Culture

Toys

These dolls are distinct from the mass produced toys you'll find in shops.

Covida and Malar dolls made using scraps and crochet

L: Covida | R: Malar

If you’re bored of run-of-the-mill stuffed dolls and mass produced toys for your children, options are aplenty. From toys made using paper to those made with reusable fabrics and crocheted dolls, entrepreneurs are not just making creative choices but sustainable ones. Recently, there was the news of a woman from south Delhi making dolls using corn husks. Then there’s another Coimbatore-based woman who makes elegant dolls using just newspaper. Watch: And interestingly, most of them making these out-of-the-box toys are women. Here’s a list of one-of-a-kind dolls you can add to your children’s (or your) collection or to your golu steps, to make your Navaratri more unique. Meet Covida, a sign of hope She's a rotund, cheerful little doll, of a size that can fit in your palm, with thick hair tied into pony-tails on either side. She wears a string of beads around her neck and her body has minimal embroidery. Meet Covida, who was born out of a necessity, as a sign of hope. The doll was conceptualised to sustain the livelihood of Lambadi (tribal) artisans based out of Sittilingi Valley in Dharmapuri district. Dr Lalitha Regi, who has been with Porgai Artisans since their inception in 2006, says, “Covida was born out of two reasons, one is to ensure our artisans had work and were able to earn through the lockdown. They are the only earning members in their whole family. Second, we didn’t have much fabric when the lockdown began, no money to purchase anything new. We naturally went back to bits and pieces of fabrics we had and started making Covida dolls.” This way, the artisans were engaged, she adds. “We wanted to make a product that can connect with everyone. We also wanted to remain positive. That is why we thought of Covida. This is something that came out of our effort to remain hopeful. We thought, why not share it and spread it to everyone?” Lalitha says. Made using scraps of fabrics and re-fashioned with Lambadi handiwork, the dolls are priced at Rs 21 each, and are sold in packs of 10, 25, 50, 100 and more. Covida can be pinned to dresses, bags, key-chains or just added to your children’s mini toy collection. The team of over 60 Lambadi artisans has been selling Covida since August 31 and so far, they have sent over 4,000 Covidas across India to spread hope. Those wishing to buy Covidas can do so here or reach out to them on 09786743223. Crocheting Indian dolls Chennai-based architect Tirupurasundari Sevvel who has written a picture book for children called Malar’s Big House, illustrated by Ankhita Kini, has been working with a couple of women handicraft artisans to make dolls based on the character from the book. “As children we’ve played with Barbie dolls that did not look like us. I remember, when I was a kid, my paati would add a small dot to my doll’s leg, to match the mole I had. Just for that relatability and the representation. I wanted to bring that for children now, and so started with Malar,” she tells TNM. Indira (35) from Chennai has always loved crocheting, even as a 13-year-old, starting with the usual headbands and scarves. “Then when I had my second child, around 2013, I began learning new techniques from YouTube,” she shares. Indira’s crochet work is mostly used for newborn photography, as props. Her crochet toys are palm sized and can be customised on request. “I recently made a Captain America toy for my children. But now I am working on making Indian-looking dolls based on Chennai-based architect Tirupurasundari Sevvel’s suggestion,” she adds. Pollachi-based Kirubashini (27) who now lives in Tiruppur, began crocheting dolls just recently, around May. While she began with cartoon and animal characters at first, Kirubashini has been encouraged by Tirupurasundari to explore Indian-looking dolls. Indira can be reached on the Roseknits page on Instagram and Kirubashini can be found on Yarnarte on Instagram. Creativity with paper Over the past 10 years, 50-year-old Vijayalakshmi Sivakumar who lives in Chennai, has explored every craft possible. “I’ve made jewellery using quilling, silk material, fabric, crochet you name it… throughout the year I’d have orders from people and every year I’d keep moving to a different craft,” Viji says. But when her work took a beating due to the lockdown, Viji took a break. “I had spare quilling papers lying about in the house, so I just thought I’d make something to finish them. But now, I’ve again purchased more paper for Rs 3,000,” she chuckles. Viji has been making miniature toys, kitchen sets, musician sets, pots, dining table sets and the likes using quilling paper. “I want to keep exploring more. People have asked me to make dasavatharam sets for Navaratri,” she adds. Those wishing to buy from Viji can contact her on 09841979307 on get in touch via her Facebook page.

Wildlife

The endangered lion-tailed macaques, concentrated in the dense evergreen rainforests of the Western Ghats, live in the upper canopy, rarely descending to the ground.

Priya Ranganathan

Myristica swamps in Karnataka, with a small stream flowing between plenty of tall trees

