April - 2013 by Projects Abroad

e e r F

April 2013

Volume 2, Issue 41

Sponsored by:

Jaipur Lit Festival: A Literary Sangam Plus: Blazing a new trail: Tamil writers Ambai, Salma, Boutha Ayyanar, Kutti Revathi and Sukirtharani

Editor Dr. Nandini Murali

Contents April 2013 | Issue No. 41

Copy Editor Bhuvana Venkatesh Journalism Supervisor

B. Pooja

02 Journalism Administrator G. Durgairajan Designer & Technical Support

T. Jesuraja

Reporters & Photographers

Florian Thomas Gabrielle Trenbath Isabelle Brotherton-Ratcliffe Krysten Maier Loretta Dean 2

31 35

Matthew Haigh Nadine Rechsteiner

Patrick Smith Takuma Matsumoto

41 Cover Photograph Tom Delamere

Sivakasi Projects Abroad Pvt. Ltd., Contact: editor@maduraimessenger.org

45 47 49 51 53 55

MADURAI MESSENGER No. 17, T.P.K Road Pasumalai Madurai – 625004 Tamil Nadu India Tel. 0452-2370269

57 58 59 60 61 62 63

EDITOR’S CORNER Of Bubbles and Books COVER STORY Mainstreaming Literature in Indian Languages: From the Margin to the Centre JLF: Through a Volunteer’s Eyes IN CONVERSATION Profiles of Tamil Writers Ambai, Salma, Sukirtharani, Boutha Ayyanar and Kutti Revathi FOOD TRAIL There’s Something in the Water CULTURE Maa Madurai Potruvom: Bridging the Past and Present ART Tattoos: Engravings on the Human Body YOUNG ACHIEVERS A Winning Performance: Adhyapana School Shows the Way TRAVEL Adventures in Travel BOOK REVIEW Rudali: Challenging Ideas of Western Feminism Ambai’s Two Novellas and a Story: A Slice of Life Wild Girls Wicked Words: A Stellar Poetry Anthology FILM REVIEW 15, Park Avenue: Blurred Lines, Fragmented Boundaries The Japanese Wife: An Unusual Love Monsoon Wedding: The Big Fat Indian Wedding FIRST IMPRESSIONS Of Contrasts and Paradoxes Vanakkam - Sound Horn! ‘Time-less’ Indian Experience Sens-ational India! The Norwegian Connection Life without Starbucks and a Nice Cold Beer! LASTING IMPRESSIONS Farewell to Madurai

EDITOR’S CORNER

Of Bubbles and Books

ne of my enduring memories of childhood is watching a circus show. Seated in the front row, I was fascinated by the clowns. Although they provided comic relief, one scene still remains fresh, despite the blur of intervening decades. A clown threw a ball at the crowd. I happened to catch it. As I got up to throw it back to him, our eyes locked, just for an instant. Although I was only a child, I noticed that the eyes were brimming with sadness. Was he trying to convey something to me? That life’s sorrows are to be savoured as much as its joys? That people who make others laugh, harbour secret sorrows that others may not even be aware of? Another childhood pastime was blowing bubbles. As I dipped the blower into soapy water and took a deep breath, little balloons of bubbles streamed into the air… vanishing as rapidly as they appeared. In the innocence that only children are capable of, I believed that I did not have to chase rainbows. For they were already cocooned inside the bubble. And in the bubbles, I also glimpsed the face of the clown. Joyful, yet sad. Years later, as a writer, I realize it is life that offers me infinite possibilities for weaving stories, using the warp and weft of the human experience. Literature mirrors life. And like a mirror, it reflects only what is there. Our cover story on the Jaipur Lit Festival 2013 clearly shows us the ability of narratives to knit people beyond borders and boundaries, underscoring the universality of literature. My young friend Krysten Maier, who wrote the cover story, introduced me to the graphic novel. Indeed the universality of human emotions enables us to identify with the gendered oppression of growing up in pre and post revolution Iran in the mid 1970s, so charmingly narrated by Marjane Starapi in her brilliant graphic novel Persepolis. Or the nuanced rendering of what it means to be a woman in a man’s world, so achingly portrayed with deft minimalism by well known Tamil short story writer Ambai. Having spent half a life time in daily communion with the world of books, they are like a perennial river whose nourishing waters sustain my soul. Despite our many differences of gender, race, case, ethnicity and language, as humans, we are more similar than different. The wise clown knew this truth better than any one.

Dr. Nandini Murali Editor

Madurai Messenger Cover Story April 2013

In rapt attention- Book lovers at JLF

Festival time- The literary carnival at JLF

Mainstreaming Literature in Indian Languages:

From the Margin to the Centre Krysten Maier, a graduate in World Literature from Vancouver, Canada, volunteered at the recently concluded Jaipur Lit Festival, one of the world’s foremost literary extravaganzas. There she saw for herself the amazing power of books, writing, and authors to knit people across cultures, and languages into a seamless whole of human experience—which is what literature is all about By Krysten Maier Canada A section of the audience at the JLF

January 23, 2013,Jaipur. The streets are abuzz with curiosity and speculation as taxi drivers and rickshaw vallas are busier than ever, taking fares from all over the country and the world. They all utter the same destination: Diggi Palace. Passersby look on with wonder as workers erect archways and tents and colourful streamers at the historical palace in Rajasthan’s pink city. The city prepares to welcome the footfalls of thousands of eager, avid lovers of books. Why this strange phenomenon? It’s that time of year again for the DSC Jaipur Literature Festival! A world renowned spectacle, the greatest literary show on earth, and the sole reason I traveled some 2,300 kilometers from Madurai to the North—I knew it was an event not to be missed. An Event of Epic Proportions From January 24 to 28, this grand event rocked Jaipur with a non-stop roster of debates, performances, readings, discussions, and interactive workshops from an incredible host of literary figures. The Jaipur Lit Fest boasts of being the largest of its kind in Asia-Pacific, skyrocketing to this status in a mere six years of existence. More than just a confluence for readers and book lovers, Jaipur’s Fest is a festival of ideas. Writing affects everything and can touch on every aspect of life, as a means of communication and channel for the dissemination of information, as well as being one of the most widely recognized forms of leisure. Books are therefore the perfect centre upon which to build a stage for the public to tackle issues facing India and the world. Festival producer Sanjoy Roy—backed by his crew at Teamwork Productions—has a clear mandate for this festival: provide a democratic platform that facilitates engagement

and understanding of the world around us through literature and ideas. “It’s about voices,” he says. There is certainly no shortage of those in India, and the festival’s primary goal is to accommodate every one of them to the best of its ability. The festival wishes to provide communication through debates, discussion, and conversation from India and the world. “My favourite part is that this actually is a platform for discussion,” says 21-year-old festival-goer Vania Scott. “It’s a different environment here, you can just enjoy and you can just feel the love for literature, books, and there are so many interesting people around.” That this young festival has enjoyed exponential success, growing vastly in a very short period, is surely testament to the success of this strategy. William Dalrymple, festival co-director, jokingly recalls the first year, 2005. The seed of a festival had only fourteen guests, “most of whom were tourists who took the wrong turn.” The following year they gleaned just enough attention to fill Durbar Hall, now Diggi’s smallest venue, and were up to four hundred people in 2007. From there it

ballooned to a staggering 120,000 people last year. This year was just the same, if not greater. No longer just lost tourists and well-informed locals, now Jaipur is a destination for the world’s public.

Everyone is Welcome “Inclusive” became my mantra as I joined the ranks of volunteers who make the completely free event possible. “Everyone is welcome,” Sanjoy would have us repeat again and again, as we became sources of identity for the festival. Man or woman, old or young, no matter what nationality— everyone is equal. It’s all about building goodwill. Though debates may get heated and differences of opinion are abundant, I learned that in fact, festivals like this operate on the assumption of mutual respect for the opinions of others, no matter how they differ from one’s own. William Dalrymple, prides himself on helping to make JLF “the most democratic and egalitarian book festival in the world.” He emphasized this message in his opening letter saying,

Madurai Messenger Cover Story April 2013

I learned that in fact, festivals like this, which operate on such a large scale, do not smother the voices of Tamil, Kannada or Marathi. Quite on the contrary, this festival may present a unique, otherwise impossible opportunity to put works from these languages to the global audience

“I’m surprised that not more of the talks are in Hindi,” she professes. “Some of the sessions switch from English to Hindi, but say, more than 90 percent are in English which seems slightly out of place considering we are in India.” We agreed that it does make sense considering there’s a percentage of foreigners attending and a large percentage of people from other parts of India that don’t necessarily speak Hindi. Still, this domestication did not sit right with Beatrice. “I was told in the beginning that it was much more in Hindi and this is probably not the first year that it’s changed but it’s quite noticeable that this year there’s far more English.” While I was also taken aback at first by this seemingly colonial concession, I soon realized that it was the only way such a festival can function, and the best method for the transmission of Indian language literature. To retain sessions in the original languages of texts would be to exclude and divide, the exact opposite of the festival’s intent. English is a great equalizer and unifier, as the paradigm of the festival demonstrates. Sessions were still able to maintain their focus on the individual aspects of India during interactions in English. Obviously as the festival has grown, the organizers realized the importance of a common language and the shift from Hindi to English has gradually been made. In fact, the rapid expansion of the festival could be largely attributed to this very decision.

“There are no reserved spaces for grandees; our authors mingle with the crowds and eat with them on a first-come, first-served basis.” Dalrymple himself could be found, on any given day during the festival, plopping himself down on the ground in front of the first row to catch a listen to a talk with his wife and kids. If a volunteer ever offered him a chair, he would politely decline and go on listening with boyish delight.

Hook, Line, and Sinker

But surely not everyone shares this voracious passion for knowledge. How can Jaipur attract such a large public? It’s not really a matter of “if you build it, they will come”, but rather “if you make it sexy, how could they not come?” The Jaipur Literature Festival is carefully organized to attract all demographics with the promise of a glimpse of Bollywood stars and cricket pros, even the chance to catch an autograph after a talk. If that’s not enough, then maybe the evening concerts at a meager Rs. 300 entry fee could entice, with famous Rajasthani artistes as well as popular singers featured on MTV. Even if big name performances don’t appeal, the festival’s cost-free charm surely would. Folks can come and wander around the grounds, taking it all in at an easy pace, maybe sipping on a terracotta pot of tea, indulging in the various food vendors’ delicacies, or just sitting on the grass with a front row seat for people-watching. “I love the festival because I get to meet new people, make new friends, and I really like observing people,” says volunteer Sakhi Scott, 19. There’s something for everybody. While all these factors add to the draw, the meat of the festival rests, of course, in the speakers who come from every corner of India and beyond to fill the program’s sessions. The hope is that those who come for the Dalai Lama will stay and discover the pantheon of academics, scholars, and artists on the rest of the bill. JLF 2013 featured over 300 voices in the form of authors, script-writers, publishers, scholars, economists, and more. But no matter the scale, a cultural festival about India is a daunting prospect. How is it possible to represent all of such a vast and various country, which at times seems downright untrappable in essence? Where do the dialects belong? How can the voice of a single Indian language stand up in this sea of shouts, this babble that makes up the Indian collective?

Regional Realities Fearless leader - Festival director William Dalrymple addressing the audience

she has put together in all its multi-linguistic glory.” This may be one of the few chances the representatives of writing in Indian languages get to cross over into the nation’s public.

Well known Tamil writer Ambai at the JLF

I set off into the field to find out just that. By listening to sessions and interacting with speakers and guests, I hoped to learn how regional writers from every region in India are represented in such a behemoth festival. I learned that in fact, festivals like this, which operate on such a large scale, do not smother the voices of Tamil, Kannada, or Marathi. Quite on the contrary, this festival may present a unique, otherwise impossible opportunity to put the works from these languages to the global audience.

A Festival of Babel It can confidently be said that the festival’s attention to diversity and respect for plurality does not just stand for the guests. The attention to diversity extends to the carefully chosen speakers that comprise the intellectual line up for the year, and pays strict attention to accommodating the many languages of India. Dalrymple praised his colleague and fellow co-director Namita Gokhale on “the extraordinary Indian list

Gokhale writes, in her letter of address, “As the lawns of Diggi Palace resonate with Bhojpuri and Maithili, Rajasthani and Santhali, Hindi and English, Spanish and French, Arabic, Farsi and Urdu, Sanskrit and Punjabi, Sindhi, Tamil, Malayalam, Kannada, and many other languages, it is an occasion to celebrate the vibrant Indian multivocality.” While it is sure that, as she puts it, the festival revives the rich tapestry of the interdependent culture that is unique to India, how can such an ambitious goal be achieved?

The Language of Discourse It starts with English. In the continuation of a running paradox of India, the festival prides itself on being a celebration of linguistic diversity, yet everything unfolds in translation. English has become the language of discourse, a common ground and connector for the plurality. For someone like myself, coming into India armed solely with English as a means for communication, I was glad to be able to participate in the dialogue of the festival. I spoke with fellow foreigner volunteer Beatrice Champ, 22, from France, about this noticeable lack of spoken Indian languages at Jaipur.

One particular session, called “The Language of Literature” highlighted four Indian language writers—Ambai, who writes in Tamil, Benyamin Daniel, in Malayalam, Sitanshu Yashaschandra, in Gujarati, and Manil Suri, who chooses to write in English despite growing up around Punjabi, Hindi, and Marathi. The bottom line was the same for each of these artistes: they write in the language they grew up with, the language they think and dream in. “I write in Gujarati because I write,” muses Yashaschandra. It is not a matter of choice but of necessity. Writing is a craft, and of course it is best executed in the language that one is most comfortable with. The choice is simple, but it can present the problem of attaining readership. However, even as these regional writers stay true to their roots, language is constantly evolving. Within the mother tongues of region-specific writers are many other languages of India, influenced by border and travel. Benyamin Daniel talks about books that he considers to be Malayalam novels written in English; in this case Indian writing is not so dependent on language as it on culture. Manil Suri emphasizes that readers bring their own experience to the text anyway, so authors must know how to lose control of how their piece is received. As Ambai states, “Language harmonizes all experiences.” She can reach people with her stories no matter what the language of presentation. Equally, her native language does not restrict the culture of her subjects: “I can write anything in Tamil, why should I just write

Madurai Messenger Cover Story April 2013

A pink welcome to the magnificent Jaipur Literature Festival 2013

about people who eat idlis?” This is exactly the kind of harmony of contrasts, unity within diversity that the festival represents and perfect example of the role the JLF plays in mainstreaming literature in Indian languages.

The Task of the Translator Having sessions in English is a great way of connecting writers from various dialects in an interesting way in addition to presenting these smaller scale authors to a wide audience. However, that is only half the battle, as the next step in the festival’s mainstreaming of Indian language literature is getting the books into the hands of the public. While most of the authors at JLF are fluent enough to speak English besides their mother tongue, presenting their texts in this second language is another story. That’s where the translator comes in. This typically behind-the-scenes figure was not neglected at this festival celebrating writing, but noted for its importance in the diffusion of Indian language writing.

In a session entitled “The Face Behind the Mask”, four prominent figures in the world of translation in India hash out issues in their work. Along with the Punjabi author and translator Ira Pande and Urdu-speaking Saleem Kidwai, two Tamil representatives sat on the panel. The first was poet and author Lakshmi Kannan, who actually translates her own work into English and Hindi—quite unusual for the average author. The second was the highly regarded Lakshmi Holmstrom, strictly a translator from Tamil into English. These speakers stand sentinel as the guardians of literature in Indian languages, preserving its relevance and lifespan. The values of translation came out in this talk, values that run very closely in parallel with those of the festival at large. Just as the festival is a celebration of literature, we translate because we want to celebrate a piece of work. Just as the festival introduces authors to the world, we translate to make a piece better known. Lakshmi Holmstrom

Festival producer Sanjoy Roy (extreme left) giving many thanks to the team, including festival director William Dalrymple, Namita Gohkale and Sirish Rao, as well as the many supporters of the festival

defends the value of English, asserting that “Translation is the only way to put a novel to a world audience.” Her fellow Tamil panelist agrees, saying that amidst all the English-bashing that Indian purists postulate—calling working in translation intellectual dishonesty— translation is a necessary process. Lakshmi Kannan asserts that, “The two texts can’t just be the same, but both are good.”

translation. There isn’t the problem of doubt of meaning in self-translation, but nevertheless finding equivalents for a language of nuanced connotations that is Tamil can be near impossible. Lakshmi Holmstrom affirms this but is up to the task, armed with a thorough knowledge of metrics and prosody, the linguistic nuances of each language, and a strong knowledge of the classics.

It is faithfulness to the text that is the most important, postulates Holmstrom. One cannot be faithful to every word, but faithful to the author’s voice in order to capture the resonance and pay attention to how culture translates. This translator defines her work as “a skillful negotiation between two texts, two languages” and dubs the translator the closest reader there is, hoping to achieve a text that stands on its own. Although poet and novelist Lakshmi Kannan translates only select texts from her own body of work, it is nevertheless a further testament to the difficulty of

In a truly “festival” moment, I had an impromptu conversation with Holmstrom about her origins as a translator. I experienced first hand the mission of the festival in opening a dialogue between the commoner and literary personality as we traded thoughts, and our conversation was joined by Benyamin Daniel, sitting just nearby.

A Woman of Many Words

Lakshmi Holmstrom translates as a labour of love. She finds texts she is passionate about and translates them in order to share the Tamil gems with the

general population. The Jaipur Literature Festival hosted the book launch of Holmstrom’s latest work, a collection of poetry by Tamil feminist poets entitled Wild Girls Wicked Words. These book launches are one of the most unique features of the Jaipur festival; this year there were fourteen spot lit books over the five days. This is just another demonstration of how proactive this festival is in promoting literature from every region of India. Lakshmi’s love of language was clear as she explained her attraction to word play in a prim British accent. Translation became a very natural way for her to feel her way between the two languages she equally rooted herself in. Her first foray into the world of professional translation was when she was asked to compile a book of stories by Indian women. “I was very anxious that I wouldn’t just use stories written in English,” recalls Lakshmi Holmstrom, “but introduce the reader to this rich literature and the regional

languages.” Initially struck by Ambai’s short stories, “Yellow Fish” became her first professional translation, which led to more. The rest is history, as they say. Holmstrom has worked not only on Tamil women writers, but Dalit women and men—a challenge in its dialect and use of colloquial language—as well as poetry from Sri Lankan poets charting the experience of the war. She insists on the importance of bringing Tamil literature to a wider audience as it is a classical language, like Sanskrit, “But where Sanskrit is a dead language,” she tells me, “Tamil is growing.” I sit back and enjoy a private session as Holmstrom and Daniel discuss the particularities of their respective languages and the importance of their identities to India as a whole. I found this woman to be the perfect ambassador to the ideals of the Jaipur Literature Festival considering her key role in the dissemination of regional or marginalized writing.

