List

friday march 13 friday review article
fostering a tradition by kausalya santhanam
Melody of the duck instrument by suganthy krishnamachary
Collectors item by lalithaa krishnan on ludwig pesch. you might like to possess this book
Stories through shadows by suganthy krishnamachary. you will loveto read this article

march 15 sunday magazine
article voices from the margins by pushpa chari
Past and present by ram guha how to retire
Ram guhas article also is in the same no. march 15
book extracts thanjavur throughPost Options the ages by lakshmi vishwanathan

march 16 monday metroplus
dream on by ss kavitha on sarath babu
blissful baliby kalpana sundar under the heading escape
inside story a craftsmans tale by lakshmi sharath

march 17 main paper op ed
celebrating an indians breakthrough science on jc bose by ashok parthasarathy
Gender forgotten wonders byzehra naqvi
A tribute to women by p. anima

march 20friday review
artists brush with celluloid by randor guy on s. rajam
all sound and fury by a. seshan

March 21 saturday metroplus
Sweet fruits of labour by prince frederick on fruit shop on greams road

March 27 friday review
melodies and memories by sriram. v on dk pattammal
aesthetic ,affordable by lalithhaa krishnan
visual journey through ruins by kausalya santhanam
article with gnb as the only link bu rupa gopal
upanyasaka changes tack by charukesi
Synonymous with religious texts by vidya saranyan on lifco publishers
Candyman is back by sr asok kumar

march 27 friday cinemaplus
blast from the past miss kamala 1938 by randor guy

April 3 friday cinemaplus
blast from the past sabash meena 1958 by randor guy

April 3 friday review
gentleman star who played gangster by randor guy
(you must read this)
leader humble, scholarly by g. srinivasan
where creativity thrives by pradeep chakravarthy on the govt. college of arts and crafts

april 5 sunday magazine
under heading rural tourism untapped potential by hugh and colleen gantzer
discover tradition and folklore by soma basu

Sunday Feb8 Magazine
heritage the essence of shiva by ranvir shah
level playing fields by mike marqusee article gateway to new worlds

Monday feb 9 metroplus
escape memories of winter by rishad saam mehta

Friday review feb 13
music his canvas on s. rajam by sriram.v
in delicate patterns by pushpa chari

Friday feb 13 cinema plus
devdas 1953 by randor guy
god pf a different kind on director bala by malathi rangarajan

monday feb 16 metroplus
meet the bestseller on chetan bhagat by gowri ramnarayan
escape harvards end by shaleena koruth
madras miscellny by s. muthaiah in his fathers footsteps same author article on spencers remembering 60 yrs ago

Feb 20 friday cinema plus
blast from the past pavalakodi 1934 by randor guy

Feb 20 Friday review s
sculpting a succes story by ts subramaniam on ganapati stapati a great temple architect
heartrending story of love by vijay lokapally on devdas
the maestro and his music on pt. ravishankar by ranjan das gupta
they mourned with laughteron nagesh by malati rangarajan
A leap to the high heavens by deepa ganesh
it was all about moods by rupa srikanth

feb 23 monday metroplus
heading escape article wonderstruck in ramsess land by kausalya santhanam

Feb 27 friday review
the sultana of melody by savitha gautham
he painted with his lens by randor guy
myriad hues intricate designs by pushpa charisame day and no. are the following.
stage is his world kausalya santhanam on kp
the stage is his world kausalya santhanam on kp pravin the founder of theatre group magic lantern
voice rich and powerful by sriram.v
penchant for dance dramaon dance guru krishnakumari narendranby lalithasai

March 2 monday mrteoplus
wah usrad on zakir hussain by chitra swaminathan
Escape architectural wonders heritage by ashrafi s. bhaga

march 6 friday main paper
newscape new rock art scenes by ts subramanian

March 6 friday review
article saga of grit and success on sarojini varadappan a truly great lady by suganthy krishnamachary
graceful screen presence by savitha gaytam
art in its pristine formby pushpa chari
the archers penance by suganthy krishnamachary
serenity in stone by rupa gopal on buddhist sculptures

March 8 sunday magazine
a journey called india by vibhuti patel on michael wood
review the past comes alive by vibhuri patel
newsmaker for the sake of the arts by ranvir shah must read article
second life his world is the stage by syeda farida

