Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Interview/Kamlesh Pandey, writer/Rang De Basanti
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Rang de Basanti has taken the country by storm. And, as is always the case, the media spotlight has fallen on the stars, the director, the lyricist and the music composer and almost none on the writer of the story: Kamlesh Pandey.
Pandey is a veteran screenplay writer, having penned such hits as Tezaab, Dil, Saudagar, Khalnayak and Jalwa. At his tastefully furnished flat at Andheri, the silver-haired writer seemed resigned to the low status of writers in Bollywood. But he did not mince words about the situation.
Excerpts from the interview:
Are you surprised at the stupendous response to Rang De Basanti?
I am surprised because it has gone beyond all our expectations. When I narrated the story to director Rakeysh Mehra in 2001, he said the script was brilliant and original but you have seen what kind of films are succeeding at the box office: the designer films and the candyfloss films shot in Switzerland by big production houses. Who is going to watch Rang De Basanti? So I said, ‘Rakeysh, if and when this film sees the light of day and if just one boy or girl comes up and shakes my hand, our efforts will be worthwhile.’
Did that happen?
Yes. I was invited to a convocation a few days ago, at National College in Bandra. I am not a celebrity, I am just a poor writer and I did not expect to be recognised. But this student volunteer, who was at the gate, shook my hand and said, “Sir, thank you for giving us Rang De Basanti”. That, for me, was the ultimate reward.
Can you analyse why it has made such an impact?
I am a citizen of this country, and the concerns of common people are also my concerns. I have the same issues regarding politicians and bureaucrats and the powers-that-be. I am concerned about my country. The idea was simple: if Bhagat Singh had been alive today, what would he have done? I was trying to bring Bhagat Singh into our period to wake up the young generation.
Are they sleeping?
See, everything is fine. They are enjoying their lives: MMS, SMS, anti-dandruff shampoos, girlfriends, cell phones and international brands. I am not against all that. But, please open your eyes. Thirty per cent of the MLAs and MPs are history-sheeters. Tomorrow, they will be fifty per cent. They are making the laws of our land, my dear friend, which you and I will be obliged to follow. What will happen then? Are you blind? The government, the politicians, the bureaucrats and the businessmen, they all want to keep the status quo, so that they can exploit us as much as they can.
What else?
Let me give you one more insight: The youth in India were never allowed to be young. That is why there was this system of child marriages. Before a boy could become a young man, he was married, he was the father of two kids, so how can he be a rebel? All ancient cultures become very cunning and it was a clever device to maintain the status quo, so that exploiters can have a free hand. Conformity went into our DNA. The Indian youth surrendered itself to the monolith of the family, the corporation and the society. They were never allowed to have a free mind or ask uncomfortable questions. It was only during the freedom struggle, that, somehow, the spirit surfaced through Bhagat Singh and his friends.
Would you agree that, without a good story, a film is nothing. The story is the bedrock.
The writer is the first star of a film. And it is not me who is saying this. Steven Spielberg said this. If writers don’t write, Hollywood will not have a job. Alfred Hitchcock said, ‘I need only three things to make a good film: Script, script and script’. In Bollywood, they don’t understand this. Producers would rather wait outside a star’s bungalow, begging like a dog, to get a commitment. They will not come to me and say, “Kamleshji, do you have a great script?” That is how the system works. And that is why 95 per cent of the films flop in Bollywood. We claim to be the largest filmmaking country in the world and we make crap. This happens because you do not give the writer what he deserves.
Any new writers coming up? Somebody whose talent you are excited about?
No. In the entire industry, there are not more than six genuine writers, who know their job. And I am being optimistic here. We do not have a single institute or a workshop or any place where you can learn scriptwriting. I learned on the job. I learned by my mistakes and from my seniors. In America, every university has a film course. Every city has hundreds of screenplay workshops. Every year, America produces around 10,000 fresh writers to feed the industry. How many do we produce? Nothing. Zero. Most people, who come to Bollywood to become actors or directors and could not get a job, they become writers. Because, in our industry, they believe anybody can be a writer.
Which way is Bollywood going?
However, despite what I have said, the future is incredibly great. An American organisation has found out that, by 2025, Bollywood movies will have the biggest audience in the world. India has never invaded any country, but now we are starting an invasion through music and dance and the stories we have to tell. The world is waiting for us.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Hoard now, get a windfall later
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from Hindustan Times
By storing paintings, a trust wants artists to get a better price for their early work
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Here’s a chance for artists to have an experience like Rip Van Winkle. Put a painting away every year for several years and forget about it. Then wake up decades later and find that you have become a multi-millionaire. Sounds crazy? Well, that’s what the Artist Pension Trust (APT) wants to do: makes artists rich people and also get rich in the bargain.
A tall, lean man, with clear eyes, David A Ross, a former director of the Whitney Museum of American Art, is in town to establish the Indian branch of the APT. This is how the trust works: Over a five-year period, with the help of a selection committee (gallery owners Sharan Apparao and Shireen Gandhy, collector Czaee Shah, dealer Peter Nagy and Jai Danani, director, APT, Mumbai), 250 artistes will be selected. In the first year, however, only 50 will be selected. Every year, the artists will supply one work to the trust and this will be done over 20 years. The paintings will not be put into the market immediately. Instead, the trust will wait for the artist’s value to appreciate, which usually happens over a period of time and then the painting will be sold.
Once a sale is made, the artist gets 40 per cent and another 40 per cent is distributed pro rata among the other 249 artists. The remaining 20 per cent will be distributed as management fees to Mutual Art, the holding company. “The idea is to provide artists with a stable, long-term economic future,” says Ross, the APT president.
What usually happens is that when artists are at the beginning of their careers, in order to survive, they sell works very cheaply. However, a decade later, when the prices appreciate remarkably, they cannot partake of the windfall, because the concept of resale royalty is not practised anywhere in the world. So, the collector and the gallery owner laugh all the way to the bank while the artist gets nothing. “For example, if a Tyeb Mehta was selling for $500 in 1962, imagine the financial windfall for Mehta today if he had 20 unsold works,” says Ross.
So far, trusts have been set up in New York, Los Angeles, Berlin and London; trusts are also being set up in Mumbai, Mexico City, Sao Paulo, Beijing, Bangkok and Istanbul. All the paintings will be housed in museum-like conditions; it will be sent to exhibitions for display and publicity will be generated online and through the print media.
It seems like an idea whose time has come. One who is enthusiastic is Sharan Apparao, the owner of Apparao Galleries. “This is a fantastic concept and a great financial product,” she says. “I liked the idea of supporting artists and that is why I have joined the trust.”
In Mumbai, there is a long list of 100 artists and the short-list will be announced in June.
Each member of the selection committee nominates an artist. “We discuss the work, and give our reasons as to why we think the artist is heading in the right direction,” says Jai Danani. “Maybe, they are ambitious or are doing interesting work, or have superior talent or technique, to not only compete here but on the international level.”
However, not everybody is excited. Painter Sameer Mondal says, “Art should be unconditional and therefore this concept is not suitable for me.” But painter Shimeen Oshidar says: “It will be nice to have a windfall in later years. Since we always try to set aside a couple of works for the future, this is something which we are doing anyway.”
By storing paintings, a trust wants artists to get a better price for their early work
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Here’s a chance for artists to have an experience like Rip Van Winkle. Put a painting away every year for several years and forget about it. Then wake up decades later and find that you have become a multi-millionaire. Sounds crazy? Well, that’s what the Artist Pension Trust (APT) wants to do: makes artists rich people and also get rich in the bargain.
A tall, lean man, with clear eyes, David A Ross, a former director of the Whitney Museum of American Art, is in town to establish the Indian branch of the APT. This is how the trust works: Over a five-year period, with the help of a selection committee (gallery owners Sharan Apparao and Shireen Gandhy, collector Czaee Shah, dealer Peter Nagy and Jai Danani, director, APT, Mumbai), 250 artistes will be selected. In the first year, however, only 50 will be selected. Every year, the artists will supply one work to the trust and this will be done over 20 years. The paintings will not be put into the market immediately. Instead, the trust will wait for the artist’s value to appreciate, which usually happens over a period of time and then the painting will be sold.
Once a sale is made, the artist gets 40 per cent and another 40 per cent is distributed pro rata among the other 249 artists. The remaining 20 per cent will be distributed as management fees to Mutual Art, the holding company. “The idea is to provide artists with a stable, long-term economic future,” says Ross, the APT president.
What usually happens is that when artists are at the beginning of their careers, in order to survive, they sell works very cheaply. However, a decade later, when the prices appreciate remarkably, they cannot partake of the windfall, because the concept of resale royalty is not practised anywhere in the world. So, the collector and the gallery owner laugh all the way to the bank while the artist gets nothing. “For example, if a Tyeb Mehta was selling for $500 in 1962, imagine the financial windfall for Mehta today if he had 20 unsold works,” says Ross.
So far, trusts have been set up in New York, Los Angeles, Berlin and London; trusts are also being set up in Mumbai, Mexico City, Sao Paulo, Beijing, Bangkok and Istanbul. All the paintings will be housed in museum-like conditions; it will be sent to exhibitions for display and publicity will be generated online and through the print media.
It seems like an idea whose time has come. One who is enthusiastic is Sharan Apparao, the owner of Apparao Galleries. “This is a fantastic concept and a great financial product,” she says. “I liked the idea of supporting artists and that is why I have joined the trust.”
In Mumbai, there is a long list of 100 artists and the short-list will be announced in June.
Each member of the selection committee nominates an artist. “We discuss the work, and give our reasons as to why we think the artist is heading in the right direction,” says Jai Danani. “Maybe, they are ambitious or are doing interesting work, or have superior talent or technique, to not only compete here but on the international level.”
However, not everybody is excited. Painter Sameer Mondal says, “Art should be unconditional and therefore this concept is not suitable for me.” But painter Shimeen Oshidar says: “It will be nice to have a windfall in later years. Since we always try to set aside a couple of works for the future, this is something which we are doing anyway.”
Becoming street smart
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from Hindustan Times
Street furniture is making its presence slowly but surely in Mumbai
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
On a Monday evening, the Dadabhai Naoroji Road is chock-full with cars, buses and taxis. The pavements are clogged with people hurrying past, heads down, all heading towards Churchgate station. So, it become a little difficult to note the unusual street furniture: the black iron railings, Victorian style dust bins and a red glass-paned telephone booth, which seems to have been imported straight from London. But thankfully, there is an Indian touch: a white piece of paper which is stuck on one of the panes has this hand-written legend: ‘Phone out of order’.
“D.N. Road is one of the busiest thoroughfares in the city,” says architect Abha Narain Lambah. “So, you need something of a particular scale. Historically, and architecturally, the scale is more Victorian and Edwardian. The aesthetics has to conform to the cast iron. Otherwise, there will be a disconnect between the street and the furniture.”
The idea to have street furniture that conforms to the historic sensibility of an area was first mooted by Lambah, in 1998, to the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority (MMRDA), which had set up a heritage conservation society. “We felt the beauty of the heritage should be maintained in the existing fashion,” says G. S. Pantbalekundri, who was secretary of the heritage conservation society and has since retired. Adds Lambah: “Till then, the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation had a standard system all over the city. So, if they were putting penguin litter bins or concrete benches, they would do it all over the city.”
