Book review: DO! ~ a Warli visual wonderland to celebrate

DO!

Text/ concept: Gita Wolf

Illustrations: Ramesh Hengadi & Shantaram Dhadpe (with help from Rasika Hengadi and Kusum Dhadpe)  

Tara Books. Non-fiction/ Art. 2009. 2014 edition. Paperback. Full colour. Rs. 150. 32 pages. 

ISBN: 978-93-83145-16-4

Minimally worded picture books are often more powerful than ten thousand long-winded words. Such as? The wacky board books for children by 2013 Astrid Lindgren awardee, Argentinian artist Isol, like her two-way multi-fold classic, ‘It’s useful to have a duck/ It’s useful to have a boy,’ for sure. Or David Shannon’s 1998 brilliant ‘No, David.’

In India, most publishers hesitate to concentrate on visuals to engage young minds. Or to explore the riches of indigenous art forms to tell a story. Maybe because of the prohibitive cost of colour printing? Even Uma Krishnaswami’s brilliant ‘And Land was Born’ in the Bhilala style for Tulika had a strong folktale by Sandhya Rao as its base. Against this backdrop. Tara Books creatively pioneered the use of Gond, Warli, Mithila and other folk styles in hand-crafted, internationally acclaimed books such as ‘The London Jungle Book,’ ‘That’s How I See Things,’ ‘Hope is a girl selling fruit’ or ‘The Nightlife of Trees’ over the last two decades.  

On my shelves, dozens of Tara Books vie for attention because of the sheer joy they bring me as a reader and an art buff. Their quality-conscious team ensures that each one makes a lasting impression ~ for its text, visuals and impeccable production values. I wasn’t a jot surprised when Tara won the Bologna Prize for the Best Children’s Publisher of the year in Asia 2013, in addition to one of the International Book Industry Excellence Awards 2014 at the London Book Fair.

‘DO!’ just makes the case for Tara even stronger. Silkscreen printed on recycled kraft paper, it brings to life the rural walls on which the Warli art of western India originated. What is the book’s intent? Since the fluid Warli figures are pictogram-like, its blurb says, ‘Children relate immediately to this art style, and DO! can be used in many ways: as a picture book, to learn about verbs, to discover the stories on each page, to talk about village life, or to draw their own pictures and stories in the Warli style.’

The book works intelligently at each level ~ and in unforgettably image-driven ways. The child within me came vitally alive again once I discovered that I could open this book to any page and plunge headlong into a pictorial paradise, chuckling all the way.  

To begin with, I scanned the double spread with the verb ‘Play’: stick figures chase a football with concentration, their hair streaming behind them; three men play badminton by a large-leafed tree, their rackets as finely wrought as the net; girls skip rope with abandon as others bounce a ball with glee.

Next, I explored ‘Read’: a duo under a thatched roof concentrate on books, as do figures stirring a steaming pot of (maybe) rice; a man and a woman on their way to work carry a stick in one hand, a book in the other; a rural library has its cane and bamboo shelves stacked high; a villager shepherds his livestock, his fist clutching a book, signalling his dream of quieter hours.

As for ‘Draw’, it is a page-packed crash course on do-it-yourself Warli art: two parallel lines that morph into a Z, grow a torso, acquire limbs ~ then dance, run and bounce to life. Using the basic geometry of lines, circles and triangles, the renditions are wonderfully zany.  

The Warli pictograms made this book a wonderland of non-text, as I plunged into a super-active world of sleep, sit, fight and verbs-plus. Such as roosters at war over grain. Or cattle locking horns by the edge of a pond. Or a man resting under a tree, atop which birds roost. And of course, the irresistible delights of the Warli dancing circle that visually summons up the community as much as the circle of life, true to the traditional style where a single spread tells a complete tale.

This exceptional book allows the child (or adult) to imagine brilliant colours in the moving figures against the clay-brown backdrop. To realign an urban perspective in the light of tantalizing faraway, unknown rural lives. Even to acknowledge that wordless wonders can spark more brilliant texts in a writer as a reader.

‘DO!’ is a book worth reaching for to nurture your child’s visual vocabulary. It is as potently an essential tool to revitalize the sleeping inner child within each of us as adults, whether as parents, teachers, grandparents or creative guides. I could celebrate this visual wonderland every single day. 