10 April 2009 Friday Review
Capturing the lost magic by pushpa chari
Cinema unforgettable thriller by ks rajagopal
kings inns under heritage by dunstan s. morris
confluence of different styles under heritage by suganthi krishnamachari
under event enduring charm of ramayana by vasanthi sankaranarayanan
under stage paari from a distance by kausalya santhanam

hindu magazine sunday april 12
an indian institute by ram. guha
by our lady correspondents by nirupama subramanian

cinema plus april 17 friday
an ode to shaktida by v. gangadhar

next friday review april 17
Where history owes it to fiction by suganthy krishnamachary
Melody is his middle name by v. balasubramanian
same no. article the story of a song by sriram.v

april 20 monday metroplus
madras miscellany by s. muthaiahthe message bearers
under escape ice story by chitra srikrishna-same no

metroplus tuesday april 21
the viewfinder by pankaja srinivasan. you must read this being a photo buff

yoyng world tuesday april 21
heading art beat fleeting figures on sand sculpture

Friday review april 24
search for identity by geetha venkataramanan on chos play
same no article burst of coloyr by pushpa chari
same no under craft poetry in earthy hues by pushpa chari
same no demystifying mythology by sganthy krishnamachary
Same no under legend worthy disciple of a great guru by sriram. v must read
same no heritage the path to glory on buddha

next april 26 sunday magazine
a gift to itself by ram guha on i i sc
article harmony thro art by kausalya santhanam

hindu april 27 monday article
indus script does encode a language by a. srivathsan and ts subramanian

1 may article friday review
it is a happy family affair by kausalya santhanam. must read.
ext. same number. article remembering roxy by randor guy
next same no. again a thema that is universal by lekha shankar
bollywoods macho man bids goodbye by v. gangadhar on firoz khan
two more from the same no. movies of a legendary musician on gnb by randor guy
the enlightened one on buddha.

may 4 monday main paper article
where heritage has survived onslaughts of time by deepa h ramakrishnan


hindu may 4 monday metroplus
under escape article the road to damascus by sangeetha barooah pisharoty

may 8 friday cinemaplus
blast from the past chandragupta chanakya 1940 by randor guy the woman is vasanthakokilam in the photo

may 15 friday review article
statement with a bow by suganthykrishnamachary must read
article when india was the cynosure of all eyes by s. rangarajan
craft glittering replicas of puri deities by pushpa chari
under history article national anthems madanapalle connectionby kss seshan must read
titan from kanchipuramby sriram.v on naina pillai one of the greayest musicians pf alltime

may 18 monday metroplus
madras miscellany by s. muthaiah article topping the forgotten
under escape article medieval glory by kausalya santhanam
under escape article in santaland finland by celine lemaire
amid the sand dunes by k. pradeep

may 25 metroplustitle
plain tales from the hills on ruskin bond by divya kumar
same no. madras miscellany by muthaiah a 40 year correspondence on krittika tamil writer

may 23 metroplus
penchant for the past on v. sriram by prince frederick

may 22 friday review
memorable movies of 1939 by randor guy

may 29 friday cinemaplus
blast from the past parthiban kanavu by randor guy

may 29 friday review
revolutionary step by v. sriram on vina ramanujayya
review retrospective the period of celluloid classics by randor guy
facile on two fronts on ilampirai manimaran by suganthy krishnamachary

may 31 sunday magazine
time out our own dino park by indu balachandran
dinner in an iglooby ranjita biswas
tribute burnished music by meena menon on md ramanathan

The call of the murals

GEETA PADMANABHAN

A masterpiece in the making: KU Krishnakumar at work

"On the wall, the first line is the final line," says master of Kerala murals KU Krishnakumar. A first-person account of how a mural comes to life.

Meeting master of Kerala murals KU Krishnakumar, who is in the city to conduct a workshop on the divine art of mural making, is a privilege. Charmingly humble, this authority on the divine art is on a mission to promote it. In a narrative of short sentences and perfect sequencing, he takes me through the history of the art to which his own artistic life is inseparably linked.

The process

“I start painting on an auspicious day after worship. Murals demand hard, manual work. Preparing the wall, an act that distinguishes a mural from a ‘painting-on-the-wall', is a complicated process. Egypt or Kerala, this preparation is crucial, though the techniques are different. Artists use locally available materials.