Pic by G Ravikanth

In June last year, the Sharavathi Wildlife Sanctuary, established in 1978, and the Aghanashini LTM Conservation Reserve, spread over 20,000 hectares of reserve forest in Shivamogga and Uttara Kannada districts, were merged to create the Sharavathi Valley LTM Sanctuary. The Myristica swamps of Uttara Kannada district, located within the forests of the Sharavathi river basin, are some of the rarest ecosystems in India. Conserving a patch of this sacred forest may be the key to the survival of a species on the brink. While freshwater swamps are found in pockets across India – in the foothills of the western Himalayas, in the Terai belt, in Meghalaya, in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and in the Western Ghats – few swamps are known to host species in the Myristicaceae family. This is perhaps the oldest, most primitive flowering plant family in the world, with four genera and 15 species found in the Western Ghats. Yet these relic forests are few and often isolated by swaths of alternate land use, namely rice cultivation. Cue the forests of the Sharavathi. The district of Uttara Kannada has 110 recorded freshwater swamps containing Myristicaceae members, i.e. Myristica fatua, M. arborea, or Gynmacranthera canarica. Other species thought to be extinct before their subsequent discovery in the swamps of the Western Ghats include Semecarpus kathalekanensis and Syzygium travancoricum, discovered in 2000 and 2014, respectively. One of the best-known Myristica swamps in this forested region, Kathalekan, is revered by local communities and is the site of long-sustained religious practices. Such sites, designated as the home of indigenous deities, are known as sacred groves, or devara kaadu in Kannada. Swamps in the district are jointly managed by the state forest department and local communities, leading to a sense of ownership and responsibility for the maintenance of these relic forests. They are also protected for their ecosystem services – they allow for groundwater replenishment, prevent downstream flooding by retaining excess water, and purify the water supply downstream. Myristica swamps | Pic by G Ravikanth Protecting these sacred swamps has a bottom-up effect on other endangered residents of this landscape. The Western Ghats is home to a rare monkey, the lion-tailed macaque (LTM), locally known as the singalika. The LTM is listed on the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) as endangered, and the remaining populations are concentrated in the dense evergreen rainforests of the Western Ghats. They live their lives in the upper rainforest canopy, rarely descending to the ground. Given their primary diet of fruit, seeds and insects, they are restricted to rainforests, where resources are still plentiful. Habitat degradation is the main threat to their survival. A mere 3,500 of these macaques, fragmented into 49 separate sub-populations, are thought to exist in the Western Ghats. Myristica swamps receiving protection from local communities provide a sanctuary for LTMs in these forests. While all swamps in Uttara Kannada district are not sacred, they serve as relic patches of forest with old-growth canopies for LTMs to reside. These primates feed on the fruit of the Myristica species, which fall within the nutmeg family. They discard the seeds when eating the flesh of the fruit, thus playing a key role as dispersers in this ecosystem. This behaviour allows for the reproduction of swampy species. Apart from the LTM, swamps are home to 15 species of mammals, 59 species of birds, 22 species of reptiles, 29 species of amphibians, six species of fishes, 109 species of butterflies, and six species of damselflies, according to a study in 2006. Two genera of amphibians, Micrixalus and Nyctibatrachus, are endemic to these swamps and virtually unknown to researchers, making the conservation of these isolated patches a priority for conservation. Micrixalus | Pic by Pradeep Hegde Numerous Myristica swamps fall within the Sharavathi sanctuary. This adds weight to existing local protection on the valley and the swamps that exist here. Notification of the sanctuary also relieves the region of human extractive activities, including logging, collection of non-timber forest products, agriculture, hunting, fishing and poaching, among others. Perhaps this is the key to the survival of a rare monkey and its equally rare habitat. LTMs and Myristica swamps both have specific climate and ecological requirements. Ecologically, they are changemakers in their larger landscape. Found nowhere else on our planet, both swamp and macaque are throwbacks to a greener time in India’s past. Priya Ranganathan is a wetland ecologist and geologist studying the inland wetlands of the Western Ghats.

Food

The cloud kitchen model — which allows the restaurant to run in a delivery-only model without dine-in service — was already growing in popularity before the pandemic.