Madurai Messenger Cover Story April 2013

Lakshmi Holmstrom defends the value of English, asserting that “Translation is the only way to put a novel to a world audience”

Eminent Transalator Lakshmi Holmstrom, for whom transalation is a labour of love

Taking the Festival Home After the speeches have been given, final debates settled, questions posed and answered, books launched and signed, and thank yous made at the end of five glorious days, the Jaipur Literature Festival 2013 had to draw to a close. Many of the volunteers and attendees didn’t want the ride to end. But there is one last aspect of the festival that must be recognized, the final brick in the Tower of Babel, a key element to the efforts to mainstream literature in Indian languages. That is, of course, the leap from voice to page, the product of the translator’s work and publisher’s toils: the festival bookstore. This year the bookstore was sponsored by Full Circle, an independent Indian publishing house and chain of retail shops, which featured works from every speaker in attendance. Avid readers and guests who were moved by or introduced to a new favourite poet or author could go to the shop, located in the heart of the festival grounds, and take a piece of the festival home with them. No other bookstore in the world could claim such a collection of rare gems and diverse reads of the entire Indian spectrum peppered with world literature. No other bookstore could

mainline Indian language writers to the general public, the stock being handpicked and festival-specific.

Happy Endings Many of the writers I encountered, during my sojourn at the Jaipur Literature Festival, were there for the first time, and often warily so. In spite of the overwhelming scale and scope, I have no doubt that they all came out of it realizing the value and power an event like this possesses to bring their ideas, verses, and musings to the people who actively seek it out. My main volunteer task was coordinating author signing, so I would ask every speaker if they were free to sign books after the session. Most writers in Indian languages told me they weren’t sure that anyone would have copies to be signed. I knowingly asked them to come to the table anyway. Every single time these fantastic writers were swamped before they even got near the signing area. This just goes to show the power of the magnificent JLF in capturing audiences, winning hearts, changing minds, and influencing lives, all with the little tool we call literature. That’s what I call a happy ending.

Oh, To Live Again! Literary icon Mahasweta Devi on the right to dream… to create… to reconnect with our humanity By Krysten Maier Canada

ahasweta Devi, the amazing, now eighty-year-old author, delivered the keynote address at the Jaipur Literature Festival 2013 with incredible fortitude for a woman who I had to hold upright as she left her wheelchair and ascended the steps to the stage. What a fitting author to inaugurate the festival, as a representative of the festival’s ideals of speaking out and dissemination of ideas, and a seasoned voice of Indian literature that has stood the test of time. This political activist, social commentator and scholar of culture allegedly confided to her colleague over breakfast that morning before her speech, “I hope I don’t let them down.” I would have to think this impossible.

Eminent Bengali writer Mahasweta Devi delivering her keynote address at the JLF 2013

Her speech entitled “Oh, to live again!” was a perfectly crafted piece full of savoury phrases for the audience to chew on. Her unfaltering voice rang long after in my mind. It was a series of musings on a life filled with writing, her prose impregnated with memory of a thousand yesterdays and revering the tomorrows full of a thousand possibilities. Her depiction of the ghosts of writers and characters that daily haunt her spread out like a canopy of foreshadow for the host of young authors on the bill. She portrayed how writing became her world, enveloping her thinking, her conversations with people, and her personal studies. “The air I breathe is full of words,” she gracefully expressed. Her address emphasized that she never followed any of the rules—“I do what I want to do.” Good advice for any author hoping to create change. She implored the rapt audience to finish what they haven’t done as yet. After all, you don’t really get to live again. But while we are alive, Devi’s impassioned plea is that we look at one another for our humanness—not race, nor religion, nor gender, nor age—and accept each other’s right to be human. Even more than that, we must never forget to dream, and claim dreaming as our first fundamental right. Without the dreaming mind, nothing is possible. What a perfect message to keep in mind at the start of a festival of voices, ideas, and the hope that literature can change the world.

A huge crowd awaits another fascinating panel discussion on the front lawns

Madurai Messenger Cover Story April 2013

Jaipur Literature Festival:

Through a Volunteer’s Eyes By Krysten Maier Canada

Celebrating a job well done - Front Lawns venue manager Sirish Rao (center) with Krysten and her fellow volunteers

Krysten Maier recalls her unforgettable experience of volunteering at the recently concluded Jaipur Literary Festival and says that it was an absolute privilege to do so at a confluence of some of the brightest and best literary minds

hen I touched down in Jaipur on January 23,2013, the day before the kick off of the world famous Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF), I didn’t know exactly what awaited me. I had expressed my interest in volunteering—having worked the volunteer circuit back home in Vancouver—but nothing was confirmed. The day

before I left, I received a text message from Sirish Rao, venue coordinator at Jaipur with whom I had worked on the Indian Summer Festival in Vancouver. It read: I’ve roped you into helping with my venue (warning!). I knew I was about to be thrown into the deep end!

The attention I got from them was just the tip of the iceberg, as members from the media started showing up wanting to interview and photograph me, as well as the other couple of foreign volunteers. We felt like we were being hounded by the paparazzi for the rest of the days to come!

Silver Linings At orientation, I discovered I was full-on staff. We would arrive at 8:30 am and stay until 7:00 pm—and with a great big festival smile on our faces! Each event had only fifteen minutes of break in between so there would be literally no chance to catch one’s breath. But there’s always a silver lining; being present at the venue all day long meant we had a front row seat to each and every session. During our orientation lunch break, I got to know some of the people I would be working with over the next five days. They were mostly young Indian college students from Jaipur, Delhi and around and met me with a never-ending stream of inquiry and curiosity. Despite the barrage of questions, it was so nice to be around such educated, well-spoken young people. The attention I got from them was just the tip of the iceberg, as members from the media started showing up wanting to interview and photograph me, as well as the other couple of foreign volunteers. We felt like we were being hounded by the paparazzi for the rest of the days to come!

Festival magic As the coordinators gave us a tour of the festival grounds, I couldn’t help but

internally panic for them, as nothing on the grounds looked finished. Entire venues had not yet been constructed! There were workers putting up drywall and hanging flags and stocking shelves and detailing decorations left and right. Impossible to finish all this work in a day, I thought, but the organizers were unfazed. Sure enough, with some overnight festival magic, I arrived the next morning to find a perfectly composed, beautifully set up venue, ready to host India and the world.

A tough call Sirish’s venue was the Front Lawns, arguably the biggest and most important, and where I was slated to work. We had been briefed the day before with helpful advice, but the morning of the first day, Sirish gave our team a more detailed brief and assigned us specific roles. He gave me the job of speaker greeter, knowing my enthusiasm to interact with authors. It sounded simple and enjoyable—making chit chat with famous authors as they prepared to go on stage. It turned out to be the hardest task I could think of! This was primarily caused by my necessity to escort the authors to the book signing area after each session, located at the farthest possible corner from the stage, through a sea of people trying to monopolize their attention

and ask for autographs. I found myself shepherding and politely shoving some of the sharpest minds in Indian academia. What an experience!

A meaningful dialogue And if in the first couple of days, I was longing for the well-mannered organization of some Canadian festivals and unimpressed by the sheer magnitude of people filtering in and out of the JLF crush, I soon came to see the grandeur and perfect execution of the Jaipur festival of ideas. In the midst of all the madness, there were countless moments of brilliance, as I was fortunate enough to be able to take in talks all day long. It was so much more than authors just reading from their works; it was important dialogues about religion, economy, sex, women, imperialism, and so much more. I could tell that the festival really appreciates their volunteers, calling us on stage to recognize us and constantly thanking the hard work we put in. Particularly with a festival that is one hundred percent free, volunteers play a vital role. However, in my eyes, it was a privilege to pitch in at such a great event and a very valuable experience.

Sirish gave me the job of speaker greeter, knowing my enthusiasm to interact with authors. It sounded simple and enjoyable—making chit chat with famous authors as they prepared to go on stage. It turned out to be the hardest task I could think of!

Madurai Messenger In Conversation April 2013

Ambai (left), engrossed in conversation with translator Lakshmi Holmstrom

The Language of Experience, The Experience of Language

appreciation, a long academic career, and interaction with a close group of colleagues. This lifetime has taken her from her birthplace of Coimbatore in Tamil Nadu to Bengaluru and Mumbai, to Chennai and New Delhi, now back in Mumbai with her Rajasthani film maker husband, Vishnu Mathur.

Krysten Maier in a delightful conversation with well-known contemporary Tamil short storywriter and Women’s Studies scholar Dr. C.S. Lakshmi, popularly known as Ambai, on the role of language in shaping experience that informs her worldview as a writer

A matter of identity

By Krysten Maier Canada

A story teller’s gaze - Ambai at the Jaipur Literature Festival

“I write because I want to say something and if somebody reads it, it’s fine,” she stated with a curl of a smile, her playful eyes flashing with life. “Even if the long-tailed parrots that sit on the banyan tree outside my house hear it, that is enough for me,” says Ambai

I breathe a sigh of relief and rush over to welcome the woman, happy to be able to be connecting with her in the mad crowd of the festival. This is her first time at JLF, she tells me, and is quite impressed by it, finding many opportunities to open new dialogues in the interesting sessions. “Normally I am very hesitant to attend festivals like this as they are very glamorous,” she confesses in her lilting voice. “I feel I don’t belong.”

A voice of her own

am in the press lounge at the Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) fretting about steps. A formidable staircase of steep concrete steps leads up to the open-air press terrace and I was supposed to have met sixty-eight year old Tamil author Ambai there fifteen minutes ago. It was by sheer chance that I happened to spy

Ambai sitting down by the lunch buffet with a musical monk and poet and author Jeet Thayil, and by sheer fortitude of will that I went over to her, midspoonful, to ask her for an interview. My nerves were met with nothing but kindness and accommodation, as the

delightful woman suggested that we meet later that day on the terrace. But those steps worry me. Just as I am about to abandon my pacing and bolt down the stairs to look for the woman, her well-coiffed nest of gray hair and neatly wrapped sari appears from the stairway’s mouth.

I am not surprised by her reluctance to appear on the same bill as stars like the Dalai Lama, Sharmila Tagore, and Rahul Dravid. But the Ambai I had observed at Jaipur was more than holding her own, blazing around the grounds independently. Festival co-director and the author’s friend Namita Gokhale assured Ambai that “even those who are really interested in literature come to such festivals.” This became apparent

as huge crowds turned up for her laundry list of sessions, and she was overwhelmed by admirers asking for autographs with a myriad editions of her books. Surely this experience at the festival must be a gratifying one for such a humble author, who writes for herself and has no particular audience in mind. “I write because I want to say something and if somebody reads it, it’s fine,” she stated with a curl of a smile, her playful eyes flashing with life. “Even if the long-tailed parrots that sit on the banyan tree outside my house hear it, that is enough for me. Story-tellers are quite shameless. They write whether they have readers or not.” For Ambai, language is life. Writing is a natural part of that. Her passion for story telling stretches back over fifty years. Like many of the figures in her stories, Ambai has had a lifetime of art

Despite calling so many different places home, Ambai keeps to her Tamil roots in all of her writing, the language she was largely educated in and will always love. Language plays a very important role in this author’s life and Tamil is a huge part of her identity, so she defies the trend of Indian authors to write in English in order to reach a larger audience. Ambai jokes, unconcerned, that, “Because I don’t even live in Tamil Nadu, I don’t know who my readers are.” While I am impressed by her excellent English, she laughingly recounts a time when she received zero out of a hundred in her English class.

Language and experience Although Tamil is her constant companion, Ambai’s writing has changed with every move. “Language is very experiential,” she explains. “Your body carries all the language metaphors... As the body moves through different spaces, your language changes.” Ambai was brought up with a love for the arts by her musician mother Alamelu, who was a great lover of literature although she was not highly educated. She had got married at the age of 11 but she was determined she would not allow anything to come in the way of her daughters pursuing higher education. “Nobody ever stopped me from writing,” Ambai recalls, and this experience gives her writing a completely different vocabulary from Tamil colleagues like Salma and Kutti Revathy. She comments that their experience of oppression causes them to write in a different language and for that, they have faced oppression in getting published.

Madurai Messenger In Conversation April 2013

Ambai captivating audiences with a powerful reading at the JLF 2013

Freedom Writer Salma Krysten Maier, in an intimate conversation with the Tamil poet Salma, on how she reclaimed herself and found her poetic voice; a process that reflects the collective experience of women struggling to break free of the shackles of patriarchy in life as well as literature By Krysten Maier Canada

“I

f I couldn’t write, I would die.” That’s a bold statement for poet Salma, a woman who has had the odds of ever becoming a writer stacked against her from birth. Growing up in a society where women are meant to be modest, proper, and obedient, not free thinking and out-spoken, a career in literature is not exactly an encouraged enterprise. Overcoming the odds, Salma is now a poet, novelist, short story writer, feminist icon, politician, and the subject of a new documentary film.

An Inspiration Even as I settle myself into a chair in the dim interior of her marital home in the small town of Thuvarankurichi, near Tiruchy, Salma tells me of her recent return from a film festival in Berlin screening a new Channel 4 documentary about her life. She spoke excitedly about the film, simply entitled Salma, which debuted at the Sundance Film Festival in January this year. It is a full length feature providing an intensive expedition into her experiences. Salma is confident it has the power to reach a wide audience and touch the lives of millions of women. As she begins to share her fascinating story, I have no doubt it can be the inspiration that many women need as they strive towards equality.

“I write about communication, about relationships, about fleeting moments in our life each of which, when we recapture it, it resumes a different shape” This idea of language as being experiential definitely carries over to the specificity of being a woman writing in Tamil. As a scholar of Women’s Studies and founder of SPARROW (Sound and Picture Archives for Research on Women), Ambai is sensitive to the representation of women in literature. Ambai feels that living as a woman and constantly being seen as a woman naturally informs your language and the way you write. “As a woman, you have to confront the world in a different way,” she asserts, and believes that this influences the way women express themselves. Ambai would define her writing as feminist, but does not like to be pigeonholed as a “woman writer.” When a man writes, one would say he is writing about life. Why should it be that when a woman writes it is said that she is

writing about the life of a woman? Are women not equal players in this life? We all have unique experiences and should be able to express them in even measure. As for Ambai: “I write about communication, about relationships, about fleeting moments in our lives, each of which, when we recapture it, it resumes a different shape.” That is the power of language to transform and create change—change we are often desperate to see. Above all, Ambai speaks very eagerly and warmly of her friends and mentors who have played a role in sculpting her language over spaces. Though the Tamil literary tradition is a rich and ancient one, it lacks female icons with whom contemporary authors could align themselves. Ambai has many favourites in both Tamil and other languages, which just goes to show that “story

writing can reach any area of life.” We can all relate to the human experience in some way, no matter what language we speak or which area we live in. Instead of following in the footsteps of particular literary role models, Ambai stepped out and forged her own path. While it had already been made clear to me that Ambai writes for herself—does not cater to any particular audience nor is concerned with gaining more readers—I think it is important to her that her writing touches the lives of some. “I think people find stories,” Ambai muses as our conversation comes to a close. I think that stories have the ability to find people just the same, especially when they come from such a genuine writer with tremendous heart, humanity, and warmth. As I shake hands with Ambai and she goes off on her way, I can’t help but think that this experience has in some way changed my own language and perspective. I am so glad her story found me.

Hope remaining - Salma looks forward to a better future for women

Salma was among the first of the marginalized women poets to openly discuss the female body, as her respected colleagues Kutti Revathy and Sukirtharani would go on to do. Salma is a shout in a sea of silence and solitude

The tale of Salma is one that will live in infamy in Tamil Nadu. In her early teens, she and her friends skipped class to go to the cinema one afternoon. They soon realized that it was actually an adult film and that the group of four were the only women in the entire theatre. When word got back to her parents, Salma was severely punished and condemned to confinement within her home day in and day out. Already in my limited delving into the Tamil literary scene, I had heard this story told again and again.

A lotus blooms But from the worst time in her life sprung the best part of her life. “I had nothing to do other than dream,” recounts Salma, and so she started to write. Writing became her very existence, and remains a link to her identity. However, as it has developed—and even in its origins—the musings of her poetry are not just for her benefit, her sanity. No, Salma provides a voice for those who cannot find ones of their own. The subjects of her pieces are not simply personal expression,

Madurai Messenger In Conversation April 2013

Salma might have otherwise thought impossible.

A new found freedom

Strength of a woman - Tamil feminist poet Salma in a lively discussion

This aspiring poet found the same freedom writing under a pen name, a secret from her over-protective family and husband. The moniker “Salma” was born but an enlightening on the experience that many women undergo.

A clarion call in a sea of silence Most of the women facing similar oppression do not have the means or muster to speak out. Salma, who has already taken the plunge into the public arena, stands up and speaks out for them. Her poetry gives voice to the mute and was virtually the initial clash in swordplay between societal norms and women’s freedoms. She was among the first of the marginalized women poets to openly discuss the female body, as her respected colleagues Kutti Revathy and Sukirtharani would go on to do. Salma is a shout in a sea of silence and solitude.

Questioning Tamil literary norms Her evolution into this voice that would buck conventions began conventionally

enough, with an interest and passion for reading. Her literary ideas and style were inspired by the Russian classics written by Tolstoy, Nabakov, and Dostoyevsky that she read during her confinement. I can just imagine Salma in her early teens, locked away reading Lolita and getting ideas. Naturally she read heavily in Tamil, sampling from the great span that this literary tradition has to offer, but Salma found something unsavoury about the Tamil literature. Women represented in this canon were typically poorly lit and essentially cast as slaves. She also explains that there are no real “foremothers” so to speak, in the Tamil literary tradition, or icons that aspiring Tamil women writers can look up to. That is, she says, until Ambai started writing. She loved to read Ambai’s stories because she portrayed female characters as independent human beings. This was the first glimpse of a woman’s freedom that the young

This aspiring poet found the same freedom writing under a pen name, a secret from her over-protective family and husband. The moniker “Salma” was born. Freedom from judgment, freedom from fear, freedom from the imprisonment of women in her community from the age of puberty. Freedom from solitude, freedom from loneliness; her words broke free like a bird from its cage. This secret double life brightened her being. Though she never received any recognition, nor were photos of her even printed, just knowing that people were reading her poetry made her happy. “I used to smuggle my poems in the laundry,” Salma glibly relates, recounting the process by which her mother would get her hidden writing to the publisher. Words of protest against typical gender roles folded in amongst a symbol of those very roles in the form of laundry— poetic indeed.

