A Mirror To Your Different Selves

The installation, 'Reflecting (on) The Inhabited Crossroads', by The Hashtag#Collective, makes you look into yourself and wonder which is the real you

Photo of Parvathi Nayar by Albin Mathew 

By Shevlin Sebastian

Roy Edwards, 58, from Perth, Australia, steps into the mirrored installation called, 'Reflecting (on) The Inhabited Crossroads', at the OED Gallery at Mattancherry. As he walks through a small maze, he sees himself from different angles, thanks to the 60 double-sided mirror panels that have been put up.

At the centre is a chair. Roy sits down and observes himself once again. Later, he tells artist Parvathi Nayar, “It made me realise the kind of faces that we put on, in front of society. I am smiling but, suddenly I see, from a reflection in the corner, that my smile is slipping.”

Another elderly woman says, “It is very disturbing to see these multiple selves. After a while, you don't know what is real and what is not.”

One eight-year-old boy tells Parvathi, “Aunty, it is a nice playground.”

Parvathi smiles as she recollects the memories. “The mirrors follow the design of the naalukettu house,” she says. “It is built around a quadrangle. When you navigate the maze, you can get confused. You don't know which mirror turns and which does not. By the time you come to the chair, at the centre, it is a place of stability, which resembles the middle of the house.”

It took over a week to put up the panels. “They were made elsewhere in Mattancherry, and brought here,” says Parvathy. “There were a team of workers who put up the metal framework. We were also helped by architecture students, as well as photographers. Then we had the lighting designer, Ranjith Kartha, do the lights in the inner square. In the night, when you walk through, you are moving from darkness to the light.”

There are other subtle messages, too. “Because of urbanisation, we are all trying to come to terms with what to keep and what to give up,” she says. “There is also the larger tussle, between modernity and the past, the new and the old. To each of us, it is a matter of confusion: what do we retain, and what do we give up.”

This project, on display till March 28, is placed in a collateral space of the Kozhi Muziris Biennale. And it has been set up by The Hashtag#Collective. Apart from Parvathi, the other members are the Chennai-based architect Biju Kuriakose, and Abin Chaudhuri, an industrial designer from Kolkata. “We have our own careers, but we come together to do something creative,” says Biju. In fact, this is the group's first major project.

“One of the collective's ideas is to bring art to the people,” says Biju. “Usually, when you see interactive and experiential art, it is art-centric and esoteric. But what we have put up is art which you can actually experience, remember, and take away.”

Meanwhile, what enriched Parvathi was her interaction with the people who set up the installation, and the many stories that she heard. “Ravi, who helped with the fabrication, told me about his life in Mumbai where he worked in a pharmaceutical company,” says Parvathi. “Then one day he lost his job and had to return.”

Then there was the fisherman Johnson, who had set up the ropes to anchor the installation. “He told me about how his mother kept crying because he drank so much,” says Parvathi. “He also went to so many places to work, but had to come back because of a lack of opportunities. There are so many rich and colourful stories in Mattancherry.” 

(Published in The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

Finding The Beauty In Garbage

On a recent visit to Kochi, Dr. Tom Licence, from the University of East Anglia, England, spoke about how the concept of throw-away garbage began in England in the 1880s

Photo of Dr. Tom Licence by Melton Antony 

By Shevlin Sebastian

“From the beginning of time, the things that people threw away included ceramic items, bones, and ashes from fires,” says Dr. Tom Licence, director of the Centre of East Anglian Studies, at the University of East Anglia, England. “However, in the 1880s, tins, bottles, jars, packets and cartons began appearing. This was the first time people began throwing things away, not because they were broken, but empty. A whole new category of rubbish appeared that did not exist before.”

Tom is running a project, which is investigating this rubbish. “I am interested in rubbish that came from a single household, where the objects could be linked to the members of the household, so that you could use them to tell stories about every-day life,” he says.

One such household belonged to a rector, Francis Kendall, who lived in Hempstead, Norfolk, in east England, with his wife Julia and four children. “At that time, he was earning 500 pounds a year, which was a lot of money,” says Tom.

Tom discovered that, behind their rectory, there was a rubbish pit. “It was obvious from the contents that the Kendalls decided to replace all the plates and cups, with new items,” says Tom.

