To document vanishing cultures

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To document vanishing cultures Anand Giridharadas

A new generation of villagers is sought to be steeped in their own quickly disappearing traditions

TEJGADH: In an academy deep in the agrarian countryside of western India, five students were writing briskly in ruled notebooks. They were in their early 20s and newly enrolled, but there was no discounting the gravity of their assignment: When they are finished, the world will have five more documented languages.

One word at a time, they are producing dictionaries of languages with which they grew up, but which scarcely exist in the rest of the world. These are oral languages, whose sounds have perhaps never before been reproduced in ink.

“If we make this, those who come after us will profit from it,” said Kantilal Mahala, 21, taking a brief respite from his work on the Kunkna language. “In my village, people who move ahead speak only Gujarati. They feel ashamed of our language.”

It is not only obscure languages that these students are trying to chronicle and preserve, but also cuisines, sartorial habits and other significant elements of rural culture. Like drivers headin g downtown at rush hour, the students see everyone else going the other way.

A swelling class of Indian aspirants from small towns and villages like Tejgadh sees urban life and the English language as pathways to affluence, security and respect.

Had it not been for Ganesh Devy, a former Professor of English literature who founded the academy more than a decade ago, the young people in this rural community might have gone down that path. He created the school, known as the Adivasi Academy, with a burning question on his mind: Why do we wait for cultures to die to memorialise them?

“There is a continent of culture getting submerged, and that’s why I wanted to take the plunge,” Mr. Devy said.

With financing from the Ford Foundation and other philanthropic groups, the Adivasi Academy tries to preserve a culture by steeping a new generation of villagers in their own quickly disappearing traditions.

Tejgadh is home to one branch of India’s vast population of adivasis, or “original people.” Sometimes compared to Native Americans and Australia’s Aborigines, the adivasis are highly fragmented, with nearly as many languages and cultures as there are clans. But there are common threads.

The clans traditionally inhabited hilly or forested areas, where they lived nomadically, hunting and foraging. They are known for a respect for nature, for their bonesetters and shamans, for their worship of elephants and trees instead of abstract gods, for a love of art and for a lack of interest in material accumulation.

Tejgadh is home to the Rathwa clan, famed for wall paintings. When a person falls ill, the Rathwas often invite a painter to come along with a shaman. As the painter decorates the walls, the shaman enters a trance and guides his brush strokes.

In recent years some people in Tejgadh have become professional artists, one example of a deeper transformation. Modernity has been creeping in to the villages, and young people have been pouring out. But they are unprepared. — New York Times News Service

The man who lived for literature - U.Ve. Swaminatha Iyer

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The man who lived for literature

MALATHI RANGARAJAN

On the life of U.Ve. Swaminatha Iyer whose untiring efforts have made 2000-year old Tamil literary works immortal.

‘…Thaaththaa’ drew attention at places such as the American Tamizh Sangam at Pittsburgh and elsewhere. It was accolades galore for writer-director- producer A. Jagannathan the world over.

At a time when people cry themselves hoarse about the glory of the Tamil language, has the man who devoted his life to restore its rich literature and pass it on to posterity been given enough thought? Filmmaker A. Jagannathan did, and the result was the 13-episode serial, ‘Tamil Thaaththaa’ that traced the relentless search of U.Ve. Swaminatha Iyer who travelled to remote places and retrieved palm leaf manuscripts of invaluable works such as ‘Seevaga Chinthamani,’ ‘Purananooru,’ ‘Paththu Paattu’ and Silappadikaaram.’ Despite financial crunch he had them all printed and preserved for us to read, learn and glean knowledge about the social life and cultural milieu of yore.

Accolades galore

Telecast on Doordarshan more than a decade ago, ‘Tamil Thaaththaa’ was honoured by the Mylapore Academy as the Best Serial of the Year (1996). Jagannathan who had written, directed and produced it, won the Best All rounder Award. ‘…Thaaththaa’ drew attention at places such as the American Tamizh Sangam at Pittsburgh and elsewhere. It was accolades galore for Jagannathan the world over.

‘Tamil Thaaththaa’ has been released as a twin-DVD pack (Rs.200) recently. The litterateurs who have helped U.Ve.Sa resurrect the manuscripts from near destruction have been juxtaposed with those who failed to see the literary wealth around them and burnt them for rituals.

