I Found Her

I finally found her.

She had been hiding under a million layers, careful not to reveal even an inch of her spirit. Sometimes when I looked into the mirror, she would stare back at me. I'd simply ignore her, pretending that she didn't exist. Sometimes, when I said something I was afraid of saying out aloud, she would be right next to me. When the chains weighed down my soul, she share the load.

But I did finally find her. I found a new me. 

Bauji

Writing this post feels like an urgent need. Urgent enough for me to be writing this way past my bedtime. This sense of urgency is coming from having read Kazuo Ishiguro's Nobel lecture in a book format, called My Twentieth Century Evening and Other Small Breakthroughs. He mentions that when he started writing about Japan, it was because he desperately wanted to preserve the Japan that he had constructed in his own mind (he had never visited Japan until then), because he was afraid that he would lose it over a period of time, one bit at a time. I suddenly feel the same need to do this about my own life stories. These are stories that I've told to several people over and over again, but never put them in writing. Now suddenly I'm a little afraid that I need to start writing these down down, lest I forget them.

My grandfather, whom we refer to as Bauji, was possibly one of the most important influences in my life. He moved from a small village in Bhiwani in Haryana to Kolkata (the Calcutta), to look for a job so that he could sustain his family. That was easily five or six decades ago. From what I know, he spent his entire lifetime in a low-income accounting job and retired from the same job. His dream wasn't to create an empire. There were other things that he cared about more. He cared about the people - other migrants like him who were moving from outside. But he cared about people in general. He was instrumental in bringing people together to set up two important institutions of Kolkata - a charitable hospital called Marwari Relief Society and a school called Haryana Vidya Mandir. And as I write this, I'm also realising that I've been blissfully unaware of a whole lot of other things that he has achieved in his lifetime.

Growing up, it was such a common occurrence for us to see people come to our home early in the mornings. Some days it would be requests to have medical bills subsidized because people couldn't afford it. On other days it would be requests to have children admitted in the school. I don't remember a single day when my grandfather disappointed anyone. There are other things that I remember from those mornings. I remember my grandfather leaning against a couple of pillows (a habit which I've inherited from him) on the bed, smoking (he's been a chain smoker for decades) and reading the morning newspaper (at some point in time a half glass of chai was presented to him). It was much later in life that I realized that I also inherited the love of reading from him. He didn't get much formal education (I think he only attended primary school), but he read regularly. Other than the newspaper, he was very fond of reading India Today in Hindi. And every time he picked his fortnightly edition of India Today, he would also get a Hindi children's magazine for us. I remember spending countless hours reading those magazines! At some point in time whenever I felt a shortage of reading materials, I started reading India Today instead! It was through India Today that I was introduced to Amrita Pritam for the first time, whose writing I totally fell in love with. Unfortunately that was her obituary. I think I still have that article somewhere in my files.

On some mornings, he woke up very early. And on those mornings, I would wake up to his voice reciting poems. I'm not sure if these were poems that he had composed, or those of his favourite writers. I know that he wrote poetry (under the pseudonym 'Pradeep' I think). He mostly wrote in Veer Ras I think. I sometimes wonder if some recitals were about him trying to set words to a meter and was my first exposure to an understanding of meters and rhythms. Of course, my interest in Hindi poetry also originated here.

On most mornings, an idli vendor came by our place. I loved having freshly steamed, fluffy idlis for breakfast! When it came to paying for those, it was Bauji again that we went to. We would find enough change in the pocket of his white kurta. On the days his pocket didn't have enough change, we were told to unlock the heavy iron 'tijori' and find a bunch of notes inside of a designated iron box. Sometimes the notes would be somewhat musty, a smell that's distinctly etched in my memory. Anyway who is even a little bit close to me knows of my weakness for South Indian food. He also kept a box of Threptin biscuits inside the tijori, which we weren't allowed to have. On some occasions he would give us one of those. Threptin is a part of my everyday diet even now. I love having fruits, which was also a result of the yummy fruits that he handpicked for us almost every afternoon. I loved those so much and often I would substitute fruit for lunch! 

Bauji was also our go-to person if we needed something that our parents didn't approve of. For instance, permissions for school and college trips. He was my biggest supporter when I wanted to attend a better high school and a still better college. He is the reason why I could attend B-School. My parents weren't in favor of sending me for MBA, but he stepped in. He was the one to sanction my work travel internationally. One time he fell sick and had to be hospitalized. I was so scared of losing him that I couldn't bring myself to visit him1

Bauji is now in his 90s. He's become frail. He is now hard of hearing, so I hardly get to speak to him over the phone. Not that I think I'll be able to get through a call with him without crying. I've been told he has become quite weak, so sometimes he faints, leading to injury. And on most days it fills me up with dread to think the void he'll leave behind when he's gone.

The ChaatWala of Cotton Street (1st Jan 2022)

There are so many memories, locked inside of us. Memories that we hardly ever untangle. But one fine day, you’re reminded of them and you wonder how that memory managed to survive years, or even decades of neglect. Like someone pulled that strand from your mind and put it in a pensieve, to be retrieved later.

It was recently during my conversation with my cousin Priyanka that I was reminded of such a memory. This was possibly 15 or 20 years earlier, when I was in school A person, more than just a single memory. The memory of a particular Chaatwala, on Cotton Street (where I grew up).

He had a thela, the likes of which were common among vendors of that time. It was a tall bamboo structure, on which rested a big, cicular wooden tray. On the tray were mounted a kerosene stove and a couple of utensils to hold the chaat ingredients. The stove was fitted with an iron tawa, with a couple of samosas and tikkis placed along the edge.

The chaatwala was rather slow in his movements and in his cooking. He would always take time to fire up the stove and heat the tawa. He would leisurely take out a bulb of onion and peel and chop a small portion of it. Once the tawa was hot enough, he would somewhat lovingly pour a little oil to it and sauté the onions for a couple of minutes. Then he would crumble a samosa (or a tikki) onto it, add a little watery tamarind chutney and mix and mash the mixture over low flame. At times, I would get impatient with the chaatwala’s leisurely pace. But the taste of the chaat more than made up for all of it, I think.

The chaat was served in a dona made of dried leaves, stitched by a single twig. In the dona went the hot mixture, followed by some more of the watery tamarind chutney and just a dash of dahi (again a watery solution). Another dried leaf was given to cover it, in case I wanted a takeaway. On countless days that chaat made the bland home food palatable. There were so many times I rushed back after school, so that I could treat myself to a serving of his chaat.