This desire to upgrade was a new phenomenon in the late 19th century. So, although the plates and cups, which had been left behind by the previous occupant, were perfectly good, wealthy families replaced them just because they could afford to do so. “So, this is the beginning of the throwaway society we have today,” says Tom.

While investigating the waste, Tom came across a pair of cups, which bore the name of John Pike, who lived in Norwich, about an hour away from where the pastor lived. “I was wondering how these two cups, from Norwich, turned up in the rectory,” says Tom. “Maybe, it had been stolen. But that seemed unlikely, since Kendall was a clergyman.”

Research in the local traders' directory revealed that John was a caterer. He and his daughters would go on a wooden cart, and provide drinks and sandwiches to affluent families. They would also provide cups and plates. In 1895, the rector and his family threw a large garden party, according to a report in the local newspaper of that time.

“They had a brass band and invited everybody from the village because they had just moved in,” says Tom. “It seems that, after the party, the caterer's cups got thrown into the rubbish.”

And it was during this era, that one person's garbage became another person's resource. “Everything that was thrown away, in London, like glass, leather, paper, and metal, was brought by barge to Essex,” says Tom. “This was scavenged by the poor.”

Paper and rags were re-sold to paper-makers. Leather could be sold to cobblers, who could use it to repair old shoes.

As a result of his investigations, Tom was able to write a book called, 'What The Victorians Threw Away'. And, on his recent visit to Kochi, Tom addressed the students of the Kerala Council of Historical Research, at Thiruvananthapuram and Pattanam, on the subject. “The audience members were attentive and curious,” says Tom. “I enjoyed the interaction.”

Of course, he also noticed the occasional mounds of garbage in different parts of Kerala. “It is similar to Victorian England,” says Tom. “The throw-away culture has spread all over the world, because of the forces of consumerism and globalisation. To save the planet, we need to change our attitude and learn to recycle and reuse.”

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

A Love For All Things Indian

Backgrounder: The Brazilian artist Meri Amanda Calero could barely string two words of English together. So I would type a sentence in English on Google Translate and read out the Spanish version, since she is originally from Ecuador. Then she would reply in broken English and say a Spanish word, with emphasis. Which I would again put on Translate and get the English version. It was fun, but exhausting, for me, as well as local artist Manu, who sat in on the interview.

At a recent exhibition, at Kochi, the Brazilian artist Meri Amanda Calero showcased a couple of her works

Photo by Albin Mathew 

By Shevlin Sebastian

A group of visitors crowded around the Brazilian artist Meri Amanda Calero, as she pointed at her painting of an Indian holy man at the Durbar Hall Gallery, Kochi.

The oil on canvas showed a man, with an overflowing white beard, as well as a thick moustache. The eyes and the lips seemed to hint at a smile. A colourful orange turban adorned the head.

“I met this man in Jaipur last year,” she says. “He was a wise man, and deeply spiritual. But I don't know his name. We exchanged smiles and held hands. And I felt inspired enough to do a painting.”

But her second work is completely different. It is of her 15-year-old niece, Sabrina who lives in Ecuador.

In Sao Paulo, where Meri lives as a naturalised Brazilian, she earns her living as a cardiologist. But every now and then she returns to her home country of Ecuador to meet up with her family. And Sabrina served as an inspiration.

The image is of a young girl, with rouge on her cheeks, sensual red lips, but with a distant look in her eyes, playing the mandolin. “She is singing the pasillo, the national music of Ecuador,” says Meri. “The songs are about heartbreaks and nostalgia for the past.”

Meri got the opportunity to take part in the Kochi exhibition when he met a Malayali artist, Manu, at an art event in Delhi last year. “I invited Meri to take part in our 'Worldwide Art Movement' group exhibition,” says Manu. “And Meri readily agreed.”

And, on her first visit, she has a very high impression of Malayalis. “They are happy, relaxed, and have a helping attitude,” she says. “In Kerala and India, a lot of importance is given to art and culture, unlike in Brazil.”

So, Meri says, it is difficult to be a full-time artiste in Brazil. She works on her art in the late evenings or the early mornings, after her regular job. “And as and when I get the chance I come to India,” she says.

