Deepa Ganesh works as Deputy Editor at The Hindu, Bangalore. She primarily expresses her love for the English language through translation work. Her book on the doyen of Hindustani music, Gangubai Hangal, ‘A Life in Three Octaves’, has been published by Three Essays. She has served as editor of the Sahitya Academy journal, Aniketana, since 2014. She has translated nearly 25 books for Tulika, a children’s publication.

Tell us about your journey towards getting into translating languages.

I don’t know what made me start, but I’ve always been a student of literature, in the sense that I read Kannada and English as a passion and interest. So at some point I just started translating on my own, it’s not like now when you translate and it gets published, there was no such thing 20 years ago. I used to translate just out of my own interest and then at some point, some of my friends knew I was interested in translation so I started getting small assignments and that’s how it started.

How hard is it to do justice to the nuances of a language while translating literary works? How much gets lost in translation while switching to another language?

Actually, I don’t even think that you can transfer from one language to the other as one understands translation. You’re always trying to recreate it in another language. A lot gets lost in translation because when you say something from Kannada to English, there is really no equivalence because you’re also translating between two cultures. It’s not just a lexical transfer, you’re not looking for an equivalent word but you’re transferring an idea or a thought. The least inaccurate expression I think is what you can hope for in a translation.

Credits: MILAP 2018

You’ve written a book, ‘A Life in Three Octaves’, about Gangubai Hangal, one of the most revered figures in Hindustani music. What made you choose her?

It was very serendipitous. I didn’t choose her, I worked for The Hindu and on the occasion of her 94th birthday, her grandson wrote a letter to the newspaper and said “See, here is the doyen of Hindustani music who has won the highest awards of the country, and don’t you think a national paper like the Hindu and our magazine, Frontline, should write about her?” So my editor called me and put me on the job. I went to Hubli to meet her on her 94th birthday to write for Frontline, and when the article was published, these publishers from Delhi, Three Essays, they wrote to me and said they’d like to write a book on her. And then our editor also said I should do it, so that’s how it came together.

What was it like getting into the headspace to write about a time before you were born while working on her biography?

It wasn’t easy. First of all, in the sense that in my mind, she was a diva. I had always seen her on stage, with her androgynous voice and power and her music was larger than life. But when I went to meet her at 94, she was diminished in size and the glory of her golden years had faded. It was very difficult for me to come to terms with the Gangubai i had seen and imagined onstage and the Gangubai I was meeting. That was the first struggle that I had to face.

The second thing is, as you said, I was born into a world of modernity and I had my own baggage of feminism, women’s rights, freedom and at that time there was a woman who came from the devdasi community, and very quietly and doggedly, great sense of conviction and determination had closed the doors of her past for her future generations. It was a very humbling and a re-learning experience. I think she changed my perception about life and everything moving forward.

The cover of ‘A Life in Three Octaves’

In the description of your book, you also said that Gangubai’s life and music are inseparable from each other, so do you feel like it’s always essential to know about the life of a musician before listening to their work?

No, not really. In my case, it was imperative because I set out to write about her and so knowing about her life was very important to me. And also because I simply didn’t want to make it a biography, I wanted to set her in the context and how in hundred years Karnataka had become the centre of Hindustani music. Before that it was predominantly carnatic, but in a hundred years, Hindustani had come into Karnataka in a very big way and we produced the five national legends of Hindustani music from here, so it was very important for me to understand her life, her times, the context from which she came and in the course of that journey I realised that her life, her music were not two separate things for her. She lived both with equal sincerity, equal humility and equal commitment.

She emphasises that we shouldn’t stray too far from our roots and stick to tradition. Do you agree with this, since there are some things in our tradition that we had to abandon to become progressive?

I find her the most progressive human being I’ve ever met. Not just in her own personal life, but even politically, she was an MP in the Rajya Sabha, and the kind of debates that she held and things that she said proved how she was always working towards the betterment of society.  She was quite a revolutionary in that sense, she closed the devadasi practice. She was the last in her family and the future generations led normal lives like us, and she made sure that her children and grandchildren did not have to face the devadasi practice.

Did you get to pursue your interest in translatory work equally as an editor for The Hindu, versus in Aniketana?

Not really, journalism is very demanding. So it takes a lot of time and energy, and work doesn’t end with your workspace. You always take work home, and especially since being with the features I head the culture supplement, so I was always trying to think how the cause of Kannada can be furthered in English newspaper where there’s very little space for anything that’s regional and local. But Aniketana is a different kind of space, where you imagine that there is a niche audience who’s very keen on reading Kannada literature in English. But there are a lot of similarities too, even here you know I’m always trying to reach out to an English audience or second generation Kannadigas who can’t read English, so I’m trying to take Kannada to the next level. They are very similar, but in The Hindu, I don’t do much translation. Aniketana was a journal that is meant for translation, so that was more concentrated work.

Kavi Kale is a monochromatic art form that was hugely prevalent in the coastal regions of the nation but has been sidelined with the advent of modern contemporary styles as well as the constant temple renovations. Mrs Veena Srinivas has been practising and holding exhibitions in this particular art form in a bid to revive interest and awareness towards this rapidly declining cultural heritage.

Could you give us a brief idea about the art form, Kavi Kale?

Kavi Kale originated in the 16^th century in Goa. According to a book written by the late Krishnakand Kamat, it says that the people from the Saraswat community initiated this art. This type of art form was found on every temple’s walls that belonged to the Saraswat community. Over a period of time, new art forms emerged and this art form got neglected. Around ten years ago, Kavi Kale had been completely sidelined, with little to no recognition. It’s called Kavi Kale because they used red mud which was abundantly available at that period of time. The natural binding material was jaggery and sand. They would leave the mixture for fermentation for more than two weeks and then they would hand-pound it. The seashells were burned to get a white lime. Several coats of these white limes would then be applied on the wall. Once the white lime coating dried they would apply a bit of red mud to it and put one or two coatings of it. Once the coating was neither too dry nor too wet, a sharp instrument would be used to etch the designs onto the wall. So, the red layer would get peeled off and the white lines would emerge showing us the final painting.

What are the basic themes depicted in this art form?

Kavi Kale can be used to depict a large variety of themes including modern contemporary themes. But since it was initially practised on temple walls, they would depict stories from Vishnupurana, telling the stories of Lord Vishnu; for Lord Shiva, it would be Shivapurana and so on. The basic idea was to imbibe a sense of curiosity in a child’s mind as he enters the temple and sees the artwork. The child would ask questions about the content of these paintings and would learn about the epics of our mythology through art, without forcing him to sit and learn about it.

