A romantic melody

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn 

Divya talks about her life with singer Madhu Balakrishnan

Photo by Mithun Vinod

By Shevlin Sebastian

Divya met singer Madhu Balakrishnan for the first time at her family tharavad in Kothamangalam. At that time, there was a marriage-fixing ceremony between Vinoy, Divya's first cousin, and Mini, Madhu's first cousin. “He was wearing a saffron kurta and jeans,” says Divya. A music aficionado, she already admired him as a singer.

“My brother [cricketer] Sreesanth is also a great fan of his,” she says. Madhu and Sreesanth bonded and became close friends. The singer would take the cricket star to the Maharaja’s College practice ground in Kochi and bring him back.

At that time, Madhu had a song programme, ‘Raga Tharangam’ on Surya TV, which was aired every Saturday. After the programme, Sreesanth would call up Madhu and compliment him. Sometimes, Divya would come on the line. “I had a tendency to point out mistakes,” she says. “Madhu would tell me that people usually praised him.”

During her final-year degree in chemistry at Sacred Heart College, Thevara, she had got the papers ready to do her masters at Kansas University, USA. It was then that Madhu told Nivedita, Divya’s elder sister, who was a singer, that he liked Divya and wanted to marry her. “I also had feelings,” she says. “But my parents were upset because they wanted me to do further studies.”

Anyway, there was a mutual agreement between the families and the wedding took place on September 10, 2001. Asked about Madhu's qualities, Divya says, “He does not get tense. Madhu is not one to be overjoyed, nor does he feel too sad. He is a steady person. I feel a lot of tension, regarding my children, but Madhu always tells me to relax.”

Divya also admires his dedication to singing. “Madhu’s father died when he was in Class 9,” she says. “So, he had to struggle a lot. Today, he is a self-made man.” The couple lives, with their sons, Madhav, 9, and Mahadev, 3, in a large bungalow, with a lot of woodwork, in Thripunithara. There are a couple of cars in the courtyard.

Both are religious-minded, and go often to pray, with their families, at the Chottanikkara Bhagawathy Amma temple. “Madhu loves my family as his own,” says Divya.

Madhu also swiftly jumps to the aid of people who are being harassed. On a recent afternoon, Madhu and Divya had just set out from their house in their Toyota Innova vehicle. On the main road, Madhu happened to look into the rear-view mirror. And he saw an astonishing sight. A boy and a girl, both students of the nearby Government Arts College were walking along the sidewalk. Suddenly, the boy slapped the girl. Madhu reversed the vehicle, till he reached the pair, and asked the boy why he had acted like that.

The boy was taken aback, and said, “We are friends. She did not put her dupatta properly and that was why I hit her.”

Madhu said, “Never do that. You have no right to slap her.”

Regarding his drawbacks, Divya says, “Madhu gets angry quickly. Sometimes, he gets upset over the smallest of things. On the other hand, I rarely lose my temper. When I get upset I keep quiet.”

Another drawback is that Madhu is unable to understand the hidden motives of people. “There have been a few times when those, whom he has trusted, have let him down,” says Divya. “Madhu has suffered financial losses because of that.” 

Still, she is deeply in love and gets a thrill to see Madhu perform on stage. “I feel lucky that he is my husband,” she says. Her favourite song of Madhu's is 'Chentharmizhi' from the film, 'Perumazhakaalam.' “I never get tired of listening to it,” she says.

Asked for tips to have a successful marriage, Divya says, “In earlier times, when a product went bad, we would try to repair and reuse it. But, nowadays, people throw it away and buy a new one. That is not right. Similarly, if there is a defect in people we must accept and learn to live with it.”

She remembers what her father told her once. “It takes two hands to make a noise,” she says. “So, when your husband gets angry, if you keep quiet, there will be fewer problems. And it can be vice-versa also.”

About Madhu Balakrishnan

Madhu became famous when he sang 'Amme Amme' from the film, 'Vaalkannadi' in 2002. This enabled him to win a Kerala Government State Award. So far, he has sung 300 songs in Malayalam, Tamil, Kannada and Telugu. He has also sung more than 10,000 devotional and non-film songs. In 2010, he set up the S-36 band, which is helmed by his brother-in-law, the cricketer S. Sreesanth. Madhu has performed in concerts in USA, Canada, the UK, the Middle East and Singapore.

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

A bright, shining light

Through light, sound, and vibrant dance movements, Kathak exponent, Aditi Mangaldas and her group, produced a new type of performance that was elevating to watch

By Shevlin Sebastian

Aditi Mangaldas turns around in circles from one side of the stage to the other. Then she goes down on her knees, at the edge of the stage, looks ceiling-ward, and says a poem by Meerabhai, “I seek the beloved. His beautiful body is covered in jewels that strike me like lightning. I am engulfed by him. I have become one with him... so what if people think I have lost my way.”

The four women dancers come forward, then go backwards, in a delicate play of light, movement and sound, especially that of ghungroos, that has a mesmerising effect. But when the male dancers join in, the movements become fast, and physically intense, with leaps, swivels and pirouetting at high speeds.

“When you have to express abstractions you have to show it with physicality,” says Aditi. “Earlier, dance was performed in enclosed environments like a temple or a Mughal court. So, the physical aspect was not that important. You only needed delicate steps. But now, on stage, the distance from the audience has increased, so we have to do a lot of dynamic movements to project the meaning of the dance.” 

Apart from the movements, the lights play up the mood ever so delicately. So, when the dancers initially come on stage, it is dark, but they hold lamps near their faces.

“The type of lights that are used is very important,” says Aditi. “If the scene is expressing a spiritual search, how do you show it with light? It cannot be flashing lights. We are not a rock concert. It has to be done in a subtle way. You have to think: 'What can I do here which will enhance the texture of the scene?'”