Using the catalogue of the Westminister City Council in England, as a reference point, Lambah prepared a pilot project of 100m of D.N. Road. “She made a presentation and the MMRDA produced a beautiful brochure and we were convinced about the project,” says R.H. Mendonsa, the managing director of Lawrence & Mayo, which has their headquarters on D.N. Road. Following that, The Citizen’s Association of D.N. Road took it upon themselves to make it a stakeholder-driven project; the shopkeepers contributed for every stretch of railing or litterbin along their stretch. “There are about 20 banks on this road, and they were all keen in the beautification,” says Mendonsa. So far, for 500m of renovation, it has cost Rs 30 lakh. To complete the western side of D.N. Road, the MMRDA has promised to defray 25 per cent of the expenses while the rest will again come from local fund-raising.
However, when you look at the railings and the dustbins on D.N. Road, it is clearly fading and losing its attractiveness. “In five years, it has not been painted once,” says Lambah. “The BMC should take up some responsibility. In other parts of the world, the municipal corporation gives a coat of epoxy paint on street furniture every six months. How long will the citizens keep pitching in?” Interestingly, the street furniture has won the UNESCO Asia Pacific Award of Merit for 2004 because it was one of the earliest street furniture done by a private agency in Asia.
Further away, in Walkeshwar, on the stretch from Chowpathy to Raj Bhavan on Marine Drive, steel benches, some with a back-rest, some without, have been set up. On the evening of Republic Day, there are plenty of people who are sauntering about on the promenade, their spirits high because of the mid-week holiday, and quite a few who are sitting on the steel benches. The steel gleamed in the evening sun and the words Jindal Foundation could be seen on one side. “Earlier, there used to be concrete benches and it had completely rusted. The seats were all broken and damaged,” says Lambah. “Every time, the government would install something, they would use low-quality material and it would corrode within six months because of the high salt content.”
Lambah received support from Sangita Jindal of the Jindal Foundation. “I wanted to set an example to the government that street furniture should not always be of a low quality,” says Sangita. So Lambah was encouraged to go in for high quality stainless steel in combination with slame-finished granite. “We wanted to put up something which would last,” says Lambah. Three years have gone past and the benches still look as good as new.
Bespectacled Vipul Rane, 27, an IT engineer, is sitting on one of the benches. “The design looks good,” he says. “It is comfortable and durable. When people see concrete benches, they always try to chip off part of the cement.” Rane suggests that these benches should be replicated all over the city. “However, the BMC should keep an eye,” he says, “as drug addicts will try and steal them.”
A little ahead of Rane sit two young PR professionals, Arushi Agarwal and Poonam Nikam, both 24, leaning back and placing their legs on the parapet. They are, however, not too excited by the design. “The concrete benches were better because they had a different feel,” says Arushi.
Agrees Poonam: “These steel benches give a very upmarket look but this is actually just a place to chill out. I guess, we have been so used to the other type of benches, it is going to take time to get used to the new ones.”
What is street furniture?
Street furniture is a collective term for objects and pieces of equipment installed on streets and roads for various purposes, includingbenches, post boxes, phone boxes, streetlamps, street lighting, traffic lights,bus stops, taxi stands, fountains and waste receptacles. An important consideration in the design of street furniture is how it affects road safety.
Street furniture itself has become as much a part of many nations' identities as dialects and national events, so much so that one can usually recognise the location by their design; famous examples include:
The red telephone boxes of Britain
The residential post boxes of the US
The street lamps and metro entrances in ParisSource: Wikipedia
Street furniture is making its presence slowly but surely in Mumbai
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
On a Monday evening, the Dadabhai Naoroji Road is chock-full with cars, buses and taxis. The pavements are clogged with people hurrying past, heads down, all heading towards Churchgate station. So, it become a little difficult to note the unusual street furniture: the black iron railings, Victorian style dust bins and a red glass-paned telephone booth, which seems to have been imported straight from London. But thankfully, there is an Indian touch: a white piece of paper which is stuck on one of the panes has this hand-written legend: ‘Phone out of order’.
“D.N. Road is one of the busiest thoroughfares in the city,” says architect Abha Narain Lambah. “So, you need something of a particular scale. Historically, and architecturally, the scale is more Victorian and Edwardian. The aesthetics has to conform to the cast iron. Otherwise, there will be a disconnect between the street and the furniture.”
The idea to have street furniture that conforms to the historic sensibility of an area was first mooted by Lambah, in 1998, to the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority (MMRDA), which had set up a heritage conservation society. “We felt the beauty of the heritage should be maintained in the existing fashion,” says G. S. Pantbalekundri, who was secretary of the heritage conservation society and has since retired. Adds Lambah: “Till then, the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation had a standard system all over the city. So, if they were putting penguin litter bins or concrete benches, they would do it all over the city.”
Using the catalogue of the Westminister City Council in England, as a reference point, Lambah prepared a pilot project of 100m of D.N. Road. “She made a presentation and the MMRDA produced a beautiful brochure and we were convinced about the project,” says R.H. Mendonsa, the managing director of Lawrence & Mayo, which has their headquarters on D.N. Road. Following that, The Citizen’s Association of D.N. Road took it upon themselves to make it a stakeholder-driven project; the shopkeepers contributed for every stretch of railing or litterbin along their stretch. “There are about 20 banks on this road, and they were all keen in the beautification,” says Mendonsa. So far, for 500m of renovation, it has cost Rs 30 lakh. To complete the western side of D.N. Road, the MMRDA has promised to defray 25 per cent of the expenses while the rest will again come from local fund-raising.
However, when you look at the railings and the dustbins on D.N. Road, it is clearly fading and losing its attractiveness. “In five years, it has not been painted once,” says Lambah. “The BMC should take up some responsibility. In other parts of the world, the municipal corporation gives a coat of epoxy paint on street furniture every six months. How long will the citizens keep pitching in?” Interestingly, the street furniture has won the UNESCO Asia Pacific Award of Merit for 2004 because it was one of the earliest street furniture done by a private agency in Asia.
Further away, in Walkeshwar, on the stretch from Chowpathy to Raj Bhavan on Marine Drive, steel benches, some with a back-rest, some without, have been set up. On the evening of Republic Day, there are plenty of people who are sauntering about on the promenade, their spirits high because of the mid-week holiday, and quite a few who are sitting on the steel benches. The steel gleamed in the evening sun and the words Jindal Foundation could be seen on one side. “Earlier, there used to be concrete benches and it had completely rusted. The seats were all broken and damaged,” says Lambah. “Every time, the government would install something, they would use low-quality material and it would corrode within six months because of the high salt content.”
Lambah received support from Sangita Jindal of the Jindal Foundation. “I wanted to set an example to the government that street furniture should not always be of a low quality,” says Sangita. So Lambah was encouraged to go in for high quality stainless steel in combination with slame-finished granite. “We wanted to put up something which would last,” says Lambah. Three years have gone past and the benches still look as good as new.
Bespectacled Vipul Rane, 27, an IT engineer, is sitting on one of the benches. “The design looks good,” he says. “It is comfortable and durable. When people see concrete benches, they always try to chip off part of the cement.” Rane suggests that these benches should be replicated all over the city. “However, the BMC should keep an eye,” he says, “as drug addicts will try and steal them.”
A little ahead of Rane sit two young PR professionals, Arushi Agarwal and Poonam Nikam, both 24, leaning back and placing their legs on the parapet. They are, however, not too excited by the design. “The concrete benches were better because they had a different feel,” says Arushi.
Agrees Poonam: “These steel benches give a very upmarket look but this is actually just a place to chill out. I guess, we have been so used to the other type of benches, it is going to take time to get used to the new ones.”
What is street furniture?
Street furniture is a collective term for objects and pieces of equipment installed on streets and roads for various purposes, includingbenches, post boxes, phone boxes, streetlamps, street lighting, traffic lights,bus stops, taxi stands, fountains and waste receptacles. An important consideration in the design of street furniture is how it affects road safety.
Street furniture itself has become as much a part of many nations' identities as dialects and national events, so much so that one can usually recognise the location by their design; famous examples include:
The red telephone boxes of Britain
The residential post boxes of the US
The street lamps and metro entrances in ParisSource: Wikipedia
Hello, hello, please come
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from Hindustan Times
Audiences are wooed assiduously to participate in the numerous shows on television
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
The moment Amitabh Bachchan steps onto the Kaun Banega Crorepati 2 set, at Filmcity, on a Wednesday afternoon, the audience bursts into sustained applause. And what an audience it is: they range from giggly teenagers to excited middle-aged men and women to stoic elderly folk. For most, this is the first time they are seeing Bachchan in the flesh.
Like the effervescent airhostess, Shivani Bandekar, who says, “I have only come to see Amitabh Bachchan.” Or the smiling banker Kishore P., who says, “A friend in Star Plus gave me a pass.” Or Dilip Kumar Jadhav, who has come all the way from Jharkhand: “My brother is a cook on the sets and gave me a pass. It is an easy quiz. Till Rs 3.2 lakh, you should have no problem.” Or the calm TCS software engineer T.S. Prasanna, who says, “The set is really good.”
But KBC2 is an exception, when it comes to audience participation. “Three years ago, people were dying to participate in any show,” says Nisha Kothari, a freelance coordinator who arranges audiences for shows. “That has changed because there are so many shows now and lots of people have gone for them. The novelty value has worn off. People have become choosy.”
Says Bindu Harmishah, another coordinator: “Earlier, those coming as studio audience were curious to see artistes at close quarters. Now, they want to be paid.”
So channels, nowadays, to woo audiences, provide transport and snacks and pay the audience if the shooting is for several hours. “If the studio gives us money, we pay around Rs 500 a day but they have to work a minimum of eight hours,” says Harmishah. “Most of the time, the demand is for younger people.”
For Nach Baliye, the show needs a lot of clapping and screaming, which young people do with élan. Says Pinky Thakkar, (21), an audience participant in Nach Baliye, “Even though the hours are long, we don’t feel tired at all. I go for the fun of it.”
So how does one become a member of the audience? One way is to get in touch with the channel and express your interest. Then they will pass your name to their coordinators. Or you can send an e-mail. Says Smita Sharma, a coordinator at a business channel: “When people respond to our shows, we build up a database. We call them and ask whether they are interested in taking part.” She gets in touch two days in advance and if there is a group of people coming from a particular place, transport is provided.
Harmishah goes to the various clubs in the city and puts up advertisements. “When people show an interest, we interview them and do a final selection,” she says. She has several categories of audiences: a dancing audience, a smart audience, an intelligent audience and an audience, which can speak in English.
Coming back to KBC2, Karun Prabhakaran, director, operations, Synergy Communications, which is producing the show for Star Plus, explains the audience break-up: “During the weekends, we have a good mix of MNC executives, college students, NGOs and similar organisations. During the weekdays, we have a lot of members from housing societies, women’s organisations, airforce groups, pensioners, widows and students from mass communication institutes.” Memo to other channels: get clones of Bachchan as presenter, if you want strong audience participation. I can understand how you can feel low.
Audiences are wooed assiduously to participate in the numerous shows on television
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
The moment Amitabh Bachchan steps onto the Kaun Banega Crorepati 2 set, at Filmcity, on a Wednesday afternoon, the audience bursts into sustained applause. And what an audience it is: they range from giggly teenagers to excited middle-aged men and women to stoic elderly folk. For most, this is the first time they are seeing Bachchan in the flesh.