“Veerakesari, published in Sri Lanka, carried a wonderful review of it,” says A.V. Ramanan, who played Swaminatha Iyer in the serial. “I’ve heard that in Sri Lanka and closer home in Kallidaikurichi, schools ensured that children watch the serial regularly and after every episode teachers had students writing about it in class the next day,” he says. And every week he was showered with compliments. Soundara Kailasam was a regular caller. “‘You sound lively but I’m yet to come out of the emotions that your portrayal of U.Ve.Sa has kindled,’ she would say,” Ramanan recalls.

After his U.S. trip Jagannathan told him that many who had seen him live on stage here as a cheerful singer, couldn’t quite believe that it was the same Ramanan who had donned the role of the calm and sedate U.Ve.Sa.

Interspersed with soothing music by K.V. Mahadevan’s assistant Pugazhendhi, the serial also has Ramanan singing many of the pieces, besides other well-known singers such as Dr. Sirkazhi Sivachidambaram.

Love for Tamil

Jagannathan, who has directed MGR, Sivaji Ganesan, Kamal Haasan, Rajinikanth and Vijayakanth among others, in his heyday, took up this project for the sheer love of the Tamil language. The hurdles were many but none deterred him from completing it successfully. “With proper resources he would have done it on a larger scale. But I did my bit for the love of my mother tongue by not accepting any payment for my work,” smiles Ramanan. The scenes at the printing press were shot at Ramanan’s own printing unit.

The cast of ‘Tamil Thaaththaa’ is a trip in nostalgia. Many popular actors such as Jai Ganesh and ‘Major’ Sundarrajan, who featured in it, are no more. Each has performed with involvement.

Subdued style

Leading the acting team is Ramanan. In subdued style, Ramanan aptly brings out anguish whenever he finds priceless literature lost and joy at moments when he retrieves the treasure. ‘Delhi’ Ganesh’s portrayal of U.Ve. Sa’s understanding father deserves mention. Charuhaasan, Peeli Sivam, Sethu Vinayakam, Amara Sigamani and Periyar Dasan are others who have done a commendable job.

Ramanan informs that the actual guru maha sannidhanams of Thirupanandal, Tiruvavaduthurai and Dharmapuram Adheenams gladly agreed to appear as themselves in the serial.

Jagannathan’s dialogue that makes the tale very clear for even the uninitiated is appreciable. Appearing to have been made on a shoestring budget, the docu-feel of the discs is inevitable.

But it is an eye-opener for many interested in Tamil literature and a splendid learning tool for school goers. As it is a lengthy story, watching it parts is the way to go about it. A must-possess for true Tamil language lovers!

Tamil Thaaththaa

DVD – two discs

Produced & directed by A. Jagannathan

Price: Rs.200

The woman who became pharoah- Hatshepsut

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The woman who became pharoah

KAUSALYA SANTHANAM

Queen Hatshepsut’s life reads like a modern best seller. She ruled ancient Egypt for over 15 years.

Her story seems as threaded with love, mystery and murder as a modern best seller. Wearing the false beard that distinguished the rulers of ancient Egypt, Queen Hatshepsut (1473-1458 B.C.) held on to the position of a pharaoh for more than 15 years. Quite a feat considering it was an exclusively male preserve. We arrive at Luxor which was once called Thebes, the capital of ancient Egypt, and embark on a cruise down the Nile. But nothing will make us miss a visit to this extraordinary temple which was constructed by Hatshepsut as a funerary monument for her royal father Thuthmose I and herself. It was designed by Hatshepsut’s great architect Senmut (Was he also her lover?). This monument ensured him a place in Egyptian history along with Imhotep, the architect who designed the first pyramid 1,200 years before him.

The ancient Egyptians strongly believed that life would be perpetuated in the other world, after death. Mortuary temples were constructed by the rulers on a grand scale. We stand lost in admiration as we gaze at the massive rectangular structure which owes its presence to the queen- pharaoh.

The temple appears to spring from the hill of pale brown rock, so fabulous is the architecture, and the vision that built it. It is a most unusual building quite unlike the temples we get to see later in the rest of Egypt, in Philae and Kom Ombo. The temple is dedicated to God Amun, Goddess Hathor – who in the form of a cow was believed to receive the dead in the underworld – and God Anubis. We win brownie points from our guide by pointing out Hathor in the paintings and sculptures, not a difficult task considering the goddess is shown wearing horns.