(This review was originally published in the GoodBooks India site) 

Sari lore: When the classic is contemporary

 

Chimy Nanjappa at Vimor

 (This article was originally published in The Hindu Metroplus supplement in Bangalore on July 28, 2003)

        "LOOK AT this antique pooja sari," says Pavithra Muddaya, holding up a rich red silken length. "Unlike the popular ones today, its orange checks are ikkat or woven tie-and-dye, so are the white butas within each. Working with Tamil weavers over the past 28 years, we've taught them to create the butas with a single strand of silk, so that they don't have to combine local weaves with ikkat from a different region. The result is two silk versions and one in cotton that the market can afford, and that sustains the weaver community." 

       Pavithra should know, as she holds up a more contemporary avatar of the classic pooja sari, distinguished by its wavy white mailikanne or peacock's eyes border. She's grown up with natural fibre weaves ever since her mother Chimy Nanjappa set up Vimor (that's Indonesian for "pure") at their inconspicuous home in the Victoria Layout in 1974.

         "I used to sell saris on my trips abroad. So, the idea came to me: if I can sell to a foreigner, I can sell here too," reflects Chimy, a former general manager at Bangalore's Mysore Arts and Crafts Emporium, often assigned overseas by the Handicrafts and Handlooms Export Corporation (HHEC). Initially, she travelled to small south Indian weavers, and coaxed the local Weaver's Service Centre (WSC) to replicate her exquisite collection of temple saris. In time, Vimor's clientele grew to include Indira Gandhi, Sonia Gandhi, Begum Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed, Pupul Jayakar, and Shabani Azmi.

          But big name clientele means little to either Chimy or Pavithra. For Vimor's reputation has grown by word of mouth, instead of advertising. Why? Probably because the experience of shopping off a large bed, picking saris out of cupboards, makes you feel completely at home. It's comparable only to diving headfirst into your grandmother's sari cupboard, and emerging full of wonder over every singular weave.

        For the timeless saris at Vimor, adapted to the skills and resources of today's weaving community, speak subtly of history and geography. Through the gandaberunda or double-headed eagle that was the Mysore royal insignia, or the mythical annapakshi that recalls Tamil lore. Through the procession of elephants on a pooja sari pallu that evokes a Mysore Dussehra or temple friezes at Belur, through untold stories of legendary weavers' guilds in mailikanne or mokalmoru weaves against shimmering grounds sumptuous as peacock feathers or dusky skies. Through a Manipuri pallu that turns up in a Karnataka sari, signaling peregrinations of style. Through an antique magenta sari enlivened with butas of bi-planes, vintage cars, and gramophones.

      Vimor's success links intrinsically into a second generation of both buyers and weavers today. Buyers who know they will not find an eyesore among its woven treasures, priced between Rs. 350 and Rs. 14,000. And weavers from the Kancheepuram belt, from Raidurga in Karnataka who trust the outlet for, as Chimy says: "We're here to encourage the weavers, to help them come up in life."

       How? Sharing her mother's stunning yellow-checked black cotton sari with red and ochre Ganga-Jamuna borders, Pavithra points out: "It's so easy to keep antique pieces in the cupboard, to bring them out to exclaim over every few days. But we have to give something back to society." So, she's shown the Raidurga weavers how to create a heavy cotton, minimal-care black sari with yellow woven borders and a contrasting pallu. An office-goer can afford it for everyday wear. And the weavers have learnt to innovate from its colour and design palette, instead of merely replicating an old sari.

      Take the case of the original temple cotton sari, which has flooded the market in its Chettinadu avatar. Simplifying the concept of a checked or striped ground with contrasting big borders, Vimor taught weavers in Salem, Kancheepuram, and Andhra Pradesh to adapt the sari with a single shuttle, instead of three. This cut weaving costs, sustaining whole villages, and ensuring that the elegant sari survived. On a parallel track, weavers in Durgam and Arni learnt to weave lightweight silk saris on a single shuttle in stunning combinations such as rust shot with golden yellow and green, promising personality-plus at Rs. 1,500 to woman executives tired of look-alike power dressing.

      Instead of monopolising traditional weaves or patenting their own innovations, Vimor has ensured that lakhs of weavers live with dignity. "I've tried to impart that multiples of one or two beautiful saris should sustain and feed their families," Pavithra stresses. "That sets the weaver free to experiment for the home market and for export. But most important, it builds up his self-confidence." For award-winning C. Shekhar, a towel weaver, she conceptualised a deep blue cotton sari with a silk pallu, interfaced with jute, banana or pineapple fibre interweaves from his export surplus stocks.

