Art impresario Asif Ali has curated his 100th exhibition, ‘Chithra Chantha’ (Art Mart)

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photo of Asif Ali by Melton Antony; the participating artists 

In 1993, art impresario Asif Ali was preparing to hold a cultural show at the poolside auditorium of Al-Nasr Leisureland, Dubai. One of the participating artists, Gokulan Thrissur did a painting of the back of a woman who was playing the veena. Asif got it hung as a backdrop.

When a senior plainclothes policeman, who had come to inspect the auditorium, saw the backdrop, he said that this was not allowed. So, he went to get more policemen, so that he could arrest Asif.

“I did not know that in the UAE (United Arab Emirates) you could not draw pictures of a woman, and put it up in public,” says Asif. “But now I was in danger of being imprisoned.”
But a quick-thinking Asif told Gokulan to make the girl’s head like a sun and the veena like a mountain. After half an hour when the policeman returned with a couple of his colleagues, the painting was completely changed.

The policeman looked shocked. Then he smiled, shook his head, and said, “You Indians are too talented.”

The show was allowed to go ahead and it was a success. Emboldened, in 1994, Asif decided to go ahead with his first painting exhibition at Sharjah. The works of five artists were showcased. Among them was Asif’s younger brother Riyas Komu, who, later, along with fellow artist Bose Krishnamchari founded the Kochi Muziris Biennale in December, 2012.

Asif recounted all this while he stood among paintings of his 100th exhibition called ‘Chithra Chantha’ (Art Mart), which he has organised with cartoonist Ibraham Badhusha at the Oberon Mall at Kochi. More than 100 artists are taking part, showcasing more than 250 paintings, woodworks, photographs and sculptures.

Among them are paintings by Sindhu, the wife of the late Mollywood director Lohithadas, actress Sheela, and Vinitha Anand, the granddaughter of the legendary artist Raja Ravi Varma. Mainstream artists like Jimmy Mathew, Dudu Unni, Sara Hussain and Raveendran Valappad are also taking part.

Some artists have different reasons for taking part. Renjith Thekkoote wants to build a house from the money that he earns by selling his works at the exhibition. Two artists are in hospital: Johnson Aluva and Ummer Thathapilly. “They are hoping to get buyers for their their works, so that they can pay the hospital bills,” says Asif.

As Asif talks, small groups of people step into the exhibition area on the fifth floor. “Art is catching on among ordinary people,” he says. “Those who build new homes would like to put up works of art. The Biennale has also made a difference.”

But Asif readily admits that cinema is the first love of the people. “When you watch a film, you can follow the story,” he says. “And it is usually stories about the people we know and hence can relate to. However, when you look at an art work, there are many stories but they remain hidden within the canvas. In fact, when you look at a work, you have to make up your own story. And that is not easy.”

Nevertheless, that has never discouraged Asif. After spending more than twenty years in Sharjah, working in the advertising and marketing sectors, Asif settled down in Aluva and started the Komusons Art Gallery in 2007. Thus far, he has held exhibitions in Thiruvananthapuram, Thrissur, Kodungallur, Kochi, Nedumbassery and Fort Kochi. “I enjoy encouraging artists,” he says.

When asked about their character, Asif says, “They are moody and over-sensitive. Most of them are loners. They tend to avoid conflicts. For them, art is a passion. They are looking for creative fulfillment. When they start a work, they forget the outside world and concentrate deeply. They will only reconnect with others after the work is over. Their satisfaction comes from the work. It is not that they create works of art because they want to sell them. In fact, most artists are poor at marketing. In Mumbai, there are curators who do the marketing. In Kerala, this is where I come in.”

Apart from being an art promoter, Asif has been a photographer, and produced and directed numerous TV commercials, radio advertisements, documentaries, songs, and serials, apart from cultural programmes. “Life is short,” says the 67-year-old. “I want to make the most of it.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi, Thiruvananthapuram and Kozhikode) 

Usha Uthup's Musician Colleague Emile Isaacs Passes Away

By Shevlin Sebastian

The ace musician Emile Isaacs passed away at 1.30 p.m. at the Medical Trust Hospital, Kochi on January3. He was 70 years old. He had been suffering from diabetes, kidney-related ailments as well as breathing difficulties. With his passing, one more stellar musician goes missing from Kochi as well as India's music scene.