For this Aditi has taken the help of talented international light designers like Fabiana Piccioli and Sander Loonen. “It is so important to collaborate with people of high calibre, especially if you want to grow and evolve,” she says. For the music, she has worked closely with singer Shubha Mudgal.

The programme, ‘Uncharted Seas’, at the JT Performing Arts Centre at Kochi, is all about a spiritual search. As Aditi says: “Don't we wonder sometimes when we are standing outside and looking at the stars, where we are in the universe? What is our existence like? What are we searching for? Is there some higher energy? Is there something beyond?”

And she quotes from her favourite philosopher, J. Krishnamurti: ‘We look for fixed points, but there are none, either in ourselves or outside in the universe.’ Incidentally, Aditi’s grandmother, Nandini Mehta, was a close associate of Krishnamurthi, while her aunt, Pupul Jayakar, wrote the definitive biography of the acclaimed thinker.

At the recital, Aditi led from the front, with beautiful and intense dance movements. It does come as a surprise to realise that she is in her early fifties and matching, or probably surpassing, colleagues half her age.

“Dance is a passion for me,” she says. “I keep fit by training in Kalaripayattu, by doing yoga, eating the right food, and going to the gym. In a way, I am training like an athlete.”

And it is non-stop training for her. “You have to do your riyaaz every day and be immersed in dance with your body, mind, heart and emotions,” says Aditi. “You have to do it with joy, dedication, and passion.”

Aditi has been doing this since the time she was five years old when she began training under Kathak exponent Kumudini Lakhia. She was with her teacher for fifteen years. After a while she felt that there was something within her that was not dancing and felt the need to go to the classical roots of Kathak. So, she became a dancer with Pandit Birju Maharaj. “It was a magical experience,” says Aditi. “Panditji is a great guru. He taught me how to centre the energy within myself.”

A few years later, Aditi decided to strike out on her own. And that was when she set up her dance academy called Drishtikon ('Viewpoint'). To select her dancers, Aditi looks for creative spirits who are technically proficient. “Only they can embody my dance philosophy,” she says. “What I am trying to do is an exploration. If you take the seed of Kathak, and water it with a contemporary sensibility, you get something new.”

At Kochi, this newness was the experience of all those witnessed the performance. 


(The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)

The other side of midnight

Jeet Thayil's 'Narcopolis', nominated to the Man Booker longlist, highlights many aspects of Mumbai's underworld, and bemoans the loss of liberal values in the city

By Shevlin Sebastian

Jeet Thayil's 'Narcopolis' has an astonishing prologue. Titled, 'Something at the mouth', it is one sentence that goes on for six and a half pages. “I was trying to reproduce an opium-induced dream,” says Thayil. “This is an open-ended feeling. How do you approximate that experience in language? You cannot do it in a short declarative Hemingwaysque type of sentence. It has to be a long, multi-layered kind of sentence.”

'Narcopolis' is set in Mumbai in the 1970s, 80s, and 90s. Thayil spent several years there, in opium dens and in the shadowy underworld, where all sorts of characters can be found. So, there is, among many others, Dimple, a eunuch, acclaimed painter Newton Xavier, and Chinese businessman Mr. Lee.

Interestingly, in the novel, from Mumbai, the scene suddenly shifts to China, for about 70 pages. “There is a reason why that happens,” says Thayil. “The secret history of Bombay is that its fortunes were built on opium. Between 1800 and 1840, about half a dozen Parsi ship owners got together with the British East India Company and shipped thousands of tons of opium to China and turned a generation into addicts. And that money made Bombay the financial capital that it is today.”

All those Parsi ship owners later went on to build highways, roads, hospitals and art colleges like the JJ School of Art. “People have forgotten that, originally, the Parsis made their money by being drug dealers.”

People have also forgotten how Mumbai was like earlier. “In the nineteen eighties, it was a beautiful, laid-back, liberal and liberating sort of place,” says Thayil. “There was a sense of freedom in the air, but that has gone completely. Today, it is a very tense place, and that is not because of the traffic, the noise or the huge press of people.”

Thayil blames the Shiv Sena and the Hindu Right for making Mumbai a fraught place, full of anxiety and fear. “They have pitted community against community,” he says. “A lot of the conversation that people used to have earlier, you cannot have any more because you have to be aware of the background or the religious community that the person belongs to.”

As a result, there is a censorship of thought, language, and conversation. “Once that happens in a community or a city, it is the beginning of the end,” says Thayil. “Bombay is no longer the cosmopolitan kind of cultural capital of India it was once and could have been. It has become a regressive and primitive place.”

Meanwhile, Thayil admits that 'Nacropolis' is a semi-autobiographical novel. “A lot of the information is there is because I was in that shadowy society for many years,” he says. “I got into this world because I was seduced by the romance of it. I had never seen anything like it before.” (Incidentally, thanks to his journalist-father, Thayil grew up in Hongkong, studied in New York and came to India only when he was 18.)

Thayil, of course, paid a price for the access. He was a drug addict and alcoholic for 20 years. “Looking back, it was a colossal waste of my life,” he says. But he is clean now and his writing career is taking off.

'Nacropolis', which took five years to write, has made waves. Just a few days ago, it was nominated to be on the Man Booker longlist of 12 books. This list was made from an initial batch of 145 books. “Yes, I was pleasantly surprised and happy to be on the long list,” he says. In September, a short-list of six books will be announced.

Meanwhile, Thayil has been on a global tour promoting the book. He has been to South Africa, United Kingdom, Switzerland, Italy, the United Arab Emirates and all over India. “I am going to Brisbane, Edinburgh, Hongkong, Singapore, The Hague and Dubai in the next few months,” he says.

In between, he has also been working on his next novel, 'The Lives of the Saints'. “One of the characters in Narcopolis, Newton Xavier, who dominates a chapter and then disappears, is appearing in this book,” says Thayil. “Newton is loosely based on two great Indian artists, Dom Moraes and F.N. Souza.” 