How long have you been practising Kavi Kale? What got you interested in it personally?

I’ve been practising it for 10-12 years. One of the reasons was that it was a waning art form that people needed to learn about again.

If you go around asking the people living in the coastal areas along Kavi Kale, they would have a vague idea about what the art form is and how it’s practised. But this wasn’t the scenario ten to twelve years ago. People barely knew about this art form. I felt that if people know about the art forms originating in other states, we should also know about the art form that used to be prevalent in our own state. As an artist, we have the responsibility to not just create new works but to also preserve what has been passed down by our ancestors. Thinking about Kavi Kale in this way changed the entire course of my life. I’ve been working on Kavi Kale for ten years now, holding exhibitions and workshops in more than 20 schools to promote this art form.

Have you seen an increased interest towards this type of art form in recent years?

The first step for me was to increase awareness as Kavi Kale had to be reintroduced into the society. So I went to temples, photographed the original murals, and held an exhibition on their recreations. The exhibition received a very wide media coverage to which I am really grateful. The turnout was really good and the people could relate to it as they had seen similar artworks in their ancestral homes.

The memory of these artworks was fading for them and the exhibition got them to recollect seeing these paintings in the past. Once that happened, the interest started developing. It’s a small step but the interest is slowly increasing. There is still a long way to go. Initially, it was quite difficult as Kavi Kali has no distinct style. The figures and paintings are done in different ways in different temples. I had to study the motifs and patterns that kept repeating across all figures. I had to do some more research on the epics and the Puranas as this is what is being represented.

In conclusion, how has this fest, M.I.L.A.P, been for you? Has it been a good experience?

I’m extremely grateful to MAHE as well as the M.I.L.A.P team. I usually hold exhibitions once every two years in Mangalore, but to go out of the city and hold exhibitions is extremely difficult because transporting 32 pieces of work is not a joke. So when I was approached to come to be a part of the fest, with the M.I.L.A.P team taking care of all the transport issues, my burden was cut in half. I’m extremely grateful to the Faculty of Architecture, the students, and the volunteers. I’d love coming back here if I got the chance. It’s not just that an artist needs to work to retain an old art form. It’s equally important for the people to come and take an interest in the paintings. That’s what has happened over here with the students coming to the exhibition and acknowledging the paintings instead of just glancing at them. People coming to the artist and asking about their art form gives a major motivation to the artist. Its been a really good experience.

Dr. Atamjit Singh, renowned Punjabi playwright and theatre director, was in conversation with Animesh Bahadur on Day Two of MILAP. This event, titled The Relevance of My Dramatic Efforts, introduced the audience to his body of work and the themes that it revolves around. He discussed the impact that his plays such as Fish of the Kamloops, The Red Prophet, Panch Nad Da Paani, and Rishtian Da Ki Rakhiye Na, had on both him and his audience. The plays deal with themes like the displacement and migration of the Punjabi community, the Partition, the exploitation of women, and narrow nationalism. After the session, The Post had the chance to sit down and talk to him.

A still from an adaptation of his play, Rishtian Da Ki Rakhiyan Na, which is based on Saadat Hasan Manto’s famous Toba Tek Singh. (Source: 8th Theatre Olympics, National School of Drama) 

You have previously spoken about how theatre can help young students and have a positive impact on their life. What is it about theatre that can influence them in such a positive way?

In a theatre production, when you are saying your dialogue, it is the only time in your life when you are speaking, and everybody else is listening. You are on such a pedestal that everyone on stage, as well as the audience, is listening to you. That gives you confidence. You also learn, that you too have to listen when others are speaking. When actors on stage interact as characters, they are passing on some energy and co-operating with each other to build a scene. Giving that co-operation and getting it in return, is a wonderful thing, which you may not experience easily in your life.

Once, during a stage production some time back, I decided to meet all those students who were actors in my play. I discovered a wonderful thing—all those students, who were perhaps not good in studies, were now well-settled in their lives because theatre had given them confidence. Anything can happen on the stage. A person can forget his dialogue, or he can fall on the stage. You have to know that no matter what happens, you have to tackle it somehow. In a way, this is just like life – you learn to tackle anything that comes your way. That is the power of theatre. It is not a power of cinema, however. There, you have retakes, you know you can repeat something if it goes wrong. In theatre, there is no retaking.

Image source: The Hindu

Theatre has always been a very powerful tool for social awareness. How is it still relevant today, when everybody has access to movies and television sets?

There is a definite difference between a three-dimensional art and two-dimensional art. A film on a screen has only two dimensions. The third dimension, a depth, which creates a living art, is absent. Though a film may seem like a living art, it is instead a recorded art. In theatre, we deal with the living entity, which is an unparalleled experience. The immediacy of the audience’s response also makes a big difference. Whatever responses there may be in the cinema hall, they do not help or destroy the acting of the actor. But in theatre, they have a significant impact. So you learn how to connect with the audience.

You’ve been a writer as well as a director for your plays. Have these two roles influenced each other?

When I write, I am also a director. I know what the requirements of a director are, so I keep that role of a director in my mind. When I direct, I am hardly a writer, because that part is done. But, here and there, I can change a word or so. But, definitely while writing, I am equally a director.

Featured Image Source: 8th Theatre Olympics, National School of Drama 

Tenzin Tsundue is a Tibetan writer and activist. The author of four books of poetry and stories, he won the first ever Picador-Outlook Non-Fiction Contest in 2002. He is now working on his fifth book, a book of Tibetan refugee stories. During his visit to Manipal for MILAP cultural events, he mesmerised the audience with his poems and radical views. After his panel, we got an opportunity to sit down with him.

As you have mentioned before, you identify yourself as an activist before a writer. So could you talk about your early life and the factors that pushed you into pursuing writing in the midst of the struggle?

It started at school. Ours was a very small school, called Tibetian Children’s Village Pathlikuhl. It’s in Kudu Valley, on the banks of river Beas. It was a tiny school with about 250 kids. It was wooden planks nailed together onto one wooden pillar, with a tin sheet on top. It becomes classrooms during the daytime and dormitories at night. In that school, I think my first education was that although we are born in India, and this is the only country we’ve ever known, this is not a country we belong to. We’ve been told that we were all Tibetans and eventually we’ll have to go back. And that’s shocking to me as a stubborn little boy. Suddenly the ground underneath your feet is shattering. My identity was questioned. The teachers would tell us about the ongoing freedom struggle and that we’d one day go back to our country.

