general apathy and lack of appreciation for our heritage stem from some ingrained deficiencies within us? Or, are we overwhelmed by the vastness of it all?

Perhaps lack of awareness and perception makes us like the proverbial blind men examining an elephant. We are conscious of our heritage only in bits and pieces, and are unable to fully grasp its significance.

India’s cultural legacy is threatened from many quarters. Overpopulation, natural forces, unbalanced town planning and growth, and wanton human greed are major factors in the gradual degradation of historic monuments and spaces of natural diversity and beauty. The writing on the crumbling walls is clear wherever we look.
...
India’s cultural heritage is not restricted to ruined monuments or musty showcases in museums.

It is up to us to see that it continues to be an integral part of our daily lives. Our philosophical traditions can continue to guide us and nurture our spirits in these times of violence and greed. Small shrines and structures connected with local heroes can be a rallying point for community feeling and pride. In historic cities such Jaisalmer or Delhi’s walled city, people continue to live and work within and around heritage buildings. In 2003, the ASI commissioned an Integrated Management Plan for the entire Vijayanagara site.
...
Small but sincere efforts from individuals like us can add up to far-reaching benefits for our heritage. As individual parents or teachers, we can help by introducing young people to our heritage through interesting books, films, and trips to heritage sites. We can take part in heritage walks, and even organise them in our own communities. As professionals, we can facilitate our employers to maintain heritage sites as part of corporate social responsibility initiatives.

Technology has made information-sharing more efficient than ever. We can use it to connect with like-minded people not only in India, but across the globe, and learn more about foreign cultures. Scholars and museum curators are no longer the sole authorities on matters relating to our heritage. We too can participate in spreading knowledge about our heritage, and share our personal insights and perspectives.

Read my detailed piece in Sunday Herald

The Skinning Tree, book review

Picador India    Rs.499/-

Offering an insight into a tortured boy’s psyche, Srikumar Sen’s debut work highlights the Empire’s flaws. “Murder was the plaything of us kids. We fooled with the idea of killing like some kids fool with fire.” These crisp, loaded sentences draw readers into a unique and superbly crafted novel about imagination, regimentation, conscience, life, death and the haunting ghosts of memory. Eight-year-old Sabby lives a privileged life in Calcutta during the World War II.

To protect their child from the threat of Japanese invasion, Sabby’s parents pack him off to a remote school run by English missionaries. Sabby’s home was an island of “Victorian and Venetian opulence” in a bright and sunny, utterly Indian street with “smells and shouts in the air and saris drying”. Genteel guests gathered to play cards at “little table islands around little island minds”.

...When Sabby arrives alone and friendless to the bleak world of St Piatus, he can no longer push aside unpleasant thoughts as he could in Calcutta. In St Piatus, the boys are brutalised emotionally and physically by their misguided teachers. Sabby and his friend have to face the pain of “being controlled by claps and instructions”. The children become inured to pain, and react by not wanting to “inflict pain back, just make you disappear like the vanishing morning mist over the Ghor hills”.

The rough boys of St Piatus come from good families, and are “naturally callous and unquestioning” when it comes to killing. In this book, the author presents a broader perspective, probing how boys who can share treats, stand up for their friends and love tree snakes as pets, are roughened by the treatment they receive into mercilessly killing birds and animals around them. They gradually progress with chilling logic to murderous feelings towards their harsh teachers.
...
 St Piatus aims to mould children through this same fear and contention, to become ferocious standard bearers of the Empire.

In the end, “Fate was a gloating hoodlum.” The enforcers of authority are themselves victims of the system. Despite their own rough conditioning, they also retain vestiges of compassion and humanity. After punishing Sabby with customary mindless harshness, a Brother learns that Sabby was upset about his grandmother’s death. He then prays and offers Sabby a colourful prayer card for solace.
...
The prose flows smoothly overall, but occasionally the narration is jarring and confusing; “Because of his anglicised outlook, the result of his parents’ failure to nurture his Bengali heritage owing to their surrendering to the social demands of a British commercial world, he was always uncomfortable with Indian situations and customs which he didn’t understand or was unfamiliar with; what he didn’t want to see didn’t exist.” These bumps are compensated by evocative, nuanced passages, conveying vivid sensory images and multiple layers of meaning.