 

(The New Indian Express, Kerala) 

Kerala through the microscope

13 stalwart artists, all of Kerala origin, showcase their response to the 1341 AD flooding of Kodungaloor at the OED gallery at Mattancherry

Photos: 'Blood Brothers' by Riyas Komu; Gopikrishna’s oil on canvas, ‘Homecoming’

By Shevlin Sebastian

When you step into the new Open-Eyed Dreams (OED) gallery at Mattancherry, one is immediately taken aback by the large installation art placed alongside one wall. There 365 pieces made of aluminum cast. They show soldiers wearing helmets and shields and holding swords in their hands, all done in a silvery tinge. The width is 29 feet, while the height is 15 ft. It is called ‘Blood Brothers’, done by artist Riyas Komu.

“I have been inspired by a 13th century stone-relief of the Seljuk warriors of Turkey,” says Riyas. “When you look at human history, conflicts, caused by class and caste divisions, religious hatreds, and political differences, have been the cause for unrest in almost every part of the world.” This remarkable work has also been displayed in Teheran, Dubai, Delhi and Tel Aviv.

Another painting which catches the eye is the one next to it: D. Sunoj’s ‘The Promise of a Metropolis’. An acrylic on linen, it shows a few multi-storeyed buildings, the rooms all brightly light. The sky is black, which indicates that it is a night scene. Lamps on the walls also glow brightly. On the walls are plants with white flowers. All is positive seems to the message of the painting.     

Another striking work is Gopikrishna’s oil on canvas called ‘Homecoming’. It shows a nude muscular man with green eyes and red lips and swept-back brown hair hugging a leopard with green wings. The animal’s open mouth reveals jagged teeth. And on its back are the green wings of a bird. Three leopards sit on their haunches, again with green wings, gazing at the man with an expressionless look on their faces. 

Interestingly, the eyes of the man and the leopards are of the same yellow colour. “I wanted to show that human beings as well as leopards are God's creations,” says Gopikrishna. “We come from the same source in the Universe.”

At the corner of the painting is a white rucksack. It seems the man has given up all his possessions and has come to the jungle to live in tune with Nature. “Nature is a very important concept in my work,” says Gopikrishna. “Both inner and outer nature.”

Nature is also part of Rajan Krishnan's painting. Drawn in the Indian miniature style, it shows a massive cashew tree, with each leaf and nut meticulously drawn. The leaves are so numerous that the trunk seems to be bending under the weight. “I wanted to show that despite all the damage that we do, the Earth is still so nurturing,” says Rajan. “Each leaf and cashew nut is meticulously drawn, unlike in the West, where they do paintings which create an illusion of appearance.”

Reji K.P.’s ‘Tuti Nama’ has no illusory appearance. It is a simple image of a man filling his old style scooter with petrol through a plastic pipe, one end of which is placed in a bottle. A peaceful-looking cat lies under the vehicle. Through a gap between two shops, electric wires can be seen. And in the distance, there seems to be a large floating balloon in the sky. Next to the man’s shop is another one in which a woman is darning a cloth, while some sarees can be seen on cloth hangers. A young boy sits on the steps of the house, making a trap to catch a bird. It is a neat, simple drawing, with a commendable clarity and simplicity. The title, ‘Tuti Nama’, or ‘Tales of a Parrot’, refers to a 14^th century collection of Persian morality tales.

“I just wanted to show daily life,” says Reji. “The man is a scooter mechanic, while the woman in the next shop is a tailor. The boy is learning violence from a young age by making a trap. In the distance, there are two men standing on the road, next to a person driving a tractor. But the men have their heads blown off. Every day, somewhere there is a bomb blast taking place.”

All these works are being shown in the exhibition called 1341 AD. “That was when the great flooding of the port of Kodungaloor took place,” says gallery owner Dilip Narayanan. “Thereafter, Kochi became the premier port. I invited 13 artists of Kerala origin, from Mumbai, Kolkata, Baroda , and Thiruvananthapuram, among other places, to celebrate the event.”

The other stalwart artistes include Bose Krishnamachari, N.M. Rimzon, Sumedh Rajendran, Zakkir Hussain, Bhagyanath, Reghunandan, Binoy Varghese and Baiju Parthan.

(The New Indian Express, Kochi) 

Laughs and a couple of lessons thrown in

The comedy, ‘Rafta Rafta’, engages a Kochi audience with its slapstick lines and an unforgettable slice of Indian life in London

By Shevlin Sebastian

The play, ‘Rafta Rafta’, opens in the living room of a middle-aged Punjabi couple, Vishu and Suman Malhotra, in London. Their son, Adi, has just got married to a Muslim girl, Tasneem, and there is a celebration in the house.

But Adi is strait-laced and will not drink and enjoy despite the entreaties of his father. Instead, he is busy looking at his mobile phone. “Why is he always pressing his fingers on that object?” asks Vishu.

Says Tasneem: “Daddyji, that is a Blackberry. I gave it as a wedding gift to Adi.”

Retorts Vishu: “My father gave me a buffalo during my wedding. I didn’t go crazy over it.”

Meanwhile, the lights fade, and on the right is the kitchen. As Tasneem prepares tea for Adi, her mother, Fatima, tells Suman, “I used to go to sleep and wake up the next morning and think, ‘Raat Ko Ho Gaya’ (It happened during the night).”

Tasneem says, “Ma, I won't have that problem. I have read all about the theory of sex.”

Fatima says, “Is that enough? Men are guided by what is between their legs. But without love, marriage is a long, slow death.”

Back to the living room: there is an arm wrestling contest between Vishu and Tony Chopra, a cinema owner, which the former wins hands down. “I used the Cobra technique,” says a gloating Vishu. He goads his son to play, and for a while, it would seem that Adi would win, but finally, it is Vishu who is triumphant. “It was a long slow squeeze,” says Vishu. “This time it was the python method.”