She also explains that there are no real “foremothers”, so to speak, in the Tamil literary tradition, or icons that aspiring Tamil women writers can look up to

The power of protest Salma’s work demonstrates that the linguistic act of poetry can be part of the process to further the female consciousness, but on a larger scale, such awareness can only be instigated by protest, says the poet. “It’s a slow process, it takes time.” Even over the past decade since first facing threats and oppression about her published work, Salma does not find that much progress has been made, nor has reception of her work turned more favourable. Facing wall after wall, Salma’s drive to continue comes from an unquenchable desire to understand why people want to keep women down. Her poetry definitely possesses a power, mingling crackling words that singe the reader with tender phrases that resound deep in one’s core. While her poetry is incontestably brilliant and provides a needed voice—and one that has already inspired thought and sparked discussion in many corners of the country and the world—a voice alone cannot create a lasting change in the pit that is the injustice women everywhere are confronted with. This task can only be taken up by government institutions with the power to implement change upon the systems that perpetuate gender inequality. These are patriarchal systems, affirms Salma, such as caste and dowry, which operate differently in the lives of women and men.“We must think of the genders as the same,” the poet insists.

Tryst with taboo The main reason for all this secrecy was because the topics she wished to pursue were so taboo. To discuss anatomy and the female form was found distasteful, but Salma knew that this was an important subject to explore. If women do not know their own bodies, she explains, they cannot claim rightful ownership over them. They become a function of men, once more, like everything else. What can a woman possess if not even her own body? It is taken from women when they remain uneducated and unquestioning about the body. “It is a container for sex, a piece of equipment for labour, a machine for reproduction,” Salma bluntly states. It is the problem of being caught up in male structures once again. But speaking openly about the body fosters greater awareness in women about their rights. It is difficult for a woman to break free of this male-driven thinking and develop a unique awareness. In the Muslim

community she was raised, it was particularly challenging. While Salma doesn’t really wish to touch on religion in her works, she does hope to emphasize how “women discriminate against women” in this culture. I am surprised to hear that woman are a part of the problem, but undoubtedly many of the older generation are caught up in the patriarchal model in which such thinking furthers gender inequality.

The personal is political

The silence between words - Poet Salma lost in reflection

She loved to read Ambai’s stories because she portrayed female characters as independent human beings. This was the first glimpse of a woman’s freedom that the young Salma might have otherwise thought impossible

Of course Salma is not a woman of all talk and no action. Her husband encouraged her to run for election in the local government, and it brought a new dimension to her crusade for women’s rights. “Politics changed my life,” she affirms. No longer was she this closeted figure, an anonymous pen on the page. Her picture was published in the paper and her identity was revealed—Salma went from unknown to known practically overnight. With writing, she had gotten little to no concrete results, but as a political figure, she was able to start instigating the change she craved. As a by-product, the more confident she became as a politician, the more assured she became in her writing. Currently Salma is engaged in many social activities, such as giving programs in colleges and attending women’s conferences. The main organization she has co-founded and works through is called Your Hope is Remaining. Their primary aim is “To work for social, educational, economic and cultural development of the deprived, oppressed, marginalized,

Madurai Messenger In Conversation April 2013

“I used to smuggle my poems in the laundry,” Salma glibly relates, recounting the process by which her mother would get her hidden writing to the publisher

Sukirtharani:

Articulating Oppression Liz Dougan in a free and frank conversation with Tamil Dalit feminist poet Sukirtharani on how her early experiences of caste and gender based oppression have informed her writing By Elizabeth Dougan Australia

In their minds I, who smell faintly of meat, my house where bones hang, stripped entirely of flesh, and my street where young men wander without restraint

A voice for the voiceless- Poet Sukirtharani

n A Faint Smell of Meat, I envision a young woman going about her daily domestic chores, aware of the oppressive cloud that looms above her, and ruminating about her power within. Tamil Poet Sukirtharani has been familiar with discrimination all of her life, from the treatment her family faced within their village to the prejudice she endured throughout her schooling. She was resigned to the back rows of her class, and in the playground, was discouraged from forming friendships with fellow students. All as a result of her Dalit caste. She assures me that, “the scar which was given to me will last my entire life.” Yet it has also given her the tenacity to overcome the restrictions of social status. She is now a teacher at that very same school she attended as a girl.

Wild Girl - Salma tells us about the new compilation her poems appear in

If women do not know their own bodies, she explains, they cannot claim rightful ownership over them. They become a function of men, once more, like everything else. What can a woman possess if not even her own body?

disadvantaged and weaker sections of the society, irrespective of caste, region, race, religion or gender.” They extend charitable services to and plan to implement development programs for those in need. She is making a real difference in her community and setting an example for the kind of change that must take place across India. In the midst of all this hard work, Salma could never forsake writing, her first true love, and is starting work on a sophomore novel. Her first book, The Hour Past Midnight, has been wellreceived and translated into several languages including English and Hindi.

Her poetry collections are still a staple in South Indian literature and selected poems have recently been published in a new collection of Tamil women poets called Wild Girls Wicked Word, compiled and translated by Lakshmi Holmstrom. As important as the project was to the Tamil poet, Salma is happy to be back to regular life, without the constant companionship of camera people and film crew all day long. “Now I just want to sit down and write,” she confesses. Despite other occupations, Salma is a writer right down to the core, as a fish must swim and a bird must fly.

Caste matters

“I live two lives in the community, one as a successful teacher, the other as a Dalit woman”

Born in a village called Rani Pettai in Tamil Nadu, Sukirtharani’s family was one of ten that belonged to the Paraiyar sub sect of the Adidravidar (Dalit) community. The dominant occupation of the caste for men was based around the parai (drum) ceremony that occurs over a corpse. Sukirtharani’s father hated the work and refused to carry out the job, despite having to support his wife and five children. Instead he worked as a casual labourer, and took a job at a factory in the city. He was ridiculed by the community, particularly by his own caste for not complying with the system. Consequently, he avoided dealing with villagers and bought all the family

Madurai Messenger In Conversation April 2013

Sukirtharani believes that women need to educate themselves by reading widely - literature, poetry, novels and scholarly texts to develop informed opinions that goes beyond popular media

“Feminism starts from my body, because it belongs to me.” Rural settings, poverty and social issues are all hallmarks of Dalit writing and appear within Sukirtharani’s work, but her real strength is her ability to fuse the power and courage of women, their bodies, and nature. She believes that the female body endures a lot, particularly Dalits, as they still represent a large percentage of the base labour force. Her philosophy is that women should have the right to use their body as they wish and have control over how their body is treated regardless of social standing.

necessities and house hold goods in the city. As a result he was adamant that his children, unlike him, would be well educated despite their caste.

Multiple oppressions

Growing up in this community atmosphere, along with her father’s influence, Sukirtharani questioned the injustice of inequality at an early age, and began to realise that discrimination was not only caste related. As a child she enjoyed playing outside and climbing trees, but because she was ‘playing like a boy’ she was the target of criticism and disapproval. But interestingly enough, the event that crystalised gender inequality for her involved her father. “One day, when I was pursuing higher secondary education at Rani Pettai, I was late. So I took a crowded bus. I travelled on the foot board (standing on the protruding platform of the doorway), which women should not do. After school, when I came back to the house, my father hit me.” He had seen her travelling on the footboard and was aghast at her conduct. She suddenly realised that despite striving towards equality of caste, his male domination remained.

A feminist writer is born Following this event, she began to find solace in writing. Unlike most teenagers, love was not her theme. Instead she focused on her beliefs, environment and life experiences as a young woman facing two forms of discrimination, and so a feminist Dalit writer began to emerge. Sukirtharani’s interest in language was sparked by her eighth grade Tamil teacher, who was also influential in her move towards education as a career. During this early high school period, she dabbled in Tamil literature and began to comprehend its depth, but did not read widely until she began writing as an 18-year-old. She familiarised herself with every literary form, and read an array of writers from South Asia, soaking up all of their works including the likes of Najeema Nazreen and Kamala Das. She also she attended conferences to better understand literary culture and to seek contact and inspiration from contemporary writers.

Bonding with like minded poets Sukirtharani was particularly taken by the works of Kutti Revathi, Salma and Malathi Maithri for the strength and ownership in their portrayal of women’s bodies. Later, these writers became her friends and peers. In December 2012,

Sukirtharani with her creations

the four poets released a bilingual collection titled Wild Girls Wicked Words, translated from Tamil to English by Lakshmi Holmstrom. The pride that Sukirtharani feels about this collaboration lights up her face, with the English version broadening their exposure. But she admits that with poetry in particular, “Translation cannot give 100 percent of your idea, it is like a person behind a door; not facing you alive, it lacks the original presence of a person.” She believes she has been lucky to find fellow poets that she admires so much, who share the common thread that is Tamil language. Sukirtharani’s independent collections include Eravumirugam (Night Animal), Avalai Moli Pearthal (Translating Her), Thenadapadatha Muttham (Untouchable Kiss) and Kamathe Poo. Her debut publication appeared in Kutti Revathi’s magazine. She has received numerous awards but takes them with a pinch of salt, as she suggests that lobbyism is common within the literary awards system.

She believes that feminism in India is far more complex than in the West because of the barriers created by caste infrastructure. Upper caste women face male domination among their caste, but Dalit women face male domination amongst their caste, and all castes above. “I live two lives in the community, one as a successful teacher, the other as a Dalit woman.” These concepts of double oppression within her work are the reason she has been so controversial, and she claims women writers are not given the freedom to embrace these issues without repercussions. This attributes to the misconceptions about feminism within the general populace. The patriarchal structure is so ingrained that many women believe the feminist movement is a threat to family, traditional values and sexist towards men.

Shattering stereotypes Sukirtharani believes that women need to educate themselves by reading widely - literature, poetry, novels and scholarly texts, to develop informed opinions that go beyond popular media. She admits that media serves its purpose and can be used in both positive and negative ways. “I think media is a reflector of society,” but to consider revolutionary concepts, you have to move away from mass media. “For instance, in social networking sites, if a woman indicates that she is a smoker, bad comments are sure to

follow. I am not judging the act but you can see male domination.”

The poet in a pensive mood

She is adamant that people need to be more informed about the issues that women face in India and think out of the box. Another example she provides is the legislation that was introduced to omit the names of rape and sexual assault victims from all media reports. She suggests this is not only associated with personal privacy, but has been enforced to avoid family shame and the victims’ future prospects, that indicates victims are to be blamed for these unfortunate incidents. This blanket solution for female victims may be appropriate in some cases. However, by not providing a choice, it is another form of suppression and humiliation. When I first arrived to interview Sukirtharani, I was unsure about her response to the interview as she seemed guarded. But slowly she opened up and I came to understand why she was reluctant to launch into her opinions, due to the common misconceptions associated not only with feminism in India, but life as a Dalit, particularly within the media. I found her attitude towards her personal struggle inspiring and I left this interview feeling a little lighter. To think that a group of young women are being taught the fundamental importance of gender equality and social justice by

Sukirtharani is immensely reassuring. As we parted ways, she told me she is currently working on her first novel that is a semi autobiographical story based in a rural village. She giggles, revealing she has made herself the heroine! My uncertainty about her initial response disappeared.

Dalit Writing: An Overview Although the Indian Constitution no longer recognises the caste system, it still holds considerable influence particularly in rural areas. The Dalits were formerly known as untouchables.The government now reserves a percentage of public sector jobs, university positions and parliamentary seats for Dalits. Dalit writing made a resurgence in the late 1980s and early 1990s when the Indian nationalist movement was voted out in Tamil Nadu, and the Dalit people were no longer silenced in the same way. The first Dalit novel written in Tamil by a woman, Sivakami, in 1989, was significant for Dalit feminism as it highlighted many social issues such as domestic violence within Dalit communities.

Madurai Messenger In Conversation April 2013

Ayyanar with his inspirational wife Muthumeenal

Boutha Ayyanar:

“They said I had a villainous head,” he guffaws, pointing to his tonsured scalp, “not a single hair”

A Poet of Humanity Boutha Ayyanar, a striking voice in contemporary Tamil poetry, in a candid conversation with Loretta Dean, tells her about his poetry that springs from a human response to loss, sorrow and longing and of his latest artistic manifesto—to use literature as an instrument to heal the sorrows of humanity and make people socially conscious

across the work of Neo-Tamil poet Abi and was introduced to contemporary Tamil literature. A source of great inspiration, Abi had a profound effect on the young Ayyanar who identifies the impact of the Neo-Tamil poet’s experimental verse in his own writing.

By Loretta Dean United Kingdom

From the indefinite boundaries of youth and the promise of education, to the restrictive reality of employment, Ayyanar suffered from another “tragedy.” In the workplace, he lost his sense of space, individuality and freedom, and Ayyanar was left to lament, “My wings are so tired.” “I couldn’t fly again,” he explains.

Poet Ayyanar in a reflective mood

“A good reader is a good poet and a good writer too,” explains Ayyanar Therkkutheru Panchayat, Melur Circle, Madurai, Ayyanar lost his mother at the early age of just six months and was subsequently cared for by his grandparents. “I have never seen the face of my mother,” writes Boutha Ayyanar and the hopeless quest for conciliation is evident in his best-selling collection of poems, titled ‘Rooms (mansion musings).’ First published in 2005, the Tamil collection ‘Mansion Kavidhaigal’ echoes with insecurity as the poet struggles through loss. As he describes a “ceaseless struggle/to uncover the face,” Ayyanar is compelled to question his own identity, and his thoughts give rise to doubt, “where is my own?”

man grappling with sorrow, loss and solitude, Boutha Ayyanar grieves over a wound that cannot be healed. His poems form collections that share his suffering in a “humanitarian” effort to convey his emotions and invoke a similar response amongst his readers. Rather than manipulating his work to ‘woo’ his audience, to become a commercial success, or to achieve fame as a wellpublished poet, Ayyanar prides himself

as “a different writer.” In a rejection of ‘propaganda poetry,’ Ayyanar strives to deliver ‘quality’ through his work. “Nothing can change,” he explains, as writing is enjoyable without a consideration for the frequency of its readership.

A quest for identity Ayyanar’s life has been permeated by a poetic refrain of loss. Born in 1963 in Vinayakapuram, a hamlet in

A muted poet For Ayyanar, the memory of the Eelam massacre pervades his very existence as a Tamil and renders him, “shocked to the core” as he writes, “I remain feeling terrible for being an accomplice, though inadvertently, in the crime of the worst order, the most gruesome assault on mankind.” In some of his most recent work, such as ‘No Problem for None’, Ayyanar struggles with a sorrow concerning his identity as he writes, “I shouldn’t see anything/Write nothing,”

Life, the greatest teacher

“The reason being/I am a Tamilian.” Upon reflection, Ayyanar considers the violence amongst the Tamils and Sinhalese in Sri Lanka as, “a shameful stain on humanity,” and, no longer able to concentrate, he made the decision to renounce his poetry. A grave shadow crosses Ayyanar’s features as he pauses, the expressive gesticulation that follows his fast flow of Tamil comes to a halt, and his eyes stare out past his outstretched palms. Silence is broken as Ayyanar’s young son, Anandhaputhan, runs into the room, wrapping his father’s head in a close embrace. Muthumeenal, Ayyanar’s wife, looks on with an affectionate smile and pride gleams in Ayyanar’s eyes. In spite of the hardships he has had to face, pulling himself from the grip of poverty and struggling through loss and loneliness, Ayyanar is now surrounded by the support of his family. Happiness

pushes its way through the clouds and Ayyanar starts to laugh, recollecting his first interview. “They said I had a villainous head,” he guffaws, pointing to his tonsured scalp, “not a single hair.” Negative first impressions had led journalists to cast him as a villain from a Tamil movie, “don’t judge by appearances,” he warns, humour lighting in his eyes.

The promise of education As a child, education provided an outlet for Ayyanar and he retains a sense of nostalgia for his schooldays during which he felt he was truly free, “like a flying bird.” The first member of his family to benefit from education, Ayyanar escaped the patterns of poverty and decided to become a good reader. “A good reader is a good poet and a good writer too,” explains Ayyanar. In 1982, while completing his sixth grade, Ayyanar came

“I have had over fifteen different jobs,” says Ayyanar with pride. From the toil of an agricultural labourer, to work as a tailor’s assistant, operating a film projector in a cinema theatre in Melur, to a position at the Meenakshi Mission Hospital, Ayyanar already has a lifetime’s worth of experience to impart to his readers. “Social responsibility,” he insists is his current duty, and with his autobiography, Unnamed Novel, Ayyanar hopes to transfer his life experiences, rising from poverty and hardship, in order to teach others. After all, it is the literature of other, “socially responsible” writers that Ayyanar holds up for having changed his life.

Literature for social change Excitement dances in Ayyanar’s eyes as he presents copies of his favourite works, a Tamil translation of Franz Kafka’s Der Prozess, Jacques Prevert’s poetry collection, Parole, and poet Deepaselvan’s recount of pain and suffering in the Eelam massacre of 2009. The translated literature he admires is “simple and very powerful” and Ayyanar

Madurai Messenger In Conversation April 2013

Kutti Revathi:

“Social responsibility,” he insists is his current duty, and with his autobiography, Unnamed Novel, Ayyanar hopes to transfer his life experiences, rising from poverty and hardship, in order to teach others

In the Eye of a Poetic Storm In a candid interview with Liz Dougan, well known contemporary Tamil feminist poet Kutti Revathi asserts that her poetic manifesto is all about conveying the essence of the female experience as it unfolds in the female body, a truth that most women are divorced from, as they are strangers to their own bodies, an assertion that often has the poet caught in poetic storms and literary wars

seeks to emulate this in his writing. Ayyanar values simplicity and depth which can be manipulated as a tool for community development and change so that the potent messages delivered can be easily understood by readers.

Although Ayyanar no longer writes poetry, he would never stray from the medium with which he found an outlet for his inner turmoil, and his longstanding kinship with literature remains just as strong. While he continues to write the autobiographical, Unnamed Novel, Ayyanar has embarked on a pilot project with the publication of a unique Tamil magazine, Nerkaanal. Each edition of the magazine pays homage to an individual personality, with the focus on unsung ‘heroes’ that Ayyanar wants to bring to the forefront of public knowledge. First published in 2010, the magazine is onto its fifth issue, with work already underway for the sixth edition. While Ayyanar had hoped to release Nerkaanal as a quarterly, financial constraints have had implications on the regularity of the magazine. “I publish an issue whenever I have Rs.10, 000 to lose,” laughs Ayyanar. As ever, Ayyanar will not allow obstacles to come between him and his work and he is excited about the impending publication of the magazine’s sixth issue. A satisfied shine glints in his eyes as Ayyanar leafs through the pages that constitute his draft; a copy of months of toil. After covering talented individuals;from playwright N. Muthusamy to translator V.Sriram, painter and art director P. Krishnamurthy to film

By Elizabeth Dougan Australia

Kutti Revathi maintains a positive attitude despite all odds

utti Revathi’s mother was so furious by her decision to pursue writing that she threw the first copy of her published work across a room, asking her, “Why should I read it?” When her second collection of poetry, Poonaiyaippol (Breasts) was released in 2001, the response by critics in the media was so vicious that she stepped off the public domain for nearly two years. At the time, a fellow writer questioned whether she would continue as a poet; yet fifteen years on, her work is stronger than ever and her mother is reluctantly coming to terms with her daughter’s move into the world of creative arts.