Her fascination with the country began when, as a teenager, in Quito, she saw an exhibition of Indian artists. “The colours were so bright and attractive,” says the 40-year-old. “I wanted to immediately come to India.”

But she could only do so in 2013. “I feel very happy when I am in India,” she says. “This is my fifth visit. As an artiste, it is a place that provides me with enormous inspiration.”

However, Brazilian artistes are looking westwards for guidance. “In fact, the biggest influence on them is the American artist Morgan Weistling,” says Meri. “I tell them they should come to India, to become better artistes. But nobody has followed my advice, as yet.” 

(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi) 

The God Of The Kiln

Japanese artist Takayuki Yamamoto recreates a folktale, at the Kochi Muziris Biennale

Photo by Albin Mathew

By Shevlin Sebastian

As you step into a dark room, at the Aspinwall House, Fort Kochi, at one end, you can see a sculpted figure of a man lying face-up on a platform, with long flowing hair, bare-bodied, with one arm outstretched.

Standing next to him in a blue t-shirt and Bermuda shorts is the Japanese artist, Takayuki Yamamoto. In fact, there is a striking similarity between the face of the figure and the artist. “Yes, it is a self-portrait,” says Yamamoto, with a smile.

His Biennale exhibit is titled, ‘God of the kiln’. And it is based on a Japanese folktale. There was a childless couple who found a baby on the street. They raised him up. “One day, the boy pricked his belly button, and a golden grain came out,” says Yamamoto. “So the family sold it and became rich. But the grandmother became greedy. So she tried to dig out more grains, and, in the process, the boy died.”

The grandfather felt sad. So he made a mask of the boy. In north-east Japan, this mask is placed in the kitchen to protect the people from a fire. “That is how the boy became known as the God of the Kiln,” says Yamamoto.

Interestingly, at the exhibit, once a day, a golden ball will pop out of the navel. “After a month, there will be 30 balls on the floor,” he says. “Eventually, 100 will come out. It is based on a computer programme.”

Incidentally, the 6' long figure, painted in bronze, is made of fibreglass resin. “It took me a month to make it,” says Yamamoto.

The message that he wants to convey is that the world is convulsed with greed. “Greed is the dark aspect of civilisation and modernity,” he says. “Everybody has a greedy nature within himself. But when you indulge in it, it is usually at the cost of somebody else's suffering.”

Meanwhile, when asked about his experience at the Biennale, Yamamoto says frankly, “At the start, a lot of things had to be set up. But then everything turned out well. I like the atmosphere and the freedom that artists get in this biennale. That is the advantage when a bienalle is run by artists instead of corporate people.”

One night, Yamamoto attended a party on the Fort Kochi beach. “People were dancing and shouting,” he says. “I enjoyed it a lot. In Japan, people are reserved and shy in public.”

Yamamoto grew up in Aichi (350 kms from Tokyo). He showed an early inclination for art. Eventually he did his masters in fine art from the Chelsea College of Art and Design, and also studied at the Byam Shaw School of Art, both in Britain. He has done nine solo exhibitions, as well as 40 group exhibitions, in places like Sydney, Melbourne, London, Rotterdam, Edinburgh, Athens, San Francisco, Singapore, and the Netherlands.

His works involve portraits and video installations, which mostly involve children. In ‘A Week Of The Animals', a Dutch schoolgirl sings a Russian folk song, while a monkey hovers above her head:

On Sunday, I will eat some salad.
On Sunday, I also get sleepy.
Tula Tula Tula.

On Monday, I sleep the whole day,
On Tuesday, I wake up.
Tula Tula Tula.

On Wednesday, all the people watch me,
On Thursday I feel happy,
 On Friday, I have a look.
On Saturday, you will only see my body.
Yes, my friends, this is my workweek.

Tula Tula La.

There are also songs involving crocodiles and elephants.

“I enjoy working with children, as well as being an artist,” says Yamamoto.

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

The Feminine Mystique

The all-woman Vanitha Kathakali Sangham have been performing the art form for four decades now

 

By Shevlin Sebastian

 

In a hall, of the Idoop Palace, at Tripunithura, a suburb of Kochi, Kathakali dancer Parvathi Menon is playing Duryodhana. Next to her is the youngster, Aarcha Gowri Varma. She is playing Duryodhana’s wife Bhanumathi. It is a Sunday morning in November. The sunlight is streaming in through one of the windows. Because it is a rehearsal, Parvathi wears a yellow saree, while Aarcha is in a green salwar kameez.