On elevated stages are two bedrooms: one for the newly wedded couple, and the other for Adi’s parents. So, the curtain never drops during the play. And the scenes blend seamlessly from the living room to the kitchen to the bedrooms.

Adi, like the typical repressed Indian, fails to consummate his marriage and looks bereft. When Fatima comes to visit Tasneem, she confides in her mother about Adi’s non-performance. A desperate Fatima says, “Maybe it happened so fast you did not notice it.”

After six weeks, Fatima tells Suman and Vishu, “It has not taken place. Tasneem is still a virgin. Your son is defective material.”

Suman is upset by the description of her son. “How can she say our son is defective?” she tells Vishu. Says a morose Vishu: “Adi and I have never discussed anything below the belt.”

Soon, Tony comes to know. He confronts and mocks Adi. “I’ll do the work for you,” says Tony. His wife, Molly, a Britisher, in tight jeans and stiletto heels, slaps him and says he has been a non-performer for years.

Back at home, as expected, Adi accuses his wife of betraying him and there is a physical scuffle. It seems as if their marriage is coming to an end.

But in the last scene, both Adi and Tasneem have made up and they tell their families that they are going for a honeymoon to Blackpool, just like Adi's parents, Vishu and Suman did so many years ago.   

When Vishu hears this, he wipes away the tears from his eyes. He looks at his younger son, Raj, and says, “At your age when you are very happy, you start laughing. At my age, we start crying.”

It is a poignant end to a wonderful play, written by Ayub Khan-Din of ‘East is East’ fame. This particular programme, at the JT Pac, Kochi, was staged by the Mumbai-based theatre group, Akvarious. It was directed by Tahira Nath and Akash Khurana, who plays Vishu. The other characters include Umar, an assistant projectionist and friend of Adi, a Punjabi couple, and Fatima’s husband, Khalid.

“It was slapstick comedy at its best, but there were a lot of life lessons in it also,” says John George, an audience member.

Yes, at the end of the play, one was left wondering about how we Indians behave the same all over the world.

(The New Indian Express, Kochi)

Striking a harmonious note

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn

Dancer Santhi talks about her life with music composer Bijibal

By Shevlin Sebastian

In January, 2000, Santhi Mohandas received awards for Bharat Natyam, Mohiniyattom and Kuchipudi for a Youth Festival competition held at the Town Hall, Kochi. The man who presented them was music composer Bijibal. “I did not notice him then,” she says.

Santhi’s brother, Prashant, was learning to play the violin. When his teacher went abroad for an extended period, he looked for a new guide. The family knew a musician by the name of Sudheer Kumar. When they contacted him, Sudheer said that his cousin, Bijibal, played and taught the violin well.

One day, Sudheer went with Bijibal to the Mohandas home. When Santhi opened the door, Bijibal said, “Aren't you Santhi?” She was surprised by the question. “Then Bijibal said that he had met me earlier, at the prize distribution,” says Santhi. “It was then that I recalled his face.”

Bijibal started teaching Prashant at his house. Now and then he would call the Mohandas home to ask Prashant to come. “Sometimes, I would attend the calls,” says Santhi. “On the phone he sounded very friendly. He asked me about my studies and dance. After a while, he told me that he believed in coincidences. Then, finally, he said that he was interested in me. I said I had to ask my mother. I was only 19 then.”

After her father's death on August 6, 1997, Santhi’s mother, Nalini, was very protective of her. “When I told my mother she smiled, and said, ‘Let us ask the elders and check out the horoscope,’” says Santhi. “That gave me an indication that my mother was positive about Bijibal. Because of that, I began to develop feelings for him.”

Thereafter, everything went smoothly and the engagement took place on April 27, 2002. “We never went out for dates before our marriage,” says Santhi. “He would call me to go out with him, but my mother said no. So Bijibal would come home.”

However, on one occasion, he got permission from Nalini to take Santhi to the Ernakulathappan Shiva temple. “While there, I felt nervous and thought, ‘What if somebody saw us?’” says Santhi. Just then, Bijibal’s aunt, Suma, stepped forward and said hello to Bijibal. “Then Bijibal introduced me,” says Santhi. Suma said, “Oh, yes, let things go ahead. Don’t worry, I will not tell anything to anybody.”

Santhi felt embarrassed, and wanted to leave immediately. Anyway, they got onto a bus and at the Janatha stop, Bijibal got down because his bike was parked there. As the bus left, Santhi felt bad that she did not say a proper goodbye to Bijibal. “Suddenly, there he was, on his bike, at the side of the bus, waving and shouting goodbye to me,” says Santhi. “I felt red-faced as the other women passengers stared at me.”

Eventually, the couple tied the knot on June 21, 2002. And after ten years of marriage, Santhi loves the fact that Bijibal is a calm and relaxed person. “If there is some problem, and we need to solve it, he says that there is nothing to get worried about,” says Santhi. “There are so many remedies. And I feel calm, as if somebody has poured cold water over my hot head.”

Santhi also loves the fact that Bijibal is such a good violin player. “When I was pregnant, I used to tell him, ‘Vava wants to listen to some music’, and he would play for me,” says Santhi. “He can play nice keerthanams and soulful film songs.” Bijibal is also good at pencil drawing and reciting poems. “But now because of his busy career, he has no time to do all these things,” says Santhi, with a trace of regret in her voice.

But since Shanti is a professional dancer, she understands the compulsions of her husband. “Music is a passion for him,” she says. “Like him, I am also an artiste. I know how much sincerity, dedication and hard work you need to put in so that you become good at your art. So I give him full freedom.”

But sometimes, Bijibal’s absence can have an effect. “The children [Devadutt, 8, and three-year-old daughter, Daya] miss him,” says Santhi. “But more than that, I tell him, ‘You are missing their growth. It is fun to see their games, change of expressions, and joy of life.”