The novelist portrays a moral landscape, not in black and white, but in multiple shades and colours. This delicious complexity makes this book memorable, as does the ray of hope with which the story ends. Despite all his harsh conditioning, Sabby’s conscience and imagination continue to haunt him repeatedly, “like touching a scar where all feeling is dead, but isn’t.”

My detailed review is published in Sunday Herald

Coffee house adda

New Year's Eve was spent in enlightened company. Fellow Zubaan author friends Anil Menon and Payal Dhar and I met up to exchange notes on the stories cooking on our keyboards, and caught up with everything else.

Psst! Here's the news straight from the horses' mouths. Expect more great fiction from these talented writers in the year ahead. Payal's A Shadow in Eternity trilogy    kept readers young and old enthralled. Maya Subramanyam's adventures are continuing in Eternity, and we can hope to read about them soon. Meanwhile, her most recent books, Satin and There's a Ghost in My PC are drawing more appreciative readers. If you haven't read them yet, do it soon.

   Anil was busy jointly selecting and editing the mind-blowing stories in Breaking the Bow, which offer original and highly imaginative alternate takeoffs on the Ramayana. He's also been pegging away on a major work of speculative fiction, aimed at adults this time. It's a complex and subtle story, he says, the speculative elements take a different turn from what we experienced in his first book, The beast With Nine Billion Feet. Will we see a sequel to 'Beast'? Anil smiles enigmatically, keeping us guessing and hoping.

Baaton baaton mein, we discovered that all of us can look forward to seeing our stories together in an anthology of love stories for older teens and adults, forthcoming from Scholastic

Steaming coffee and snacks at good old India Coffee House helped spread the bonhomie.

 This favourite haunt of yesteryear is now on a new location on Bangalore's Church Street. But the warm and cosy atmosphere remains the same, right down to the quaint furniture, slightly tarnished mirrors on blue distempered walls, and cheerful waiters. Not to mention the old favourites on their menu.

Coffee, much talk and browsing through bookstores later, it's time to take leave. A lovely note to end the old year and look forward with hope to 2013.

Baluchari sarees, timeless weaves

During a recent visit to the beautiful town of Bishnupur in West bengal's Bankura District, I was fascinated by the sight of local weavers creating magic on their looms.

Intricate Baluchari saris are works of art woven in silk. The borders and pallu are embellished with exquisite motifs inspired by the epics, mythology and traditional texts, as also scenes from courtly life. Each panel of these delicately woven sarees tells a timeless story. A single sari can depict an entire episode from the Mahabharata or Ramayana, woven into its border and pallu. The magical weaves with their centuries-old tradition continue to enchant through generations. They take pride of place in the heirloom collection of Bengali women.

Traditional Baluchari sarees are woven in the history-steeped town of Bishnupur, in West Bengal’s Bankura district. There are several clusters of weavers here who continue to create enchanting sarees. Haradhan Bishoi oversees one such setup, where eight or nine weavers work at any given time. The mulberry silk is sourced locally, he tells us. The entire process, from rearing silkworms, to spinning and dyeing the yarn, and then designing and weaving sarees, is done locally. The fine and soft local silk has a unique lustre. To make the yarn supple and shiny, it is boiled in a mixture of soda and soap and then dyed. Designing these sarees requires elaborate planning and execution. Each saree takes two expert weavers, working by turns, around a week to weave. The more complex ones can take much longer. The sarees are hand-woven on jacquard punch-card looms. Creating intricate designs for the border, butis and pallus of Baluchari sarees is an elaborate process. The design is drawn on a graph paper and then punched on cards. After punching, these cards are joined in sequence and fixed in the jacquard machine. These coded and punched chains of jacquard cards control the movement of the warp on the loom to create finely woven details in silk.

My published article may be read in Sunday Herald

I've received several inquiries from readers for Bishnupur contacts and replied individually. For others who might be interested, here are the contacts of Haradhan Bishoi.  They have an excellent collection of saris for all budgets, for sale wholesale and retail.

Anuvab, manufacturers of Baluchari and Swarnachari sarees.
Chinnamasta
Bishnupur,
Dist. Bankura,
West Bengal

phone; 03244-256308

hope this helps,
M S

active ageing; is the best yet to be?

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be,”

Robert Browning’s immortal words now ring truer than ever. The time is ripe to celebrate the golden years. People are living longer and healthier, thanks to improved healthcare and nutrition. Scientific advances are banishing dreaded diseases and prolonging life expectancy. Research on the human genome, for example, is poised to take us beyond merely fighting diseases, and perhaps enable our thathas and ajjis to race like Usain Bolt.