It was our duty to take part in this struggle, and we were so enthusiastic about it that we’d think if we didn’t grow up fast enough, the teachers would complete this struggle for us. So we read about Bhagat Singh, Subash Chandra Bose, Gandhi among others. They were our heroes. As a confused 5th grade child I went up to my teacher, asking her what can a little boy do. My teacher said, you seem to be asking questions, and see things clearly. Why don’t you become a journalist? Write about Tibet, in English and let the world know about us. Get them to help our cause. So in 5th standard, I took a pledge: when I grew up, I’d be a freedom fighter and my weapon would be a pen.

In your poem, A Personal Reconnaissance, you talk about your journey to Tibet and the subsequent freedom struggle. What was the journey like, to walk The Himalayas by foot and the events that unfurled?

Staying in India the most I could do was protest and shout slogans. It doesn’t amount to any freedom struggle. There was no romance in it; there wasn’t a solution. This made me want to go to Tibet and fight the struggle on the ground. Even if I get killed, it would be for the freedom of my country and inspire more people to eventually stand up. So I went to Ladhak after my graduation and taught for a year while secretly finding ways to get into Tibet. When I actually did in March 1997, I was to meet some Tibetans on the other side of the border. However, when I crossed the border, they weren’t there. Not wanting to return, I kept pushing myself deeper into Tibet, and I got lost. It’s 4000 m above sea level, not a single human being in sight and a cold desert. It’s dry rocky mountains and plains with just rocks and dry grass. No water, no food and no human contact. At night, everything gets frozen. The entire Indus river is frozen into a giant ice-snake.

For five days I was lost in the mountains, my lips were cracked from bleeding. On the 5th day, I got arrested by border security, and they blindfolded me and subjected me to several interrogations. I was thrown into jail and was repeatedly questioned if I was sent by the government of India on a spy mission. They couldn’t believe that a young, educated man went there on his own. After weeks of torture and thrashings, I was taken to a jail in Lhasa. Hope for getting out dwindled with each day. I was helpless and vulnerable. Half-remembered Tibetan prayers and Bollywood songs like Suhaana Safar Hai kept me going each day while also admiring my first growth of moustache in the dingy window glasses. After a few gruelling weeks, I was “pushed back” into India where I was questioned for my sanity, again.

How important do you think it is for an individual to have a unique definite cultural identity? You are Tibetian, raised in Bengaluru, then moved to Dharamshala, and have travelled all across India. You were exposed to a plethora of languages and cultures and lifestyles. How would you describe your cultural identity, because the confusion regarding this seems to be a recurring pattern in your work?

Culture is everywhere. The way people behave, eat think and talk is culture. There’s traditional culture; there’s spiritual culture. Some of them are our homes, our roots. Being very emotional about my homeland Tibet: beyond the Himalayas, on the mountains, having nine months of winter and cut out from the rest of the world with majority Buddhism, it created a unique mentality. Hardy strong while equally compassionate. I believe there is a Tibetian mind which helps you deal with your happiness and your mistakes. Tibetan religion and culture come about with a basic ethos of dealing with happiness and sadness together with equanimity. However, there is a consistent effort from China to destroy this culture, so that everybody becomes consumers like them. Therefore I am extra emotional about my religion and culture because this is being systematically destroyed.

In your article, “Tibet: A Room for Hope?”, you said, “As an activist, I try Gandhi. Dalai Lama is too complicated. I keep my Guru at heart but work with Gandhi.” Could you elaborate on what you mean by this?

I’m a very practical man. I practice Buddhism; although I don’t follow rituals, I am a Buddhist at heart. I find Gandhi’s confrontational non-violence more practical, than Dalai Lama’s self-effacing forgiving and forgoing behaviour and compassion to the point that you would give up your rights for others, for example, his practice of seeking autonomy within China. At the same time, I love and respect His Holiness Dalai Lama so much, because I think he’s going beyond the individual desire. I am caught into the nationalistic fervour, and he goes beyond that. However, I cannot pretend and follow something I don’t believe in.

Tibetian politics and religion are deeply intertwined. What are your views on this blend?

I would like to say Tibetans are confrontationally compassionate. Even though we aren’t physically fighting China with weapons and violence, we are spiritually putting up the best fight. The beauty of this spiritual struggle is that it guarantees your survival and without provoking the other, you are assuaging and instilling a sense of kind and compassion in them. I think our practice of non-violence has not only guaranteed the survival of our religion and culture; it has given us a great sense of purpose in life and a hope for a future. This practice truly is the religion we stand for, and that is our identity

What does freedom essentially mean to you? How far are we from it?

Freedom for me is not just kicking the Chinese out. It’s a human society; there will be a cycle of violence and injustice. Once we regain control over Tibet, there’s a lot of work to be done to decolonize. Many mechanisms in the functioning of the government have to be optimised. But I believe with a constant fight, we will achieve everything our land deserves.

Mr. Sandesh Bhandare is a freelance photographer and photojournalist who has contributed to various magazines and newspapers such as Hindustan Times, Outlook Traveller, and Heritage India. His work has been exhibited at major galleries in India and abroad. Two of his major projects have culminated into books, Vaari- Ek Ananda Yatra and Tamasha- Ek Rangdi Gammat. The candid photographs displayed at the exhibition perfectly captured the happiness on the faces of the people who get together each year to be a part of the tradition of Vaari.

Can you tell me about today’s photography exhibit? How did you come up with the idea of documenting the stages and aspects of Warri through photography?

The exhibition today is about a 700-year-old Maharashtrian tradition called Vaari. This is an 18-20 day-long pilgrimage in which millions of commoners participate by walking on foot for almost 250 kms to attain oneness with their deity, the Vitthala of Pandharpur. During the pilgrimage, the saints and all the pilgrims sing poems about various emotions and experiences that one goes through during their lives. Although these prayers and poems are from a time that’s long gone, they’re extremely rational and progressive in nature. When people listen to these and sing along, it creates an awareness that directs them away from social inequalities. Living in Pune, I witnessed this interesting tradition take place and I thought that a lot more people would get to know about it if I documented it through photographs.

Traditions usually create a divide between various religious groups but Vaari manages to unite people in faith. How does the pilgrimage separate faith from politics, power and, religious divide?