Meanwhile, asked the secret of a successful marriage, Santhi says, “It should be an equal relationship. One should give and receive respect. We should have trust in each other. My husband meets young singers, while I work with other dancers. So, faith is important. I know of quite a few friends whose marriages have broken up because of a lack of trust.”

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

Sweeping you off your feet!

‘The Kachra Tales’, a play about a sweeper-boy, impresses with its humorous dialogues, dramatic acting, and flamboyant settings

Photo: Kanda (left) and Kachra

By Shevlin Sebastian

A group of boys and girls hold on to a stick above their heads for dear life. They are swinging from side to side. All of them are wearing black shirts and loose trousers. A couple of girls have bulbous red noses. One of the boys says, 'Mumbai Central'. It takes some time to realise that they are inside a suburban train in Mumbai. Suddenly, they all rush out of the train.

One is talking on the phone. Another is running around in circles. One wears outsize spectacles and then… boom  … they all land on the floor, looking lifeless. “We just wanted to show the chaos of Mumbai,” says director Jaimini Pathak. A boy appears on the stage with a broom and sweeps the crowd off the stage. And that is how Kachra, the sweeper boy, is introduced. He is wearing a white vest and brown shorts.

Kachra’s mother wants him to study, but he wants to become a top-class sweeper. “I want to clean up the whole world,” says Kachra. “Otherwise, the earth will be a filthy place.” Soon, his friend Kanda appears. They talk about their teacher, Sikandar Babu. At the side, Sikander is trying to teach a group of bored students. Says the teacher to a student: “You are sprouting nonsense, you little blot.”

Meanwhile, Kanda says, “I want to become like Salman [Khan].” He writes a poem in praise of the Bollywood actress Rukmini Kiran Shah, who is coming to town. They go over to the set and are blocked by the watchman and the make-up artist. Suddenly, Rukmini zooms in wearing a green top and pink skirt. But somehow, the boys manage to slip in. Soon, there is a fight between hero Tabrez Anand and Rukmini. They chase each other. There is a melee and, in the confusion, Kachra and Kanda are transported to another world.

This is a new kingdom where the boys meet two men who represent an ostrich and crab. Kachra says, “Who are you?” And the pair break out into a wonderful song, with a couple of Bengali sentences thrown in:

Who are we?

Ami Ke, Tumi Ke? (Who am I? Who are you?)

Jaani Na, Jaano Na. (I don’t know. You don’t know.)

“The play got its inspiration from the nonsense verse of Sukumar Ray, Lewis Carroll, Ogden Nash, and Edward Lear,” says Pathak. “In fact, the ‘who are we’ song was a tribute to Sukumar Ray’s ‘Mish Mash’.” The script was written, not surprisingly, by a Bengali: Nayantara Roy.

The ostrich and the crab tell the boys that the king is cruel and heartless. He does not allow the people to own houses and possessions. “They tell the boys that if they want to escape, they would have to kill the king,” says Anand Ramprasad, of ‘Working Title’, a Mumbai-based theatre company, which produced the play.

Many incidents and songs take place, and finally the Queen realises that her husband had killed her father, the old king. She accosts the young king, is about to kill him and at the last moment spares his life and sends him away, to be guarded at all times in a remote area. In between Kachra says, “Is this reality or a dream?”

Soon, Kachra’s mother is awakening him. It seems to be a dream. He rushes to meet Kanda who also confirmed that he had the same vision.

Many youngsters attended the play, named, ‘The Kachra Tales’. One of them was Joseph Monis, a Class 11 student. “When I was told it was a play about a young cleaning boy I thought it would be a depressing story, but it turned out to be wonderful,” says Joseph. “I especially enjoyed the weird dialogues. The acting was great.”  

Says Sneha Rita, a Class 6 student, “It was the funniest play I have seen in my entire life. I loved everything about it.”

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

An ongoing love story

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn 

Smitha talks about her life with music composer Deepak Dev

By Shevlin Sebastian

On May 25, 2007, Smitha Dev was in Dubai spending time with music composer Deepak Dev’s parents. It was her fifth wedding anniversary. But Deepak was away in Chennai for work. That night, the family, along with Deepak’s brother, Dixit, went to the Ibn Batuta Mall to do some shopping.

At 10.30 p.m. which is midnight in India, Smitha called Deepak to wish him on the anniversary, but the phone remained out of range. Worried that something had happened, she called Deepak’s friend, who replied that the composer must be busy.

Earlier in the afternoon, Deepak had called and said that he would be having a lyrics-writing session going on late into the night. “Deepak told me that he was not sure whether he would be able to take my calls at night,” says Smitha.

Soon, there was a call on Dixit’s mobile from a neighbour saying that some friends had come to wish Smitha. So the family went back home.

At the entrance to the house, there was Deepak standing with a huge bunch of roses. “Happy anniversary,” he said, with a big grin, and the couple hugged each other. And Smitha was overwhelmed with happiness. “Deepak has always given me surprises throughout our marriage,” she says.

Some of the surprises can be tragic-comic. On September, 10, 2008, which is Smitha’s birthday, she got dengue fever in Chennai. “I thought it was a viral fever,” she says. “The children were at home and both our parents were not there. So, I took some antibiotics. But, by the fourth day it became severe.”

Deepak rushed Smitha to the Surya hospital. The nurse was trying to put a drip, but because Smitha was so weak, she could not find a vein in either of her arms to put the needle. Suddenly, blood started oozing out from one of the veins.

“When Deepak saw this, he got shocked and fell down in a faint,” says Smitha. “I had to ask the attender to take the mobile phone from the pocket.” She called one of their mutual friends, who lived nearby, to come and help. Meanwhile, the doctor of the casualty section said, with a grin, “He loves you so much. You are the patient, but the one who fainted is your husband.”

For Smitha, this is one aspect of Deepak’s character that she finds endearing. “He can't bear to see me in any sort of pain,” she says. “Deepak is always loving and caring.” 