Hathshepsut was married to Thuthmose II, her half -brother. Although it seems strange and shocking to us today, male royals in ancient Egypt consolidated their claim to the throne by generally marrying their sisters as it was believed that it was the women in the family who carried the royal blood. After the death (was it murder?) of her husband, Hatshepsut assumed power, acting not as just regent but full blown ruler in the place of her stepson and nephew, the future Thuthmose III. It is believed by many that after her death (was she murdered?), Thuthmose III erased her name and likeness from many monuments.

Towering obelisk

We learn that Hatshepsut’s reign was marked by the building of numerous monuments. In the evening at the great temple of Karnak in Luxor, we see the towering obelisk erected by Hatshepsut to worship the god Amun.

The temple of Queen Hatshepsut is located at the head of the plateau known as Deir el -Bahari. The plateau had been the site of the huge funerary complex of pharaoh Mentuhotep III, 500 years before Hatshepsut. Its ruins can be seen near her temple.

As with many ancient structures in Egypt, the temple of the queen was covered in sand which was cleared in the 1890s. The building was restored, it appears, from the fresh look of the steps leading to the terraces. A convent was once located in the temple which explains why it is so well preserved, we are told.

The building is in the form of a vast, three-tiered terrace with wide steps and ramps leading to the final one which has shrines to Hathor, and other gods. The pillars are striking and many of them are crowned by the image of the beautiful pharaoh queen, round faced and smiling. Our guide seems to think that it was a case of “photo-shop,” “because any ruler wants to be remembered as good looking more so if she is a woman.” But he is prejudiced, we discover when we later read accounts that speak of the queen’s beauty.

To reinforce her claim to be the throne, Hatshepsut claimed descent from the gods as was customary with the pharaohs of Egypt. We see pictorial depictions of her “divine” birth, and scenes of innocent childhood, as also of the expedition she sent to the “land of Punt”, thought to be Somalia.

On the hills above can be spotted various caves “where the temple priests lived and were buried.”

Later in the day, when we visit the colossi of Memnon, enormous ruined statues, located a few kms away, we can still see the temple of Queen Hatshepsut.

She was evidently not only an astute wielder of power but also a far-sighted planner who made sure that her monument on the hillside made its presence felt for miles – and through the millennia.

If only her name had not been so difficult to pronounce it might have been even more on people’s lips today, is the tongue–in–cheek comment of the youngest in our tour group, who as usual has the last word.

Lepakshi

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INSIDE STORY

Where tales resonate

Lepakshi has history written all over it — from the Ramayana to a merchant’s devotion to the lord

Photos: Lakshmi Sharath

Architectural wonder Lepakshi

“Le pakshi’, (get up ,bird ) said Lord Rama to the fallen Jatayu who lost its wing to Ravana’s sword,” says my guide , a bit dramatically “and that is why the village is called so. See this sculpture, there are more stories...” his voice trails off.

I am in this small village, Lepakshi, near Hindupur in Anantpur district, looking at some of the rare mural paintings from the Vijaynagar era that adorn this ancient Veerabhadra temple.

The largest monolith Nandi stands here as a testimony to the building skills of ancient artisans. The sun’s rays touch the large sculptures in the unfinished kalyanamantapam of the temple.

Gods as artistes

The Gods are depicted as artistes — Brahma is on the cymbal, Narada on the tampura, and Shiva in his Nataraja avatar amongst others.

Stories myths and local lore resonate from almost every wall here. For instance, the hill on which the temple is built is called Kurmasaila as it resembles a tortoise. The giant multi-hooded Nagalinga was said to have been constructed out of a single boulder really fast — even before the cook finished preparing food for the workers. But the praise of the sculptor’s mother caused an “evil eye” and a crack in the boulder — the sculpture looks like it is split in the middle. The unfinished kalayanamandapam was built where Shiva and Parvati were believed to have got married.

Or, look at the carved large feet on the ground perennially filled with water — they are believed to be Seetha’s feet. “They also say it is Goddess Durga’s feet,” says the guide and shrugs when I ask, “Who is they?” Instead, he shows me the carved thali-like plates on the ground. “The locals were fed here,” he says.