The poems that are read during the pilgrimage are by saints like Namdev, Eknath, and Tukaram who highlighted the issues about inequalities that existed during their times. They went against the common beliefs of blindly believing whatever old scriptures dictated about faith, social standing, and discrimination on the basis of caste. In a time when women weren’t allowed to enter temples or pray, this pilgrimage allowed female saints to participate and openly discuss their opinions. The tradition arose from a movement of rebellion against all kinds of inequalities so it, in turn, unites them to uplift society from all these unnecessary divides.

You won the Maharashtra Foundation Award for your book, Tamasha—Ek Rangdi Gammat. What inspired you to photograph Tamasha folk theatre? Do you think folk art is losing its audience and popularity?

In 2001, the Indian Foundation of Arts offered me a grant to research on Tamasha as a folk art and create a photo documentation of it. I found out that this art form has successfully revived itself every now and then in the past 150 to 200 years. The plays while being thoroughly entertaining also deal with contemporary issues such as demonetization, AIDS, and farmer suicides that the audience can relate to. Through the use of drama, satirical plots, music, and Lavani dance performances, Tamashas attract a vast audience. Through my photographs, I tried to bring forth the newer forms of Tamasha that help in making its audience socially aware. The number of old troupes that had a huge fan following may have decreased but there are many new and upcoming troupes that are gaining popularity gradually. With a loyal audience that only seems to be increasing Tamasha is an art form which won’t be fading away soon.

How do you think Tamasha has evolved over the years?

Tamasha has come a long way from when my book came out in 2005 to now 15 years later when I have started researching on the evolved forms of this art. The younger generations, from the families that devoted themselves to this folk art, have formed their own new troupes that are performing a more progressive form this art termed as Manch. They have incorporated performance styles like Powada and Lavani with the poetic art form, Shayari to revolutionize the impact that these plays have. Education has played an important role as well for example, the country is obsessed with cricket scores so a recent Tamasha I watched highlighted that there are many other scores and statistics in our country that are a lot more important like the scores of un-employability, hunger or, poverty. These performances don’t receive any kind of mention in mainstream media but they exist and continue to be a source of entertainment that also educates the masses. There are many troupes that stick to the traditional forms but the ones that are looking at Tamasha from a different perspective are keeping the art form alive. The changes and evolution are great because they are suited to what the audience demands. A couple of 8 hour long plays have segments in which popular Bollywood music is played coupled with choreographed dance routines to go with it.

As a lecturer, how do you guide your students to plan their careers in creative photography?

The number of people pursuing photography is increasing day by day because now it has become so easy for people to just go out and purchase a camera. The students who want to enter into professional photography will find a lot of scope in still photography, also known as frozen images, that are highly impactful. A lot of preparation and thought goes into capturing the perfect image that the audience will remember for a long time. The photographers should be alert and prepared with the basic knowledge about the event or incident that they would be covering. Just like any other field, it won’t be easy for them to get recognition for their photographs without putting in a lot of hard work.

New to the scene yet making waves in the university circuit already, the only trends Shorthand wants to ride are the ones they set. Wise enough not to define themselves by any genre that could come back to haunt them later in their career, the quartet recently enthralled students at the MIT Quadrangle. Flying down all the way from the national capital, they played as part of Impressions ’18, a music festival organised by Chords and Co. Euphoric concert-goers were treated to a rip-roaring set that threw pending assignment woes and the sceptres of sessional scores to the wind. We got the chance to have a chat with them about their music, plans for the future, and more.

 Can you give us some background on how you started off as a band?

We all met at university. Initially, we just wanted to play music together. We didn’t all have a vision of taking it professionally, so we started off simply playing covers and writing originals at a slow pace. Then we took our material to multiple Battle of the Bands competitions, where we realised that we had the potential for something more. Finally, in May 2017, we got our first gig at Depot48, a great venue in Delhi. After an overwhelming response from the venue owner and the crowd, we decided to look for more gigs, and eventually, after our first tour, to stick together after graduating from college.

A still from the music video for their original song, ‘No Surprises’. Clockwise from top-left: Sreya Muthukumar (vocals), Govind Narayan (bass), Prithvi Iyer (drums), and Abhinav Srikant (guitar)

What’s the story behind your choosing the name ‘Shorthand’?

We’ve been asked this question so many times, and every time we wish that we had a better and more interesting answer! The truth is that while we were picking a name for the band, we couldn’t decide upon one single name that each member of the band liked. Every name felt like it was boxing us in/typecasting us and our kind of music. So I (Sreya) began just throwing names around at random, and we all agreed upon the name ‘Shorthand’. In retrospect, I think we chose the name Shorthand because we didn’t have any other associations to the word. It was a blank canvas that we could use to paint over—with the hope that in the days to come, people would begin to associate our music to the word ‘shorthand’, and not have the word dictate what people would see in us.

 You’ve cited quite a broad palette of artists as your influences, from Linkin Park and Alter Bridge, to Steven Wilson and Plini. How do you feel these influences reflect in your music?

The music we write doesn’t by itself reflect these influences, not very evidently at least. When you admire certain artists, you, as an artist, begin to emulate them. You start looking for things you can learn from their style. This emulation informs your technique, and your technique animates your music. For example, our guitarist Abhinav writes solos that may not sound like Plini’s, but Plini plays an important role in how Abhinav approaches the instrument with which he writes music. This way, even if our influences don’t directly show up in our music, they inform our choices as musicians.

In the midst of lighting up the stage at the Quadrangle.

Do you think it’s a double-edged sword to be genre free, because not only do listeners not know what to expect, but you also lose out on those who stick to one particular genre?

It is definitely a double-edged sword, but thankfully we’ve only been cut by the good side of the sword so far, for the most part. We’ve had various responses from people who listen to very different kinds of music, and we’ve been able to give them what they like to hear, while also giving them a little bit of what they may not like very much. But it has happened in the past that we’ve been rejected by venues for not sticking to one genre. For example, a venue was once looking for a blues band.

Now, blues as a genre definitely inspires our music as our bass player Govind likes to think of himself as a blues guitarist as well, but our music cannot be exhaustively categorised as blues. We were told by this venue that we weren’t “bluesy enough”, and that our “jazz-inspired progressive soul” wasn’t what they were looking for. So yes, there are definitely two sides to it. But it helps when each person in the audience can find something different in your music to connect to; the possibility of appealing to people with a variety of musical sensibilities is very exciting.