Nikhita Venugopal

Kitchen staff staring out from the kitchen into the dining area

Picxy/ VJ Clicks

It’s no secret that the pandemic has battered the restaurant industry. The spread of COVID-19, and the numerous restrictions it has brought, has deeply impacted the relaxing, social experience that was once dine-out culture. It’s a change that’s also led to a major pivot to delivery, as more diners choose to stay at home and more eateries look for ways to continue serving customers. Enter cloud kitchens, a model that chefs and restaurateurs are embracing, and diners are patronising, whether they realise it or not. Cloud kitchens — commercial kitchens that operate through delivery services and do not have a physical dine-in space — is not a new model but it’s one that gained favour this past year. The cloud kitchen industry in India is reportedly projected to become a $2 billion industry by 2024, up from $400 million in 2019. Even before India’s first lockdown shuttered bars and restaurants for several months, eateries were facing the brunt of a virus that seems to thrive in closed, social environments. Delivery services, however, continued, and dining out became more and more confined to people’s homes. New names have popped up on food aggregators week after week, from five-star hotels to corner eateries selling chili beef and parotta. And some restaurateurs are forgoing the traditional restaurant model for cloud kitchens. In the last few months, brands like HakkaChow, Ginger Tiger, Windsor Food Factor (formerly Windsor Pub) and Ministop Brownies, a cafe in JP Nagar that now runs as an online store, have all stepped into the food delivery space. Chef Vikas Seth, the culinary director at Embassy Leisure, which operates brands such as Sanchez and Sriracha, started Hakka Chow about two months ago. The group now operates four brands through cloud kitchens, including Bangalore Pizza Company and the recently opened north Indian spot Garam Masala. Though the concept for the new brands had been in the works for the last year, the move to cloud kitchens and the use of their existing kitchen spaces — while foot traffic to restaurants remained low — was the most effective way to continue their business. “Because the guest can’t come to us, we will come to the guest,” he said. Why the model works The success of cloud kitchens have been well documented in the last decade through major players. Rebel Foods, which has billed itself “the world’s largest internet restaurant company” with brands like Faasos and Behrouz Biryani, runs over 300 cloud kitchens in over 35 cities in India, and is said to be valued at a billion dollars. Swiggy, through its subsidiary Swiggy Access, has also opened cloud kitchens across India, as has rival food aggregator Zomato. Ola Foods has announced plans to significantly expand its cloud kitchen network over the next five years. But cloud kitchens haven’t only proven effective in sprawling networks, but smaller businesses as well. Chef Anand S, who ran Chennai’s popular continental fusion restaurant Cornucopia from 2004 to 2009, decided to revive the brand through a cloud kitchen. Since the beginning of June, he and his wife, Chef Dhanashree, have been catering to a small clientele through word-of-mouth and they soon hope to expand to a larger kitchen before the Christmas season. Image courtesy: HakkaChow Unlike brick-and-mortar restaurants, which need front-house staff and maintenance of a dining room, cloud kitchens do away with those requirements and the expenses that come with them. Guru Shivaram, managing partner of hospitality and projects at real estate services and advisory firm Avenuez, noted that the capital expenditure for a cloud kitchen is less than 30% that of a traditional restaurant. “I’m saving a lot of money. I don’t worry about a restaurant, air conditioning, or service staff. There are so many things I don’t have to bother about,” Anand said. It also allows chefs and restaurants to expand their brands and the food they serve accessible to other parts of the city or country, without having to invest in opening brand new dining spaces. Shylesh Jain, co-owner of Bengaluru restaurant NeverMind Bar & Social in Indiranagar, recently opened The Indian Canteen, which specialises in Indian street food, as a cloud kitchen. He also noted that the low operating cost is a major advantage for restaurateurs. “It’s a very safe and right model in times like these.” Hygiene and safety take new meaning COVID-19 has given new importance to hygiene and sanitation around the world, and restaurants have not been spared. “Of course [the food] has to hit all the right spots on taste, but safety has become paramount,” Vikas said. Ashwin Bhadri, CEO of Equinox Labs, a food, water, air testing and auditing lab, told TNM that more and more restaurants have shown a willingness and eagerness to comply with hygiene and safety inspection norms, including testing and training. Today, we are no longer in the discount-led economy, we are in the hygiene-first economy,” he said. Equinox also carries out seperate hygiene audits required by food aggregators Swiggy, Zomato and DineOut before restaurants can be featured on their sites. Now, as an increasing number of restaurants look to get onto these platforms, Equinox has started a new product that allows eateries to secure ratings for all three apps in one audit. They also offer virtual safety audits for kitchens multiple times a day, Ashwin said. Challenges ahead Though there is an appeal to the relative ease with which cloud kitchens can be started, it doesn’t mean there isn’t a hard road ahead. “Everybody thinks, OK, it's a small capital, I can invest and open a cloud kitchen. But if you do not do your research and take professional help, you're going to fail because cloud kitchen margins are not great,” restaurant consultant Guru Shivaram says. “If you cannot manage your costs, you're going to end up losing money there as well.” Image courtesy: The Indian Canteen Shylesh, of The Indian Canteen, also noted the challenge in finding staff for cloud kitchens as many prefer restaurants where customers can tip. The lack of direct contact with the customer can also be a concern. “With delivery, you have just one chance to make it right,” he said. There’s also a question of standing out. New restaurants could once rely on storefronts to draw in customers in the neighbourhood or within commercial districts. But scrolling through the numerous new options on food aggregators can be a daunting task today (especially if you’re hungry). These platforms also take hefty commissions from restaurants for providing delivery services. While some like Chef Anand run deliveries through Dunzo and hope to launch their own website for their orders soon, others like Shylesh say the expense and hassle of coordinating logistical services is not worth the effort. Future of cloud kitchens versus restaurants Since pubs and restaurants were allowed to reopen and serve alcohol in September, diners have been stepping out once again. Though it will be a long while before restaurants are able to return to pre-COVID levels of business, experts are hopeful that the industry — both dine-in restaurants and cloud kitchens — will flourish. “The industry is going to grow five-fold in a decade,” Guru Shivaram said. And as cloud kitchens continue to grow, there is an expectation of innovation in the space, from packaging to automation of services to food and cocktail kits, each designed to evolve, if not replicate, a restaurant dining experience. Chef Vikas said, “People with all precautions are coming out. You have your dine in, and you also have a segment of people who are making themselves happy with delivery. So delivery is here to stay.”

Travel

As we made plans for the road trip, we had a formidable array of COVID defences.