Like the effervescent airhostess, Shivani Bandekar, who says, “I have only come to see Amitabh Bachchan.” Or the smiling banker Kishore P., who says, “A friend in Star Plus gave me a pass.” Or Dilip Kumar Jadhav, who has come all the way from Jharkhand: “My brother is a cook on the sets and gave me a pass. It is an easy quiz. Till Rs 3.2 lakh, you should have no problem.” Or the calm TCS software engineer T.S. Prasanna, who says, “The set is really good.”
But KBC2 is an exception, when it comes to audience participation. “Three years ago, people were dying to participate in any show,” says Nisha Kothari, a freelance coordinator who arranges audiences for shows. “That has changed because there are so many shows now and lots of people have gone for them. The novelty value has worn off. People have become choosy.”
Says Bindu Harmishah, another coordinator: “Earlier, those coming as studio audience were curious to see artistes at close quarters. Now, they want to be paid.”
So channels, nowadays, to woo audiences, provide transport and snacks and pay the audience if the shooting is for several hours. “If the studio gives us money, we pay around Rs 500 a day but they have to work a minimum of eight hours,” says Harmishah. “Most of the time, the demand is for younger people.”
For Nach Baliye, the show needs a lot of clapping and screaming, which young people do with élan. Says Pinky Thakkar, (21), an audience participant in Nach Baliye, “Even though the hours are long, we don’t feel tired at all. I go for the fun of it.”
So how does one become a member of the audience? One way is to get in touch with the channel and express your interest. Then they will pass your name to their coordinators. Or you can send an e-mail. Says Smita Sharma, a coordinator at a business channel: “When people respond to our shows, we build up a database. We call them and ask whether they are interested in taking part.” She gets in touch two days in advance and if there is a group of people coming from a particular place, transport is provided.
Harmishah goes to the various clubs in the city and puts up advertisements. “When people show an interest, we interview them and do a final selection,” she says. She has several categories of audiences: a dancing audience, a smart audience, an intelligent audience and an audience, which can speak in English.
Coming back to KBC2, Karun Prabhakaran, director, operations, Synergy Communications, which is producing the show for Star Plus, explains the audience break-up: “During the weekends, we have a good mix of MNC executives, college students, NGOs and similar organisations. During the weekdays, we have a lot of members from housing societies, women’s organisations, airforce groups, pensioners, widows and students from mass communication institutes.” Memo to other channels: get clones of Bachchan as presenter, if you want strong audience participation. I can understand how you can feel low.
Blue skies, open spaces
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times, Mumbai
Nature has a big say at the Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
When Palash Nath, (name changed), a resident student of the Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research at Goregaon stepped out one night, he saw a leopard near the glass-paned entrance. Before he could shout out for help, the leopard, who seemed to be more scared of him, leapt through the panel, shattered the glass and escaped. “They would come regularly from the Sanjay Gandhi National Park at Borivili,” says T.V. Subramanian, the registrar of the institute. “So we had to raise the boundary walls.”
When you step into the institute, you are enveloped in a cocoon of silence; the cawing of crows is like a shout. Most blocks are connected through several layers of steps, and open corridors; the sunlight splashes on the floor and the breeze flows uninterruptedly. A plaza in the middle accentuates the sense of openness. Set on a hill, there are research and administrative blocks, a seminar complex, a library, an auditorium, a canteen and a hostel. Spread over 14 acres, the built-up area is 1.25 lakh sq. ft.
“The original site had an elevation of 30 metres and we wanted to retain that,” says architect Uttam C. Jain. “We have cut the earth to a minimum. Nowadays, people bulldoze everything and make it flat. But I have always respected nature.”
Asked about the brief given by the owners, the Reserve Bank of India, Jain says, “I was told that the institute was not for Mumbai or Delhi, but for the whole country. So, I thought of India’s culture, history and heritage.”
For inspiration, he borrowed from the Ajanta and Ellora Caves. “The chaitya arches, which we used in the auditorium, are an inspiration from the Ajanta Caves. In chaitya arches, both sides are balanced. But in the arches we used in the auditorium, because of technology, we could use non-symmetrical arches. In our thinking, we were traditional but in our working we became contemporary.”
On a sultry Wednesday morning, students Abhinav Thakur and Soumyadeep Mukhopadhyay are sitting on a low ledge outside the canteen during a break in classes.
“The interaction between the buildings and nature is superb,” says Mukhopadhyay. “Most buildings in the city have a closed-in feeling. That is absent here.”
Says Thakur: “This is an unique design. “When you go for a walk at 8 pm or when you go into the library, you can sense it is a different type of environment.”
However, not everything is hunky dory. Diana George, the administrative officer, who has been working at the institute for two decades, says that since the institute is open on all sides, the water falls on the corridor during the rainy season and it becomes very slippery and dangerous. “Sometimes, the water enters the rooms,” she adds. “Also, the central plaza is covered with fungus and moss and is unusable throughout the rainy season.” Despite these hiccups, the institute is regarded as Jain’s best work and it won the Journal of the Indian Institute of Architecture award for institutional buildings in 1991. At 72, Jain still puts in the hours at his fourth floor office at Nariman Point. His eyes shine with integrity and passion; he is a man driven by moral values and love for architecture. In his four-decade career, he has built primary schools, lecture theatres, a printing press, university buildings, beach resorts, libraries, hotels, tourist complexes, swimming pools, railway stations, apartments and a cloth market. A winner of the Indian Institute of Architects Baburao Mhatre Gold Medal in 1991 for outstanding contribution to architecture, he is also a keen photographer and has had held several exhibitions. Recently, he published a book, Manyness of Mumbai, which are photographs and thoughts about the city; the love for Mumbai comes through clearly.
Nature has a big say at the Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
When Palash Nath, (name changed), a resident student of the Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research at Goregaon stepped out one night, he saw a leopard near the glass-paned entrance. Before he could shout out for help, the leopard, who seemed to be more scared of him, leapt through the panel, shattered the glass and escaped. “They would come regularly from the Sanjay Gandhi National Park at Borivili,” says T.V. Subramanian, the registrar of the institute. “So we had to raise the boundary walls.”
When you step into the institute, you are enveloped in a cocoon of silence; the cawing of crows is like a shout. Most blocks are connected through several layers of steps, and open corridors; the sunlight splashes on the floor and the breeze flows uninterruptedly. A plaza in the middle accentuates the sense of openness. Set on a hill, there are research and administrative blocks, a seminar complex, a library, an auditorium, a canteen and a hostel. Spread over 14 acres, the built-up area is 1.25 lakh sq. ft.
“The original site had an elevation of 30 metres and we wanted to retain that,” says architect Uttam C. Jain. “We have cut the earth to a minimum. Nowadays, people bulldoze everything and make it flat. But I have always respected nature.”
Asked about the brief given by the owners, the Reserve Bank of India, Jain says, “I was told that the institute was not for Mumbai or Delhi, but for the whole country. So, I thought of India’s culture, history and heritage.”
For inspiration, he borrowed from the Ajanta and Ellora Caves. “The chaitya arches, which we used in the auditorium, are an inspiration from the Ajanta Caves. In chaitya arches, both sides are balanced. But in the arches we used in the auditorium, because of technology, we could use non-symmetrical arches. In our thinking, we were traditional but in our working we became contemporary.”
On a sultry Wednesday morning, students Abhinav Thakur and Soumyadeep Mukhopadhyay are sitting on a low ledge outside the canteen during a break in classes.
“The interaction between the buildings and nature is superb,” says Mukhopadhyay. “Most buildings in the city have a closed-in feeling. That is absent here.”
Says Thakur: “This is an unique design. “When you go for a walk at 8 pm or when you go into the library, you can sense it is a different type of environment.”
However, not everything is hunky dory. Diana George, the administrative officer, who has been working at the institute for two decades, says that since the institute is open on all sides, the water falls on the corridor during the rainy season and it becomes very slippery and dangerous. “Sometimes, the water enters the rooms,” she adds. “Also, the central plaza is covered with fungus and moss and is unusable throughout the rainy season.” Despite these hiccups, the institute is regarded as Jain’s best work and it won the Journal of the Indian Institute of Architecture award for institutional buildings in 1991. At 72, Jain still puts in the hours at his fourth floor office at Nariman Point. His eyes shine with integrity and passion; he is a man driven by moral values and love for architecture. In his four-decade career, he has built primary schools, lecture theatres, a printing press, university buildings, beach resorts, libraries, hotels, tourist complexes, swimming pools, railway stations, apartments and a cloth market. A winner of the Indian Institute of Architects Baburao Mhatre Gold Medal in 1991 for outstanding contribution to architecture, he is also a keen photographer and has had held several exhibitions. Recently, he published a book, Manyness of Mumbai, which are photographs and thoughts about the city; the love for Mumbai comes through clearly.
Leading from the front
Permission to republish this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Ajit Wadekar transformed a has-been team into winners
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
In Ajit Wadekar’s autobiography, My Cricketing Years, there is a picture of Sunil Gavaskar and him strolling down a London street during the 1971 tour. Wadekar, unlike Gavaskar, was impeccably dressed in a well-pressed suit, holding an umbrella above their heads, and the look on his face was one of supreme confidence. He was leadership personified. So, it was no surprise that during that tour, India had its first series win over England in England.
Ajit Wadekar, known as ‘Professor’ in cricketing circles, has always been regarded as a master tactician. Standing in the slips, he would silently plot the downfall of the batsman. And he would, in the midst of all this brainwork, take some splendid catches of the feared bowling quartet of Bhagwat Chandrasekhar, E.A.S. Prasanna, Bishen Singh Bedi and S. Venkataraghavan. When asked about the qualities of a good captain, he said, “A captain has to plan for every ball. Strategies planned at team meetings are all fine but on the field, things are changing all the time. For example, the batsman might suddenly become aggressive. So, the captain has to change his bowling permutations, so that he can get wickets. He should also be able to read the wicket accurately every morning, before the day’s play, so that he can fine-tune his strategy.”
A captain, he continued, also has to get the boys to gel together, as a team. “They come from different cultures and from different corners of the country. You have to nurture the will to win among them,” he said.
Wadekar was a stylish left-handed batsman, and when India arrived in England, during that famous 1971 tour, the players knew the biggest threat was the tall, burly, fast bowler John Snow. And, as captain, he led from the front. The first four bouncers that Snow hurled at him, he struck it for boundaries. The message was not lost on his teammates in the dressing room. And if you want to know how cool he was, under pressure, think of this: on the last day of the pivotal third Test against England at The Oval, he got run out first ball after scoring 45 and when he returned to the pavilion he told Gundappa Vishwanath and Farokh Engineer that they would have to get the 173 runs for victory, come what may. Thereafter, he went to sleep on the massage table only to be awoken by England manager Ken Barrington who told him that India had won. Wadekar’s classic reply: “Who asked you to wake me up? I knew we were going to win.”
It was an epochal triumph. The nation embraced the team in a tight grasp. There were felicitation functions galore and a motorcade from the airport to the Cricket Club of India in Mumbai. “There were lakhs of people on the road,” remembered Wadekar. “It was one of the most unforgettable moments of my life. I don’t think any other Indian cricket team received this honour.”