 

Behind them are the singers Kumari Varma and Pramila Vijayan who are reciting the 'Karnashaptham' – The story of the Pandavas and Kauravas.

 

All of them belong to the Vanitha Kathakali Sangham, perhaps, the only all-woman Kathakali troupe in Kerala. There are about 15 members, from Aarcha, a post-graduate student, home-maker Kumari Varma and bank manager Radhika Varma.

 

In fact, it was Radhika's father, KT Rama Varma, a Kathakali aficionado, who got this idea of an all-women troupe. Today, the group is celebrating 40 years of their existence.

 

They perform stories from the Mahabaratha and Ramayana. While earlier, it would be an all-night performance, today, it is confined to three hours. “People are so busy these days,” says Parvathi.

 

Even Parvathi is busy, looking after her two children and mother, as well the household, because her husband works in Bahrain. “But I try to go for rehearsals three to four times a week,” she says.

 

Parvathi usually plays male characters like Duryodhana and Ravana. “They can be fiery and villainous,” she says. “And there is a power and dynamism in male roles.”

 

Thus far, the group has done 1300 performances all over Kerala, and in many places in India, apart from cities in the USA and West Asia.

Interestingly, troupe member Dr. Haripriya Nambudiri says that there is no dip in popularity during these fast-paced times. “In fact, Kathakali is popular among youngsters,” she says. “Many of them learn the art form at various art centres in Kerala.”

 

Of course, the most interesting part of the dance form is the elaborate costumes and make-up. “The make-up takes about five hours,” says Radhika. “It is a combination of natural stones and powder, mixed with coconut oil.” As for the distinctive white colour, from the chin to the cheek, it is made of lime and rice flour.

 

And since it takes so long, the dancers have found a unique way to pass the time: they go to sleep for three hours. “But as the make-up becomes elaborate, it is then that we slowly begin to seep into the character that we are playing,” says Radhika. And it is clear that, despite all the difficulties, they dearly love the art form. “This is a passion for us,” says the fifty-year-old Parvathi. “So, we will do this, health permitting, till the end of our lives.” 

(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi) 

All About Mobile Towers

Santhosh Eapen, whose company maintains 8500 mobile towers in Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, talks about the pluses and minuses

Photo of Santhosh Eapen by Albin Mathew 

By Shevlin Sebastian

The question is asked so many times to Santosh Eapen that he is ready with the answer before the query is over. So here is the question: Are mobile towers a radiation hazard?

“For every 15 kms of this city [Kochi], a technician is working on a tower,” says Santhosh, the managing director of Unitac Energy Solutions India Pvt Ltd. “He goes to the tower many times each day. There is a 300 sq. ft. room, where the batteries and other equipment are located. They do preventive maintenance. And in 16 years, nobody has suffered from the effects of radiation. My first employee, Binter, is still working for the company and has no health problems whatsoever.”

He gives another example: in remote areas in Karnataka, many eagles and monkeys, bees in honeycombs live on these towers. “But they are all alive and kicking,” says Santhosh. “Nothing has happened to them.” (At the same time, there is also no doubt, that if you use any device, like a mobile or radio, or at the tower there is radiation.)

His company maintains 8500 towers in Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. “Next April, we will have another 2000 more,” says Santhosh. “A tower has different heights. If it is on a rooftop, it will have a height of 9-27 feet. If it is at ground-level, it will reach a height of 120-150 feet.”

Of course, as is well known, when we speak into a mobile phone, it is picked up by the receiver and the voice is distributed through several towers before it reaches the person called. “But it just takes seconds,” says Santhosh. “At a time, a tower can handle 52 calls.”

The biggest problem is during the rainy season when there is a shortage of power because of lightning strikes. “When the tower ceases to work you will get the message that the caller is out of range,” says Santhosh.

But another reason for the interrupted coverage is the low number of towers.

