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.

Collector’s item: The Oxford Illustrated Companion to South Indian Classical Music

Source http://www.hindu.com/fr/2009/03/13/stories/2009031351370500.htm

Collector’s item

LALITHAA KRISHNAN

The second edition of ‘The Oxford Illustrated Companion to South Indian Classical Music’ by Ludwig Pesch is out on the stands.

Photo: R. Shivaji Rao.

Perceptive: Ludwig Peschm.

Ludwig Pesch’s tryst with the Indian classical arts began in the late 1970s. His long-standing association with Kalakshetra, merging with its sylvan ambience and imbibing from distinguished mentors such as S. Rajaram and D. Pasupathi deepened h is perception of the subtly shaded nuances and the philosophy underlying South Indian classical music and dance. Having familiarised himself with precept, it was inevitable that Pesch be drawn to practice as well, learning the flute from H. Ramachandra Sastri and graduating to performance.

In 1999, ‘The Oxford Illustrated Companion to South Indian Classical Music’ authored by Pesch was published by Oxford University Press.

Vast scope

Pesch’s latest offering is the second edition of this publication. Compiling his painstakingly acquired knowledge on the subject into a book could not have been an easy task as the vast scope would have posed a challenge even to the musician or musicologist born and bred in the tradition. Others had done it before, with many efforts sliding into a pedantic morass that invariably succeeded in intimidating the lay reader or summoning the Sandman.

Not so with Pesch. The author’s scholarship extends beyond formal study and comprehension to a tone of ready empathy with the aesthete, whose instinctive appreciation of art forms, both familiar and unfamiliar, is in response to an inner call. In art, there is much that cannot be explained. Only experienced. Pesch unerringly homes in on this truth, trusting in intuition to guide him into spaces illuminated by the spark of enquiry and the glow of discovery that transform mere sight into vision. And herein lies the book’s USP.

A worthy addition

Three reasons that make this volume a must-read and a worthy addition to a classical music aficionado’s collection - the scope is comprehensive, the content is meticulously researched and accurately presented and the tone communicative, striking an instant rapport with the reader. Spanning a broad spectrum ranging from basic concepts, dynamics of voice and instruments, musical forms and composers to complexities of gamaka, raga, tala and rhythm, Pesch employs simple language and lucid explanations to unscramble jargon and decipher technicalities. Sifting, seeking and analysing but never overwhelming, the author engages the reader in a conversation that grows progressively absorbing in its traverse through deftly interwoven past and present, fact and belief, tradition and zeitgeist. The text is richly layered with the musings and quotes of savants and musicians such as George L. Hart, Rangaramanuja Ayyangar, Rabindranath Tagore, Joap Bor and Yehudi Menuhin.

At 514 pages inclusive of a glossary-cum-index, this tome is substantive but not exacting. Certainly, a book that can be judged by its tastefully designed cover that has you running your hand covetously over the embossed gold lettering accentuating a muted olive background graced with a mural depicting a colourful procession of female musicians playing instruments. The layout makes for pure reading pleasure with its vision-friendly font size and apt illustrations that include paintings, photographs, sketches, diagrams and staves.

The inside pages…

• From basic concepts, dynamics of voice and instruments to musical forms and composers

• Complexities of gamaka, raga, tala and rhythm explained in detail.

• Simple language and lucid explanations

• Quotes of savants and musicians such as George L. Hart, Rangaramanuja Ayyangar, Rabindranath Tagore, Joap Bor and Yehudi Menuhin.

Sweet fruits of labour:Fruit Shop On Greams Road

Sweet fruits of labour

Salim and Harris tell PRINCE FREDERICK how they built up their successful venture Fruit Shop on Greams Road

Photo: R. Ragu

TWO IS COMPANY Harris (left) and Salim

Barely out of college, Mohammed Salim started a plywood business in Choolai. A few years later, Harris Abdulla joined him as partner. It was a successful enterprise and they had nothing to complain about. But slowly, boredom set in. They were getting tired of looking at plywood day in and day out. At that time, they learnt about someone who wanted to let out a 250 sq.ft. commercial space on Greams Road.

The two bored timber businessmen took the space but kept it under lock and key for a long time. “We could not decide on a new business. In this state of indecision, six months went by,” recalls Salim.

With friends, Salim and Harris often played cricket at New College, the Gopalapuram Corporation Ground or at Harris’ uncle’s spacious residence opposite Anna Arivalayam. After cricket, they invariably went to a shop on Richie Street, where fresh fruit juices were served. Casually, over glasses of sweet lime juice, they decided one evening to start a fresh juice shop. “Initially, we thought it would be a second business,” says Harris.