He seemed quite old to me at that time. But looking back, I think he must’ve been maybe in his late 50’s. He was short and frail, and wore a loose half-sleeve t-shirt and a faded dhoti. Behind his thick glasses were kind eyes. He spoke gently and respectfully, addressing us as ‘bai’, reserved for older/ married daughters of the household.

We eventually moved out of Cotton Street. And after a couple of years, I moved out of Kolkata. As I write this, I realize that at some point in my childhood I must’ve had his chaat for the last time, without the knowledge of the same. Priyanka tells me his son has followed in his footsteps. I imagine a younger person at that thela, but I’m unable to substitute the memory of the chaatwala. I don’t know if the chaatwala is still alove or not. But a part of me imagines myself having that serving of his chaat, for one last time.

The Clever Tailor (Hindi Storytelling Script)

The Clever Tailor by Srividhya Venkat and Nayantara Surendranath (published by Karadi), is a lovely story of a resourceful tailor who finds creative ways of minimizing waste. The book is in English, but I like to conduct the storytelling session in Hindi. Here's the script that I created a while ago. Do note the small snippets which can be set to tune and kids can be asked to repeat those as you go along!

रूपा राम जी बहुत बढ़िया दरजी थे| सबको उनके हाथों के बने कपड़े बहुत पसंद आते थे| कितनी बेहतरीन शेरवानी बनाते थे वह! और सलवार कुर्ती की फिटिंग तो उनसे बेहतर कोई नहीं कर सकता था| उनके हाथों में तो जैसे जादू था| 

रूपा राम जी के ग्राहक सुबह के लेकर शाम तक उनकी तारीफें करते, पर रूपा राम जी खुश नहीं होते थे| उन्हें एक परेशानी थी| उन्हें एक परेशानी थी| उन्होंने हज़ारों लोगों के कपडे सीए थे, पर अपने लिए, या अपने परिवार के लिया कभी कुछ बढ़िया नहीं सिल पाए| कुछ भी अच्छा बनाने की लिए अच्छे कपड़े की जरुरत होती है| और बढ़िया कपड़ा खरीदने के लिए जरुरत होती है पैसों की, जो उनके पास कभी नहीं होते थे| तो वे अपने मन मसोस कर रह जाते थे| एक दिन रूपा राम जी को एक शादी में जाना था| वहाँ जाने के लिए उन्हें एक पगड़ी की जरुरत थी| उनके पास एक पगड़ी थी, बिलकुल पुरानी| बेचारे क्या करते! तो पुरानी पगड़ी पहन कर ही चले गए| पर पता है शादी में क्या हुआ? उनका स्वागत एक नयी पगड़ी के साथ हुआ! रूपा राम जी को नयी पगड़ी इतनी पसंद आयी की वह उसे हर वक़्त पहने रहते| सोते हुए भी, कहते हुए भी, घर के अंदर, घर के बाहर, सब जगह भाई सब जगह! उन्होंने उस पगड़ी को इतना पहना, इतना पहना कि वे उसे पहन पहन कर बोर हो गए| 

पगड़ी का कपड़ा अब भी अच्छा था और रूपा राम जी बहुत चतुर! तो उन्होंने ने उसको काट कर, अपनी बींदणी के लिए एक ओढ़नी बना दी! नयी ओढ़नी पहन कर रूपा राम जी की बींदणी तो ख़ुशी से झूम उठी! पहले तो खुद को आईने में देख कर शर्मायी| उसके बाद तो उसने ओढ़नी को पहने ही रखा! रसोई में, घर में, मेले में, पनघट पे, हर जगह भाई हर जगह! 

अब कोई भी एक चीज़ को हर वक़्त पहने रखे तो कभी न कभी तो उससे बोर हो ही जायेगा ना! बस, बींदणी भी बोर हो गयी| पर रूपा राम जी कोई आम दरजी थोड़े न थे| उन्होंने ध्यान से ओढ़नी को देखा| फिर कुछ मुस्कुराये| फिर झट से अपनी सिलाई मशीन निकली और उस पर काम करने लगे| जब उठे, तो उनके हाथों में अपनी बेटे के लिये एक कुरता था! और वह कुरता इतना बेहतरीन था की उनका बीटा उस कुर्ते को कभी नहीं उतारता था| हर वक़्त पहने ही रहता| स्कूल के अंदर, स्कूल के बाहर, खेल के मैदान में और फिर बागान में! हर वक़्त भाई हर वक़्त!

जब कुरता भी पुराना हो गया, तो पता है उन्होंने क्या किया? अपनी छोटी सी बेटी के लिए एक प्यारी सी गुड़िया बना दी! उस गुड़िया से उनकी बेटी हमेशा खेलती रहती थी, कभी खुद से दूर नहीं होने देती थी| पर एक दिन उनकी बेटी भी अपनी गुड़िया से बोर हो गयी, तो रूपा राम जी ने फिर अपनी कारीगरी दिखाई और कपड़े से एक सुन्दर सा गुलाब का फूल बना दिया! वह गुलाब का फूल घर के अलग अलग कोने में सजाया जाता| लेकिन उस फूल से एक आखरी चीज़ बनी| और वह चीज़ थी एक कहानी! 

कहानी थी रूपा राम जी की पगड़ी की - जिसमें में उन्होंने बनायी एक सुन्दर ओढ़नी| ओढ़नी से बना एक कुर्ता| कुर्ते से बानी एक गुड़िया, और गुड़िया से बना एक फूल, गुलाब का| रूपा राम जी हर आने जाने वाले को यह कहानी बड़े चाव से सुनाते थे| सबसे अच्छी बात तो यह थी, की यह कहानी सुन कर कभी भी कोई बोर नहीं होता था!

The Incredible Book Eating Boy - Hindi Storytelling Script

I absolutely adore books by Oliver Jeffers! They have a universal appeal to them and the illustrations are gorgeous. I also love using the books for storytelling. One of these books that I've used is The Incredible Book Eating Boy. I first prepared this script in Hindi in 2018. I haven't used it since, but hopefully will get to do that again real soon!

