Art That Changes You from Within (A Journey Through the 6th Kochi-Muziris Biennale)

 

Photos: Curator Nikhil Chopra; the theme of the Biennale; Assamese artist Dhiraj Rabha with his work; Kerala artist KB Shajith's 'WipingOut'; ‘The Parliament of Ghosts’ by Ibrahim Mahama of Ghana

By Shevlin Sebastian

On a recent sunny Monday morning, you would expect a sparse crowd at the 6th edition of the Kochi Muziris Biennale, since it was a working day. Instead, a sizeable number of people – young, middle-aged and elderly – were milling around.

Near the entrance, on the left, against the wall, was the curator’s note by Nikhil Chopra.

Here’s an excerpt:

‘In an era where we are increasingly detached from our physical selves, we invite you to think with your bodies and feel with your minds. This is an invitation to engage in a radical sensory transposition: to smell with your eyes, touch with your ears, and taste with your fingertips.’

The theme is ‘For the Time Being’.

As you enter the nearest hall, the work of Assamese artist, Dhiraj Rabha, catches one’s attention. In a darkened space, petals and stems seem to be lit up by neon lights.

But a closer examination reveals historical materials and videos with former United Liberation Front of Assam members which detail the history of insurgency in Assam. You can also hear news broadcasts from the 1990s that seem to emanate from the flowers.

Another work that catches the eye is the massive 50-foot painting, ‘Wiping Out’ by Kerala artist RB Shajith. Shajith has focused on the forests of the Malabar region.

He has used oil, watercolour and acrylic and painted over wooden boards as well as canvas. He attached the brush to a long stick. This comes as no surprise because of the height of the work. But this also results in rough exteriors.

Shajith's message: these beautiful landscapes of ‘God’s Own Country’ are being wiped out in the name of development.

A silver-black-haired lady is looking at the works with a rare intensity. She is Nandita Jaishankar, who works with the Serendipity Arts Festival in Goa.

“The works are impressive,” she said. “This edition has focused on the body and the practices around movement, while putting artist-led initiatives at the forefront. It's an interesting concept that Nikhil [Chopra] and HH Arts Spaces are working with. I know their work well since they are based in Goa.”

She added, “I'm familiar with some of these artists' works because we've overlapped in our festival over the years” She was impressed by the works of the Panjeri Artists' Collective Union of Bengal, a collective of 14 artists, across the visual arts, music, cinema literature, and music.

The main installation is a work about the elders of Habra, West Bengal. All of them are over the age of 75.

“Because of migration, in their lifetimes, they have sung four different versions of the national anthem,” she said.

These include: British India (God Save the King); East Pakistan (Qaumi Taranah); Bangladesh (Amar Shonar Bangla) and today’s India (Jana Gana Mana).

Nandita also liked Dhiraj’s work. "It is a striking examination of power dynamics between state and community," she said.

Nandita has – no surprises here – come for all the six editions of the Biennale.

A true art aficionado.

Another visitor is Nico Kaden, a German, who lives in Paris and works in technology. He is a frequent visitor to art exhibitions in Paris. On a holiday in South India, he heard about the Biennale. So, he flew to Kochi to have a look. “I’m glad I did. This is the first time I am seeing the works of so many South Asian artists at one location,” he said. “They are very impressive.”

Nico visits art exhibitions to enrich his soul. “Tech is soulless,” he said with a smile.

The ground area of this year’s Aspinwall House is a little more than one-third of what it was in previous editions. There is a demarcating wall. The remaining portion is owned by the realtor DLF.

“The acquisition of that section is under consideration by the Kerala state government,” said Dr Venu V, Chairman of the Kochi Biennale Foundation.

If it happens, the government will then convert Aspinwall House into a permanent cultural venue. Nevertheless, it retains its familiar charm.

The cafe is on one side facing the backwaters. The sea breeze blows constantly. People have a far-away look as they gaze at the waters.

It’s illuminating art on the water’s edge.

At the nearby Pepper House, one is immediately taken aback by the blue installation, ‘Yantra/Bloom 32°N’ by New-York based Assamese artist Utsa Hazarika. It is placed on the lawn and reimagines New Delhi’s Jantar Mantar, which is an area of protest and solidarity.

There is a sundial which is at an angle of 32°N; this is oriented toward Palestine. The structure has been made using steel and mirrors.

In an inner hall, there are audio recordings of journalist Ravish Kumar speaking about the Shaheen Bagh protests in 2020, and student activists like the jailed Umar Khalid.

There is an audio in Oriya where people from indigenous communities talk about how they are being displaced because of bauxite mining. You can hear them speaking by wearing headphones.

Here is an excerpt:

“When they came to the village, they said we should leave this village.

This isn’t your village, this isn’t your forest, this isn’t your land. This isn’t your Niyamgiri.