Their families were appalled at the idea. “What do you know about making juices?" they asked, considering it a bad investment. Harris and Salim failed to convince them, but nevertheless went ahead with their “hare-brained idea”.

How it all began

“We were hunting for experts to run the shop,” reminisces Harris. They cobbled together a three-member team, and ‘Fruit Shop On Greams Road’ was open for business on June 16, 1995. Fifteen days on, they were faced with the threat of closure. The three young staffers, Roy, Arif and Ali got hold of a bike and went for a spin, well past midnight. “ When they reached Spurtank Road, they rammed into a buffalo.” Having sustained serious injuries, the three had to stay in bed for a few months. “We had to either close down or run the shop ourselves,” says Salim. “We decided to give it a try.”

“Surprisingly, collections rose to Rs. 3,500 a day from Rs. 500! We realised it made better business sense to be more involved. We would be up at 5 a.m. to purchase fruits and would be the ones to lock the shop at 1 a.m. Between these hours, we also managed the timber business,” says Harris. Working two shifts was beginning to tell on their health. Starved of sleep, Harris crashed his vehicle. He crashed once more. Clearly, they had to slow down. They brought down the shutters on the timber business.

“With ten outlets in Chennai and one in Dubai run in a highly professional, corporate fashion, we might today appear as if we followed a well-devised formula for success. Nothing can be farther from the truth,” says Salim. “The only thing going for us was our determination to take ‘Greams Road’ to every part of the city. Fearing we would be diluting our efforts to make this happen, we even gave up our restaurant ‘Galloping Gooseberry’, which was doing well.”

“We were like two bumble bees that bumbled into something great,” says Harris.

During that trying period, when Harris and Salim were mixing fruits and cutting plywood, they made a few mistakes. But they were graciously forgiven. Probably out of fatigue, one of them put more pepper than was necessary in Sam’s Pick Me Up (pomegranate juice with a dash of pepper).

“The juice had taken on a dark hue. The poor gentleman’s face changed after drinking it, but he left without uttering a word,” says Harris. “He returned the next day and told us gently that we had put too much pepper in his drink.”

Customer is king

Salim says customers such as this have been Fruit Shop’s main strength. “They forgave the occasional lapses and gave us feedback that helped improve our service,” he says.

Salim and Harris kept working on all the important areas — hygiene, health, pricing, flavouring and service.

“We use spotless white sugar. Our customers ask us if we use mineral water. The fact is: water goes into only six of the 120 juices we make. Our juices are mostly all fruits. Where milk is required, we use treated milk. Our ice is also treated. We thought of setting up a plant for ice treatment, but finally outsourced the work. Treated ice is made under our supervision,” says Salim.

“The boys at Fruit Shop are low on flamboyance. They are definitely not the ‘Hi, dude’ types. But are very polite and self-motivated.”

Salim and Harris say their unique flavouring is a big strength. It is one of the factors that has ensured continued customer loyalty and given the company a presence on Facebook and Orkut.

“Fans of Fruit Shop have created these profiles. They have discussions about our various outlets,” says Harris. “This is not surprising to us. All through the 14 years, we have not spent much on advertisements. We have grown mostly through satisfied customers who spread the word.”

http://www.hindu.com/fr/2009/02/20/stories/2009022051200100.htm

Sculpting a success story

T.S. SUBRAMANIAM

Sculpture, architecture and Vaastu sastra… these are a few fascinating facets of V. Ganapati Sthapati, recipient of this year’s Padma Bhushan.

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Space is everywhere. If this space is confined by a four-walled structure, it becomes a living organism.

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Photo: M. Karunakaran

THE ARTIST and his creations: V. Ganapati Sthapati

The Tiruvalluvar statue. .

Meeting 81-year old V. Ganapati Sthapati is an interesting experience. He can dazzle you with his scholarship of Tamil, Sanskrit, Vaastu Shilpa sastra, architecture and mathematics. He is a practising sculptor and an architect with a quest for resea rch. Even at this age, his spirit for learning has not dimmed. He is not afraid to speak out his mind either. “Sanskrit and Tamil are one. Technically, they are the same. Only we are fighting over them (about which is superior to the other),” he says and lists out words that are the same in both the languages. For example, ‘moolan’ in both means source, ‘kalam’ denotes time and ‘gnalam’ is world. Ganapati Sthapati was among those chosen this year for Padma Bhushan award. “It is a matter of pride that I have been chosen for the award,” he says with humility. “It gives me a sense of satisfaction, for the award is a recognition of our tradition.” The tradition that he represents is that of Viswakarmas and the Vaastu science of sculpture and architecture, including temple building. He is a descendant of the long lineage of traditional sculptors and temple architects — Viswakarmas — in Tamil Nadu.