To you, is making music more a way for emotional release, or do you also try to send a message to your listeners?

This is a complicated question to answer succinctly, because there is no single answer. Most of our songs evolve fairly organically. With the music we’ve written so far, I think the musical ideas that eventually make the song all come from different places/sources of inspiration. We all add our parts and slowly, the song takes shape and grows into a cohesive (sometimes not-so cohesive) whole. So I would say that the music is definitely more feel-driven than message-driven. Two of our songs, You’re Not Alone and Midnight Traffic began with clear concepts, so those songs were written to convey a message, but we mostly connect with the crowd through the feel of the song, rather than through any particular message. Since messages come mostly from the lyrics, I (Sreya) feel like I can answer that my lyrics are inspired by the moods of the instrumentation, and I try to do justice to what I think the music is saying.

 How challenging has it been, as an Indian band who writes songs in English, to break into the mainstream here? Do you feel opportunities for budding musicians are far too limited here as compared to the West?

It is a common misconception that the market for music written in English is very small here! There are many venues, festivals, and more importantly, listeners looking for music written in English. The language is less of a concern than the genre itself. Gone are the days when bands were the “thing”. With the rise of genres such as electronic music and hip hop, the market for bands is shrinking, and within this diminishing market, there are obviously more opportunities for bands that play more commercial forms of music such as Bollywood or fusion. But thankfully India is blessed with venues such as The Piano Man Jazz Club and Depot48 in Delhi, and many others in other cities, who are really sticking their necks out to promote independent music. Compared to the west, there is definitely a barrier both in terms of language and genre. But bands do get many opportunities to surpass these barriers and take their music to larger audiences.

How does it feel to go from touring in local places around Delhi, to have now begun playing for huge universities across the country?

It feels tremendously exciting! This is the dream for most independent bands in the country, and it is slowly taking shape for us. Watching the trajectory of our band gives us the faith that we are doing the right thing by putting so much of our time and effort into this venture. There are times when all the effort feels like it is coming to nothing, and at times like that, it is important for us to look back at the opportunities we have been given, and the people who have given us a chance to perform at their venues and universities. Things are picking up quite fast, and new doors are opening with every step we take. Sometimes, we feel like we are running to catch up with it all! So it’s definitely both overwhelming and exciting at the same time.

 Any plans to come out with an album soon?

Right now, we have another single planned for release, and we are working towards releasing an EP soon after. These days, it seems to be the trend to release smaller bytes of music in the initial days of a band. As more and more people listen to our music, we hope to eventually record and release a full-length album on streaming services. For now, we would like to release a four-song EP, and then see how it goes.

Images courtesy of The Photography Club, Manipal

The Women’s Singles Finals of the US Open on 8th September saw a rare intersection of an alleged gender bias, the sportsman’s spirit, and caught somewhere in this crossfire—a twenty-year old’s maiden grand slam title.  As Serena Williams fought it out with the notoriously strict umpire Carlos Ramos, it wasn’t long before a major chunk of the tennis world rushed to her side, chiming in with allegations of sexism and gender-based bigotry.

Before one can delve into an analysis of what went wrong that iconic evening, it would be remiss to not take a violation-wise look at Saturday night’s chaotic match:

Serena Williams lost the first set 6–2, to Naomi Osaka. Later, while several spectators turned to the code violation called in the second set to explain why she got upset, it would be ignorant not to establish the fact that so far, things were not looking up for Serena, fouling her spirit.

The second set, which was tied at 1–1, saw Ramos, the umpire, issue Williams a coaching violation, claiming that her coach, Patrick Mouratoglou, had been coaching her from the stands. However, it was controversial because either verbal or signal coaching happens from the stands fairly regularly and isn’t often called.

Image Courtesy: TIMOTHY A. CLARY/AFP/Getty Images

Williams told Ramos that Mouratoglou had given her a thumbs-up, which is similar to a ‘come on’. “I don’t cheat to win, I’d rather lose,” Williams was heard telling Ramos. A TV replay of Mouratoglou showed him motioning with his two hands as if telling her to move forward. There was no thumbs-up sign. Later, in a post-match interview, he admitted to having coached during the game.

However, it was only a warning. Serena did not lose a point or a game. She found the warning unfair and unnecessary and did make some strong remarks to the umpire in her defense, but ultimately, she kept playing. Several games later, Williams was leading 3–1, when Osaka broke her serve to make it 3–2. Soon after, Serena lost a serve. Along with it, she lost her temper too, slamming her racquet onto the court so hard that it shattered and warped. This lead to a docked point for a second violation.

As the game went on, and Serena kept going back and forth to the umpire’s stand, arguing. She had to take a break between games to sit for a while and try to get her emotions under control. Yet, when she left the bench, she turned to give the umpire another tirade—demanding he apologise to her, saying that he’d never umpire another one of her matches, protesting that she had never cheated, calling him a “thief” for taking a point away from her, which is when she was given a third violation. This resulted in a game penalty, putting Osaka 5–3 ahead. A tearful Williams argued her case with tournament officials but, although she held serve in the next game, Osaka served out the victory 6–2 6–4.

Image Courtesy: AP Photo/Julio Cortez

Williams does have a point about men often getting away with more than women. Just one day after her outburst, Novak Djokovic smashed his racquet on the floor in frustration at the US Open Final and yet received no code violation from umpire Alison Hughes. In another chain of events, earlier this year, at the Wimbledon quarter-final between Djokovic and Nishikori, both players threw their racquets to the ground in frustration. However, only Djokovic has issued a warning, apparently owing to the force with which the racquet was flung to the ground. The umpire was Carlos Ramos.

That being said, Ramos’ crime,  if anything, is being pedantic, not sexist. Carlos Ramos is reputed to be a rigid and strict umpire, and his punishments have been passionately disputed by players of either gender. He, a stickler for the rules, felt that Williams did break the rules, three times. Thus, she received three penalties. The calls against Williams—coaching, racquet abuse, and umpire abuse—have also been made by Ramos against prominent male players in the last three years. Sexism in tennis may be alive and well, unfortunately, but her punishment was not an example of it.