Ayyanar and Muthumeenal in conversation with Loretta Dean

personality Nasser, Ayyanar has chosen to highlight the efforts of poet Deepaselvan, returning a focus to poetic verse.

No substitute for experience The Sri Lankan student is currently studying at Madras University, and Ayyanar admires his poetry which documents the sufferings of Sri Lankan Tamils. “He experienced the war,” explains Ayyanar, who believes that, “watchers cannot feel the real feeling.” It is for this reason that Ayyanar no longer writes poetry himself. Rendered mute by the atrocities seen through the media, Ayyanar chooses instead to educate readers on great individuals, lending his voice to the Tamil

personalities who would have otherwise remained in the shadows. “Life drags us through unknown and unpredictable ways, to unknown and unpredictable places,” writes Ayyanar whose ongoing tie to literature seems to reflect this continuous movement. A reflective person, Ayyanar considers how, “Migration or going from place to place has always been an integral part of our life.” Just as Ayyanar has migrated from poetry to focus on his autobiography and the achievements of others, perhaps his journey may reach a turning point. After all, it is Ayyanar himself that identified, “Among those who have migrated from their native places, some might return to their places at some point in time.”

We met Revathi in a leafy park in central Chennai early on a Sunday morning. Although one of the more unusual suggestions for an interview location, it was one of the most pleasant urban environments I’d come across since arriving in India. People strolled past, others sat on benches reading the paper under the shade of trees and children played. But when I spotted her determined stride and bold presence, there was no mistaking her.

Born to win Born in Malailoyal, Thiruverambur, as a child, she experienced what it was to be poor. At times even rice was hard to come by and opportunities limited. Yet the dignity with which Revathi holds herself suggests that her upbringing helped her to use these experiences to strengthen rather than diminish her character. Her career has been prolific spanning medicine, magazine editing to script writing and the publication of numerous controversial poetry collections. She is a contemporary Tamil poet whose use of language, content and perspective is uncompromising. And her disregard for the censure and accolades she has received makes her story even more intriguing.

A supportive father What struck me during my research of the two feminist poets Sukirtharani and Kutti Revathi, was the emphasis they placed on their fathers’ influence. From a Western perspective, this initially struck me as odd, as more often than not it is our

Madurai Messenger In Conversation April 2013

mothers who are the source of feminist ideals. As I slowly began to understand the complexity of feminism in India, which is complicated by caste and a severe patriarchal structure, it appears to be an almost essential ingredient that a father, or male role model, has notions of equality.

She doesn’t like me being a writer, still!

Revathi admits her father played the pivotal role in developing her independent spirit through his dismissal of gender and caste restrictions. But I was still intrigued by her mother’s influence, and so my first question was about their relationship. She laughed at my directness but didn’t hesitate to open up, “It was always tough with her, she was brought up in a very conservative family, with very traditional values,” and in turn struggled with the sense of freedom that her daughter possessed. Revathi explains, “She’s always blaming my father for allowing me to grow up like this.” However, after his death, Revathi began to understand her mother’s point of view more clearly. In such a vulnerable situation she could see her mother’s fear of loneliness, and how that feeling extended to her daughter. “She is afraid of me being alone, being independent, not married. Writing, not doing something else...not earning much.” But Revathi suggests they differ because her mother was never given the chance to experience the liberty that she holds, though she assures me her mother is a bold woman in her own way. Her disapproval of Revathi being a writer seems to stem from the difficulties of living outside of cultural norms. She had hoped Revathi would become a doctor and for a time she was.

Blending medicine and poetry Revathi didn’t always see herself as a writer, though she always had an interest in language from an early age and was an avid reader since she was a child, her father encouraging her with an array of books. However following

school, she studied Siddha medicine, one of the oldest medical systems in the world that derived from her native Tamil Nadu. The study requires a sound understanding of linguistics as all the texts are in word form. “Whenever you study the text, you have to memorise the poetry, understand the poetry,” some of which dates back to the 13th century. For a time this satisfied her interest in both medicine and language and she excelled within the field. Though studying in a rich cultural environment where discussions and conversations about literature were commonplace, she was also introduced to the world of contemporary poetry. After attending several literary meetings and reviewing poetry collections by fellow students, she began working on some of her own pieces. When she showed them to a friend, he confirmed that she was indeed a poet! However she resisted the urge to pursue writing while she studied and later practiced. “I took it very seriously, I liked it very much.” But the pull of language overcame her in the end, after facing a long and drawn out dilemma. Revathi always viewed her medical studies as a valuable addition to her writing though, as it provided her with knowledge of the body’s function. “I could talk about my body, I could write about my body and know what was inside my body.”She suggests that most women do not have this privilege. Had Kutti Revathi pursued medical practice, she would have specialized in women’s health, as she feels women should be treated differently by doctors and be made to feel comfortable while sharing their problems. “A lot of women are ashamed talking about their body,” and these are perceptions she has strived to change, albeit in a different field.

In the eye of a poetic storm

Speaking with Kutti Revathi, I am eager to hear how women have been regarded within the Tamil poetry circle since its origins. She assures me that

Caste away

they have been hushed within the confines, but have been a definite presence for a long time, affirming that “women are the rulers of poetry form.” Women have a strength and sense of adventure that is not fully recognised, and she believes this is still the case today. She suggests that some men fear these traits in women, and she saw this first hand when Breasts was published in 2001. The response by critics and members of the literary establishment deteriorated into a degrading personal attack about the perversion of Kutti Revathi’s mind. She was forced to endure obscene phone calls, letters and threats. One male interviewer was permitted to report how surprised he was about the size of her breasts when they met, and in another incident, post cards of lurid pictures were sent to her home. Vicious debates ensued about feminist writers, with one television commentator suggesting writers of such ilk should be burnt alive in the street. This public humiliation lead Kutti Revathi to step outside of the public domain for nearly two years. But she reveals that despite the difficulty of the period, it confirmed the importance of her poetry. It also provided her with a great insight into minds of men and to study the extent of male domination both within the literary circle and beyond. She claims that male editors of publishing companies are always more reluctant to allow her the full scope of her language and content, preferring the work be modest and pleasing. Yet she assures me the art of poetry is not financially lucrative, and so sees no reason to back down, yet I doubt she would regardless. She admits she is always nervous when her work is being published, not only because of the media but also because of the reaction of family and friends. She is adamant though that her poetry should and will remain orientated and focused on contemporary women. Her other publications have included Light Prowls Like A Cat (2000), The Thousand Wings of Loneliness (2003)

Kutti Revathi helps me to understand that ‘girl power’ in India is not a familiar concept. When she talks about feminism she suggests, “It’s like a downloaded subject from different countries.” Familiar with Western feminism, she claims the caste system is the distinguishing factor in India that prevents women uniting. “Every woman is identified in the name of her caste. Not in the name of her gender identity, it (caste) comes first. So naturally you are isolated from the next woman.” Subsequently Kutti believes women think within the boundaries of caste, and end up working against each other. “You can have a good degree, same income, same social class, but there will be a difference.” As a result, it is difficult to create a platform to discuss women’s issues here from the ground up, and religion, race and the vastness of the country complicate the issue further.

Steel behind the smile - Kutti Revathi continues to write despite threats and public humiliation from her detractors

and Body’s Door (2007), Shattered Boundaries (2012) all released through different publishing houses. The continual battle to publish work that is uncompromised led her to establish the only feminist publication in Tamil Nadu, Panikkudam, meaning embryonic sack. The title was chosen as it is specific to women and representative of their importance. The purpose of the quarterly magazine is to give young female writers a platform to publish without the regular restraints. Curious about her following, she tells me it is a dedicated group of literary fans, and others who are interested in how modern ideologies are conflicting in India, including the operation of caste. Despite earning notoriety, I am curious whether she has received any accolades within this environment. But she suggests progressive writing is not of interest to the Tamil literary establishment. Last year she was given a beginner’s award for poetry that she refused, and regarded as an insult after fourteen years. She believes caste writing is popular within the awards system, and this subtle yet defining factor means it is not something she values. “I think modern writers from Tamil Nadu and India should have come out of that caste set.” Issues such as women’s rights, body politics, sexuality and expression are not topics of interest.

Kutti admits there are many misconceptions about India in other countries. She says, “It is shameful to talk about the treatment of lower caste women overseas, including the labour demands on their bodies, along with high incidences of gang rape and murder.” She suggests women’s oppression here is “highly fabricated, designed and executed in a very subtle way.” The degree of oppression means that basic women’s rights associated with body politics need to be addressed first. She understands how feminism is highly saleable globally, but believes it is difficult get everybody’s attention in here - “people are not ready to talk about feminism” in a Western sense. Though a self-proclaimed feminist herself, she believes the first step is for women to start viewing themselves differently, and to dismiss the idea of being the weaker sex.

Powerfully feminine Kutti, always returning to the importance of the body, seems to work at inspiring women in her own subtle way, with a gentle solidarity, and unique feminine voice. As we sit on the park bench, my mind reels at the depth of our conversation, and as though reading my thoughts she notes how rare it is to open our hearts and to talk about things that really matter. We discuss about our current projects and hopes for the future and discover we have a mutual interest in cinema. Kutti is currently working on a film with director Burek Buma that will be released this April. He had been looking for a Tamil scholar to assist with scripting and ideas. The success of their collaboration has provided her with a positive and ongoing drive to enter the film world, eager to understand the mechanics of filming and merge her poetry with film in the future. I felt privileged to meet Revathi, and was impressed by her balanced and informed opinions. Her determination and confidence is neither overpowering nor showy. In fact she had such an impact on me, I found myself attempting some poetry on my way home, something that I haven’t done for some time.

Madurai Messenger Food Trail April 2013

There’s Something In The Water Matthew Haigh travels to Manaparai to uncover the secrets of the town’s magical murukkus, the first stop on his Indian culinary odyssey By Matthew Haigh United Kingdom

and exported to, the U.S.A and, more recently, the U.K.

Water, Manaparai’s elixir The key factor in ensuring Manaparai’s murukkus remain head and shoulders above the rest is the village’s water supply. What makes Manaparai’s water so special is that it’s naturally salted which makes the product extra crisp as well as imparting a flavour that is utterly unique to the region. People have tried to replicate this flavour and texture but have all fallen short with their products being ultimately inferior. The water used to be sourced with traditional bucket wells but now, due to demand and advances in technology, families and companies pump it from bore wells.

Team Game - Ayyamperumal and his wife Malarvizhi, makers of Manaparai murukku

ravelling to India was for me, not so much an independent choice, but more a direct order from my taste buds. At the age of ten I had my first encounter with Indian cuisine at a restaurant in London, and since then, it’s become an obsession. I was fascinated by the fire that smouldered on my tongue, enchanted by the wildly exotic textures, flavours, colours and aromas that caused such incomparable sensory arousal. The experience transported me to a land far away as I commenced a life-long voyage of culinary discovery.

Spirals of Rice Flour Manaparai, a small village 105 km north of Madurai, is the first port of call

on my South Indian culinary odyssey. The region is famed for its unique array of deep-fried delicacies, the most prominent of which is the murukku. Murukkus are spirals of rice flour mixed with water and ‘house’ blends of seasonings and flavours which are deep fried in sesame oil. Neither sweet nor spicy, they occupy a tantalisingly curious middle ground which lends to it great versatility. With its gentle, yet highly distinct, flavour and incredibly crisp texture it can be served before, during or after a meal which also makes it an enormously appealing stand-alone snack. The murukku is now so popular that it has cultivated a global consumer base. Along with India and Sri Lanka, murrukkus are now manufactured in,

When we reached Manaparai, we soon discovered that it wasn’t only murukkus that benefited from the village’s flavoursome water supply. A variety of other similar snacks are produced here and we had the good fortune of being directed to the factory of Ayyamperumal whose family has manufactured such products for the last 40 years. Ayyamperumal’s family welcomed us with open arms and were quick to point out that, although the village was best known as the home of the world’s finest murukkus, they do have other claims to fame. There is also a famous weekly ox auction. “People come from all around to buy and sell oxes,” he said, his eyes alight with civic pride. Reverting to the famed murukkus, he reaffirms, “It is the water in the

Following in his father’s footsteps - C. Srinivasan of the Prabhu Naidu family

murukkus that gives them their famous taste.” He then placed in my hand three different delicacies to sample - mixture, karaboondi and karasev. This was my first opportunity to savour the fabled flavour that can be drawn only from the wells of Manaparai. All three products were delicious and, no doubt, possessed a certain essence I have never before encountered. Each one contained such subtle variances in flavour, spice and texture that it was clear I was in the presence of a true master of his craft. When asked about the origin of his recipes, Ayyamperumal explained that they were first formulated by his father. “We have tried to keep as close to the original recipes as possible, but changes in process – we now use machines to mix the ingredients rather than doing it by hand – have dictated that we alter the levels slightly.’ After being given the honour of a guided tour around the family’s work premises, and with time pressing on, we parted company with smiles and handshakes and continued on our quest to uncover the history of the Manaparai murruku. There are still 300

Lacking wow factor - my gallant efforts fail to impress the judges.

families in Manaparai manufacturing murrukus which gives a sense of the scale of the product’s continuing popularity. However, when quizzed, our new friends insisted on guiding us to the factory of the Prabhu Naidu family, proprietors of the village’s most prominent murukku manufacturing operation.

Spread far and wide Although we arrived unannounced, we were promptly greeted with welcoming smiles and, C.Srinivasan, eldest son of Prabhu Naidu - the head of the family was only too happy to discuss his trade, with his father away on business. After a short wait for him to change from his work clothes, he reappeared smartly dressed and eager to talk to us about his family’s enterprise. “Manaparai’s murukkus became famous 60 years ago,” he informed us. “A man called Krishna Iyer, took time to perfect the balance and blend of ingredients, creating the flavour that Manaparai’s murukkus are now famous for.” Krishna’s son-in-law, Mani Iyer, had the ingenious idea of selling murukkus at the region’s railway station. When trains rolled up at the platform, he would

approach the carriages, offering the crisp delicacy through the windows to hungry travellers. What made this selling technique even shrewder was that, until 1978, there was no bus station. Anybody coming through the area to other parts of this vast country came by train. Thus the Manaparai murukku was taken to all corners of India and its fame grew from there.

A mouth watering experience After informing us that his father was taught the tricks and secrets of the trade by Mani Iyer himself, C.Srinivasan went on to tell us that there is another secret to making the perfect murukku – the double fry technique. After the first fry the product is removed from the oil and left to cool. They are then plunged back into the cauldron for the second fry to imbue the food with added crunch. Indeed, biting into one of the Prabhu Naidu family’s murukkus is an incredible experience. They simply shatter in your mouth as the subtle and unique flavours come to life. Incredibly, we were informed that the murukkus the family now produces have only half the flavour of the ones they

Madurai Messenger Food Trail April 2013

direct ties to the innovators who pioneered the product’s fame.

Fried to perfection And the experience didn’t stop there. We were then taken to see the murukkus being fried. Frying takes place in a small, furnacehot room opposite the main hub of the factory. Once mixed, the ingredients go into a murukku maker, a device which comprises a cylindrical hollow with handles on either side. With the hollow filled with the murukku mix, the top half - a similar device of the same shape, with matching handles - is pushed down onto the batter. The top and bottom handles are squeezed together pushing the mix out through a star shaped template. The murukku maker is then manipulated in such a way as to create the trademark spiral shapes on a long handled steel plate. The plate is then used to place the batter into an enormous cauldron of oil. I was even afforded the privilege of testing my own murukku making skills. I asked for a job. I’m still waiting for the call.

Leave it to the pros - a worker shows me how it’s done.

made some twenty years ago. Their murrukus used to contain kalamadai rice which was ground down by hand to yield a special kind of flour. The family no longer plants this type of rice as, outside of murukku making, there is not sufficient demand for it. Also, due to the scale of the operation, in order to maximise profits, the rice they now use is taken to a mill in Madurai to be ground into flour. Similarly, the sesame oil they fry the murukkus in is no longer produced by hand - they instead choose to buy this from a

refinery. These changes in method were imperative in order to maintain and increase production levels, keeping the business running at maximum efficiency in a highly competitive market. The rest of production, however, is performed by hand using techniques passed down and refined over decades of family endeavour. It was a truly absorbing experience to be in such an historic, reputed village in Tamil Nadu, learning about its most renowned export from a family with

The journey back to Madurai gave me the opportunity to digest all I’d learned over the course of the day. Although I now know the facts, I’m no less enchanted. I have now seen through the veil of mystery, have glimpsed the soul of Manaparai and have felt the warmth of heart of these fine families who uphold traditions passed down through generations. Sure, the water may be the magic ingredient, but that is nature’s blessing on the great people of this village. It still takes hard work, industry and unrivalled knowledge and expertise to stay ahead of fierce competition. When in the presence of men like C.Srinivasan and Ayyamperumal, there is a palpable sense of pride that they belong to this enchanting community and help support their families, utilising their mastery of a craft taught to them by their fathers. And what better way to perpetuate family prosperity and tradition than to tread the very same path as our forebears through the daily trials of life?

Maa Madurai Potruvom:

Bridging the Past and Present The two-day cultural extravaganza, that showcased the glittering past of the ancient city of Madurai and its promising future, left Australian national Liz Dougan spellbound and impressed by the sense of pride of the people of Madurai for the city By Elizabeth Dougan Australia

midst the colour, noise and general commotion, MaaMadurai Potruvom kicked off at the Tamukkam Grounds in the city on February 8, 2013, after weeks of anticipation. The striking festival logo of the Meenakshi Temple and Vaigai River was plastered on billboards, banners and the backs of rickshaws to entice the citizens of Madurai to this cultural bonanza. And they did not disappoint! The large and enthusiastic crowd, many of whom were students created a wonderful festive atmosphere at the grand opening. Media packs added to the buzz, gathered at the front of the stage keenly anticipating proceedings. No one was entirely sure of what to expect for the festival’s debut.

Steeped in antiquity Often referred to as ‘Athens of the East’ due to its antiquity, Madurai’s recorded history dates back to the 4th century, making it one of the most ancient cities in India. The oldest reference of the city is found in a stone inscription at Kidaripatti, a small village on the city’s outskirts. It refers to ‘Mahirai,’ that later became Madurai, and this variation has remained for over a thousand years.

“East or West, Madurai is Best!”