He dotes on his two daughters, Devika, 9, and Pallavi, 6. “I know that all fathers do the same thing, though he spends very little time with the children,” she says. Deepak prefers to work at night. He comes home at 3 a.m., and sleeps late into the morning.

“So when our daughters get up to go to school, he will be sleeping,” says Smitha. “When he returns, they will be sleeping. That is why they don't see each other.”

But after three days like this, Deepak begins missing the girls. “He will then make it a point to come home when they return from school,” says Smitha. This is easy since the studio is nearby. He spends a lot of time with them on Saturdays and Sundays. “When we are together, my children never listen to me,” says Smitha, with a laugh. “They go to a dad who always says yes.”

Smitha also likes to spend a lot of time with Deepak. They met on July 23, 1995, at a recording studio in Kochi. Smitha had accompanied her mother, Renuka Girijan, a singer, for a recording. Deepak was working there as a keyboard player. He had just come from Dubai, where he grew up, to do his B.Com at Sacred Heart College, Thevara. At that time, Smitha was doing her second-year pre-degree in English literature at St. Teresa’s College. 

“We spoke to each other, but it was not love at first sight,” she says. However, by the end of the day, they had exchanged telephone numbers.

“We began speaking on the phone,” says Smitha. “Soon, we became friends. Later, it developed into a love affair.”

They would go out and spend time in restaurants and ice cream parlours. “The first thing I told Deepak when things got serious was that I did not want to have a ‘timepass love affair’,” says Smitha. “Because, in Kerala, in the 1990s, if a girl went around with a boy, you tend to get a bad name. So, I asked him for a commitment.”

Deepak was also serious about Smitha. They broached their desire to get married. “We did not have much of a problem with our parents,” says Smitha. “The only issue was that we are very close to each other in age, maybe a year’s difference.” Nevertheless, the couple tied the knot on May 26, 2002.

“There have been ups and downs, over the years, but I am happy,” she says. 

About Deepak Dev

Deepak Dev has composed music for Malayalam films like ‘Chronic Bachelor’, ‘Symphony’, ‘Udayananu Tharam’, Naran, and 'Grandmaster'.

He has worked with A.R Rahman, Vidaysagar, Shankar Ehsaan Loy, Sandeep Chowta, and Anu Malik,among others.

He trained in Carnatic music from his childhood but switched to the keyboard in later years. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

In search of a teak tree

The authorities of the Bhagawathy Temple at Cheranaloor, near Kochi, searched the length and breadth of Kerala for a teak tree that could be converted into a kodhimaram (flagstaff)

Photo: O. Chandrasekhar, president of the Bhagawathy Temple Upliftment Committee, standing next to the tree. Pic by Manu R. Mavelil

By Shevlin Sebastian 

It was a sunny day on March 31 this year. At the estate of Jose Plathottam, in Poonjar, about 93 kms from Kochi, a group of people have gathered next to a teak tree. It is a magnificent specimen, soaring 82 feet in the sky, with a circumference of 100 inches at the base. “The tree is more than hundred years old,” says Jose.

Soon, a priest sits cross-legged on the ground and murmurs shlokas. Lamps have been lit. Occasionally, he throws leaves, rice, and flowers at the base of the tree. Conch shells are blown. “The aim of the prayers is to get permission of the birds and the insects which live in the tree,” says O. Chandrasekhar, president of the Bhagawathy Temple Upliftment Committee.

After the prayers, workers wield axes simultaneously at the base of the tree. Finally, a mechanical saw is used. When the tree begins to shake, the boom of a crane is released, and the hook is inserted around the top of the trunk. Another crane is used for the lower half.

“The chief priest, Pradeep Namboodiri, told us that at no time the tree should touch the ground,” says Chandrasekhar. So, the tree is carefully lifted up by the two cranes, taken some distance away, along a narrow bridge, and placed on a flatbed trailer on the main road. Thereafter, it is wrapped in a cloth of fine red silk. The total time taken is 12 hours. Thereafter, the journey to the Bhagawathi temple at Cheranaloor, near Kochi, begins. Incidentally, the cost to transport the tree is Rs 2.5 lakh.

The temple is hundreds of years old. It is one of 108 Durga temples in the state. At one side is the tiled roofed house of the priest. It has been made in the ancient style, with thick lime walls. Large steps at the back lead to the temple pond. The water has a tinge of green, and small fishes in their hundreds can be seen. It is, of course, mandatory to have a dip, to purify oneself, before entering the temple.

At another side, there are several rooms which were used by musicians of ancient times who would come from long distances to sing and play at the temple. Now, it remains locked and empty.

Two years ago, the kodhimaram (or flagstaff) of the temple got rotted from within and collapsed. “It was about 60 years old,” says Narayanan Namboodiri, whose family had owned the temple for hundreds of years, till the Cochin Devaswom Board took possession in 1940. The temple authorities spent the next two years, travelling the length and breadth of Kerala, searching for the right teak tree. Finally, they chanced upon Jose's tree.

It took a year of negotiations before the prize was fixed: Rs. 13.5 lakh. “The Devasom Board gave us Rs 9 lakh,” says Narayanan. For the rest, they depended on the donations of the devotees. “There were a couple of people, who gave us cheques of Rs 50,000 and 1 lakh,” says Chandrasekhar.

When the tree arrived at the temple, a huge and excited crowd was present. There were drummers beating hard on the drums, while women and girls who lined the street were throwing flower petals. A part of the temple wall had been demolished, so that the trailer could enter the courtyard. And after solemn prayers, the tree was taken down and placed at one side, under a shamiana. At that very moment, there was a fierce wind and rain fell in torrents. “For us, devotees, we regarded this as a good sign,” says Narayanan

The hard work begins now. The tree has to be scraped, to reduce the circumference. “The scraping has to be done by hand,” says Narayanan. “The chief priest has said that no mechanical device should be used.” The height will be reduced from 82 to 65 feet, because of calculations made by the priest.

