Terracotta Poems








This summer I went to Shantiniketan in West Bengal, in Birbhum district. On my way a few km away from Shantiniketan  my eyes alighted  upon two gorgeous terracotta Shiva temples, situated side by side in the middle of a cluster of nondescript houses. They took my breath away. I had heard about the terracota temples of Bishnupur, more towards the north-west of Bengal, but to see these masterpieces at almost my doorstep was like receiving an unexpected and delightful gift. Shibu-da, whose taxi we had hired to take us to Shantiniketan, told us that there were terracota temples around Shantiniketan , and that he could take me to visit them if I liked.


And it is thanks to Shibu-da that I could see these temples.  I could not have de niched them on my own , first of all because though I am a Bengali, I moved out from Bengal in my childhood, and secondly because even many Bengalis living in Bengal have not seen  them. They are off the beaten track, in small villages, visited by few outsiders. Shibu-da, a soft spoken, gentle person did not only take me there but also showed me interesting bits of sculpture and filled me in with their history. If you ever go to Shantiniketan and want someone to show you around I would definitely recommend him.


 Now I'm not a historian and my geography is rather poor, but these temples are in a 50 km radius around Shantiniketan. I'm putting them up as a feast for the eye,  and because they transport me to rural Bengal, where these magnificent temples in sleepy little villages, in the middle of a market place, on the roadside, are testimonies of kingdoms which have vanished in the corridors of time.





This five pinnacled Lakshmi Janardan temple built in 1846 is in Illambazar. When I saw it there was nobody in sight. It stood in solitary splendour beside the house of a zamindar (landlord), which was a ruin of  crumbling walls, with creepers and aerial roots snaking out from dark,  faceless windows.  








 I thought the orange shawl on the priest's shoulder and the orange dome of the temple was worth a photo. And there was this feeling of  timelessness. The temple priest going to worship the deity a hundred ago, fifty years ago, now….





 I almost missed this jewel on the roadside. As you can see it's half hidden by the bushes.  Its walls aren't as ornately sculpted as the other temples I visited. It stood out against the monsoon sky in pure-lined elegance.








 Can you spot my slippers in front of the temple? Yes I was there. It's an exquisite 17th century  Ram temple in Ghusuria    One has to see it from near to see the wealth of sculpted figures and the 

 detailed craftsmanship.   


                                                              


                                       


                         


I wondered who were the artists who had made these panels, and the king who had patronised them? I  looked around and saw a sleepy village, a cowshed a few metres ahead, a woman coaxing a calf to eat rice from her hands, and tried to imagine how the place may have been four centuries ago.

By now you must be getting tired of temples. After all our ancestors were particularly gifted in building them in all shapes and sizes from the north to the south, from the east to the west, and always as in life with the sacred and the profane existing side by side.   I'll just put up some of my favourite shots and let you imagine the backdrop.

Here's a drum player beating the drum for the dancer. Maybe he wants her heart to throb to the beat of his drum.











The musician seems above such worldly concerns. He's composing a song to his deity.


 The king's holding court. Does he have to issue judgement on a matter of great importance, or is he thinking about the gala event he's going to hold in his gardens the next full moon night, where the best dancer and musician will be awarded fifty gold mohurs each? What's that to the left? A dog supplicant?


And finally Krishna as a little child stealing butter, as Varaha Avatar rescuing the earth from the netherworld, and the cowherd of Vrindavan making the hearts of men and women dream to the melodies of  his flute.




             





 Arunima Choudhury







With Bintu in the Marketplace



Bintu in the marketplace


I went with Bintu to the market this afternoon;  Bintu riding the jakarta (a small Chinese  motorbike which has flooded the West African market) , and me me perched behind her. Bintou is Malian, from the Malinke ethnic group. She is married to Dominic a former French wine grower from the south-west of France, who has bought land around 40 km away from Bamako, beside a little village called Siby, surrounded  by rocky  hills.  They have built their house in keeping with the architecture of the land, round thatched cob huts in a stretch of land with  mango , shea , moringa and neem trees. It’s situated near a magnificent site, the arch of Kamadjan.

Bintou is always on the move, sweeping, cooking, chatting, joking. On hearing me marvelling over the superb view of this sinewy muscle of the mountain, cupping the blue sky she told me how it came into being.  According to legend, Kamandjan, the most valiant lieutenant of Soundiata Keita, the founder of the Mali empire, frayed a path for his troops through a massive and impregnable rock wall with a single stroke of his   sabre as a demonstration of his occult powers.