An eye for detail-- a goldsmith crafting a piece of art

It was established during the event that February 8 will become Madurai’s special day, in the same way that Chennai celebrates Madras Day on August 22

Held from February 8-10, MaaMadurai Potruvom was an initiative of business representatives, government officials and arts and cultural enthusiasts to showcase Madurai’s unique history and culture. Bharath KS, Chairman of Aparajitha group, Madurai and Vice Chairman of the Celebrate Madurai committee proclaimed that his personal involvement in the festival was born from pride and the quality of life he enjoys in Madurai. He explained that the youth involvement took precedence in the planning stages, as organisers hoped to educate and instil a sense of ownership in the younger generation. The creative approach to this cultural renewal could be seen through workshops, processions, installations, exhibitions and performances at venues throughout the city over the three days.

Madurai Messenger Culture April 2013

Artist and writer Manohar Devadoss being escorted to the stage at the opening ceremony

The grand opening Gandhian, freedom fighter, K Lakshmikanthan Bharathi was honoured with the role of lighting the ‘Madurai Deepam’ that marked the official opening. He united torches that were brought from various heritage sites from around Tamil Nadu in the presence of event organisers and other guests including Major V.V Rajan Chellapa and Tamil Nadu’s Commissioner of Museums, S.S. Jawahar. The enormous marquee was packed full of people from all walks of life, eager to hear what lay in store. Speakers from various fields who had contributed to Madurai’s culture were invited to share their thoughts about the event, the city and their hopes for its future. Amongst them included author, Su Venkatesan and Chairman of the festival’s Celebrations Committee, Mr Karumuttu T Kannan. A theme amongst speakers was the significance of the city environment, with particular emphasis on cleaning

up the Vaigai river that is an essential lifeline to Madurai despite being a nonperennial water source. The importance of business, commerce and education were also considered a priority. This was a point that the student contingent clearly supported. Cheers and applause from the back rows could be heard from the American College and Fatima College representatives.

Youth brigade leads the way The youth involvement in reviving traditions that had diminished was another focus. An example of this renewal was already clear amongst the young women, many wearing Sungudi saris that are specific to the Madurai region. Organisers had arranged a sale of the saris at nine different colleges to encourage youth to wear the style that has often been associated with older women. The response was overwhelming and added to the colour and overall beauty of the occasion. Following the formal ceremony,

traditional instruments filled the air and Bharatanatyam dancers entered the stage that made for a vivid, theatrical and celebratory beginning to MaaMadurai Potruvom. The crowds were clearly capitivated.

People-centric and participatory Organisers were adamant that the festival would be a free event, so that all the citizens could attend. This community mindedness and youth involvement was continually reinforced. An exhibition inaugurated by inspirational artist and author, Manohar Devadoss, was enriched by student contributions of paintings and detailed models of the city. Artifacts of Madurai gathered from all over Tamil Nadu were another impressive aspect of the display, many pieces borrowed from private collections. Microlithic tools, Chinese ceramic pots dating back to the 13th and 14th centuries, palm leaf inscriptions and ceremonial anklets were just some of the artifacts included.

Bharatanatyam dancers perform at the opening ceremony

Information boards about important sites such as Tirumalai Naick Palace and Yaanai Malai (Elephant Hill) were another effective tool to bridge the gap between past and present. Students actively took part in workshops and essay competitions about Madurai’s heritage. An expo organised and sponsored by MADITISSIA (Madurai District Tiny & Small Scale Industries Association) was another example of community effort. The stalls were arranged for craftspeople to share the processes involved in industries such as goldsmithing, wood work, basket making, pottery and sculpture. Some offered additional workshops for those interested in pursuing these crafts. Independent organisations were also represented, for instance the M.S. Chellamuthu Trust and Foundation that works with people with mental illness.

Carnival time On Friday evening, a carnival atmosphere ensued at Tamukkam Grounds. Bullock cart rides, merry go rounds and

Reinventing tradition - A young girl wearing a sungudi churidhar as part of the efforts to revive and promote this unique craft

performances of traditional martial arts, games, music and dance were offered. Families embraced the opportunity to spend time together. An outstanding performance included forty five synchronized veena players. A procession on February 9 was flagged off at Madura College by Governor of Tamil Nadu, K Rosaiah, and journeyed through the streets. Thousands of cheering bystanders were spread out along the route, and countless others watched from their lounge rooms as local television stations aired the procession. The floats represented various historical events, including Mahatma Gandhi’s connection with the city. In 1921, it was here in Madurai that he replaced his formal dress with a simple loin cloth to assimilate more closely with the poor Indian population. Cultural icons such as the Meenakshi Sundareswarar Temple were also a part of the float procession. Throughout the three days, thirty-six forms of dance were performed many of which had never been seen

Madurai Messenger Culture April 2013

or heard by present day citizens. Some were representations of deities and guardians, while others focused on narratives of village life and former work methods. Unique instruments of the south were another focus of the festival. Amongst them included the nadhaswaram, a wind instrument commonly played at temples and weddings, and the mridangam that often accompanies Carnatic music, a classical South Indian style of music. To mark the finale of MaaMadurai Potruvom, ceremonial torches lined the banks of the Vaigai river and a spectacular fireworks show ensued. The dramatic display that lasted for an hour and a half was an ideal venue to wrap up the festival as a reminder for people to respect and enjoy Madurai’s environment. 34

In harmony -forty veena players perform with the Madurai Deepam in the background

Two young men take part in traditional martial arts display

Tattoos:

Engravings on the Human Body Nadine Rechsteiner ‘s fascination for tattoos led her to have five tattoos on her body. She explores the tattoo scene in Madurai and traces the history of this ancient body art and its contemporary avatar as a fashion statement By Nadine Rechsteiner Switzerland

The way forward

Making the festival an annual event was a priority for organisers and in light of the response, it indicates that this will indeed be the case. Mr Kannan asserted that despite the overwhelming success of MaaMadurai Potruvom, “over the years, it will grow and become better.” It was established during the event that February 8 will become Madurai’s special day, in the same way that Chennai celebrates Madras Day on August 22. Mr Bharath hopes the celebration will eventually become a part of the international calendar and attract tourists to the city also. An initiative to erect plaques throughout the city at various historic sites in both Tamil and English language was also being considered following the event to maintain knowledge, and inform tourists. Mr Kannan admitted that the” people of the city involved themselves in a manner that was beyond our expectation.” As a visitor, my lasting impression of this event is the overwhelming sense of pride that the people of Madurai feel for their ancient city.

Dhayan shows Nadine the rubber mat he first learned to tattoo on

owadays you see countless people having their skin inked. Tribal motifs, stars, flowers, butterflies or Kanji (Japanese writing) seem to be the most common motifs. But what is the fascination behind tattoos? Maybe it’s the fascination of decorating your already unique bodies with exclusive tattoos. I have five of them and I don’t see an end to it. Why, even just researching for this article made me want a new tattoo made here in India!

Local tattoo artist K.Dhayan is the owner of Madurai’s only tattoo parlour (www.maduraitattoos.com) which opened in 2010. The studio is much smaller than expected, but the good impression I got from his web page continues as I peek at needles and other equipment. Dhayan is particular that every item such as ink caps, gloves, razors or needles that touches the human skin be replaced for every new customer.

Pursuing a Passion Dhayan became a tattoo artist three years ago when he also had his first tattoo done. Originally he studied computer engineering, but even when he was a teenager, he loved to draw and hence decided to follow his passion. He attended a six-month tattoo course in Pune in Maharashtra. During this time, the students practiced on rubber mats to maximize their skills. Today five more designs decorate his body.

Madurai Messenger Art April 2013

While in the19th century only aristocrats got inked, nowadays everybody gets inked. This is the reversal of the situation 100 years ago. A mark can also be a sign of belonging to a certain groups like WWII veterans, sailors or even criminal gangs as prison inmates. Tattoos made a strong comeback in North America and Europe when it became fashionable among famous singers or sport stars to get inked. Having a tattoo is nowadays more popular than it has ever been before. People choose to get a tattoo as a status symbol, good luck charm, sign of love or religious belief or even marital status or group identity.

I asked him why he chose to became an expert. “It was my own interest,” he replies. Dhayan, a man of few words, decided to open his own tattoo parlour in Madurai, which also happened to be the first of its kind.

Man with the golden gun - an essential piece of equipment Dhayan has brought in from Chennai

“Tattoos are personal and many people convert their experiences, likings, preferences or dreams into a tattoo and put in on their skin,” says a Swiss friend

The artist’s life - Dhayan is living his passion, running his own tattoo shop

Conveniently located on a main road just next to Cafe Coffee Day, Madurai Tattoos attracts both locals and visitors. Most of his customers are Indians. However, it’s not rare to meet tourists from France or Netherlands who are planning to get a tattoo here in Madurai. The most common designs in Dhayan‘s shop are tribal and religious symbols. Due to their skin colour, Indians prefer black ink. These tattoos get the least damage from the sun. Even a single bad sunburn can cause the tattoo to lose its original colour. Colour tattoos hurt more than black and grey ones. The reason is that for colour designs, more pigments need to be applied on the skin while for black and grey tattoos, the same result is achieved by using less pigments. Like most people who get tattooed for the first time, Dhayan too became fascinated with the art form. Is it the sound of the tattooing machine or purely the pleasure to color the body with an ornament picked by oneself? What is the fascination behind tattoos? Most people prefer to bring their own design rather than picking a picture from the tattoo parlor. Nobody likes the idea that another person could carry exactly the same design. Fellow volunteer Florian decided to get inked in India as a special souvenir in Tamil language that will always remind him of his time in Madurai.

You think it, I ink it “Tattoos are personal and many people convert their experiences, likings, preferences or dreams into a tattoo and put in on their skin,” says a Swiss friend. They express themselves through a drawing on their skin that represents something meaningful in their life. Getting a design is to stand out from the crowd or as Dhayan appropriately quotes on his web page ‘You think it, I ink it.’

Body art Dhayan’s mantra - You think it, I ink it!

Tracing the origins of tattoo But when did it all get started and what is the original meaning behind those drawings? The word ‘tattoo’ originates from the Polynesian word ‘tatau’ which was brought to Europe by sailor and explorer James Cook. But the sailor did not only bring the word itself but also reintroduced the concept of tattooing. Humans have marked their bodies with tattoos since thousands of years. The famous iceman ‘Oetzi’, dating 5000 BC, who was discovered in the Austrian and Italian Alps had 57 different tattoos. These tattoos were a form of healing because they resembled places on the body usually used for acupuncture. Tattooing in the ancient world varies from country to country. For example, in China tattooing was associated with villains and criminals while Celtics and Germanics from Europe were often heavily tattooed. But later, during the process of Christianization, it was prohibited because at that time only pagans were inked. In India, tattoos were used as cultural symbol among different tribes. In ancient India henna was popular, but so is it today. In contrast to tattoos, henna is only temporary and lasts only a few days up to a few weeks.

On Dhayan’s internet page I read ‘one must agree that you will not be tattooed on the head, face or neck’. I ask him the reason because in Europe it’s entirely common to possess a tattoo on those special places. According to Dhayan, this rule applies only to Indians because they could get a visa problem. I ask him where the tattoo would hurt the most and to my surprise, he says ‘forearm’. Maybe it truly depends because everyone’s body is different when it comes to pain. Volunteer Florian agrees. He admits, “I was almost screaming.” Fellow volunteer Martina, who has a big tattoo on her back, admits, “The whole procedure took 3-5 hours, but after 2 hours I had to go out to relax and take a break from the constant pain.” Usually where skin is tight without fat or muscles it hurts the most. Also places like stomach or collar bones where we have lots of nerves are not very comfortable places to get inked. For a first tattoo, probably the calf or arms are best. But then again the pain is part of the whole procedure and knowing that you get a nice tattoo at the end makes it less torturing. From my own personal experience, I can say that spots like the foot or stomach hurt quite a bit. Considering that my tattoos are all small, the pain lasted only for probably 15 minutes. First the artist draws the outline and then proceeds to fill it. This can truly

Various coloured inks and a sample of the artist’s sketching

ache, but small tattoos won’t take much longer than 20 minutes. On the other hand, the one I had done on my lower neck was almost like a massage, when the needle was digging into my skin I felt a relaxing feeling. Some people sense more pain if they don’t catch a glimpse of the needle. Undeniably it can be assuring to know how much is already done so people can organize their pain level. Or as expert Dhayan says on his homepage, ‘It‘s all about the breathing to survive the process.’ I finally realized that tattoos are not common in modern India (yet). Many years ago in Tamil Nadu only villains were inked, so even today people get their tattoos on a spot where they can hide them. Tattoos have a long tradition in different forms for most parts of India and slowly it will change into fashion in modern India, especially in cities like Mumbai or Delhi where it’s not a taboo but a fashion statement. As for me, I am still considering getting a tattoo in India. I already know the exact spot on my body, but I‘m uncertain about the design. I‘m searching the internet for ideas, but as long as I don‘t come down with a “click“ feeling and I‘m absolutely convinced about it, I remain with five tattoos on my body.

Madurai Messenger Young Achievers April 2013

A Winning Performance:

Adhyapana School Shows the Way

Detailed costumes and nuanced performances made this production a winner

Curtain Call - students from Adhyapana School recieve a well deserved round of applause

Gabrielle Trenbath is spellbound as she watches a modern fairy tale specially staged for her by the students of Adhyapana School, who won the Best Script award recently in the National inter school drama festival in Kolkata By Gabrielle Trenbath Australia

38 Drama Festival had the theme of ‘IndiaUK: A modern fairytale.’ Participation in this festival is labour intensive and Adhyapana School has been focusing on the festival for much of 2012. But the school’s hard work paid off with the students’ successive victory at each stage of the competition.

Stringent selection A tale with a twist -the play by Adhyapana School was a modern interpretation of a Shakespearan play with characters from various fairy tales and Indian mythology

he opening line was a take on the Shakespearian quote ‘All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts’ and it was from that moment onwards that the audience knew they were going to see an amazing modern fairy tale that would indeed have a happy ending.

The play performed by students of Adhyapana School began with S.K. Jeevitha (14), Cherish (12) S. Palani (15) R. Gokulnath (14), Keerthi R Warrier (14) standing in a V formation and introducing themselves and the play to the audience. It was a strong start to an impressive performance that left the audience appreciating the school’s success at the national stage.

Winners all the way December 2, 2012 saw Adhyapana School in Madurai win ‘The Best Script’ at the British Council’s national annual inter school drama festival in Kolkatta from an original pool of over 4000 schools from around India. The British Council (presented with Manchester Metropolitan University) Inter-school

Strict guidelines were given by the British Council to guide participants during the competition. The first stage of this festival involved the creation of the narrative in a short story format and it was during this stage that 400 schools were short listed. It was following this process that 185 schools were invited to turn the story into a script. Their plays had to conform to the guidelines given by the Council which specified the number of students on stage, the size of the performance area and the length of the play. Prerecorded music was not allowed. However, Adhyapana students overcame this by performing a musical item themselves when their play required it.

This modern fairy tale is a very clever play that successfully combines well known stories from both British and Indian cultures Soon it was time to cull the competition further and only 45 schools were invited to perform their play with only eight being chosen to perform in the finals in Kolkata.

Top of the world You can imagine the excitement that the school felt when they heard that they were selected to perform in the finals and were to attend a two-day workshop. When they heard about their success, the students said that they felt like they were on the “top of the world” and “on cloud nine.” Not even the wider school community has seen their performance and the only people to see their performance was the local Rotary Club who gave them feedback on their performance. But to get to this point required months of hard work by School Principal Aruna M. Visvessvar and Mrs. Subhasree Srinivasan, Head of the English

Department,as well as the students themselves to create this modern fairytale. This play cleverly combined well known English characters from Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet), English fairytales such as Prince Charming and Indian mythology including Silapathigaram.

Blending British and Indian cultures This modern fairy tale is a very clever play that successfully combines well known stories from both British and Indian cultures. The play was centred on the question that asked if fairy tales had a happy ending. There were two aspects of the story, each using the character of the caretaker of Heaven, for example St Peter and the Hindu equivalent Yama. Both characters had fictional individuals from the other culture pleading for the lives of their loved ones to be returned to them. For example, Yama had

Madurai Messenger Young Achievers April 2013

Honing their skills The workshop conducted in the final stage by well known Indian theatre personality Sanjana Kapoor also allowed students to learn the finer points of acting such as being able to convincingly impart emotions such as sorrow into their performance. The ability to cry when you aren’t particularly sad is a tough skill to learn but it was something that actress Priyanka (13) had originally struggled with but during this workshop, she was able to master this skill. During this workshop, the students learnt to modify their characters, become comfortable performing on stage, forget themselves on stage and the use the art of self analysis to improve their own performance. Champions - The student actors of Adhyapana School with the trophy for the British Council Inter-school Drama Festival

Prince Charming pleading for the life of Sleeping Beauty who, despite being kissed, had failed to wake up as well as Romeo pleading with him to bring Juliet back to life. But Yama reminds Romeo and Prince Charming that he can’t bring everyone back from the dead. With a modern technological twist, both St Peter and Yama use their iPads and proceed to use Skype to check if they have anyone under the name of Juliet and Sleeping Beauty coming up to heaven.

A participatory production It took Adhyapana School staff a good part of the year to write, audition and rehearse the students. Principal Aruna M. Visvessvar and Mrs. Subhasree Srinivasan took part in hours of brainstorming and several drafts to get the script just as they wanted. Their hard work was rewarded when they won one of the two prizes on offer for their script. While the majority of the students were put through seven rounds of auditions that included reading passages from King Lear and other passages from

Shakespeare, promising dancer Keerthi R.Warrier (14) was not required to audition on the basis of her ability to perform on stage.

An enriching experience For the teachers, the students’ participation in the Festival was more than about drama. Activities such music, dance, sport and community service often allow participants to develop more than just the ability to dance, act, play cricket or contribute to the community. More importantly, it helps students develop interpersonal skills, the ability to work in a team and reminds them that no individual should stand out or demand too much attention.But on a more practical level, students were able to learn how to use microphones and gain confidence to speak in public in different environments. Adhyapana School Principal Aruna M. Visvessvar encouraged all eight students involved to watch the other 44 teams perform so that they could develop the ability to compare their performances with the performances of other students, to learn how to improve their own acting and dancing skills.

Adventures in Travel Isabelle Brotherton-Ratcliffe writes on her unforgettable experiences on luxury buses and trains while travelling to different destinations for her stories and concludes that despite her initial misgivings and a few (mis)adventures, they have indeed enriched her Indian encounter By Isabelle Brotherton-Ratcliffe United Kingdom

Because the play does incorporate both Indian and British classical literature, all students involved were exposed to the works of Shakespeare and Indian epics such as Silapathigaram. Students were asked to read passages from Shakespeare’s plays as part of the script development process and when they auditioned for the play; as a result, they will have a continuing interest in literature well into the future.