Earlier, under his captaincy, India had defeated the West Indies in the West Indies. Whenever India played in the West Indies, they would get mauled. This time, also, it was expected to be a brownwash. But the captain had other ideas. “We did our homework,” said Wadekar. “We realised that the Windies players loved to play their strokes, so we thought of ways to curb it. We also realised our fielding had to be superb, because dropped catches meant the batsmen would go on to hit big scores.”
Wadekar was also not averse in trying to score a psychological point or two. In the Test, at Sabina Park, he was the first Indian captain to enforce a follow-on. Garfield Sobers, the West Indian captain, looked surprised when Wadekar told him about the decision. “Are you sure?” he asked. Wadekar’s reply was a calm, “I am absolutely sure.” Even though the match was drawn, India had gained that vital mental edge. And they went on to win the series 1-0, with a win in the second Test at Port of Spain, thanks to Dilip Sardesai’s and Sunil Gavaskar’s batting, among other exploits. Later, when India went to England, the players had the self-belief that they could win. In 1972, when England toured the subcontinent, India won the series, 2-1, to register back-to-back wins.
But such is the fickleness of the Indian public, that three years later, when as captain, Wadekar suffered three heavy successive defeats against England in England, during the three-Test series, there were demonstrations outside his home and he was stripped of the captaincy of Mumbai and India. Soon after, he retired from cricket, at 33. Years later, a philosophical Wadekar would say, “When you are playing for India, you have to take all this in your stride.” Incidentally, in the four years he captained the Mumbai team, they won the Ranji Trophy three times, thus enabling the state to win for 16 years consecutively. Wadekar was in the team all along. Thereafter, he had a stint as an administrator in the Mumbai Cricket Association, and was the manager of the Indian team that toured South Africa in 1992, which India lost. But he rebuilt his reputation when India won in Sri Lanka for the first time and in the four years he was at the helm, the team never lost at home. So the man has done it all: player, captain, manager, chairman of selectors, administrator, columnist and an executive director with the State Bank of India. His name is etched in gold in Indian cricket history. He showed us we need not lose whenever we played abroad; it was an indirect lesson in character-building for Indians, still coming to terms with the 200 years of white rule, which had ended just 24 years ago. If there is one thing the 64-year old would like to change in his impressive CV, it would be his birthday: April Fool’s Day.
Ajit Wadekar transformed a has-been team into winners
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
In Ajit Wadekar’s autobiography, My Cricketing Years, there is a picture of Sunil Gavaskar and him strolling down a London street during the 1971 tour. Wadekar, unlike Gavaskar, was impeccably dressed in a well-pressed suit, holding an umbrella above their heads, and the look on his face was one of supreme confidence. He was leadership personified. So, it was no surprise that during that tour, India had its first series win over England in England.
Ajit Wadekar, known as ‘Professor’ in cricketing circles, has always been regarded as a master tactician. Standing in the slips, he would silently plot the downfall of the batsman. And he would, in the midst of all this brainwork, take some splendid catches of the feared bowling quartet of Bhagwat Chandrasekhar, E.A.S. Prasanna, Bishen Singh Bedi and S. Venkataraghavan. When asked about the qualities of a good captain, he said, “A captain has to plan for every ball. Strategies planned at team meetings are all fine but on the field, things are changing all the time. For example, the batsman might suddenly become aggressive. So, the captain has to change his bowling permutations, so that he can get wickets. He should also be able to read the wicket accurately every morning, before the day’s play, so that he can fine-tune his strategy.”
A captain, he continued, also has to get the boys to gel together, as a team. “They come from different cultures and from different corners of the country. You have to nurture the will to win among them,” he said.
Wadekar was a stylish left-handed batsman, and when India arrived in England, during that famous 1971 tour, the players knew the biggest threat was the tall, burly, fast bowler John Snow. And, as captain, he led from the front. The first four bouncers that Snow hurled at him, he struck it for boundaries. The message was not lost on his teammates in the dressing room. And if you want to know how cool he was, under pressure, think of this: on the last day of the pivotal third Test against England at The Oval, he got run out first ball after scoring 45 and when he returned to the pavilion he told Gundappa Vishwanath and Farokh Engineer that they would have to get the 173 runs for victory, come what may. Thereafter, he went to sleep on the massage table only to be awoken by England manager Ken Barrington who told him that India had won. Wadekar’s classic reply: “Who asked you to wake me up? I knew we were going to win.”
It was an epochal triumph. The nation embraced the team in a tight grasp. There were felicitation functions galore and a motorcade from the airport to the Cricket Club of India in Mumbai. “There were lakhs of people on the road,” remembered Wadekar. “It was one of the most unforgettable moments of my life. I don’t think any other Indian cricket team received this honour.”
Earlier, under his captaincy, India had defeated the West Indies in the West Indies. Whenever India played in the West Indies, they would get mauled. This time, also, it was expected to be a brownwash. But the captain had other ideas. “We did our homework,” said Wadekar. “We realised that the Windies players loved to play their strokes, so we thought of ways to curb it. We also realised our fielding had to be superb, because dropped catches meant the batsmen would go on to hit big scores.”
Wadekar was also not averse in trying to score a psychological point or two. In the Test, at Sabina Park, he was the first Indian captain to enforce a follow-on. Garfield Sobers, the West Indian captain, looked surprised when Wadekar told him about the decision. “Are you sure?” he asked. Wadekar’s reply was a calm, “I am absolutely sure.” Even though the match was drawn, India had gained that vital mental edge. And they went on to win the series 1-0, with a win in the second Test at Port of Spain, thanks to Dilip Sardesai’s and Sunil Gavaskar’s batting, among other exploits. Later, when India went to England, the players had the self-belief that they could win. In 1972, when England toured the subcontinent, India won the series, 2-1, to register back-to-back wins.
But such is the fickleness of the Indian public, that three years later, when as captain, Wadekar suffered three heavy successive defeats against England in England, during the three-Test series, there were demonstrations outside his home and he was stripped of the captaincy of Mumbai and India. Soon after, he retired from cricket, at 33. Years later, a philosophical Wadekar would say, “When you are playing for India, you have to take all this in your stride.” Incidentally, in the four years he captained the Mumbai team, they won the Ranji Trophy three times, thus enabling the state to win for 16 years consecutively. Wadekar was in the team all along. Thereafter, he had a stint as an administrator in the Mumbai Cricket Association, and was the manager of the Indian team that toured South Africa in 1992, which India lost. But he rebuilt his reputation when India won in Sri Lanka for the first time and in the four years he was at the helm, the team never lost at home. So the man has done it all: player, captain, manager, chairman of selectors, administrator, columnist and an executive director with the State Bank of India. His name is etched in gold in Indian cricket history. He showed us we need not lose whenever we played abroad; it was an indirect lesson in character-building for Indians, still coming to terms with the 200 years of white rule, which had ended just 24 years ago. If there is one thing the 64-year old would like to change in his impressive CV, it would be his birthday: April Fool’s Day.
All’s well that ends well
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
The stained glass panels of the Bhikha Behram well have been restored to its old splendour
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Unless you keep your eyes peeled out, you are bound to miss the Bhikha Behram well, a holy spot for Parsis, because of the overflowing crowds on the sidewalk of Veer Nariman Road. After entering through the small wicker gate, you encounter a row of benches, painted a bright green, a couple of trees with overhanging branches, and the well, which is 280 years old. And, right above, is the stained glass panels, now restored to its former glory.
In March 2004, vandals had entered the well at night and destroyed the panels. No arrests have been made so far. In June last year, the trust decided to restore the panels; a wealthy devotee offered to bear the expenses and the commission was given to Hema Desai, a fusion and original stained glass creator. “We gave her photographs of the images of the original panel and asked her to recreate them,” says Dr. Viraf Kapadia, a trustee of the well.
At her workshop in Sewri, Desai enlarged the photographs on the computer and drew them to scale on a large, white paper. Then artists at her workshop cut the glass according to the image on the paper. “The glass is imported from USA and Germany,” she says. “Between two different glasses, we put in imported copper foil. It is only after that it is welded together.” Because of the danger of vandalism, Desai put a thick glass in front and at the back of the panel.
At the centre of the ceiling, above the well, there was a circular opening. Desai covered it with a glass panel with a painting of the sun. “During the day, the sunlight streams in and lights up the centre of the well,” says Desai. “Since the Parsis worship the sun, I thought this would be nice.”
On the west side of the wall, there is a provision for drinking the well water for members of other communities. “More than 3000 people avail of this facility free of charge,” says Kapadia.
Parsis come in regular intervals to pray at the well. On one of the benches sits Yazdi Daruwala, a businessman from Pakistan. He had heard of the well, even in Pakistan. So, while on a visit to Mumbai, he decided to drop in for a few minutes of prayer. “I did not know it was vandalised,” he says. “The glass panels look wonderful.”
Facts about the well
It is 280 years old.
It is a Grade 1 Heritage structure
It is also used as a wishing well.
Origin: A Parsi gentleman, Bhikaji Behramji, from Broach [present-day Bharuch] had come to Mumbai to seek his fortune in 1715. He was waylaid by some Marathas who were at war with the Muslims. Imprisoned in the Pandeghard fortress, he was set free after he convinced his captors that he was a Parsi, by showing them his sudreh (religious vest) and his kushti (sacred thread). Behramji went on start a business in Angrez Bazaar, now known as Horniman Circle. Being of charitable disposition, in 1725, he sunk a well for the people and it came to be known as the Bhikha Behram well.
The stained glass panels of the Bhikha Behram well have been restored to its old splendour
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Unless you keep your eyes peeled out, you are bound to miss the Bhikha Behram well, a holy spot for Parsis, because of the overflowing crowds on the sidewalk of Veer Nariman Road. After entering through the small wicker gate, you encounter a row of benches, painted a bright green, a couple of trees with overhanging branches, and the well, which is 280 years old. And, right above, is the stained glass panels, now restored to its former glory.
In March 2004, vandals had entered the well at night and destroyed the panels. No arrests have been made so far. In June last year, the trust decided to restore the panels; a wealthy devotee offered to bear the expenses and the commission was given to Hema Desai, a fusion and original stained glass creator. “We gave her photographs of the images of the original panel and asked her to recreate them,” says Dr. Viraf Kapadia, a trustee of the well.
At her workshop in Sewri, Desai enlarged the photographs on the computer and drew them to scale on a large, white paper. Then artists at her workshop cut the glass according to the image on the paper. “The glass is imported from USA and Germany,” she says. “Between two different glasses, we put in imported copper foil. It is only after that it is welded together.” Because of the danger of vandalism, Desai put a thick glass in front and at the back of the panel.
At the centre of the ceiling, above the well, there was a circular opening. Desai covered it with a glass panel with a painting of the sun. “During the day, the sunlight streams in and lights up the centre of the well,” says Desai. “Since the Parsis worship the sun, I thought this would be nice.”
On the west side of the wall, there is a provision for drinking the well water for members of other communities. “More than 3000 people avail of this facility free of charge,” says Kapadia.