This is the government's Niyamgiri. The government’s forest. The government’s land. The government’s village.

They beat us with a gun, and said they will detonate a bomb. They beat everyone from our village.

He told them, “Why should I leave? I am not going to leave. This is our village; we have our rights here. We have rights to our forest. We have rights to our hills. Why should we leave? We have not done something wrong or unjust. Why are you telling us to leave?”

One of the most astonishing works is ‘The Parliament of Ghosts’ by Ibrahim Mahama installed at the Anand Warehouse. The huge walls are covered with stitched jute bags. Sourced locally, it has the marks of bearing spices and grains.

Then there were numerous chairs, many of them which had been discarded earlier. Mahama said that these jute bags and chairs make us confront the colonial labour that built today’s economy.

Incidentally, these bags have a link to his country, Ghana.

They are the leading producer of cocoa, and jute sacks were used to transport cocoa from plantations to ports. During the Biennale talks and performances have taken place in this setting, living up to its name of being a parliament.

Finally, the Island Warehouse on Willingdon Island is a must-see. You can take an air-conditioned Water Metro from Mattancherry Island and the first stop is Willingdon. The 20,00 sq. ft. warehouse has several extraordinary works.

At one end, there is Serbian artist Marina Abramović's ‘Waterfall’. It is a multi-channel installation featuring the faces of 108 Tibetan Buddhist monks and nuns chanting non-stop. The effect is that of a spiritual waterfall.

This is a most impressive Biennale exerting a powerful emotional pull on viewers. It needs a minimum of three days to do justice to this event. And for those who have not seen it, this is a beautiful and immersive experience that will change you as a person.

Don’t miss it.

(Published in O Heraldo, Goa)

Many thanks to South First for their coverage of the Thajudheen case

 

https://thesouthfirst.com/.../congress-bets-on-aisha.../

A stolen necklace, a wrongful arrest, and Kerala’s landmark public law remedy. The real accused, a habitual offender was arrested only later, after his own wife revealed the truth to a police officer she trusted.

Sreelakshmi Soman

Synopsis: VK Thajudheen’s wrongful arrest in Kerala led to 77 days of imprisonment, torture, and public humiliation before the real culprit was found. The High Court awarded Thajudheen ₹14 lakh compensation, affirming violations of Article 21 and stressing constitutional accountability. His ordeal, documented in the book ‘The Stolen Necklace’, highlights systemic police failures and the enduring need for public law remedies.

"The first day in jail, I couldn’t even stand. I just went and sat in a corner.”

VK Thajudheen pauses before finishing the sentence. Celebration is still happening around him, after all, the Kerala High Court has finally acknowledged what he and his family lived through for years. But memory does not wait for verdicts.

For a man who had never stepped inside a police station, never seen the inside of a courtroom, and came home from Qatar only to conduct his daughter’s wedding, the journey from a white scooter on CCTV footage to a High Court judgment was brutal, humiliating, and irreversible in parts.

Recently, the Kerala HC awarded ₹14 lakh in compensation to Thajudheen and his family for a wrongful arrest, custodial torture, public humiliation, and prolonged incarceration — not merely as damages, but as a constitutional remedy under public law.

The court also left it open for the State to recover the amount from the erring police officers. It was not just a judgment. It was a warning.

When suspicion replaced probe

On a July night in 2018, Thajudheen’s car was stopped near his home in Kadirur. What began as a routine interaction quickly turned ominous. Police officers insisted he step out, photographed him in the dead of night, and openly declared to his family, ”He is a thief.”

Within hours, Thajudheen was accused of a chain-snatching incident that had occurred six days earlier, kilometres away from where he lived. The police showed CCTV visuals of a bearded man on a white scooter and demanded a confession.

There was no recovery of gold, neither the scooter or verification of tower location data, nor serious attempt to rule out mistaken identity.

Instead, Thajudheen was stripped, tortured, and paraded through public roads, jewellery shops, and relatives homes- a public trial before any court could speak. His family watched as neighbours stared, whispered, and judged.

Except for his close family, everyone murmured, ”There’s no smoke without fire.”

He spent 54 days in judicial custody in Kerala. When he finally returned to Qatar, overstaying due to the case, he was jailed for another 23 days and lost his job.

77 days of imprisonment for a crime he never committed.

The real accused, a habitual offender was arrested only later, after his own wife revealed the truth to a police officer she trusted.

Courtroom that spoke the language of Constitution

The writ petition – WP(C) No. 9494 of 2019 – was not just about money, but about dignity. Justice PM Manoj, in a detailed judgment held that the case involved a clear violation of Article 21, the right to life and personal liberty.

Drawing from landmark Supreme Court rulings such as Nilabati Behera, Rudul Sah, and Nambi Narayanan, the court reaffirmed a critical constitutional principle-

“When the State violates fundamental rights, compensation is not charity — it is a public law remedy.”