Emile had been the bass guitarist for 'The Sound' band, which accompanied Usha Uthup in all her performances. “I had been with Usha for 38 years,” he had told this reporter a few years ago. They have performed all over the world, including offbeat places like Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan.

Unfortunately, in January, 2009, during a concert in Kolkata, Emile could feel his hand becoming numb. It was the beginning of a stroke. And it affected the movement of his left arm and leg. Unfortunately, it brought his career to a halt.

Emile, the son of a prominent violinist, Joe Isaacs, started playing the guitar at 15. Because of his natural talent, he was hired as a member of playback singer K.J. Yesudas' band. They performed all over Kerala and in the Middle East. “Yesudas made me,” Emile said. “I was with the band for eight years.” 

Later, Emile started a band called the Elite Aces, which consisted of his brothers, Eugene, Rex, and cousin Pinson Correia. They began playing at Volga, Sealord, and the Casino hotels at Kochi. Soon, they became popular.

When Usha came down from Mumbai, at the invitation of the Kottayam Arts Society, the Elite Aces performed for her. “This was our first concert with Usha,” said Emile. They clicked together and played for a number of years. However, in 1979, the Elite Aces broke up and the band members went their different ways, while Emile stayed on with Usha, at Kolkata.

Today, a sombre Usha says, “I am totally grieved about the passing of Emile. He has been a part of my career for so many years. It was fantastic the kind of music we used to do. And, over the decades, we graduated from one genre to another. He was a great musician as well as a wonderful friend.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kerala edition) 

Manufacturing A Dam

COLUMN: LOCATION DIARY

Scriptwriter Shibu Chakravarthy talks about his experiences in the films, ‘Ooru Thira Pinnayum Thira’, ‘Nair Saab’, ‘Sainyam’ and ‘Churam’ 

Photo by Albin Mathew 

By Shevlin Sebastian

Scriptwriter Shibu Chakravarthy was only fifteen years old when he went to the sets of P. G. Viswambharan’s ‘Ooru Thira Pinnayum Thira’ (1982) at Aluva. That was because Viswambharan was married to Shibu’s cousin, Meena. “I was supposed to go and give some medicine to him,” says Shibu.

When Shibu reached the location he saw the actors Prem Nazir and Jaya Bharathi. Viswambharan told Shibu, “Do you want a photo with Prem Nazir?”

But Shibu was not interested. “I was not much of a Prem Nazir fan,” he says. “But the person who I found most interesting was a handsome, young man who was operating the camera. He was Jayanan Vincent. I was introduced to Jayanan. He was just a few years older than me.”

It was a fateful meeting. Because, in later years, Shibu and Jayanan worked on many films, including ‘Nair Saab’ (1989).

In ‘Nair Saab’, a large portion of the film was shot in Kashmir. Shibu remembers travelling on a snow truck from Srinagar to Gulmarg in December when it was snowing heavily.

“The wheels had chains on them,” says Shibu. “Snow is like cotton. But when weight is put on it, the snow turns into ice. As the driver braked, the wheels went on slipping for a while. The problem was that on one side of the road it was a steep slope. I felt so nervous.”

Anyway, they reached safely. But there was a crisis. In the film, there is a scene where a house had to be exploded. But everywhere there were signs which stated that nobody should clap their hands or shout as it would trigger an avalanche. “So, we could not get permission to do an explosion,” says Shibu. 

Then the crew decided to make a miniature model. It would be one-eighths of the actual size. “Next to our hotel, there was a house,” says Shibu. “We took some shots. Then I made some sketches and added a few fir trees.”

In the end, a miniature house was created on a table at Chennai’s AVM Studio. “We used salt to recreate the snow,” says a smiling Shibu. “I think it worked because when you see the film, you will not notice the difference.”

After the Kashmir shoot was over, director Joshiy and Shibu were flying from Delhi to Bangalore. As the plane neared Bangalore, both of them saw numerous runways belonging to the Air Force.

Joshiy said, “Shibu, our next film should do should be on the Air Force. You think about a story.”