Parsis come in regular intervals to pray at the well. On one of the benches sits Yazdi Daruwala, a businessman from Pakistan. He had heard of the well, even in Pakistan. So, while on a visit to Mumbai, he decided to drop in for a few minutes of prayer. “I did not know it was vandalised,” he says. “The glass panels look wonderful.”
Facts about the well
It is 280 years old.
It is a Grade 1 Heritage structure
It is also used as a wishing well.
Origin: A Parsi gentleman, Bhikaji Behramji, from Broach [present-day Bharuch] had come to Mumbai to seek his fortune in 1715. He was waylaid by some Marathas who were at war with the Muslims. Imprisoned in the Pandeghard fortress, he was set free after he convinced his captors that he was a Parsi, by showing them his sudreh (religious vest) and his kushti (sacred thread). Behramji went on start a business in Angrez Bazaar, now known as Horniman Circle. Being of charitable disposition, in 1725, he sunk a well for the people and it came to be known as the Bhikha Behram well.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Sex and the Indian man and woman
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Mumbai has the only outpatient department for sex in the world
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
a) Anand and Rohini Mhatre are a demure couple. He is swarthy looking, with broad shoulders and a thick moustache while she is slim, with a round face and a necklace of black beads around her neck. They have been married for four years and have not been able to consummate the marriage. The problem: Anand (28) suffers from premature ejaculation or early orgasm. As for Rohini, (20), she has never masturbated and has no idea of the sex act. The couple are desperate for a solution.
b) Ashok Desai, (39), has been married for just four months. He also has not consummated his marriage but for a different reason: he is a homosexual and feels no attraction towards his wife. From childhood, he has been turned on by males and would masturbate thinking about boys. When the proposal for marriage came up, a friend told him his sexual orientation would change after marriage. But that did not happen and now he does not know what to do. He told his wife he is going through some mental problems and she replied she was willing to wait till his problems are solved. So, they sleep next to each other, like brother and sister.
c) Ramesh Sharma (52) has been married for 30 years. From his wedding night, whenever he inserted his penis, within three strokes, he would ejaculate.
All of them are present at the department of sexual medicine at KEM Hospital. This is the only department of its kind in a country of more than one billion people and the only outpatient department for sexual dysfunction in the world. Around 60 patients--men, couples and homosexuals--have come on this rainy Wednesday afternoon to find a solution to the problems, which have been affecting their sex lives.
Dr Prakash Kothari does one-on-one interviews with new cases. For males, he asks four questions: whether they have desire, erection, penetration and orgasm. For women, it is desire, lubrication, penetration and orgasm. The answers to these questions will immediately guide him to the problems faced by the patients. Mostly, the men suffer from premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction (impotency) or worries about penis size. For women, it is the inability to achieve orgasm.
Thereafter, he invites the group inside the clinic for a slide show. There are ten slides shown, mostly of the penis and the vagina. He says the penis, which is neither a muscle nor a bone, needs a good inflow of blood to function at its best. He clears the many misconceptions about masturbation especially the perennial one about one drop of semen equalling hundred drops of blood. “Nobody becomes weaker because of masturbation,” he says. “It is similar to intercourse. In one, you insert your penis inside a vagina, in the other you insert it in the palm of your hand.”
He talks about the bent penis, another common cause of anxiety among men. Everybody, he says, has a penis that is slightly bent, either to the left or the right. “Even Eros, the God of love, cannot have an erection at a 90 degree angle,” he says. “Whether left or right, the main thing is to penetrate.”
With his confident tone and reassuring smile, the doctor gives the impression that the problems can be solved easily. He says most men have early orgasms because they get too excited. For some men, the sensation in the glans is too intense. Sometimes, the onset of diabetes affects the penis. On rare occasions, performance is affected if there is an infection in the prostrate gland. “The solution,” says Kothari, “is a healthy lifestyle: avoid drink, smoking and stress.”
The treatment, once a week, is spread over a month. In the first week, the history of the patient is taken. In the second, is the audio presentation where myths and misconceptions are cleared. In the third week, there is a physical examination, while treatment begins from the fourth week onwards.
The patients, especially the men, listen to Kothari with rapt attention. The scales of incomprehension are visibly falling from their eyes. This is probably the first time they are attending a session like this. For years, they have suffered from misconceptions, fears, penis size worry and early orgasm. Now, there is light at the end of the tunnel, some way to understand what has been hampering their performance in bed. They belong mostly to the middle and lower classes, ranging in age from the twenties to the fifties.
Kothari suddenly looks up and says, “It is your duty to provide satisfaction to your partner. Will you promise to do that?”
The audience intones: “We promise.”
“Remember,” he says, “There is no expiry date for sex. Recently, a 92-year-old man came for consultation. You can have sex till your last breath.”
Different queries, same quest
People of different states find out whether sexual satisfaction has been obtained
Samadhan (Maharashtra): Are you settled or not?
Sukh (Gujarat): Are you happy or not?
Tasalli (Punjab): Have you enjoyed it?
Majo ayo (Sindhi): Did you enjoy it?
Trupti (Tamil Nadu): Are you satisfied?
Santrupti (Andhra Pradesh): Have you had ultimate satisfaction?
Mumbai has the only outpatient department for sex in the world
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
a) Anand and Rohini Mhatre are a demure couple. He is swarthy looking, with broad shoulders and a thick moustache while she is slim, with a round face and a necklace of black beads around her neck. They have been married for four years and have not been able to consummate the marriage. The problem: Anand (28) suffers from premature ejaculation or early orgasm. As for Rohini, (20), she has never masturbated and has no idea of the sex act. The couple are desperate for a solution.
b) Ashok Desai, (39), has been married for just four months. He also has not consummated his marriage but for a different reason: he is a homosexual and feels no attraction towards his wife. From childhood, he has been turned on by males and would masturbate thinking about boys. When the proposal for marriage came up, a friend told him his sexual orientation would change after marriage. But that did not happen and now he does not know what to do. He told his wife he is going through some mental problems and she replied she was willing to wait till his problems are solved. So, they sleep next to each other, like brother and sister.
c) Ramesh Sharma (52) has been married for 30 years. From his wedding night, whenever he inserted his penis, within three strokes, he would ejaculate.
All of them are present at the department of sexual medicine at KEM Hospital. This is the only department of its kind in a country of more than one billion people and the only outpatient department for sexual dysfunction in the world. Around 60 patients--men, couples and homosexuals--have come on this rainy Wednesday afternoon to find a solution to the problems, which have been affecting their sex lives.
Dr Prakash Kothari does one-on-one interviews with new cases. For males, he asks four questions: whether they have desire, erection, penetration and orgasm. For women, it is desire, lubrication, penetration and orgasm. The answers to these questions will immediately guide him to the problems faced by the patients. Mostly, the men suffer from premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction (impotency) or worries about penis size. For women, it is the inability to achieve orgasm.
Thereafter, he invites the group inside the clinic for a slide show. There are ten slides shown, mostly of the penis and the vagina. He says the penis, which is neither a muscle nor a bone, needs a good inflow of blood to function at its best. He clears the many misconceptions about masturbation especially the perennial one about one drop of semen equalling hundred drops of blood. “Nobody becomes weaker because of masturbation,” he says. “It is similar to intercourse. In one, you insert your penis inside a vagina, in the other you insert it in the palm of your hand.”
He talks about the bent penis, another common cause of anxiety among men. Everybody, he says, has a penis that is slightly bent, either to the left or the right. “Even Eros, the God of love, cannot have an erection at a 90 degree angle,” he says. “Whether left or right, the main thing is to penetrate.”
With his confident tone and reassuring smile, the doctor gives the impression that the problems can be solved easily. He says most men have early orgasms because they get too excited. For some men, the sensation in the glans is too intense. Sometimes, the onset of diabetes affects the penis. On rare occasions, performance is affected if there is an infection in the prostrate gland. “The solution,” says Kothari, “is a healthy lifestyle: avoid drink, smoking and stress.”
The treatment, once a week, is spread over a month. In the first week, the history of the patient is taken. In the second, is the audio presentation where myths and misconceptions are cleared. In the third week, there is a physical examination, while treatment begins from the fourth week onwards.
The patients, especially the men, listen to Kothari with rapt attention. The scales of incomprehension are visibly falling from their eyes. This is probably the first time they are attending a session like this. For years, they have suffered from misconceptions, fears, penis size worry and early orgasm. Now, there is light at the end of the tunnel, some way to understand what has been hampering their performance in bed. They belong mostly to the middle and lower classes, ranging in age from the twenties to the fifties.
Kothari suddenly looks up and says, “It is your duty to provide satisfaction to your partner. Will you promise to do that?”
The audience intones: “We promise.”
“Remember,” he says, “There is no expiry date for sex. Recently, a 92-year-old man came for consultation. You can have sex till your last breath.”
Different queries, same quest
People of different states find out whether sexual satisfaction has been obtained
Samadhan (Maharashtra): Are you settled or not?
Sukh (Gujarat): Are you happy or not?
Tasalli (Punjab): Have you enjoyed it?
Majo ayo (Sindhi): Did you enjoy it?
Trupti (Tamil Nadu): Are you satisfied?
Santrupti (Andhra Pradesh): Have you had ultimate satisfaction?
Friday, December 23, 2005
'Indian society is demanding accountability now'
Permission to reprint or copy the article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Interview/Shashi Tharoor/UN Under-Secretary General for Communication and Public Information
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
In the West or Africa, or the Far East, would there have been such a furore over the Paul Volcker report?
I would not like to generalise. Because India is a turbulent democracy, we do tend, particularly with our thriving and proliferating media, to rake up a lot of issues once we seize upon them. There is a marvellous New Yorker cartoon, which had a television anchorman saying, “Those were the headlines and we will be back after the break to blow them out of all proportion.” That is exactly what has happened. [Former External Affairs Minister] Natwar Singh’s name was mentioned on a list of names annexed to the fifth volume of a report, which listed over 2500 companies and individuals. It was, by no means, a major finding. So, there is a certain mystification among my colleagues in New York about what a huge story this has become. But I think it is a tribute to our democracy. It is a tribute to the independence of our media and it is very healthy that we, as a society, are demanding accountability.
You mentioned the UN has no documents about Volcker’s findings? So what does the Indian government do then?
Though it was created by a resolution of the Security Council, the Volcker enquiry committee is completely independent of the secretariat. We have the same report that the media has. The only thing the UN can do is to facilitate contact between the Indian investigators and Volcker’s staff.
Do you think it was right to sack Natwar Singh?
That is not appropriate for me to say. I have the highest respect for Natwar Singh, whom I have known for many years.
You have said India is a growing world power but the exchange rate for the American dollar is still 46 rupees.
It is a growing world power, but the challenges are enormous. You should not worry about the dollar being Rs 46 but that there are 200 million Indians who live on less than a dollar a day and who are living on the wrong side of the poverty line. We have a lot to celebrate, including economic growth and the advancement of the middle class, but we cannot afford to forget those who have been left behind so far.
You have been in the UN in senior positions for several years. Yet, your writing has carried on unabated. Where do you get the time?
It is very much abated these days. Writing is very much a part of who I am. Some of my reactions to the world are manifest in my work at the UN and some are manifest in my writing. To be very honest, if I give up one or the other, a part of my psyche would wither.
It is very rare for a creative person to be practical, like you are.