Seniors are growing into a force to reckon with. In almost every country, the proportion of people above 60 years is growing faster than any other age group, as a result of both longer life expectancy and declining birth rates. India has an estimated 100 million elderly persons, which is the second largest in the world. The population of senior citizens in India is projected to reach 179 million by 2031. By 2050, the world’s population aged 60 and over is expected to more than triple from 600 million to 2 billion. The world is growing older, and hopefully wiser. Within the next five years, the number of adults aged 65 and over will outnumber children under the age of five.

Our very own Big B’s recent 70th birthday celebrations has highlighted the glamour, success, aspirations and joys of folks who seem to be growing more vibrant with passing years. Yet Baghban, a 2003 film starring Amitabh Bachchan, also portrayed the pitfalls sadly faced by many Indian seniors. They do their best to provide for their children. But, once the parents are no longer able to support themselves, their children often consider them as a liability. Abandonment and abuse of elders is on the rise, not just in remote western cultures, but right in our own neighbourhoods. As life spans are increasing, the menace of age-related debilities like Alzheimer’s add to the woes of elders.
Let’s consider the privileges and problems of ageing, and see how the balance sheet tallies. Read my  full article published in Sunday Herald
 

random reads in a lighter vein

 Birds, Beasts and Bandits: 14 days with Veerappan
Authors; Krupakar and Senani    Tranlator: S. R. Ramakrishna    Penguin Rs250/-

Truth can not only be stranger than fiction, real-life escapades can be filled with excitement, insights and even some chuckles. It was just another day at work for wildlife photographers Krupakar and Senani, who were clicking away at the creatures of Bandipur National Park. Veerappan, the dreaded poacher and sandalwood bandit mistook them for important government officials and kidnapped them. The photographers were herded by the bandits to a life on the run through the forest. They got a chance to closely observe the rich variety of wildlife in the forest. Close contact with the wild and dangerous bandits was just as enlightening. The terrible Veerappan, reputed to have murdered several hundred people, shows glimpses of his intelligent human side. He and his gang exemplify all the complexities of human nature. The narration is lively and laced with humorous touches. Overall a refreshing and informative read.

The Shadow Throne    By Aroon Raman   Pan   Rs.250/-
An exciting thriller with loads of twists and turns that will keep readers on the edge of their seats. What began as a murder enquiry soon morphs into a deadly game of hide-and-seek within the shadowy world of Pakistan’s ISI and India’s RAW; and Chandra, his friend history professor Meenakshi Pirzada and Hassan find themselves in a race against time to avert a sub-continental nuclear holocaust. As the action moves to its hair-raising climax among the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan, Chandra must face up to the fact that Inspector Hassan is not all that he seems…A riveting thriller set right in our  own backyard and starring people we might know in passing.

Coup D'Etat   Author: Ben Coes   Pan   Rs.350/-
When a brutal attack in Kashmir causes the breakdown of fragile peace between India and Pakistan, a rapidly escalating shooting war spins out of control. As the conflict reaches a deadly point of no return, it becomes clear that India is only days from resorting to the kind of attack that would put world peace at peril. With the world on the brink of disaster, the US collaborates to send its very best people to help avert an international crisis.
Not a memorable thriller. Credibility can stretch a bit too thin at times. A light pageturner for a rainy weekend or to while away the time at airport lounges.

 The Onus of Karma  Author: Rudra Krishna   Penguin  Rs. 250/-
Swashbuckling adventure meets mythological fable in eighteenth-century Madras. The collection of kingdoms that will soon be India, is in turmoil. The eAst India Company controls much of the north and has ambitions to take over the entire subcontinent. In the south, Haider Ali and his son Tipu Sultan furiously resist the advances of the British.

In these desperate times, Ramaswami Aiyar, scion of the family which has for generations been the temple priests of an obscure little village near Kanchipuram, decides that the pious life is not for him and joins the police force. He soon discovers that the temple—and the family— he rejected protect the srichakra, the divine wheel given to man by Lord Shiva himself. The srichakra, symbol of Dharma on earth, is an instrument of tremendous power, with potential for great good or great evil, and both the British and Haider Ali want it. And even as Ramaswami finds himself cast as protector of the chakra, he understands the role of destiny in his life and the inevitability of fate.