All this will take a few months. Thereafter, the tree has to be placed in a tub full of palm oil, for six months, to give it a burnished look. “We would need at least 1600 litres,” says Chandrasekhar. That itself will cost Rs 1.6 lakh. Then the decision has to be taken on whether the tree should be wrapped in gold or not. Around 7 kgs of gold is needed.

“If the Devasom Board gives us a significant contribution, we could ask for donations to cover the arrears,” says Narayanan. “If the Board says no, it will be impossible, because the cost will be about Rs 2 crore.” Most probably, the kodhimaram will be enveloped in copper, at a price of Rs 10 lakh.

Meanwhile, everybody is focused on getting the flagstaff ready. “We are hoping to have the kodhimaram set up, by July, 2013, and make our temple complete,” says Chandrasekhar.

(The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi) 

A dream debut

Mumbai-based model Isha Talwar does a star turn in Vineeth Sreenivasan's ‘Thattathin Marayathu’

By Shevlin Sebastian

It is 10 p.m. in Mumbai. Isha Talwar is returning in a car to her home after a 11-hour shoot for 'Bacardi', with Taha Shah, an upcoming Bollywood actor.  But she is in good spirits. Because her debut film, ‘Thattathin Marayathu’ , has got a thumbs-up from the audience.

Isha plays Aisha, a Muslim girl, who has been living in Thalassery all her life. “She is a small-town girl whose mother passed away when Aisha was very young,” says Isha. “Aisha has a father [played by Sreenivasan], and an uncle [Ramu].” It is a protective, rather than a conservative Muslim family. The elders let Aisha go to college. Which is how she falls in love with Vinod [Navin Pauly]. So, it is a campus love story.

So how did a Mumbai-based model, who does not speak Malayalam, get a break in Mollywood? “I had been modelling for Dhathri Fairness Cream,” says Isha. “The cinematographer, Jomon T. John, recommended my name to Vineeth [Sreenivasan].” 

They met up at Kochi. Isha did a screen test, and passed. In order to prepare for the role, she learnt her dialogues from a Malayalam teacher, Brinda Nair, in Mumbai and got help from her Keralite friends. “I also had to learn how to do the namaaz, and play the guitar,” says Isha. “My voice was not much of a concern, because the dubbing was going to be done by actress Apoorva Bose.”

But in order that Isha could become comfortable, Vineeth asked her to come to the set at Thalassery a week prior to the shooting. “Initially, I felt jittery,” she says. “But I was made to feel so welcome by the other cast members and crew. When my own scenes were shot I felt at ease.”

Soon, she became friendly with the other actors like Aju Varghese. “Twenty days into the shoot, Aju told me that they were worried about whether a Mumbai model could come into the Malayalam film industry and be able to pull it off,” says Isha.

Of course, she was able to pull it off because she got the biggest help from the director. “Much before I came to Thalassery, I had several telephonic conversations with Vineeth,” she says. “Aisha, the character, was very clear in his mind, but he gave me room to improvise. There were times when Vineeth made me hear a particular music and say, 'Isha, when I was writing this scene, I was thinking of this song.'”

Isha also liked the fact that Vineeth is a cool and laid-back guy. “He is so motivating all the time,” she says. “If there is something that is not working during a particular scene Vineeth will tell me it is good, but there is a little bit more that he needs. He looks happy all the time.”

And in her first film itself, Isha got a chance to act opposite the great Sreenivasan, who plays her father.

“Sreenivasan Sir's persona is electrifying on the sets,” she says. “In spite of being a legend, he made me feel relaxed. I have scenes where I break down and hug him. He helps you so much that you end up performing better. In short, he is a consummate professional.”

And clearly, the film has touched a chord, especially among the Muslim girls of Thalassery. “They told me the film is so true to life,” says Isha. “It is a Hindu-Muslim love story. That has had an impact, because it is so difficult to have such a relationship in India now. A lot of people have to sacrifice their love, because of the barriers caused by religion.”

On the other hand, Isha is jumping barriers. This busy model has done a music video with Hrithik Roshan for the 'Just Dance' competition, a Dulux paint advertisement with Shahid Kapoor and Boman Irani, as well as a VIP Skybags promotion with John Abraham. “So far, I have done about 40 advertisements,” she says. At present, Isha has received a few offers from Mollywood as well as Bollywood, and is mulling over it.

But clearly cinema is in her blood. Her father, Vinod Talwar, who works for producer Boney Kapoor, has been in Bollywood for the past 30 years, directing and producing films. “My dad is proud of my performance in ‘Thattathin Marayathu’,” says Isha. And the father gave one valuable acting tip to the daughter. “Find the moment of truth in every scene and perform accordingly,” says Isha. 

(The New Indian Express, Kerala)  

A youthful look at life

Nithin Joseph's art is focused on birds, ships, Kathakali dancers and women

By Shevlin Sebastian

One day in 2005, Nithin Joseph was sitting in a class at the KVM College of Nursing, Cherthala. The principal, Prof. Saroja, was giving a lecture. Feeling bored, Nithin drew a pen portrait of the teacher. During the class, a classmate showed the paper to Saroja. Instead of getting angry, Saroja priased the talent of Nithin. “That was when I realised that I had a knack for painting,” says Nithin.

After passing out, Nithin joined Wellcare Hospital as a male nurse. Whenever he could get some spare time, he would paint. A desire arose in him to put up an exhibition. But since he was self taught and had no formal training, he was finding it difficult to find a space. But through fortuitous circumstances, he got a slot at the prestigious Durbar Hall for a few days. He worked in a frenzy and got 25 paintings ready. “The theme is Nature,” he says. “That is why I called it 'Rhythm of Nature'.” It is a mix of acrylic, pencil and oil paintings.

