Tuesday 10 April 2012

Naturally: Dyed in True Blue

Naturally.....

International Natural Dye Symposium, 2006

The Crafts Council of India

Paperback

Price unstated

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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

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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.

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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.



Saturday 31 March 2012

Manjit Bawa: Readings

I have an interview with the late Indian artist Manjit Bawa, titled 'Art is an Attitude' in this richly-compiled tribute to him, published by the Lalit Kala Akademi.




'Readings: Manjit Bawa’ 

Compiled and edited by Ina Puri
Lalit Kala Akademi
New Delhi
2010
226 pages. 
Full colour illustrations.
Rs. 1,000.

 

Manu Parekh: Banaras - Eternity watches Time


 Manu Parekh: Banaras - Eternity watches Time 

Mapin Publishing and Lund Humphries
224 pages
84 colour illustrations
2007
Hardcover
Rs. 2,000/ £35.00
ISBN: 978-0-85331-963-4




The jacket blurb reads:

Situated on the Ganges, Banaras is a pilgrimage site where the Hindu faithful bathe in the sacred river. The site contains more than 1,500 temples and mosques and 100 bathing and burning ghats, of which Manikarnika ghat is the most sacred. To die in Banaras is to die blessed; many move here to live out their final days.

Manu Parekh has executed a series of paintings inspired by the city. In turn, this book is a collection of the essays by eight writers who have been inspired by his work. Tanuj Berry considers the use of red in the Banaras paintings while Aditi De looks at the theme of holiness and pilgrimage. These essays offer a thorough assessment of the themes and motivations in the series. We hear the voice of Manu Parekh in an interview with the artist in which he explains what attracted him to Banaras and how the city ignited his creativity.

The Banaras series is a symbolic rendering of the relationship between faith and fear, a dynamic which the artist identifies as uniquely Indian. Painted in the Indian Expressionist style, these works have a significant role in the development of modern Indian painting.

The contents:


~ Foreword: Tanuj Berry and Saman Malik
~ A Sanctum of the Human Spirit: Aditi De
~ Night Landscape of Banaras: Peter Osborne
~ Eternity Watches Time: Ashok Vajpeyi
~ Landscape as Mindscape: Meera Menezes
~ Talking da Vinci and Tagore: Meera Menezes
~ The Sensual Engine: How to Find Majaa in Manu Parekh's Banaras: Jeet Thayil
~ No One is Alone in Banaras: Ashok Vajpeyi
~ Banaras in Monsoon: Marilyn Rushton
~ Landscape of Banaras: Peter Osborne
~ Dawn Light Deities: Marilyn Rushton
~ Moonlight Banaras: Marilyn Rushton
~ The Thrice-Named City: A Colour Alphabet: Jeet Thayil
~ Banaras in Red: Tanuj Berry
~ The Blue Surge of Banaras: Aditi De
Chronology
Notes on Contributors.

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I have two essays in the beautifully produced Lund Humphries/ Mapin book about artist Manu Parekh's diptychs and triptrychs on the holy city of Banaras.

The opening essay, titled 'A sanctum of the holy spirit,' explores why the city inspires great works of art.

An excerpt:


On the canvas lie mere hints. Of journeys without route maps. Or puzzles sans solutions. Or even landscapes untraceable by a normal intelligence.

What is this mythic landscape? Peopled by Saivite shades, by the eternal union of Varuna and Assi, a fusion beyond mere tributaries or a divine conclave. Or even a vision beyond 108 avatars. Reincarnated, rising from the ashes of each creation, infinitely potent, indestructible beyond imagining. And deeply imbued with the power to wash away all earthly sins.

Awash in brush strokes propelled by emotion, orgasmic colour frets, fumes, fusses and pauses for no man. It synthesizes dawn and dusk in a timeless city. It harnesses the mutual ecstasy of darkness and light. It mutes, suggests, then shrouds over, the potency of a higher power.

Can a city ever embody all the thoughts of its denizens since it rose from the dust? Why should religion be stifled by a name, a face, a local habitation? What dreams, what prayers, what progressive thoughts direct its longevity, its teeming paean to a world beyond the merely mortal?

Is Banaras, then, a search for a resting space for ancestral spirits? A destination between the now and the thereafter?  An elusive eternal search without an anchor, or even a horizon? 

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The closing interview-based essay is titled 'The Blue Surge of Banaras.' An excerpt:

 
What distinguishes the energy of Banaras from that of other cities? How does a city evolve from a mere locale to a spiritual harbour? Can inspiration spring from jostling crowds by Ganga-side shrines, a shakti pitha, a jyotirlinga, once named Avimukta? Can great devotion wash away a mortal sin?

I feel my Calcutta period was an inner landscape, while Banaras is an outer one. The latter is distinctive because of its light and shadows, both natural and manmade. In the decoration of a temple, its garba dwar, the drama enacted within it, I glimpsed the varied human activity I so admired in Calcutta. I found here the Indian quality of light I admired in Rabindranath Tagore’s paintings.

But the biggest attraction to me was the people and their collective faith. One day, I was waiting at the Dasashwamedh Ghat. It was filled with young married couples in bright clothes, with red and yellow flowers all around. Soon afterwards, at the Manikarnika Ghat, I saw the same flowers around a body laid out for the last rites.

I vividly recall the shaven head of a widow amidst rituals. People may be uneducated, but not unintelligent. They followed the priest through the rituals without question because of their love for their elders. When I roamed about Banaras at night, often I’d come across a small mandir lit from within. I’d discern a sudden movement ~ a pujari performing rites.

Life and death co-exist so organically in Banaras. That attracts me ~ the everyday evidence of common people bathing in the Ganga, praying at a shrine, then re-entering life. In this series, I tried to create a human space without using human beings. If I had put a person or a face in, it would have become a calendar!





The Madras Metaphor: P S Nandhan

My earliest art essay in a book was on the Chennai-based sculptor, P S Nandan. He lives in the Cholamandal Artists Village at Injambakkam. 

An excerpt from the 1992 piece about this retiring, reticent artist:

"When Nandan, with his roots firmly embedded in the folk tradition turns to explore the realm of abstract sculpture in granite, wood, or metal, questions inevitably surface, both about his medium and his motivation. This is particularly true with regard to his current granite series titled 'Movement of Lines,' which twists out of the innards of solid rock the motion inherent in all natural forms, the rhythm of shore-bound waves, the sway of branches in mid-motion, the visual poetry of clouds as they move. Preserving the grainy texture of the substance, which is reverentially left undisturbed, the sculptor wrests from the unmoving mass spatial arrangements which harmonize the logical requirements of abstraction with the basic tenets of folk art..." 


The essay was commissioned by Prof. Josef James for the volume below:


  
Contemporary Indian Sculpture: The Madras Metaphor

Edited by Josef James
Oxford University Press
1993
168 pages
Hardcover
Rs. 750

The arts beat! Feel the heat!

'The art beat! Feel the heat'

That's the title of my essay on covering the arts in the Indian media since June 1976. It's a tongue-in-cheek, informal, straight-from-the-heart piece, peppered with anecdotes and encounters in real time. 

The essay can be found in the book below:





'21st century journalism in India'

Edited by Nalini Rajan
2007
324 pages
Hardcover
Rs. 695