There's been a clutch of books in this genre of late, which have garnered immense popularity. This story is tightly-written and an entertaining, worthwhile read. Also, it's set in historical South India, and this probably makes it different from the other mythology based fantasies.

  The Masala Murder  Author: Madhumita Bhattacharyya   Pan  Rs.250/-

A brand new and lively, well-written read.There's mystery, and emotion, and romance with a "Prince Charming on a rather greasy charger'", and the fast paced action happens in a very Indian milieu. The cover seems at first glance to be another instalment of the Inspector Singh investigates series. There could have been more originality and distinctiveness there.

Reema Ray, private investigator and food writer didn’t set out to become Calcutta’s expert in infidelity cases, but that is where her detective agency has taken her. When the deceit gets too much, she finds a welcome distraction and a means to pay the bills by becoming a food critic for a magazine.
Her worlds collide when a gourmet provisions supplier she had once profiled ends up dead under suspicious circumstances. Her food-obscured nose can still sniff out a murder, and she decides to launch her own investigation. Then her ex-boyfriend shows up at her doorstep when he finds himself being treated as prime suspect in the kidnapping of his own wife! Suddenly, Reema is handling not one but two cases. With no access to official evidence, she relies on the meddling group of do-gooders she has dubbed the Calcutta Crime-Fighter’s Club. If all this wasn’t trouble enough, the alluring Shayak Gupta turns up around every corner, and while she can’t seem to resist him, she doesn’t believe a word he says either.
This first Reema Ray mystery follows a comical ride through Calcutta as Reema comes to terms with her feelings about the men in her life while whipping up delicious meals and being beset by criminals and the police alike!



 

Black Ice and Mahmud Rahman

This novel by one of Bangladesh’s leading writers exemplifies the little-publicised-but-striking writing being produced on the other side of our nation’s borders.

Mahmudul Haque (1941 – 2008), was a critically acclaimed author of 10 novels and numerous short stories. His life illustrates the close cultural ties binding India and Bangladesh. Haque spent his childhood in Barasat outside Kolkata, and his later years in Dhaka. He considered Black Ice (Kalo Baraf in Bengali), to be his favourite work.

First published in 1977, in Bengali, Black Ice draws upon Mahmudul Haque’s personal experience of the Partition to deeply probe the invisible scars bequeathed to the inheritors of the political divide. The book is filled with protagonist Abdul Khaleq’s childhood pain and distress of leaving his country. The author’s family immigrated to East Bengal (formerly East Pakistan and now Bangladesh) when he was a child. There are some clear parallels between the fictional story and the author’s personal experiences of the Partition. “My childhood was strife-ridden, filled with the anguish of the Partition, filled with the pain of being forced out of one’s homeland.” Nevertheless, Black Ice is a work of fiction. “That’s not based on my life,” the author says. “I am not there in it.”

My detailed review of this book is published in Books and More

 The story behind this English translation is interesting in itself. Mahmud Rahman is a talented writer and author of Killing the Water. My review of the book here. Rahman shares his personal anecdotes about the author, and how this translation came about:

 

"The papers in Dhaka bring out weekly literature pages and late in November 2006 I read an interview with an author who was unknown to me. This interview drew me in.

 In my first attempt I tried out the familiar bookshops in Dhaka’s New Market. No one had his books. Most salesmen were not familiar with Mahmudul Haque. I lucked out a couple of weeks later, at Dhaka’s second annual book fair, a smaller one than the large February one. They had most of his books and I bought a bunch of them.

The very next day I began to read Mahmudul Haque’s novel Nirapod Tondra. I liked what I was reading and went out to the bookshops at Aziz Market to get more of Mahmudul Haque’s books. By now I had all but one of his novels and his collection of stories Protidin Ekti Rumal. I read this and translated a story from it. Soon after, a second novel Matir Jahaj. And then Kalo Borof. I observed in my journal, “I think it’s a powerful little novel, definitely worth translating.” I decided I would chose that one unless another book turned out to be more appealing. In the meantime I had begun to translate the title story of Protidin Ekti Rumal.

I also began to find a way to make contact with the author.