The rough plastering of the ‘ground' is made smooth with a mixture of sand, shell lime, water and plant (kadukkai, chunnambuvelli) extracts, fermented for 15 days. The wall is left to dry, to make rare shades possible. The second coating has sand, lime and cotton ground into smooth butter. The cotton fills the cracks and absorbs colours to give it a rich finish.

The thin third coating is a mixture of lime and tender-coconut water. Horizontal and vertical strokes pile up 25-30 layers. The paintings are done with five major colours (Panchavarnam). A trained artist will leave the white portion and paint only the coloured ones.

On the wall, the first line is the final line. We start with yellow lines, fill with red and green and outline in black. Yellow and red are crushed out of stones and plants, green from indigo (neelambari) mixed with yellow, black from gingelly oil lamp soot. The final coat is the glossy neem resin.

When a temple mural is finished, the priest does a puja for the brushes and colours. And, the guru opens the eyes of the main figures in a final touch, bringing them to life,” he concludes.

Decline and revival

Talking about the history of the arm form, he says it had a golden reign for 400 years from the 14th to the 18th Centuries. Then, colonisation brought the Portuguese and Dutch painters and their training methods. The Raja Ravi Varma era provided readymade canvases and oil colours. The system of gurukulam went out of style and mural paintings lost their sheen. In the 1970 Guruvayoor temple fire, all the murals were lost.

Later, the senior artists, the Devaswom management and the Government decided to promote this unique art form, and set up The Institute of Mural Painting, Guruvayur Devaswom, with KK Nair as Principal.

“And, I was among the 10 students in the first batch in 1989. For five years, I studied aesthetics, Sanskrit, history of Indian and Western art, tribal and folk paintings. I specialised in Kerala mural painting,” he recalls.

“We exhibited our art in camps. No one had heard of Kerala murals. They had stayed within temple precincts because of strict rules. In exhibitions and camps we painted on cement sheets, paper and canvas to popularise the art.”

And, now, the master artist worries about the commercialisation of the art form by “hobby artists”, who copy the murals on canvas, sell them at fancy prices and proclaim themselves ambassadors of this art abroad.

Still, he is happy that temple murals are mobile, so what if you find them on sari pallus. “It's all part of development,” he shrugs. “If some at least study the art thoroughly, learn to prepare colours and know the technique, it is all right.”

Its all in the detailing

Kerala murals are characterised by heavy ornamentation — costumes and jewellery.

Green (satvik), white (tamas), yellow (rajas) are the prominent colours. The expressions resemble Natya Shastra's mudras and bhavas.

Chitra Sutra says an artist must study great artists, watch the changes in seasons and in human life. He must paint a picture of a sleeping herd of cows, with one of them dead; the viewer must be able to spot the dead cow.

Passion for numbers

SOURCE:
http://www.hindu.com/mag/2009/11/01/stories/2009110150060200.htm

Passion for numbers

SOUDHAMINI

Remembering mathematician P.K. Srinivasan, whose innovative teaching methods opened up a new world for school children, on his birth anniversary.

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However complex the concept he never prodded the students. Just waited patiently till they discovered it ...

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Numbers were never the same: P.K. S. in action.

P.K. Srinivasan (November 4, 1924-June 20, 2005) was an extraordinary person in the world of math education. I met him in 1998, while making a set of videotapes on innovative teaching methods in mathematics for the DPEP, the distance education cell o f the Education Department, Government of India. PKS became the chief protagonist of those tapes.

He had retired from the Muthialpet High School, Chennai but continued to work as consultant for schools as diverse as Rishi Valley, the TVS school in Mysore, and Corporation schools all over Chennai. I attended a conference with him at Rishi Valley and heard his exquisite clarity on concepts ranging from fractals to the Fibonacci sequence. But my favourite memory of him is teaching the Narikuravar (gypsy) children at the Corporation School in Saidapet, Chennai.