Image Courtesy: Julian Finney/Getty Images

Most of the tennis world is split over their outlook on this match. Billie Jean King, the former world No. 1 who founded the Women’s Tennis Association in 1973, said on Tuesday all sides shared blame for the incident, saying Williams was “out of line” but that Ramos could have prevented the controversy with more leniency and clearer communication. Meanwhile, Annabel Croft, former British No. 1, said “Carlos Ramos is not sexist. He’s a very strict, very decisive umpire, who takes nothing from any opponent whether they’re male or female. I’ve seen him giving time violations to Rafael Nadal out there on the court many, many times, but he’s someone who just plays it by the rule-book.”

Finally, caught in this feud between Williams and Ramos, cast aside by the world of tennis, was the real victor of the night—Naomi Osaka. Almost all of Osaka’s matches, including the final, were straight-set, open-and-shut, surgically efficient wins. Only once did any of her opponents win more than four games in a set. The crushing power and ambition of her playing style have long been a marvel to watch, and now she owns the major hardware—Japan’s first Grand Slam title—to back it up.

Image Courtesy: Robert Deutsch-USA TODAY Sports

Anyone who has been following Osaka’s playing style over the past few years can affirm that her performance recently wasn’t an unbelievable upward spike, but instead a logical, steady continuation of her career graph so far. Yet, after beating her childhood idol in what should have been a career-defining match, she was forced to lower her visor in shame as the crowd booed her, and apologise repeatedly with tears brimming in her eyes.

Perhaps it is time that we give some thought to how a twenty-year-old from Japan handled being humiliated on stage with humility, candor, and moral high ground. Moreover, she maintained her calm while her opponent, a 23 time Grand Slam winner continued to have a breakdown that lasted the entirety of the match, crying foul at every turn. With this attitude, Osaka possesses the quality of character to make Williams’ meltdown a mere footnote in a potentially iconic career.

Featured Image Courtesy: Associated Press

On the 6^th of September, ADA Dramatics performed ‘Chakravyuh’—their award-winning play as a part the cultural fest M.I.L.A.P.

The play was performed in TMA Pai hall with people from all colleges of MAHE in the audience. It was centred around the idea of issues that we face in our society today and how we can look towards our mythological epics for inspiration to resolve them. The play portrayed Lord Krishna seeing these social issues in person and reminding people of how others before them have fought through such misconduct.

The play first portrayed a transsexual being harassed and beaten by people all around him for no apparent reason other than his gender identification. Seeing him beaten and broken, Lord Krishna arrives and reminds him of Shikhandi, a fellow transsexual from the epic, Mahabharat. He tells him of how she was initially mistreated by everybody around her but she didn’t lose hope. She fought both literally and figuratively to get over the obstacles and be treated with respect. Her bravery in the war was something that spoken about throughout history.

The next issue that the play tackled was that of marital rape—a wife waiting for her husband, being forced to act according to the husband’s whims without caring for her consent.

Her struggles were heartbreaking to watch and her tears forced Lord Krishna to come forth and inspire her to get through this difficult phase. Lord Krishna reminded her of Draupadi, another woman from the Mahabharat who was mistreated by her husbands and gambled away by their folly without her consent. He reminded her of the harsh treatment that the Pandavas went through for treating her in that manner and assured her that no act goes unpunished. Just as how Draupadi felt unsafe in her own home, women today feel unsafe with the threat of marital rape looming over their heads. The play then reminded the audience of how the disagreement between the Pandavas in the time of war led to the death of Abhimanyu in the Chakravyuh. This was proven to be a mirror to the countless disagreements in our present society which will undoubtedly lead us all towards misery and death of humanity, freedom, and expression.

The different sections of the street play were connected through well-written jingles with an effective use of simple props to emphasize the trauma faced by the different people through the course of the play. The play had a special eye-opener, in the end, showing the crowd how to progress towards the uplifting of humanity and allowing everybody to be treated fairly and with respect. This jingle was dedicated to the abolishment of Article 377, making the day a little more special. The play received tremendous praise from everybody in the audience including the MILAP organizers who were very impressed by the depth of the play and the acting calibre of the students.

Inauguration Ceremony
Siddhant Sharma

The second edition of the Manipal International Literature and Arts Platform, the literary fest of MAHE, started with an inauguration ceremony at TMA Pai Hall in Kasturba Medical College on 6th September 2018. The room was filled with students and professors from various colleges across MAHE. The panel of chief guests included esteemed personalities such as Dr Atamjit Singh, a Punjabi playwright, and Professor HS Shivaprakash, a renowned Kannada poet and playwright.

Dr Neeta Inamdar, Head of the Department of European Studies and Chief Editor of the Manipal Universal Press, kicked off the proceedings. Speaking of how literature fests are taking place all over the country, she said, “Sixty lit fests take place every year, all over the country that’s almost one every week.” She added that after a lot of discussion about the state of freedom of expression in our country, they decided to go with ‘tradition and transformation‘ as the theme of the fest. The panel of speakers lit the lamp to mark the beginning of the fest following her speech.

The next speaker was the Vice-Chancellor of MAHE, Dr H Vinod Bhat. He was of the belief that we must have a yearlong celebration of our freedom of expression and one gala event like MILAP every year. Soon after, Dr Atamjit Singh went up on the podium to give the inaugural address. Putting forth his views on nationalism, Dr Singh said, “It is being used as a stick against others. Nowadays, the ones who are being called anti-national are not fighting against the nation. They are fighting against that stick.”

Picture Credits: Adesh for The Manipal Journal

Before the keynote address, two books were launched by the Manipal Universal Press—its 137th and 138th publications. The former was a handbook on Kannada history for historical plays, whereas the latter was an English translation of a Kannada book, titled “A Handful of Sesame”.

Picture Credits: Adesh for The Manipal Journal

In the keynote address, Professor H S Shivaprakash very eloquently put forward his opinions on various issues plaguing the world. He also felt strongly about the fact that our literary and theatre historians plagiarised the European form of writing history. He believed that our ancestors, on the other hand, went beyond the binary and created something original. With his insightful speech, the inauguration ceremony came to an end.

Day 1: Kola
Kritika Batra

The artists of Theatre Tatkal troupe from Bangalore staged a drama titled ‘Kola’ at the Golden Jubilee Hall in conclusion of the first day of MILAP. Kola is the Kannada adaptation of the Marathi play ‘Magna Talyakathi’ written by Mahesh Elkunchwar and translated into Kannada by Nandini KR and Prashanth Hiremath. Directed by Achyuta Kumar, the mesmerizing play is the second part of the Wada trilogy. He formed the team of Theatre Tatkal four years ago and has directed two plays, Nanna Thangigondu Gandu Koli and Kola, under this banner.