Kerala, with an area of 40,000 sq kms, has 12,000 towers. “For a population of 3.25 crore, of which 70 per cent have mobile phones, we need a lot more towers,” he says. “But then the fears of radiation among the public is preventing us from setting up more.”

Santhosh, who grew up in Kochi, went to the United Arab Emirates and worked there for a few years. But owing to his ageing parents, living alone, he returned in 1998. His first business was running a car agency. Then, in 2000, mobile service provider Airtel came to Kerala. “As a supplier of vehicles, I began interacting with Airtel managers,” says Santhosh. “Slowly, they began to entrust technical works to me. In short, I was the right person at the right time.”

He has an office strength of 1100 and also runs a successful real estate business called Unitach Villas and Apartments. They have six ongoing projects: five in Kochi and one at Tripunithara.

Asked the secret of his success, Santhosh says, “God has to smile at you. Of course, you also need hard work and dedication and a very good team.”

But for his team there are no fixed working hours. You work as and when is it required. “That is because we are in the essential-services category,” he says. “Plus, I offer merit-based promotion. Staffers, who joined at the start, have become directors of the company.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)  

To Look Good At All Times

The US-based make-up expert Cecilia Muench talks about the various ways to look good, while on a recent visit to Kochi

Photo of Cecilia Muench by Albin Mathew; Jennifer Lopez

By Shevlin Sebastian

Make-up artiste Cecilia Muench had gone to the washroom, during the 'Make-up Show', at Orlando, USA, a couple of years ago. When she returned, her daughter told her, “Somebody from India was inquiring about you. He said he would come back.”

Cecilia was intrigued. She wondered whether the Indian would come back. Thankfully, he did. Salmon Mathew, a Florida-based businessman, is a partner in a make-up company with Mollywood's veteran make-up expert Pattanam Rasheed. 

Salmon invited Cecilia to come to Kerala to give a workshop on make-up. She accepted, but it took two years, before she was able to come to Kochi recently. 

And, as promised, she held a one-day workshop on make-up, organised by the Pattanam Designory, for more than 400 aspiring artistes.

In a surprise, Cecilia says, that she is a fan of Indian make-up. “It has a trademark, which is the liner around the eyes,” she says. “This is known around the world. When you see eyes that are sophisticated and shine a lot, you know they are Indian eyes.”

In Kochi, Cecilia gave lessons on how to do make-up for those who are exposed to 4K technology in TV and cinema. “4K has four times more pixels than high-definition images,” she says. “If you put too much foundation, it shows like plastic skin on the screen. You have to put the make-up in a sheer and natural way, and blend it well.”

Rasheed says that Cecilia's classes were an eye-opener. “We knew only the older techniques,” he says. “But now the students understood how to do make-up in the era of digital photography. Most of the students gained a lot from the interaction. And they were impressed by Cecilia’s sincerity and passion.”    

According to Cecilia, make-up is applied according to the personality and style of the person. “There are seven different styles for women: Dramatic, Creative, Sensual, Natural, Formal, Casual and Classic,” she says.

She gives examples. “Dramatic women use dark lips and dark eyes,” she says. “A natural woman will wear light lipstick and shadow on the eyes. An elegant woman will have dark lips and light eyes.”

However, in public functions, it could be a good idea to know the type of lights that are used. “The lights add to the colour,” she says. “In yellow light, if you put yellow or red lipstick, the lips will have an orange colour. If it is a white light, which is actually bluish in colour, red lipstick will look purple.”

Regarding wedding-up, Cecilia insists that one should respect the personality and style of the bride. “You have to ask her what she wants,” she says. “She is the star, the queen of the day. If she does not want a loud make-up, mute it down. It has to be a make-up that represents her style. She has to feel good. After all, it is the most important day of her life.”

When asked which international celebrity wears the best make-up Cecilia has no hesitation to name Jennifer Lopez, the top-selling singer and actor. “Sometimes, she looks very sophisticated, and at other times she is dramatic,” says Cecilia. “She is a chameleon, and one of the best.”

Asked the trend these days, Cecilia says, “The make-up has to be personalised.Women want to be unique. They want to say, 'This is who I am'.”

Interestingly, make-up plays a vital role when you grow older. “When you age, the skin loses colour,” she says. “Young girls have rosy cheeks, glowing skin and wide eyes. But, because of ageing, the eyes get yellow, and look pale and sad. The skin becomes flaccid and the expression on your face gets harder. It makes you look angry or harsh.”