The bench made it clear that sovereign immunity has no place when police excesses trample constitutional guarantees. This compensation was awarded not as civil damages claim, but as constitutional accountability, leaving the door open for further civil and criminal proceedings.

Importantly, the court also stated that the government may recover the compensation from the officers involved — a quiet but powerful message to the police establishment.

‘Not an ordinary arrest’

Senior journalist Shevlin Sebastian, whose book The Stolen Necklace played a key role in bringing national attention to the case, says the judgment validates something that numbers can never capture.

”People don’t understand the psychological toll” he told South First.

”His youngest child was humiliated in school. His career collapsed. His family was shattered. You cannot quantify that pain.”

The Stolen Necklace documented the human cost behind procedural abuse. The book was even submitted before the Court to underline that this was not a routine error — it was a systemic failure with human consequences.

Sebastian believes the judgment sends a message the police cannot ignore anymore-

”You cannot arrest on suspicion. You must be 110 percent sure before putting handcuffs on someone.” he said.

Public law remedy; Real legacy of case

Advocate T Asaf Ali, Thajudheen’s counsel and former Director General of Prosecutions, calls it one of the rarest of rare cases in Kerala jurisprudence, not because of the facts alone, but because of what the court chose to emphasise.

Speaking to South First he told that ”Most people, even police officers are unaware of public law remedies. This case has a larger perspective. It teaches that police misconduct does not end with suspension. There are constitutional consequences.”

Public law remedies, rooted in Articles 32 and 226 of the Constitution, allow courts to directly intervene when the State violates fundamental rights — through writs, declarations, injunctions, and crucially, compensation.

”This judgment should be a benchmark. It must be popularised. People must know that they have this right.” Ali says.

He also speaks of the pressure faced during the case – attempts at mediation, influence, even offers to settle.

”I did not bend. This judgment will be cited again and again.”

‘This is only an interval’

For Thajudheen, the verdict brought relief, not closure. ”They even offered lakhs to withdraw the case” he says quietly. ”But this was never about money. It was about the insult and injustice.”

Inside jail, he survived using the only skill he had — communication.

”There is a custom. New inmates get punished. I was terrified. I spoke to everyone, built rapport. That saved me.” he told South First.

Now, he plans to move civil court for further action. ”This is not the end. It’s only an interval.”

Ironically, his home is now visited by filmmakers, producers, storytellers — all wanting to adapt his ordeal for the screen. A cinema lover himself, Thajudheen says he is waiting, cautiously for the right creators. Because some stories are not meant for spectacle. They are meant for accountability.

In a system where wrongful arrests often dissolve into silence, this case speaks loudly-

A necklace can be stolen.

Dignity cannot be.

And when the State forgets, Constitution remembers.

(Edited by Amit Vasudev)

A book, 'The Stolen Necklace', that played a role in a landmark court judgement

 

Caption: V. K Thajudheen (left) and Shevlin Sebastian 

On Thursday, January 8, 2026, Asaf Ali, former Director General of Prosecution and counsel for VK. Thajudheen sent me a court judgement.

These are some of the conclusions:

The court ordered the State Government to pay a total of ₹14 lakh in compensation.

• ₹10 lakh for V.K. Thajudheen for his illegal arrest, loss of job, and mental agony.
• ₹1 lakh each for his wife and three children (total ₹4 lakh) for the defamation and harassment they endured.

The court explicitly stated that the state is free to recover this compensation amount from the specific police officers responsible (SI P. Biju and ASIs Yogesh and T. Unnikrishnan).

The court noted that this award does not prevent Thajudheen from pursuing further civil lawsuits against the officers for larger damages.

On May 2023, my book, in collaboration with Thajudheen, called ‘The Stolen Necklace’ was published by HarperCollins detailing the trauma that he and his family went through.  

Asaf Ali told me recently that he had submitted the book to the judge among many other materials.

He feels the book played a role in this judgement. So, I am happy I was able to play a role.

Here’s what chief sub editor and senior reporter Ronnie Kuriakose wrote in The New Indian Express:

A 2023 book, The Stolen Necklace by former TNIE staffer Shevlin Sebastian, depicting the travails of Thajudheen, played its part in the case. “The book was submitted in court to make the point that the incident was no ordinary arrest, but one that gained national media attention.

It presented the telltale circumstances of the incident. And from my understanding, the court did appreciate what it conveyed,” Asaf Ali said.

On this, Thajudheen said, "I’m glad that the book, which tells my story, has helped." He also recalled sitting down with Shevlin to write. “We met every day for six months. He used to come with a flask of hot tea, and we’d sit for hours poring over the notes in discussions. Recalling some memories even brought tears to my eyes,” Thajudheen said.