The future With the Rs. 20, 000 prize money comes many possibilities. Aruna M. Visvessvar plans to establish an interschool drama competition here in Madurai to foster drama at the local level. It will interesting to see if this local competition inspires other schools to take part in the British Council Festival next year, but until then the staff and students of Adhyapana School will continue to celebrate this great achievement and begin to think about the 2013 British Council National Level Annual Inter-School Drama Festival. Having seen the play, I can assure you that it was a fine performance of a very well written play. The students presented themselves very well and were a credit to their school and, of course, to their town of Madurai.

Indian trains connect people across the country

ne of the best ways to experience India is by travelling on its public networks. I have always thought of Indians as a travelling people, with family members spread far afield, and the sight of family groups on station platforms, gathered to embark on a journey to visit relations, is strangely comforting. It took me a few journeys after my arrival here to get to grips with the practicalities of train and bus travel, but now it is one of the things I enjoy most. Every journey I

take has, however, been embellished by unexpected incidents which has made them memorable in different ways.

Taking the first step First I should explain that I find Indian trains quite difficult to board; the trains stand high against the platform and the steps to climb up to them are steep and narrow, but also there always seems to be an equal number of people trying to get in and out at the same time. My first escapade was on a sleeper

train from Varkala to Madurai when I lined up, with five friends, at the train door, but there wasn‘t enough time for everyone to get in the same carriage so I ran down the platform and flung myself into another one. When I looked around, I found I was in a cheaper section of the train, in the middle of a poor Indian family and a rather grander couple opposite. I introduced myself and tried to find out more about my newfound companions.

Madurai Messenger Travel April 2013

He glared down at us in alternating flashes of red and green and in the face of such a fierce welcome, I felt I should apologise for disturbing his night time domain

Nighttime patrol by train conductor

Sleeper Bus, a home on the road

After their initial surprise at this apparent alien landing amongst them, they all rallied round and became intent on helping me to get back to my friends The man, it turned out, was a rickshaw driver going on holiday with his wife and two children. I mimicked the act of rickshaw driving, much to his amusement, and then my job as a secretary and made finger shapes for the stupefied children. After their initial surprise at this apparent alien landing amongst them, they all rallied round and became intent on helping me to get back to my friends. They described the length of stop at each station - not long enough to clamber down, run down the platform and scramble back up again elsewhere - and assured me each time we stopped, not yet, not yet. The grander couple became interested in the poor man‘s job and we all passed the time very amicably so I was quite sad to leave them all two hours later. The train lingered at a junction and the family came to the door to offer a silent wave of farewell as I passed out of the train into the night.

Rude awakening Shortly after this I was required to go to Chengelpet, south of Chennai, and it seemed the best route was by overnight bus

from Madurai. I felt confident that I could manage night buses and was rather proud of my preparations in taking my own sheet and pillow, like a seasoned commuter. The bus was a semi sleeper with reclining chairs, and although everybody else was already reclined when I got in, I managed to get myself settled in a comfortable sleeping position. What I had not realised was that the bus did not actually go into Chengelpet, but simply stopped at a convenient place on the motorway nearby. I was of course in my deepest sleep at 5.00 a.m. when shaken awake and told we had arrived. I stumbled sleepily out of the bus in the dark and in a surreal dream-like haze found that my companions and I needed to shoulder our bags and walk down the carriageway towards the slip road exit. Surprisingly (although one should not be surprised by anything when travelling) we found a rickshaw parked at the side of the road which took us to the local town and our hotel. The hotel was closed at that hour so we banged on the corrugated iron shutters to wake up the night watchman, and unfortunately,

Toy seller enticing passengers with his wares

the neighbours. It was dark in the hotel reception except for a picture above the desk of the former owner surrounded by electric lights. He glared down at us in alternating flashes of red and green and in the face of such a fierce welcome, I felt I should apologise for disturbing his night time domain. Returning from Chengelpet was more unusual, by any standards. This time we drove along the motorway, in a rickshaw, towards the toll booths for motorway fees. There is no bus station in this town “so this is where we get the bus‘” I was told. The toll booths stretched across a wide extent of the motorway and, without knowing at which one the bus might roll up, we had to remain alert and ready to spring into a dash between the lorries, tankers and buses when we spied the bus we wanted. While the driver paid the

tariff, and waited for change, we were able to board and take our seats for Madurai. As we moved on, I noticed some chairs placed around the toll booths, presumably for those who had to wait longer for their desired bus. To the unfamiliar eye, this seemed an eccentric method of catching a bus, but as is so often in India, I have learned much about how compromises and adaptations can make for a workable system and this method worked.

In a jam My next journey was to Mysore which is served by a direct train from Madurai. It was wonderful to have so much of the effort taken out of the trip by the simplicity of this route and I was pleased to have bought both the ticket and reservation without difficulty. On the return, I clasped my ticket smugly, waiting on the platform for the train

to pull in, but when it did, the doors of my carriage could not be opened. They were simply jammed or locked, but bearing in mind my earlier train journey from Varkala when it had proved impossible to walk between one carriage and another, I was wondering how best to proceed. Then I saw that several enterprising young men had found a window through which they were throwing their luggage and then climbing in. The ladies in their party were also undertaking this feat, with a little help. Given the height of Indian trains it was a two-man effort to get through the small window: one person to leap up and one to push from behind. I wondered if we were going to have to form some sort of queue outside this window but I was greatly troubled by the etiquette of the situation. Generally unwilling to attract attention, I was not sure how asking

Madurai Messenger Travel April 2013

A Slice of Life We swooped and swerved around the road, sometimes braking, sometimes accelerating and I rolled around the bed like a sailor in a storm. Finally the driver executed a spectacular double swerve and I rolled neatly out onto the floor

In a profound review of Ambai’s short fiction, Krysten Maier delves into the deeper recesses of the human mind and explores the spaces occupied by women—an experience historically made secondary in literature By Krysten Maier Canada

Title: Ambai: Two Novellas and A Story Author: Ambai Publisher: Katha Year: 2003

Transport systems old and new stand side by side

someone to shove you through a window would sound. It is an ambiguous question and could lead to misunderstandings. The situation was resolved when the doors were unblocked, but the question of what would be the correct conduct in such a situation remains with me still.

Floored For my last trip, I decided to eschew trains in favour of buses. I had heard such excellent reports of night sleeper buses that on a visit to Bangalore, notwithstanding the ease of train travel there, I opted for the night bus. It was indeed a great pleasure to settle in my neat and self contained bunk with its enclosing curtain and I took my place in anticipation of a relaxing journey. Before I could settle down, a party of ladies boarded who evidently had a group ticket and needed to be assigned to individual berths by their tour leader. This lady consulted her list and duly directed her group to their cubicles, but there seemed to be some dissension amongst them as to who would go with who and most of them returned to seek a new berth number or to exchange luggage. The

centre of operations was the berth opposite mine so my own bed became part of the group gathering and I found myself confined to an ever reducing corner of the berth as their differences were resolved. Eventually we all settled down for the night, but I had not counted on the driver who evidently had a love of the open road – and either a tight deadline to meet, or simply a natural tendency to drive like Ben Hur in a hurry. We swooped and swerved around the road, sometimes braking, sometimes accelerating and I rolled around the bed like a sailor in a storm. Finally the driver executed a spectacular double swerve and I rolled neatly out onto the floor. A rude awakening in every sense but the ladies around me sympathetically hoisted me upright and I clambered back into my now rather less relaxing bunk. In future, I think I will take a hammock. It is of course possible to fly between many cities in India - but for me there is no romance in that. I shall soon be leaving Madurai to go to Delhi and have heard of a train which runs the length of the country. Now that would be the ultimate train journey, so how can I resist it…

t said that to read a novel is to look at a tree—the roots to the trunk to the branches and leaves. To read a short story, on the other hand, is to chop down that tree and look at the crosssection of the stump. This is the perfect analogy for the short fiction of Ambai. It is near-impossible to rival this Tamil writer when it comes to presenting the reader with a slice of life. And certainly none can do so with such effortless elegance. Indeed it is tough to critique what has been such a cornerstone in the Tamil literary tradition. This book, published in 2003, is a collection of a few stories from the body of Ambai’s work—“Wrestling”, “The Unpublished Manuscript”, and “A Deer in the Forest”—book-ended by an introduction by the author and an essay on women and literature. Ambai’s invested interest in women’s studies is the thread that runs through and connects the texts, and this theme is presented in a unique way in each story. Rather than manifestos or sermons toting women’s rights, these pieces merely give a glimpse into a woman’s experience, an experience historically made secondary in literature.

Madurai Messenger Book Review April 2013

Ambai’s story-telling prowess eases the reader into comprehension while still preserving the integrity of the particularities of the Tamil experience. After all, what good would it be to read regional literature if one didn’t get to experience the region?

Teller of tales While it is a bit of a stretch to call the first two pieces novellas—weighing in at just over thirty pages a piece—Ambai wastes no word and uses a short space to cut to the heart of the matter. Her spare style and flair for compact fiction strikes harder than could be achieved by any lengthy tome. The reader is lanced into the world of the story without a moment to draw air and is submerged in the lives of the characters. 46

I was surprised to be so roped in by a translated text that makes no effort to domesticate in catering to the foreign audience. Admittedly I struggled with keeping track of characters, being called by both their given names and familial Tamil titles or terms of endearment. It did not help that some of these are as similar as “amma” and “anna,” “appa” and “ayya.” More than just names, the translator preserves Tamil terms for many facets of the story, often for central elements around which the little tales hinge. It can be disconcerting at first and create an incongruous experience for the reader. It doesn’t take long, however, for Ambai’s storytelling prowess to ease the reader into comprehension while still preserving the integrity of the particularities of the Tamil experience. After all, what good would it be to read literature in Indian languages if one didn’t get to experience the region?

Stark, spare writing Despite cultural differences, Ambai’s prose is simply enjoyable to take in. Her writing reveals her as the perfectionist she is, sculpting her tales with careful

hands, smoothing them over and over until the result is sublime. Her simplicity of phrasing raps like a ruler on a desk and strikes the reader when they least expect it. There is elegance in the economy of her words. Ambai clearly knows well that cluttering the page with excessive prose and embroidery can detract from the power of the text rather than add to it. Her pithy descriptions also have an effect of defamiliarization at times, leaving the reader without a point of reference. This is a crucial element in deconstructing the sensitive issues she is dealing with and allowing for a new perspective. It allows the reader to question the spaces that women most commonly occupy—in literature and the world—and opens them up to new possibilities.

Compelling narratives “Unpublished Manuscript” is a rabbit hole of literature. Leading the reader from the surface relationship between mother and daughter founded on a shared love of arts and reading, the story plunges into the secret caverns of their existence through a found manuscript. This inner story also contains the parallels literature holds to life as it recounts relations within the setting of a publishing house. It is not clear which is the title “manuscript”, but what it symbolizes for the lives of the female protagonists is ultimately of greater import. The layers and depth make this complex tale a rewarding bittersweet read. “Wrestling” is a poignant tale of parent figures, rivalries, and ultimately

love, told through the framework of a musical education. Its simplicity emphasizes the intricacy of the malefemale relationship. It gives the reader a peek into the lives of a patchwork family, a delicate balancing act like a duet of voices singing in harmony. “In the Forest, A Deer” is the shortest and, I would argue, the most accessible of the stories. This is due in part to the fable-like quality of the telling, finishing with a parable told by the character around whom the piece revolves. This parable is a graceful hybrid of a reference to a past age of literature while engaging with the still relevant struggles that women face. The accessibility of this story comes also from how much importance is placed on the perspective of the child. This voice of narration has a universal quality of innocence the reader can relate with, a voice, which holds no restrictions, no concerns about the stigma surrounding gender and the weight that comes with being a woman. Ambai is an enigmatic writer. At times she strikes me as a secretive writer who likes to let the reader puzzle with just the bare bones of information, just the moment without the history. She keeps the reader starving throughout the length of the story, craving more, and then provides the perfect resolution at the very end. At other times, her straightforwardness is compelling and speaks volumes. This book is a great read to be enjoyed over many sittings or devoured all in one.

Challenging ideas of Western Feminism In an analytical review of eminent writer Mahasweta Devi’s masterpiece, Rudali, Gabrielle Trenbath argues that the book enabled her to comprehend the intriguing idea that feminism is culturally specific as it attempts to address patriarchy and the resulting oppression that takes on very regional specific hues, colours and tones By Gabrielle Trenbath Australia

Title: Rudali Author: Mahasweta Devi Publisher: Seagull Books Year: 1997 Price: Rs 325/-

hile Rudali by acclaimed Indian writer Mahasweta Devi, 87, may be a small book, its powerful story covers several important issues. From abject poverty to the caste system and Indian funeral practices as well as the role of women in a strongly patriarchal society, this story challenges readers on their ideas on poverty and feminism. So powerful is this story that it has been transformed into a play and a movie. Mahasweta Devi, born in 1926, is a Bengali author and comes from a family of Brahman writers. Both parents wrote and so did her brother as well as her son who became a celebrated author, Nabarun Bhattacharya. Mahasweta Devi went on teach at Bijoygarh College while also turning her hand at journalism and creative writing. She has also become well known as a social activist who brought attention to the lives of those who are not economically powerful and don’t have the loudest voices.

Madurai Messenger Book Review April 2013

A Stellar Poetry Anthology

But after reading the story and thinking about it, my understanding of feminism has grown to appreciate that the struggles and agendas are culturally specific and different depending on where you live

A stunning bilingual anthology of contemporary Tamil feminist poetry that is as delightful as it is profound Against all odds Essentially, this story concerns the life of Sanichari. From the caste she was born into to being unfortunate enough to be born on unlucky Saturday, her life continues to see tragedy. Sanichari sees many of her immediate family pass away leaving her in a permanent state of insecurity. Somehow Sanichari continues to cling tightly to her dignity and this allows her to discover opportunities to allow her to support herself.

Poverty and suffering, a way of life The realities of poverty regularly struck me especially when it is written, ‘For them, nothing has ever come easy. Just the daily struggle for a little maize gruel and salt is exhausting. Through motherhood and widowhood they are tied to the money lender. While those people spend huge sums of money on death ceremonies, just to get prestige….’ This quote really is central to Sanichari’s story and the community that she is part of as well as her motivation to become a professional mourner. Those that do have money use it to improve their status. With the focus on poverty, I was often reminded that attitude and community were the key to surviving life’s hardships, such as when Sanichari says, “In this village everyone is unhappy. They understand suffering,” meaning that suffering is easier to bear if everyone is going through the same thing. Another example was when a lady with a new baby in the village offered to breast feed Sanichari’s infant grandson so that she can go and work. Life was so hard for Sanichari but she managed to survive with the help of her community.

Mourning, the ultimate release After being reunited with a childhood friend, both of them take up on an opportunity to become professional mourners, offered by Dulan (a money lender who is of the more wealthy class above Sanichari and can be described as “a mover and a shaker”) who suggests that Sanichari should tap into her life time of misery and her inability to cry for the deaths of her own family to aid the wealthy in her society to stage an appropriate farewell from this earthly life. As a result of this opportunity, the pair is able to work; they are able to gain some income and a bowl of rice as well as the ability to introduce other women of less socially acceptable professions to this way of securing their financial independence. Professional mourning has a long tradition in parts of India and in Rajasthan in particular. It is seen as important to give the deceased person a good funeral, so that in death their status is elevated. I found it interesting that in the days prior to individuals’ passing away, they were often not cared for and left to sleep in their own excrement but once they were dead, they were given the grandest funerals. Many readers refer to this book as a feminist text because of Sanichari’s ability to (with the help of Dulan) to manipulate the patriarchal culture resulting in her ability to support herself and not rely on men for life’s essentials. In many ways, I struggled with this idea of Rudali being a feminist book as I never considered working for free for a wealthy landowner (as Sanichari had to do to) to pay a debt as very liberating

Author Mahasweta Devi

or even manipulating the patriarchal paradigm as very progressive.

Feminism: A culturally specific issue As a feminist who grow up in the West where the focus was on very Western issues such as pay equality, abortion rights and a more equal distribution of household responsibilities, I often felt uncomfortable when I read about Rudali being regarded a feminist text. When I first began to read Rudali, I couldn’t really understand why it was considered feminist. But after reading the story and thinking about it, my understanding of feminism has grown to appreciate that the struggles and agendas are culturally specific and different depending on where you live. In the West, the aim is to push the boundaries of the patriarchal system but in Rudali and in more patriarchal cultures generally, women have to manipulate the system to suit their agenda in the same way that Sanichari does in the story. Rudali and the story of Sanichari is defiantly worth reading and joins my long list of great Indian stories. While this book is a challenging one, it provides a lot to talk about, making it an ideal book for a book club and a priority read before your Indian adventure.

Wild Girls Wicked Words A Bilingual Collection of Poetry edited and translated from the Tamil by Lakshmi Holmstrom

Title: Wild Girls Wicked Words

By Krysten Maier

Publisher: Sangam House

Canada

Year: 2013

Price: Rs 295/-

n a brilliant, brand new collection, award-winning translator Lakshmi Holmstrom brings us a tour-de-force of Tamil woman poets. The book features four of the eminent regional poets who use their words as a form of feminist protest: Kutti Revathi, Malathi Maithri, Salma and Sukirtharani. Each poem is presented in the original Tamil, as well as her masterful English translation. No one can capture the tone, gait and power of these women’s words like Holmstrom, so the book is a pleasure to read for the English and Tamil speaker alike. Lakshmi Holmstrom is obviously a dedicated researcher and admirer of Tamil literature, having put together such a stellar collection. The poetry is preluded by an articulate and informed introduction by the translator, which provides deep insight into the minds of these young poets. These women whom Holmstrom affectionately refers to as the “wild girls” should consider themselves lucky to have fallen into the hands of such a capable collaborator. In addition to a global introduction, Holmstrom provides succinct biographies for each poet written in captivating language. This contextualizes and serves as the perfect framework for the reader entering into the poetic voices of the four women.

Nature as metaphor Malathi Maithri’s poetry is at times stark and simple, but the words resonate a vast plain of imagery and thought. She invokes nature frequently in the first half of the poems included here, using natural objects to explore themes like womanhood. These poems capture the joyfulness she experienced growing up and have a certain child-like reverence. The verses trickle down like a fresh spring and run wild with an uninhibited gait. Holmstrom’s selections chart

Authors: Malathi Maithri, Salma, Kutti Revathi, Sukirtharani

Madurai Messenger Book Review April 2013

Malathi Maithri’s poetry is at times stark and simple, but the words resonate a vast plain of imagery and thought

One of the most salient features of Salma’s poetry is her open discussion of the female body, in plain language as well as metaphor

Maithri’s poetic evolution well, however, and the subjects of her poems darken gradually to house political issues and the encroaching problems of this world. Her language changes, singed by the onslaught of years. This shift in perspective blows like a heady wind in her later poetry, and with the final poem “Demon language”, she becomes the original “wicked woman” of this thus-titled collection.

