Tuesday 10 April 2012

Naturally: Dyed in True Blue

Naturally.....

International Natural Dye Symposium, 2006

The Crafts Council of India

Paperback

Price unstated

*        *        *

I have an article on a passionate indigo-dyer of Basque origin, Jesus Ciriza - Larraona, in this beautiful publication. His unit, The Colours of Nature, is based in Auroville.




My opening paragraphs read:


"At the very heart of a vat of natural indigo lies a mystery. A mystery so  deep, so dark, and so unresolved that it had led to trade wars over four centuries, even to secret ingredients safeguarded by generations across continents and cultures.

"The dye waters in the vat and the bubble-like blue 'flowers' on its surface often mature for a decade or more. Within it are shrouded secrets about gender power, scientific home-truths and, oddly enough, clues to why natural dyes are still prized more than their synthetic counterparts in our consumer-centric, globalized world.


"From Pliny to William Morris, the world has been enchanted by the colour chemistry of indigo ~ its documented odyssey remains as multi-stranded as the most intricate carpets. The US-based textile scholar Mattiebele Gittinger once noted, 'It has been judged that there are nearly 300 dye-yielding plants in India. Of these, none was both artistically and commercially more important than indigo.

"Isn't that why Vasco da Gama's journey round the Cape of Good Hope in 1498 signalled a sea route by which indigo, valued like raw silk and tea, could be accessed by European traders? Or why the Yoruba dyers of Nigeria turned their process into an art couched in ceramic jars? Or why William Finch, a merchant entrusted by the East India Company to buy indigo in 1610, dated to outbid the emperor's mother, thus jeopardising his equations with the establishment, leading to his untimely death?

"Superstitions and local sciences have actively shaped the propagation of indigo. On Flores, an Indonesian island, sour fruit is forbidden near the vats ~ in case the fermented dye goes rancid. In southwest China, wood chips are used to darken the dye, while Savu islanders use betel nut and turmeric. In ancient Pompeii, a urine vat was placed outside the dye house for male visitors to provide the mildly alkaline reducing agent so crucial to woollen fibres. As a corollary to local wisdom, a Javan dye vat was known to 'sulk' if a marital dispute occurred in its vicinity. Or equating the vat with the womb, Thai dyers cover their vats in a hurry whenever a death in the village is reported. And in Japan, the world 'ai' embraces both the concepts of
'love' and 'indigo'...."   

Sunday 1 April 2012

The Mummy Factor


Favourite Stories for Girls

Puffin India 
2007
144 pages
Rs. 150
Paperback

*         *         *

I have a story in the Puffin anthology above, for girls of 10-plus. My story ~ The Mummy Factor ~ is about a little girl who is obsessed with mummies (yes, the Egyptian kind). 

It begins:


Bangalore, Aug. 13, 2004

Dear Di…

Being ten years old is driving me nuts. Yeah, you can choose between cashewnuts, almonds and … peanuts. It’s a definite no-no age.

How old are you?

Baba says I’m too big to wear denim skirts and candy-pink sneakers. He wants me to dress in a more lady-like fashion. His words, not mine. Ma says I’m too cheeky for my size. J 

As for Souk Dada and Soup Dada (my twin brothers Sukanto and Supriyo), they are much worse than brandy-breathing dragons. Just because they’re in the first year at that stinky, moss-covered St. Germain’s College, they never let me forget that I’m eight whole years younger.

You know what they call me? Midget! Pygmy! Semi-colon! Afterthought! (I wonder what that means). Just a few examples, so you know how odd they are.

Is there anywhere we can trade old siblings for new ones? I’d give mine away without a second sneeze. They’re ancient, all of 18 years old. If you know of a good swap centre, write back ASAP.

These days, I’m in a total mummy mood. Not Ma, you loop-soup, those Egyptian chappies all wrapped in bandages. I’ve collected enough stuff on them to pack a volcano with.

Would you have guessed that the mummy of an Egyptian Very Important Person had upto 20 layers of wrappings? Gulp!

Will you be my friend for life?

GR8 2 NO U (I love SMS, too),

Sreela Chatterjee aka The Perfect Class Prefect (PCP)


 

Bringing Up Dosa


The Puffin Book of Funny Stories for 7-year-olds.
Puffin India.
130 pages.
Paperback.
 2012.

 *         *         *

I have one funny story in the Puffin anthology above. It is titled, 'Bringing Up Dosa.' That's a major event in my life because I have never written for children this young before.

The story is about a girl of seven who does not like the baby brother in her life. And how ~ about a thousand words later ~ she loves him like crazy.

This is how the story begins:


“Mahika, where are you taking Dosa?” asks Ma. She blocks the way out of my baby brother’s room. 

I look at her through my round, pink-rimmed spectacles. I’m a big girl. I turned seven a week ago.

“To the postbox,” I say.  

“But why?” says Ma, kneeling. She’s puzzled.

I cling to Dosa in his blue blanket. I’ve stuck stamps, with Gandhi’s bald head, on Dosa’s forehead.

The blanket bundle goes chee-mee-kew, chee-chee-kee. It stinks of yucky pee.

Ma curls her arm around me and Dosa.

“Last year, at the post office, we saw letters and packets with stamps on each,” I say. 

“Meenakshi Akka said: the postman whisks it all away from a postbox. And sends it far far far away,” I add. “I’m sending teensy-weensy Dosa to Antarctica for the summer. Bangalore’s too hot in April…”

Ma laughs. Loud and long. Kew-mew-chee, goes Dosa.