The arch of Kamadjan

Each Saturday there’s a market in Siby and the population of this little village swells in size with the influx of people from surrounding villages. I had heard about this market,  and since Bintu was going there to buy provisions for her guests I jumped at the opportunity to go with her. Bintu was born in Siby and has grown up here. I hoped that if I tagged  along with her I would be regarded less as a foreigner, or Tubabu, according to the local lingua. Mostly children but sometimes adults too point you out with the exclamation Tubabu and break  into laughter.  Of course the ghostly appearance of Tubabus can also inspire terror in the heats of children, especially the very young ones,  who promptly burst into tears.

 The market place is about 2 km away from their land  Bintu drove down a winding, uneven dirt road, flanked by huts, children, chicken, men having tea, fields of sugarcane and corn , calling out greetings to every second person. When we reached the tar road we came across a line of Sotramas, the top loaded with goods, calabashes, velssels sacks of rice, coal, and onions, which people had bought and were now carrying back to their villages. There were others who placed their trust in more traditional transport and made their way back in donkey carts, the little donkey bravely pulling the cart and all that it contained. 


Sotrama: A small van used in Mali as public transport



When we reached the market place Bintu parked her jakarta in front of her cousin’s shop , (in Mali , every other person is a cousin, brother, sister),  and  set out on foot, stopping ever so often to launch into the customary  greetings.

I ka kene? How's your health?
N ka kene. My health's fine.
Somogow bedi? How's your family?
Torosite.  Fine.
I bara be cogodi? How's your work? 

It can go on and on with different permutations and combinations, depending on your familiarity with the person, your mood, the person’s status in society.  and end with blessings;  Ala ka tile here caya , for example, which means, may God see to it that you have a good day.  But my limited understanding of Bambara, the national language of Mali allows me to translate only this much.


I think in the world of trade, the innovativeness of human exchange and material wealth is proportionately  inverse .The wealthier the country  the more codified is the relation between the buyer and seller. There’s a fixed price. You pay it and go away with your ware. In rich countries bargaining is considered to be in bad taste. But in countries where every purchase is an opportunity for negotiations, the exchange between the buyer and seller can be an art by itself. Mali moreover is extraordinarily rich in the domain of banter and repartee.

Bintu stopped to buy vegetables and with each vendor there was a dialogue which went  beyond  a mere discussion about money.


Here’s a conversation with an egg plant seller:
“How much are your eggplants ?”
“ 200 cfa for 3.”
“But my grandma over there is selling them for 100 cf.”
“You’re a liar, “ quipped the eggplant vendor.
“No, I’m not, retorted  Bindu,
“Yes, you are and if you don’t stop lying your husband will leave you. ”  
“No he won’t,” said Bintu ,” and even if he does , in the afternoon itself there’ll be another man waiting for me. I may not be as pretty as you are, but I have a very good sense of humour  And men really appreciate cheerful women.
The pretty eggplant  seller
The vendor could not but be softened by this answer. The eggplants were bought and both the seller and buyer parted in  high spirits.


In another conversation with a seller of bananas, the exchange was less cordial but as vivacious.  The seller of bananas exhorted Bintu saying that she should not bargain, because she was the wife of a white man and it is well known that the white man is the source, or the origin  of money in the world. Bintu not to be stumped, retorted that the white man does not collect money strewn on the ground. He has to work hard to earn it. I don’t think the woman was convinced . She was sure fhat Bintu had captured the hen that lays golden eggs. However the negotiations were clinched with no hard feelings and a plastic bag full of bananas.

I tagged along, the typical tourist, taking photos with my phone, asking Bintu time and again for explanations. 



Soap

Young girl posing for a photo

Dried fish

At the end of the market trip our hoard consisted of
bananas, eggplants, tomatoes, a small pumpkin, meat, onions, butter, bread, an incense burner in the shape of a pot, blue liquid in tiny plastic sachets for whitening clothes,  two pagnes of bright orange and blue (a pagne is a measurement for cloth used in West Africa, consisting of two metres), and an ornament made up several strands of white beads.  

Women in Mali  use a pagne like a wraparound  and buy three pagnes to make a complet, which is a long skirt and a tunic. The rope of beads is wound  around the waist, to accentuate the slenderness of the waist and make the sashaying gait of a woman even more alluring. However the pagnes and the waist ornament  were my purchases;  the former to make cushion covers and the latter to use as a necklace. I do not have the audacity to tie the bead ornament around my middle aged waist and sashay down the road.