एक लड़का था, हेनरी| हेनरी को किताबें खाना बहुत पसंद था| किताबें भी भला खाता है कोई? हुआ ये, कि एक दिन हेनरी को स्कूल में टीचर ने एक किताब दी| किताब हाथ में ले कर हेनरी बड़ा खुश हुआ| पहले तो उसने किताब को गले लगाया| फिर किताब को देखते-देखते पता नहीं कैसे चाट लिया| किताब कुछ स्वादिष्ट सी थी! पहले उसने झिझकते हुए एक शब्द खाया| वाह, क्या मज़ा आया! उसके बाद उसने एक वाक्य और फिर देखते देखते पूरा एक पन्ना खा लिया| ओहो! क्या स्वाद था| ऐसा पकवान तो उसने कभी भी नहीं चखा था! फिर तो हद्द ही हो गयी - उसने एक ही दिन में पूरी की पूरी किताब ही खा ली! और थोड़े ही दिनों में वह किताब को रसगुल्ले की तरह चट कर जाता था| फिर यह गाना गाता था - 

खा लो, खा लो, किताबें खा लो,

कहानी खा लो, चुटकुले खा लो, 

मैथ भी खा लो, साइंस भी खा लो 

एक ही खा लो, दस ही खा लो,

खा लो, खा लो, किताबें खा लो!

सबसे आश्चर्य की बात तो यह थी, कि हेनरी जितनी किताबें खाता, उतना ही बुद्धिमान होता जाता| उसने एक किताब खायी, जिसमें चूहों के बारे में लिखा था| तो उसे चूहों की भाषा आ गयी! स्कूल की गणित की किताब खा ली, तो मैडम को सारे सवालों के जवाब झट से दे देता! और तो और, अपने पिताजी की हिसाब करने में भी मदद करने लगा| 

हेनरी को अपनी बुद्धिमानी पर बड़ा गर्व होता था| वह सोचता, कि इस तरह तो वह दुनिया का सबसे बुद्धिमान लड़का बन सकता था! यह सोच कर वह किताबें खाता जाता| और फिर वह एक एक कर के किताबें खाने की जगह, ३-४ किताबें खाने लगा| चाहे कैसी भी किताब हो, वह उसे खा लेता था| 

फिर एक रात कुछ अजीब हुआ| हेनरी को एक बहुत डरावना सपना आया| सपने में एक बड़ी सी किताब हेनरी के पीछे पीछे भाग रही थी| हेनरी जोर से चिल्लाया और उठ गया| उसे लगा कि उसकी तबियत शायद ठीक नहीं थी| और फिर तो उसकी तबियत दिन-ब-दिन ख़राब होने लगी| सारी चीज़ें उलटी पुल्टी होने लगीं| एक दिन मैडम ने उससे पूछा, कि २ और २ कितने होते हैं, और हेनरी ने कहा, "मैडम जी, ३!" हेनरी ने जो कुछ भी आता था, सब चीज़ों की खिचड़ी बन गयी| कुछ कहने के लिए मुँह खोलता, तो शब्द बाहर ही नहीं आ पाते! बेचारा हेनरी उदास रहने लगा| सबने कहा, "हेनरी, किताबें खाना छोड़ दो! वैसे तुम जिस भी किताब को खा लेते हो, उसे फिर कोई नहीं पढ़ पाता|" तो हेनरी ने किताबें खाना छोड़ दिया| और करता भी क्या बेचारा!

पर हेनरी किताबों को बहुत मिस करता| उसका किताबों को देखने का मन करता था| फिर एक दिन उसे एक आईडिया आया| उसने एक किताब उठायी, और उसे खाने की बजाय वह उसे पढ़ने लगा| उसे किताब बहुत अच्छी लगी| फिर तो हेनरी खुश हो गया! क्यूँकि वह किताबें खाने की जगह उन्हें पढ़ने लगे, तो भी तो वह दुनिया का सबसे बुद्धिमान लड़का बन सकता था| और उस दिन के बाद हेनरी ने कभी भी कोई भी किताब नहीं खायी!

The Story of a Story-wall (GPS Tika Khas, Dharmshala)

This write-up is about painting a story-wall in the nursery room of a government primary school. The idea is to paint illustrations from children's books, so that when children are back in school, the walls can be used for storytelling.

Background:

I had first seen a few artists create a story-wall in 2018, at a government school in Gurgaon. The artists were already quite experienced in creating wall murals. We additionally requested them to use illustrations from children’s story books that we had gifted to the school. They deftly re-created the illustrations on the wall, which we then used for a storytelling session with the children. The children were fascinated! They kept looking at walls in the classroom, unable to take their eyes off the walls.

My second experience of seeing a story-wall was in the same year, in Majuli. I was volunteering my time to set up a library for Ayang Trust. They had also invited an artist to paint illustrations from children’s story books, on the walls of the library. Again, the wall turned out to be beautiful. This time I watched the artist much more closely and was myself quite fascinated with the process. So much so that when the artist left, I took it upon myself to use the leftover paints to paint every surface I could lay my hands on (mostly newly constructed plywood shelves, clay pots and so on)! I really loved the medium of acrylic colors, especially when using it on plywood. I found it meditative to spend hours mixing the blues and spreading it on the different surfaces – I think I was painting after over a decade.

The following year, I procured some supplies, a canvas and spent quite a bit of time exploring the medium by itself and the result of these explorations were a few paintings. But more than that, I felt like these explorations allowed me to express myself in a way that I couldn’t do through words. At the same time, I started exploring other art forms, not just limited myself to visual arts, but also other forms like like Kathak, Hindustani Classical music and even Hindi poetry! A lot of times felt like I was back to my childhood days, when every weekend would be packed with painting, music and dance lessons and how as an adolescent I used to write Hindi poetry that was mostly hidden away. Recollecting and revisiting these varied experiences have shaped my current understanding of art and its purpose (and continue to do so). The cherry on the cake was undergoing an art education programme for educators, which helped strengthen my understanding of the role of arts in the development of a child.

One of the things that I try to do, is to help children be comfortable with and even proud of whatever they create, instead of being constantly critical of their work. But saying is hardly enough, especially when you’ve not experienced the vulnerability and have done something to overcome it. So with great hesitation I started putting myself in the same vulnerable spot by sharing my own art explorations with other people. And results were exactly the same as I’ve seen in the classroom. When a child who is focused on the imperfections of their work hears encouraging feedback from others on the ‘beauty’ of their work, they themselves start looking at their work from a new perspective.