Right around this time I read the final two of Mahmudul Haque’s novels Oshoriri and Jibon Amar Bon. I was impressed by the lack of romanticism about 1971 in Jibon Amar Bon. In Oshoriri, I admired how much he had packed into this novel of 73 pages. I realized the he was indeed a master of the short novel. After I finished reading all the novels, I settled on Kalo Borof as the novel that seemed the ideal one for me to translate. I would have preferred Jibon Amar Bon, but I was at that point hesitant to try a novel written in much more complex language.

Finally on August 7, 2007 I dialed Mahmudul Haque’s number.

I said, “Amar nam Mahmud Rahman. Ami lekha likhi kori ar apnar golpo onubad korte shuru korechhi. Chhera Taar Daily Star-e chhapa hoyechhilo January mashe. Ekhon ami Protidin Ekti Rumal onubad korchhi. Ekta uponnash o onubad korar icchya ache. Apnar shathe dekha kora shombhob?”

He was quiet and had not interrupted me with any reaction while I had jabbered on. In a plain voice, he said, “Ashen.”

 

I went the next afternoon and easily found the building. IHe had me sit and then excused himself for a moment. I sat in a living room crowded with furniture, chairs, coffee and side tables, and bookshelves where the books seemed to have lain undisturbed for a while. On the other wall I could see a photo of him with a young boy. There was also a small writing desk in the living room but it was piled high with books and magazines, all old and dust covered.

He returned after putting on a tunic. And we sat down and he wouldn’t let me leave for five hours. We talked about his schooldays, the places he had lived, the history of Dhaka, his writing, his not writing, his fascination with the rural landscape of Bikrampur, his family history, his mother, his interest in gemstones, his disillusionment with Bangalis, and numerous other threads of interest. I realized he was a thoroughly engrossing storyteller.

 

After the initial meeting, he invited me to return and we would soon settle into a routine where I would show up about every two weeks.

That’s sad to me, that Mahmudul Haque the author, his wife Kajol who encouraged me to translate him, his brother Nazmul Haque who helped me solve an important puzzle and looked forward to the translation coming out, they all died before being able to see the final book. But I’m glad I’ve been able to share it with the children who live in Toronto and Los Angeles."

 

Kolkata's book street

 During a recent visit to Kolkata, I spent an afternoon exploring College Street. Rows upon rows of cluttered bookstalls, jostling browsers, the honks and rattles of quaint trams and yellow Ambassador taxis... the entire scene seems rooted in the past. A day and age when people had the time and inclination to curl up with books; when eager readers searched for that special book they had always wanted to read.

The world’s largest second-hand book bazaar and the largest book market in India, College Street featured in Time Magazine’s “Best of Asia” list in 2007. At first glance, one is overwhelmed, and a bit disappointed by the predominance of textbooks. Where are the rare old books, first editions, books in diverse Indian languages, and unusual books in and out of print from distant lands? There is also the fear of being buried alive in an avalanche of dusty tomes barely held back by sheets of corrugated tin and canvas clinging to frames of bamboo. Braving such minor hazards, adventurous souls can still seek and discover rare pearls in this sea of books. My uncle, a regular visitor to this street, discovered several gems on the course of his voyages of discovery. An exquisitely illustrated antique edition of The Rubayiat of Omar Khayyam discovered in College Street, continues to hold pride of place in his personal library.
My detailed account is published in Sunday Herald

morality and the lack of it

Is our moral degradation hurtling us inexorably towards doomsday? Or is it a sign of our progress? After all, we are innovatively creating new ways to turn morality upside down.

The problem isn't restricted to our political leaders at the top of the rotting pyramid. Look around in every sphere of life, whether in education or in industry. So many people everywhere seem hell-bent on furthering their own agendas at the cost of the common good. This is where ordinary people like us can hope to make a small dent. We can try to persuade those close to us to modify their approach. We can, for instance, persuade folks around us who toss garbage on the streets or feel paying bribes is the only way to get things done, to reconsider their stance. Peer pressure can have a positive impact in such cases.

Little drops make the ocean.

My detailed opinion piece on this subject is published in Sunday Herald

Violence? It's child's play

Graphic violence is available today at the click of a mouse. Technology brings our goriest fantasies to horrific life through TV, electronic video games and computers. Once upon a time, childhood was filled with innocence and gentle light.