Navin Sigamany

Ever since the first lockdown was announced by the government at the end of March, we have been homebound, with minimal trips for groceries and essentials. It wasn’t until five different stages of unlock were announced that we plucked up the courage to venture out for non-essential activities. A quick trip to a restaurant. A visit to the spa. An exploration of our favourite mall. All the while fully masked, gloved, sanitised and maintaining physical distance. And then we planned a trip - we can’t remember the last time we let an 8-month period pass without a trip! We were encouraged to do this by the fact that we did not have significant COVID panic when we ventured out of home, and had confidence in the safety protocols we followed. We decided to take a driving holiday — we were uncomfortable with the unavoidable contact with multiple people that would be inevitable in any other mode of travel. This was a huge step for us for two reasons — I haven’t driven long distances, and my wife is not fond of driving long distances. We were pushing ourselves well outside our comfort zones. Once this was decided, we set about looking for a destination that was within driving distance, and also had a place to stay which we were confident would adhere to COVID protocols. We settled on Hampi; it was a drivable distance, and there was a Club Mahindra property there, which we were confident would have strict COVID protocols in place. This was confirmed by a couple of phone conversations we had with them, and we were satisfied that we would be safe and comfortable in our stay there. Club Mahindra in Hampi As we made plans for the trip, we had a formidable array of COVID defences — surface disinfectant sprays, sanitisers for our hands, disposable as well as reusable masks and disposable gloves. Since the car was a safe zone, all entries were preceded by a thorough sanitisation. We also packed what we called a “toilet bag” — a small backpack with gloves, sprays and sanitisers that could be carried handsfree into any strange toilets we may need to use. The drive itself was quite a learning journey for us, pun very much intended! It was an 8.5-hour journey according to Google Maps, and we factored in about an hour for a couple of stops. However, on the way, we took a detour to a particular coffee shop — where we assumed, correctly, that we would find a usable toilet — but lost an entire hour. This made the last couple of hours of the journey the 10th and 11th hours, which also were the worst driving stretches. Between rain-damaged highways and interminable stretches with speed bumps every hundred metres, these last two hours were really terrible. It also made us irritable and we just couldn’t wait for the journey to end. Once we reached the resort in the evening, things settled down very quickly. We got a comfortable room and were well-fed. The next day was spent just in the room, lazing around, reading, ordering room service — avoiding human contact as much as we could. A driving holiday The next couple of days, we explored different parts of Hampi at our own leisure. We drove everywhere, explored near-empty ruins on our own, took pictures — again, avoiding all human contact. One evening, we walked along the river to the spectacular ruins of the Achyutaraya temple and the bazaar in front of it. The setting sun, the beautiful views on the river and the isolated walk were one of the highlights of the trip! Snapshots from Hampi Most places we went to were empty or had very few people. We were able to be by ourselves and far away from any others. The Archaeological Survey of India has made all tickets available online -— which meant we didn’t have to stand in lines or wait at counters. Some of the staff at the monuments seemed quite lackadaisical with their mask-wearing, but usually a request seemed to work to make them wear one. We mostly avoided eating in restaurants other than the place where we were staying. For lunch, we went to a restaurant at one of the bigger hotels in Hosapete, the nearest town to Hampi. We were the only people eating there, and we received excellent service, very tasty food, and most importantly, a fully COVID-safe experience. For dinners, we returned to the resort, where we either did room service, or went to the in-house restaurant. There too the experience was good — personalised service — not too much to expect since we were usually the only patrons — good food and a totally shielded experience. On the drive back, we put our learnings from the previous drive to good use. We avoided any detours and stuck to the route, and made it back in about 8.5 hours including a breakfast stop. Overall, we found that sticking rigidly to a sanitisation protocol, not compromising on physical distancing, and unashamedly prioritising safety gave us a confidence that allowed us to travel without worry, both for our safety as well as for the safety of those around us.

Books

Samantha Kannan’s novel ‘A New Journey’ is based on her own experience of living in Kerala, teaching at a school in Kumbalam.

Cris

Samantha, a white woman wearing a red sari with green border sits between two girls who are standing wearing their blue school uniform and pig tails