Shibu got cracking and wrote the script for ‘Sainyam’ (1994). The shoot, at the Air Force Academy at Dundigal, near Hyderabad, was originally scheduled for November but Mammootty got chicken pox. So the shoot was postponed to March. “At that time, the temperature at Dundigal was 40 degrees Celsius but at the Academy, it must have been two degrees more since there were no trees around because there were 60 runways on 5000 acres of land,” says Shibu.

As soon as there was a break in the shoot, everybody went and stood under the shade of the two-seater plane which was being used in the shoot. “But I saw too many young crew members get sun-stroke and fall on the tarmac,” he says. “It was such a stunning contrast to what we experienced in Kashmir.”

However, on the sets of ‘Churam’ (1997), it was all about water. The climax was supposed to be a flood coming down a mountain. But when Bharathan and the art director tried to make a set, it did not work. The producer was S Satheesh, a member of a dam-building firm. 

“Satheesh said that their engineers would make a dam,” says Shibu. “To reach the top of a mountain, near Thenmala, they made a road.” Thereafter, they made a mini dam. Through pipes, the water was sent up.  Then shutters were made. “When the crew was ready, the engineers opened the shutters and the water came rushing down the mountain,” says Shibu. “It turned out to be a superb climax.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi, Thiruvananthapuram and Kozhikode)

This Is What We Wish In 2018, But Will It Happen?

By Shevlin Sebastian

In 2018, if any natural disaster takes place we would like the Kerala state government to get the number of victims correctly so that no family misses out on the compensation.

We want that when we say our name, people should not categorise us as Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Jain, or whatever, and put us into the mental boxes of accommodation or discrimination. Instead, can we rise above caste and creed and look at each other as fellow Indians?

We want that when a woman complains of misogyny, we don’t want hundreds of bricks thrown online at her.

We want doctors to regain their focus on healing people instead of having a mercenary attitude all the time.

We want those who spew hatred against people of other communities, to realise that despite the differences in upbringing, education, religious beliefs and thought processes, the same red blood flows in their veins as it does in the ‘other’.

We want drivers – of cars, buses, auto-rickshaws and two-wheelers – to understand that when they blow their horns non-stop it gets on the nerves of others, especially the elderly.

We want that if a boy student puts his arm around a girl classmate it should not result in condemnation and expulsion. We want a relaxation of the rules. Too many decades of sexual repression has led to an alarming rise in child sex abuse cases and perversions.

We want the culture of black money and illegal transactions to be ended, so that honest entrepreneurs can also thrive.

We want the young to realise that drug-taking and excess alcohol ruins their brains and bodies and damages their future.

We want women to be treated with dignity and respect at their work places, on the streets, in malls and market-places, at their homes and while travelling on a public transport.

We want a visit to a police station to be not one of intimidation and harassment but of co-operation and friendliness.

So, can we, as fellow Indians, fulfill these wants and make the world a better place?

(The New Indian Express, Kerala editions)

Crash, Bang, Thud!

COLUMN: LOCATION DIARY

Cinematographer Shamdat talks about his experiences in the films, ‘Sahasam’, ‘Prasthanam’ and ‘Streetlights’

Photos: Shamdat at a location; the poster of 'Streetlights' 

By Shevlin Sebastian

In the Telugu action film ‘Sahasam’ (2013), there is a car chase on a mountainous road in Ladakh. One car was supposed to hit a fallen bike and then veer away and fall off the mountainside. “We placed four cameras at different locations,” says cinematographer Shamdat.

Then he placed one camera, 150 feet below so that he could capture the fall of the vehicle. But the director Chandra Sekhar Yeleti told Shamdat it looked a bit risky. “I said that when the vehicle falls it will bounce a bit and come to a stop because there is a hole there,” says Shamdat. “If we get it, we will have a Hollywood type action shot.”

The fight master Stunt Silva told Shamdat that in case something went wrong, he should move to the left and not the right.

So, the car went off the road and, as predicted, fell into the hole. But it unexpectedly bounced because of the momentum. “I immediately moved to the left,” says Shamdat. “And a moment later, the car landed at the place where I was standing. That was how close I was to losing my life.”

In Ladakh, a sequence was planned where a car would come at high speed, skid on a sandy road, the driver would brake hard and the back of the car would come and stop right in front of the camera lens.

The shoot began. “As the car came at high speed, I got scared,” says Shamdat. “To calm down, I focused on the monitor. All the other assistants ran away. The driver braked at the right time and the car stopped right in front of the lens.  I was able to capture the sequence.”