Children grew up with charming fairy tales where good always triumphed over evil. Today the flowers of childhood are wilting before the tsunami of graphic violence flowing into our homes. Murderous monsters; bloodthirsty ghouls; stabbings, shootings and mutilations of human beings; all this and more are now regular viewing for young children. Children are often unable to distinguish between fantasy and reality. A constant barrage of gruesome electronic images can hijack vulnerable young minds. Scholarly studies show that people who frequently view violent images on television or the movies or play violent video games, are compelled to play out those impulses in real life. Other studies link a rise in criminal behaviour to violent media images, and call for a return to healthier and more decent entertainment...

Modern urban lifestyles and parenting methods support this trend towards violence. In the good old days, children spent their free time going out and playing with friends. Parks and safe playgrounds are now a rarity in our cities. Parents today are afraid of letting their children play freely outside without constant supervision. Instead, children are confined indoors for the parents’ convenience and the children’s own safety.

In the security of their homes, children freely explore the murky depths of the internet and video games. Smart children can take advantage of their parents’ lack of awareness of the latest technologies, and secretly view X-rated material at the click of a mouse. Children are spending more time viewing electronic screens, than interacting with other children. This hampers the growth of their relationships with fellow human beings, and affects their overall development into responsible adults. Busy with their own careers and making money, parents have little time to draw their children close and find out what is going on in their lives.

Are violent TV programmes and video games the root cause of escalating violence in today’s world? Or are more complicated factors at play behind our contemporary culture of blood and mayhem? Electronic images aren’t monsters with the power to corrupt normal humans into killing machines. Well-produced TV programmes can educate and inculcate sound moral values in children in a fun way. Video games can develop children’s motor skills and alertness, prevent them from feeling bored and lonely, and falling into bad company. Violence on screens is only a part of a larger problem which makes children today more aggressive.

We like to think of an ideal past when entertainment was clean and innocent. In fact, violence has always been an integral part of human culture, and often an entertaining spectacle for the masses....

My complete essay is published in Sunday Herald

World Environment Day

The fifth of June is World Environment Day. So what’s the big deal? Every day seems to be dedicated to something, from proclaiming love from the rooftops to protecting axolotls or orangutans.

Media campaigns, green walks, street rallies, distribution and planting of saplings, slogan writing and painting contests, strings of functions and speeches — what impact does it have on people like us?

We continue to slouch in our cosy synthetic leather beanbags, drooling over junk food and gaping at the idiot box, craving for more, more, more. Consider the everyday example of plastic bags, which we recklessly use and throw.

This is among the many environmental hazards created by people like us. Our Supreme Court recently called for a curb on the use of plastics, citing its harmful effects on humans, and on animals swallowing them. “Our next generation is sitting on consequences greater than the atomic bomb,” the court said.

Yet, when the talk turns to reducing our own carbon footprints, we turn a deaf ear. Guzzling less electricity and petrol or saying no to plastic bags? No sir, please excuse us.

World Environment Day is a call for each of us to sit up and reflect. Life isn’t all about grab-grab, waste-waste, though frankly that’s just the way we like it. This planet and all the wonderful things nature has created, belongs to us all. This world is miraculous in its infinite beauty and variety.
...
Domestic wastes need to be sorted into items that can be recycled or made into compost. We can mobilise support for recycling efforts within our community.

Industries drive economic growth, but they also produce pollutants and can exhaust natural resources. We can help mobilise public opinion within the community towards a change for the better. As aware and alert consumers, we can insist on buying products from businesses that have plans to sustain the environment; treat effluents before releasing them into the ecosystem, and invest in renewable energy. We must do our homework and ask questions.

Many of us will shoot down warnings and good advice, and continue in our wasteful ways. As long as our material greed flourishes, we will be hell-bent on exhausting the resources of our planet.

Scientists provide a ray of hope. Earth-like rocky planets fit for human habitation may be more common in the universe than stars, say planetary scientists at Australian National University. We can extend the use and throw culture to our earth, and junk it as we seek out new planets to colonise, exploit and devastate.

My complete essay on the subject is published in Sunday Herald

P U results in Karnataka; Dismal not Great

The recent jubilation over the highest in a decade pass percentage in PU exams set me thinking. I shot of my opinion, and an excerpt from it was published in the letters section in Deccan Herald. Here's the complete, unedited version.

The recent report on the pass percentage in the PU exams of 57.9% made headlines for being the highest in the decade. Is this a matter of pride or worry?  This raises an uncomfortable question of the relevance of the current system. SSLC and PU exams are meant to set a benchmark for the minimum knowledge a candidate must possess after schooling. In other words they test whether the educational system has achieved its objective of educating a child. It is not just a test of the child but of the system as well. A student who scores 57.9 % in her exam is termed mediocre. Then what does one say of a system of education that is proud to deliver 57.9% results?