      Pavithra, who trained at the local WSC while studying law, shares warm memories from Vimor's times past. Of taking their rich cottons to Kamaladevi Chattopadhyaya, the late doyenne of the post-independence Indian crafts renaissance, who lauded their documentation of kasuti stitches on a red cotton sari sampler. Of Jnanapith awardee U.R. Ananthamurthy's comment in the 2002 National Handloom Expo visitor's book, comparing their revival of weaving traditions to a resurgence of music. Of an Andhra weaver who waited hours for "Chimy amma" to bless his wedded daughter, despite a delayed train at Katpadi junction.

      Together, they share the story of a Tamil weaving family ruined by an avaricious son. He collected orders that they were unable to execute, plunging them into insurmountable debt. The skilled father is currently a daily wage earner at his nephew's loom. "The weaver's pride is of paramount importance in our polycot age," says Pavithra earnestly. Weavers like Shekhar, Balasubramaniam, and Rajendran, whose lives they have touched, could not agree more.

      What makes Vimor's buyers return time and again? "Good aesthetics and minimal costs appeal to common people and the sophisticate alike," notes Pavithra, as she folds a divine brinjal-hued Kancheepuram silk with golden checks, vivid against a deep green border with two streaks of patterned gold.

(Vimor can be contacted on +91-80-25551514). 

Dance: Constanza Macras and Dorky Park 'Back to the Present' ~ A Startling Take on Today

(On February 9, 2015, I watched Constanza Macras' Dorky Park troupe perform 'The Past' at Chowdiah Memorial Hall in Bangalore. It took me back to a piece I had done for The Hindu Friday Review in December 2004, when they first made contemporary dance lovers in the city sit up and take notice with 'Back to the Present' at the same venue. Here's a sharing of my take on them way back then).

 

CONSTANZA Macras has the power to electrify and energize. To upend conventional notions of dance theatre. To draw optimal output from her multi-faceted, cross-cultural artistes. To satirize society with the precision of a Powerpoint presentation, the joy of peaking from collective achievement.

There was no arguing with these facets of ‘Back to the Present,’ the Argentina-born, Berlin-based Macras’ cheeky look at reality shows and lifestyle bytes, when her troupe ~ 2003-born Dorky Park ~ took the stage at Chowdiah Memorial Hall on Dec. 1, 2004, .

The prop-packed, many-tiered stage setting had us wondering what was in store at this Asian premiere when a curly-haired dancer of Mexican origin began to execute rather conventional contemporary dance moves, slowly, sensuously, dramatically. Caught off guard, within a trice, we were watching a melee of performers vaulting through an array of doors, tripping each other while performing karaoke numbers in the oddest positions, balancing, tilting, pirouetting, miming, surviving a series of abysmal ‘accidents.’ At its very core was contact improvisation, synchronized to a seeming spontaneity.

What was the point of the perfectly orchestrated chaos with a cast originally of Australian, American, Dutch, Mexican, Peruvian, Indian and German origin? To quote the programme notes, Macras “takes the audience on a journey into the past ~ memory as looped feedback, as it were. How do you recycle the stuff that never decomposes, like love letters, flags, old props and old ideas? As history becomes increasingly digitalized, what is the difference between storage and memory? And where do you go when you don’t want to deal with either the past or the future?”

With its individual inputs directed by a conceptual overview, dizzy with high-voltage performances and brilliant costumes by Gilvan Coelho de Oliviera attuned to a spoof, this tour-de-force overturned Indian notions of dance theatre. Those who entered with specific ideas of Kalakshetra-style dance dramas or more established musicals had to jettison their baggage within the first 15 minutes of ‘Back to the Present.’

For here was a performance that took a shy at globalized notions of entertainment (especially reality TV), urban ideas of living and loving, idioms of contemporary dance, and even performance per se. It jolted us out of comfort zones, handing out new lenses with which to view ourselves at a manic, irresistible pace. It was an enchanting, challenging experience for dance connoisseurs and laymen alike.  

Macras’ show, originally performed as a site-specific work at a derelict, abandoned, rambling early 20^th century, centrally-located department store in former east Berlin, proved outsize in both vision and execution. It entailed the audience following the cast from room to room as scene followed tumultuous scene.

Adapted to the proscenium stage, the 2 ½  hour non-linear performance offered unforgettably absurd scenes that gauge the futility of TV realism engaged in “the flatness of everyday struggles.” Such as the madcap couple engaged in a gluttony and karaoke contest. Or the serious-faced introduction to the sex lives of the insect world, against the backdrop of a musical soiree. Or even the roughhouse, seesaw battle of the sexes amidst the merry-go-round of life, in which a kiss and a cuddle are no more potent than a sock on the jaw.