For me, this project embodied everything that I encourage children to do – to be confident of their abilities, to push themselves to explore the unknown, to take on more challenging projects and to own their output with pride. Hence it was much, much more than a one-time side project that I took up to use my time meaningfully during the holiday season. It was a small piece of the bigger art composition that is still in the making.

Location: Government Primary School, Tika Khas, Dharmshala, Himachal Pradesh. The school has recently undergone renovations and the room had recently received a coat of plastering and whitewashing, making the wall a great canvas.

Time taken to accomplish the task: Approx 20 hours, spread over seven sittings (Dec 2020 – Jan 2021)

Materials used:

• Print outs of illustrations
• Colored chalk/ soft pastels
• Brushes (thick flat brush, 2-3 round brushes (I used 12 no. from Faber Castell) and palette
• Small paint roller and flat palette
• Acrylic paints – I used Fevicryl 500 ml bottles in primary colors, white, green, teal (also used up some leftover supplies I had from before)
• Small tubes of Faber Castell acrylics (24 shades), primarily to add multiple tints
• Napkins, towels, newspapers, old cloth
• A big bucket of water for cleaning brushes etc
• It's helpful if the surface that you're painting on is smooth
• Chair/ floor mat/ anything else for sitting at various heights
• Trash bin

I primarily spent money on paint, which cost me around INR 2000 (I bought 500 ml bottles of most paints, when only 250 ml would’ve been sufficient. So I still have enough paint left for another wall).

Step 1 - Choice of story and illustrations

I decided to go with the story The Pleasant Rakshas (written by Sowmya Rajendran and illustrated by Niveditha Subramaniyam, published by Tulika Books). I don’t remember exactly when or how I first came across this book, but I do remember using this story for storytelling to a group of primary school children. And it was a hit!

The protagonist, a monster named Karimuga is unconventionally beautiful (the text subverts the concept of beauty). He is purple in color and has bright pink cheek. His teeth are bright yellow like the wild flowers that grow in the jungle. He has a huge belly and is super hairy. All the other rakshas wish they could be as beautiful as him. But Karimuga is not just beautiful on the outside, but on the inside too. He doesn’t want anyone to feel bad because of him so he decides to share all his beauty with the other rakshasas. And as happy as this makes him, he also feels a little pang of sadness.

I found this sadness to be the most sensitive part of the story. Isn’t this what most people, especially children, would feel when they’re laden with the burden of being ‘good’? Yes, values are important, but what do children actually feel when they have to share their things with others? Does the knowledge that they’re winning the approval of adults around them make them magically feel better? For example, Karimuga had the agency to decide whether he wanted to share his beauty with the other rakshasas. But even that didn’t make the entire burden of sharing easier for him. I wonder what it would be like to open this question to children during a storytelling discussion.

I also love the simple, colourful illustrations of the monsters with their imperfections. I thought the younger kids would be able to relate to something like that easily. Also the lines and colors in the illustrations are such that they're simple and fun, yet they would be more forgiving in terms of imperfections that might creep in (since I have no prior experience with this). And I loved the bright colors! I also felt I could try to create different textures, so there was enough scope for experimentation. I decided to put together elements from different sections of the story in sort of a collage.

Step 2: Drawing rough outlines using chalk/ soft pastels

I went through this step even before the wall was plastered and whitewashed, when the wall just had a cement coat. I used soft pastels (it is perfectly fine to use chalk as well) to create rough outlines of the characters, to get a sense of space and composition. It also helped me in overcoming the procrastination that precedes an ambitious project like this. After that initial chalk drawing, I was confident that I would be able to do a decent job of it all.

It was helpful that I did this before the wall had been plastered. It helped me in being less nervous; if something went horribly off, the wall could simply be whitewashed. Although looking back I think it would’ve been fine even if I’d done this after the wall has been whitewashed, because the soft pastels were easily covered when I started using the acrylics.

Step 3: Covering big areas with paint

Once the wall had been whitewashed, I drew the characters once again, with some alterations and started painting the bodies of the monsters first. I first painted the central character – not just because it covered the most surface area, but also because all other characters would have to be done in relation to this character. So I painted the body and the big yellow halo around its head. I mixed the blue and red paints to get a purple. Even though it was darker that I wanted, it stood against the white background and the yellow halo, so I let it be. I also painted the bodies of a couple of other monsters. I tried to recreate the textures, instead of painting blocks of solid colors. This not only broke the monotony that big patches of solid colors can bring, but complimented the essence of the story.

Step 3: Adding finer details and background colors

Once the big patches were done, I added some background colors and finer details like the details on the face (eyes, smiles, teeth, nose etc). Once that was done, I used black outlines to define the features of the monsters. Even though I had to touch up most of the boundaries once again towards the end, doing this simultaneously gave me a sense of small accomplishments as I went along, which helped me in staying motivated until the end. At this stage, I had to sometimes use double coats of paint as well, since the tints of Fevicryl paint wasn’t as intense as I would have like it to be. I think it might be easier to paint the outlines using acrylic tube paint instead. 

Step 4: Adding finishing touches

This meant covering and gaps which stood out, as well as applying a second (or even third) coat of paint, especially on the outlines. I also used soft pastels to cover any blank areas - this was otherwise difficult to do using acrylic paints (and a brush).

I did arrive at a point where all of a sudden I was like, 'hmm, this is done now'. Was it perfect? No. But then, I never meant for it to be perfect either. But in that moment, it struck me that it was actually done. This mammoth piece of project that I'd been working on for a full month was actually done (still feels quite surreal)! I took a step back (literally) and spent a few minutes looking at it and I could feel a sense of happiness fill up my entire being. Before I knew it, I was grinning away to glory. I was super proud and I wanted to celebrate it. Cherish it. Stay with it. Smile at it. And in that moment, I could see myself sitting in that space with the kids, sharing smiles and cake :)

Step 5: Storytelling (work in progress)

At this point, I don't know when would the kids be back in school, so I don't know when would I get to use this wall to narrate the story to them. However, I had prepared a little script sometime ago, which I'm revisiting right now. This includes a little song that I composed myself :) Here's the current version of the script, in Hindi.