However, the appropriate lipstick and eye-liner and blush can make all the difference. “Make-up is the best way to fight age,” says Cecilia. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)    

A Taste Of Kolkata In Kochi

The Sarkar brothers, Amit and Sourabh, make authentic North Indian paneer, as well as popular Bengali sweets like rosogollas and sandesh 

Photo of the Sarkars by Albin Mathew

By Shevlin Sebastian

When Amit Sarkar and his wife Neelima would come to Kochi, from Mumbai, to spend their annual vacation, she would say, “There are no good vegetarian restaurants in Kochi. I miss eating paneer.”

Later, when he reached a dead-end in his job, Neelima said, “Why don’t you start a business of making paneer in Kochi?” Amit, a Bengali, grew up in Kochi. Intrigued, he did research and realised that there is a market for authentic North Indian paneer. To arm himself further, he did a six-month internship course on dairy products at Amul, Anand.

In February, 2013, he started Sarkars Dairy Tech with his younger brother Sourabh. Today, the company makes one tonne of paneer every day and sells it to five-star hotels in Kerala, Karnataka and Tamil Nadu.

The milk comes every day at 3 a.m. in a truck from Hosur, Karnataka. Thereafter, 36 lab tests are done to check whether the milk is acidic or not, good or bad. Once it is okayed, it is put into a pasteuriser which has two chambers. In one, water is heated up. The steam that is generated heats up the milk which is in an adjacent chamber. So the milk is never directly heated. That is how the flavour of the milk is retained.

“The cow milk that we get has a fat content of 4 per cent,” says Amit. “But to get good paneer, you need 6.5 per cent.” This is achieved through a milk standardisation process, as well as a natural coagulant, which has been imported from Italy. “I came across it while attending a dairy fest in Delhi,” says Amit.

Soon, paneer chunks are formed. Thereafter it is placed in hoops, which is a type of tray. These blocks of paneer are cut into 200 grams, half a kilo and one kilo packets and neatly packed.

“The paneer is then transported in an insulated truck, where the temperature is kept at 4 degrees centigrade,” says Amit. “This is mandatory. Hotels do a temperature check before they accept the paneer.”

As their business develops steadily, the brothers have branched out further. They have opened a Bengali sweet retail shop called Bikash Babu Sweets at Kochi. “We are selling sweets like rosogollas, misthi doi (sweet curd), sandesh, malai pakeeza, khaju and jaggery sandesh,” says Sourabh. “This is more of a passion, rather than a business. We are trying to bring the Kolkata taste to Kerala.”

And on a sunny evening, there are several customers at their outlet. Amit points at an empty tray, and says, “300 samosas have already been sold.”

Both the Sarkar brothers give bright smiles. Their Jamshedpur-based father PK Sarkar came to Kochi, on a work-related purpose, in 1979, and loved the place. Soon, he settled down in the coastal city. “We call ourselves the Mallu-Bong Sarkars,” says Amit. 

(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)

A Unique Perspective

Fathima Hakkim makes an impressive debut with her 'Aurora' show at the Durbar Hall art gallery

Photo of Fathima Hakkim by Albin Mathew

By Shevlin Sebastian

One day, Rashida Begum (name changed) told the artist Fathima Hakkim that she had a secret to reveal. Childhood friends, while growing up in Kollam, Rashida spoke about being molested by her uncle when she was five years old. “My uncle told me that if I opened my mouth, my parents would get hurt,” said Rashida. “I kept quiet for 18 years. It made me a very lonely person. I was scared to talk to anybody.”

A shocked Fathima could not go to sleep that night. Instead, she drew a painting of a girl, with dishevelled hair falling all over her face, but with one troubled eye revealed. On her lip is a butterfly. This is very similar to the famous 'Silence of the Lambs' film poster, which has a butterfly resting on heroine Jodie Foster's mouth.

“I was deeply upset by Rashida's experience,” says Fathima. “Many women go through similar experiences.” This unnamed painting, an acrylic on canvas, was on display at Fathima's 'Aurora' exhibition, which was held recently at the Durbar Hall art gallery, Kochi. There are 26 other paintings: watercolours as well as acrylic on canvas.