‘Back to the Present,’ characterized seamlessly by the here and now, showcased a mind-blowing range of virtuosity, interspersed with onscreen sequences to allow for scene shifts ~ whether as a slapstick sequence, a warbling duet in an on-the-move relationship, couch potato combat, a take-off on classical concerts, or a frenetic chase between improvised exits, culminating in a madhouse fight with stuffed toys. 

With frenetic movement as its only constant, the show wove together elements of pop philosophy, visual satire, lyric-based melodrama and over-the-top wit with perfect body dynamics to the tune of musical hits, including ‘Yesterday’ and ‘Kal Ho Na Ho,’ the latter rendered by Delhi-based artiste Anusha Lal. Bangalore dancer Abhilash N. stepped into the shoes of Israel-born Nir De-Volff without missing a cue, while B.S. Arun Kumar proved as adept at the drums as at staging deadpan interludes.  

At the end of the non-stop action, what did we take home from this premiere, sponsored by Daimler-Chrysler and Max Mueller Bhavan? An understanding of the strong emotions generated by Macras’ workshop at Attakkalari earlier this year. A hope that ‘Back to the Present’ could be pruned slightly for easier interface with a stationary audience. And a fervent wish that Dorky Park will be back in our midst soon with another brilliant production.

Book review: Freedom Run by Subhadra Sen Gupta and Tapas Guha

FREEDOM RUN

Story and script: Subhadra Sen Gupta

Illustrations: Tapas Guha  

Pratham Books. 2014. Paperback. Full colour. Rs. 35. 14 pages. 

ISBN: 978- 81- 8479- 545- 5

India, according to history textbooks, achieved independence from the British on August 15, 1947. Has self-rule proved worthwhile? Do we have universal freedom from hunger, from homelessness, from illiteracy today ~ at least for our children? Not by a long shot, as any random reality check in 2015 proves.

The 2011 Indian national census (in lieu of elusive current figures) found that, of a total population of 259.64 million between 5 to 14 years old, about 4.35 million work as child labour. In agriculture. In handicrafts. Even as household help. That’s despite pro-child legislation on the books, but seldom implemented.  

Against this backdrop, I was deeply moved when the Nobel Prize for Peace 2014 went to Indian Kailash Satyarthi and Pakistani Malala Yousafzai "for their struggle against the suppression of children and young people and for the right of all children to education."

Right on cue, this book appeared from two creative individuals I admire. They bring to life aspects of invisible India. Of runaway children who sniff glue over little bonfires at despair-edged railway platforms to quell their hunger.  Of child ragpickers who sift through our consumer waste.  Of children destined to a cycle of poverty by an accident of birth; born to read, but forced to labour. Indian publishers often consider their stories unmarketable or unfit for urban child readers.

In Freedom Run, Subhadra Sen Gupta and Tapas Guha create an irresistible narrative for Pratham through vivid, colourful comicbook frames. The central figures are three pre-teen boys who knot carpets for a living for a brutal, mercenary loom owner in a village in the Mirzapur or Bhadohi districts of Uttar Pradesh. They earn little or nothing because their fathers are in debt. Their workshed, like their young lives, lacks light. Suddenly, a window of opportunity beckons. Will they be able to make the break?

As with her popular history and adventure books, Freedom Run is Subhadra at the top of her writerly game. As an editor, I admire her impeccable plotlines, her humour, her deeply-researched evocation of place and time. As a writer, I am in awe of her fluidity across genres, her zest for life on the page, and her unforgettable characters including those in Let’s Go Time Travelling, Bishnu the Dhobi Singer and Ashoka: the Great and Compassionate King among her 25+ books. As a reader, I admire her total sync with young minds.

This book is as much Tapas’s masterwork as it is hers (as with their collaboration on Satyajit Ray’s popular Feluda series). Besides a perfect choice of typeface, his brilliance surfaces repeatedly, through alternate visual perspectives, though action that spills over frames. Such as two boys in anguished conversation through the warp of the loom. Or the fear on a young face as the furious owner raises his cane to strike. Or the wraparound joy framing a boy who sights his big brother and a glimpse of freedom. Or the threatening adult silhouettes against a wall as the three children sneak out at dawn. Or the drama-packed frames of the chase through Varanasi that tease both the eye and the mind ~ and charm the reader.