Unique way

He had a unique way of introducing numbers to Kindergarten children. He felt that because they learnt numbers mainly in sequence — as 1,2,3,4 etc. they never really grasped the concept of discrete quantities. So after first letting them rattle off the sequence, he would intercept by asking, “Now show me 3 in as many ways as you can”. Initially there would be consternation among the kids and he would smile, his eyes gleaming with a fiery excitement. Putting up one gnarled hand he would first show 3 fingers, and they would all chime “3”. Then he’d bend his fingers, put out 2 first, then one more and say “2 +1” and they would repeat, “3”. Next he’d put up four fingers and bend one - “4-1 = 3”. Then “2+2”, “5–2”, and so it would go on.

I have seen the excitement that erupted among those toddlers for whom numbers would never be the same again; nothing like the anonymous sequence that they began with. Soon all kinds of finger play broke out and PKS just stood smiling toothlessly, infinitely careful not to disturb that first moment of epiphany. Quite unobtrusively he’d introduced the concept of quantity, and also laid the foundation for the primary functions of addition and subtraction.

He had a vast collection of books in his house at Nanganallur, and once he showed me a World Encyclopedia on Mathematics to prove that it was not just the zero that India invented, but also the fraction. The world was afraid to break up numbers, he said, for fear the whole edifice would collapse, but Indian mathematicians proved that the concept of the ‘Whole’ was in itself quite relative.

Later, in the same school I was to see a wonderfully concrete demonstration of this abstract concept. Taking a long strip of paper he first folded it into eight equal parts. Then opening it out with the creases clearly visible, he pointed to the first part and asked the children, this time of 3rd standard, to name it. “1 by 8”. Yes, that was fairly simple. And so it would proceed till he reached the last part, to which in predictable sequence, the children would intone “8 by 8” and then like a magician he would close the paper and re-open it, pointing to the same whole again to which they would now exclaim, but with some thoughtfulness, “ 1” . And slowly the concept would sink in, that every number is merely a complete fraction of itself. From here, it was a small step to simultaneous fractions. Concept always came first for him, and only then the function.

However complex the concept he never prodded the students. Just waited patiently till they discovered it for themselves, and it seemed to me that they all did. I could barely shoot from excitement myself. Infinity lay right there within the interstices of the feeble chalk points on that faded blackboard and PKS helped us all to see it.

In the interview I recorded then he spoke passionately about his faith in education. “If a child falls sick, the doctor cannot blame him. It is his duty to heal the sickness. Similarly, the teacher has to find a way to clarify misunderstandings and release mental blocks about maths. He cannot blame the student.”

Committed

He had visited the U.S. on a Fulbright scholarship and Africa on a teaching deputation. He also travelled frequently to Delhi and other parts of India to attend conferences and workshops. But his real commitment lay with the under privileged. His son, Kannan Srinivas, explained recently that, to PKS, this was his personal form of patriotism, this abiding faith in children to “develop themselves under proper exposure”.

Another great area of fascination for PKS was the life of Srinivas Ramanujan. PKS was his first biographer, travelling every weekend after school closed for many years to Kumbakonam, in search of details of Ramanujan’s life. He discovered the house where he was born, the temple he frequented and the letters he wrote to his father from Cambridge. All later biographers from the West were to use these primary sources and acknowledge PKS in their works.

Here again the interesting insight from his son was that this interest in Ramanujan fed into his passion for math education. Rather than simply celebrating a genius, PKS strove to create a climate where more Ramanujans could flower. PKS will remain one of the most inspiring individuals of his generation.

Soudhamini is a documentary filmmaker based in Chennai

How to retire - premier bookshop

Sournce

http://www.hindu.com/mag/2009/03/15/stories/2009031550090300.htm

PAST & PRESENT

How to retire

RAMACHANDRA GUHA

Though many residents of Bangalore will mourn the closure of Premier Bookshop, after four decades of yeoman service, Mr. Shanbhag had earned the right to go out on his own terms…

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Mr. T.S. Shanbhag was not merely the most knowledgeable bookseller in Bangalore, but also the most likeable. But, taking our cue from the man, we would not display our emotions.

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Photo: G.G. Welling

End of a long innings: T.S. Shanbhag and his Premier Bookshop shortly before its closure.

It was a fellow writer, Achal Prabala, who called to tell me that Premier Bookshop was closing down. “Mr. Shanbhag seems quite determined,” said Achal: “The landlord is giving trouble again. He has to undergo an eye operation himsel f. And his daughter is keen that he come visit her in Australia. The nice thing is that he seems very calm about it.”