Blurred Lines, Fragmented Boundaries Krysten Maier on the challenging experience of viewing 15, Park Avenue, a film that explores the complex interrelationships between gender and mental disability with rare sensitivity and insight By Krysten Maier Canada

Silence, a paradoxical means of communication Salma is next, a poet who understands that silence can be just as powerful as words. Lakshmi Holmstrom fittingly chooses “The rust of silence” as the first selection and builds from there on. In contrast to the space left for the unsaid, this collection of her work showcases the bold voice that emerges from the silence. One of the most salient features of Salma’s poetry is her open discussion of the female body, in plain language as well as metaphor. Through the cracks of short couplets, that read like pauses for breath, sprout fearless phrases that confront the reader and evoke thought. Her poems have a harsh beauty that sizzles and soothes.

A scene from the film

Prophet of the female form

Kutti Revathi has a sharp tongue in her outwardly feminist poetry. Her words are empowering, springing from the fountains of inequality, hoping to move mountains with their might. These poems cut to the core and penetrate deeply into the experience of being a Tamil woman. She also explores the female form with exonerated rein, with the dexterity of a medical professional. Her borderline erotic verses are steeped with protest, but also a great deal of sensuality as she writes on themes of love. Each piece more intricate and complicated than the next, as Lakshmi Holmstrom shows us the full breadth of this accomplished young woman. Her work strikes chords of deep chagrin and even dread, but does not forsake hope with moments of lightness. Writer, feminist and activist Malathi Maithri

A heady poetic brew Sukirtharani concludes the volume with her unique brew of Dalit and feminist poetry. Her acute awareness of the discrimination of caste and gender are the central pillars of her work and inform her language. Again the body provides important images to the dynamics of the woman’s poetry and become a natural force through metaphor. These elemental musings, though composed in free running verse, show a particular attention to prosody. The diligent work of Holmstrom shows a seamless transliteration in which the crucial details of form remain intact and strengthen the words, particularly noticeable in the powerhouse “Nature’s fountainhead.” Her words reveal her experiences, but transcend them with imaginative imagery and equivocal significance.

Kutti Revathi also explores the female form with exonerated rein, with the dexterity of a medical professional

This is truly a stunning compilation of poetry from a range of women on different paths, all heading to the same place. Lakshmi Holmstrom’s sensitivity to their cause and her appreciation of their voices has made this work possible. Each poem has obviously been carefully selected, each one reinforcing the next and taking the reader on the journey of the women’s experiences. This book is a great introduction to the rich poetic tapestry of contemporary Tamil writing, and an equally great anthology for those who have been fans for years.

Title: 15 Park Avenue Cast: Shabana Azmi, Konkona Sen Sharma, Rahul Bose Director: Aparna Sen Language: English, Hindi, Bengali Year of Release: 2012

hat is in your hands right now? Are you sure it is a magazine? And if I swore it was a feather duster, would you still believe it was a magazine? Of course. Appearances can be deceiving and our minds play tricks on us. But the only realities that actually matter are the ones we believe ourselves. This thought is the heartbeat of the film 15 Park Avenue, in plot and execution, as the viewer questions at every turn, “Did I really just see that or was I imagining it?” A beautifully haunting film is the result.

A stunning celluloid creation This torrent of cinematographic originality, stirring performances, and ensnaring plot shows award-winning director Aparna Sen clearly hitting her stride. This dark and fascinating film is only impaired by occasional incongruous dialogue—particularly as this Bengali film unravels largely in English—and a slightly dolorous pace. The genius of this National Film Award winning Englishlanguage Indian piece, however, is incontestable. Its overall impact is bound to leave any viewer dumbstruck.

Madurai Messenger Book Review April 2013

This is a very human film despite a certain surreal quality, touching on an aspect of humanity that many viewers may otherwise never experience, but can relate with all the same

The film starts out with an unforgettable, dizzying first scene that plucks the viewer from the audience and pulls them into the world of the film with a first person camera angle from a moving car. We are introduced to the protagonists by their voices, as they share words in the car, before we ever see their faces. The conversation is a grating exchange between two sisters clearly not on a mutual plane of understanding, as the younger desperately insists on finding a house at the address of 15 Park Avenue, ultimately failing to do so. This artistic disorientation sets the tone for the film that is to follow. 52

The story branches out from this scene, putting down roots into the complex lives of the sisters, Anjali (Shabana Azmi) and Mitali (Konkona Sen Sharma), affectionately known as Anu and Meethi. Anu is a brilliant and successful physics professor, burdened with the familial responsibility of caring for her aging mother and a troubled much younger sister Meethi. The film negotiates between the present state of these characters and glimpses into the dark history of Meethi, as her history of a dormant schizophrenia is discussed with a new doctor after suffering a seizure early on in the film.

Splintered self The strain of such a mental illness is emphasized as Meethi’s fabricated stories, coming out of the alternate reality that exists inside her head, are shuffled in to some very real traumatic incidents the young woman has faced. While Meethi was very functional in her early twenties, working as a journalist in a newspaper office, the trauma of being gang-raped and subsequently left by her fiancé triggered a slow deterioration in her mental health. The second act of

the film picks up some of this past as the now-married-with-kids fiancé, Joydeep (Rahul Bose), is reunited by chance with his spurned bride-to-be. Wracked with regret, Joy resolves to help the woman, who has no memory of him, in her quest to find 15 Park Avenue. But does this place really exist outside of Meethi’s slanted reality? Right from the start, the film’s score set a gentle back tone of unease that nested and spread in my chest as I was drawn into the unsettling story. I think Aparna Sen, who wrote the film as well, must have taken cues from American director David Lynch in making Park Avenue. I was reminded heavily of his Mulholland Drive (2001) in its muted horror and uneasy puzzlement and themes of dream versus reality surrounding amnesia. Unlike Mulholland Drive, Sen’s film is more accessible and cohesive, making it a better watch.

Brilliant portrayals More than this though, the sublime casting is what elevates this film to new heights. I never doubted the commitment of any of these top notch actors for a minute. Rahul Bose delivers to his standard of excellence, but it is the two women who must really be commended. Shabana Azmi captured the grievous emotion tied to living with a family member in distress in a nuanced and profound performance. Konkona Sen Sharma positively steals the show, however, as the distressed Meethi. She shows an incredible range in the progression of the film and creates an unforgettable character that lingers despite her specter-like presence. The film jumps around quite a bit from past to present as the trials of Meethi and Anu are slowly revealed, plugging in puzzle pieces to their shared story.

While at times hard to follow, this interweaving provides a welcome break from the sometimes grim present and educates the viewer gradually. In the same vein, the editing often comes off quite patchy, creating a sense of disorder in the presentation of events. For once, I think this was the right choice for the conveyance of the plot, following a young woman snapping in and out of lucidity.

The Japanese Wife:

An Unusual Love Isabelle Brotherton-Ratcliffe reviews the acclaimed film The Japanese Wife, based on the book by Kunal Bose, and finds it a compelling love story, despite her initial reluctance to believe that a love such as this was ever possible By Krysten Maier Canada

I was disappointed that the aforementioned “first person” camera angle is abandoned in the rest of the film, but the director does continue to surprise the audience with innovative cinematographic choices. She sets up wide shots with the characters initially far off in the distance, walking deeper into the frame. This wouldn’t be so unusual if the viewer didn’t have to strain to hear the dialogue as it gradually grows louder the closer they appear. Visually, this film makes as strong an impression as the content alone, but at times scenes are stretched out longer than necessary and lose canter. The film similarly loses steam when dialogue becomes forced and implausible at times, adding to the already slightly unnatural feeling as it is in English. Despite these minor flaws, 15 Park Avenue is a fascinating watch and triumph of a film. It cultivates beauty in its ambiguity and discord, and provokes thought and sympathy. I think this is a very human film despite a certain surreal quality, touching on an aspect of humanity that many viewers may otherwise never experience, but can relate with all the same. A challenging viewing experience and a must-see gem from the repertoire of a sensitive film maker whose forte is women-centric themes.

he Japanese Wife is a film directed by Bengali filmmaker Aparna Sen which was released to great acclaim in 2010. It is a lyrical and mellow film which needs to be seen in a mood of relaxed acceptance as it is a leisurely, but ultimately very touching, portrayal of an unusual relationship.

Title: The Japanese Wife Cast: Rahul Bose,

An unusual life choice

Raima Sen, Moushumi Chatterjee, Chigusa Takaku Director: Aparna Sen Language: Bengali Year of Release: 2010

The story centres on an affable, bespectacled school teacher, Snehmoy, who lives with his aunt in the Sundarbans region of West Bengal, and his correspondence with a Japanese woman, Miyage. They begin writing to each other as pen friends but then consolidate their friendship with marriage, each of them undergoing a sole ceremony according to their own country’s rites. The charm of the film lies in the acceptance of this situation by all those about them, and of the solemnity with which they consider themselves bound to each other. The years pass and we understand that the couple are able to write to each other about everything,

Madurai Messenger Film Review April 2013

The success of this film is in overriding a conventional view of marriage and portraying a relationship which brings so much depth, solace and fulfilment to the protagonists, without their ever meeting

The Big Fat Indian Wedding Liz Dougan recommends the vibrant film Monsoon Wedding about challenges faced by a Punjabi family in contemorary times, with a platter of Indian treats and a nip of whiskey for an Indian twist, all of which evoke a celebratory atmosphere! By Elizabeth Dougan Australia

Title: Monsoon Wedding Cast: Naseeruddin Shah, Lillete Dubey,

including the absence of physicality in their relationship. The simplicity of this premise and the restraint with which it is portrayed give the film its depth and the viewer is able to suspend disbelief of such a life choice. Although both parties are given equal importance, the story is shown from the Indian side for when Snehmoy describes his life, the film shows us his home, surroundings and the people of his world, but Miyage is only ever shown conducting solitary household tasks or sitting alone with her pen and paper.

Terms of fulfillment My first reaction on seeing the film was to question the nature of marriage. Setting aside the norm of two people living together, with or without children, surely a relationship which does not involve the couple seeing each other in every mood and every mundane aspect of daily life cannot be termed more than a friendship or sympathetic understanding. The success of this film is in overriding that view and portraying a relationship which brings so much depth, solace and fulfilment to the protagonists, without their ever meeting. The most touching scene is when Snehmoy makes a supreme effort to contact Miyage and manages to telephone her in Japan. The two who have said everything in letters have little

to say on the phone and yet the pleasure they take in simply hearing each other’s voices is deeply moving. It becomes entirely plausible that each should consider themselves married given the love they have found in each other. There is a third element in the film which is the arrival of a young widow who comes to live with Snehmoy and his aunt. Clearly both the aunt and Sandhya, the widow, hope that she and Snehmoy will come together but his dedication to his absent wife prevents him even from thinking of Sandhya in this way. This shows Snehmoy in a less appealing light as he is evidently unable to understand Sandhya and her sorrow, or to connect with her on any terms other than the practical. Sandhya’s is an underwritten role and for the first half of the film she does not speak at all. It is not clear whether she is baffled by Snehmoy’s lack of response, frustrated or jealous of his love for Miyage. Lead actor, Rahul Bose, portrays Snehmoy as a rather ineffective bumbling man, kind and gentle, but with whom I found it difficult to engage. When bumping into provocative women, or seeing explicit television scenes, he seems like an innocent abroad and it was not clear whether he was shocked or bewildered by such contact. His shyness is illustrated through,

sometimes, cringing mannerisms and, on a practical note, he did not seem to age during the course of the film so it was sometimes difficult during flashbacks to understand which period of the relationship was being shown. Another practicality is the subtitles: the film is tri-lingual (Bengali, Japanese and English) and there are English subtitles throughout, but these were sometimes difficult to read as they were shown in pale script against a pale background. Often I could not see the exact words, but understood the sense of them; perhaps this is a fitting analogy for a film about two writers who have to communicate in English – a language foreign to both of them, but which ultimately brings them together in an abstract kind of love transcending their background lives. As the film unrolls, it slowly draws the viewer in and scenes and lines from it have remained with me still. By the end, it seems that Snehmoy and Miyage have achieved a richer intimacy than many in more conventional situations, and instead of disbelief, I was left with an appreciation of the fragile beauty of their love, and a sense of hope that such a thing could be possible.

Shefali Shah, Vasundhara Das, Vijay Raaz, Tillotama Shome Director: Mira Nair

Language: English, Hindi, Punjabi Year of Release: 2001

Mira Nair’s Monsoon Wedding (2001) is an enchanting story set in New Dehli that revolves around the chaos and challenges faced by a Punjabi family in the midst of their daughter’s wedding. It focuses on the challenges of an arranged marriage in a modern world, and the conflict between tradition and Western influence. Produced by Indian, American, Italian, French and German companies, its was made with a budget of US$1,200,000, within a 30-day time period. It was a hit internationally, and received multiple accolades and nominations, including the prestigious Golden Lion Award (2001) at the Venice film festival. Monsoon Wedding crosses the boundaries of romance comedy and drama, and seems to merge between Hollywood and Bollywood styles. The attention to detail, and the ceremonies

involved in an Indian wedding provide stunning and vibrant imagery, enhanced by a lively soundtrack.

An absorbing narrative The script written by Sabrina Dhawan is fun and feel good, yet she does not shy away from some of the difficulties of arranged marriage, albeit in a slightly superficial manner. Financial strain, expectations of extended family, and the anxieties of the bride and groom are all made apparent. The large cast adds to the energy and pace but also takes away from the main story due to the number of sub plots, most of which are blooming romances. There is some confusion about who is who in the initial scenes and what the relationship is between characters as result of the chaotic opening, although this is clearly a conscious decision. The themes revolve around family, trust,

commitment, desire and above all love, that leads to a fairly predictable and cliched ending. However, the characters are so likeable, with a few exceptions, that you forgive the convenience of all the loose ends being neatly and happily tied up. The casting is excellent, and the quality of acting helps to carry the weakness in the script. Some notable performances include the stressed out father, Lalit Verma (Naseeruddin Shah), and the calming influence of his wife, Pimmi (Lillete Dubey). The confused and doe eyed bride, Aditi (Vasundhara Das) is beautifully portrayed, as are the children’s roles. The comical wedding planner, P.K Dubey (Vijay Raaz) is amusing, though perhaps a little over the top in some scenes. Ria Verma (Shefali Shah), Lalit’s niece plays a difficult role with great intensity.

Madurai Messenger Film Review April 2013

Of Contrasts and Paradoxes Although French national Florian Thomas confesses that he is bewildered by the contrasts that co-exist seamlessly in India, he is soon won over by a charm that is uniquely Indian in essence and spirit By Florian Thomas France

The conflict between East and West adds another dimension to Monsoon Wedding, providing great comedic and dramatic value. It is perhaps one of the reasons it was so successful in Europe, Australia and North America, making an impressive US$30,787,356 at the box office. Multiculturalism is clearly a subject that director, Mira Nair is familiar with, living between Dehli, New York and Kampala, in Uganda. She has a flair for embracing the positive and negative aspects of culture, that can be seen in her other films such as Mississippi Masala (1991), The Namesake (2006) and most recently The Reluctant Fundamentalist (2012). As a result of her chosen themes, multilingualism is common within her work, with Monsoon Wedding featuring a mixture of Punjabi, Hindi and English. We see in Monsoon Wedding the bride’s father, Lalit, is determined to have a traditional ceremony with no holes barred, yet following the event his only daughter will be whisked away to Houston where her fiance, Hemant (Parvin Dabas), lives and works as an IT consultant. The younger generation of cousins reinforce the Western influence with their music and fashion sense that drives Lalit bonkers, yet we see how it has crept into upper middle class Indian society as a whole. The women smoke cigarettes and drink whisky while Lalit plays golf at the club, his mobile phone always close at hand. Nair stated in an interview about the 2001 production that, “a strength about us Indians is that we have always opened our doors to the world. We have always taken in influences and assimilations, we have plagiarized things from the West, but in the end, we have made it something uniquely

of our own.” This is one of the many entertaining reasons to embrace this film, along with the insights it provides into such an exquisite Eastern ceremony. Filming an Indian wedding is surely a dream for many cinematographers and for the most part the beauty and colour is captured well by Irish American, Declan Quinn. Handheld camera is used throughout the film, and is effective in some scenes for creating an intimacy, though the technique is overused and becomes a little messy at times. Montages of street life and the preparations for the wedding overlaid with music, are emotive and break up the drama while maintaining the energy, which never falters. This is one of the real strengths of Monsoon Wedding, assisted by the fantastic soundtrack that features contemporary tracks such as “Today My Heart Desires”, by Sukhwinder Singh and “Allah Hoo” performed by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. All original music was composed by Michael Danna. The dance scenes are also well choreographed and the costumes are fabulous! And it’s easy to understand why Monsoon Wedding will be appearing on London’s Broadway in 2013. If you’re after an intense drama about the complexities of Indian customs, or alternatively a fluffy comedy, you will be disappointed. This film is neither one or the other but rides between the two genres. There is the looming threat of disaster and the hilarious misunderstandings and clashes along the way that builds up to a joyous finale where love abounds! I recommend this film for its vibrancy, movement and array of beautiful characters. It would go well with a platter of delightful Indian treats and a nip of whisky for a Western twist, because ultimately it’s kind of celebration you wish you were a part of!

’m French and my first minutes in India were a cultural shock. I was torn between conflicting emotions. On one side, a feeling of wonder seized me as everything I could see before me - monuments, people, clothes, animals, smells, colours, noises, and food, all were exotic and different.

A land of contrasts On the other hand, it is very dificult for a European to take in the poverty and inequality prevalent here. There are some huge, beautiful mansions while on the other hand, there are a lot of homeless people who live in the street or in shanty towns with few basic amenities. I was uncomfortable with this situation and I felt sad for them. India has a great culture and economic potential but there is so much inequality between people. The wealth is not distributed equitably and when I come across a beggar, I can’t pass him by without feel guilty.

After some time, I started feeling that I was an alien who had landed on another planet, everything was so different and I didn’t have anything that I could relate to culturally either, unlike in most Western countries which are very close culturally.