Somewhere something is very wrong. As a benchmark are the standards set unreasonably high? That is probably not the case. The state government asks for time to bring the level of PU education at par with Central Boards when requesting a delay in implementation of a National Common Entrance. These are Boards boasting of much higher pass percentages. The pass percentage of government run CBSE schools [excluding the elite Kendriya Vidyalayas and Navodaya Vidyalayas] in Class XII exams stood at 83.98% last year .The overall passing rate of CBSE in Class XII exams was 81.71% last year. This year’s results are awaited. If you think it unfair comparing a state board with a central board, neighbouring Tamil Nadu had an even higher pass percentage in Class XII of 86.7% this year.

A thorough relook at the curriculum is necessary. Is it teaching what we want children to learn? Emphasis on abstract theory with little mention of practical application makes a curriculum difficult to grasp. Unless a curriculum aims to promote better understanding of the subject, rote learning soon renders it meaningless. A student who gets the impression of studies being devoid of meaning and application looses interest in such an education. The numbers game where marks are all that count, is an incentive for shortcuts. Interestingly Andhra Pradesh Board has replaced marks with grades in this year’s Class X results.

It is easy to blame government colleges with their well known deficiencies in infrastructure and manpower.  Karnataka has numerous private colleges too. Undoubtedly they too contribute to some of these failures despite having better resources. Coaching institutes have proliferated in towns and cities offering to remedy the deficiencies of the formal education system. Students still fail.

Exams test a student’s performance of that hour. A system that includes evaluation of student performance throughout the year will do much to reduce the “luck” factor in exams. This would recognise consistency and provide feedback to both teacher and student about those falling behind. Timely intervention could then help them improve.

Exam evaluators are an overburdened lot. With too many papers to evaluate and too little time to do it, leaves the best person error prone. Great is their responsibility in deciding the merit of a student. Their remuneration must match their responsibility. A student who deserves to be failed also deserves to know the reason why. This would help her identify her shortcomings and improve next time, besides bringing transparency to the system.

Congratulations are due to all those successful. Spare a thought for those who failed. In a system unlikely to change in any hurry, family and friends are the last hope. A family that understands that marks are not everything, will help the child who failed to emotionally cope with a poor performance. A family that is supportive and not judgemental is the best healer for all the agonies of these children. It is to be remembered that no student intends to fail. Post results suicides ritually follow declaration of results. We can but try our best and hope for a better system. A system where no child should feel that life is not worth living.

Encountering the 'Other'

    

THE STRANGE AND THE FAMILIAR

Encountering the ‘OTHER’

What is the ‘Other’? In its simplest sense, anyone or anything that is not ‘you’ is the‘other’. So the alienation begins. Since the other is alien, there is a separateness, and a rejection between the two. At the same time, the attempt is towards assimilation, you want to change the other to become more like you. You may do this by employing the processes of love and care, but also making clear that you are superior in your difference, the other must become more like you. If this does not happen through positive efforts, you reject and try to remove the other, for as long as there is the other, you have to be assertive as the better one. The rejection also may be a rejection of your own self if you recognize much of this in the other.

 

There are therefore many forms of ‘other’. In language and place, everything about the other attracts and repels, but its existence is evident, its pull even more so. That is why we travel, why we seek a certain novelty, why we embrace or get repelled by what we see, hear or fail to understand. We may often find ourselves more at home with the others. The concept of the other has entered the realms of philosophy, gender, race, fantasy and sci-fi, politics and power, among others.

Poet, short and story writer Abha Iyengar hosts 23 writers on encountering the 'other.''#15 of the Language Place Blog Carnival.   Check out the fascinating stories from diverse pens, including mine, at

Encounters of an everyday kind

 

Three cheers for the power of blogging for connecting so many views from around the world.

what makes me tick?

What makes me tick? or go clickety clack tippety tap on the keyboard? Millions and zillions of things, and sometimes all those things keep me so busy, I don't clickety clack for a while. But everything gets jumbled in the deep corners of my mind, and some day, when everyone's forgotten those things ever existed, they come out of hiding. First weaving themselves into little stories, then maybe bigger ones.