Silva went up and hugged Shamdat. “Courage is good but if the driver had made a mistake, you could have lost your life,” said Silva. “The industry will say a few words of condolence and they will forget you. Whenever you want to take any risks, please remember there are some people who are dependent on you at your home. Life is more important than this shot.”

As Silva was talking, Shamdat was reminded of an incident which involved him during the shoot of the Telugu film, ‘Prasthanam’ (2010), at Hyderabad. It was a scene where a crowd ran down a road. Shamdat held a hand-held camera and ran beside them. But suddenly he slipped and fell into a 10 foot deep well by the side of the road. It was filled with broken fluorescent lights, glass and jagged stones. “There were cuts on one part of my face,” he says. “I started bleeding. But as soon as I got up I said, ‘One more take’. In that moment I did not know what had happened to me.”

He was rushed to a nearby hospital. A doctor from Britain was in attendance. “After he took a scan of my face, he said that nature will cure me and there was no need for any surgery,” says Shamdat.

It may have been an erroneous diagnosis. Because, nowadays, when the weather becomes cold, Shamdat suffers from a severe pain in his neck.

In Shandat’s debut directorial venture, ‘Streelights’, it was the turn of actor Vishnu Unnikrishnan to suffer a mishap. On the second day of the shoot, at Mattancherry, Vishnu was supposed to run very fast, then stop suddenly, skid a bit and then move down another road.

Unfortunately, Vishnu ran too fast, and when he stopped he could not prevent his right hand from hitting an electricity post with force. He began crying because of the pain.

On the way to the hospital, Vishnu said, “Shamdat Chetta, this is your first film. More than 200 people are working on the set. Because of me, the shooting has come to a stop.”

Shamdat said, “Don't think about all this now.”

At the hospital, it was discovered that Vishnu had fractured his hand in three places. He immediately said, “Chetta, why don’t you get [actor] Dharmajan [Bolghatty] to replace me?”

Shamdat was undecided about what to do. He showed the sequence of the accident to the film’s star Mammootty, who said, “Just ask Vishnu what we should do and we will do that.”

In the end, Shamdat opted for Dharmajan. As for Vishnu, it took him three months to recover from the accident. 

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

Looking For A Worldwide Impact

The translation project of Malayalam University is hoping for more financial support from the state government. The aim: to spread Malayalam literature all over the globe

Illustration by Shuvajit Dey

By Shevlin Sebastian

In October, 2016, K. Jayakumar was at the Malayalam University stall at the Frankfurt Book Fair. An American publisher walked in.

Immediately Jayakumar opened a map of India and pointed at Kerala and said, “The language of this state is called Malayalam. And we have a rich literature.” Then he showed a catalogue which consisted of 100 authors.

The American listened patiently. Later, Jayakumar said, “The Americans have no idea about Malayalam. They might know Kerala as a tourist destination but not as a destination with a rich literature.”

But Jayakumar has not lost hope. “Thanks to globalisation, there is an interest in lesser-known literature across the world,” he says. “So the plan is to promote Malayalam literature through English translations.”

With this end in mind, in late 2014, Jayakumar, as the then Chancellor of the Malayalam University set up a translation project, with himself as Chairman. And an advisory council was also selected. The members included K. Sachidananthan, Dr E V Ramakrishnan, Dr Jancy James, Dr J. Devika, Dr PP Raveendran, Dr M M Basheer, Dr T M Yesudasan, Dr K M Sherif and Mini Krishnan. It is a mix of noted writers, academicians and in Mini, an experienced publisher of translations.

However, when they approached English language publishers most were hesitant since they were not certain of assured sales. So an understanding was reached. The publisher would bring out the book, according to its norms, but the university would buy 300 copies of the first edition. “That would be enough to meet the cost of the printing,” says Jayakumar. “But we can only use the books for promotional purposes.” 

In the end, six leading publishers accepted the proposal. They included Oxford University Press, Orient Blackswan, Navayana, Juggernaut, Women Unlimited and Yoda Press. “In 2018, Niyogi Books and Aleph Book Company have agreed to participate,” says Mini.