While the panels, the sculptures and the paintings narrate stories from the Puranas and the epics, the heart wrenching story of two red marks on the walls of the shrine tell a sad tale. Virupanna, a merchant and treasurer of the Vijaynagar emperor, Achutadevaraya, decided to build a temple here when he found a sculpture of Veerabhadra here. He used the money from the treasury for the same when the king was away. The temple was almost completed, except for the kalyanamandapam, when the king returned to find his treasury empty and the temple built without his permission.

He ordered that Virupanna be blinded, but the merchant decided to punish himself by banging against the wall near the Kalyanamandapa.

The two red marks are said to be the stains left behind when the merchant gouged out his eyes. The village is also said to be called Lepa-akshi, because of this — village of the blinded eye.

The melancholy is a bit addictive, but the beauty of the pillars takes you away from the tragedy. The silence is mesmerising and the solitude seductive.

The rub of the green

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The rub of the green

C.D. Gopinath talks about the joy of playing on the Chepauk ground and the spirit that used to rule the gentlemen’s game

Photo: The Hindu Photo Archives

CHEPAUK THEN A match between the Commonwealth XI and India at the Madras Cricket Club in 1951.

Ironically, India’s first official Test victory came at a lively Madras pitch. With a sprinkling of grass, the Chepauk pitch in 1952 helped fast bowlers. While the English pacemen welcomed the patches of green, the Indian team was unhappy with Munuswamy, the groundsman.

As the only surviving member of that winning Indian side, I can tell you that Munuswamy could never be bullied into preparing tracks that suited our spinners. As matches in Madras invariably produced results, his approach was vindicated. Matches at Chepauk almost always lasted the course and his pitches held together for a full five days. In those days, corporate sponsorships were non-existent and revenues came from the gates. The authorities were happy if a match went the whole way.

Munuswamy was probably one of the reasons why the Madras team produced good fast bowlers such as Rangachari, Kanayiram and Dickinson. With its good grassy wicket, the Marina Grounds, managed by the Presidency College, also encouraged youngsters to take up fast bowling.

The grounds at Marina and Chepauk helped make Madras batsmen adept at playing in windy conditions that assisted swing bowling. Until 1965, when the M.A. Chidambaram Stadium was built, the Chepauk ground was wide open and washed by a gentle sea breeze most of the day.

There were other advantages in playing at the Madras Cricket Club. Unlike other clubs, players were provided lunch and tea during matches. The MCC team enjoyed the privilege of playing all its matches on its home ground. A big advantage when you consider that matches of local and national importance were played on turf, available only at MCC.

PRINCE FREDERICK

When M.A. Chidambaram became the Mayor of Madras, the Corporation Stadium (now Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium) was built. Matches organised by the Madras Cricket Association (as the Tamil Nadu Cricket Association was known then) were played there. In the 1950s and 1960s, this stadium witnessed many close and engrossing contests.

In those days, Madras and Mysore had an Ashes-like rivalry going between them. In a 1956 match at this ground, Madras’ wickets fell like nine pins and we were doddering at 65 for 5 at one stage. Madras bounced back after M. Balakrishnan and I put on 217 runs for the sixth wicket. Any match against Mysore brought out the best from us.

The Corporation Stadium however was not the best place for cricket. As it was used for many other sporting events, the pitch was flat and the outfield slow. Going back to Chepauk seemed the only reasonable solution. As MCC’s secretary and the Madras team’s captain, I had a foot in both camps and was privy to talks between the two cricket bodies. The MCC had the lease for the entire ground. After negotiations, the private club agreed to give a part of the ground to MCA to build a stadium.

An astronomical amount of money went into constructing the M.A. Chidambaram Stadium. This development signalled a willingness to spend on cricket facilities. But it was a long time before cricketers benefitted financially from the sport’s growth. In the 1950s and 1960s, the MCA (affiliated to the Board of Control for Cricket in India) did not have funds to put up visiting or Indian players at a hotel. These players were ‘billeted’ at houses of cricket fans.

We were paid Rs. 250 for a Test match then — we called it ‘smoke money’. But we never complained about the inadequate facilities or the poor remuneration. After all, we were playing for the country — there couldn’t be a more priceless gift.