More thrilling than Disney World The left hand drive followed in India, with the cars and motobikes on the left side unlike in France confused me further, along with the number of cars, buses as well as those three-wheeled vehicles which I had never seen before: the rickshaws ! The drivers too are indisciplined whereas in France there is a strict highway code and everybody must follow it. The streets of Madurai with its multitude of people coupled with its haphazard traffic seemed to me like a huge anthill. The first time I took an autorickshaw I was so afraid but at the same time felt a strange sense of exhilaration! There are more thrills to be found on Indian roads than in Disney World. Peoples are very friendly here, and everybody is curious about us. They want to show us their food, traditions and want to know our feelings about India... I’m feeling good here. Another thing that I found hard was my first taste of Indian food because of its spiciness. But after one week in India, I started getting used to the spicy food and started to enjoy

Florian and the monkey master

The first time I took an autorickshaw I was so afraid, but at the same time I felt a strange sense of exhilaration! the Indians meals provided by my host family though I still miss French food. If I have to sum up my Indian experience in one word, it would be “incomparable” because everything in India is unique, both in terms of the best and the worst. Incredible India, indeed!

Madurai Messenger First Impressions April 2013

Vanakkam – Sound Horn!

‘Time-less’ Indian Experience

Having spent some time in North India previously, Nadine Rechsteiner did not experience any culture shock unlike many of her fellow volunteers but she was still mesmerized by the intriguing smells and friendliness of the people in Madurai

Like most Japanese, Takuma Matsumoto was first taken aback by the lackadaisical attitude to punctuality though he got used to it with time By Takuma Matsumoto Japan

By Nadine Rechsteiner Switzerland

A characteristic Madurai road with rikshas, motorbikes, but also a minaret

Studying to be a journalist - one of the college students at the workshop

hen I landed at the Madurai airport, I literally got my first taste of India, when the staff treated me to lemon tea liberally loaded with sugar. “Here is India” I thought, where I will stay for the next three months. There were other similar experiences that warned me that my Indian experience would be unique.

ncredible India! that is what the tourism promo said. Having visited India in 2012 for the first time, I decided to come back as quickly as possible. India had captivated me and I believe no other county smells as intriguing.

A tropical welcome The country greeted me on my first day with a heavy downpour despite being a sultry 30 degrees Celsius outside, while back home in Switzerland, it was still deep winter. Since I knew what to expect, it was not a huge culture shock for me when I stepped out of the airport. Indian drivers may seem crazy at first, in the way they overtake and then at the last minute recklessly scrape past other vehicles. Europeans and

nationals in other parts of the world are accustomed to leaving enough space for each other, both in distance from one car to another and when it comes to privacy.

Centre of attraction On my first solo stroll around Madurai city, I realized that I was the center of attention. I should have known it from my previous visit, but somehow I had forgotten. As a white woman all on my own, I found myself soon surrounded by school girls who wanted to take pictures of me and were eager to talk a few sentences in English. Having seen different life styles all over the world, I was surprised by the comforts I was provided at my host

family’s house. A separate Western-style water closet only for us volunteers! North Indians always mentioned to me that people in the south are friendlier than in the north of India. And I found this to be true after I got a very warm welcome from my host mother and her daughter. I immediately felt comfortable and at home, far away from home. It also helps a lot that my host mother seems to be an extraordinary cook and that she uses ingredients that are less spicy as we poor volunteers are not used to all that spicy food (yet)! Even though it’s been less than a week here, I can certainly say that I’m glad to be back in India. The honking cars, the incredible aroma, the smiling people it’s just seems all perfect to me.

After tea time, the staff of Projects Abroad brought me to my host family’s house but my host family wasn’t there. Also, most of my roommates had gone on an out-of-town trip. After the staff had left, I soon found myself on my own with nothing to do and no one to tell me what I could do. In addition, I came on a Friday so I had to spend the weekend without a guide or any information. Fortunately, one of my roommates had stayed behind. So I could learn some things from him. If he had also gone on that trip with the other guys, I wouldn’t have even known from where I could get my meals. I then decided to stay at home all day, lost because of the lack of information and apprehensive that I could literally be lost if I ventured outside of the house, as the crowds and traffic on the road intimidated me. The weekend passed and on the Monday I was expected to join the office, I had another type of Indian adventure. After having being informed by my room mate that the staff would pick me up, I waited but they didn’t come. So I trudged along to the main office of Projects Abroad where I asked the staff to take me to the journalism office where I had to go.

I was also amazed at the commitment and potential of Indian students at the workshop, who spoke perfect English. It is hard to see this in Japan nowadays Another shock which awaited me was the concept of ‘Indian time’, which is total anathema to the Japanese, who are sticklers for punctuality. The supervisor had told me that the orientation (for new volunteers) would take place on my first weekday. I waited for over two hours but the promised orientation failed to materialize and instead I was taken to a workshop at a college. In my country Japan, people hate it if things don’t go according to plan. If a train is delayed by 5 minutes, people will complain about it. Yet, I think that it is not correct to judge India just because a few things went

haywire. For example, I could enjoy the activities at the school thanks to the staff. And I also received a present!! I was also amazed at the commitment and potential of Indian students at the workshop, who spoke perfect English. It is hard to see this in Japan nowadays. I would like to refute the idea that I am angry or despondent about my Indian experience. Of course I’m not! I’m really enjoying India!! I’m looking forward to see all the things waiting for me.

Madurai Messenger First Impressions April 2013

Sens-ational India!

The Norwegian Connection

Matthew Haigh revels in the sensory carnival of his Indian encounter as he soaks in the sights, sounds, smells, and taste of a country he is drawn to magnetically

Overwhelmed initially by the “lost boy syndrome,” traffic snarls, overcrowded streets, and unsolicited attention, Patrick Smith finds himself drawn to the magnificent and fascinating country that will be “home” for the next three months

By Matthew Haigh

By Patrick Smith

United Kingdom

Room with a vew - a stunning vista from ‘my roof-top paradise.’

Norway

Above all - the towers of the Sri Meenakshi Amman temple in the middle of Madurai rise majestically over the city

A 60

t the end of the hottest day in my memory, I sit attempting to draw on all I’ve experienced in my first few days in India. As I watch the sun set, hazy and pink, behind Thiruparankundram mountain, I think back to my arrival in Chennai. I clung nervously to the Western familiarity of my American chain-hotel like an overwhelmed child clings to his mother. Now nerves have turned to excitement, the maternal bond with the life I know has been broken and I’m enveloped by the searing embrace of Madurai.

Another factor I‘m learning to get used to is all the staring. I don‘t think I‘ve gotten this much attention just walking down the street in my life

Roof top paradise To sit upon the roof-terrace of my new home in a tranquil village, half a kilometre from the main street of Pasumalai, it’s difficult to conceive that such life and vibrancy lie just that short distance up the road. The central hub of Pasumalai, alive with kaleidoscopic fruit stalls, clinking stone masons, schools and fragrant food vendors is a buzzing hive of activity. Wherever you look, you’re greeted by a different set of teeth as beaming smiles bring comfort to your nervous soul. Traffic here is an exhilarating celebration of noise and artful dodging. The rasp, clatter, rumble and roar of rickshaws, motorbikes, cars, and buses all jostling for space on the crowded roads is a wonder to behold.

Exuberant street life Drivers here work their horns with such exuberance that they’ve developed a vocabulary. Through this medium, they communicate with such clarity that it’s evolved into its own language. It’s captivating to witness a function

that, back home, has rarely any more meaning than that of an angry exclamation becoming imbued with such versatility. And this says it all – so linguistically diverse is India even the cars have a native tongue. My first time in town and, with one of the staggeringly beautiful golden towers of the Sri Meenakshi Amman Temple my target, I set off walking, but my conscious mind flips offline. Overriding this, my nose tugs me up one street coaxed by the sweet and savoury scents that continue to cook as vapours mingle in the scorching heat. Next, my eyes cause the diversion as I marvel at luminously painted buildings – looking back now I laugh as I think what the locals must have made of the strange, tall foreigner who stares at walls. Time becomes irrelevant as my senses guide me through the arteries of this pulsing city. Every call, cry or greeting

is another new sound as I struggle to bring order to the overcrowded compartments of my mind. With my head set to burst I stumble across an anomaly – an empty street. This comes as a welcome sight to my battered senses and, with time to get a grip on myself, I realise that, so completely had I succumbed to my sensory faculties, I’m lost... Now, after the mild panic that ensued, it comes as a relief to be safely back in my roof-top paradise watching in awe as the sunset turns quickly to the growl and boom of thunder. Holed up in my room, watching across the fields as the rain lashes the earth, I sit and wonder what delicious meal my friend Prabhu has in store for me this evening. Every day I look forward to our chats about our families and cultures and am truly thankful that life beckoned me towards his family’s warm hospitality.

fter an exhausting 19-hour trip from Oslo to Madurai, I was extremely excited to finally set foot in the country I’ve wanting to visit for as long as I can remember. Immediately after stepping out of the plane, I was struck by the heat, the palm trees and the vibrant colors Madurai has to offer. I had done extensive research about the city and India in general before departing from my hometown, but no amount of Google searches could prepare me for the car ride to my host family. The streets are extremely busy and filled with people on rickshaws, scooters, cars and any type of transportation you could think of. Neon signs and bright store fronts are abundant and all the different and exotic smells quickly fill your nostrils.

Embracing differences Following a thrilling journey to what I will call my home for the next three months, I finally arrived and was greeted by my host family. Two immensely gracious and warm people welcomed me, and immediately told me to call them “amma

and appa.” Suddenly I felt a bit more at home. There’s no denying I’ve had my fair share of culture shock and “lost boy syndrome” moments during my first few days in this beautiful and chaotic city, but I’ve come to learn that Indians are naturally helpful and understanding people. Another factor I’m learning to get used to is all the staring. I don’t think I’ve gotten this much attention just walking down the street in my life. But I don’t find it offensive or rude at all, it’s just their inquisitive nature and I’m sure I would’ve reacted the same way if I wasn’t used to foreigners. I’ve been in Madurai for less than a week, so I know I have tons of exploring and experiences to look forward to. India is such a vast country, and I cannot wait to delve even more into the culture of this magnificent and fascinating country. Along with the other volunteers and the crew, I’m sure this will be a life changing experience for all of us and India, Madurai in particular, will surely hold a special place in my heart forever.

Madurai Messenger First Impressions April 2013

Life without Starbucks and a Nice Cold Beer! Gabrielle Trenbath opted to spend two weeks of her annual vacation in Madurai hoping to find some peace and quiet but found that being proven wrong is not always a disappointment!

Isabelle Brotherton-Ratcliffe’s three-month sojourn in Madurai taught her to appreciate the smaller things in life such as quick drying laundry though she remained unenamoured by the garishly coloured, larger-than-life billboards and the noisy horns of the vehicles which set her teeth on edge every time she ventured outside

By Gabrielle Trenbath

By Isabelle Brotherton-Ratcliffe

Australia

No Starbucks this - the traditional south Indian ‘kapi’ which is served in small steel tumblers

After walking across the tarmac, being able to stand up in the cool and breezy terminal (that smelt of bleach) was a welcome relief. Soon enough and true to India’s British heritage, all passengers soon lined up in neat rows in order to pass through immigration.

Discovering ilncredible India One of the things that always drew me to visiting India was the food. Indian cuisine is so spicy and so full of flavour that I

Count your blessings

It is wonderful to experience a way of life that is so different from my own. Who knew that riding in a rickshaw could be so much fun or that I could become comfortable bargaining with the sellers at the market. Living here is also showing me that I can live without Starbucks, a nice cold beer and Japanese food.

Living in a hotter climate than I have ever known has been challenging but has brought its own rewards. I have appreciated the early morning cool and loved sitting on the steps of my house reading the newspaper and drinking tea before the day took on its cloak of heat. I became a fan of doing laundry which dried so quickly it seemed like magic. Regularly I would churn my clothes around in a bucket and hang them on the washing line – sometimes still dripping as the ultimate test. Again and again, they came back dry. In England, a washing line is more a tribute to hope than experience as only the hottest of summer days could ever bring about the effect I could gain here in a couple of hours. Sometimes I washed things that didn’t really need it - just for the fun of watching them dry!

While I am here only for a short time, I am sure that this is just the beginning of a life time of discovering India.

Power cuts have been a feature of my time here but they have not detracted

A rite of passage

The first thing that hits you is the noisy busy streets full of rickshaws, cars and bikes. Everyone seems to want to get to their final destination as quickly as possible with the impatient behaviour that would get you fined in Australia. While it seems that no one follows the rules but, maybe as a foreigner, I am seeing them follow a set of rules that I am not familiar with. Soon after leaving the airport you notice the odd cow or herd of goats that wander past, unlike a Western city where there is a clear divide between nature and humans. From now onwards, I think I’ll be more aware of where the food comes from.

In my element - Isabelle poses outside her host family’s house which was a home away from her home for four long months

When I came to live in Madurai three months ago, one of the things I liked most was driving in rickshaws. Now I am about to leave the city and I still enjoy driving in rickshaws so they are an enduring pleasure of living here. There are many others, some of which are the practical things like having clothes made in the tailors’ market so quickly and simply, the presence of cows and the ascetic beauty of the bullock cart oxen, the plethora of pineapples, cheapness of books and the colours and grace of the saris the women wear.

Having just finished an internship in the great metropolis of Shanghai, I thought that Madurai would bring a quiet relief from the big city that I had been living in but I was so wrong. After a trip that took 16 hours (including stopovers) on three different airlines and as many airplanes, I finally got to Madurai in the south of India.

Adjusting my ear to the Indian accent led to quite a funny conversation with the immigration officer but as soon as I became accustomed to his accent I was able to answer his questions correctly. After moving through immigration, customs and baggage claim (that miraculously made it all the way to India), I was ready to begin discovering the country that I had dreamt about visiting since I was a child.

United Kingdom

Things I like

ravelling is amazing. When I decided to visit China and India during my annual leave from work, I was hoping that it would be seven weeks of adventure and diverse experiences.

Farewell to Madurai

Living here is also showing me that I can live without Starbucks, a nice cold beer and Japanese food. dream about it at night and wake up wondering what great food I will get to try during the day ahead.

from life much, instead I have valued the patience they taught me. I have learned to carry a torch at all times, to plan electricity driven activities, and to be adaptable. They have thrown up unexpected situations – when at the bank to change money, my torch turned out to be helpful for the clerk counting out notes in the dark – and in a bookshop, the owner wordlessly handed me a lantern so I walked down the shelves feeling like an explorer. Shopping in London never seemed so mysterious.

Shedding no light Each morning on my walk to the Madurai Messenger office, I passed a small shed at the side of the road. It is made of woven coconut leaves but they are ill fitting and there are many gaps in the panels. In the doorway, a heavy metal door is usually propped up

and kept in place with a padlock and chain. When I first saw this, I used to wonder why it was necessary to padlock the entrance when it would be easy for people to get in through the gaps in the walls. Then I thought that perhaps the door was chained, not to keep the entrance closed, but to retain the door itself as an object of value, and prevent it being removed. I don’t know if this is the reason, and perhaps I never will, but it made me think differently about the way we view things as only useful for the purpose for which they are made. In India, anything can be turned into something useful and made the best of and so I have begun trying to see things in a less circumscribed way.

Anything is possible But really my lasting impression of Madurai is of more intangible things. I like the compromises such as women

Madurai Messenger Last Impressions April 2013 No need for a drier - Isabelle was amazed at how fast clothes dried in the Madurai sun unlike in her native country England

riding motorbikes as much as men, but retaining their traditional dress in saris and salwar kameez. Walking down Madurai streets can be hazardous and I have no love for the gaping holes at the side of the roads, but I do like the fact that a school building can still be used although the construction has not been finished. In a triumph for common sense, it is left to individuals to avoid the hazardous areas without legislation shutting down the entire building. I like the small scale entrepreneurs who set up shop in nothing more than a metal cupboard and make a business from it. I love the ingenuity with which bicycles can be transformed to carry all sorts of loads; indeed any vehicle including motorbikes, rickshaws and carts can transport anything from sacks, to logs, wheels to fabrics. Once I saw a motorbike rider carrying a stack of loaded egg trays and I saluted his confidence - and balance. I also like the adaptability of transport with versions of bicycles altered to hand propulsion for disabled riders, bicycles with metal framed carts either in front or behind and many other varieties. There seems no prescribed norm for bicycle styles which makes me think there is a freedom of imagination in people making what they need or what suits them best rather than what is uniform. One of the phrases I have learned in India is “here everything is possible” and I have found the truth of this on many occasions.

Things I Don’t Like I am afraid there are things I have not liked about Madurai too. It would be unrealistic if there were not and I suspect they may be common to many other westerners who spend time in the city.

Trash Everywhere The first is the rubbish everywhere. All the waterways seem to be clogged with debris and there are large malodorous areas where cows and dogs scavenge for the small amounts of food amongst the other rubbish. More shocking, to me, is the habit of throwing all kinds of litter out of buses and trains and

on the streets. If this could be curbed surely there would be a reduction in the amount of paper, broken glass, old shoes, tins and plastic bags which mar the city’s roadsides.

No pause from noise My other enduring ‘first impression’ is the noise of the car horns. Despite my love of driving in rickshaws, I do not love Madurai’s soundtrack of car horns at an uncomfortable level of frequency, both aural and in speed. I am used to car horns in short bursts to alert pedestrians to potential dangers and my reaction is always to leap back from the roadside in alarm. In my first days here, I leapt on and off the roadside like a disorientated chicken. I have tried hard to understand the rules for horn sounding – and the instructions to “Sound Horn” on the back of lorries – but I have failed in this. Perhaps the answer is that there are no rules. Another soundtrack to Madurai life is music played on loudspeakers all over town which is sometimes quite battering. Surely it is not just me who finds this uncomfortably loud? At one stage I resorted to ear plugs but felt far too fastidious; how could I live in India if I had to block out the sounds of the city. Actually it is not the city I would like to silence - just the loudspeakers. And finally I found the advertising everywhere overwhelming. There are massive billboards for shops and

politicians, walls painted in bright colours, layers of posters for films and advertisements above shops which are sometimes confusingly for other shops. Advertising is of course universal, but in Madurai, I sometimes found it difficult to see beyond the posters to the life behind them.

A lifetime of memories But I cannot leave Madurai on a negative note. Madurai is a heartwarming city; as a Westerner I have been stared at often but never with any menace or malice. I have been smiled at more often, and at the slightest indication of a need for help, numbers of people have always come forward to offer directions or advice. Madurai seems to be a city at ease with itself. It is a working place with more small shops and stalls than I could possibly imagine and people are busy getting on with every day life. There are few signs of grandeur; none of the broad avenues, grand old mansions, or institutional buildings which characterise larger cities. There are, of course, a great many temples and perhaps this is a reflection of Madurai’s personality. It is a city without pretensions, but assured of its place in the world. After all, Madurai has been here for a very long time and has traded with many nations as their fortunes waxed and waned but those of Madurai endured. I too have ‘traded’ with Madurai; three months of my life for memories that will last a lifetime.