Samantha with her students in Kerala

It was not just the distance or the fact that she, just out of college, was going to a new country on the other side of the world all by herself. It was that here at last was a teaching job she had been dying to do. With bags, books and a mind full of uncertainties, she took a plane from Chicago to Thiruvananthapuram that fall. A little more than two and a half months later, she would dread taking the same plane back home, no longer wanting to leave Kerala, a place she’s come to love. This is how Samantha Kannan presents Jurnee, a woman who fell in love with Kerala, in her novel titled A New Journey. If you hadn’t known it before, it might sound like an extended blog that Samantha wrote of her own trip to Kerala six years ago, when she taught at a school briefly. The book is her way of immortalising those memories and dispelling stereotypical perceptions of India. Samantha is somewhat of an Instagram celebrity, putting out videos of her speaking Tamil alongside her Indian husband Kannan, or wearing saris, complete with poovu and pottu (flower and bindi). That story will come in another book, a sequel that Samantha has been writing. The first one is on the two months she spent in Kerala teaching at a school in Kumbalam. “I visited Kerala at a very confusing time in my life. In real life, I was just 24-25 and still trying to figure out what I wanted from the world as well as what I wanted to give back to it,” Samantha tells TNM in an interview. Learning to say ‘dei’ and loving ‘aviyal’ “I was completely open to the experience because I went alone and didn't have any distractions. I barely even had a network. I only had the people around me and they taught me everything. I was almost their child, learning how to wash clothes by hand. Learning how to open a cashew nut shell. Learning how to say ‘dei’ with just the right emphasis to get my point across. They cared for me, protected me, taught me, and sometimes even hand-fed me. Not to mention how great the winters are compared to Chicago and how delicious the food is. If I could eat aviyal (a Kerala dish of vegetables) every meal for the rest of my life, I would,” Samantha says. There are whole paragraphs left to the descriptions of food from day one of her visit to Kerala – well, from Jurnee’s visit to Kerala but a good part of the novel is inspired by the writer’s experience, sparing the odd exaggeration. Jurnee is just a name she adopted for the story – borrowed from a friend. “I really liked the feeling it evoked, and the extra meaning it would give A New Journey. I asked her permission to use it very early in writing, about three years ago, and she enthusiastically agreed,” Samantha says. Curious habits Jurnee’s innocent musings of a world you had taken for granted makes you wonder about its curious habits too. She looks with wonder when a waiter tries to teach her how to eat dosa and chutney using her hands. Why doesn’t he use both hands, she wonders. In the school, Jurnee is left in the lurch when teacher after teacher tells her ‘I will just go and come’ and never come back. Her friend tells her that’s another Kerala habit – you never say bye. There is such a practice in Malayalam – people use ‘varate’ (will be back) instead of ‘potte’ (am leaving). But translating that into English seemed uncommon, maybe it’s just a practice in the school. “It happened to me twice in one day and it really confused me. I genuinely thought they had just run off and forgotten about me and I was really upset by it, but after it happened again I realised it's just a common phrase,” Samantha says. Yet another charming difference was the way everyone told her to stop saying thank you and please so many times. We were just not that formal, they said. The ‘pennu kaanal’! But nothing offends Jurnee, even if it shocks you, as a reader. At one point, a family she is staying with arranges a Kerala style ‘pennu kaanal’ (ritual as part of arranging a marriage), keeping her in the dark (with good intentions, of course). Poor Jurnee has no clue that while visiting a temple, a man was taking a look at her before the ‘official’ visit to his house. Even at the house, all she knows is that it is friends of the family till the stranger starts telling her she can learn to cook and wear saris from his mother. Why was this guy’s mother going to be her mentor, she wonders, when he launches head-on with a proposal. Will she marry him? “The awkward proposal did really happen! It was shot for shot the same, from passing each other at the temple to going to his home shortly after,” says Samantha. But she doesn’t express her shock or say a single rude word. She diffuses the tension with the need-to-check-with-her-parents line that she knew would be readily accepted. “I guess in the back of my head the whole time I was thinking about the gravity of the situation. Many had not ever met a foreigner, and may never again, and I was representing billions of people. I didn't want to do anything to negatively impact or add to the stereotypes already in existence so I worked hard to properly assimilate to the local culture and gain their respect. They broke all of the stereotypes I had been taught and I wanted to do the same for them, luckily my quick thinking got me out of it respectfully.” Adoring Nivin Pauly Another time, someone says she is unlike other foreigners who dress skimpy and flirt with men. Samantha quotes from a Malayalam movie – Bangalore Days – to explain the situation. “It reminded me a bit of the end of Bangalore Days when Nivin has his heart set on Meenakshi, but ends up with Michelle who had all of the qualities he sought in Meenakshi. While it did hurt to hear such negative stereotypes spoken about myself and others from my country or race, it is not something that I often encounter and I genuinely don't believe they did it maliciously. Until we experience something for ourselves, we only know the representation of movies and Whatsapp forwards.” Watch: Samantha talk about Kerala and her five favourite Malayalam films Her preparation of going to Kerala included watching Malayalam movies such as Bangalore Days and Om Shanthi Oshana. It is sweet to note her adoration for Nivin and Malayalam movies. Samantha says, “Malayalam movies are genuinely among the best in the world. The plots are so cleverly developed and really tug at your heartstrings. It's impossible to see a Malayalam film and leave it without feeling anything.” School time The best part of her visit was of course her time with the children of the school. From Samantha’s descriptions the children become as endearing to the reader as they were to her. There is not the shyness or reluctance of meeting a foreigner who has come to stay at their hostel and teach them. They welcome her into their lives, eager to make her feel welcome, vying for her attention and becoming friends with her the way children do. The questions are innocent and melt Samantha’s heart. The curiosity and naughtiness of children, the educators who are very stern on the outside but would do anything for their students, some jokes that transcended language – all of these were similar to her own life in the village at the other end of the planet. “There was one student who knew more American pop songs than I did. And conversely, there were several differences. The warmth, friendliness, hospitality, and openness were unlike anything I'd ever experienced.” She made friends not just with the children but the adults who didn’t speak the same language as her. Her descriptions of the silent exchanges with Cook Auntie – the cook at the hostel canteen – and the mother of one of the students are plain touching. “Cook Auntie and Sajith/Snehil's mom were among the closest friendships that I had. We may not have shared words, but we laughed together, cried together, watched serials together. Words can be misunderstood, but a hug or smile cannot be,” she says. “Despite only being there for a few months, I'm homesick for Kumbalam even years later,” she adds. Anooj, inspired by Kannan? Kumbalam is where the school’s located, a picturesque location in Kochi. Jurnee first reaches Thiruvananthapuram where she hangs around for two days before heading to the school. That’s where Jurnee meets Anooj, an Uber driver who becomes a friend and guide in her time in Kerala. He is always a call away, almost persistent with his help and advice, concerned about every single step Jurnee took. Little wonder that readers connected Anooj to Kannan, the man Samantha got married to. She writes at the end of the book: “For those who follow me online, you may notice some parallels with Kannan and Anooj. This isn’t at all how we met, but I wanted to weave him into Anooj, so that I can write a sequel about our wedding. Watch out for its release on Valentine's Day 2021!” She tells us, “Kannan and I met about 3.5 years ago and married last summer in Madurai. We met at a very boring event and when he found out I had lived in Kerala it was actually a big catalyst for our friendship.” She began studying Tamil online two years ago and is now able to read and write and speak as well, though not fluently. “It's important to me to be able to communicate with my in-laws and to prevent the loss of language in future generations. I’m not fluent at all, but I do work quite hard at my pronunciation and grammar to hopefully reach fluency one day,” she says. Also read: ‘Mayyazhipuzhayude Theerangalil’: M Mukundan’s classic on Mahe brings history alive

Books

Soni, who was diagnosed with Limb-Girdle Muscular Dystrophy after he finished school, calls poetry cathartic.