In some ways, it is a legacy of growing up in India. I was writing from my childhood but my parents always said, you can write as much as you can but you had better do your studies because writers can’t make a living in this country. I think it has something to do with middle class parents who were afraid that their son would starve on the streets.
Most of your books have received good reviews but the sales have been poor. What is the reason behind this?
I have no idea. I am writing because I have something to say. But what will strike a chord, you don’t know. However, in the Indian context, I have not done that badly. Penguin India brought a list of books that have sold over 10,000 copies and three of my books were on that list. But I certainly have not had international commercial success.
You have had a lot of experience in various countries like the former Yugoslovakia. Yet, very little of it appears in your fiction. Why is this so?
That is a very conscious decision. I feel it would be incompatible now, with my obligations as an UN official, with the diplomatic reticence, the obligation not to cause offence to other member states and so on. One day when I will put the UN behind me as a profession, I would want to interpret some of my experiences as a writer.
Some people say working in the UN is not tiring at all: A cushy job, with a solid pay packet. Is this true?
That has been the image in some people’s mind but it is not only wrong but out-dated. The UN is a competitive employer in the international marketplace but by no means as generous as the private sector. And few of our jobs would qualify as cushy. We may have accountants or administrators leading conventional working lives but we also have people who have 18 hour working days in the field in refugee camps. We have people who are sleeping in tents right now in the so-called Azad Kashmir because of the recent earthquake. We have people in developmental projects in Africa who often don’t see a foreigner for weeks. We have all of these experiences within the UN. So to generalise about the UN, in that sense, is flawed.
You mentioned that one of your sons was shouted at in New York because he was brown. How have things changed in the US after 9/11?
There was an enormous tension in American society after 9/11. Mainland America, not counting Hawaii and Pearl Harbour, had not been attacked by foreign forces since 1812 when the British attacked. For the Americans, there was no historical memory of an attack and it seared the consciousness of people. Of course, many people reacted with a great deal of decency and nobility and grace. But some, in every society, always react badly. And those who did, were the kind of people who shot dead a Sikh because he was wearing a turban thinking he must be like Osama Bin Laden. Two persons shouted at my son, saying, “Dirty Arab, go back from where you came from.” However, this is not at all representative of an entire society. But it is a reflection of the extreme fear and passion and anxiety generated by that event. Today, all that has subsided. But I don’t know what it would be like if there is a second attack attributed to the same sources.
Are you amazed at the way your life has panned out? A Kolkata boy hobnobbing with the world’s elite. A Kolkata boy, yes indeed! But my parents came from villages in Kerala. My father had spent much of his childhood walking barefoot several kilometres to school. Yes, it is amazing. When I look back at my own family and my own experiences in growing up in Kolkata, Mumbai and Delhi, I would not have been able to imagine the kind of opportunities that life has given me. For which I am deeply grateful to the forces beyond my control.
How do you define ‘forces beyond my control’?
It could be luck or destiny or divine blessing, but I am reluctant to talk about these things. I remember when Michael Chang won the French Open at 17, during his winner’s speech he said that God had made him win it. I thought to myself, ‘God is there for everybody. What makes him think God picked him instead of somebody else?’ There is an arrogance in presuming to interpret God’s wishes that I would not like to presume. Let me simply say, I have worked hard, and have done my best with as much sincerity and dedication I could muster. But I am also aware there are all sorts of people around the world who have also worked hard and honestly and sincerely and may have had different outcomes in life. Why this happens is beyond human comprehension. All I can say is hard work may not be enough but without hard work you are not going to get anywhere.
Interview/Shashi Tharoor/UN Under-Secretary General for Communication and Public Information
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
In the West or Africa, or the Far East, would there have been such a furore over the Paul Volcker report?
I would not like to generalise. Because India is a turbulent democracy, we do tend, particularly with our thriving and proliferating media, to rake up a lot of issues once we seize upon them. There is a marvellous New Yorker cartoon, which had a television anchorman saying, “Those were the headlines and we will be back after the break to blow them out of all proportion.” That is exactly what has happened. [Former External Affairs Minister] Natwar Singh’s name was mentioned on a list of names annexed to the fifth volume of a report, which listed over 2500 companies and individuals. It was, by no means, a major finding. So, there is a certain mystification among my colleagues in New York about what a huge story this has become. But I think it is a tribute to our democracy. It is a tribute to the independence of our media and it is very healthy that we, as a society, are demanding accountability.
You mentioned the UN has no documents about Volcker’s findings? So what does the Indian government do then?
Though it was created by a resolution of the Security Council, the Volcker enquiry committee is completely independent of the secretariat. We have the same report that the media has. The only thing the UN can do is to facilitate contact between the Indian investigators and Volcker’s staff.
Do you think it was right to sack Natwar Singh?
That is not appropriate for me to say. I have the highest respect for Natwar Singh, whom I have known for many years.
You have said India is a growing world power but the exchange rate for the American dollar is still 46 rupees.
It is a growing world power, but the challenges are enormous. You should not worry about the dollar being Rs 46 but that there are 200 million Indians who live on less than a dollar a day and who are living on the wrong side of the poverty line. We have a lot to celebrate, including economic growth and the advancement of the middle class, but we cannot afford to forget those who have been left behind so far.
You have been in the UN in senior positions for several years. Yet, your writing has carried on unabated. Where do you get the time?
It is very much abated these days. Writing is very much a part of who I am. Some of my reactions to the world are manifest in my work at the UN and some are manifest in my writing. To be very honest, if I give up one or the other, a part of my psyche would wither.
It is very rare for a creative person to be practical, like you are.
In some ways, it is a legacy of growing up in India. I was writing from my childhood but my parents always said, you can write as much as you can but you had better do your studies because writers can’t make a living in this country. I think it has something to do with middle class parents who were afraid that their son would starve on the streets.
Most of your books have received good reviews but the sales have been poor. What is the reason behind this?
I have no idea. I am writing because I have something to say. But what will strike a chord, you don’t know. However, in the Indian context, I have not done that badly. Penguin India brought a list of books that have sold over 10,000 copies and three of my books were on that list. But I certainly have not had international commercial success.
You have had a lot of experience in various countries like the former Yugoslovakia. Yet, very little of it appears in your fiction. Why is this so?
That is a very conscious decision. I feel it would be incompatible now, with my obligations as an UN official, with the diplomatic reticence, the obligation not to cause offence to other member states and so on. One day when I will put the UN behind me as a profession, I would want to interpret some of my experiences as a writer.
Some people say working in the UN is not tiring at all: A cushy job, with a solid pay packet. Is this true?
That has been the image in some people’s mind but it is not only wrong but out-dated. The UN is a competitive employer in the international marketplace but by no means as generous as the private sector. And few of our jobs would qualify as cushy. We may have accountants or administrators leading conventional working lives but we also have people who have 18 hour working days in the field in refugee camps. We have people who are sleeping in tents right now in the so-called Azad Kashmir because of the recent earthquake. We have people in developmental projects in Africa who often don’t see a foreigner for weeks. We have all of these experiences within the UN. So to generalise about the UN, in that sense, is flawed.
You mentioned that one of your sons was shouted at in New York because he was brown. How have things changed in the US after 9/11?
There was an enormous tension in American society after 9/11. Mainland America, not counting Hawaii and Pearl Harbour, had not been attacked by foreign forces since 1812 when the British attacked. For the Americans, there was no historical memory of an attack and it seared the consciousness of people. Of course, many people reacted with a great deal of decency and nobility and grace. But some, in every society, always react badly. And those who did, were the kind of people who shot dead a Sikh because he was wearing a turban thinking he must be like Osama Bin Laden. Two persons shouted at my son, saying, “Dirty Arab, go back from where you came from.” However, this is not at all representative of an entire society. But it is a reflection of the extreme fear and passion and anxiety generated by that event. Today, all that has subsided. But I don’t know what it would be like if there is a second attack attributed to the same sources.
Are you amazed at the way your life has panned out? A Kolkata boy hobnobbing with the world’s elite. A Kolkata boy, yes indeed! But my parents came from villages in Kerala. My father had spent much of his childhood walking barefoot several kilometres to school. Yes, it is amazing. When I look back at my own family and my own experiences in growing up in Kolkata, Mumbai and Delhi, I would not have been able to imagine the kind of opportunities that life has given me. For which I am deeply grateful to the forces beyond my control.
How do you define ‘forces beyond my control’?
It could be luck or destiny or divine blessing, but I am reluctant to talk about these things. I remember when Michael Chang won the French Open at 17, during his winner’s speech he said that God had made him win it. I thought to myself, ‘God is there for everybody. What makes him think God picked him instead of somebody else?’ There is an arrogance in presuming to interpret God’s wishes that I would not like to presume. Let me simply say, I have worked hard, and have done my best with as much sincerity and dedication I could muster. But I am also aware there are all sorts of people around the world who have also worked hard and honestly and sincerely and may have had different outcomes in life. Why this happens is beyond human comprehension. All I can say is hard work may not be enough but without hard work you are not going to get anywhere.
Sunshine at sunset
Permission to reprint or copy this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
In Ashray, despite Aids causing devastation, children smile and have a good time
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
When you look at the smiling face of Rajesh Kamlakar you cannot imagine the tragedy that has befallen his life. His father died when he was a child, and his mother, who had an elder daughter, Shailaja, decided to marry a tailor, Sunil. Within a few months, Rukmini was pregnant, but when she went to the hospital, the doctor told her she was HIV positive. Despite this prognosis, she did not abort the child. Eventually, Rukmini gave birth to Anupama. When Sunil died a few months later, Rajesh began working as an assistant to a hawker. He would eat only vada pav daily, to save money and buy food for his mother.
One day, Rukmini, who had contracted tuberculosis, and was feeling low and desperate, decided to commit suicide. But Shailaja, who was 14 at that time, learnt of this and said, “What are you doing? I know of an organisation that might help us.”
The family came to project CHILD (Children of HIV Positive Individuals Living in Dignity)—a home-based care programme, which is run by Committed Communities Development Trust (CCDT). Says director Sara D’Mello: “The longer the mother is alive, the child will get emotionally stronger. And they will be better able to cope for the time when she is no longer there.” Rukmini died soon after and Shailaja was put into a government institution for young girls while Anupama was admitted to Ashray, a CCDT crisis centre for children in Bandra. Rajesh would visit his stepsister every Saturday, but, over a period of time, Anupama’s health began deteriorating.
“When Rajesh realised this, he stopped coming,” says Lucinda D’Souza, Ashray project manager. When Anupama died, the Ashray authorities delayed the cremation; they wanted Rajesh to be present. “We felt he deserved the privilege of performing the last rites,” says Sara. So, one of the social workers, Vimal Bagul, wandered all over Bandra for hours before she spotted him near the railway terminus. Reluctantly, and with fear in his eyes, he came to Ashray. Can you blame him? By the time, he was 12, he had lit the funeral pyre of his father, his stepfather, his mother and now he had to do it for his stepsister.
In Ashray, there are 58 children: 34 boys and 24 girls, all of them from poor families. Several are HIV positive; some are orphans, while many have parents who are dying from Aids-related illnesses. There is no segregation between infected and non-infected children because the HIV virus can only be transmitted through blood transfusion, an infected needle, from mother to child and through sexual intercourse.