With Bintu’s sidebag and my backpack  stuffed with  goodies,  we headed back towards the house. “Bintu,”  I asked, “don’t you miss this when you are in France?”  By this I meant of course the greetings, the bantering, the exchange of energies, which extends a half an hour trip to one and a half!  “Yes,” of course said Bintu, “very badly.” One of my friends in France told me during the last  holidays, “Bintu I remember you had told me that on a Saturday , if you were in Mali you would be greeting every second person and they would be doing the same .” It reminded me a bit of Pondicherry, my hometown where every other person is a friend or an acquaintance, and meeting and greeting people are a part of living there.

Arunima Choudhury 





Lightness of Being

Yesterday was a bad day. All attempts to be joyful were met with an inner heaviness and ennui. And each passing  hour seemed to be filled with stifled resentment. Then a friend came home and offered to take me out for tea. As I stepped out of the house I felt the clouds parting , the sky clearing. We went for a walk in the park, bought a few post cards, spoke with the counter clerk who gave us some posters, had a cup of tea, cracked a few silly jokes.  And I thought that the quality of one's life depends on the quality of one's relationships.

Encountering Veenapani



Pondicherry, a peaceful, coastal town in the heart of South India is the home of many creative, original people who contribute significantly to the aesthetic, cultural and physical fabric of India and abroad.Veenapani Chawla born in 1947 in Bombay, India, an innovator of new forms of theatre, founder and artistic Director of Adishakti Laboratory for Theatre Art Research, Pondicherry, is one of them. A soft spoken woman with a tranquil smile, exuding quiet authority and dynamism, and Adishakti, a beautiful, green campus dedicated to the performing arts, make up a coherent and artistic whole

 Let us find out more about Veenapani and Adishakti through the author herself.

You were a history student and began your career as a teacher. What made you turn to theatre? Was there any particular play or event?

Yes, I was a history student and  taught history, literature and political science. But I have been  interested in theatre since my childhood and my interest was fuelled after I came to Pondicherry.

How did that happen?
Sri Nolini Kanta Gupta, my mentor,  who was one of the earliest disciples of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother told me in 1978 that theatre  was the thing for me . I didn’t know how it was going to happen though. I was already in my late twenties. But when I got back to Bombay things fell into place

Indian families in the 60s, as even now, wanted safe careers or safe matrimony for their daughters and you chose neither. Was your family different, encouraging you in your choices and aspirations?
No, not to begin with. They were quite upset and outraged, especially about marriage. They wanted me to get married. It was only when I came here with the theatre work , and there were material results that they began to be encouraging.

In your previous interviews you say you trained for a long time with great gurus in remote places in India, especially in Kerela, in  classical Sanskrit theatre Koodiyattam and the martial art form Kalariayapettu. Can you tell us what drew you to exploring these forms instead of going through a regular theatre course?

There was no regular theatre course except in the NSD (National School of Drama) and I was already directing by that time. In 1978 Nolini-da  told me, and by 1981 I was already professionally directing big actors like Naseruddin Shah, so the question of doing a course at that time didn’t arise.But what I found was that while I was good with concepts, interpretation, I knew about design, I could tell a professional, trained actor what I wanted from him,  I didn't have the knowledge or the tools required to help a novice with his voice, or bearing. So to meet those needs I went to gurus. I also strongly felt the need for a more physical form of theatre.. I found the theatre that was around me too cerebral, verbal, like in Europe.  It was borrowed from Europe but in India it has always been more than just a verbal or literary piece of work. So for that reason I looked around and  learnt “Chau” from Orissa, then in various festivals I saw kalaripayettu  from Kerala and was very keen to learn it.  I also had to train the actor  to use his voice, so that’s how the decision to go to Kerela for Kudiyattam as well,  came about.

Did you envisage  fusing elements from these forms in your plays?
I had the desire to create a new aesthetic form, for our times where the aesthetics would marry historical India with what we are today, which is a result of various influences from different parts of the world. And this meant a journey into historical India. If I learnt these forms it was not to perform them but to evolve something which is representative of our time.I found that these forms had a lot of knowledge but that they were obscured by formulae, and I had to strip them of these formulae and go back to the real purpose.

And I discovered that unlike the West where they began psychologically, we began from getting into the physical structure first, getting into stances, and then accessing the psychological spaces through them. You see in tantra the centres are located in different points of the body and if you position your body in a particular way, you access one or two centres and then the emotions and then the state of mind. So from the physical we went into the psychological unlike in the West where from the psychological they went into the physical.

Koodiyattam was performed originally in  temple precincts and both men and women participated but wasn’t Kalariyapettu an exclusive male bastion?