According to him, Brahmarishi Mayan is the progenitor of Vaastu science, and the science of Shilpa sastra and architecture are based on mathematics. While others have merely defined architecture as the science of material space, Mayan has described it as ‘the pinnacle of achievement in mathematics.’ This mathematics implies the use of a unique measure called ‘Space-Time Units.’ Ganapati Sthapati himself describes architecture as ‘frozen music’ in which ‘vibrations are important.’

Subject of study

For 27 years, from 1961 to 1988, he was the principal of Government College of Architecture and Sculpture at Mamallapuram. While there, Ganapati Sthapati raised the status of the art of sculpting “from a mere craft practised in thatched road-side sheds to the four-walled precincts of the college where the students learnt the science and technology of tradition and came out as graduates with a B.Sc. in Temple Architecture.”

“Also the age old technical literature on Shilpa and Vaastu (architecture) shastras, which were both in Tamil and Sanskrit, were brought into the curriculum of the institute, thus elevating its academic status.” He argues that vastu means energy and vaastu means matter. “Energy contains matter and matter contains energy. This is our Veda and we practise this theory in architecture,” he says, and continues, “Space is everywhere. But you cannot see it. It has no form which can be seen with eyes. However, if this space is confined by a four-walled structure, it becomes a living organism. It can breathe. In doing this, I use orderly measures. These are backed by a mathematical formula... This technology is called Vaastu shastra.”

Ganapati Sthapati has designed and built 600 temples in different parts of the world including India, the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia, Singapore, Malaysia, Fiji, Sri Lanka and Kenya. He was the architect of Sri Swaminatha temple in New Delhi. He built the 133-foot tall statue of Tiruvalluvar at Kanyakumari, the Valluvar Kottam including its massive chariot in stone in Chennai, the administrative block of the Tamil University at Thanjavur and its library building, the Silappathikaram art gallery at Poompuhar, near Thanjavur, and many more.

When M. Karunanidhi became the Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu in 1996, he specifically commissioned Ganapati Sthapati to build a statue for Tiruvalluvar on the rocky outcrop, surrounded by sea on all sides, at Kanyakumari. The 133-foot tall, free-standing masterpiece in granite is a testimony to the ingenuity of the architectural skill of Ganapati Sthapati.

The chariot at Valluvar Kottam

Granite masterpiece

“The Tiruvalluvar statue has no foundation at all. It is mounted on a rock. There are 7,500 pieces of granite in the statue. We assembled the statue bit by bit. All pieces are inter-locked. It is a great achievement to interlock 7,500 pieces of granite,” he says.

Sceptics asked him whether such a tall statue could stand on a rock, buffeted by winds from the sea on all sides. They also wanted to know whether the statue’s neck and head could be integrated into the torso. To them, his reply was, “If the statue does not stand, you can chop off my head. As long as ‘alai’ (waves in Tamil) and ‘malai’ (hillock) stand, the ‘silai’ (the statue) and its ‘thalai’ (its head) will survive.” And survive it did the waves of tsunami in December 2004.

Building the chariot in stone at Valluvar Kottam was another daunting task. (Temple chariots are generally made of timber). This stone chariot has three parts: the lower one in inverted pyramid form, the middle one made of pillars and the top one in pyramid form supported by these pillars. The chariot has wheels made of stones. “Building the chariot in stone was difficult,” he says.

After he retired as the principal of the Government College of Architecture and Sculpture, Sthapati devoted his time to research. “I never wasted 20 years of my retired life,” he says. “I did research and discovered my roots.” He has written more than 40 books including those on Shilpa Sastra in Tamil and ‘The Scientific Edifice of Brihadeeswara.’ He is currently writing his 41st book and building a temple for Mayan near Mamallapuram.

Some landmarks

* The Tiruvalluvar statue in Kanyakumari — 7,500 pieces of granite are interlocked.

* The Valluvar Kottam including its massive chariot in stone, in Chennai

* The administrative block and library of the Tamil University at Thanjavur.