Later, in 2022, the book was pitched to publishers and received positive responses. “It did well, but I did not imagine it would make its way to my defence in court as well,” he added.

The book, in addition to narrating the incident, also charts Thajudheen life, his aspirations, and how it was all derailed because of a single day. “It’s my life story. My past, present, and a robbed future,” Thajudheen concluded.

Speaking to TNIE on the development, the writer Shevlin said, “I’m so happy. Thajudheen’s whole life had come to a juddering halt because of the incident. This verdict is the first ray of light in his life after so long. I also think it will be a deterrent to police offices and put a stop to their excesses. I’m happy the book played a small role.”

May thanks to the Kerala media for extensive coverage of this ruling in print, online, radio and TV.

 

From the Centre to the Margins (Life in an Upscale Retirement Home)

By Shevlin Sebastian

“She’s only 60 but she slipped into dementia,” said a woman, as she pointed at a closed door.

“60 is so young,” said the shocked visitor.

“Yes, but she couldn't handle her husband’s sudden death.”

At the upscale retirement home I visited recently, in Kochi, each door represents a life story. Some never expected to be here. Others opted for it. But with monthly rents of five and six figures, they are all well-to-do.

Many had lived abroad and had been successful doctors, engineers, architects, professors, and entrepreneurs. For long they had been in the centre of their universe. But everybody had to succumb to tempus fugit (‘time flies’ in Latin).

From the centre they have been gently pushed to the margins. Because of old age, and mostly, physical frailty. A plaque for long years of service. Handshakes and hugs. Cakes and wine. Loud laughter. And then silence. Which stretches into decades.

You can see some being pushed on wheelchairs. Others lean on walking sticks. An attender held the hand of a stiff-backed person taking tentative steps.

One couple is from California. “I wouldn’t say my husband is happy, but it’s better than being there. We had nobody to talk to. The problem in America is isolation.”

To combat loneliness, numerous activities are planned during the day. Card games. Knitting. Yoga. Music. Brain Gym. Physical gym. Swimming pool. Men and women gather. They talk with each other. They smile. But there are a few who remain isolated.

Deaths create havoc steadily. The husband might die; the wife now lives alone. Or the wife might die. “It’s very difficult for a man to live alone,” said a resident.

And when visitors visit the seriously elderly, in their nineties, the question is the same: do you know who I am?

The bedridden man or woman will stare at the visitor.

Sometimes, he blurts out the right name. There is wonder all around. How great was that?

One woman said, “My husband cannot tolerate any medicines.”

“You can put it in the food,” said a resident.

“I tried, but the moment he senses a change in the taste he spits the food out.”

People are left wondering about a possible solution.

I move around.

Another woman said, “Before I left for the US, I was docile and submissive. But when I went there, I was able to develop my talents. I became confident and outgoing. My husband just could not accept the new me.”

These are people of an older generation. Divorce was not an option. So, they chugged on. It probably makes sense.

One resident said, “When we are young, we feel we can live without our spouse. Divorce seems easy then. But at this stage, we cling to each other. There is nobody else.”

Another woman said, “Mothers today should teach their sons to cook, clean, and respect boundaries. Otherwise, there will be too many divorces. Young women are so evolved now.”

The women easily exchange notes about their life with each other. They get mental and psychological relief. But the men remain silent.

One resident worries about her daughter who is going to give birth in a few weeks. “Oh, how I wish I could be there. But I cannot leave my husband alone.” She said she had asked her daughter-in-law whether she could be there for a few days after the birth. But she has got a promotion and is finding it difficult to get leave.

Another woman remarked, “I saw her photo on Instagram. She’s got a big stomach.”

“Yes,” the mother said, with a glowing smile.

One resident said, “I take part in a group prayer on Zoom. Once a week, I have to give a commentary. I prepare but the speech I give is an inspired one. A spirit enters me and I speak. It’s magical.”

Her eyes are suffused with wonder.

The listener thinks, “This could be divine energy, or the unconscious mind.”

Several live in the past – dwelling on achievements, career highs, their busyness. In all this, the children are missing. Many are abroad, busy building careers the way their parents did. They have children, a mortgage, and career ambitions. The arc will remain the same. One day, they will also reach the retirement home and their children will carry on the cycle of life.

It’s an immaculate place. The floors are swept often. The washrooms are scented. The lawns are mowed. The tiled pathways have been cleared of falling leaves. There are large trees all around. The sky is blue. The leaves rustle in an afternoon breeze. The food is tasty. The staff move with a smile on their faces.

But most residents have a look in their eyes which states, “Too many years have passed. We are closer to the exit.”

For younger visitors, it’s an unsettling preview of what lies ahead. But to live like this, it may be better to have a chest full of currency. Preferably dollars or euros. Otherwise, it’s going to be an agonising time.