Brief character sketch:

• Karimuga is a pleasant, happy-go-lucky monster. He is simple and sensitive and gets along with everyone. He smiles a lot and behaves like a little child.
• Gyani Ped Baba is ancient and hence there is a slowness about him (he probably sleeps most of the time!). 
• The green rakshas, who gets hairy legs, has a Goofy-like quality to him; he laughs with hiccups in between. Is also probably the most fashion-conscious rakshas of the entire lot :D
• The blue (female) rakshas gets the red eyes. She's the cutest of them all.
• The red rakshas gets the paunch. He is big and bulky and walks like a fat guy.
• The black rakshas gets purple body color. He is a little angry at all times. 

एक राक्षस था| दुसरे राक्षसों से बिलकुल अलग| उसका नाम था करीमुगा| करीमुगा एक हँसमुख राक्षस था| उसका रंग जामुनी और और गाल गुलाबी थे| उसके पास एक बड़ी सी तोंद और रोएंदार टाँगे थी| आँखें बिलकुल लाल| और उसके दाँत? उसके दाँत जंगल में उगने वाले जंगली फूलों की तरह पीले थे| रात में जब करीमुगा मुस्कुराता, तो पतंगे उसके दाँतों के आस पास ऐसे मँडराते, जैसे उसके दाँत अँधेरे में जलती मोमबत्तियाँ हों! और करीमुगा तो हमेशा ही मुस्कुराता रहता था! पर दूसरे राक्षसों को उसकी मुस्कराहट और सुंदरता से बड़ी जलन होती थी|

काला राक्षस कहता, "उसका जमुनी रंग तो देखो! काश मेरा रंग भी इतना सुन्दर होता.."

नीला राक्षस कहता, "उसकी लाल आँखें तो देखो! मेरे नीले रंग के साथ कितनी अच्छी लगती न!"

लाल राक्षस कहता, "वह देखो उसकी बड़ी सी तोंद!"

और हरे राक्षस को करीमुगा की टांगें बहुत पसंद थी| वह कहता, "इतनी सुन्दर टाँगें! ऐसी टाँगें पाने के लिए तो मैं कुछ भी कर सकता हूँ!" 

फिर सारे राक्षस मिल कर एक गाना गाते:

 

करीमुगा का रंग तो देखो रंग तो देखो

करीमुगा की आँख तो देखो आँख तो देखो

करीमुगा के दाँत तो देखो दाँत तो देखो

करीमुगा की तोंद तो देखो तोंद तो देखो

सबसे सुन्दर करीमुगा है करीमुगा है!

एक दिन करीमुगा ने दूसरे राक्षसों की बातें सुन ली| बातें सुनकर वह पहले तो बड़ा खुश हुआ, पर फिर वह थोड़ा उदास हो गया| वह नहीं चाहता था उसके दोस्त उसकी वजह से उदास हों| तो इस समस्या का हल निकलने के लिए वह गया ज्ञानी पेड़ बाबा के पास| ज्ञानी पेड़ बाबा जंगल के सबसे बुजुर्ग पेड़ थे| सारे लोग अपनी समस्या लेकर उनके पास जाते थे| करीमुगा पेड़ बाबा के पास हाथ जोड़ कर खड़ा हो गया|

 

फिर बोला, "पेड़ बाबा, क्या आप मेरी सुंदरता ले कर मेरे दोस्तों को दे सकते हैं?"

ज्ञानी पेड़ बाबा ने पूछा, "क्यों?"

करीमुगा ने कहा "वो मैं अपनी सुंदरता से थोड़ा बोर हो गया हूँ| आप प्लीज मेरी सुंदरता लेकर मेरे दोस्तों में बाँट दीजिये"

ज्ञानी पेड़ बाबा थोड़ा मुस्कुराये| फिर उन्होंने कहा "तथास्तु!"

करीमुगा बड़ा खुश हुआ! भागते भागते उसने चिल्लाकर कहा "थैंक यू पेड़ बाबा, थैंक यू!"

 

करीमुगा भागते भागते अपने दोस्तों के पहुँचा| वहाँ तो क्या नज़ारा था! काला राक्षस अब जमुनी हो गया था| सारे राक्षस बहुत खुश थे| हरे राक्षस के पास सुन्दर, रोयेंदार टाँगें थीं| लाल राक्षस के पास अब बड़ी सी तोंद थी, जिस पर वह बार बार हाथ फेरे जा रहा था| और नीले राक्षस को मिली थी सुन्दर लाल आँखें!

 

अब तो सारे राक्षस मुस्कुरा रहे थे, सिवाय करीमुगा के| उसके शरीर का जामुनी रंग गायब हो गया था| आँखों का सुन्दर लाल रंग भी उड़ गया था| टाँगों पर एक भी रोयां नहीं था और उसकी गोल मटोल तोंद छूमंतर हो गयी थी!

दूसरे राक्षसों ने करीमुगा की उदासी समझ ली| लाल राक्षस ने कहा, "मेरे पास एक आईडिया है!" यह कहकर वह करीमुगा को गुदगुदी करने लगा| यह देख कर बाकी सारे राक्षस भी करीमुगा को गुदगुदाने लगे| करीमुगा हँसते हँसते ऐसा लोटपोट हुआ की वह पहाड़ के नीचे लुढ़कने लगा! और लुढ़कते लुढ़कते वह जा पहुँचा नदी के तट पर| वह नदी में गिरने ही वाला था कि अचानक उसे पानी में अपना चेहरा दिखा| उसके दाँत तो अब भी पीले थे! यह देख कर वह जोर जोर से हँसने लगा| और करीमुगा एक बार फिर से एक हँसमुख राक्षस बन गया!  

Post session activity:

The potential activity (for 3-5 year olds) could be creating monsters using paper collage - they could cut/ tear big pieces to create body parts and add finer details. 

Acknowledgements:

Throughout the project, I had full support of the school head teacher, Mrs. Prerna Sood. This ensured that I not only had easy access to the room for painting, but she also made other resources available – like chair, buckets and so on. It was also quite helpful that she had given me the freedom to decide what I wanted to paint on the walls and was quite encouraging throughout.

The Work-In-Progress Idli Recipe

When I was a little girl, an idli vendor used to come by every morning with a huge aluminium bucket full of steaming hot idlis and chilled coconut chutney. Each idli cost a rupee and it was served on a small banana leaf along with a generous portion of the chutney (on Sundays he would also bring masala dosa and vada, along with sambar). This was my favourite breakfast - and on countless days I would take this in my tiffin to school. On some days the kind vendor at school would pour some steaming hot sambar onto the idlis that I took from home - that was bliss! 