Here's a freewheeling and snappy little interview of mine in DNA YA which captures a quick snapshot.

Hmm, well sort of. Because every time I try to focus all those thoughts wriggling inside my head, the writing comes out different every time.

So what makes you tick? Even if you aren't eccentric enough to write or paint or... um do so called 'creative' stuff, the fact is, we are all creative in our own ways.

So what makes us connect ideas in our heads, and think of something new? Visitors here, please do share.

Our culture and child abuse

I was deeply moved by the significance and beauty of Nathdwara Pichwai paintings (See post and link to complete article in previous post below). What touched me most was how devotees worshipped Lord Srinathji as a divine child; a sweet, adorable, mischievous yet loving child.

In a land where the divine child is worshipped with such affectionate devotion, why are countless children being abused in various ways? The recent deaths of Baby Falak and Baby AfreenThese child abuse cases are only the tip of the iceberg in our society. Not only
fathers, but even mothers and other close relatives can be the active
perpetrators. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. Producing a child
can be a social fashion statement, and there are cases of even educated parents
who perceive their children as chattel/expendable extensions of their own egos.

However we may squirm at the attendant media hype, sensationalising cases such as Baby Falak and Afreen's do serve a
purpose by drawing public attention to such issues. Only a few years ago,
Indians refused to even acknowledge that child abuse exists in our own society. We
liked to bury our necks in the sand and aver that this was some figement of
Western imagination. Indian parents and families were unchallenged authorities
for children. Recently, a young girl in Mysore was forced by her father to beg
because she did not perform as per his expectations in exams. Even in the recent
past, society would have turned a blind eye to underlying issues, and people
would have said it is a family matter, and the parents have every right to teach
their kids a lesson. Community leaders would have supported this.

Child abuse in India goes far beyond such sensationalised cases . Social malaise covers middle and upper classes, from female infanticides
and sex determination tests to 'honour' killings of young lovers . Too many
people have kids just to prove a social point, they dont want them or love them.

When will people like us realise the futile anomaly of worshipping the divine spirit of childhood in temples, and then turning a blind eye to the abuse of real children in the dirty streets outside?

Pichwai paintings of Nathdwara

Paintings from the Nathdwara School occupy a special place in Indian art. Many are in the form of pichvais, which were created to be hung behind the idols in the temples of Nathdwara in Rajasthan. Each pichvai painting is considered to be a seva or offering to Srinathji, the seven-year-old balaswarup or child manifestation of Lord Krishna. The artists paint with a sense of deep devotion. The paintings usually depict scenes from the life of Srinathji, expressing the moods of different seasons and festivals.

Their deceptively simple style hides layers of spiritual significance and symbolism. Using basic colours, concepts and compositions, these paintings show how the whole world, including all living creatures, birds and animals, is Lord Krishna’s leela. It is imperative to trace the historical development of the Nathdwara School of Painting and study the factors responsible for its distinctive imagery, holds eminent contemporary artist, scholar and author Amit Ambalal. Delivering the Tasveer Foundation Lecture, he points out the importance of delving into cultural background, the philosophy of the sect, its colourful rituals, festivals and legends.

Nathdwara literally means the gateway to Lord Srinathji. According to legends, the idol of Lord Krishna was transferred in the 17th century from Vrindaban to protect it from the destructive wrath of Emperor Aurangzeb. When the bullock cart transporting the idol reached what was then a tribal village in Rajasthan, the wheels sank deep into the soil and could not be budged. This was taken to be the Lord’s chosen spot, and a temple was built there. Since then, Nathdwara has been home to Srinathji, the chief deity of the Pushtimarga sect. The Pushtimarga sect (The Way of Divine Grace), founded by Shri Vallabhacharya in the 16th century, is based on Bhagwata Purana scriptures.
Pushtimarga does not stress on asceticism, and holds that the way to spiritual salvation is through a celebration of earthly life.

To devotees, the idol of Srinathji is not a stone image. It is a living, vivacious divine child, who is regularly fed, bathed, dressed, sent out to play, and gives darshan to devotees eight times a day. The haveli is symbolic of Braja, and places all around it in Nathdwara are named to symbolise places important to Lord Krishna. Thus, Govardhan Chowk symbolises Govardhan Mountain. All the areas and dimensions of the temple complex are built as a miniature palace, so that child Krishna can feel at home.
My detailed article is published in Sunday Herald