Thus far, six books have been published. The authors are: 'Swarga' by Ambikasutan Mangad; 'On the Far Side of Memory' – short stories of Lalithambika Antharjanam (both translated by J. Devika); 'A Path and Many Shadows & Twelve Short Stories' by Rajalekshmy (translated by RK Jayasree); 'He, My Beloved CJ' by Rosy Thomas (translated by G. Arunima); 'Barsa' by Khadija Mumtaz (translated by KM Sherrif) and a book of stories by Dali writers called 'Don't want caste' (translated by Abhirami Girija Sriram and Ravi Shankar).

As to how the choice of authors was done, Jayakumar says, “We looked for authors who have contemporary relevance. Both Lalithambika and Khadija have dwelt on woman's emancipation. As for Rajalekshy, none of her books has been published in English. We are the first. And we felt very happy when the first edition sold out and the publisher has gone in for a reprint. We have also selected based on the thought whether a foreigner can relate to the subject matter. I am sure our list cannot be beyond criticism. Selection of an author means rejection of another.”

At this moment, the committee has short-listed about 20 authors. “Mini is trying to harmonise the interest of the publisher as well as the university,” says Jayakumar.
As for the target audience, both in India and abroad, Jayakumar says, “We are looking for academic-oriented and serious readers. And there is also the vast Indian diaspora. Maybe, the second-generation Indian could be encouraged to read these books so that they can get an idea of their rich cultural heritage. This is an area that needs to be explored.”

But increasingly, the committee feels that they need more financial resources and support from the state government. And Jayakumar gave an example of government support. “Many Turkish authors are published in India,” he says. “And the reason is that the Turkish government is underwriting the cost of publication. So we will be approaching the state government for an increased financial commitment so that we can get more authors, more translators, more publishers and, eventually, more readers.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

Anita Dube: On a Journey Through The Art World

By Shevlin Sebastian

On the phone from New Delhi, Anita Dube sounds rushed. But that is understandable. Ever since she was appointed as the curator of the fourth edition of the Kochi Muziris Biennale, which will begin in December, 2018, she has been on a series of travels.

Anita has been to Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, Vietnam and Thailand looking at the works of artists. “I am going to focus on the Global South for this Biennale – South-East Asia, Africa and Latin America,” she says. “But that does not mean that I will be excluding Europe. I have also been to Denmark, Austria, Germany, Sweden, Norway and other Nordic countries to meet up with artists.”

As for the theme, Anita says, “I would like to explore possibilities for a non-alienated human existence, as well as give opportunities to women, and those from the margins of society.”

Looking back, the appointment in March this year had been thrilling. “Firstly, because I am a woman,” she says. “Secondly, it will allow me to bring a feminist viewpoint to the Biennale.”

Asked whether she was intimidated, Anita says, “Not at all. But I did ask myself whether I was up to the task and did feel so.”

It has been an up-and-down journey so far. “That is the case when you are handling any big responsibility,” she says. “You do feel stressed out at certain moments, but at the same time, it has been such an enriching experience. I have seen so many wonderful art works and met some fascinating people.” 

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

Director M. Padmakumar talks about his experiences in the films, 'Inspector Balram', 'Padavi', 'Oru Bolivian Diary', and 'Shikkar'

COLUMN: LOCATION DIARY

Photo by K. Shijith 

By Shevlin Sebastian

In IV Sasi's 'Inspector Balram' (1991), the shoot for a major scene was supposed to take place on the main road of Thalaserry. It was of a procession with the police doing a lathi-charge. Mammootty was playing the hero. However, the moment people heard that he was present, a huge crowd gathered. It became impossible to shoot anything.

Nevertheless, Sasi kept his cool. He placed cameras at four different locations. Then he went up to the producer Liberty Basheer and said that the people had to be removed. Basheer nodded and informed the police.

Thereafter, a lathi-charge took place. “So, we got a real-life sequence,” says director M Padmakumar, who was working as an assistant director on the film.

What Padmakumar will never forget was the sight of numerous slippers that were strewn on the road, as the people struggled to get away. “We showed this scene, too,” he says.

In Sasi's 'Padavi' (1993), the shoot was taking place on a beach in Goa. One morning, everybody set out from the hotel. In the last vehicle sat assistant directors Shajoon Kariyal, Vinu Anand and Padmakumar. They had the script box with them.