Cris

Soni Somarajan with grey and black hair and navy blue kurtha sits in front of a house

In a house called Manjadithara in Puthupally, somewhere in the district of Alappuzha, Soni Somarajan was born 47 years ago, held in the arms of a dazed mother and missed by the airman father who sought his photo. Soni was in Air Force academies of Delhi and Hyderabad in his kindergarten years, sometimes holding a younger sister's hands, other times falling into the dust or chasing dragonflies. He was six when he looked at his working father and wondered if he had thoughts of the son. Soni has sprinkled these thoughts across 64 poems that became a memoir of his life in the first collection he has published - First Contact. “It is a memoir in verse—a collection of reminiscences of my life, places I’ve lived in, and also certain experiences that stood out in my memory. Connecting them was key to evolving a sound structure for the collection. It would dawn only later. The poems were not written in a linear way, along the years. The poems were later arranged according to the order of the events they described. Once I realised that the poems could be arranged in a timeline, it dawned on me that this was going to be a memoir. The structure I was looking for had arrived from nowhere, like so many things about this book. In fact, the poems pertaining to my school years were the ones written last,” writes Soni in an interview about the book. His poems have been published as part of anthologies before, and among the writers' circle of Thiruvananthapuram, Soni’s is a familiar face. He is present for most literary events, using a wheelchair. He was diagnosed with Limb-Girdle Muscular Dystrophy, a degenerative neuromuscular disorder, the year after he finished school – at the Sainik School in Thiruvananthapuram. That was also the year he began writing poems. “For a while, I felt it was the end of the road. My dreams were limited to the armed forces but realising that it would never materialise was a shock, something I realised over time. In those days of worthlessness, my father once took me to a beach nearby at Azheekal, Karunagappally, that I had never been to before. When we returned home, the response to all that had transpired emerged as poetry. It seemed the easiest thing to do than prose itself,” Soni says. The pain is in the last lines of poems, not explicit, not calling attention to itself. Quiet like Soni, who moves around with his smile through the palace grounds of Kanakakunnu for every literary festival. Photographic memory No acid build, just the kick of fleeting feet. I almost fly. Wait. I can’t catch up — whispers my wheelchair. That’s at the end of ‘Dream Selfie’, his poem about a dream, written at Ambalamukku, Thiruvananthapuram. Every poem comes with a place and date, like newspaper reports. Soni’s memory is photographic, he remembers the colours and tastes and most surprisingly, the feelings he felt as a young boy. Filled to its seams, the room holds its breath, unable to mourn the one who built it, the periods of hush broken often by a sudden wail, sometimes a staccato. This comes in the middle of ‘The Day Communism Died’, a poem about his grandfather’s death in 1979. Soni was six. “There are always wisps of memory floating around as incidents, a key impression, a scene, an event, a fall while running in the playground, or plucking a fruit straight off the tree and devouring it. This is my attempt to recapture those details, sometimes even connecting two separate memories related to the same thing to flesh out a poem,” Soni writes. The poem about his airman father at work, also carries memories of the lunch at the airmen’s mess, and the face the dad wore when he was busy repairing radios as an extra income. For now, I suppose he forgets not his promise of lunch (pulao and chicken curry) That was little Soni’s thought, watching his dad. “Whenever I felt a certain memory could do with more details, I’d ask my parents or my sister, sometimes photos from the albums from those years helped. It’s only when I asked such questions, my parents asked me how I had managed to remember the hazy details from when I was a little boy. Now that I’ve written this, I know that if you persist with a memory, it will yield eventually. Sometimes, our memories are also repaired by new details, either remembered or fictional—that line can often be thin. It’s a fascinating thing,” says the poet. ‘Poetry is cathartic for me’ Poetry has been cathartic for him, he says, making him feel full of purpose. These poems have held him up in the times he had doubted himself. They also tell the story of who he is, to a certain extent. “If I wrote about all the memories that I had, the collection would probably have at least 30 poems more. The poems in the first two sections, most of them, came later and were bold experiments. That fascinated me. The last two sections dwell on the emotional aspects of certain life events and are less descriptive unlike memories from long ago. They were written as certain events transpired, in the present moment, and hence are descriptions of emotions,” he says. He calls the poem ‘Learning Malayalam’ as one of the most fulfilling experiences in this book, dwelling on his relationship with his mother tongue that he never formally learned at school. “One of my biggest regrets,” he says. There is another set of poems on his days at the Sainik School, with the boys, that he says were the most difficult to write. He had arrived with a metal trunk painted black by the dad, for those were the rules, and left seven years later with the peeled paint ‘exposing the lie’. The voice was difficult to arrive at, Soni says. “That bird's eye view arrived pretty much later, that distance you need to write about what are your fondest, most cherished memories.” Corners mangled, it has stood up to heavyweights. And, it has given a taste of home to a lonely boy, when it could. Soni writes of the black trunk. One wishes that he had included a picture of the trunk in the book, it sounds like the right kind of friend to have. For Soni has thrown pictures in between the poems, photos he has taken of beaches and boats and the Kovalam lighthouse. Photography has become a ‘favourite hobby’ in the years that went by, he says. Life as a copywriter and content consultant has come to mean ‘stealing brief moments’ to write poetry and take photos, he says. Something he has marvelously managed. Also read: Learning Malayalam slang and loving aviyal: American writes book on Kerala experience

Art

‘The Almirah’ features a saree-clad woman performing inside an almirah, next to her neatly stacked sarees that remain unused due to the lockdown.

Elizabeth Thomas

A woman stands inside an open almirah (cupboard) wearing a green saree with a red border with her hands folded. On the other half of the almirah are stacked sarees and clothes. The woman is depicting powerful as an emotion as part of The Almirah art project, conceptutalised by Kochi-based fashion designer Sharmila Nair.