I claim a long connection with Mr. T.S. Shanbhag and Premier Bookshop, but Achal’s connection was deeper. Since he is some 15 years younger, he had known them all his life. (I was already a teenager by the time I made my first acquaintance with the bookseller and bookshop.) Anyway, like me and countless other residents of Bangalore, he had come to regard them as indispensable and immovable. When, after many years overseas, Achal had moved back to his home town, it was in the knowledge that Mr. Shanbhag and Premier would take care of at least one part, perhaps the most critical part, of his life. To see the shop close and the owner retire was for him as unanticipated, and as hard to bear, as the death of a revered family elder.

Considered decision

Fortunately, I was not due to travel anywhere in the fortnight after I heard the news. I went to Premier the next day, to find the owner almost as stoic as I had been told he would be. He rehearsed his reasons for retirement, but when I found a book to buy (Simon Winchester’s essay collection, Outposts) he said, with some emotion: “I will not let you pay for this.” When he insisted, I asked only that he inscribe the book for me.

When I went back the next day, Mr. Shanbhag had regained his composure. I bought some books and paid for them, and he made me sign some copies of a book I had written. He had, he said, a week more to run, before he put down his shutters and put himself in the hands of the eye surgeon. By now, word of his closure had spread. Every day the number of visitors grew. The great mound in the middle of the shop became shorter and slimmer. The top layers on the side-shelves were peeled off by paying customers, to reveal books published in the 1980s and before, that had lain buried, unseen and unsold.

Fine gesture

On the first Sunday after Mr. Shanbhag had made his decision known, a city magazine organised a photo shoot. Several writers were called to feature in the frame, among them the distinguished Kannada novelist U.R. Anantha Murthy. As he sat himself down among us, Anantha Murthy asked, “Why is Girish [Karnad] not here?” I knew the answer: that great patron of Premier could not come because his daughter was getting married the next week. I said that Girish’s wife sometimes told him, when he came home with the day’s loot, that their house had begun to resemble Shanbhag’s shop, with books on the steps, books on the window-sill, books on the kitchen counter, books everywhere including on one’s head. I added that my wife sometimes told me the same thing. There were laughs all around, the loudest from Mr. Shanbhag.

I went back several times the next week. Once I took my daughter along, so that she could buy her own last books from Premier, and also take some photographs of the shop and its owner. It did not look at all like a store that was soon to go out of business. Customers bumped into one another on the narrow walkways. Some faces were known to me — I had seen them, and they, me, in the same place for the last 20 years or more. But there were strangers too, as well as surprises. A lady peeked in and asked Mr. Shanbhag whether he bought old computer books. He quietly answered that he did not.

A void

In those last days and weeks at Premier, the friends and patrons of the shop gamely suppressed their own feelings. For them, as for Achal Prabala, Girish Karnad, my daughter, and myself, the passing of the shop meant a void in their lives. Mr. T.S. Shanbhag was not merely the most knowledgeable bookseller in Bangalore, but also the most likeable. But, taking our cue from the man, we would not display our emotions. We would see things as he, silently and by example, encouraged us to see them. A bookseller had carried out his calling with pride and integrity for four decades. Had he not earned himself a dignified retirement?

The very many individuals who have come to depend on Premier Bookshop will naturally mourn its closure. For, Mr. Shanbhag’s dealings with publishers, retailers, customers and strangers were always exemplary. Still, nothing became the man so much as the manner of his leaving. The last stages of the careers of our politicians, cricketers and film stars tend to be embarrassingly extended. Contrasting Mr. Shanbhag’s behaviour with theirs, we might be inspired to suppress our private sorrow in a public celebration for a career conducted with honesty and dignity, and always on its own terms.

Dream on

Source http://www.hindu.com/mp/2009/03/16/stories/2009031650670100.htm

Dream on

From a slum kid to a CEO, E. Sarathbabu’s story is awe-inspiring, discovers S.S. KAVITHA

An Incredible journey E. Sarathbabu

His story is much more than a celluloid dream script. His is the proverbial rags-to-riches tale, made possible through hard work and determination. E. Sarathbabu’s story started in the slums of Madipakkam. Today, at 29, he is CEO of Foodking Catering Services, which has outlets in Chennai, Goa, Hyderabad and Rajasthan, and has a turnover of Rs. 7 crore.