Over the years, I've been pretty vocal about my idli-love. Idlis are my go-to comfort food, irrespective of the time of the day and I don't think I can ever have enough of these. One time I had idlis for four consecutive meals! There's something so magical about steaming hot idlis served with sambhar and chutney - but I can have these plain too. 

However, I had never tried making these at home. This was primarily for two reasons - one, I always felt it was too much work to make the batter from scratch, especially for one person. Not that I had the right equipment needed to carry out the project either. The fact that idli needs a lot of skill didn't help either. Plus there were always enough delivery services in the neighborhood. My mom never made rice idlis at home. She makes amazing rava idlis, so I recently tried to give it a shot in my make-shift idli steamer (a covered pan with a small steel ring placed at the base and a bowl half full of batter placed on top of it). That turned out to be quite alright. I guess that's how I gained enough confidence to try and make rice idlis from scratch. The fact that I haven't found a good idli place in the neighborhood yet may have been an important consideration in this decision. 

I turned to Adith for help. Adith is my friend from Chennai who is aware of my love for idlis. Adith's mom gave him broad directions for the recipe, which he sent to me. The thing is, Adith doesn't cook either, so it was only after a couple of back and forths that I was able to get enough information to get started. I ordered parboiled rice on Amazon (none of the local stores here stock it) and waited for about 2 weeks for it to arrive. I also ordered a mixer grinder since I didn't own any. Yes, all this to be able to make idlis at home.   

I used the recipe to make the first batch of batter, which I steamed to make idlis. The result was hard idlis, which also seemed like they were undercooked. I was heartbroken! How could have I expected to make perfectly fluffy idlis at the first attempt? Adith didn't know the solution to this, but he consoled me by saying that it is common for people to not get it right even if they've been making it for ages. So if I got hard idlis in the first attempt, that was actually good progress! I didn't have the heart to steam any more idlis with the batter, so I tried making dosas out of it. However, the texture of the dosa was way too grainy - that's how I realized that the batter was way too coarse. I mentioned this randomly to a wise, elderly gentleman (I didn't know he had any knowledge about cooking), and he said that the reason that the idlis were hard could be because the batter hadn't fermented enough. He said his wife usually adds a little Eno before steaming idlis. 

So once I had recovered from my heartbreak, I made a new batch of batter. This time I ground the rice a little more before adding it to the dal paste. And I left it overnight in the container to ferment. Before steaming I added a little Eno and also about half a teaspoon of ghee (a tip I got from Upasana, another friend who is heavily invested in my idli-making endeavors). I steamed the first portion for about ten minutes, which resulted in undercooked idlis (the top was fine, but the bottom was definitely undercooked). But hey, at least it wasn't hard! After a bunch of trial and errors, I discovered that fifteen mins is what it takes, after which you need to leave it in the pan for another 5 minutes and then take it out and let it sit for another 5 minutes. I swear it takes all the restraint in my body to not take it out of the steamer and eat it immediately (obviously resulting in undercooked idlis)!    

I still haven't received perfection though. I think I need a shallower bowl/ plate which I can use in the pan (the current utensil that I use is a little deep). I also need to figure out how to ferment the batter more - I used the last bit of the batter this morning (I made it four days ago) and it seemed like the fermentation had finally happened properly. But I do know that the batter recipe that Adith's mom shared is pretty much spot on. So if you're curious, here it is:     

Take 3 cups of rice (Adith recommends parboiled rice for this) and add 1/4 methi (fenugreek seeds) to it. Soak this in a vessel overnight. Also soak 1/2 cup urad dal overnight, in a separate vessel (minimum 3 hours). I found out that if you wash both these things before soaking, that works out to be better.

The grinding process will depend on how quickly you want to use the batter. If you want to use the batter immeditely, drain the water, add a glass of buttermilk and salt and grind everything together. However, if you're not in a rush, you can follow the longer method (this is what I've been working with): 

Grind rice (leave the methi in) with a little water into a coarse batter ( it should have a slightly grainy texture). While you grind the rice, leave the dal in the fridge to chill. Once the rice is ground, keep it aside. 

Grind the dal separately - this needs to be a fine, fluffy batter.  Once this is done, mix the rice and dal together and add salt (the salt and methi will help with fermentation). Leave it overnight in a closed container for fermentation (keep it outside, not in the refrigerator). This batter can be stored in the refrigerator for 3-4 days.

I haven't had enough time to work out the sambar recipe yet, so that'd have to be shared in a separate post. I've mostly been devouring the idlis that I've made this week with some hummus (!), which has become a staple now. I do temper it with mustard seeds and curry leaves so that it feels adequately chutney-like! I'm not particularly proud, but in case you're wondering what my work-in-progress idli looks like, here's the picture:

The No-Fail Pav Bhaji Recipe

This post is dedicated to Alka Grover, who shared this brilliant recipe. I love you! <3

Pav bhaji is my second-most preferred comfort food (after idlis). Growing up in one of the busiest localities in Kolkata, yummy pav bhaji was easily available. When I moved out of the city, finding good pav-bhaji was a pain. Most places make pav bhaji in mixed-vegetable style, with too much masala thrown in. I crave to have home-made pav bhaji that brings together sweet, sour, spicy, and tangy together beautifully in a buttery concoction. And then one day, I had the pav bhaji that Alka auntie makes and I became an instant fan! Now that I barely get to see her, she shared her recipe with me. This recipe gets recreated in my kitchen at least once a week. It takes me up to an hour to do everything and there's enough bhaji for 2-3 people. 

Here you go!   

INGREDIENTS:

Vegetables:

• 4 medium-sized potatoes, boiled 
• Cauliflower, peas, beans, lauki - about the same quantity as the potatoes; steamed (pro-tip: do not use carrots as it changes the taste considerably. I personally do not like the texture of laukis so I avoid that too. Also the only veggie that you absolutely must have is cauliflower)
• 4 tomatoes, chopped (the redder the tomatoes, the lovelier would be the color of the bhaji!)
• 1 medium-sized onion, chopped 
• 4 cloves of garlic - peeled and finely chopped/ grated
• 1/2 inch piece of ginger, grated
• 1 lemon
• Some green coriander for garnishing

Masala: 

• 1 tsp salt (adjust as per taste)
• 1/2 tsp ground zeera
• 1/2 tsp ground dhania
• 2 tsp pao bhaji masala (I only use half the quantity so that it's less spicy)
• 1/2 tsp ground fennel seeds (optional)

Others: 

• Oil for cooking onions
• Butter
• Pao!