What was your COVID-19 lockdown emotion? For some, it was ‘happiness’ as they got to spend quality time with their families. Some others were ‘calm’ as they believed that the pandemic would be over within a few months. Whereas a few others felt ‘trapped’ being confined to the house, with nothing but uncertainty all around. The majority of us have gone through mixed emotions, ranging from happiness to sadness, anger and hope. The multi-disciplinary fashion art installation project, ‘The Almirah’, developed by Kochi-based fashion designer Sharmila Nair takes a look at the states of mind that women had during the COVID-19 lockdown period. The project, conceived during the lockdown and released through the Instagram page of Sharmila’s online boutique Red Lotus, portrays eight states of mind of women – ‘happiness, sensuousness, thoughtful, trapped, sadness, frustration, anger and powerful’. Sharmila Nair Claimed to be Kerala’s first multi-disciplinary fashion art installation, it is executed using techniques such as solo performance, fashion, photography, videography, structural design and poetry. “It began as a photo project. The multi-dimension angle came later,” says Sharmila, who is overwhelmed by the response. The designer is known for her previous fashion projects Mazhavillu, which featured transgender models, and 18 Shades of Black where she depicted restrictions faced by women with 18 black sarees. The Almirah features a saree-clad woman performing inside an almirah, next to her neatly stacked sarees that remain unused due to the lockdown. She conveys her thoughts through expressions, accompanied by subtle music and poetry. Sharmila says the idea struck her one day while she was sitting in her office. “It’d been a while since I did a photoshoot after the 18 Shades of Black series. When I finally zeroed in on a new thought, COVID-19 came. All my sarees went back into my almirah. Sales declined,” says Sharmila, who like many others thought life would be back to normal soon. Happiness However, months have passed without any change in the situation, leaving her in a confused state of mind. “Meanwhile, I was also listening to and reading about other people’s experiences during the lockdown. Many of my IT friends, who would otherwise be busy with jobs and shifts, were happy to have some time with their spouses. For elders like my mother and grandmother, whose happiness depends on going to temples and visiting relatives, the restrictions turned out to be quite uncomfortable. Above all, I read in the news that domestic violence was increasing during the lockdown. All these were on my mind. One day when I reached the office and looked at the unsold sarees stacked in my almirah, I thought ‘what will I do with them?’ I could resonate with the feeling of being trapped. I thought ‘why not picture a woman trapped in an almirah?’ That was the spark,” recalls the designer. Sharmila was sure that women would be able to connect to the concept of almirah as it is an integral part of Kerala’s wedding culture. When parents and relatives visit newly-weds, they usually gift an ‘almirah’ and that remains a significant part of the woman’s life. “I have a wooden almirah handed down from my grandmother, in which I keep the sarees for my boutique,” says Sharmila. She decided to use the sarees in her almirah for the project. Frustrated Once she shared the idea with her team – photographer Ratheesh Ravindran, performer Ramya Suvi, make-up artist Ansari Izmake, art director Imnah Felix, project assistant Satheesh Mohan and hair artist Shireen Yasir – things began to pick up. “The challenge was that there were few references. No one had done a concept like this before. With the help of sketches, I explained the process. It was like an experiment for us and, right now, we’re enjoying the success,” she laughs. For Ratheesh, the challenge was to light up the almirah avoiding the reflection of the front glass panes. He solved it by putting the lights inside the almirah which ultimately provided an aura to the entire scene. Sharmila put the almirah inside a basement, which she says is a metaphor. “Nobody cares what happens to objects in a basement, a metaphor to our patriarchal society’s attitude towards women.” Thoughtful Ramya Suvi, a trained classical dancer who runs Bodhi Space for Art, did the solo performance. “I chose a performance artist as she’d be able to convey the emotions within a limited space. She has the experience of performing on stage. An almirah is a shrunk stage. Ramya was excited to be a part of it. I’d seen her photographs. She came to my mind when I thought about the project,” Sharmila says. Subtle make-up has been done for her character. An interesting feature is the bindi she wears. It carries the international prohibition sign of ‘No Entry’, which denotes the various restrictions women face in society. Also, instead of the usual red for sindoor, black has been used. “It means not all marriages are auspicious,” says Sharmila, who now wants to take the project to the next level. Trapped It was only after the execution that she could completely grasp the depth and social significance of the project. She is glad that she didn’t limit her work to photographs. “I have a single video of Ramya enacting all eight state of minds. I’d love to do an art installation in a gallery space where people can walk in and experience the work,” she says. “The lit up almirah can be erected inside the gallery space with the eight framed photographs and the performance video playing in a loop. The audience themselves could get inside the almirah, and experience and interact with the confined space. They could take selfies inside the almirah. Once inside the almirah, they’ll be able to see themselves on an LED screen mounted on the wall through the glass pane of the almirah as a camcorder records their activities. Being recorded and seeing themselves inside the closed lit up almirah will evoke a sense of surveillance. In this manner, the almirah in the gallery space will cross the boundaries of confinement,” she says hopefully. Elizabeth Thomas describes herself as a wild woman who finds happiness in words, colours, coffee and journeys.

Language

While the two languages have similar-sounding words, there has not been any linguistic study establishing the same.