* The Silapathikaram art gallery at Poompuhar, near Thanjavur.

* More than 600 temples across the globe including the famous Sri Swaminatha temple in New Delhi.

A mathematician’s passion

A mathematician’s passion

SUGANTHY KRISHNAMACHARI

Of Valavan Kumaran, author of ‘Lakshman’s Dream.’

I find that every drama troupe here has a format, a formula. I didn’t want to be strait-jacketed. I wanted to give free rein to my imagination.

Versatile: Valavan Kumaran

Valavan Kumaran loves all classical arts of India. In fact he listens to Carnatic music, when he wants to think of how to go about his next play. “It helps me to shut out distractions and concentrate on my play,” he says.

A French citizen, he left India at the age of 14, and finished his schooling and his University education in France. In 1997, he started his own theatre group in France, and travelled from village to village staging plays. In 2001, he joined the Theatre du Soleil, where he acted in two plays directed by Ariane Mushkin.

Kumaran has a Ph.D in Non-Commutative Geometry from Marseilles University, and he taught there for four years, before he took to full time theatre.

Mathematics and theatre – what’s the connection? “Both are beautiful,” says Kumaran.

Agreed, but Maths has a different kind of beauty. Austere beauty, without the trappings of painting or music, was how Russell saw mathematics. Why did Kumaran prefer the beauty of theatre to the cold and austere beauty of Mathematics? “Even as a child, I wanted to be a theatre person,” he says.

Then why didn’t he join a theatre group early on? “I find that every drama troupe here has a format, a formula. I didn’t want to be strait-jacketed. I wanted to give free rein to my imagination. That didn’t seem possible in any of the theatre groups in Tamil Nadu.”

In a conversation that ranges from Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle and the work of mathematician Alain Connes to Peter Brooks’ plays, Kumaran’s passion for a lot of things is evident. But it is theatre that has a special place in his heart.

Is he happy with the theatre scene in Tamil Nadu today? “ No,” he says. “There is no patronage from the Government. If we have to hire the Museum Theatre for an evening, we have to pay 25,000 rupees. Moreover, here audiences seem to be committed to certain languages. Some will only go to English plays, some only to Tamil plays. Not much importance is given to directing here. I find Indian classical arts moving, but I don’t like drama in Tamil Nadu, whether in English or Tamil.”

Kumaran laments the lack of theatre training in Tamil Nadu. “People think that it is only music and dance that need training, and they assume anyone can act, without training.”

How did he get interested in koothu? Kumaran staged his play “Midnight Traveller,” at the drama festival in Purisai.

“I was not sure of its reception in Purisai. The story is about a young man who dons the role of a woman in a village play. He is mocked and ostracised, and he leaves the village. He travels through India, and meets many women, each of whom touches his heart, and each of whom speaks a different language.” The play had seven languages in it — Hindi, Gujarati, Telugu, Khasi, English, French and Tamil. To his surprise and delight, the villagers liked the play.

His troupe attended a workshop on koothu in Purisai. Later, he met Purisai Sambandam, and was impressed by his method of transmitting the art of theru-k-koothu. It reminded him of his experiences at the Theatre du Soleil, and an idea for a play began to take shape in his mind.

Cheap gimmicks

“Not all performers of koothu stick to tradition. Some of them resort to cheap gimmicks for the sake of popularity. So I wanted to show the dangers to the tradition of koothu, through my play “Lakshman’s dream.’”

What are the gimmicks he is talking about?

“ I’ve actually heard some village artistes use double meaning dialogue.”

Double entendres? “No, ‘double entendres’ as you use it , is not correct French. That is an Anglicised usage. The correct French expression would be ‘double sens,’” he corrects. “ Anyway, to continue, it’s not just vulgarity, it’s the very tampering with the tradition of an art that I disapprove of.”

There are also innovations in Carnatic music and Bharatanatyam, that many frown upon. He might just as well have done a play on any art form. “That’s true. For instance in music and dance, I don’t like fusion. The marrying together of two different art forms is abhorrent to me,” Kumaran shudders.

Kumaran has made Chennai his home. Future projects? Dreams? “I want to do a play based on the Rig Veda. I want to learn Sanskrit and Bharatanatyam. I’m deeply interested in our religious literature and our mythological stories. The Bhagavad Gita offers invaluable lessons on coping with the ups and downs of life.”

Kumaran speaks French, Tamil and English, and that’s the order of his competence in the three languages too, he laughs.

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