But for these children, death is never far away. “You have to prepare children for the death of a loved one,” says Mugdha Wadivkar, project manager, HIV Aids programme of the CCDT. “They talk about illnesses and express their perceptions about death. In death, they say, their parents have gone to God’s place. Some children feel their parents are going to come back.”
But for children like Rajesh, it is an uphill road. “We need specially trained counsellors and we don’t have enough of these, especially in the hospitals,” says Sara. “These children are vulnerable because they have to cope with the stigma associated with HIV-Aids.”
Ashray, started 10 years ago, celebrated its anniversary on November 1. In the evening, after the children have returned from the municipal school, and had their baths, they sit on the floor of the high ceiling bungalow, which has been provided by the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation, watching the Cartoon Network on television. They range in age from 2 to 15 years. I am introduced to Meenakshi, whose face is suffused with a bright glow and one of the warmest smiles I have seen in a child. She is an orphan but, thankfully, is not infected. “She is a bright student,” says Lucinda. Meenakshi tells me her favourite subject is mathematics. There is Minal, who is lying face down, the only child in the sick room. He has sores on his legs and is sleeping. Then there is three-year-old Manish, who was supposed to live for a few weeks but is throbbing with energy two years later.
I am introduced to Pradip, who walks very slowly. But at 12, he has suffered a stroke and has meningitis. He shakes my hand and asks for a chocolate. I am saddened that I don’t have any. He looks disappointed but does not say anything. Just then there is a call on my mobile. After I put the phone back into my pocket, my hand touches something. When I pull it out, I am amazed to see it is a chocolate, which my colleague had given to me earlier in the day and I had forgotten all about it. I proffer it to Minal, who does not smile, but thanks me profusely and grips the chocolate so hard I fear he is going to crush it out of shape.
Their lives may seem to be out of shape, but because they are children, full of innocence and joy, it is sweet most of the time.
In Ashray, despite Aids causing devastation, children smile and have a good time
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
When you look at the smiling face of Rajesh Kamlakar you cannot imagine the tragedy that has befallen his life. His father died when he was a child, and his mother, who had an elder daughter, Shailaja, decided to marry a tailor, Sunil. Within a few months, Rukmini was pregnant, but when she went to the hospital, the doctor told her she was HIV positive. Despite this prognosis, she did not abort the child. Eventually, Rukmini gave birth to Anupama. When Sunil died a few months later, Rajesh began working as an assistant to a hawker. He would eat only vada pav daily, to save money and buy food for his mother.
One day, Rukmini, who had contracted tuberculosis, and was feeling low and desperate, decided to commit suicide. But Shailaja, who was 14 at that time, learnt of this and said, “What are you doing? I know of an organisation that might help us.”
The family came to project CHILD (Children of HIV Positive Individuals Living in Dignity)—a home-based care programme, which is run by Committed Communities Development Trust (CCDT). Says director Sara D’Mello: “The longer the mother is alive, the child will get emotionally stronger. And they will be better able to cope for the time when she is no longer there.” Rukmini died soon after and Shailaja was put into a government institution for young girls while Anupama was admitted to Ashray, a CCDT crisis centre for children in Bandra. Rajesh would visit his stepsister every Saturday, but, over a period of time, Anupama’s health began deteriorating.
“When Rajesh realised this, he stopped coming,” says Lucinda D’Souza, Ashray project manager. When Anupama died, the Ashray authorities delayed the cremation; they wanted Rajesh to be present. “We felt he deserved the privilege of performing the last rites,” says Sara. So, one of the social workers, Vimal Bagul, wandered all over Bandra for hours before she spotted him near the railway terminus. Reluctantly, and with fear in his eyes, he came to Ashray. Can you blame him? By the time, he was 12, he had lit the funeral pyre of his father, his stepfather, his mother and now he had to do it for his stepsister.
In Ashray, there are 58 children: 34 boys and 24 girls, all of them from poor families. Several are HIV positive; some are orphans, while many have parents who are dying from Aids-related illnesses. There is no segregation between infected and non-infected children because the HIV virus can only be transmitted through blood transfusion, an infected needle, from mother to child and through sexual intercourse.
But for these children, death is never far away. “You have to prepare children for the death of a loved one,” says Mugdha Wadivkar, project manager, HIV Aids programme of the CCDT. “They talk about illnesses and express their perceptions about death. In death, they say, their parents have gone to God’s place. Some children feel their parents are going to come back.”
But for children like Rajesh, it is an uphill road. “We need specially trained counsellors and we don’t have enough of these, especially in the hospitals,” says Sara. “These children are vulnerable because they have to cope with the stigma associated with HIV-Aids.”
Ashray, started 10 years ago, celebrated its anniversary on November 1. In the evening, after the children have returned from the municipal school, and had their baths, they sit on the floor of the high ceiling bungalow, which has been provided by the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation, watching the Cartoon Network on television. They range in age from 2 to 15 years. I am introduced to Meenakshi, whose face is suffused with a bright glow and one of the warmest smiles I have seen in a child. She is an orphan but, thankfully, is not infected. “She is a bright student,” says Lucinda. Meenakshi tells me her favourite subject is mathematics. There is Minal, who is lying face down, the only child in the sick room. He has sores on his legs and is sleeping. Then there is three-year-old Manish, who was supposed to live for a few weeks but is throbbing with energy two years later.
I am introduced to Pradip, who walks very slowly. But at 12, he has suffered a stroke and has meningitis. He shakes my hand and asks for a chocolate. I am saddened that I don’t have any. He looks disappointed but does not say anything. Just then there is a call on my mobile. After I put the phone back into my pocket, my hand touches something. When I pull it out, I am amazed to see it is a chocolate, which my colleague had given to me earlier in the day and I had forgotten all about it. I proffer it to Minal, who does not smile, but thanks me profusely and grips the chocolate so hard I fear he is going to crush it out of shape.
Their lives may seem to be out of shape, but because they are children, full of innocence and joy, it is sweet most of the time.
Tinkle, tinkle
Permission to reprint or copy this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
The Reserve Bank of India’s monetary museum is a journey through Indian history
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
When you walk down Pherozesha Mehta Marg, which is crowded with cars and taxis and shopkeepers shouting out their wares, if you are not observant, you might miss the monetary museum run by the Reserve Bank of India. But once you enter the air-conditioned museum, with its neat glass cases, and overhead lights, you are transported into a world, which is an obsession with most people: money. But it is not just money, but the history of Indian money: from coins dating back 2,500 years to the present ubiquitous Gandhi note.
The idea to set up a monetary museum was there for several decades but it was during the tenure of governor Dr. C. Rangarajan (1992-1997) that it gained momentum. The driving force behind the project was Bazil Shaikh, now chief general manager of the human resources development department of the RBI. “We wanted to demystify money,” says Shaikh. “Through the museum, the bank wanted to reach out to the public and the student community. It is also part of the bank’s communication strategy.”
It was not an easy task. It took two years to complete the research, groundwork, and to acquire exhibits. First, a web site was set up. Work on the physical museum, which was designed by the National Institute of Design, was taken up subsequently. Eminent scholars such as Dr R. Vanaja and collectors like K. Jhunjhunwalla helped with the background work. Says curator P.V. Radhakrishnan: “The majority of the coins have been purchased from private collectors.”
The museum has been divided into six sections: a) ideas, concepts and curiosities. Here, you can see money in various shapes, sizes and metals including some of the smallest coins in the world. b) In the coinage section, you can see ancient coins dating from the sixth century BC to coins of the Mughal Period, the Princely States, the British Indian coinage and commemorative coins of modern day India. It is, in one way, the history of India. When one empire crumbled, the new ruler used to issue new coins. In the Gupta period, the coins were issued mainly in gold. In the Mughal period, there were verses from the Koran on one side and the name of the Emperor on the other side. During Moghul Emperor Jahangir’s reign, he issued a nazrana coin, which weighed 1000 tolas (12 kgs), which was given as a gift. More closer in time: in 1968, a twenty paise coin looked like gold and the people started melting it, to make ornaments even though it was made of nickel brass or aluminium bronze.
In section C, the museum traces the journey from coins to paper money and it shows how the concept of “promises to pay” originated. You can see promissory notes, bills of exchange and cheques. There is a panel on hundies, which were used by local bankers. The other sections include one on paper money, on knowing your notes and the RBI and You.
“The museum also has interactive information kiosks through which children can learn various aspects of currency and coins,” says curator P.V. Radhakrishnan. The museum takes a visitor through a fascinating journey on how money has changed - from gold, silver and copper to fiat money. It also introduces the visitor to what the Reserve Bank, which plays an important role in the economy, means to the common man.
The Reserve Bank of India’s monetary museum is a journey through Indian history
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
When you walk down Pherozesha Mehta Marg, which is crowded with cars and taxis and shopkeepers shouting out their wares, if you are not observant, you might miss the monetary museum run by the Reserve Bank of India. But once you enter the air-conditioned museum, with its neat glass cases, and overhead lights, you are transported into a world, which is an obsession with most people: money. But it is not just money, but the history of Indian money: from coins dating back 2,500 years to the present ubiquitous Gandhi note.
The idea to set up a monetary museum was there for several decades but it was during the tenure of governor Dr. C. Rangarajan (1992-1997) that it gained momentum. The driving force behind the project was Bazil Shaikh, now chief general manager of the human resources development department of the RBI. “We wanted to demystify money,” says Shaikh. “Through the museum, the bank wanted to reach out to the public and the student community. It is also part of the bank’s communication strategy.”
It was not an easy task. It took two years to complete the research, groundwork, and to acquire exhibits. First, a web site was set up. Work on the physical museum, which was designed by the National Institute of Design, was taken up subsequently. Eminent scholars such as Dr R. Vanaja and collectors like K. Jhunjhunwalla helped with the background work. Says curator P.V. Radhakrishnan: “The majority of the coins have been purchased from private collectors.”
The museum has been divided into six sections: a) ideas, concepts and curiosities. Here, you can see money in various shapes, sizes and metals including some of the smallest coins in the world. b) In the coinage section, you can see ancient coins dating from the sixth century BC to coins of the Mughal Period, the Princely States, the British Indian coinage and commemorative coins of modern day India. It is, in one way, the history of India. When one empire crumbled, the new ruler used to issue new coins. In the Gupta period, the coins were issued mainly in gold. In the Mughal period, there were verses from the Koran on one side and the name of the Emperor on the other side. During Moghul Emperor Jahangir’s reign, he issued a nazrana coin, which weighed 1000 tolas (12 kgs), which was given as a gift. More closer in time: in 1968, a twenty paise coin looked like gold and the people started melting it, to make ornaments even though it was made of nickel brass or aluminium bronze.
In section C, the museum traces the journey from coins to paper money and it shows how the concept of “promises to pay” originated. You can see promissory notes, bills of exchange and cheques. There is a panel on hundies, which were used by local bankers. The other sections include one on paper money, on knowing your notes and the RBI and You.
“The museum also has interactive information kiosks through which children can learn various aspects of currency and coins,” says curator P.V. Radhakrishnan. The museum takes a visitor through a fascinating journey on how money has changed - from gold, silver and copper to fiat money. It also introduces the visitor to what the Reserve Bank, which plays an important role in the economy, means to the common man.