Talking about his days of abject penury when he supplemented his mother’s income by selling idlis door-to-door and binding books, Sarathbabu says: “Poverty can never play spoilsport if an individual is determined to win.”

It pays to focus

With two sisters and two younger brothers around, not only food was less, there was no electricity either. “But, I never felt sad as there were no distractions while studying. You cannot achieve anything if you brood over what does not exist. Even when I was asked to stand outside the classroom for not paying the fees, I used to listen to the lessons being taught inside because I understood that nobody — my mother, me or my teacher — was at fault for the situation I was in,” he philosophises.

Sarathbabu’s willpower coupled with his mother’s desire to see her son speak English like the “upper-class” people do, took him to Kings Matriculation Higher Secondary School. While his classmates discussed the good food they ate and the new dresses they bought, Sarathbabu was driven by the desire to top the class. And, first he came, always, even scoring the highest marks in school in the Matriculation Board examination.

His score of over 1,100 in the Class XII examination made him dream big. He found himself in BITS, Pilani, and then at the country’s best B-school, the IIM-Ahmedabad.

“At Pilani, I thought I had bitten off more than I could chew. My poor spoken English aggravated that feeling. But, I did not give up; I started reading books and practising spoken English in front of the mirror. Today, I think I have made it,” he smiles.

“Whenever I feel dejected, I think of my mother. I always remember her drinking only water to make sure that her children ate whatever was available. As a child, I used to think she liked water a lot but only later did I realise that it was acute poverty that forced her to fill her stomach with water,” he says.

Turning entrepreneur

Sarathbabu worked for two years with Polaris and repaid the loans taken for higher education. When good jobs came knocking, he shocked all by rejecting them. For, he nurtured a different dream: “I know the pangs of hunger and always wanted to provide employment opportunities.” Today, he employs 250 people.

Sarathbabu launched Foodking in Ahmedabad with a paltry sum of Rs. 2,000. “It was a dream come true, when Infosys’ N.R. Narayanamurthy inaugurated my venture in 2006. I introduced my mother to the chief guest and her eyes filled with tears of happiness. It is one of the most memorable moments of my life,” he recalls.

His dream is a hunger-free world by creating more job opportunities. How does it feel to be a youth icon? “Positively happy.I believe God is giving me this fantastic opportunity to inspire youth so that they too can create more jobs, bridge the rural-urban divide and address social issues and make India shine globally.”

“I have risen from the bottom. If I can, why can’t you?” says Sarathbabu, who also plans to start a school for the downtrodden.

Having come this far, this unassuming ‘crorepati’ continues to live in the Madipakkam slum with his wife Priya, mother Deeparamani and his younger brothers. But, he does plan to construct a house for his mother and also convert the ‘hut’ — from where he began his journey — into a memorial.

Melody of the duck instrument

SUGANTHY KRISHNAMACHARI

Having learnt the oboe, Martina Leopoldt is keen on mastering the nagaswaram.

Photo: S.R. Raghunathan

unusual: Martina Leopoldt.

Ever since I dipped into our collection of records, to listen to the New York Philharmonic playing Prokofiev’s ‘Peter and the Wolf,’ conducted by Leonard Bernstein, the oboe has been, to me, synonymous with the duck. That’s be cause, it is the oboe that represents the duck in this piece. When I tell oboe player Martina Leopoldt this, she laughs, and says, “It’s not just you. Many of my friends in Germany call it the duck instrument too.’”

Martina is in Chennai to give finishing touches to her thesis for a post-graduate degree in Musicology. She is a student at the University of Leipzig, and the topic of her research is ‘Nagaswaram — ritual and religious connections in music — especially in connection with the Tiruvaiyaru Tyagaraja festival.’ She took the help of Prof B.M. Sundaram and Injikkudi E.M. Subramaniam for her thesis.

Curiosity kindled

When she was eleven, Martina decided to learn how to play the oboe. “An oboe teacher had just arrived in Ilmeneau, the small town in which I lived. Just out of curiosity, I enrolled for oboe lessons. My face would turn red when I played the oboe. My friends would tease me and say, “You are not only playing the duck instrument, you even look like a sick duck!”

