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Far from home: Rural Kannadigas travel to cities in search of a living, 1 leaving families behind www.thebeatmagazine.in

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A man, his pencil and politics

To draw, or not to draw 2

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Editor’s Letter

Welcome to the first print edition ofThe Beat. This magazine is based on long-form narrative journalism. Every member of our team has contributed to this magazine to make this edition successful. We have brought elements of current issues as well as slices of life in our stories, but these are nothing without the people who give them meaning. Without the human element, the stories would be a dull grey, but our reporters have spent time and added great details to bring the stories to life in vivid colour. Our stories cover a myriad of topics to represent the full spectrum of life in a modern Indian city and also rural Karnataka. We have produced two stories from rural Karnataka, in which our cover story “Far from home” shows how migration divides families and change their way of living. One of the story, “#Onthemenu” by AnkitaSil, addresses show chefs and restaurateurs now have to think about how their food will appear as it’shashtaggedand uploaded to Instagram. Because Bangalore has such a vibrant arts and culture scene, we have written stories addressing modern and traditional music, and the chasm that sometimes exists between them.For book lovers, our reporter Prabhpreet Singh Soodhas profiled the tiny Bookworm bookstore. All these stories wouldn’t have been possible without the constant support of our magazine advisors, Rachel Sauer and GirishBhadri. They have helped us every time we struggled with ideas about stories and layouts. Rachel has always advicedus on how to work and pursue the story to make it successful. We also started a website, thebeatmagazine.in, where you will find the same commitment to quality storytelling, plus videos and other multimedia elements. Every aspect of the design represents our hard work and decisions we debated as a team, asking ourselves what will make the magazine dynamic and alive. I welcome all the reader’s suggestion and criticism about what more elements can be included for our magazine.

Editor: Aditi Mallick www.thebeatmagazine.in

contents

Abandoned for art .

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Far from home

The undertaker 22

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#OnTheMenu 24

Bookworm

Changing tunes 16

12 14

Mainstream appeals

Sculpting their passion

Canine Care

Love Unspoken

Yoga for sale

Us and Them

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BY Mathew Joy Mathew

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Far from home Rural Kannagidas travel to cities in search of a living , leaving their family behind

By Aditi Mallick

hantaBai, 47, sits on the cemented bench outside her neighbour’s house. She talks about her eldest son, Parmeshwaram. Sometimes she just repeatedly wears the yellow, shiny saree with green border, which his son gifted her on Diwali last year. Parmeshwaram, who never celebrated any festival without his friends and family, spent last year’s Diwali in Mumbai, away from his mother. Last year he shifted to Mumbai with his wife and two daughters, in search of a better job.After he left,Shanta could only miss her son. “Every festival seems colourless without family,” she says. Yallapa, her younger son,remembers working with his brother. “We had 5 acres land,” he says, “last year we had to sell it.” Last year after the loss they faced in farming, Parmesh-

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waram, migrated from his village in Indi taluk to the city for a better job. After Karnataka’s Indi taluk, last year in August was declared as one of the state’s 98 most drought-hit, many people migrated to cities for better jobs, including Parmeshwaram. One of the members of panchayat of Hire Rugi, Gurubasaya G. Matappa also mentions that last year almost 5 per cent of the population migrated from the village. Although Gurubasaya also owns land where his family was involved in lemon farming faced immense loss, he refuses to migrate. “People migrate from the village,” he says, “but they don’t realise the expenses of big cities.” He also mentions that every year people migrate from taluk but this year migration has increased the

dropout rates in Indi taluk schools. “There is around 10 per cent increase in dropout rates than last year,” Peerahmed A. Yalagar, an officer of the Block Education Office in Indi says. “This is mainly because people had migrated more this year than last year.” He says that people don’t realise the affect migration has on children’s education. They are comfortable studying there from childhood and a sudden change in environment affects their studies. Also in the taluk the cost of education is low and they get mid-day meal, which may not be the case in the city. Some children leave school after they migrate as they fail to afford the education cost. Parmeshwarams daughter Ankita used to pursue her education for free

in the in the village school. But now that she is in the city, she can’t afford to go to school. Shanta is aware of the problem her granddaughter faces and the reasons behind them, yet she can do little about it. She says that the 9-year-old, who used to love reading poems and stories and playing with her friends, has become very quiet. “I have her books,” she says looking at the old books, “though I can’t read, sometime I open it and see the pictures.” In addition to creating problems for children’s education, migration from the village is dividing families. Another resident of the village, Shalima Basha, stays with her mother-inlaw. She has a son Sehran, 6, and is expecting a new member in the family.She is 7 months pregnant. But

the picture of her family is missing an ingredient. Her husband, Chand Basha. He migrated to Bengaluru in search of a job, leaving behind his young family and his mother. She worries that the unborn baby is not getting enough of her attention as she is busy worrying about her husband. She is also concern about the expense for the baby and finds it difficult to manage the expense of medicines for her pregnancy as whatever Chand earns is mostly spend on his food and shelter in the city. “I have told him many times I want to go with him,” she says, “he keeps telling me after two months we will see.” Chand who works as an auto driver in Bengaluru finds it difficult to manage his earning. He says he wants his wife to come and live with him

in the city but that will only increase expenses. “Here everything is expensive,” he says, “how will we manage here and specially after the second child?” He is torn between how much he wants to be with his family but knowing how expensive medication and education would be in the city The recent migration has divided people from their families and friends, affecting every aspect of life from children’s education to celebrating festivals. They go to the city for a better life, but sometimes the reality is more difficult than what they left in the village. The village festivals seems incomplete for Shanta, who still sits outside her house thinking about the time she celebrated all the festivals with her sonand live as one big family.

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Abandoned for art

Woman defied all odds to follow her passion By Ankita Sil

n a dusty lane in Bailhongala Taluk of Karnataka’s Belagavi district lives a small family.

They are Mallamma Megeri, 60, , her niece and her daughter, and the most noteworthy items in their home are the trophies and the certificates. As you enter the house, the walls are painted a pale green, which makes the dimly lit room darker. The big shelf which adorns her drawing room is lined with trophies and certificates, from different communities. They were awarded to Mallamma for her Krishna Parijat singing. Krishna Parijatha is a folk theatre based on mythological tales about Lord Krishna which are widely popular around Karnataka. It is often believed that Krishna Parijatha is an amalgamation of the themes of two other popular dance dramas -Yakshagana and Byalatta. This folk theatre deals with the stories Lord Krishna and the artistes enact them in their plays. “When I was in the 4th standard I had I saw a play, Sri Krishna Parijatha, and I wanted to act in one,” Mallamma explained. “I convinced my parents and finally with their permission I went to meet my guru, Devendrappa Doddamani, in Bailhongal. “He gave me the role of Rukumini and later he also let me play the role of Narada. I played these roles in

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Bailhongal for over six years. Then I joined a troop led by Vittalappa Takkalaki and worked in this troop for over five years. Then, I met another guru, Krishnaji Deshpande, who thought me the role of Koravanji. I also worked in this troop for seven years.” She said her family abandoned her for the kind of work she does. “Women working in theatre group is still a taboo” says her niece, Nayantara. Mallamma has one son, who is a policeman, and a daughter who is a teacher. His elder son died last year. “I am a devadasi, no one knows about my husband. I have dedicated my life to Krishna Parijatha. I am happy with what I do, I don’t want my family to look after me, I am independent,” she explained with pride. She won the Karnataka Rajyatsova Award in 1996, and in 2001 she received the Sandesha Award from the Mangalore Government. Mallamma has worked for Doordarshan of Bangalore four times. She has also had shows in Ravindra Kalakshetra, one of the biggest theatres in Bangalore. She also performs in plays with the Vidya Niyantrana Society. At the age of 60, Mallamma is really active. “After a point, I realised that I should

start something of my own in Bailhongal and started my own troop, which is still running successfully from the past 35 years“ she said. “Over a period of time, people started saying that whoever plays the role of Krishna will never ever prosper and all the actors were hesitant to play the role “I decided to take up the role and got myself tutored under Sri Hanumanthappa from Udhupudi, Ramadurga Taluk. Since then there has been no looking back, we have had many shows and also radio coverages to date by Akashwani, Dharwad.” The Karnataka Samaja Kalyana Ilake gave her an award in front of Vidhan Soudha on B.R Ambedkar’s 106th birthday. All this, and she never attended school, instead receiving her education through life experience and amassing accomplishments like the trophies lined on the shelf in her home. Currently, she has her own troupe with four women and six men. They are all from the nearby villages within Belagavi district, they perform with Mallamma wherever she goes, which includes Bengaluru’s Koramangala area, Mysuru. “I am really proud to mentor them and I really hope they achieve something big,” she said with a smile, a wish for shelves of trophies and accomplishments to match their dreams.

Fade in, fade out Alzheimer’s robs grandmother of her past By Aditi Mallick

he sits unknowing in a corner of her own home, now unfamiliar to her. She doesn’t remember anyone. She is my grandmother, BharatiMallick. I call her didu,which means grandmother in Bengali. “Didu, do you remember me?”I ask her, but she never does. She can’t remember that she used to hug me whenever I visited her during summer and winter vacations. Nor does she remember calling me randomly just to ask if I am taking care of my diet or how lean I had became. She hardly talks. She just stares at me. A stranger. But I remember everything. There was a time when she used to work all day long inthe kitchen, cooking for my uncle, aunty and grandfather, cousins and everyone I can remember. Now, she has Alzheimer’s and does not recognise any of us. Once she was a strong woman who helped my mother make decisions. She taught my mother to be strong when she was marriedat 17. She taught my aunt to set a balance between her job and the household work. I remember when I was 10 and my grandfather had an operation, the faded memory of my mother and aunt crying and panicking, asking what they would do without him. But my diduwas strong. She said “why you all are scared. One day everybody has to die, I will take care of my children.” Her eyes were wet but voice was strong and confident. The operation was successful. After the operation he was at bed rest for nearly half a month she used to give him sponge bath and give him

the medicine on time.Though she expected financial help from relatives for theoperation but nobody bothered to even support her emotionally. Somehow, she managed the money from her fixed deposited money and paid for the operation. Now she has become dependent on caretakers even to drink a glass of water. Sometimes, I sit in front of her and rest my head on her lapto feel her warmth. I ask her why she doesn’t recognise me anymore, andmy mother replies by saying,that when I was 5-years-old didu used to take me in her arms and do her work and say “I get to see them once or twice a year, I’ll spend all my time with them,” I ask that question not because I don’t know, but because I like listening to the old memories we used to share.

I saw her grow ill. I saw her transformation from a strong woman to someone dependent and vulnerable. I saw thechange from her taking care of my cousins to my cousins taking take of her. MoumitaSen works as her caretaker. She works 14 hours a day cleaning, feeding and cooking for my grandmother. “She can’t even say that she is thirsty or hungry,” Moumita explains. “I feed her; give her water when I feel she needs it.”

I saw her grow ill. I saw her transformation from a strong woman to someone dependent and vulnerable

Moumitatakes care of my didulike her baby. I have seen my grandmom cleaning and giving baths to my cousin because my aunt is a working woman. Now, I see Moumita giving my didu baths. Now I am independent. Nobody needs to feed me. I don’t need to hold anyone’s finger to walk or cross the road. As I walk towards being independent, I see her taking an opposite path. I am growing up and she is she growing older.

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Mainstream appeal Western music has left Indian music behind By Sana Husain

he long-black-haired singer, arrives in the café wearing a leather jacket and shakes the hand of the bassist. Later, he moves around on the stage, adjusting the plugs and wires of the sound amplifier. The audience gradually starts filtering into the cafe. The bartender mixes few drinks and hands a customer a beer in a glass at the counter, right below the stage.

and bands in the city. The co-founder of Guitar Club, Siddharth Gandhi, says that Banned Medicine is playing together for the first time: “Every one of them is a well-known artist, especially Girish from the band Girish and the Chronicles -- a household name that’s also famous amidst collegegoers.”

They’re members of Banned Medicine, and tonight they’re performing at the Hard Rock Café in Bengaluru.

Girish Pradhan is the vocalist, Vivian Christopher Rajan plays drums, Anand Pilakkat is on keyboard, Kaushik Kumar is the bassist and Mohammed Uvais the guitarist. They connected over Bon Jovi’s song “Bad Medicine” and during their third jam session, the band name was inspired by it. They only started practising four days prior to the Feb. 25 gig at Hard Rock Café.

Banned Medicine is a newly-formed local band composed of members from other bands like Dark Lights, Girish and the Chronicles and White Mug. Guitar Club manages artists

The experimental, local bands in the cosmopolitan city of Bengaluru are growing in terms of popularity and demand, given the scope of free culture here. Yet, some say they’re

The drummer enters from the back gate of the café, greets the other band members and settles down on a sofa near the stage.

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disconnected from the traditional cultural setting of the city, as they are not letting the local music be their first priority. In order to sustain themselves, they play western music and run their own music studios too. As a result, the local culture is rolling down the steep slope.

t 6:00pm on a recent Thursday night, the band is busy sound-checking drums, guitar, piano, mics and DSLRs fixed on tripods for the gig. In the high-ceilinged room, soundwaves are amplified until they seem to reach out to every atom of the listener’s bones. The guitarist asks the sound manager to adjust the volume. The sound manager shouts “Done” and the band members nod, in confirmation. Kaushik, 28, is an architect by day and a self-taught musician who says he has been a Bon Jovi fan since

childhood. He has performed other tributes, including ones to The Doors and The Beatles, but says this is the one that really means something for him. “This gig is for my interest in songs,” he explains. When it comes to audience and money, his interest is divided as 40 per cent towards the former and 60 per cent for the latter. “Uvais and I came up with performing a tribute to Bon Jovi and contacted other good musicians in the city. That’s how it happened,” adds Anand, the 28-year-old fashion technology graduate, from Bangalore University. Former Infosys employee, Mohammed Uvais, says, “Earlier, HRC was selective about bands, but after 2006, it provided almost everyone opportunities. It all depends on their finances.” Uvais from Vellore and Anand, from Bengaluru, are part of the same band named ‘Dark Lights’ and also own their individual music studios. Vivian Christopher Rajan, 29, has formal music education from Trinity College, London. Playing for the past 15 years, he’s part of two bands, playing various genres. “I’ve played at all the venues in Bangalore. People appreciate different music,” he says. “In pub culture, drinks is the idea, whereas café is a social hangout, where people talk more and there’s less focus on music,” Vivian points out the difference between HRC and pub culture.

resently, venues in the city

indulge into promoting big international bands instead of traditional music. ‘EventsHigh’ website is a local event & activity discovery platform that brings all activities at one place and helps users to find relevant ones based on their interests, location and social circle. Seldom, the internet user finds any traditional event taking place because all the space is already occupied by international segments.

“For independent music, Hard Rock Café (HRC) pays the band more, considering their work experience and the popularity of the music they will be playing,” Kaushik explains. “Music is democratic. With regional music there’s definitely more connect. Unless there are local renowned artists, such as Masala Coffee, Raghu Dixit, the consumers don’t really prefer it. HRC is an international chain of franchises, so consumers expect and prefer international over local, folk music or any other unknown band,” says Sravanth Murthy, Manager at Hard Rock Cafe. “There are bands that connect to local culture, but folk music of India isn’t the rock type,” Gandhi says. “As people come to booze, it doesn’t work for them. Rock music, being loud, is preferred for dancing and drinking.” He explains that nowadays, music is consumer-driven: “Bands’ main income is from the gigs and nothing else,” he says, calling “paid music” an old thing. Since music can be downloaded for free online, cassettes aren’t sold anymore. So, people flock to Hard Rock Café, especially on weekends, as these tributes vary, one day being Bon Jovi and Bryan Adams the next; depending on their respective fan-following. The HRC consumer statistics have gone up, as people give live music first preference. “Every restaurant is a commodity; booze and food is same, but the differentiating factor is its live music,” says Gandhi. IndigoLive, BlueFrog and HRC are working at the same pace, bringing bigger bands and even promoting the upcoming ones.

ater on that Thursday night, Kaushik and Vivian are downstairs at the club, chatting away while putting on their black leather jackets. They sit in the smoking zone, all united with black-coloured elements in their clothing. Before the gig, some of the friends of the band gather around the bar and exchange pleasantries. At the corner table, Tanika Nayar, a product designer and now also a jazz vocalist, says, “Old rock bands are favoured when drinking.”

Her friend, Siddharth, sitting next to her, while they listen to Banned Medicine together, prefers listening to ‘90s Rock music. Adding to that, he says, “The aim is to go for music more than drinks or the ambience.” Dr. R. Rajesh, Professor of Sociology at Bangalore University, says, “Indians try to see everything in the global context. So they aren’t original in anything- be it culture, music, language or even governance, in the name of globalization.” He adds that the local bands aren’t trained to be innovative. They care about popular demand and surviving in the business. The local musicians are easily uprooted because of lack of security and access. Also, they aren’t connected due to language barrier. “The market is open for those who are globally connected.” In the process of joining hands with the global leaders, the people have left their own culture behind. This indirectly tells us how the local artists, sticking to the traditional art are unappreciated. Muccini, a teacher from France, “relaxing” at HRC on that night, says, “It’s good for young Indians to have fun and forget the worries, also having a different way of life. At the same time, they are respecting the culture and tradition.” Few couples, groups of men and a couple of foreigners are lounging about, in Hard Rock Café, while rocks songs such as of Bon Jovi, AC/ DC, Rod Stewart play on the TV fixed on the walls . Mike Kistner, CEO of Recnext in U.S, has been living in India for three years and it’s his last week here. “I love Classic Rock. It transcends country and culture. The feeling you get from rock takes you home, wherever it is. From Goa to Sri Lanka to Bangalore, Rock brings me home. The music makes you want to dance. Bon Jovi speaks to a generationthey are better than they actually are.” When the clock strikes eight, the scattered band members make a run for the stairs, which lead up to the stage. Strumming the wild tunes, written a world away, far removed from the traditional Indian culture, the local band floors the cosmopolitan, elite audience, seated in the café.

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Sculpting their passion Pottery shifts from profession to hobby, potters hustle to make living By Aditi Mallick 14

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ands full of colours range from pink to deep, toasty orange. Every time they dip their hands in water to shape the terracotta pot, they don’t know how it will turn out. Maybe the wet brown creation, in the shape of a mug, is smaller than they expected or not fine enough.They are still learning. But the mistakes bring smiles to every face, even as their hands smell of the fine, soft roasted orange colour clay. Karishma Rodrigues, one of their teachers, plunges her hands into the clay, bringing a handful close to her nose and inhaling deeply. “Doesn’t it smell good?” she asks, rubbing her hands together. Karishma isa 23-year-old artist and teacher at the Clay Station Art Studio in HSR Layout,dedicating more than 14 hours each day to clay, smelling it, touching it, making something out of nothing, teaching pottery and sculpture to various students. She doesn’t seem to care about how much she earns, but does care that her job satisfies her dreams of creating something. She says she is not comfortable talking how much she makesas an artist and potter, and doesn’t even want to think about it. Her faded black cartoon T-shirt is stained with grey clay. She rarely has time to sit and have a cup

of tea, so she moves around in the studio with a wood colour mug. Though pottery being her passion, like most of the Indian potters she finds it difficult to support herself solely with art, as many professional says that the pottery culture have evolved into a leisure activity for weekend, it has shifted from a profession to hobby. “People pursue this course more like a hobby,” Karishma says. “They don’t want to get into it.” Karishma remembers how impatient she was when she was pursuing her graduation in journalism, a career she never intended to enter because she loved art and clay. “Pottery makes one patient, as it takes time to learn the art and be good enough in pottery. It takes years to throw pot.” Yogesh Gowda, one of her colleagues at the studio, is a 27-yearold artist who used to work independently, but five years ago went to work at the Clay Station because he could make more money. After dedicating more than 10 years of his life to throwing pots,he“never thought of doing anything else.” He moulds the clay, his fingers synchronous with the rotating wheel. The clay is centred on the wheel and he begins to work it vertically up and down with his hands. He gently dips his hands into a mug of water behind the wheel, immediately running them up the sides of his wine bottleshaped creation. Then he picks up a metal and plastic stylus, touching its edges to make it smooth, to get the exact shape. Every second the shape transforms from mere clay to something beautiful. In a span of 20 minutes, the mound of clay on the centre of the wheel becomesa dark grey bottle ready to dry for a couple of days. “This profession needs patience and dedication,” he says,“I don’t want to think about how much I earn.” Even though he doesn’t like to think about it, his profession is more secure as an artist at a studio rather than trying to make it on his own. Though potters used to be able to support themselves with their art, now the profession necessarily includes teaching classes, designing and exhibitions.

Apart from producing clay and clay products, the studio has more than 17 students on weekends – homemakers and retirees, college students and IT professionals whocome to feel stress-free for two days. “Most of the students here are the working crowd who just need a place where they stress burst,” Karishmaexplains. “On weekdays, all the college students and home makers come for the class, to take a break from their busy schedule.” Ivy Samuel, a student at the studio, used to work in marketing communication at CSS Corp, but resigned six months ago. “I am taking a break from my work and pursuing my hobby,” Ivy says while shaping an

Eventually I realized that there is no infrastructure for the potters in India which is why I started making clay, for serving the potter’s needs elephant with a small flower on the right side of its ear. “I just want to explore myself, the creativity I have inside me.” Whereas Meena, 57, sits near the Banshankari bus stand with different coloured and shaped pots, earthen piggy banks and other clay items. She paints the simple pots in bright colours to attract customers,but she says her monthly income is not enough: “Hardly anyone buys clay containers, people use alternatives.” Pottery is now merely reduced to hobby, says GanesanManickavasagam, founder of the Clay Studio. It does not yield a substantial income. Whether it’s fine pottery in studios or simpler creations sold on the side of the road, pottery as a profession is growing more difficult to sustain financially.

in 2009,says “Eventually I realized that there is no infrastructure for the potters in India which is why I started making clay, for serving the potter’s needs,” says Ganesan. The clay studio not only deals with the raw clay but also get contracts from different restaurants and pubs for crockery and decorations. The mug produced by the clay station for The Local Pub, in Kormangala They procure the powder form of clay from the lake bed of Salem in Tamil Nadu, which is rich in iron and silica. Every month the clay studio produces more than 15 tons of clay. Ganesan says, “Most of the buyers in Bangalore, who are the workshop studio or terracotta jewellery artists, purchase smaller quantities of clay, such as 10 kg.” They supply crockeries to the patisserie Lazy Suzy in IndiranagarandThe Local - Terrace Drinkery in Kormangala, which buys beer mugs and other crockery from the studio. Yogeshis the main artist who makes the mugs and crockeries for the clients. Karishma and Afroz Ulla are the artists who give them the final touchto the items. After making the items, it takes couple of days should be given to the clay items reach a typical stage were decorative elements can be added which include burnishing. After which heat is applied to dry the extra water in the clay and make it hard enough this process is called “first firing.” Once the pot is glazed, it is goes for a “second firing”, in which the clay and the glaze is brought to a temperature at which the glaze achieves a glasslike finish. These fancy glazed items decide how much the potters and artists will earn. The clay goes through several processes before it gets the glamorouslook. One of the teachers, Shilpy Gupta, in the clay studio, has showcased the items she makes at jaypore. com as “Clayscapes by The Ceramic Trail” for sale. She says, “This is the modernization of pottery culture. If the items are sold in an expensive showroom, only then it is valued.”

Ganesan who started the clay studio

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Changing tunes

Classical music is losing its audience By Aditi Mallick

ndudharNirody, an 82-year-old Hindustani classical singer, sits in the middle of the Khincha Auditorium of BharathiVidyaBhavan, adjusting his mic. A man playingtabla, UdayarajKarpur, sits to the left of Indudhar, adjusting the table with harmonium played by VyasmurtiKatti so the music synchronizes with all other instruments in the stage. “Keshariyabalam, aaoni, padharoni, mahredesh….re…” PanditIndudhar sings one of the most famous Rajasthani folk song with musical notations and the depth of raagas. Twenty minutes’ jugalbandi of Udayaraj and Indudhar’s voice seems to mesmerize almost everyone in the audience. With one swing of his hand, Udayarajmatches the tune changes. There is a synchronization and coordination between the Udayaraj and Vyasmurti. “Wah!” Lakshmi Krishna exclaims from the audience. She nods her head and swings her hand in time with the music. WheneverIndudhar takes a difficult high pitch the audience offers an impressed “Wow!” Lakshmi, 64, says that she had to convince her grandson, Prabhu to attend the concert as he doesn’t like Hindustani classical music he left

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early and asked her call after the concert to pick her up. “He would rather go for those loud rock concerts, than Hindustani soothing music,” Lakshmi explains. “That is cool, this is boring for them.” She says she has been listening to Hindustani music since she was 7, when her mother used to practice her singing lessons with harmonium, early morning and she used to sit next to her and sing, which makes her very close to the music. But her grandson, Prabhu has not been very keen to learn classical music. “Only few young generations want to pursue this professional Hindustani music,” she says. The vocal recital of PanditIndudhar mesmerized and enchanted the oldies who formed the major part of the audience. The comparison arises when a huge crowd is ready to pay for a rock concert whereas the classical music concerts attract very few, even with free entry. Though,PanditIndudharsaysthat for him passion for music varies from person to person. He has been

teaching classical music for 30 years where his students do enjoy the new sufi and rock music. He teaches eight students, all youngsters, are passionate about classical music. In his opinion the choice of music depends on the kind of music today’s generation are exposed to. “Most of my students have grew up listening to their parents singing which inspired them to learn Hindustanimusic,” says PanditIndudhar. “It is not that this generation is far from classical music, few have dedicated their career to classical music.” He doesn’t think every single young

person is moving away from classical music. But he says that Hindustani music more popular amongst the older generation than the young ones. “If a group of young people have always been into modern and rock music, they will be more incline towards that kind of music,” says PanditIndudhar. AkashBhandwalkar, 18, started guitar classes in Bangalore HSR layout takes guitar classes for around more than 15 students. Though he says he has to start teaching the students with classical basics but their keen

interest remains in modern rock and band music. “I have to start teaching them with sa-re-ga-ma… in guitar which is the basic lesson,” says Akash. Almost all the students in this class are more incline towards the rock music but sometime he prefers classical music which he finds soothing. “It always lightens the mood,” says Akash. “Though I don’t understand much but I like listening to classical music.” Even though he finds the classical music more relaxing and soothing he prefers the rock and jazz music

concerts over classical music. Another music lover Rajesh Kumar, 19, says, “I don’t really understand Hindustani music. I like the sufi music of Arijit Singh or I listen to jazz.” He too plays guitar. Though his grandmother was a classical singer but he never found that music interesting. “I sometimes try to contrast both western and classical music and play it in guitar,” says Rajesh As Indudharsays that music depends on the kind of music today’s generation are exposed to, most of the population are expose to western music than classical.

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Local dog shelter aids abandoned and hurt dogs By Mathew Joy Mathew

hey slept comfortably cramped in the corners of the large fenced area, tired from feeling the dirt, wind, sun and freedom for the first time in their lives.

At times they jumped for no reason, at other times they barked at the empty small brown cardboard piece lying on the ground Almost three dozen dogs -34 beagles were continuously bred for drug testing in a laboratory in Bengaluru. After the state government disapproved it, they were rescued by CUPA an NGO, (Compassion Unlimited Plus Action) on February 1st. “The laboratory had brought couple of beagles from abroad maybe seven or eight years ago and continuously bred them till now,” said Ranjith, manager of a pet care centrecalled Hotel for Dog in the city, where the beagles are being cared for. “These dogs were bred in a tiny space, most of them haven’t even got the chance to run in their lives.” Now, the dogs spend most of the day running in the small separation inside the compound where they feel the comfort of space. At Hotel for Dogs, cared for by thestaff that has undertaken a mission of caring for abused, neglected and

unwanted dogs. The entry gate of Hotel for Dogs is made of shiny metal and tall white walls and might seem intimidating to visitors, but once they enter through the small side gate, they are welcomed by man’s best friend. A large Great Dane named Oreo was one of the first permanent residents, and like his cookie namesake, he’s black and white and very sweet. What makes Oreodifferent is his deformed left hind leg, which doesn’t touch the ground as he walks around the compound. While some dogs are free to roam the compound, others are kept in a separate area because they’re harder to control. Among them is Chotu, another huge Great Dane with a pure white coat who was born blind and deaf. Chotu is one of the abandoned dogs who is a permanent residents of Hotel for Dogs. This haven for unwanted and abandoned dogs was started two years ago by two young men from Chennai -Shravan, 25, and T.A Adhishwar, 21. Ranjit, the manager at Hotel for Dogs with the rescued beagles “Once I had to leave my dog for 10 days at a boarding centre, when I picked him up, he had skin infection, lot of ticks and was in very bad shape. That’s when I understood the need for good boarding houses,” Adhishwar recalled.He was recently named the best student entrepreneur in the country by Tata. In addition to being a temporary or permanent home for some dogs, Hotel for Dogs staff also actively work to find homes for many of the dogs in their care, including an adoption drive for the rescued beagles on 6 February. “There is an adoption drive organised this Saturday for these rescued beagles, but we are very peculiar about the owner, we don’t want these beagles to suffer any more,” Ranjith said, adding that he expects many potential adopters as there have been many enquiries. “My father had passed away last month and people at home are still struggling with grief so somebody new in the family could lighten up things, anyway I have a Labrador at home, one more wouldn’t do much harm,” said Prakash, 32, a taxi driver from Bengaluru who had enquired about the adoption procedures. So the beagles, currently named by numbers and thriving after being kept in cramped dark crates for their entire lives, now could have a chance for their first home.

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Bookworm

Bangalore bookstore caters to

booklovers in the age of e-books By Prabhpreet Singh Sood 20

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t looks like a junk shop from the outside, hidden from notice at the end of an alley off MG Road in Bengaluru. Piles of books are placed at the corners of the shop outside the entrance. Tattered and old postersof movies are pasted on its walls. It is not painted well or maintained regularly. It is not lovely. It does not offer a warm invitation to come inside. The over-the-door reads “Bookworm,”givinga notion of what the shop is.A stroll inside reveals somethingrare and small in the middle of the city: a place with actual, physical books, stacked in crazy piles on top of each other. On the table at the right of the entrance, there are yellow bookmarks with black script which say, “Only worms entertained here are bookworms.” Bookworm was established in 2002 to sell the readers of Bengaluru old and new cherished books that are becoming increasingly difficult to find. The owner of the bookshop, Krishna,says he found pleasure in search-

as a hospital room, it is rich with books of different kind. On the left at the entrance is a complete row dedicated to Italian novelist‘Italo Calvino’ and the first book of the row is the postmodernist narrative,’If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller’. Ernest Hemingway’s ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’is one among many historical novels placed at the beginning of a huge book-wall that divides the room. There isliterature stacked one on top of the other all the way to the ceiling. Some of the pages are archaic and brown, and some white and fresh. The threadsof some of the old books have already fallen apart.

ing other outlets for these used books before the break of dawn. This is a place removed from Kindles and e-books, a seeming anachronism in the modern world and a heaven for people who find a particular thrill in the weight of a book in their hands and love the sound of turning pages. The advent of technology when it comes to e-books and e-readerslike Kindle has made Krishna’s work harder. But still he plies his trade, openingsharp at 10 in the morning andsoon becomingbusy with customersstrolling among the narrow aisles and navigating the teetering piles of books. There are books inside and out, current bestsellers to antiques with leather covers and crumbling, yellowed pages. Customerstall and short, young and old walk in and out. A young woman in her twenties came in to ask for ”TheColor Purple”. An old man who stands next to the entrance reading an excerpt, with the book held next to his nose has his eyes zoomed in as though he is scrutinising each word. Though the shop is small, as small

The room has an extraordinary fragrance special only to the oldcollections of books. It smellsof fine dust that settled at the corners of the pages. As pages turn, the fragrance of dust and wood pulp and ideas is stirred out from the book as though a reminder of their antiquity and, it would seem in 2016, anachronism. One can clearly distinguish between an old, used book and a new book only by the smell and colour of the pages. It is an abode to books from theory, to criticisms and to literature. There are gods to be found in the religion section and queries into the meaning of life in philosophy. Fiction is filled with spies and dragons and in non-fiction a reader can learn how to make chapatti. These books attract customer traffic which is slow but steady through the morning and early afternoon, but by 2 p.m. the room is silent and still. Krishna says that he sees very few customers visiting at this time, but as evening approaches customers start to fill up the shop again.

in 2002, I now have 40,000 books in the shop,” he recalls. Rajesh, a businessman from Bengaluru who has been a regular customer for the past five years,sometimes spends a day with his family in the shop. “Krishna not only knows about each and every book in the shop, but also he knows his customers’ taste,” he adds. But the large number of books and the limited area that it occupies sometimes leaves the customers cramped for space. Some of the youngsters who are first timers and also the regular customersfind the place extremely small. “The shop does not have a big name in the city. Also it is a bit too small to accommodate too many people,” complains Sunita, a regular customer. Also, some of the books are not stacked on shelves, but one over the other. This makes it difficult for a customer to pull one out due to fear of the whole stack falling over. Most of its salesmen have been working there for more than six years, and so they have thorough knowledge about books and are well informed. When asked to the owner about this, he says, “On every new arrival of books I would register them in the computer and give it to them so that they learn about the book too.” The shop is a mish-mash of new and used books.

Heoffersthem coffee from the neighbouring Indian CoffeeHouse.

When he was first starting out, Krishna says, especially used books were difficult to find. He had to go to different stores by dawn to get the books before they were sold off.

“Fourteen years since the shop opened, it has never lost a single customer,” Krishna explains with pride.“We value our customers’ interests and love for reading. We believe we understand their interests well.”

With print vanishing to give birth to the digital world, Krishna says,he fearsthe extinction of paper books over time.But, the number of people whostill visit the shop for a book keep such fears at bay for now.

He remembers starting out with a small stall on the pavements of M.G. Road, later finding space among the other shops, not far from its first location.

By the time the shop closes at ten at night, a number of customers have walked out with stacks of books in their hands.

“I started with 4,000 books way back

Shutters are down for the night, but the readers will be back again.

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The undertaker Bengaluru man buries city’s forgotten By Prabhpreet Singh Sood

hen Mahadeva was eight, he travelled with his ailing mother to Victoria Hospital in Bengaluru from his village in Anchipura in Mysore district. Not knowing about the procedures for treatment and left without money, they stayed on the hospital’s veranda. He remembers having no food and only coconut water to drink. “Once I ran back to my mother to give her coconut water and found

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the place empty. My mother was not there. I searched everywhere, but couldn’t find,” he recalled. “She had died and her body was taken away by the hospital.” A man named Thata, an undertaker at the hospital, offered Mahadeva food and took him home, raising him as a son and teaching him to bury the dead. Mahadeva is now 55 and has been

burying unclaimed bodies since the early 1970s, when Thata died. He buries the forgotten and abandoned and is trusted equally by police and hospital authorities in Bengaluru. He spends his days at Victoria Hospital, waiting for calls from the authorities to pick up unclaimed bodies. Mahadeva said he has buried more than 80,000 bodies. He receives Rs.250 for each burial from the hospital authority and Rs.500 from the city police for doing the job. “I received Rs. 2.50 when I buried a body for the first time, which was a fair amount then. That is when I realised that burying bodies is my vocation,” he narrated as he lit a beedi. Around 300 dead bodies from the Majestic Police Station area, many of them from the railway station, were recovered and handed over to Mahadeva last year. Govind Raj, who is the head constable of Majestic Police Station, visits Mahadeva every year with a bundle of papers which are the verification and details of the unclaimed bodies, along with the receipts of the amount paid to him by the police. “As the deaths on the roads and railway stations are frequent, it is convenient to get these paper works done at once,” Govind Raj. Scattered over acres of land, some of

the burial grounds in Bengaluru are in Wilson Garden, Mysore Road, and Shantinagar.

ister’s Gold Medal in 1999. He was also awarded the KempeGowda in 2004.

He still lives in a rented house and said educating his children has been difficult, yet he managed.

“There are not much space left anymore for dead bodies in Bangalore. All that we can do is bury one over the other,” Mahadeva said.

Mahadeva recollects the day he was honoured by former president of India, A.P.J. Abdul Kalam with Rs. 2.5 lakhs.

As he kept drinking cups of tea from the tea boy who came every half an hour, he said that the boring wait during the days in Victoria Hospital for calls has made him a lover of tea.

“I stay at the house which I got for a lease with the award money,” he said.

Of his four children -- Praveen, Kiran, Sonia and Arpita -- Praveen, the eldest, has now completed his masters in social work. He now helps his father in ferrying the bodies to the burial ground and has now buried thousands of bodies.

“I drink around 30 cups of tea a day

The money that he received in various awards has helped him buy an auto-rickshaw and a mini-van to aid

While talking about his father, Praveen he said that it is his father’s hard work and the job that has earned him a post-graduation in social work.

No one wants to give grooms to the girls whose father is an undertaker. I do not know how will I get my chil dren married.

- Mahadeva an undertaker at Victoria Hospital

and I always have a packet of beedi in my pocket,” he said as he took a puff from his beedi. Pointing towards a scar on the back of his head that had long healed, he recounted an incident that had happened in 1983. A building under construction collapsed, killing a number people, including the construction workers. It was Mahadeva who had to bury around 18 of them. “While I was burying the dead bodies from the building collapse, I slipped and fell into the burial pit. Not knowing my presence in the pit, my fellow workers started covering the pit with mud, while a huge rock fell on my head by mistake, tearing my skin away. A piece of the flesh was hung open,which lead to the ceaseless flow of blood. With the help of people I somehow managed to climb up the pit and sat down until an aid came.” Though some of the incidents were at risk to his life, he has forgotten many of them in light of the accolades that have come his way over the years, including the Chief Min-

with his work. He particularly remembered an incident in which he felt like a king. It was when he had to bury the body of Sivarasan, the man who planned an attack on Rajiv Gandhi. After Sivarasan was killed, Bengaluru police handed over the body to Mahadeva, which he had to ferry for cremation. “I was accompanied by police jeeps on either sides of my horse cart. How does it feel to be escorted by police jeeps on both the sides and my horse cart in the middle,” he laughed as he remembered the moment. During his first days as an undertaker, he had a cart that he pushed for miles, collecting unclaimed bodies as he went. He later upgraded to a horse cart. Life has not changed much for Mahadeva though numerable awards have come and gone. Mahadeva’s family consists of his wife and four children. Family life has been a challenge: “Who would give a girl to someone who buries dead bodies?”

Mahadeva still continues to be an undertaker to raise his family. He is now worried about his children’s marriage, due to the social stigma that is attached to his profession. “No one wants to give grooms to the girls whose father is an undertaker. I do not know how will I get my children married.” “I realised that awards can never give the honour that they promise,” he said. Nevertheless, he keeps doing the work that few are willing to do. Mahadeva walked back to his auto rickshaw in a lackadaisical manner. He opened the door of the rickshaw and stretched his right arm to drag the white polythene bag that was placed at the corner of the vehicle towards him. He put his arm inside the bag to pull out a piece of cloth in which something was covered. As he rolled open the piece of cloth, a pink foetus came rolling out of it. Pointing at the foetus he said, “I have to bury this today.”

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#OnTheMenu

How food looks on social media matter as much as taste By Ankita Sil #foodgasm #foodie #foodlover #foodpost... 100 likes. 89 comments. And that’s just one meal. Food may be an essential part of our lives, but it’s not enough anymore to just taste good. With so many hip young consumers Instragramming their samosas before they even take a bite, chefs, restaurateurs and foodies alike are having to think about how their dishes and culinary creations will look on social media. #delicious #nomnom Rina Chakravarty, a young Bengaluru entrepreneur, chooses Facebook as a platform to promote her business. Her page, “Sweet Tooth- Do you have one?“ looks after Bengaluru’s taste buds. From cupcakes to Hariyali

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kababs, you name it, her page has it all and so does her kitchen. “There is a tremendous change in the food industry, culture and blogging world,” she explains. “Food is not just limited to cooking or having meals at your home. It’s now about sharing with others through social media and appealing presentation, too. Having good photography skills is largely involved. “It has surely changed the garnishing patterns, or in other words, concentration is more on the plating.” #yummy #instafood #snack With an entire universe of information available at the touch of a smart phone, consumers may decide what they want to eat based, in part, on what they see in social

There is a tremendous change in the food industry, culture and blogging world,” she explains. “Food is not just limited to cooking or having meals at your home.

media. The appearance of the dish has a great impact on people’s appetite, says Chaintanya Koneti, a trainee chef at Al Metro’ Ristorante and a student chef at ALMA la Scuola Internazionale di Cucina Italiana in San Salvo, Italy. “Nowadays people judge the food by the presentation,” Koneti says. “In India, people think that all that internet tells is the truth.” “Here (in Italy), the word spreads by the taste of the food,” Koneti says. “Presentation becomes secondary. But in India, the more it looks presentable, the more it is priced. I felt in Italy authenticity matters.”

- Rina Chakravarty, a young Bengaluru entrepreneur,

Koneti says that his own workplace, Al Metro’ Ristorante, which is a Michelin star restaurant, does not post their food pictures online. Even those who don’t cook professionally, but out of a simple passion for food are having to thinking about the social media appearance of food. One of the enthusiasts is Akshansh Paritosh. He is a designer by profession and a cook on weekends, and says that he is “irked by the idea of constantly uploading pictures on social media. Although food is all about the five senses, we are giving importance to only one of the senses.” #eat #food

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worldartsme.com

Love unspoken He had three days to tell her how he felt. Did he? By Sutanu Guha

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ow when I think of that time, maybe it c ould have worked, may be it couldn’t, but the fact that she was that one who could never be replaced by someone else made me realize how beautiful love is, how stupid love is, and in my case, how fragile love was. And I think it was because of that fragility why I never dared reveal to her how I felt, leaving it unsaid and unheard. I don’t remember the exact date – I do remember it was two years ago -- but the day itself is still clear – after all, that was the first trip that I had ever made with a personal agenda. I knew I had to make it count, whether I had the cash to make that trip or not. The day started at 4 a.m. because we had a train to catch at 6. It was a plan between five friends, and she was one of them. She was the only reason why I wanted to go to the beaches in Shankarpur despite having no money. But I somehow managed scrape together 1,650 rupees for the bare minimum sustenance just before leaving my house. It gave me the sense of being a self–sufficient man. The trip has started. After I reached Howrah station I had to patiently wait for my friends as well as the train. After reaching there early, I got the responsibility of buying the tickets for of all of us, spending

half of my money, but that didn’t bother me. It was the journey with the people and at the same time with that woman that surpassed all my logical emotions. When I was a child, I used to eagerly wait to go to grandpa’s place, not because of the place but because of the journey I would be making on a train. Whether it was the clitter-clatter of the wheels on the tracks or the old guy selling samosas that filled the entire cabin with their spicy scent, it was always exciting. This time, my excitement knew no bounds. Everything around the station, from the beggars to the child crying on her mother’s lap to the filthy smell that is so common in train stations -- it all seemed romantic and it was all because of her.

know her. If later in time I find out that I had a different image of her from what I gathered from our conversations it would not bother me because I had had the best conversation that I could have with any human being on this planet. She could come up with solutions with the snap of her fingertips. It was those instant snaps that brought me closer, closer and even closer to her. And today I as travelling with her, and herein lies the tragedy: She was sitting beside me like a fellow passenger. The train was shaking too much and I loved how calm and composed

When is she coming? When will I see her? Am I looking good? After rambling my thoughts, my phone rang, so did my heart, “She has come!” said my heart. The call was from Satyajit, one of my friends, and he asked me to come outside. She came. She saw. I saw her. But we didn’t say anything to each other. And then the train came. Busy people all around started rushing toward the still-unopened doors, making me wonder how many people around me were as excited about their holiday as me. The door opened, we rushed in, I found a seat near the window. SHE SAT BESIDE ME! That was the closest I had ever been to the woman I was in love with.

She could always talk to anybody, she could always break the ice, but between us it just seemed to be growing.

“So, how are you?” she asked Picture courtesy: Aditya Mehrotra “Sleepy,” I replied. WHAT! What the fuck was wrong with me?? I had the opportunity to start the conversation, she gave me the first signal and I, being a dumbass pot head, went to sleep! But not for long. After all it, was a three-hour journey. I couldn’t sleep, but I also couldn’t speak to her. I didn’t want to fuck it up with her. I wanted it to work it out as perfectly as it could. Maybe it was because I expected perfection that I kept silent. Oh! The regret. When I first met her and realized how special she was, I started to talk with her over text messages, and less in person. That’s how I got to

she was. I have asked myself several times since, did she feel the same way I felt for her? If yes, she was the expert in hiding her feeling at that time, but I was an expert, too. Our legs touched when the coach shook and made its way through the middle of the rice fields. I gazed out at the endless paddies, which were green, still growing, like the excitement inside me that I would be spending the next two days with her. She didn’t talk to me because apparently I couldn’t talk to her. I plugged in my headphones and she started talking with the children who were sitting beside her. She could always talk to anybody, she could always break the ice, but be-

tween us it just seemed to be growing. The train rattled on and I kept silent. Music always has helped me articulate my feelings, and no matter how bad the situation is I’ll always turn up the volume and go into a state of oblivion. But that day even my iPod seemed to say to me, “Stop listening to me, and start speaking to her” when it queued up The Beatles’ “Oh! Darling!” as soon as I pressed the play button. I wish I could just be the silent Ringo Starr in her life at that time. She was so close to me that I still remembered the fragrance that she was wearing on that day. It was a Spinz Body Deo perfume and that, along with her sweat and the filthy train smell, should have made me try to come out of my comfort zone and tell her how much she meant to me, just like John Lennon shouted in that song. But alas, my silence probably kept on disappointing her. Description: https://ssl.gstatic. com/ui/v1/icons/mail/images/cleardot. gif I spent the rest of the trip in observation. She got drunk, she got stoned, so did I. But I could never, in spite of getting that drunk and stoned, say those words that could have made me the luckiest guy in the world. On the last day of our trip, my mind was as heavy as a stone. She was sitting in front of me on the beach and I was looking at her and the vast Bay of Bengal before us. We were so small in comparison to the vast ocean before us. What could have been the probability of us getting together some time after that year? Will we ever get together? Will I see her again, and if I do will I be able to speak to her, tell her how I felt about her? Our pants got soaked on the beach sand. Her silence at the end of the trip just reflected my own inaction. My goal was to come back as “we,” a utopia I still slip into every time I close my eyes at the end of the day. She even asked me, “Why are you not speaking with me?” I am still searching for the answer.

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Yoga for sale Bengaluru witnesses changing face of yoga from traditional to modern by Sana Husain It is 7:30pm on the third floor of Sobha Lakeview Club House in Bengaluru. A woman enters the Traditional Yoga Studio. Green, blue and orange yoga mats checker the shiny wooden floor It is 7:30pm on the third floor of Sobha Lakeview Club House in Bengaluru. A woman enters the Traditional Yoga Studio. Green, blue and orange yoga mats checker the shiny wooden floor in the studio. Ladies wearing black lycrastretch yoga pants and plain tees roll out their mats. Minutes later and well into her yoga session, the woman’s feet slide down the wall, head bends down and hands balance her body, her body shakes and the legs touch the floor again, upon achieving the head stand. “Let’s recite the prayer, ‘Astoma satgamya’,” says the yoga trainer and closes his eyes -- ancient words in the most modern of settings.

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Swami Krishnananda at his ashram From its birth as a spiritual practice in India around 3000 BC, the traditional form of yoga was handed down from one generation of yogis to the next over millennia. Then the West picked it up in the 20th century and eventually sent it back home as a more expensive and fashionable hobby with accompanying clothes and accessories. When globalization changed the face of India, such amendments were inevitable. The modern approach is attached with new prefixes: “modern” yoga, “power” yoga, “aqua” yoga and, interestingly, “hot” yoga- yet a far cry from yoga’s birth interpreted in the Vedas. The Traditional Yoga The yoga trainer, Dharmendra Soni during warmup session with his son Dharmendra Soni, the yoga teacher at Traditional Yoga Studio, has been

practicing yoga for 15 years and teaching for the past seven. At the age of 12, he learnt it from his yogi grandfather. Later, he studied for three years at Swami Vivekananda Yoga Anusandhana Samsthana Yoga University in Bangalore. “The senses want to indulge and enjoy, irrespective of traditional and modern techniques,” he said. “The westerners took up one style of yoga practice. When they focus on something, Indians focus on them. That’s how they gave culture to India. “People innovate to enjoy, where the basic practice takes a backseat and the new thing grabs the entire attention. A person who wants to really practice, for him or her, the brand or colour of clothes doesn’t matter.” Traditional practitioners say the meditation ritual contains the essence of yoga- an “immortal cultural outcome” of Indus Saraswati Valley civilization. Basic humane values form the very

identity of yoga sadhana, “a tool for one’s wellbeing”.

ries. Now, I’m not afraid of eating,” said Pooja, who is not immune to the stylishness of modernized yoga and said she finds Nike yoga wear worth paying more for, in comparison to the cheaper contemporary brands, such as Urban Yoga.

Legend holds that on the banks of a Himalayan lake, Lord Shiva poured his profound knowledge into the “seven sages.” The sages carried this powerful yogic science to different parts of the world, including Asia, the Middle East, Northern Africa and South America. Although close parallels have been found between ancient cultures across the globe, it was in India that the yogic system found its fullest expression, states the research.

Yoga is not just for spiritual seekers R. Rajesh, the Professor of Sociology at Bangalore University, said that India is paying a heavy price for its own yoga: “Despite having an indigenous system, we have allowed people to loot our culture.”

The fundamentals of yoga sadhana include yoga’s functions on one’s body, mind, emotion and energy. Yoga improves lifestyle The blossoming of yoga’s popularity and its westernized return home to India has been both a blessing and a curse, longtime practitioners say. Soni cited a particular problem in inexperienced teachers who have completed a one-month course but can’t even define yoga. They establish their websites and host clinics and adapt a different teaching methodology, he said, but don’t necessarily adhere to yoga’s traditional principles. Soni’s wife, Taruna, who’s also a yoga teacher, explained that there’s a controversy between modern science and traditional yoga’s way, where the latter lacks a practical approach. Regardless of that, the students are lured by the appeal of evolved yoga practice, without really understanding its significance and context. “The craze of yoga has gotten me here,” said Shawaz, who has been practicing for a month at Traditional Yoga Studio. She said she finds the traditional technique “meaningful,” as it involves the concept of prayer. “It helps me gain control over day-today activities and experience flexibility,” Shawaz explained. “There’s improvement in attitude, interaction with people, in complexion, body posture and lifestyle altogether.” She said she used to take pain killers

“Everyone doesn’t want spirituality. People perform asanas for getting a beautiful body. Their aim is to get rid of stress,” -Swami Krishnananda

every day for knee and leg pain after coming home from office. Now, after continuous yoga practice, she said she’s immune to cold or fever, and “forget any pain”. Pooja Bhattacharyya said she was a hardcore gym freak for 12 years and didn’t believe in yoga. “Now, I believe there’s no need to go to gym,” she said. “Though traditional is tough to follow, Dharmendra makes it very simple to understand and gives it a modern twist too.” She added that she isn’t impressed by modern techniques as they become as rigorous as a gym workout. The Urban Yoga brand outlet in Indiranagar “Yoga looks slow, but can burn calo-

He added that modern science is swaying everyone to its tunes. The modern yoga techniques have always been there, but weren’t brought to the limelight, because of ignorance. So, the new media is taking advantage of it, by trading in fashionable wear for yoga sessions. Yoga bar available at a1000yoga Studio In the divine land of religions, Indians don’t necessarily prefer the spiritual rigors of traditional yoga practice. “Everyone doesn’t want spirituality. People perform asanas for getting a beautiful body. Their aim is to get rid of stress,” said Swami Krishnananda, who has been practicing for 24 years and teaches 20 students at Surya Jyothi Yoga Vedanta Center in Kormangala. Previously a businessman in Gujarat for more than 10 years, he decided to attend a yoga teacher training course and stayed with his mentor, Swami Shivananda, in Kerala for 15 years. Now, he charges each student Rs. 1,500 per month for his one-hour classes: “When cost of the classes is more, people want to go there,” he said. Despite this concession to the modern – and westernized – way of thinking about yoga, he said his approach remains traditional, starting with a belief that “when five elements of the Earth are imbalanced within you, then yoga becomes essential for us. Medicine only works on the physi-

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cal body, whereas yoga provides the perfect solution for all problems. “In the west, yoga industry is a business. Some people consider yoga fashionable and it’s their choice. I can’t change their mind. But, practicing in air-conditioned rooms is not real yoga. What’s real is the union with supreme self, through advanced meditation. Only in a human body does one acquire knowledge about God, through meditation.” Other fancy merchandise available at Urban Yoga Citing his guru’s teachings, Krishnananda said that the highest form of yoga is about service, love, giving, compassion, meditation and bearing injury and insult while overcoming the six enemies of lust, anger, greed, hatred, jealousy and egoism. However, he added that in Kormangala, people are only making money in the name of traditional yoga. Yoga in studios Uma Subramanyam, a co-founder of A1000 Yoga Studio in Kormangala, has taken a more contemporary approach to yoga. “My husband and I wanted to give a new face to yoga, by packaging it in the modern style, just like Zumba was introduced, with the Bollywood touch to it,” she explained. Yoga studios such as Nivesaa, in In-

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diranagar and Ashmayu in JP Nagar have the aerial yoga practice established there. Namita Sanghvi, a yoga trainer there said, “A1000 yoga studio caters to the modern needs, yet is rooted in the traditional form. “Yoga is in vogue. In ancient times, people were healthy. Then, the priority was to control the mind. Now, since the body movement is limited, it’s difficult to control the mind at first. Hence, we focus on body first and later the mind.” So, what began as a method of spiritual cleansing has been amended and altered on its way back to India. Still, the men in shorts and the women in their stretchy black pants enter the yoga studio on a Thursday night, unfurl their purple and green and yellow mats, sit with their legs crossed, then breathe in and breathe out. in the studio. Ladies wearing black lycra-stretch yoga pants and plain tees roll out their mats. Minutes later and well into her yoga session, the woman’s feet slide down the wall, head bends down and hands balance her body, her body shakes and the legs touch the floor again, upon achieving the head stand. “Let’s recite the prayer, ‘Astoma satgamya’,” says the yoga trainer and closes his eyes -- ancient words in

the most modern of settings. From its birth as a spiritual practice in India around 3000 BC, the traditional form of yoga was handed down from one generation of yogis to the next over millennia. Then the West picked it up in the 20th century and eventually sent it back home as a more expensive and fashionable hobby with accompanying clothes and accessories. When globalization changed the face of India, such amendments were inevitable. The modern approach is attached with new prefixes: “modern” yoga, “power” yoga, “aqua” yoga and, interestingly, “hot” yoga - yet a far cry from yoga’s birth interpreted in the Vedas. The Traditional Yoga Dharmendra Soni, the yoga teacher at Traditional Yoga Studio, has been practicing yoga for 15 years and teaching for the past seven. At the age of 12, he learnt it from his yogi grandfather. Later, he studied for three years at Swami Vivekananda Yoga Anusandhana Samsthana Yoga University in Bangalore. “The senses want to indulge and enjoy, irrespective of traditional and modern techniques,” he said. “The westerners took up one style of yoga practice. When they focus on something, Indians focus on them. That’s how they gave culture to India. “People innovate to enjoy, where the basic practice takes a backseat

Us and Them

If a woman is being helpful that doesn’t mean she is giving you a chance By Ankita Sil It was a Saturday afternoon and I was at McDonald’s on MG Road, waiting at the counter for my food to arrive. A guy in his twenties approached me and said, “Hi, I am new in this city. Can you help me with a nice food joint, where they have good music like a nice pub?” At first, I was a little apprehensive as he came to me randomly. The next moment we were sitting and talking about Bengalur u. He introduced himself as Khaleej (name changed). He was 22, from Kerala and was in the city in search of a livelihood. “I left home. Actually, I had a fight back in college and my dad asked me to leave,” he was explained.. But then he sprang from his chair, rushing out of the McDonald’s to see his bullet bike being towed. By the time he reached it, the “NO PARKING” sign was the only thing waiting for him. Khaleej came back to me and asked me to accompany him to the police station. We started for the Ashok Nagar police station, the nearest one to MG Road. The area behind the police station was lined with all the towed cars and bikes and his shining bright bullet was there in the middle of that mess. There was no ATM nearby and I had to pay the fine of Rs.300 for him. He got his bike and I asked him to drop me at the nearest bus stop and repay me. He agreed. While riding he asked me about my rest of the day’s plan. “I have work,” I replied. “We can just book a room. You can just freshen up,” he said. I didn’t utter a word after that. As I turned away and started walking from him, a frustration grasped me. I was a woman who was only trying to help a newcomer in this city. Not being from Bengaluru myself, I understand the difficulties that one can face as a newcomer. Some

might say I was too friendly, I led him on, I shouldn’t have gotten onto the back of his bike, I asked for it. I just wanted to be helpful. How vulnerable we can be as women, when friendly intentions are regularly interpreted as invitations, when we frequently are blamed for the things said to us. It was really simple for him to ask me just because I was a woman. It was easy for him because I was helping him and I was being nice to him. I don’t blame myself. He shouldn’t have said what he did or interpreted my help for anything but what it was: help. Even if the situation were different, something that could have been interpreted as a date, a man still has no right to meet a woman at McDonald’s and ask her an hour later to go to a hotel room. But how guarded we must be, how careful, how wary of unintended consequences that will be blamed on us. How often do we hear “She brought it on herself”? How often do we blame the victim? We are making strides as women, progress toward the freedom that should be ours by birth. But how free can we claim to be when we must consider how our every word and action can be seen, distorted and reflected back to us with a “You can only blame yourself.”

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Editor-in-chief : Aditi Mallick Assignment editor: Sutanu Guha Copy editors : Ankita Sil, Sana Husain, Rishi Sabharwal Page layout designers : Prabhpreet Singh Sood, Mathew Joy Mathew Also read more stories on our website thebeatmagazine.in

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