Picture Credits: Aayush Sinha for The Manipal Journal

Kola, which means ‘pond’ in Kannada, deals with relationships and human emotions that constantly transition with time and circumstances. The plot of the play continues the stories of the Deshpande family from the first part of the trilogy. Each generation of the family experiences different emotional struggles that many members of the audience could relate to. Set in a village, the protagonists were portrayed to be progressive but they always abided by societal norms that were a little backward. With the concept of joint families slowly fading away, the play presented the audience an insight into how doubt and betrayal can seep into and relationships and weaken family bonds. The two lead male characters in the play, Parag and Abhay, were brothers with personalities that clashed due to a difference in their upbringing. Nevertheless, they both found their peace of mind at the pond that they visited together during their childhood. Amongst all the confusion and tragedies, they learned to accept reality and change themselves and when they finally left the village they found the tranquillity that they sought at the pond within themselves.

Picture Credits: Aayush Sinha for The Manipal Journal

The dialogue delivery was in a conversational manner and the script was packed with a bunch of hilarious one-liners that amused the audience. The costumes, gestures, and way of delivering lines were very typical of the Maharashtrian region. The lighting on stage during important scenes really brought out the intensity of emotions that the actors were conveying through their facial expressions. It was clearly evident that the play ran so smoothly because of months of practice and all the efforts put in the actors. The director of the play, Achutya Kumar, said “Since I acted in the first part of the trilogy, I know the story personally. The second part is very inspiring because all the characters are evolving and they’re trying to leap from one stage to another. It’s exactly like the journey of life where we start somewhere but end up in an entirely different place. Sometimes we succeed but if we don’t we keep trying and this loop of events keeps going on. I found this very interesting and it inspired me to direct this play.”

Day 2: Tamasha of my Memories
Shweta Gadepalli

Day 3: Shoorpanakha—The Unseen Face
Priyana Aragula

“Indian classical dance is sustained by a profound philosophy. Form seeks to merge with the formless, motions seek to become a part of the motionless, and the dancing individual seeks to become one with the eternal dance of the cosmos.” – Nita Ambani

Manipal International Literature and Arts Platform presented ‘Shoorpanakha‘—The Unseen Face—as their last cultural evening event on day three of MILAP. Performed by Vallari Kadekar and directed by Guru Bannanje Sanjeeva Suvarna, the play was integrated with various techniques of the Yakshagana dance form and hints of other classical styles such as Odissi, Bharatanatyam, Koodiyattam, and Kalarippayattu. It showcased a masterful collaboration of theatre as well as dance and received a great response from its audience.

Picture Credits: Aparna Shankar for The Manipal Journal

The yaksha-drama was a solo act revolving around the character of Shoorpanakha, Ravana’s sister, who is customarily delineated as an immodest and disfigured demoness in the epic Ramayana. The play was devised with the notion of pulling this supporting character into the spotlight and sharing her story with the audience. Shoorpanakha’s complexion is analyzed in multiple layers as the drama unfolds her numerous faces as a daughter, sister, mother, and finally as a woman. From the animosity felt towards her brother to the loss felt for her son and husband, this demoness was painted in a much different light than in her usual role and gained the sympathy of the audience by the end of the play.

The reputed Guru Bannanje Sanjeeva Suvarna directed this drama with a unique vision for the character and captured the emotional tumult of Shoorpanakha in a way that exuded his proficiency in the Yakshagana art form. The use of minimal props on stage was a prominent feature of his drama, as the entirety of the character was portrayed through striking facial expressions, powerful monologues and graceful dancing.

The performer Vallari Kadekar was most impressive in her presentation of Shoorpanakha. The play was a platform for her first self-written script. Becoming the extension of the director’s perception of the character, she completely immersed herself in the role during the entirety of her enactment. The energy she brought to the stage was exceptional and consistent. Her lively expressions engendered the audience to become absorbed in the play as she continued to impress with the demonstration of her expertise in theatre and dance. The fluidity in her movements, as well as her command on stage, proved to be an enrapturing performance.

Picture Credits: Vanish Momoya for The Manipal Journal

Lights and sound take up a big role in setting the atmosphere of the venue as well as setting the tone of the stage in a drama. The change in lighting based on the character’s mood played with the undertone of the scene by either throwing shadows or soft light on the dancer based on the script. The beats of the tabla were perfectly in sync with the dancer’s steps throughout the play and supported even the slightest change in her movements. Overall, the play was very well balanced in all its aspects and portrayed a well thought out collaboration of various art forms and techniques.

Some in the audience expected differently of the play but were pleasantly surprised with the outcome nonetheless. As said by Namrata Rao, who is a second-year student of FOA, “I was expecting a performance heavily influenced by classic dancing, having very little dialogue. I loved the way the play was directed by incorporating the script and the dancing. The balance of the play was very good. I also enjoyed the representation of Shoorpanakha and found it very refreshing.” It was very apparent to see the audience leaving happy with their experience and impressed with the event. MILAP was successful in spreading awareness and love for the arts and culture through their event.

As part of their Festival of Ideas, a celebration of the intersection of Medicine with Arts and Humanities, The KMC Editorial Board hosted a range of activities from art and photography sessions to talks by eminent personalities on issues like the different health care systems.

Nandini Varma and Shantanu Anand, the founders of the Airplane Poetry Movement (APM), conducted a slam poetry workshop on 2nd September 2018 at the Festival of Ideas. Through their distinctive startup, the duo has been delivering hands-on training in writing and performing poetry. Apart from their workshops and open-mics, APM has also pioneered the National Youth Poetry Slam providing budding poets with a platform to put their works out. The MIT Post had the opportunity to interview Nandini Varma and Shantanu Anand. 

Is it hard to gain a lot of traction and attract a huge crowd to open mics for spoken word poetry, considering that poetry may not appeal the masses and we have a lot of other recreational stuff to pursue, be it stand-up comedy, cinemas or theatre? How do you tackle it?

Shantanu: (Smiles) We don’t tackle that problem! So here is the point, poetry is not for entertainment. By definition—poetry and entertainment are two things parallel to each other. It may or may not be entertaining. If you try to make all poems merely entertaining, then you are limiting its power.

A good poem can move you, shake you up, calm you down, get you thinking, isolate you, or even make you recognise yourself as a part of the crowd.