The comic-book style for proficient readers is perfect for this essential story of our time. Perhaps this book will lead to a generation less ignorant of child labour or a little-known India. A sign of a more egalitarian world? Or similar treatment for other burning issues?

‘Freedom Run’ reaffirms that Subhadra Sen Gupta was the right choice for the Sahitya Akademi’s Bal Sahitya Puraskar 2014.

Story/ Content: ****

Illustration: *****

Language: ****

Design: *****

.....

Originally published on GoodBooks at:

http://goodbooks.in/node/6953

 

Book review: The Case of the Candy Bandit by Archit Taneja

THE CASE OF THE CANDY BANDIT.

Text and illustrations: Archit Taneja.

Cover illustration and design: Kaveri Gopalakrishnan.  

Duckbill. 2014. Paperback. Rs. 150. 130 pages.

ISBN: 978-93-83331-15-4

 


            I have been addicted to child detectives and spies since I was about seven. When I am bored today, my daydreams are often packed with Holly Short and Harriet the Spy, the Famous Five and Nancy Drew and, more recently, Andreas Steinhofel’s The Spaghetti Detectives. I am seriously tracking down The Great Cake Mystery, Precious Ramotswe’s first case as a schoolchild. Maybe with a detour via Anushka Ravishankar’s Captain Coconut and the Case of the Missing Bananas.

           I am puzzled by the dearth of captivating child detectives amidst the tidal wave of Indian children's fiction across the last twenty years. That is why my pulse quickened when I read about Archit Taneja’s Superlative Supersleuths. Who are they? The talkative, logic-wired narrator Rachita and her on-and-off sidekick Aarti, both aged about eleven or twelve. While Aarti is in week-long candy exile, following a root canal procedure, cupcakes, laddoos and candy go missing from classroom lunchbox treats. A promising start to an action-packed narrative, I think to myself.

          The assorted dramatis personae have everyday charm. This is as true of Rachita’s parents, totally in sync with their resident private eye, as of a dental evangelist who urges the children to quit their sugar fix. The motley classroom cast includes Arjun, who loves food beyond reason, and Mrs. Dutta, who teaches maths through thermocol-rich charts. The four-footed stars – a dog and a pet rat.

           Duckbill has packaged Taneja’s debut novel perfectly. Its aqua-blue cover with funky lettering has some key elements sprinkled on it. The illustrations within are a smart match. Sleuth notebook jottings. Diagrammatic desk settings. Suspect footprints. Mrs. Dutta’s maths chart. Cool chapter titles. And the irresistible fingerprint page numbers.

           Taneja’s writerly mind has a logical, playful quirkiness. I imagine him being a hit at sleuthing workshops or investigative quizzes that lead children up the garden path to a giggle-and-guffaw finale. But this plot lets Taneja down. It has too little pace or tension, too many meanderings, too meagre a scattering of clues. It trips over extended detailing – Rachita’s plethora of sheep dreams, a favorite sandwich recipe, or mundane thanks for a proffered guava.

          On an extended revisit after my first reading, I scout for reasons why. Could it be because the detective duo are not on the same page? Rachita is immersed in real-time facts, letting her mind roam irrationally only in her dreams. Of Aarti, she writes: “Aarti hates detective books. She doesn’t even share the table with me because she detests them so much. I convinced her once, to read one of them. After reading a few chapters, she threw it back at me in disgust… She’s into fantasy books.” Rachita’s voice – whether she is writing or dreaming, speaking or thinking – could have been delineated with more sparkle and conviction. The mix does not benefit from the excess of colloquial “aghhhs” and “ugghs” either. Even the clues lack surprise after the initial chapters. As a reader, I was upset that I could spot the culprit early on.

          It is not easy to get the Indian child's voice absolutely right in print and I admire writers who have perfected it – Anushka Ravishankar, Sigrun Srivastav, Asha Nehemiah, Poile Sengupta, Subhadra Sen Gupta and Uma Krishnaswami, among them.

         I now face a maze of pesky questions. Could the Superlative Supersleuths have been honed to a smoother finish with guidance from the editor/s? Perhaps a few drafts more? A sleuthing duo less reliant on adult help? More action, less sluggish thoughts? But I live in hope. Perhaps there’s a Superlative Supersleuths sequel in the pipeline. I’m sure that will live up to Taneja’s latent potential, with a guiding hand from Duckbill.

        To me, Duckbill remains one of my favorite Indian imprints for children. This book could have been a winner, but misses by more than a whisker. I wish…



(Originally published in GoodBooks online at: http://goodbooks.in/node/6874)