Unfortunately, the driver did not know the name of the beach. So, they wandered from one beach to the other, trying to find the location. “There were no mobile phones at that time,” says Padmakumar. “So, there was no way we could contact the crew. We were feeling so tense because the shoot could not take place without the script.”

Anyway, by the time they reached the location, it was 5 p.m. The trio expected Sasi to blow his top. “But when he saw us, Sasi Chettan looked so relieved, because he thought that we were involved in an accident,” says Padmakumar. “Even the hero Rahman and the crew looked happy. So, it ended up fine, even though we lost a day of shooting.”

In 'Oru Bolivian Diary' (2013), there was a crisis of a different kind. The story is about a North Indian Maoist leader Chaukidar (played by Samuthirakani), who comes to preach his beliefs to the tribal people of Wayanad. Naturally, he is in the cross-hairs of the police. So, he takes refuge inside a temple, which was constructed with Plaster of Paris and plywood, in the middle of a river.

“This was a river, with little water, inside a forest, so that you could easily walk across,” says Padmakumar. The camera was kept on the shore. The shoot began. But soon, it started raining.

But Samuthirakani remained inside the temple with an assistant. Suddenly, the water began to rise up, till it became a raging force. “Then we realised that their lives were in danger,” says Padmakumar.

Two members of the art department tied a rope around a tree on the bank and then dived into the water and attached it to the pillar of the temple. Then Samuthirakani, who did not know swimming, held the rope tightly and managed to wade through the water, and reached the shore followed by the assistant.

The shoot was stopped for the day. The next morning when the crew came to the bank they saw that the temple had also been washed away. “So that was a close shave for our actors,” says Padmakumar. “We waited for the rains to stop, then managed to make another temple and completed the shoot.”

Like 'Oru Bolivian Diary', the shoot of the film, 'Shikkar' (2010) took place deep in the forest of Pooyamkutty. The crew had to travel on jeeps since there was no motorable road. One day, at 5 p.m., when they were returning in a convoy of 12 jeeps, the road was blocked by a group of elephants. Immediately, Mohanlal stepped out and said, “Be silent. Don't make a noise at all.”

One of the elephants had just given birth. “We watched as the calf tried to stand up and would fall down time and again,” says Padmakumar. The minutes ticked away. Soon, it became dark. The headlights were switched on. But the elephants remained calm. And it was only at 7.30 p.m. that the calf was finally able to stand up and walk. Thereafter, the herd moved away. “It was an unforgettable sight for all of us,” says Padmakumar. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi, Thiruvananthapuram and Kozhikode)

Dutchman Swami Purnachaitanya, of the Art of Living Foundation, talks about his experiences

By Shevlin Sebastian

On a recent Monday morning, Swami Purnachaitanya steps on to a foot-high concrete platform at the Art of Living Ashram in Kollam. He then puts his hands together in a namaste, bows his head towards the garlanded photograph of founder Sri Sri Ravi Shankar on the wall and then sits cross-legged in front of a low table covered by a white cloth. Two lighted lamps have been placed in front. Two priests are sitting on either side of the table. The audience consists of devotees, visitors and volunteers.

Swami Purnachaitanya then adjusts his shoulder-length hair, while, through the sound system, the words ‘Namo Namo’ are repeated.

Swami Purnachaitanya is about to perform the Rudra Puja, which is in honour of Lord Shiva. It is one of his favourite pujas. In 2004, he participated in his first Rudra puja at Bengaluru. “When I closed my eyes and listened to the mantra, my mind became calm,” he says. “Half an hour later, I was in a deep state of meditation.”

What is unusual about Swami Purnachaitanya is that he is from Holland (original name: Alexander Luthra). When was 16, he saw Sri Sri Ravi Shankar in a public meeting at Holland and was much impressed. “Some of the things Sri Sri Ravi Shankar said made a lot of sense,” says Swami Purnachaitanya. “He spoke about how we have a tendency to identify with our smaller identities, like being an architect or a member of a community. He said that one of the reasons for many of the problems with the world is that we identify with these small identities, and not with the bigger one that we are all human beings and part of the planet.”

Then, a few months later, Swami Purnachaitanya attended his first Art Of Living programme and was drawn to the meditation and breathing techniques that allowed him to calm his mind. Thereafter, he attended many other workshops.