There is one where a figure of a naked girl, arms outstretched in agony, is invaded by several small fish. And this image was prompted by an incident at a bus stop, at Kollam. “A man, in his thirties, kept staring at me for a long time,” says Fathima. “He had eyes like a fish: unblinking, cold and lecherous. I felt frustrated. Later, I made a canvas where I drew several fishes which ring my body like the eyes of so many men.”

Other themes included the complicated man-woman relationship, the mocking comments which are reserved for fat woman, the joy of being in love and the beauty of the 'Aurora' constellation of stars.

She also has installation works, like paper boats hanging from the ceiling on thin, white strings, an old 'Brother' typewriter, yellow Indian postcards, cumin seed candy and circassian seeds. “I wanted to recreate everything from the 1990s, since I am a Nineties child,” she says. “But all this has gone out of fashion.”

A trained architect, this is the 24-year-old's first solo exhibition. And it has not been an easy journey for her.

Members of the Muslim community questioned her need to have a public exhibition and show her face. “They said that my face is irrelevant,” she says. “I don't agree with that. My face, my personality and my name makes me an unique person.”

Her parents, homeopathic doctor Abdul Hakkim and mother, Haneesa, an economics professor dropped their opposition when they saw the exhibition. “They understood my passion for art,” says Fathima.

This passion had begun in her childhood. An introverted child, who suffered from dyslexia, she would sit and draw all the time. “Anything that happened around me, I could paint it and get away from it,” she says.

The end result is a bright debut for a shining talent. 

(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi) 

An Encounter With Om Puri

by Shevlin Sebastian

On a moonlit night on the beach at Kovalam, some years ago, actor Om Puri was dressed casually in a bright orange T-shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts. He had come to attend a literary festival where his wife Nandita read extracts from her biography of him.

Om was at ease, as guests milled around him. Seeing his down-to-earth manner it was difficult to believe that he was, as veteran American film critic Michael Sragow said, ‘the greatest living actor today.’

A day later, at the poolside of the Taj Green Cove, smoking a cigarette with relish, Om talked at length about his life.

In the early seventies, at the Khalsa College, in Patiala, during a drama competition, Om was acting in a Punjabi play called ‘Anhonee’. The judges were Harpal and Nina Tiwana from the National School of Drama (NSD). “They gave me the best actor award,” says Om.

The Tiwanas invited him to join their troupe, the Punjab Kala Manch. But he did not have any free time. During the day he worked as a lab assistant in the college, while he attended classes in the evening. Harpal said, “How much do you get paid for your job?”

When Om replied that his salary was Rs 125, Harpal said he would give Rs 150. Om joined at once. “Acting was my passion, so I had no problem in saying yes,” he says.

Om remained with the troupe for three years, acting in plays all over Punjab. Thereafter, following a stint at the NSD at Delhi, and the Film and Television Institute of India at Pune, Om moved to Mumbai in 1976 and played bit roles, before Govind Nihalini cast him in ‘Aakrosh’ in 1981. Then came Satyajit Ray’s ‘Sadgati’, before he got the role of Sub-Inspector Anant Velankar in ‘Ardh Satya’ in 1983.

“It was the biggest turning point in my life,” he says. “When I read the script by [Marathi playwright] Vijay Tendulkar, I said, ‘Wow’. I could totally identify with the character: the political interference, the pervasive corruption, and the way it damages the soul.”

When the film was released it became a hit. Thereafter, he acted in several movies. Looking back, Om said, "For me, the real hard-hitting cinema was between the 1980s and 1990s where Shyam Benegal, Govind Nihalani, Basu Chatterjee, Mrinal Sen and Gulzar made some remarkable films.” he says.

Om’s next big break came when he was cast as Hasari Pal, the rickshaw-puller in the Roland Joffe film, ‘City of Joy’ in 1990. Following the release, he received worldwide critical acclaim. “It opened a big window of opportunity for me in the West,” he said. Om acted in several Western films, including ‘My Son the Fanatic’, ‘East is East,’ 'Parole Officer' and ‘Wolf’.