As told to PRINCE FREDERICK

Bond of Tamil Screen

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Bond of Tamil screen

RANDOR GUY

Action-oriented thrillers earned Jaishankar the sobriquet.

A man of principles Jaishankar

The arrival of Hollywood’s latest Bond revives memories of our very own version — the unostentatious Jaishankar, who would have been 70 this year. One of the most popular Tamil cinema stars of 1960s and 1970s, he was involved in several action-oriented, thrilling entertainers and family drama. But justice has not been done to this actor, who was an excellent human being too.

Subramaniam Shankar was born on July 12, 1938. His father was a judicial magistrate. A typical Mylaporean, he went to the famous P.S. High School and on to Vivekananda College, where he did his Honours degree. He enrolled for Law but gave it up after a year because of his interests in fine arts.

A brief stint with Cho’s Viveka Fine Arts was followed by playing the lead role in Kalki’s “Amara Thara,” staged by Koothabiran’s Kalki Fine Arts. That, however, did not pave the way for his entry into cinema. Disappointed, he took up a job with Simpson and Co in Delhi. But he soon returned to Chennai and this time he was lucky.

His first success

A fine performance in a historical play drew the attention of Joseph Thaliath Junior, who cast him in his production ‘Iravum Pagalum’ (1965) in which he was christened Jaishankar.

The low budget movie produced by Citadel Productions and directed by Thaliath JR. also had a pretty new face, T.K.S. Vasantha. The taut thriller turned out to be a surprise package scoring well at the box office. Jaishankar had arrived.

The same year got him another success — AVM Productions’ ‘Kuzhandaiyum Deivamum.’ His charming manners, total absence of airs and ability to get on with people endeared him to the movie world. And opportunities poured in.

‘Panjavarna Kili,’ directed by editor-turned-filmmaker K. Shankar and written by noted screenwriter-filmmaker, Valampuri Somanathan with Jai and K.R. Vijaya in lead roles was again a hit.

Rama Sundaram, T.R. Sundaram’s son who took up production under the family banner Modern Theatres cast him in a number of films. Ramappa (as he was affectionately known) was an engineering graduate and the two men became close friends.

Jai was hero for many of Modern Theatres’ thrillers — ‘Iru Vallavargal’ (1966), ‘Vallavan Oruvan’ (1966), ‘Kaadalithaal Podhuma’ (1967), ‘Naangu Killadigal’ (1969), ‘CID Shankar’ (1970), ‘Karundhel Kannaayiram’ (1972) and others. And this earned him the sobriquet James Bond of Tamil cinema.

Jai’s hits in other genres include ‘Pattanathil Bootham’ (1967, directed by editor turned noted multilingual filmmaker M.V. Raman and written by Javert Seetharaman), ‘Nilagiri Express’ (1968, written by Cho, it was a well done suspense thriller with Vijayanirmala the female lead) ‘Jeevanamsam’ (1968, written and directed by Malliam Rajagopal. It was the launch pad for Lakshmi) ‘Nil-Gavani-Kaadhali’ (1969, directed by C.V. Rajendran and written by Chitralaya Gopu), ‘Poovaa Thalaiya’ (1969, produced by politician film producer Rama Arangannal and written and directed by K. Balachandar, the film was an excellent domestic comedy) ‘Nootruku Nooru’ (1971, written and directed by K. Balachandar ) to mention a few.

Sympathetic, he never made an issue when the cheques given by producers came back like a bad penny. He volunteered to step in when a new star scheduled to preside over an entertainment show let down the organiser.

The audience went hysterical seeing their James Bond on the dais. When the sponsors insisted on presenting him cash, Jai requested them to donate it to charity outfits. A man of principles, his support to the needy was always quiet and steady.

The family is continuing the good work, the best tribute that can be paid to a philanthropist and man of principles, which Jaishankar was.

B R Chopra A Tribute

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A long, meaningful innings

In a career spanning nearly six decades, producer-director B.R. Chopra made an amazing variety of films and television serials. A tribute

AHEAD OF HIS TIME B. R. Chopra

His was a soft voice which became animated when he reminisced about his early days in Lahore and passionate when he talked about his commitment to the art of film making. One of the most successful producer-directors of Hindi cinema, Baldev Raj (B.R.) Chopra who died in Mumbai recently at the age of 94 belonged to the category of Mehboob Khan, V. Shantaram and Raj Kapoor and richly deserved the Dadasaheb Phalke Award (1999) from the Government of India.