When there is so much that a good poem can do, don’t reduce it only for entertainment purposes. At times, one might find a particular piece to be boring, but it can still touch someone else’s soul in profound and meaningful ways. If we try to tackle that problem and mould poetry into a mass appeal thing, it will lose the essence of what makes it unique. We are comfortable with having less number of people at workshops and events and conduct it with all the passion we have for this art form. We have never seen this as a compromise. Even if something is a niche interest, say only a per cent of the population likes it, it’s a lot of people at the end of the day.

Shantanu and Nandini at the Festival of Ideas at KMC

Have we reached a stage where poetry and open mics can be seen as viable full-time career options? It takes a lot of courage to walk such unconventional career paths and convince people along the way.

Nandini: Honestly, I think we [Nandini and Shantanu] may not be too ready yet. We are still looking for alternatives apart from all the work we do at APM.

Shantanu: Every poet I know who is out of college—even if they are touring, performing at festivals, events, and corporate shows—none of them is unemployed. Everyone pursues poetry as a side-thing. I have stopped predicting what can or cannot happen in the future. I believe that that’s a peaceful thing to do.

A poet might start making a lot of money through this, and Amazon Prime and Netflix produce spoken word specials, like the ones in comedy. Having said that, what you should notice is that Biswa, one amongst the top comedians in the country, has to essentially write a show, even though stand-up comedy is so popular.  Not many people have it as a full-time job and like to diversify using their skill sets of writing and showmanship. It might so happen that an exceptional minority of poets, not only concerning talent but also circumstances and luck, might build a career out of spoken word poetry in the next two-three years.

Have you ever concluded that a piece of spoken word would be of superior quality if it’s coming from people who have a background in literature? How can a general poet learn the nuances the language has to offer, for instance, figures of speech and different writing styles to improve their poems?

Nandini: We noticed here, at the workshop, that the medical kids were amazing!

One thing we keep telling people is that as long as you are honest in what you are writing, you are taking the right path. It is because everyone has something to share with the world.

Everyone has various emotions churning inside them. It boils down to the ability to put it out on a piece of paper. If you look closely at literature colleges, there might only be a few who are good at the spoken word by using the things they learn to enhance their quality of writing. I think anyone can learn these little tactics.

Shantanu: For those of you not studying English, you should read more poetry from different countries around the world and not just from the USA or India. In today’s time,s we surely don’t need to have a degree to know something. Literature students read a lot, and that’s what gives them the most significant advantage over others.

If you want to be a good spoken word poet, take out seven hours a week, one hour a day on an average, and read!

Can someone objectively be considered a bad poet?

Shantanu: Yes, those who are dishonest and exploited. If one uses poetry to spread hate speech, and you will be surprised that this happens, is a bad poet for me. It is a sheer misuse of the platform. A poet who may not write the best poem in the history of the world is not a bad poet. They just happened to have written a bad poem. On the flip side, a poet who has bad intentions, especially in a political scenario that we live in, they are wrong, regardless of the fact how good their poetry might be. They might write amazing lines, rhymes and punchlines, but the motive is immoral.

Participants performing at the workshop

From a business point of view, what are the special features in your course of action to compete and stand out among various other organisations in this new buzzing market of poetry? How do you see your organisation differently?

Shantanu: We don’t intend to stand out. That’s not our aim. We are engaged and invested in poetry education. For us, that’s more important not only from the outlook of business but also for a personal experience. I feel even if we can help a thousand poets get better and find their platforms, they’ll find their way forward. We love assisting poets to find something within them. If that does not happen, we’ll have a generation of poets without a soul. We are not solely responsible for this. I don’t want to call us the crusaders for spoken word poetry education, because we aren’t. It’s just that our passion resides in it.

You both interned at Campus Diaries before launching APM. What was the turn of events which moulded you both to come up and implement this idea on such a huge scale?

Nandini: While we were interning with Campus Diaries, we got the opportunity to curate a magazine of all the speakers in TEDxGateway at Mumbai. It is the biggest TEDx held in the country. So, we were there to interview the speakers. One of the host for the event was the acclaimed American Poet Rives. We checked out his profile and were blown away by his work.

The least expected thing happened next. During one of the rehearsals, our group was hanging out, when he walks into the room and conducts an amazing fifteen-minute impromptu workshop.

That short span of time was enough to channelise our thoughts in a proper direction and give us the belief needed to start APM.

Shantanu: We already had the idea before that, but his humility gave us the conviction to start APM. When APM was founded, we were very different from what we are now. We had no clue what we were doing; we just loved spoken word poetry and its workshops.

Do workshops for poetry have a particular curriculum or syllabus involved? Also, what are the key factors to keep them as lively as possible and an excellent tool for learning?

Shantanu: So we have a combination—there are technical elements and non-technical elements, which could be called human factors. Not only the performance has a lot of technique and stagecraft to it, writing too has its technical intricacies. It is just that most people subconsciously use it. We, on the other hand, try to push the rest of them towards it.

Nandini: Since spoken word poetry is a combination of two art forms—namely performance on stage and writing—there’s a scope of teaching a lot of things from both of these aspects.

A participant reads out her lines after a small task involving similes

We have a broad range of genres of the spoken word. Do poets of a specific kind attract a more significant fan base than others? What are a few hot topics/styles which are the most loved by the audience?

Shantanu: I don’t want to answer this question because if a person wants to examine trends, don’t analyse spoken word. Instead, investigate Bollywood for that matter. Bollywood has its finger on the pulse of mass audience appreciation. If I wanted to manufacture a poem, that was popular; I would look at what the top stand-up comedians, actors and directors sold and tried to copy that.  Unlike poetry, they have content which appeals to the masses.

By answering this question, I don’t want to encourage people to manufacture their poems for mass audience appeal. A good poem should be organic and real.

APM’s flagship project for the year is the 100 Poems Challenge. How do you go about setting different prompts and constraints every week?

Nandini: (sighs) Coming out with creative prompts is tough because we have to ensure that it balances out all kinds of genres. We always try to make these categories and fail because we have analysed the trend of that week and wish to challenge them into something different.

Shantanu: The point being, since it’s a challenge we try to find prompts that push poets to write the poems they would not have written otherwise.

If someone tells me, “I didn’t write on a certain prompt, because I didn’t connect to it.” My answer is that’s why the prompt exist – to push you out of the comfort zone to imagine new scenarios and grow as a writer.