How did she get interested in the nagaswaram? “When my grandfather visited Chennai in 2005, he bought a nagaswaram for me. I didn’t know a thing about it, until 2007, when I visited India, and learnt how to play it.”

She filmed the nagaswaram players at Tiruvaiyaru this year, and at the Tiruvannamalai and Chidambaram temples. “I even went trekking up to the Sorimuthu Ayyanarappan temple in the Mundanthurai sanctuary in Tirunelveli. This temple in a forest has a nagaswaram and thavil player, while many temples in more accessible places don’t have ritual nagaswaram playing. They say they lack funds. I also wanted to visit the Agastya temple, but the permission from the Forest Department didn’t come in time. So I couldn’t visit that temple.”

“In the West, we usually don’t use microphones for classical music concerts. But you have microphones in your sabhas, and that spoils the quality of your traditional music. Why aren’t your auditoriums designed keeping acoustics in mind?” she wonders. She’s a girl with very strong views on adhering to the traditions of music. Surprising in one so young. Martina is only 22.

In the 17th century the oboe made its way into concert halls. Today the nagaswaram too is heard in sabhas, a development Martina is not happy about. “The nagaswaram is the loudest wind instrument in the world. And your sabhas provide amplification for the nagaswaram too! Indians seem to have such a fascination for technology. I even heard an electronic veena. I didn’t like it one bit,” complains Martina.

She laments that in Europe, Hindustani music is known more widely than Carnatic music. “I couldn’t find many books on Carnatic music in our libraries, but there were many on Hindustani music.”

“Bollywood music is popular in India, and A.R. Rahman has used the oboe in a song in the film Jodha Akbar. That might make the oboe popular here!”

Martina plans to continue nagaswaram lessons under Balamurali, who studied in Annamalai University, and now lives in Germany. Once she submits her thesis, she’s going to come back to India, to train under Injikkudi Subramanian. And of course, there’s also that trek to the Agastya temple that she missed this trip, but is determined to do soon.

Comparative study

In a lecture recently organised by the Centre for Ethnomusicology, Martina spoke of the role of the oboe in every period in the history of Western music, and then of the similarities and differences between the oboe and the nagaswaram. Some highlig hts:

Like the nagaswaram, the oboe is a double reed instrument of the woodwind family. It’s made of a wood called grenadilla, which comes from Africa. “Of ten pieces of the wood, roughly one will be suitable for making an oboe. That’s why the oboe is expensive. An oboe costs 8000 Euros!” Martina explained. “Reeds have to be changed every week, and each reed costs 20 Euros, but I make my own reeds.”

The oboe too has a conical bore, but the reeds of the nagaswaram are thicker, which makes the latter more difficult to play.

Amazing ability

“No oboe player will be able to play for more than two hours at a stretch. And I am amazed at the ability of nagaswaram players who play continuously for more than six hours in temples,” Martina observed.

The modern oboe has 45 keys, and therefore one cannot produce gamakas on it. But the baroque oboe has only three keys, and is more like the nagaswaram, because you can produce microtones on it.

In the baroque oboe too sound is produced mainly with the oral cavity, as in the case of the nagaswaram. Both the nagaswaram and the oboe originated as outdoor instruments, although the nagaswaram was used in religious processions and the baroque oboe in military processions.

S.K.

Stories through shadows

source http://www.hindu.com/fr/2009/03/13/stories/2009031351270400.htm

Stories through shadows

SUGANTHY KRISHNAMACHARY

Leather gets a magicl touch at the hands of Seethalakshmi.

Photos: V. Ganesan.

Leather Tales: S. Seethalakshmi and her puppets.

“What a wonderful dancer she is!” one can’t help exclaiming. A twist, a leap, a neat landing, an arai mandi — you name it, and she does it all. Except, of course, she is not a dancer. She’s only a puppet!

This was the dancing puppet in the shadow puppetry show organised by Indian Council for Cultural Relations and Sri Ariyakkudi Music Foundation under the monthly ‘Horizon’ programme, and staged on February 28, at R.K. Swamy Auditorium, Sivaswamy Kalalaya Senior Secondary School. The artist was Seethalakshmi Srinivasan.

Seethalakshmi began to learn Thalu Bommalaattam, as it is called in Andhra Pradesh, at the age of three, from her maternal uncle M.V. Ramanamurthy, who founded a school of puppetry, in Kakinada.