Along the way, Om has won numerous awards, like the Padma Shree, the Karlovy Vary award and the Order of the British Empire in 2004. His filmography runs to over 200 films.

More recently, he featured in Bollywood films like 'Ghayal Once Again' and 'Mirzya'. His distinct baritone was used as the voice of black panther Bagheera in the Hindi version of the Hollywood film, 'The Jungle Book'.

Unfortunately, on the personal front, things were not hunky-dory. In 2013, Nandita filed a domestic violence case against him. They separated, leaving him with only visitation rights to their son, Ishaan.

Asked to explain his philosophy of life he said, “The other day a dear friend of mine passed away. As I stared at his body, a thought came to me: ‘He has two hands, two eyes, two legs, a nose, a brain, and hair. He has everything, and yet something was missing. Why is he not moving? Why is he not talking?'”

Om became silent and stared into the distance. Then he finally said, “The spirit is missing. What is life? It is so fragile. We are at the mercy of a power in the universe. So let us stop boasting, and become humble.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

Up Above The World So High

Kite lover Rajesh Nair has made a kite in the form of a caparisoned elephant, with an umbrella over its head. It will be flown at upcoming kite festivals

Photo of Rajesh Nair by Melton Antony

By Shevlin Sebastian

Kite lover Rajesh Nair has a look of anticipation on his face. At his home, in Aluva, a 14 ft. high kite is all set to soar into the skies. It is a caparisoned elephant, with an umbrella over its head, the enduring symbol of the state's premier festival, the Thrissur Pooram.

Rajesh will be flying it in four upcoming kite festivals: in Ahmedabad (January 8-12), Hyderabad (Jan 13 -16), Panjim (Jan 17-19), and Belgavi in Karnataka (January 20-22). “During these festivals, we are encouraged to showcase our heritage, as well as traditional art forms,” says Rajesh.

In fact, Rajesh has always highlighted Kerala culture in his kite designs. During a festival in Malaysia, Rajesh flew a kite resembling a theyyam dancer. The media was so enthralled that the 'Borneo Post' published a photograph of Rajesh flying the kite on the front page.

On another occasion, he flew another kite designed as Mahabali, the benevolent Asura king. So, you could see the crown, along with the black moustache, a protruding paunch and the umbrella.

But, interestingly, none of his kites are made of paper. Instead, he uses a nylon fabric called ripstop. “It is used in the making of parachutes, and does not tear easily,” says Rajesh. “If there is a tear it does not spread. It is used extensively in the kiting community.”

However, ripstop is not available in India. Rajesh imports it from China, at Rs 350 per metre. The price can go up, depending on the colours and thickness. “I always try to use lighter material so that the agility and maneuverability are easier,” says Rajesh.

After he has secured the fabric, Rajesh does the drawings. Then he cuts the cloth according to the lines of the drawing. Then it is sewn leaving space for pockets to be stitched where the bamboo sticks are to be inserted.

But before that, the bamboo has to be treated carefully. “Every bamboo, when it is cut, is wet,” says Rajesh. “So you need to dry it in the sun. Then it turns into a yellow colour. So, termite oil is applied. It has two benefits. The termites will keep away, and the bamboo will bend beyond 90 degrees, without snapping.”

Since the kite is made of cloth, the wind does not pass through. “Therefore, depending on the wind, the kite could weigh between 150 and 300 kgs in the air,” says Rajesh. “The most comfortable wind speed is 10 to 15 kms per hour.”

Surprisingly, on the ground, when the kite is folded, it can be placed inside a suitcase, and weigh only three kilos.

To follow his passion, Rajesh works nights and on the weekends, following his day-job as a consultant on corporate social responsibility for many companies.

Not surprisingly, his love for kites began in his childhood, at Kozhikode. His father taught him how to make his first kite. And, thereafter, his obsession deepened. “When you fly kites, you experience a sense of freedom,” says Rajesh. “It seems as if I am also flying in the sky along with my kite.”

Over the years, a desire to spread the love of kites arose in him. So, in 2010, Rajesh set up the KiteLife Foundation. Thereafter, he has held numerous workshops for children and adults alike, all over Kerala. “The centre of kite-flying is in Ahmedabad,” he says. “But I also want Kerala to develop a kite-flying culture.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiriuvananthapuram)