Known for his booming voice, he had made a mark both in films and stage plays
Comedian Neelu, remembered for his characteristic entry onto the stage and the screen, always humming a snatch from some Carnatic song, died here on Thursday after a prolonged hospitalisation. He was 82 and is survived by wife and two sons.
“The only time he did not make his typical entry was when he played the role of Yama. He had a great following among drama lovers in Chennai,” said stage actor A.R. Srinivasan, who had worked closely with Neelu.
Born Neelakantan, he did his graduation and post-graduation in Economics at R.K.M. Vivekananda College in the city. At school, he participated in the Scouts movement and acted in plays. Later, he joined the Triplicane Fine Arts Club. He later became one of the permanent faces of Cho Ramasamy’s Viveka Fine Arts troupe and its plays. “When we decided to stop staging plays taking into consideration our age, Neelu felt that he was still young and started acting with ‘Crazy’ Mohan’s troupe,” said Ambi, the younger brother of Cho Ramasamy and a close friend of Neelu since their college days, where they came together to stage plays. “He easily blended with any group and was ever ready to do any role. He would never project himself, but develop the character in such a way that people would start concentrating on him the moment he appeared,” said Mr. Ambi, who called on him on Wednesday at the hospital. He spoke both the Chennai dialect and the Brahminical dialect with equal ease.
“He did not know how to speak in a low voice. He would even convey secrets in his typical high voice,” said Mr. Ambi.
Even though he forayed into films and played a few memorable roles like Neelakantam in Gowravam and as advocate Appalachari, who loved cooking in Velum Mayilum Thunai, he did not make acting his full-time career (in all, he had acted in 160 films).
He was an employee of V.C. Swami and Company Private Ltd. “He would call us from Kolkata every day after he was transferred there. Finally, Cho convinced his employer to bring him back to Chennai,” he recalled.
A music lover
He was an ardent music lover and would not miss the concerts of his favourite singers, including T.V. Sankaranarayanan and Sanjay Subramanian. “I would always sit beside him at concerts and he used to explain to me the names of ragas. Later, I would happily boast of my new found musical knowledge to the singer,” said Mr. Srinivasan.
“He was a very positive person and enjoyed life. Even when I met him a day ago, he told me that the doctors had only amputated his leg and he could still live without it,” said Ambi.
Mr. Mohan said, “For the past 10 years, Neelu has been with Crazy Creations. It is a great loss. He has travelled the world with us. For the past 20 days, the troupe members have been with him at the hospital.”
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> Cities> Chennai / by B. Kolappan / Chennai – May 11th, 2018
Summer sale: Good demand for the chedibutti saris introduced by the Handloom and Textiles department is keeping the weavers of Veeravanallur busy.
Handloom exhibition brings to light the traditional art of weaving
Did you know that in Tamil Nadu around 150 varieties of saris are woven? And that the State contributes to 12% of the country’s handloom production?
There is a lot more to handloom than just weaving. Creativity starts with choosing the yarn: ordinary coarse cotton to materials with lustrous finish, resembling silk. Choice of dyes involves thinking through: chemical dyes and vegetable dyes. Then there is the design — from Kancheepuram silk replicated on cotton to the famous Madurai sungudi apart from region-specific motifs.
Clusters of handloom weavers in small villages across Tamil Nadu have worked hard to create an exclusive collection of designs and weaves.
The Handloom and Textiles department has been training weavers to introduce new motifs not only to keep their looms going but also revive the art. One such effort is the chedibutti design.
Last of the generation
The design has become integral to a cluster of 200 families, mostly men over 50 years of age, in Veeravanallur of Tirunelveli district. They are the last of the generation to carry forward the traditional weaving of artificial silk.
“They are on old-age pension but we are keeping them employed by training them to weave new designs,” said R. Thamizharasi, joint director of the department. “As they are trained weavers all we are required to do is give them the design. Since they are conversant with the patterns they are able to incorporate it easily. We introduced the chedibutti design (a plant like motif with colourful flowers) three-four years ago and is now being woven by these families,” she added.
The State is ranked first in sari production and third in the country in handloom production. It has 3.19 lakh looms providing livelihood to 1.89 lakh families.
On Thursday, a week-long exhibition of cotton handloom saris was inaugurated by the department’s director C. Muniathanan at Sri Sankara Hall in Alwarpet. As many as 15 varieties of saris are on display.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> Cities> Chennai / May 11th, 2018
I had meant to write this piece for my April 2nd column, but events overtook me, so it comes as a bit later reminder of new ownership taking over The Hindu on April 1, 1905. In selling it to the paper’s legal adviser, S Kasturiranga Iyengar, M Veeraraghavachariar, a founder who had become sole owner, made sure with a formal notice that this would not be considered an April Fools’ Day story.
But before that happened, Veeraraghavachariar made one last effort to keep control of the paper. On the advice of Kasturiranga Iyengar, a company with capital of ₹1,20,000 (1200 shares of ₹100 each) was formed with P Rungiah Naidu (Chairman), Dewan Bahadur R Ragoonath Row, P Anandacharlu, C Jambulinga Mudaliar, C Sankaran Nair, TV Seshagiri Iyer and M Tirumalachariar as Directors. Kasturiranga Iyengar was the Legal Adviser and Veeraraghavachariar the Manager. But by 1903 the scheme failed with less than half the shares subscribed. Two years later, on March 18, 1905, Kasturiranga Iyengar announced, “Mr. Sankaran Nair and myself have agreed to purchase The Hindu from Mr. Veeraraghavachariar for ₹75,000,” the latter selling it to them though he had received an offer for ₹5000 more. Sankaran Nair remained a co-owner till 1922.
Over the years, there were to be differences between The Hindu and Sir Sankaran, but the break came when they took opposing views on the question of Gandhiji and civil disobedience. Nair even wrote a book, Gandhi and Anarchy, in which he attacked Gandhiji and the Congress. The consequences of the book were unexpected. In it Nair wrote, “Before the reforms it was in the power of the Lieutenant-Governor (Sir Michael O’Dwyer of the Punjab), a single individual, to commit the atrocities in the Punjab we know too well.” This was with reference to the Jallianwala Bagh massacre that Sir Sankaran held was due to O’Dwyer giving the man-on-the-spot, Col. Reginald Dyer, an excessively free hand. O’Dwyer, angered by Nair’s charge, sued for libel in London, which is where Nair had once thought he would file charges against the Authorities for the massacre. Instead, as a member of the Secretary of State for India’s Council, he moved to England, and campaigned for a Royal Commission of Inquiry which led to several civil and military officials being punished for what happened in 1919. “As far as it lay in my power, I was determined to prevent another Jallianwala Bagh in India,” Nair stated of his success.
You win some, you lose some and the lawyer Sankaran Nair found himself paying for his views on Jallianwala Bagh and O’Dwyer. In London, the jury ruled against him after Justice McCardie kept intervening at every stage of the trial asking questions that favoured the plaintiff. O’Dwyer was awarded £500 damages and costs, which came to £7000.
The Hindu, which covered the trial extensively, called it “a hideous mockery,” adding, “almost from the first day when the trial commenced, it was apparent that Sir Sankaran Nair had lost the case.” The paper later wrote, “The case has only served to demonstrate once again that when there is the slightest touch of politics involved for an Indian, justice cannot be expected in an English Court and from an English jury. In such cases both judge and jury become weighted with the cares of empire. No wonder a case which was meant to test whether Sir Michael O’Dwyer was guilty of terrorism, resulted in the finding, altogether gratuitous, that O’Dwyer saved the empire, that justice was not done to Dyer… and that (the Inquiry had got it all wrong…)”
Ironically, the case led to Nair in 1924 wanting to sue The Hindu for libel alleging that it had accused him of “appealing to the Congress leaders in the matter of the suit (filed by Sir Michael O’Dwyer).” Matters were settled out of court.
Sir Sankaran Nair lived in The Palms on Poonamallee High Road and was, with Kasturiranga Iyengar, a member of the Egmore Group of lawyers, rivals of the Mylapore Group, which was mainly Brahmin.
Music maestro’s centenary
April 27th was the birth centenary of Handel Manuel, Madras’s ‘Mr. Western Classical Music’, (Miscellany, March 19) and it was a grand music event in the Manuel style at St Andrew’s Kirk, with which he was associated for over fifty years as organist and choirmaster.
Born in Tuticorin into an old Nagercoil family, he was named Handel by his music-loving father who thought George Frederic Handel’s Messiah was the greatest piece of Western Classical music ever written. His son lived up to his hopes. An untrained composer, he became an outstanding Classical musician after his time at Madras Christian College. But Handel Manuel was down-to-earth as well: He was Station Director Western Music, Madras.
A part of his legacy includes founding the Madras Philharmonic and Choral Society. And the Handel Manuel Chorus is a memorial to him founded by his younger brother and his wife, flautist Surender and Sarada Schaffter, in 2003. He was also instrumental in writing and augmenting the Western musical notes for the National Anthem. His son Vijay, considered by many the best pianist and bass player in India in his time, worked long with composer Ilayaraja for whom he played the keyboard. Handel Manuel was elected an Honorary Life Member of the Royal School of Church Music, London.
The chronicler of Madras that is Chennai tells stories of people, places, and events from the years gone by, and sometimes, from today.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society> History & Culture / by S. Muthiah / April 30th, 2018
Straight out of a ‘Marvel’ comic. | Photo Credit: R. Ravindran
Behind the rustle of Kancheepuram silk in Chennai is a bunch of women aged 40 to 60 who defy cliches
As I walk into The Unit, a strength and conditioning gym, for my regular class, Srividya Gowri comes up to me, lifts up the sleeve of her T-shirt, and says, “Hey, see my cut.” I am somewhat confused by Gowri’s apparent glee about the ‘cut’ — and by the fact that I cannot see any cuts on her arm. Srividya sees my confusion. “My bicep cut,” she explains. We burst out laughing.
Gowri is 43, the mother of two teenaged daughters, a homemaker, Carnatic singer, and your typical new-age Madras ‘maami’ outside of the gym. Inside the gym though, she is straight out of a Marvel comic, a Peter Parker shedding identities like second skin. Here, she is a ‘bro’, deadlifting 90 kilos and benching 40 kilos. Here, she speaks the language of cuts and reps and brace and form. Here, she transforms into the living, breathing, walking epitome of ‘strong’.
Behind Chennai’s tapestry of sensory clichés — the aroma of filter kaapi, the rustle of Kancheepuram silks, the shimmering Marina, the heat that wilts, the Margazhi that revives — is a group of feisty women who lift weights. They compete. And they defy clichés.
“If women can strap on several kilos to their spine and carry the weight around for nine months, and then some more when the child is three or five, why is it difficult to understand when I shape it properly for you like a barbell? If you are going to lift, you might as well lift with proper form,” says Jyotsna John with her trademark wit. ‘Jo’, as she is called, began The Unit a little over five years ago at a friend’s home and later ran it from the backyard of a school.
I joined The Unit two years ago and by then it had found its own space. It was like I had opened a secret wardrobe to an intoxicating and impossible new world where the smells of rubber and iron merged with the sounds of grunts and groans. Six months later, I participated in my first competition — a State bench press competition — and won gold.
Popping veins
At powerlifting tournaments, there is a sea of men and a tiny island of women. The testosterone in the air is overwhelming and raucous. A stage is set with a table on one side where three members from the Tamil Nadu Powerlifting Association sit, all dressed in white, calling out names and numbers from little slips of paper.
For the uninitiated, the competition is divided based on age and weight, and how much you lift is calculated accordingly. They weigh you in, record your weight and age, ask you what your first lift will be, and then you wait your turn. You are allowed three attempts, and increase your lift with every turn.
These women speak the language of cuts and reps and brace and form. A training session at The Unit in Chennai. | Photo Credit: R. Ravindran
At the centre of the stage, against a big banner showcasing flexed muscles and popping veins, is the bench (for bench press) or a simple barbell (for deadlifts), or a squat rack (for squats), with 2.5 kilo, 5, 10, 15, 25 kilo plates (and more) lying around looking strangely disconcerting, like uninvited guests. Sitting on a chair up front, back to the audience, is the judge.
At the competition, I remember feeling disoriented, nervous and woefully inadequate. I watched the impossible weights the men were lifting, as awe turned to fear and the fear incapacitated me. I bungled my first attempt — 22.5 kilos. I repeated the weight in my second. I went on to 25 kilos in my third, and that won me the gold.
In India, the belief that women over a certain age cannot lift weights is as deep-rooted as mould on an abandoned building. Add to this the fact that within the powerlifting community, too, women stop once they are married and have children.
Meenal Jalihal, 62, has been strength training at The Unit for a year. “I constantly hear the ‘Oh, if you stop weights you will become fat’ line, but perhaps the most bizarre line I have heard till now is ‘Your uterus will fall out!’ So I just smile and tell them how much I bench (27.5 kilos) and lift (55 kilos), and their jaws drop.” The benefits of powerlifting are many, says Jalihal: “Quality of life improves, your reflexes improve, memory improves, you feel energetic and, most important, especially for women my age, you can sit cross-legged on the floor!”
Gowri agrees. Battling obesity in her teenage years and continuing to battle hyperthyroidism, Gowri found her way to The Unit five years ago to help strengthen and support her running form and iron out (pun unintended) small injuries. “I got a casual invitation from Jo to come for the State bench press competition last year, where I ended up winning a gold in my age and weight category. That feeling was incomparable, and I shifted completely to strength training after that. I find that I am a lot more confident and empowered now.”
In school, Gowri’s nickname was ‘chubby’. “How I wish ‘chubby’ could hear that I am now ‘athletic, fit and toned’,” she says. On her Instagram page, Gowri recently posted a picture of her washboard abs giving all of us, regardless of age, #fitnessgoals.
“Many peoplethink that after 50 there is not much one can do,” says Jalihal. In fact, at the 2018 National Powerlifting Championship held in Coimbatore, during the weigh-in, the man taking down names and categories refused to believe Jalihal was over 60. Incidentally, she won the national gold.
Jo says her intention as a coach is not about creating powerlifters or to get people to compete. “Rather, the focus is on helping you attain whatever goal you have. Usually it is weight loss and that is a great place to start. But there are other uses to strength training and all I do is point you in the right direction, and help you see that there is more to this than just the mirror.”
Jo, whose efforts led to the creation of a separate women’s trophy in competitions, has been selected Assistant Secretary of the Chennai District Powerlifting Association. “The reason we chose Jyotsna for this post was because of the number of women she has introduced to the sport. I remember how in one competition there were more than 20 women from her gym alone. Not only do they lift with good form and heavy weights, but a lot of them have gone on to become champions at the State and district level, and now at the nationals too,” says S. Bhagavathy, Joint Secretary of the Tamil Nadu Powerlifting Association.
Like most women (and men) who find their way to The Unit, I ended up here because of an injury — my knees had taken a hit after my two pregnancies. At 35, I found I couldn’t climb the two floors to my home without a sharp, shooting pain in my left knee, and simple everyday activities left me completely winded. “Men and women have the same quality of muscle in their body, but we have 30% less muscle than men of the same weight and height. With older women, the ability to build muscle slows down. Most people who come to me have injuries and just want a way out of pain,” explains Jo.
Once you discover strength training, it’s like cold water on a summer afternoon — refreshing, invaluable and life sustaining. Sowmya Cotah, 51, a life coach, says she has never been an ‘exercise person’. “My tryst with fitness was sporadic at best until I started to enjoy it. And watching so many women around you powerlift encourages you to give it a shot and then you are hooked,” she says. Cotah also represented the State at the Nationals and won silver. “It’s not winning that matters — because you know that in the Masters category (40-50 years; Masters 2 is 50-60 years) there are so few women participating in India that most times you are assured of a medal. But even to get that medal, you need to lift right and lift well, and then it becomes about how much more you can do the next time; how much you can better yourself.”
Muscling in
Sumitra Ravindranath, 50, an architect, deadlifted 105 kilos at the Nationals to win a bronze. “A year ago, I visited my daughter in Chandigarh and climbed the overbridge at the station with my suitcase, reached the other side of the platform, and then realised I had actually done it,” she says. “I think competing is significant because, at least for me, it is important to know what it feels like to be on stage in front of an audience; to be able to overcome that nervousness and still be able to do your lift. At the Nationals, I actually lifted 110 kilos, but I was so excited I had done that, I dropped it instead of putting it down and the lift was disqualified.”
In Time magazine’s 2017 special edition on ‘The Science of Exercise’, one of the stories looked at the benefits of strength training for women. The story paints a scary picture of how a sedentary lifestyle is making us weaker by the day and how increasing muscle mass is a way to fight that — it leads to denser bones, a necessity especially for women. “If we imagine the bone as a bank account that stores calcium, then you can begin to see how imperative it is to keep that account active,” explains Kannan Pugazhendi, sports physician at the Indian Institute of Sports Medicine. “Women lose a lot of bone mass as they grow older and more so at menopause. And the only way to deposit calcium is through movement, through optimum weight and strength training, so when you begin to lose it, you already have an account to depend on.”
At the end of the day, when I think back to the medal around my neck, it seems so clear — this is what I want. Not the medal itself, but all that it represents: strength of bone and muscle, sure feet on the ground, emotional and physical balance, pride and a sense of achievement, and the incredible language of movement. As Jo says, “What many of these women feel is a huge sense of vindication: ‘Everyone is wrong, I am awesome.’”
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When not lifting weights of the iron or children kind, the writer edits an art magazine and dabbles in fiction and non-fiction writing.
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source: http:///www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society> Cover Story / by Praveena Shivram / April 28th, 2018
Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddy fought for women against many wrong things, including the devadasi system
World Dance Day brings the focus back on “The dancing girl of Mohenjo daro.” This 10.8 cm long bronze statue (see below)was found in 1926 from a broken down house on the ‘ninth lane’ in Mohenjo-daro. The ‘pert liveliness’ of the minute figure opened up a debate on the antiquity of arts in India. In a language of creative expression, archaeologists reshaped and extended the assumption about her being the dancing girl. She is in a Tribhangi they said and “beats time to the music with her legs and feet…”
dancing girl of Mohenjo daro
But she is actually standing straight. Only one arm is adorned with bangles and she is holding something in her left hand. Naman Ahuja, the historian, says, “Look at the way she is standing. Look at her confidence. One arm on hip. Head thrown back. The way her hand is sculpted, there might have been a spear in her hand. Is she a warrior figure? Could she be a soldier rather than a dancing girl?”
Focus on the dancing girl
A recent discussion has brought focus on the dancing girl of Mohenjo daro and at the centre is the Devadasi, a system prevalent in the 1920s and abolished. This brings us to another dancing girl — Edgar Degas’s ground-breaking statuette of a young ballerina that caused a sensation at the 1881 impressionist exhibition. Degas was a keen observer and wry but sympathetic chronicler of the daily life of dancers, depicting their world off-stage, at rehearsal or in the wings. Degas’s Little Dancer showcases this world of gaslight and struggle. “It is the image of a sickly gawky adolescent, who is being made to do something she doesn’t totally want to do,” said the critic, Tim Marlow.
This thought brings us to Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddy, who fought against the dedication of young girls as Devadasis and Rukmini Devi Arundale, who crusaded against exclusivity.
Muthulakshmi, daughter of a Devadasi Chandrammal married to Narayanaswamy, the principal of Maharaja’s College in Pudukkottai, became the first girl student of the college. Also, she was the first Indian girl student in the Department of Surgery at the Madras Medical College. When she was admitted to Maharaja’s High School, parents of boys threatened to withdraw their children from the school. Her father had been ostracised by his family for marrying a Devadasi and Muthulakshmi became closer to her maternal relatives and saw the situation first hand. After she became a doctor, among the first things Muthulakshmi began to fight against was the system of wet nursing, where women of the upper class got Dalit women to breast feed their babies. She fought to raise the age of marriage for girls, women’s right to property and for choice in the matter of education and career.
It was in 1893 that the Madras Hindu Reform Association sent appeals to put an end to the practice of dances performed at private and public functions in which the British officials also participated. In 1900, M. Ramachandran, secretary of Arya Mission, Kanchipuram, openly protested against the Devadasi system by publishing articles and distributing pamphlets. In 1913, a bill to prevent dedication of girls under 16 years of age was introduced but the bill just dropped out.
In 1927, V.R. Pantulu made a resolution in the Council of State to prohibit dedication of girls. In the same year, Muthulakshmi Reddy was nominated to the Madras Presidency Council and was chosen as the first woman deputy president. She organised several seminars and meetings all over the Madras presidency and interviewed several hundred Devadasis. The Isai Vellalar Sangam in Thanjavur and Mayavaram met in support of the bill. Cochin Devadasis took out a procession in support of the bill. But the George Town Devadasis lead by Duraikannu Ammal and Bengaluru Nagarathnamma opposed the bill.
The bill was dormant after Muthulakshmi Reddy resigned from the Council in 1930 protesting Mahatma Gandhi’s arrest after the Salt March. Then the World War intervened. It was only in December 1947 that the Madras Devadasi (Prevention of Dedication) bill was passed in the Madras Legislative Assembly.
While all the debate was going on, two young girls approached Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddy and asked her what alternative she had for them. They were running away from being dedicated as Devadasis. She took them into her house, tried putting them in hostels and schools but no one would take them. She decided to start Avvai Home hostel and school and offered them anonymity and choice in the matter.
Coincidentally, in 1936, when Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddy started Avvai Home, in the Theosophical Society, yet another disciple of Annie Besant, Rukmini Devi Arundale, began to learn a dance she had a chance to encounter and opened it up for all of us to savour.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Dance / by V.R. Devika / April 26th, 2018
Playback singer M.S. Rajeswari, who has sung songs for several movies over seven decades, died in the city on Wednesday. She was 85 and was suffering from liver related ailments for one year, her family members said.
Rajeswari began singing for films in 1941 with a song in the Tamil film Vijayadasami, her son Raj Venkatesh said.
“Through her career, she has sung songs in several languages other than Tamil, including Telugu, Malayalam, Kannada and Hindi.
As a resident singer in AVM studios, she had sung songs for several of their hit films as well,” Mr. Venkatesh said.
With a distinct voice, Rajeswari sang several songs featuring children and had also been a dubbing artist for child artistes in Tamil movies.
In Kamal Haasan’s first movie Kalathur Kannamma, Rajeswari had sung the song ‘Ammavum Neeye’ which was picturised on the actor who was a child artist then. She had, in particular, sung songs in movies featuring child artiste Baby Shamili and the song ‘Paapa Paadum Paatu’ was very popular.
Her songs featured in several Tamil movies, including Parasakthi, Velaikaran, Mudhalali, Sendhoora Devi and Naan Petra Selvam.
In the late 1980s, Rajeswari had notably sung the hit song Naan Sirithaal Deepavali in the movie Nayakan and she had continued singing in movies till the mid-nineties. She has sung for Viswanathan-Ramamoorthy, Ilaiyaraja and Shankar-Ganesh, among other composers.
In 2013, she was felicitated at an event honouring legends of the Tamil film industry as a part of the centenary celebrations.
Members of the Musicians Unions and president S.A. Rajkumar condoled her death. The funeral will be held at 4.30 p.m. on Thursday, family sources said.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> Cities> Chennai / by S. Poorvaja / Chennai – April 26th, 2018
Pollachi-based T Krishnasamy, an artisan who works with palm leaves, has made 6,000 parrots for an installation in the city
T Krishnasamy’s palms are criss-crossed with cuts. Thirty years of handling palm leaves is bound to leave a mark and the 63-year-old artisan knows this. “It happens,” he shrugs when asked about it. Krishnasamy works with olai or palm leaves to create works of art — from sharp-nosed parrots, to diamond-shaped fish, and intricate deer — he bends and folds the leaves, cuts, and tucks them to create the shapes. Krishnasamy and his small team have made around 6,000 parrots that are part of Phoenix MarketCity’s spring-summer décor. A breathtaking sight, the décor is part of the mall’s initiative to provide a platform for traditional artisans.
Seated on the floor at the mall’s ground floor, over the last weekend, Krishnasamy gave a demonstration of palm leaf figurines. Visitors stop by and request him for a parrot in pink or a fish in blue, and he obliges, giving it away for free. People pose non-stop near the installation bearing hundreds of parrots. But the dhoti-clad man sits absorbed in work, unaffected by all the attention his work is getting.
Krishnasamy is from Kulathur village near Pollachi. He climbed palmyra trees for a living. “I brought down nungu (palm fruit) and thelivu or pathaneer (drink made of sap from the tree),” he says. One day, he happened to see a group of men working with palm leaves. “They were creating decoration items for the palace of the zamindar of Pollachi,” he recalls. He was in his twenties then and was fascinated that the very leaves he merely brushed against every day were transformed into works of art. “I just stood and observed them and learned the craft,” he adds.
Today, Krishnasamy is well-known in and around his home town for his art. His palm leaf artefacts decorate wedding stages and halls at functions. He’s created thousands of them over the course of the last few years. “I can make one in under three minutes,” he says. Krishnasamy processes the palm leaves in his kitchen. “I put the leaves to dry on the first day; trim, clean, and boil them with colour the next. They are ready to be shaped after I dry them for two more days,” he adds.
Back in his village, he usually keeps a stock of a few hundred parrots. But that’s nothing when compared to the volume that he makes on order. “Some five years ago, I made 20,000 parrots for an event organised when the Governor visited Pollachi,” he says. He has a small team of college girls that works for him after classes. But other than that, he’s on his own. If you visit him at Kulathur, you would see him engrossed in work, surrounded by palm leaves dyed in pink, blue, and green. “During the wedding season, I work from 4 am to 12 am,” he says.
His parrots have flown to various cities, but this is his first time in Chennai. “I like this city,” he smiles. “But I like my village better. It’s breezy and the weather is much cooler.” As we leave, he requests for a copy of the paper with his interview to be couriered to his village. He gives us an incomplete address though. “Just address it to kili kaarar (the parrot man),” he says. “It’ll reach me.”
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society / by Akila Kannadasan / April 24th, 2018
Thanjavur Maratha Palace The Darbar Hall of the Thanjavur Maratha Palace
The Vijayanagar Empire was decisively defeated by the Deccan Sultanates in the Battle of Talikota, in 1565 C.E. The empire soon unravelled when many provincial governors, called Nayakas, declared independence one by one. Even before the last emperor died the Nayakas were at each other’s throats, making opportunistic alliances, and seeking the support of Europeans and even the Sultanates. Thanjavur and Madurai, once key constituents of the empire, engaged in a protracted and destructive conflict which eventually doomed both ruling dynasties.
The reasons behind the rivalry were many. Thanjavur Nayakas hailed from a noble house which strongly supported Vijayanagar even during the empire’s terminal decline. The Madurai Nayakas were of humbler origins and had changed colours right after Talikota. In 1614 CE, Madurai sided with a usurper who murdered the Vijayanagar emperor and his family. By 1659 Madurai’s expansionist activities led to the Sultanates annexing any remaining Vijayanagar crownlands: this reduced the last emperor to a refugee. Such actions also led to the Thanjavur kingdom losing lands to the Sultanates. Madurai’s alliance with the Sultans enabled roving Deccani Muslim warlords to quickly gain power in Tamil lands. Legends also say that a Madurai Nayaka murdered his bride, a Thanjavur princess (who was offered as a token of peace), in a moment of rage. The feud grew over the years — interspersed with very brief alliances of convenience — and reached a climax in 1673 CE.
Thanjavur was then ruled by the ageing Vijaya Raghava Nayaka. He was a patron of the arts and had written numerous poems and dramatic works. However, he believed in hoary notions of tradition, valour and honour — he even refused to modernise his army with firearms. The ruler of Madurai was the young Chokkanatha Nayaka. He had actually attempted to check the growing power of the Sultanates and the warlords but failed. In 1673 Chokkanatha requested the Thanjavur princess’s hand in marriage. The Thanjavur king contemptuously refused; the enraged Chokkanatha ordered his generals to capture the princess. Madurai’s army consisting of Deccani cavalry, musketeers, cannons and European mercenaries simply outclassed Thanjavur’s army. The Thanjavur fort was breached after heavy fighting; despite multiple offers of lenient terms, Vijaya Raghava resolved to “die with honour”. The royal palace was rigged with gunpowder and incendiaries and the royal womenfolk were herded into it. As the defenders sallied out and fought to the death, they blew up the palace, killing everyone inside.
Chokkanatha installed his brother Alagiri as a viceroy. However, Chengamaladas, a minor son of the fallen Thanjavur king, had escaped the carnage.
Chengamaladas later surfaced in Bijapur and requested the Sultan’s aid. In 1675 CE, the Sultan sent his general Venkoji, half-brother of Chhatrapati Shivaji, to reclaim Thanjavur for Chengamaladas (Ironically, Venkoji and his Maratha troops served Bijapur while Shivaji was invading it in the north). It was an opportune moment as Alagiri and Chokkanatha were now at war with each other. Thanjavur was conquered by the Marathas in a short campaign.
However, heeding to a prophetic dream (and perhaps sensing the Bijapur Sultanate’s impending end) Venkoji crowned himself King of Thanjavur in 1676. With Chengamaladas fleeing into obscurity the rule of the Thanjavur Nayakas ended.
Meanwhile in Madurai, rebellions and Chokkanatha’s plummeting popularity weakened the kingdom. The expansionist Thanjavur Marathas now began to prey on Madurai. Chokkanatha was deposed by the Madurai nobles and another brother was enthroned. In 1680, a powerful Deccani warlord named Rustam Khan captured power, chasing away the new Nayaka and installing Chokkanatha as a puppet ruler. Rustam Khan’s power grew alarmingly and he apparently began to forcibly claim women from the royal families. In 1682 Chokkanatha Nayaka’s heart finally gave out when Madurai was repeatedly invaded by her neighbours, and subsequently betrayed by her feudatories.
The Madurai kingdom was totally devastated at this point. Chokkanatha’s teenaged son Rangakrishna managed to reclaim some glory but he died of smallpox just seven years into his reign. Queen Mother Mangammal became the Regent for the next fifteen years as Rangakrishna’s heir was an infant. Mangammal’s brilliant leadership bought Madurai back from the brink. Using diplomacy, stratagems and military might, she eliminated threats and rebuilt Madurai’s power. However, after her death in 1705 the kingdom went into decline again. Madurai was slowly worn down by civil strife, and the campaigns of Thanjavur, Mysore and the Nawab of Arcot. In 1736, Arcot forces under Chanda Sahib ended centuries of Nayaka rule.
Madurai was subsequently tossed between various belligerents till the British became her overlord in 1764. The Marathas of Thanjavur fared slightly better. In 1855, Thanjavur lapsed into British rule when the last Maratha king died without a natural heir.
The author, an IIM Ahmedabad graduate working in the energy sector, has a keen interest in history, politics, and strategic affairs
source: http://www.dnaindia.com / DNA / Home> Analysis / by Ananth Karthikeyan / April 08th, 2018
Schoolchildren greet bikers from Finland embarking on a tour, at Sriperumbudur Panchayat Union Primary School, Mettupalayam, on Thursday. | Photo Credit: B. Velankanni Raj
65-day charity tour for girls’ education flagged off
The charity tour for girls’ education in rural India, on motorcycles from Chennai to Finland, commenced from the Sriperumpudur Panchayat Union Primary School, Mettupalayam near Oragadam on Thursday.
The 15,000-km tour aimed at mobilising funds for girls’ education in rural India will pass through 17 countries before reaching Finland, the home of 17 bikers who have embarked on this venture.
The 17-member team will pass through Andhra Pradesh, Odisha and Uttar Pradesh to enter Nepal.
To cross many countries
From there they would pass through China, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Turkey, Bulgaria, Romania, Ukraine, Poland, Lithuania, Belarus, Latvia and Estonia to reach Finland.
The 65-day tour, organised jointly by the PeterPan Bike, Finland and SFA Motorcycle Rental, Chennai, was flagged off by Tourism Minister Vellamandi Natarajan and Transport Minister M.R. Vijayabaskar.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> Cities> Chennai / by Staff Reporter / Kancheepuram – April 20th, 2018
They are the biggest South Indian cinematic voice abroad. With at least six movies releasing in the next few months, the Tamil diaspora tells us how they are taking control of their own narrative
When Kabali opened globally in 2016, it outperformed all other South Indian films released till then, raking in $4.05 million in four days in the US alone. Rajinikanth’s larger-than-life role and director Ranjith’s depiction of Malaysia’s Tamil labourers also garnered much attention. But that is not to say everyone was happy. “It was a narrative of South Indian caste-based politics framed within an inaccurate Malaysian context,” explains Kuala Lumpur-based filmmaker Shanjhey Kumar Perumal, sharing that films like Kabali “don’t really represent our experiences”. Tamil-French actor and writer Anthonythasan Jesuthasan (who goes by the nom-de-plume Shoba Sakthi), concurs. “[These films] might have diaspora characters, but they are not diaspora movies,” he says.
Seven months earlier, Perumal had released his Tamil début, Jagat, which also portrayed the lives of Tamil Malaysians — many of whom are descendents of indentured labourers the British had working on rubber plantations. “After independence, we were forced to relocate to urban areas, but we had no understanding of life outside the plantation. As a child, I lived in a squatter’s community for three years, and what I saw there provided the inspiration for Jagat, a coming-of-age story about a boy living in a similar community,” he says. However, securing distribution was a trial, thanks to the competition from Tamil cinema, which is widely distributed in the country.
The new voices
From the shores of Fiji to the frigid suburbs of Toronto, the Tamil diaspora has, for many years, provided a loyal audience base for Kodambakkam’s Tamil cinema. But after generations of life away from India, they are keen to author their own stories. In fact, today, they are the biggest South Indian cinematic voice abroad. A few projects — like Singaporean director K Rajagopal’s 2016 début, A Yellow Bird, and Sri Lankan documentary filmmaker Jude Ratnam’s Demon in Paradise— have even made it to international film festivals like Cannes.
“Many have been living away from their native land for long enough that they have formed entirely new relationships with Tamil culture,” says Vaseeharan Sivalingam, founder of the Norway Tamil Film Festival (NTTF), a nine-year-old outfit. “Since the early 1980s, we have been experiencing a slow emergence of Tamil diaspora cinema, which has quickened in the past four to five years. This year, for the first time at NTFF (which is holding its annual awards ceremony later this month), we have six feature length films from the diaspora, most of them from Malaysia,” he adds. While some filmmakers have superimposed their local flair on the formulaic song, dance and comedy routine, others have eschewed them in favour of their own styles.
A first in 40
Born in Colombo and raised in Batticaloa and Kandy, Sri Lankan filmmaker King Ratnam was keen to showcase the diversity of the island’s Tamil population in his recently-released debut feature, Komaali Kings . “I was also motivated by anger,” he says, “because this is the first fully Tamil feature length film to be released here in more than 40 years. Why has it taken so long for us to represent ourselves as we are — the way we speak, our landscapes, our problems, our civil unrest?”
The film follows Pat, a middle-aged Londoner who returns to Sri Lanka for a wedding, but finds himself at the mercy of his relatives after he maxes out his credit cards. “I chose comedy because producers like it better,” laughs Ratnam, who sourced LKR 30 million for the film. “It’s also an attempt to hold a mirror to our own absurdity and originality. That is why, except for the 5.1 sound mixing that I did in India, everything about the film, technically and otherwise, is Sri Lankan. I did it to prove a point,” he says. He admits, however, there were challenges with distribution. “Because [local Tamil films] are such a new phenomenon in Sri Lanka, we received a lot of step-motherly treatment, but we finally managed to release it in over 50 cinemas here, and also in Toronto.”
Cross-border collabs
Meanwhile in Malaysia, recent films have been featuring collaborations with the Tamil film industry. Music composer Shameshan Mani Maran’s soundtrack for Sughamaai Subbulakshmi (SSL), a Tamil Malaysian film releasing on May 17, includes ‘Aasai Keertanai’, a single sung by Indian playback singer Chinmayi. “The entire process gives me useful insight into how Kollywood functions; we can learn a lot through their technology,” he explains.
Interestingly, SSL — described by director Karthik Shamalan as a “feel good family movie about a protagonist who has to choose between his passion (football) and an obligation” — almost started out as a Malay [language] film. But childhood memories of spending six to seven hours a day at the cinema hall where his father ran a canteen, watching Tamil moviegoers’ reactions, made Shamalan feel confident about entertaining them with his own work. “So I decided to début with Tamil, the language I am most comfortable with,” he says. On the ground, though, he had to overcome a few bumps. Production was stalled for two years due to financial problems, until an ex-boss helped him out.
SSL is premièring internationally at NTFF, where it has already picked up awards (announced last week) for best director and best actor (female). “The film is an accurate portrayal of local life in Malaysia, and comes with the formula of a mainstream Tamil movie and Malaysian flair,” says NTFF’s Sivalingam, pointing to Malay colloquialisms and songs filmed on sandy beaches a la Kollywood’s commercial releases.
Shamalan is also exploring a new market across the ocean in Singapore, where Tamil television has always been more popular than cinema, thanks to state-backed funding. In an effort to encourage film production in the island country, Singaporean TV director SS Vikneshwaran Subramaniam has collaborated with Shamalan on Atcham Thavir. Produced by Malaysian radio station Raaga, the thriller-comedy, set to release on May 31 (in Singapore, Malaysia and Chennai), is being marketed as a cross-border collaboration. “The film — about a group of friends attending a wedding and ending up in hot soup — is our way of telling the world that we are also doing Tamil movies,” shares Shamalan.
Staying true to self
The Atcham Thavir team wants their next project to transcend more borders. “We want to collaborate with the Indian film industry and make more global Tamil films,” says Subramaniam. This is a sentiment that is finding a few echoes among the diaspora. Like Singapore-based director Abbas Akbar, whose childhood friendship with Tamil music director Ghibran paved the way for his recently-released Kollywood debut, Chennai2Singapore. For Akbar, the decision to come to India was a no-brainer. “We’ll have to end up here at some point,” he chuckles. “There’s only one Tamil cinema. Where else would I go?”
That said, the majority of the diaspora film fraternity want to nurture their own industries. Perumal, whose film Jagat was the first Tamil feature to win the Best Malaysian Film award at the 28th Malaysia Film Festival in 2016, has turned down several offers to work in India. “I believe it’s important to establish the voice of the Malaysian Tamil film industry, so we can move away from Kollywood imitations,” he says.
Tamil-Canadian filmmaker Lenin M Sivam, who fled the Sri Lankan civil conflict as a 17-year-old, is of the same bent of mind. In 2009, he used the $10,000 credit limit on his credit card to fund his début feature 1999, a gritty narrative about the gang violence that swept through Toronto’s Tamil communities when he was a teenager. “I wanted to tell my own story — one that I had personal connections to,” Sivam, now 43, says. “I lost a lot of friends because of this violence, and I knew Kollywood would never tell a story like that. To quote the poet R Cheran, ‘Indian Tamil filmmakers making movies about Sri Lankan Tamil problems is like a fish riding a bicycle’,” he adds, smiling. The film, which found success and recovered its costs, premiered at the 2010 Vancouver International Film Festival, where it was named one of the Top 10 Canadian films of the year.
Craft and controversy
In his upcoming feature, Roobha, starring Shoba Sakthi, and releasing in September, Sivam is turning to a more controversial topic — a middle-aged, married Sri Lankan Tamil man who falls in love with a much younger transgender woman. “Even though we see many transgenders in mainstream Tamil movies, it’s almost a taboo topic within the Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora,” he says. The story is penned by Shoba Sakthi, who played the lead role in Jacques Audiard’s Cannes 2015 sweep away, Dheepan .
The search for the titular character was tough. “No male actor from within the Tamil community wanted to kiss a man,” he says. “But when we expanded our search to outside the community, we found Amrit Sandhu, who plays the role [of Roobha] with a lot of depth and precision.” The film is funded in large part by a fellow Sri Lankan Canadian, Warren Sinnathamby, a successful businessman who has little film experience but a keen desire to tell hard-hitting diaspora tales. “The movie took four years of my life, but it was important that I saw it through. It’s a big [Tamil] community out here in North America, and we have a lot of stories to tell, and for as long as we can, we will keep telling those stories,” Sivam concludes.
* The other voices
Kerala-born, New Jersey-raised filmmaker Abi Varghese has played a pivotal role in the rise of Malayalam voices in diaspora cinema. After directing the Fahadh Faasil-starrer Monsoon Mangoes , and the Netflix-distributed sitcom, Brown Nation, he is working with fellow Malayali, actress Melanie Chandran (of Code Black), on a pilot for a female-led television series. “With platforms like YouTube and Netflix, people are creating content at a younger age,” says Varghese, who is gearing up for the release of his sitcom Metropark, starring Ranvir Shorey and Purbi Joshi. “Working in New York, you meet so many talented people that it’s easier than ever to tell your own stories in a truthful manner.” In his future work, he wants to explore stories rooted in Indian culture, and not necessarily diaspora lives.
Acting on a similar impulse, Telugu-American cardiologist Praveena Paruchuri, started working on a script about a Telugu-American medical professional. “I tried to learn more about Telugu art through my family, but it wasn’t vibrant in America, and I found more work in Tamil and Malayalam. Today, it’s encouraging to see Telugu media professionals here, like comedian Hari Kondabolu. When I travelled to Hyderabad, I met [filmmaker Venkatesh Maha], and we collaborated on my maiden production Telugu feature, C/O Kancharapalem. It explores untold local Indian stories, but in my next film, I am keen to portray diaspora lives,” says Paruchuri.
Meanwhile, back home, filmmaker Rajiv Menon, who founded Chennai-based Mindscreen Film Institute, says an increasing number of diaspora Indians are coming down to hone their skills. “We have many from Singapore, France and the US coming to learn filmmaking and acting, and a few have begun working on their projects back home,” he confirms.
* The right note
Malaysian rapper Yogi B believes “there are fewer walls between the diaspora and the mainland” in the world of Tamil film and music. Founder of the now defunct Poetic Ammo, he paved the way for other diaspora rappers like Sri Lankan Dinesh Kanagaratnam (ADK) and fellow Malaysian, Sri Pagenthiran (Sri Rascol), who have lent their lyrics and voices to Tamil cinema, most notably in AR Rahman’s ‘Showkali’ song in the 2016 hit, Achcham Yenbadhu Madamaiyada.
Keen to hone talent, they are now mentoring new musicians. Yogi B’s latest discovery, Indian rap group Madurai Souljours, will release their album next year, while Sri Rascol and ADK, under their label Rap Machines, have signed on the Sri Lankan group Tea Kada Pasanga.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Movies / by Sindhuri Nandakumar / April 20th,2018