During a gap year, after high school, Swami Purnachaitanya spent a couple of months doing volunteer work at the Art of Living headquarters in Bengaluru and was much impressed. Following his graduation in journalism, new media and Indology in 2007, he joined the ashram.

Today, he is Director of Programmes and International Faculty. And his work profile is to look after all the activities in the seven states of the North-East, as well as West Bengal. He also travels abroad, to give talks and conduct programmes in places like Hongkong, United Arab Emirates, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Bhutan and Europe.

Asked about the common problems facing people, Swami Purnachaitanya says, “Many people fulfill their ambitions of becoming rich, having a house and car and other comforts, but then they realise that it does not bring happiness. In fact, there is an inner emptiness.”

Another problem is that technology is overwhelming people. “You are being bombarded with messages and information all the time,” says Swami Purnachaitanya. “And it becomes difficult to process all this information. The whole society is speeding up. As a result, most people are exhausted. You sleep for eight hours and you wake up still feeling tired.”

Hence, Swami Purnachaitanya teaches people different methods to calm the mind. “The easiest way is by observing the breath,” says the Swami. “So, we teach the Sudarshan Kriya.” 

This involves using cyclical breathing patterns: from slow, medium to rapid. In this way, you gain control of your breath; this has an immediate effect on your nerves, mind and immune system. There are four types of breaths: Ujjayi (Victorious Breath); Bhastrika (Bellows Breath); Om Chant, and Kriya (Purifying Breath).

As Swami Purnachaitanya speaks, it is difficult to believe that he is Dutch, because his accent is pure Indian. “That's because I have lived ten years in India,” he says. “Or maybe because I have 25 percent Indian DNA.”

The Swami's grandfather, who was from Delhi, married a Dutch woman. They had a daughter, as well as a son, but separated after a while. Thereafter, the mother went to Holland with the children. “My mother could not speak any Indian language at all because there was no direct exposure,” says Swami Purnachaitanya. “But India had always been in her DNA. And that is also the case with me.”  

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)  

Bindu Nair has set up the Kochi unit of 'A Ray Of Hope', a Coimbatore-based organisation which helps the victims of paediatric cancer

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photos: Bindu Nair. Pic by Albin Mathew; the late Arun Kumar 

Twenty-eight riders on Harley Davidson motorbikes revved up their engines at the Durbar Hall ground at Kochi on a sunny September afternoon. All of them wore T-shirts with the legend, 'A Ray Of Hope' (AROH). Then Mollywood star Rima Kallungal swung a white flag. And the bikers moved off in a procession through the streets of Kochi.

Founder Bindu Nair, of the Coimbatore-based AROH wore a big smile. She had just opened her branch in Kochi. “I did so because there are so few centres in Kerala looking after children suffering from paediatric cancer,” says the 48-year-old Malayali (incidentally, AROH also stands for Arohan, the Sanskrit world for the ascending note in music).

What AROH does is provide medicines, free monthly rations, food at hospitals where the children are being treated, as well as psychological counselling for parents. Amazingly, she has already received a lot of support in Kochi. Apart from ten volunteers, the Hotel and Restaurant Owners' Association has agreed to provide free food at any hospital at Kochi. “They have promised to do it anywhere in Kerala,” says Bindu.

Parents need all the support they can muster, because the presence of cancer in their children has a devastating effect on them. “Their world comes crashing down,” says Bindu. “Very clearly, your life will never ever be the same again, whether the child survives or dies.”

Asked about the most common type of cancer, Bindu says, “It is acute lymphoblastic leukaemia.” The good news is that with timely treatment this cancer can be cured. In the US and the west, it is almost 95 per cent. But in India, it is only between 45 and 60 per cent. Since the majority of the patients belong to lower-middle-class families, they cannot afford the cost of the treatment, which could be anywhere between Rs 10 and 15 lakh. “Which middle-class family can afford that?” says Bindu. “Eventually, many children die.”

When that happens, the grief is unbearable for the parents. And they go through different stages of grief. “Firstly, there is a fierce anger towards God,” says Bindu. “All the mothers will tell immediately that they don't want to live anymore. There is a feeling of not knowing what to do next. For years, their sole focus had been the child. All of a sudden, one morning, they don't have anything to do.”