COOKING INSTRUCTIONS:

• Heat a little oil in a pan and add chopped onion. Fry until the onions are brown. I used to earlier use a non-stick pan but switching to a thick bottomed stainless steel pan makes the bhaji much smoother.
• Add ginger and garlic and stir for a minute
• Add the tomatoes and cook on medium heat for a couple of minutes. Add 1/2 tsp salt and cover with a lid so that tomatoes become a little tender.
• Meanwhile, peel and mash potatoes and the steamed veggies. I generally grate them!
• When tomatoes start leaving oil, add the dry masala, stir and add the veg and potatoes. Cook on slow fire. Once nicely mixed add half a cup of water (more/ less depending on the texture that you want).
• Add 2 tsp of butter. I usually add half the quantity though! 
• Taste and adjust as per taste. Turn off the gas and add lemon juice if you want it to be tangier. On most days I find it to be fine without the lemon juice.
• Garnish with chopped onion, tomatoes and coriander leaves.
• Eat with buttered toast or pao.

Diary of an (almost) Mountain Girl

This post has been overdue for a few weeks now. In these weeks, several thoughts about what would comprise the content of this post have churned in my head endlessly. So much so that I don't know where to start anymore. Perhaps I should start by saying that I feel at home. 

The COVID situation aside, the other huge change that has happened in my life over the last few months is that I've gone to being a mountain girl from being a city girl. I haven't considered myself to be particularly lucky, but the fact that I moved to the mountains just a couple of weeks before the lockdown is a rather compelling argument against it. After spending a miserable couple of lockdown months of being at barely operational hotels, I finally managed to find a cozy rented place. A couple of social media posts about this achievement have led to endless queries from friends and family (and ex-colleagues, and just about anyone who has seen posts). Even though I suffer from the grandma syndrome (repeating the same story over and over again with the same amount of enthusiasm), it was getting a little bit out of hand. Hence the need for this grand post. A long stairway of forty-something steps leads to the house. Although a little tiring, it's a beautiful stretch with foliage on both sides. It looks rather dreamy on a rainy day and on the sunnier days it is absolutely stunning!

During my first visit to this place, I was charmed and breathless in equal measure. So much so that it completely slipped my mind that these beautiful concrete steps would gather moss during the rainy season. This particular slip-up caused close encounters with several situations where I escaped slipping on these stairs by a whisker. On one particular instance, I decided to wear my trekking shoes (pro-tip: trekking shoes and moss aren't really on friendly terms). About halfway I froze in terror. I knew that if I took one more step I would slip and break a bone or two. After having stood there for a full five minutes (and perspiring profusely), I decided to take the plunge ahead. I didn't take a fall that day but no points for guessing that my trekking shoes have been eating dirt ever since.

Once you brave the trek up, you reach the entrance to my house. It is a part of a bigger structure which houses the landlord and his family. The roof of my house serves as terrace for the landlord’s family. The entrance to my place sometimes reminds me on hobbit houses because it is noticeably smaller than the ordinary entrances. The ceiling is also quite low, so much so that when I extend my arm I can easily touch the ceiling. I’m 5’2”, so you do the math. 

In keeping with the general feel of this hobbit house that I inhabit, almost everything in the house is small too. This is especially true of the kitchen, which has a shared wall with the entrance to the house. It’s one of the tiniest kitchens that I’ve seen so accordingly all the utensils and storage containers are also super tiny. So are the cups in which I lovingly serve instant tea to guests who come over. The rather polite people who tend to be my guests are always visible surprises at the size of the cups that I serve tea in, even though they never voice their surprise. On the days that I’m feeling fancy I take out the fancy carafe that’s just about enough to brew two cups of fancy marigold-lemongrass green tea that has become a staple in my household. The water for either kind of tea is heated in my miniature of a kettle that sits comfortably over the deep red refrigerator. This fridge has been one of my more extravagant purchases here (other than the mattress, that is, but we will come to that in a bit). 

The kitchen space is a semi-enclosed space and the same area also houses a wooden table with four chairs. In my zeal to maintain the feel of the hobbit house I nearly discarded it to bring in a table about half the size of this one, but better (financial) sense prevailed. Now this area doubles up as my workspace; the table big enough to accommodate the all-in-one printer/copier/ scanner that I can’t operate without. Serendipitously, this is also the spot in the house that has the best network. 

The best part? When I sit at the table, the glass windows open up a beautiful view of the mountains. If you stand by it, you can see the flight of stairs leading up to the house and the main road where it connects. And the Shiva temple that has recently been renovated. On particularly cloudy days, the clouds simply barge in through the windows, intruding upon my privacy in the process. Bright sunny days are a very good reminder of the privilege that I have right now. To be honest, it’s a little surreal to be living in a place as charming as this. There are days when I find myself in a moment of disbelief. It is in these moments that I take a pause, soak in all the beauty and thank my lucky stars!

An integrated arts approach

So I've decided to get back to blogging after ages. Obviously, the restart had to happen with a very special entry. 

I’m both nervous and excited about this journal entry. Nervous because there’s so much to write about, that I’m not sure if I’ve even articulated it all in my head or not. Excited because oh god, why didn’t I do it already!

I’m sipping some green tea as I write this in the yellow light of the camphor diffuser in my room. It is only befitting that I play one of the thumris that have been repeatedly transporting me to another space and time. So I play Shubha Mudgal’s Balam Tere Jhagde Mein. The central idea of this thumri is nothing new. In fact, the idea has been used and re-used many, many times over. But to me, somehow this seems to be true. It manages to stir something inside of me in a way that no other expression of the same sentiment ever has. I can almost visualize myself as the nayika going through several intricate, interconnected emotions as she sings this thumri sitting under the dark night sky punctuated with stars.

There was a time when I used to relate to the kind of music that resonated with my current mood. Now the connection happens because the song evokes a particular emotion, which is free of the mood that I'm going through at that moment, or any particular memory or person. So even though I can visualize myself as the nayika, there is no nayak. Irrespective, the moment seems to be complete in itself.