Originally Koodiyattam was performed in the open, then it was taken into the temple but   gradually women lost all the major roles to men . Many plays got lost because women were predominant in it. Now it’s come out of the temple again and women are trying to reclaim their roles. And Kalaripayettu was originally learnt by both men and women. There are many known female warriors who did Kalaripayettu. But then it was completely shut off to women.

Did you as a woman from the other end of India have to overcome barriers before being accepted as a disciple?
Actually it was easier because I was regarded as a foreigner, so they  were lenient, thinking I was learning it as a hobby.  I was also introduced by a very well known writer and playwright called G. Shankar Pillai and because they respected him so much they accepted me. If I had gone on my own, v anonymously, they would not have accepted me. But for example if you had periods  you were not allowed to enter the “Kalari” ( the ring where kalaripayettu is practiced)  because you were considered impure, so you had to miss classes.

When and why did you start Adishakti?
I started Adishakti in 1981. It was a kind of banner under which performers would come together produce a play, break up and maybe come back again for another play . I was the only constant factor. 

Why the name Adishakti? What is the significance?
The primordial energy, the divine mother.

You said you started Adishakti as a banner but as of today what is Adishakti’s purpose?
Today Adishakti is very different. When I came to Pondicherry and  started work again, it was very different from what I used to do before. I had time, space and  the possibilities to do what I wanted. There was no intention of showing. There was just the intention of work. It was a creative process. I started writing my own script, doing research and focusing on the exploration of creating a new craft… . It led to a performance . Then we were invited to stage it because I was known outside. That’s how it got catapulted.  Later we started having performances of other groups, training workshops, seminars, discussions.

Doesn’t Adishakti also carry out, encourage and research traditional knowledges in theatre,  dance, music, movement, puppet and craft forms?
We have worked with with traditional percussions, dance, shadow puppetry. We have  also created instruments, resurrected the five faced Mizhavu (a big copper drum played as an accompanying percussion instrument in Koodiyattam), for Koodiyattam performers who have only a one faced Mizhavu.

What sources did  you look into when you started scripting your plays? 
The script is much like a film script and there is  considerable research which goes into writing  it. I can never enter a work unless I prepare.  For example for the the play ‘Brhanalla’, I  researched into new physics, the space time continuum, the ‘Ardhanarishwara’ half man-half woman concept, brain lateralization theory, the folklore of the region where they talk about the Draupadi cult and relate Shiva to Arjuna. And all this would be filtered down to just one line  which would contain these ideas and be figured through an image or music. So for each play I do a lot of reading, research and this is in the background  when a play is created. But you don’t explicate it, you layer it.

Can you give us an example.
Well, to continue with Brihanalla, you see the protagonist playing cricket in slow motion. Brihanalla in Mahabharata is Ardhanarishwara (half man, half woman) and for me cricket because of its rational rules  is male , so that is the male part. The scene between Shiva and Arjuna is a combination of flowing movements and staccato movements, the male and the female, and finally you discover when you look at the middle ground that it is one seamless loop.  I had to reflect these two categories visually through light, through music, through movement and then to show how the flowing movement acquires a rhythm and goes into  rhythmic polarity. 

Compared to the music, the drumming, mime, the script in your plays is often minimal..
Well, it is a kind of oral image which is supposed to have an impact on you. Now cinema which is the art of the times does the same thing It creates a montage, a visual and you have different signifiers like the text,  picture, sound, music. In one moment you are being fed so many types of information that  you absorb on a non- rational, non- analytical level.
I am not interested in the technology of cinema. I am interested in how by honouring the strength of theatre, which is the live performer, you can do something similar, in principle though not in effect. In cinema you get the effect of realism. In theatre you get the opposite of realism. The reality in theatre is the actor and what is it that an actor cannot do?  He can seduce you! And physically that seduction is possible only   in theatre, in that presence which is there, now.
You know what you want to say but what percent of the audience perceive that, because understanding your plays requires an intellectual sophistication and wide cultural knowledge.
There are people who do . The plays have sparked off discussions, queries. The audience makes connections. But  you can also see and enjoy the plays at face value, at the narrative level. One doesn’t have to intellectually apprehend everything. When you go to see a painting and you are moved, the significance does not strike you first. It is the visual impact and something other. We are made up of  many other elements than  the mind.

Arunima Choudhury

OPPOSITES

      Vanity is such a hindrance stopping me from breathing easy. Like a vine entwining my being feeding on my energy, it thrives on applaus...