In 1954, when she was nine, she did a show along with him, at the Island Grounds exhibition in Chennai. Mrs. YGP and Sanskrit scholar Dr.V. Raghavan, who were in the audience that day, were so impressed, that they suggested that she stay back in Chennai.

Since her uncle Ramanamurthy had already moved to Chennai, Seethalakshmi’s parents left her with him. “Mrs. YGP arranged many shows for us in schools in the city,” she recalls.

A real boost to her career came when she performed at the Museum Theatre, Egmore, for, in the audience that day, was Dr. Nayudamma, the leather technologist. He offered Seethalakshmi and Ramanamurthy jobs at CLRI. He wanted to show people the cultural aspect of leather. “Being in a Central Government institution conferred on us a prestige that most folk artistes usually don’t enjoy. And with that came many invitations to perform abroad,” says Seethalakshmi.

She’s done shows in Spain, Germany, Italy, Malaysia, Singapore, Denmark, the U.S. and many other countries.

“Once my uncle, my sister and I went to Austria. Puppeteers from different countries were there. They were amazed that just the three of us could do a show that would have taken at least 30 of them to do.”

Epic themes

Seethalakshmi’s themes are from the Mahabharata and Ramayana. Ayyappa and the Panchatantra were later additions. She’s also done programmes on adult education and family planning. “I was surprised to find puppeteers in Russia and Spain doing Ramayana stories,” she says.

Seethalakshmi has done a show that combines puppetry and Bharatanatyam. “This was based on the Telugu work, ‘Molla Ramayanamu.’ Dr. Sindhoori, Bharatanatyam and Kuchipudi dancer, who runs a dance school in the U.S., assumed the role of Sita, and all other Ramayana characters were puppets,” says Seethalakshmi.

“The show was inaugurated at Rabindra Bharati, Hyderabad. Film actor Nageswara Rao and playback singer P. Susheela marvelled at the novelty of the concept.”

Seethalakshmi’s puppets are made of parchment leather. Goat’s skin is boiled, and the hair is scraped off.

The leather is then stretched and pinned to a board, and allowed to dry for two days. The required figures are drawn on to the leather and cut out. The puppets are coloured on both sides, and designs are punched on them. When light is projected through these holes, it seems as if the puppets are dressed in gold studded clothes!

The puppets are manipulated using three sticks. Except for the dancing puppets, which require two puppeteers for manipulation, they are manipulated by just one person. In the case of the Vali-Sugriva fight, one puppeteer manipulates both puppets.

A black bordered, white cotton cloth is rigged up on the stage. “In villages in Andhra, a dhoti would serve as the screen, and the shadows were projected on to the screen using oil lamps. These days we use fluorescent lamps,” explains Seethalakshmi.

New technique

While at CLRI, Seethalakshmi, together with researchers T.P. Sastry, C. Rose and S. Ramakrishnan, developed a process, by which parchment leather could be made from chrome shavings, a by-product of tanning.

“The researchers found a way to remove the chromium content from the shavings, which are then used to make puppets, lampshades and wall hangings,” says Srinivasu, Seethalakshmi’s son, who is also a puppeteer. The research served two purposes. It helped solve the problem of disposal of the leather waste, and also provided cheap parchment leather. Daughter-in-law Dharini, daughter Malathi, who is a software engineer, and granddaughters Priyanka and Madhumita, are all involved in puppetry.

The show that Sunday was based on the Kamba Ramayanam. The highlight was Anjaneya shrinking in size. The huge Anjaneya puppet was replaced by successively smaller ones, until a tiny puppet, about the size of one’s palm, entered the demon’s cavernous mouth. The puppets were replaced so quickly, that the effect of a shrinking figure was sustained throughout, and the audience applauded heartily. Seethalakshmi can be contacted at 98400 74589.

Audience response

Seventy- three year old V.G. Dharmalingam said, “Look at the goose bumps on my arms. I’ve never seen such a wonderful puppet show.”

Johanna Sudyka from Poland, a student of the Madras University, and her friend Liliya Petkova, whose father is a puppeteer in Bulgaria, found the show fascinating, and went up to the artistes to congratulate them at the end of the show.