So AROH volunteers regularly visit them and provide bereavement counselling. “If need be, we call in psychologists too,” says Bindu. “Then over a period of a few years, there is an acceptance of the death. Slowly, because of the presence of other children, the parents are able to assert their will to move on.”

But the memories will remain forever. Even for Bindu who will always remember Arun Kumar who came from a very poor background. His father, a goldsmith, abandoned the family and went off with another woman. 

When his mother protested, in anger, the father poured kerosene, and burnt her, in front of Arun. “Arun was suffering from cancer at that time,” says Bindu. “Soon after, his father also abandoned him and his younger sister. They were left in the care of their grandmother.”

There was no justice for the mother. At the police station, because the father paid the cops off, the death was registered as a suicide. “But what stands out in my mind was that, despite all the tragedies, I have never met a more outgoing and positive-minded person like Arun,” says Bindu. “Every moment that we spent with Arun was a learning experience for all of us. He was such an intelligent and outgoing boy.”

Arun passed away at age 15. “Because of Arun, I have learnt to cherish every moment of every day, because you can die at any time,” says Bindu. 

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

The Luxembourg-born artist Sophie Medawar, of Lebanese origin, talks about her experiences in Kerala

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photos: Sophie Medawar by MA Ramees; the art work, 'Cache-Cache' 

When the Luxembourg-born Sophie Medawar, of Lebanese origin, was invited by a Malayali friend, at Kochi, for lunch on a Monday, she said, “I am sorry, it is the day when I am on a fast.”

Her friend said, “Is it because you are in Kerala?” But Sophie replied that she has always fasted on Monday, to give a rest to her body. “Later I came to know that there was a tradition that Malayali women would fast on a Monday in the hope of getting a good husband,” says Sophie, as she adds, with a smile. “But I am already married and have a daughter.”

Sophie first came to Kerala, with her family, in August, last year, and fell in love with the place. “Like Lebanon, which I visit several times a year, Kerala is a place where there are strong family bonds and people of different religions live peacefully together,” she says.

And she is an admirer of Kerala women. “They go to work, then they return in the evenings and take care of their family,” she says. “They educate their children so well. The women seem independent and free, but, while talking to them, I realised that there are restrictions which can be stifling: if you are not married by a certain age, if you don't want to get  married, if you don't get pregnant soon after marriage, or if you are divorced, you are seen in a different way. This is the case in Lebanon, too, where the family plays a prominent role in society. So, in a way, there is not much freedom for women in both places.”

To highlight this lack of freedom, Sophie is getting a floor installation made at a studio in Cherookad, near Tripunithara. She has made brass pieces that look like mouths which have been shut up. More than 2000 pieces will be placed on the floor, one on top of the other. “These symbolise the taboos that a woman faces, all imposed by society, or by their own mindsets,” says Sophie. “But they cannot speak out. When  people walk over these brass pieces, they will bang against each other and a sound will be made, like as if the women are being liberated.”

Women are Sophie's only subject. This interest began in her childhood. “I was always drawing girl’s faces,” she says. “That focus has continued till now. Women have this connection to mother earth because they themselves are mothers and creators of life.”

In an earlier work, called 'Cache-Cache', she has painted portraits of women from all over the world. These images have been framed and Sophie has drawn an ‘Oriental pattern’, with small squares, in acrylic paint, on the exterior glass, to give an indication of a barrier. “Again, this is to show the lack of freedom,” says Sophie.

Her art is usually expressed through paintings or installations. For paintings, she uses beeswax. “I warm the wax, and mix it with natural pigments,” she says. “I paint while the wax is still warm. Otherwise, it becomes hard.” For her installations, she uses brass, copper, wood and glass. And she spends long hours at her studio in Luxembourg.

“That's because art is my life, passion and destiny,” she says. “I regard it as an inner expression. It is not something to hang up between the curtain and the sofa. It is much more than that. Art is divine. And it should open the eyes and soul of the people.”

Meanwhile, despite living in affluent and art-conscious Europe, it has not been easy to survive as an artist. “But I cannot think of any other way to lead my life,” says Sophie, who at 5’10’, and clad in a grey top and jeans, cuts an elegant figure. But Indian influences are already at work. She wraps a multi-coloured shawl around her neck. “Everything is so colourful in Kerala: the clothes, houses and food,” she says. “I am enjoying being colourful myself.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)