And Nithin has got inspired from the most ordinary of circumstances. Once when he was walking on the road, he saw a match box. When he stooped to pick it up, he noticed that it was of a foreign make. It showed a young man, with a broad forehead, cupping a matchstick to light his cigarette. The face sort of glows from the impact of the fire. “I did it in the manner of Raja Ravi Varma's 'Lady with a lamp',” he says.

Because his father works as a master craftsman in the Indian Navy, there are a few paintings of ships. In one, Nithin drew an 18^th century wooden ship, with several billowing sails, and a pointed tip sailing over choppy waters. “I saw this particular photo in the lobby of the office of the Spices Board of India and decided to reproduce it,” he says. 

Most of the young painter's work are copies. So, he has done the back of a half-naked woman, covered in a loose white saree, sitting on the ground and looking sideways. “Women are the most beautiful creatures on earth,” he says. “A man's back will not be that appealing.”

He also finds the Kathakali art form very appealing. “In Cherthala, many performances would take place and I would attend quite a few,” he says. Once, one of the make-up artistes painted his face just like a proper performer. At the exhibition, Nithin has done a few life-like paintings of Kathakali artistes.

One of his original works is of two white owls resting on the branch of a tree, with white flowers embedded in them. The eyes of the owls are wide open and a blue and white tinge in the background indicates that it is a moonlit night. “People normally don't like owls, so I wanted to show how beautiful they are,” he says.

But undoubtedly, Nithin's strong point is his pencil drawings. A drawing of a half-naked distraught prostitute, with long hair, lying on a beach is eye-catching. Standing next to her is a woman who wants to save her. There are the Christian motifs of a chalice and rosary beads nearby.

At Wellcare, doctors encourage him to take up painting seriously. “Once when I made a mistake, a doctor told me, 'You are an artist, so I am not scolding you',” he says.

At the exhbition, Nithin has got many positive responses. He has been able to sell three of his works. “But nearly all the visitors have told me that they like my pencil drawings the best,” he says. “So, I am going to concentrate on that from now on.” Incidentally, thus far, at the request of friends and acquaintances, he has done 89 pencil sketches. This is an artist with a bright future. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi) 

Nothing Tiny about this Tom

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn 

Rupa talks about life with her actor-husband

Photo: Tiny Tom with his wife Rupa and son Adam

By Shevlin Sebastian

On a sunny weekday morning, all is quiet in a house in a bylane off Companypadi, near Aluva. Tiny Tom is at home, taking a few days rest before he goes off to Coimbatore to take part in the shooting of Shaji Kailas’ ‘Madirashi’. Eight-year-old son Adam is also at home because of a school holiday. Tom is busy giving an interview on the phone, while Rupa bustles about making glasses of orange juice for a couple of guests. Husband and wife are a study in contrasts: while Tom is tall and broad-shouldered, Rupa is small and appealing.  

It has been ten years since they have been married. And Rupa remembers their first meeting as if it happened yesterday.     

She had gone, with her parents to attend a cultural programme at the Vivanta By Taj on Willingdon Island, Kochi. Tiny Tom and his troupe had also performed there. Later, at the dinner, as she stood in line, Tiny Tom was also standing near her. They started chatting and Tom asked her whether she liked the programme. She said yes.

Later, Tom met Rupa’s parents and took down the phone number from Rupa’s father, Sebastian.  

A few weeks later, an official proposal was sent by Tom’s family. At that time, Rupa was doing her first year B.Com at De Paul College in Angamaly. “My father told them that I was only 17 and would have to wait,” says Rupa. And Tom and his family did wait. Finally, on March 14, 2002, they got married.

And right from the beginning, Rupa has always liked Tom’s honesty and straightforwardness. “Tom tells me all that happens, especially the incidents on the set,” she says. “He has nothing to hide. He tells everything to his parents, also.”

Tom is also hard-working. “Suppose he has to act in a film or do a public performance, he will do his homework by memorising all the dialogues by heart. Sometimes, he practices in front of me. Occasionally, I give some suggestions. If he has a fight sequence, he shows it to me, by mock-doing it with Adam.”

For Rupa, what makes her happy is that, for Tom, the family is his priority. “Whenever he gets free time he comes home,” she says. “He tends to avoid going to parties. Tom does not drink or smoke. That is a major plus point.”

In fact, he is keen on fitness. On the first floor of their house, there is a gym. “He rides a cycle and does weights,” she says. As a result, he has a body that women find attractive.

“Sometimes, girls call him and try to get friendly,” says Rupa. “Sometimes, they send messages. He shows them to me. He has a lot of fans because he is tall and handsome and makes people laugh. I felt insecure in the first two years. But now I have accepted it as a part of his job.”

There are drawbacks in being married to a performer. “He is rarely at home,” she says. “For a film shoot, he will be gone for a month or so, but will try to come in between. Then he goes for programmes abroad. This can last for a month. But we are constantly on the phone. I have accepted his absence, since this is his profession.”

But there are times when Rupa misses Tom a lot. This happens when there are programmmes in school in which Adam is participating and Tom is not there to see it. “Yes, at that time, I dearly wish he was present,” she says.

When Tom is at home, they go for outings, dinners and visits to the various malls. If there is a gap between assignments and Adam’s school is closed, they go for vacations.

In public, people approach Tom for photographs and autographs. They will ask him about his next film. “Sometimes girls will ask him who I am,” says Rupa, with a smile. “Then Tom will introduce me.”

Asked to give tips on having a successful marriage, Rupa says, “A couple should learn to adjust to each other. If a spouse has a resentment, that should be spoken out, instead of keeping it within. By suppressing it, the anger and resentment will increase. We should also learn to accept the good and bad points of the spouse. Nobody is perfect. It is like the relationship with our children. We accept them with all their good and bad qualities. The same should be the case with a husband or wife.”  

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)