Chopra saab’s stupendous career which spanned nearly 60 years (starting with the 1949 flop “Karwat”) offered us an amazing variety of films — socially relevant, joyously entertaining, whodunits with an unusual twist and those that are stirringly patriotic. As head of B. R. Films which he started in 1955, Chopra saab produced 33 films, directed 18 and was also associated with some outstanding TV serials, of which ‘Mahabharat’ held the entire India under thrall.

Highlighting social issues

A scene from “Naya Daur”

During a 20 year association, I met him six or seven times and was amazed at his deep love for film making. He had the necessary background, having worked as a film journalist both in Lahore and in Bombay where the family migrated after Partition. Every time, his message was clear. “Films are for entertainment. But in a poor and divided country like India, they must do a little more, like highlighting some of our major social problems.” And how well he did it!

He was far ahead of his time. His most talked about film, “Naya Daur”, highlighted the man versus machine issue. As early as 1958, “Sadhana” focussed on the plight of prostitutes, while “Dhool Ka Phool” was about the plight of children born out of wedlock. “Dharam Putra”, which Shashi Kapoor regarded as one of his best films, did not click at the box office, but dealt with the important issue of national integration. After focussing on marital infidelity in “Gumrah”, Chopra saab in “Insaf Ka Tarazu” presented to us a heroine, Zeenat Aman, who was ready to take on her rapist and bring him to book.

Even as late as 2004, Chopra saab brought Amitabh Bachchan and Hema Malini together after several years to star in “Baghban” based on his own story on the disintegration of the joint family and its repercussions.

The themes were important. What was equally important was how he presented them. They were seldom preachy but had all the ingredients of successful commercial cinema. Again, ahead of his time, he gave us a songless court room drama “Kanoon”. He made two suspense films, “Ittefaq” (again songless) and “Dhund”, with a climax that left us gasping.

He realised the importance of good comedy, and the result? The unforgettable “Pati, Patni Aur Woh” and “Chotisi Baat”. “It is all okay to talk about the sanctity of marriage,” Chopra saab told me, smiling: “Do you deny that most males have a roving eye?”

Sanjeev Kumar, who according to Chopra saab was next to Dilip saab in acting skills, was ready to strip to his striped underpants and expose his bulging belly in a bathroom scene, one of the funniest in Hindi cinema. Chopra saab was keen to make a sequel to “Pati…”, but unfortunately, Sanjeev Kumar passed away and the idea was shelved. “I could not make the film without Sanjeev,” he confessed.

He tried many new techniques and most of them clicked in a big way. Despite his closeness to stars such as Dilip Kumar and Amitabh Bachchan, he felt good films could be made without big stars and proved it with films such as “Insaaf Ka Tarazu” and “Nikah”.

If the script needed dozens of big stars, Chopra saab didn’t hesitate to go ahead with the project. “Burning Train”, “Waqt” and “Humraaz” will vouch for this. Unlike other movie moguls, Chopra saab mostly favoured lesser known music director Ravi and promoted singers such as Mahendra Kapoor. Yet, B. R. Films invariably had outstanding music scores. “They suited my themes, and personally, I got along well with Ravi and Mahendra Kapoor. They knew what I wanted,” he explained.

Epic fascination

Why did he make the television blockbuster ‘Mahabharat’? “‘Mahabharat’ is part of Indian life,” he explained. “Second, the epic is packed with some of the most interesting stories that one can come across. Can any of our storywriters produce something like ‘Mahabharat’?” he asked.

The industry loved Chopra saab. His was the typical rags-to-riches story of a Partition victim. At 25, he was the sole breadwinner in a large family and was nearly bankrupt when his first film failed. So confident was Chopra saab about his knowledge and skills in film making that he was not deterred by failure, and went ahead. In the process, he not only achieved success but also became one of the most beloved leaders in the industry.

As Dilip Kumar said: “Chopra saab was warm, affectionate and approachable who cared for the welfare of everyone, including the spot boys on the sets. His education, upbringing and culture endowed him with a rare humanism which was reflected in the manner he made his films.”

V. GANGADHAR