The realization - that I feel differently as compared to most other people – is something that occurred to me much later in life. That the smallest things make me really happy. Or that I get hurt more deeply than others. That even my everyday emotions are more intense than what most other people feel at the most emotional moments. In college, I used to write poetry in Hindi. I’ve been trying to disown it for over a decade now (it exists in the digital world in the form of a blog), only to go back to it occasionally. I think this need to disown is rooted in two reasons – one, most of the ideas and expressions are quite clichéd and I’m truly embarrassed about those. But also because I don’t know of many people who would understand the truth of the emotion behind those. I don’t mean this as a comparison, but how many people connect with the gazillion emotions that the nayika goes through as she sings Balam Tere Jhagde Mein Rain Gayi?

I now hear the soulful voice of Prabha Atre, wondering Kaun Gali Gayo Shyam. A couple of months ago, when I still in Gurgaon, I was learning a thumri composition in my Kathak classes, in which Radha pleads to Krishna. I would always imagine myself as a rather irritated Radha. But as we started unraveling the layers of the composition, came the realization that how it is not a singular emotion but rather a cluster of ‘micro-emotions’. Radha is (mildly) irritated for sure, but there’s so much more than that. There’s love, lajja, pleading, helplessness, and so on. This is new because earlier I didn’t spend as much time with a composition to be able to ponder over all the different possibilities. So now when I hear Prabha Atre’s voice, it is not just a singular emotion that I sense. It’s a series of transitioning emotions culminating into a sort of euphoria that is created when you’re one with the art that you’re experiencing.

There’s more to this. In the last few months (during the lockdown), I was able to get myself a pair of ghunghroos and a space for riyaaz.  I’ve been devoting time to my daily riyaaz. I’ve realised for the first time that drut lay or tatkaar solah gun isn’t something to be afraid of or be intimidated by, but if befriended it can infuse you with energy. It feels as though some things have started coming together inside of me in ways I haven’t experienced before. For instance, Kaun Gali Gayo Shyam helped me in identifying and articulating certain bhaav that existed inside of me, but the dance vocabulary that I have built also helped me in expressing it through my body. Not just in terms of mudras and body movements, but also in terms of my facial expressions, body language, and so on. And it is probably the effect of my yoga sessions that as I wonder Kaun Gali Gayo Shyam that I pause to notice the deep exhale that corresponds with my sigh of having no knowledge where Krishna is. Sometimes I feel like this is one of the storytelling sessions that I do with kids. I pick up stories that resonate with me, because then when I’m reading those out to children, I’m not faking anything. I’m simply sharing with them how I truly feel about the story. This is important because I feel like children are very good at spotting the fake.

In an interesting turn of affairs, I’ve started relooking at all my Hindi poetry from over a decade ago. And I’ve started recording it in my voice. And in a moment of feeling/ emotion/ inspiration, I composed a new one just a few days ago. This came as a half-surprise. I mean come on, it's been there all along; I’ve tried to brush it under the carpet all this while. The part that did come as a surprise was that this is something that I can still do. I always thought that writing Hindi poetry was something that I did when I was younger and that all the ‘creative juices’ had dried up, but clearly not!

Growing up I mostly listened to Bollywood music, which included the likes of Kishore Kumar and Jagjit Singh. I attended weekend Kathak classes when I was in primary and middle school, but most memories of the classes included dancing to the beats of the tabla. There was some exposure to folk music through wedding songs and so on. There were also occasional community meets where performing artists were invited to present plays on themes like Meera or perform a Rajasthani dance sequence.

I think my first close exposure to Hindustani Classical Music was through what I am going to call commercial classical music. I think some credit to Bollywood is due here. I can actually think of two specific movies – the first one is Devdas. God knows how many times over I listened to the entire album! At this point, I’m struggling to remember an earlier or more powerful memory of music having an indescribable effect on me. Listening to certain tracks would lead my mood to spiral downhill, into a state of sadness that would last a while (I want to use the word mood vacuum here, but I don’t know if that makes any sense!). To this date, I’m wary of listening to more than a couple of tracks from this movie at one go. The other movie is Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, primarily for its composition Albela Sajan. I really liked the ‘mood’ of the song, only to realize very recently that the ‘mood’ of the songs is evoked by the raga of a composition. So I now know that I enjoy certain ragas quite a bit. I’m also beginning to understand my preference for certain types of compositions. For example, when I first listened to a thumri, I didn’t realize that my liking wasn’t simply for that particular composition but that it extended to the entire genre of thumris. And now I know I like Shringar Ras compositions.

I don’t think I can bring this entry to a close without a mention of Pt. Kumar Gandharv. About 3 years ago,  Hindustani Classical Music was completely foreign territory. I first heard a Meera bhajan that his grandson, Bhuvanesh Komkali, was teaching to some school kids. I still don’t know what was so special about it all – was it because I was with all those school kids in the room flooded with sunlight? Was the magic of Kumar Ji’s music and the fact that his grandson told me that his grandfather used to sing this to him when he was very young? Or was I simply carried away with the bhaav of the nayika captured in the lyrics? But it did leave a deep impression on my mind and my heart. I was so overwhelmed that I remember having to fight back my tears. I didn’t quite manage to find a recording of the bhajan, but I heard it at a couple of concerts after that – one at an auditorium and another one online, and I choked up on both these occasions.

About six months ago, a friend shared some gems from his music collection. These included some thumris – I listened to a few of those and I just couldn’t shake off the feeling of intoxication! He also shared a collection of Kumar Ji’s Nirgun Bhajans and I felt that there was a certain sense of simplicity and truthfulness about them, which made me feel at home. These didn’t intimidate me the way most other classical music does and  I wondered why that was the case.

Then almost as though by design, during the lockdown period, I chanced upon a fantastic collection of essays written about Kumar Ji's music. A couple of things stayed with me – that how he was a child prodigy, but also a huge question mark on the tradition of Hindustani Classical Music. That his music was that of struggle. That the ‘truth’ in his compositions was by design. That he wasn’t just a singer, but a poet, a painter but many other things rolled into one. A lot of things suddenly started making sense after reading just a couple of chapters. There was a distinct realization that what really is the aim of an integrated approach in the arts and how does it bring together the various parts of an individual together as a ‘whole’ in terms of mind and soul. This also means that music isn’t just another thing that I’m setting out to do, but it’s an integral part of the journey that I’ve already embarked upon!