'The focus is only on the stars'
Permission to reprint or copy ths article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
INTERVIEW/Jahnu Barua, director, Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Mara
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
Jahnu Barua, 52, was born in a village, Bokota, in upper Assam. As a child he would see a film once a month out in the open and became fascinated by it. It was only when he was five years old, he realised you could see a film in a hall. After graduating in science from Guwahati University, he did a three-year course for directors in 1971 at the Film and Television Institute of India, Pune. In a 25-year career, Barua has made 10 films, nearly all of them commercial hits. His films have won 12 national and 23 international awards, including the Silver Leopard at the Locarno film festival in 1988.
Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Mara is the story of the mental disintegration of an acclaimed Hindi scholar and retired Mumbai professor Uttam Chaudhry (played brilliantly by Anupam Kher) and the impact it has on the family. While the focus has been rightly on Kher’s performance and the rest of the cast, which includes Urmila Matondkar, Rajat Kapur and newcomer, Addy, very few people were aware the director was Barua. Excerpts:
Are you disappointed that, despite the critical acclaim, as director, you have been ignored?
The focus on the Hindi film industry is on the stars and rarely on those who are behind the camera. The result is that the public is unaware of the kind of hard work and effort that has been put by us. The filmmaker needs to be projected.
Where did you get the idea for Maine Gandhi Ko Nahim Mara?
Coming from the northeast, I have seen a lot of bloodshed, militancy and political unrest. Had it been tackled at the initial stage, with a non-violent attitude, the results would not have been like it is today. I felt the answers to a lot of problems we face are with Mahatma Gandhi and his ideology. But the unfortunate thing is that if you make such a film, nobody will see it. That was why I was looking for a strong story. Ten years ago, while I was doing research for another film, I came across a true story of a demented patient. The thing about a patient suffering from dementia is that he is truthful; whatever he feels he tells. So, through that character, I wanted to tell the audience that, maybe, Gandhi’s ideology might be relevant.
Is there an audience for your type of film?
I always feel there is an audience, but we are failing to project these films. We project all sorts of shallow things and ignore the main things. As a result, the audience has become allergic to films like Maine Gandhi Ko Nahi Mara.
How does Bollywood compare with Hollywood?
We have a lot of talent, at par with the best of the world, whether it is the regional or the Hindi film industry. But, despite that, we end up making ordinary products. In such a big industry we do not have any R&D. There is no platform where filmmakers can discuss where we are heading. We need to create a demand for a better cinema and the audience needs to mature also.
What is your philosophy of life?
I believe in simplicity. Today, there is a lot of unnecessary materialism. The world is becoming a market every day. Everywhere, people are talking about buying a product. The whole sense of life is being eroded.
INTERVIEW/Jahnu Barua, director, Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Mara
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
Jahnu Barua, 52, was born in a village, Bokota, in upper Assam. As a child he would see a film once a month out in the open and became fascinated by it. It was only when he was five years old, he realised you could see a film in a hall. After graduating in science from Guwahati University, he did a three-year course for directors in 1971 at the Film and Television Institute of India, Pune. In a 25-year career, Barua has made 10 films, nearly all of them commercial hits. His films have won 12 national and 23 international awards, including the Silver Leopard at the Locarno film festival in 1988.
Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Mara is the story of the mental disintegration of an acclaimed Hindi scholar and retired Mumbai professor Uttam Chaudhry (played brilliantly by Anupam Kher) and the impact it has on the family. While the focus has been rightly on Kher’s performance and the rest of the cast, which includes Urmila Matondkar, Rajat Kapur and newcomer, Addy, very few people were aware the director was Barua. Excerpts:
Are you disappointed that, despite the critical acclaim, as director, you have been ignored?
The focus on the Hindi film industry is on the stars and rarely on those who are behind the camera. The result is that the public is unaware of the kind of hard work and effort that has been put by us. The filmmaker needs to be projected.
Where did you get the idea for Maine Gandhi Ko Nahim Mara?
Coming from the northeast, I have seen a lot of bloodshed, militancy and political unrest. Had it been tackled at the initial stage, with a non-violent attitude, the results would not have been like it is today. I felt the answers to a lot of problems we face are with Mahatma Gandhi and his ideology. But the unfortunate thing is that if you make such a film, nobody will see it. That was why I was looking for a strong story. Ten years ago, while I was doing research for another film, I came across a true story of a demented patient. The thing about a patient suffering from dementia is that he is truthful; whatever he feels he tells. So, through that character, I wanted to tell the audience that, maybe, Gandhi’s ideology might be relevant.
Is there an audience for your type of film?
I always feel there is an audience, but we are failing to project these films. We project all sorts of shallow things and ignore the main things. As a result, the audience has become allergic to films like Maine Gandhi Ko Nahi Mara.
How does Bollywood compare with Hollywood?
We have a lot of talent, at par with the best of the world, whether it is the regional or the Hindi film industry. But, despite that, we end up making ordinary products. In such a big industry we do not have any R&D. There is no platform where filmmakers can discuss where we are heading. We need to create a demand for a better cinema and the audience needs to mature also.
What is your philosophy of life?
I believe in simplicity. Today, there is a lot of unnecessary materialism. The world is becoming a market every day. Everywhere, people are talking about buying a product. The whole sense of life is being eroded.
All that jazz
Permission to reprint or copy the article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Deafness is no handicap for the dancers of the Clarke school
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
As with all Astad Deboo productions, the moment the Contrapositions show by dancers of the Clarke school for the deaf ended at Mumbai, there was a stunned silence. And then the applause rolled down in waves. Later, the dancers stood up front so that audience members could come and meet them. One elegantly clad lady made her way to the front and quietly touched the feet of the dancers. “Would you believe it or not?” says Deboo, “but she was none other than Helen, the grand lady of dancing. Such humility! But the dancers did not who she was.” Deboo has been working with deaf children for the past sixteen years in places as diverse as Hongkong, Mexico, USA and, of course, India. And it all began rather casually. On a visit to Kolkata, he told Zarine Choudhury, the artistic director of the deaf company, Action Players, “Why don’t you take the advantage of my being here and do a workshop for the kids?” It was only after the third year that both Choudhury and Deboo felt that it was possible to create a full programme, half dance and half mime. And even though you see perfect synchronicity between the dancers during a programme, there is a lot of sweat, tears and frustrations behind the serene display. “The way I teach is that they all have to count in their heads… 1, 2, 3, 4. All have to count in the same rhythm, to be in sync.” Mostly, the dancers learn through sign language, body gestures and lip reading.
In Kolkata, they lip read in English, in Mexico, it is in Spanish and in places like Bhopal, it is Hindi.And it is not just a one-way process. Whenever he works on a new composition, time and time again, he would come to a dead end. Then he would tell the dancers, ‘Okay, show me what you have in your repertoire.’” So they would show something and he would try to see whether he could incorporate it in his choreography. “It is a creative collaboration between the girls and me,” he says. But underneath the affability, he is a hard taskmaster. “I am patient but after that, the girls get the fireworks,” he says. “When they start crying, I say, ‘I am not going to melt, so there is no point.’ I give them encouragement but I don’t say ‘Wah!’ because I want to keep pushing them. Because it is only then that they will get better and better through every performance.”
And, like in all dance troupes, he also has a diva. “She is very talented and she knows it,” he says, with a smile and shaking his head from side to side. “From time to time, she throws a tantrum in her coterie.” The youngest girl in the troupe is a thirteen-year-old and the diva, who is 22, decided to take her on as a protégé. “One day after a show, I saw the younger one massaging the feet of the older one. I said, ‘What nonsense is going on?’ And the diva replied, ‘My leg was paining and I just asked her to massage it.’”
And like ordinary teenagers, they also love to receive accolades. “Every morning, if we have a performance in a city, they will say, ‘In which newspaper are we in today?’ I try to make sure everybody gets an original copy. Sometime ago, there was an article in the newspaper and I had only one copy. And the diva said, ‘I want the original’. And we had to remind her that there was only one copy and she would get a photocopy like the others.”
Asked about his future plans, Deboo says he would continue to work with the Clarke School dancers. “We are going for a tour of Singapore and Malaysia and following that, we will be doing several shows in India which will keep us busy till the end of the year. And then there is a commission for the inauguration ceremony for the 2007 Winter Olympics for the Deaf in Salt Lake City.”
Deafness is no handicap for the dancers of the Clarke school
Shevlin Sebastian\Mumbai
As with all Astad Deboo productions, the moment the Contrapositions show by dancers of the Clarke school for the deaf ended at Mumbai, there was a stunned silence. And then the applause rolled down in waves. Later, the dancers stood up front so that audience members could come and meet them. One elegantly clad lady made her way to the front and quietly touched the feet of the dancers. “Would you believe it or not?” says Deboo, “but she was none other than Helen, the grand lady of dancing. Such humility! But the dancers did not who she was.” Deboo has been working with deaf children for the past sixteen years in places as diverse as Hongkong, Mexico, USA and, of course, India. And it all began rather casually. On a visit to Kolkata, he told Zarine Choudhury, the artistic director of the deaf company, Action Players, “Why don’t you take the advantage of my being here and do a workshop for the kids?” It was only after the third year that both Choudhury and Deboo felt that it was possible to create a full programme, half dance and half mime. And even though you see perfect synchronicity between the dancers during a programme, there is a lot of sweat, tears and frustrations behind the serene display. “The way I teach is that they all have to count in their heads… 1, 2, 3, 4. All have to count in the same rhythm, to be in sync.” Mostly, the dancers learn through sign language, body gestures and lip reading.
In Kolkata, they lip read in English, in Mexico, it is in Spanish and in places like Bhopal, it is Hindi.And it is not just a one-way process. Whenever he works on a new composition, time and time again, he would come to a dead end. Then he would tell the dancers, ‘Okay, show me what you have in your repertoire.’” So they would show something and he would try to see whether he could incorporate it in his choreography. “It is a creative collaboration between the girls and me,” he says. But underneath the affability, he is a hard taskmaster. “I am patient but after that, the girls get the fireworks,” he says. “When they start crying, I say, ‘I am not going to melt, so there is no point.’ I give them encouragement but I don’t say ‘Wah!’ because I want to keep pushing them. Because it is only then that they will get better and better through every performance.”
And, like in all dance troupes, he also has a diva. “She is very talented and she knows it,” he says, with a smile and shaking his head from side to side. “From time to time, she throws a tantrum in her coterie.” The youngest girl in the troupe is a thirteen-year-old and the diva, who is 22, decided to take her on as a protégé. “One day after a show, I saw the younger one massaging the feet of the older one. I said, ‘What nonsense is going on?’ And the diva replied, ‘My leg was paining and I just asked her to massage it.’”
And like ordinary teenagers, they also love to receive accolades. “Every morning, if we have a performance in a city, they will say, ‘In which newspaper are we in today?’ I try to make sure everybody gets an original copy. Sometime ago, there was an article in the newspaper and I had only one copy. And the diva said, ‘I want the original’. And we had to remind her that there was only one copy and she would get a photocopy like the others.”
Asked about his future plans, Deboo says he would continue to work with the Clarke School dancers. “We are going for a tour of Singapore and Malaysia and following that, we will be doing several shows in India which will keep us busy till the end of the year. And then there is a commission for the inauguration ceremony for the 2007 Winter Olympics for the Deaf in Salt Lake City.”
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