Anjana Shekar

L: Thanjavur bommai from Tamil Nadu | R: Korean Hanji (paper) doll

If you were to go to South Korea and call out to your Amma (mother) or Appa (father), chances of a Korean national turning back in an answer are very high. Turns out, the exact same words are used in addressing parents in the Korean language too. And the similarities don’t stop there. Cultural and linguistic similarities across Asian countries is a familiar concept, it is the same among European countries. However, the extent to which the similarities can be observed forms a topic of great interest for scholars, anthropologists, linguists and the likes. Some might already know that the language spoken in Korean countries and the language spoken in Tamil Nadu (India), share certain words, much to the fascination of many. The Canadian sitcom on Netflix, Kim’s Convenience, that follows a family of Korean immigrants living in Canada, with their Canadian born children, popularised this similarity between the two languages. Nandini Menon, a teaching and information personnel at InKo Centre in Chennai claims that there may be as many as 3000 such words in common between the two languages. “For hair (mudi in Tamil) they say meoli (머리) (pronounced mao-li), for abdomen (thoppai in Tamil) they say Bogbu (복부) (pronounced toh-pu) and for come here (inge va in Tamil) they say yeogiwa (여기와) in Korean. There are many such words that are similar between the two languages,” she tells TNM. This video interview with Jung Nam Kim, President of Korean Society of Tamil Studies, who speaks in Tamil, highlights some of the shared words. “I” is “naan” in Tamil and in Korean, similarly “you” is “nee” in both,” he says and claims he has found 500 similar words between the two languages as a result of his research. Tamil words naal (day), pul (grass), eru (climb) have similar-sounding words in Korean. Watch: While this is indeed an astonishing fact, there are cultural similarities too. Soonjin Park, a Korean teacher at the InKo Centre shares a little about her first impression of cultural similarities between Tamil Nadu and South Korea. “I find the kolam drawn in front of houses fascinating,” she begins and continues, “I’ve also found it interesting that people here enjoy dancing and singing, I have observed it in films and during festivals. This is a lot like Koreans, who have enjoyed singing and dancing for a long time, and this is why K-Pop has developed now.” Park adds, “Language and food are similar to Korea. There are many words with similar pronunciation. Also, the main food in Korea too is rice. And most people like spicy food very much like here in Tamil Nadu, which is similar in Korea.” Nandini points out, “There’s Korea Mandu (meat, vegetables and tofu filled) that’s a lot like our kozhukattai. Like our Athirasam (a deep fried sweet) they have the Yakgwa. Koreans too have rice porridge (kanji) and it is called juk. And of course like our iddiappam/sevai they have the hand-pulled noodles called myron.” However, Karthik Malli, independent researcher and writer on South Indian languages rebuffs these claims made on linguistic similarities on the basis that they have not stood up to academic scrutiny. “This link between the two languages has never been established in linguistics. If someone does make that claim, it is merely conjecture,” he begins. “Even from a historical perspective, I cannot find significant links between Tamil region and Korea. There were trade links with China established by the discovery of a Hindu temple built in China by Tamil merchants and inscriptions on stones by Tamil migrant merchants and all that’s fascinating. But that has no bearing with this,” he explains. Dravido-Korean linkage hypothesised and proposed by Homer B Hulbert, an American missionary who lived in Korea in the early 20th century was later dropped around the 1980s. In 1984, Morgan E Clippinger, a Korean studies scholar proposed over 400 sets of words that were similar between the two languages. Karthik believes the study in similarities has no academic consensus. “Most languages around the world use words that have “ba”, “ma”, “pa” in words for parents. In Arabic, Persian and Marati it’s ‘baba’ for father and it doesn’t mean the languages are similar. It is the first syllable babies make and therefore we cannot entirely base the relationship of these two languages on this similarity. Has this theory stood up to academic scrutiny? No. We may have some researchers saying it, but in academia, it is looked at like a fringe theory,” he says.

Language

While cursing can be cathartic, a lot of the words we use to express frustration have casteist, misogynistic and communal biases.

Geetika Mantri

Neha Thakur and Tamanna Mishra of the Gaali Project

Neha and Tamanna

These days, when her laptop hangs or the internet doesn’t work, Tamanna Mishra uses a new word. “Lahbong!” the Bengaluru based communications consultant exclaims. “Instead of the usual four-letter word we often resort to,” she says. “Lahbong is a word from Meghalaya used to express exasperation.” Tamanna’s friend, Neha Thakur, who hosts AirBnbs and stays in Mumbai has also found a phrase that she finds herself turning to often: Bawaseer ka nasoor. “Drawn from Urdu, bawaseer literally translates to piles, and the expression is used to describe someone who’s being a pain in the backside,” Neha tells TNM. Both Neha and Tamanna have come across several such words and phrases while working on The Gaali Project, a venture that is around a month old, and has a unique aim. “We live in a time where there’s a lot that causes us distress and makes us want to cuss. But so many of the words we commonly use carry misogynistic, casteist or communal biases. Even in a lot of the media that’s coming out these days, the films or web series are quite progressive in their storylines. But the language continues to remain regressive,” Neha points out. So, it’s not that the women want people to stop giving gaali, which translates from Hindi to mean ‘swear word’. But, as the website of the project describes it, “Words that help Indians express frustration without losing grace, without being hateful. Think "baklol", not rape threats. "Dokyacha", not "ma ch***". An idiot goes by many names, especially in the world of a Gujarati mom These really cracked us up! "Aye Gelsappa! Akal... Posted by The Gaali Project on Friday, October 9, 2020 The idea behind The Gaali Project has origins in conversations Tamanna and Neha have been having for years now. Colleagues a decade ago, the duo recalls talking about how misogynistic many of the words we use to swear or express frustration are. So, when they decided to start The Gaali Project, they knew that they would need to find words that express anger and irritation without being disrespectful or perpetuating prejudices. A Google form was prepared and sent out on WhatsApp as well as social media, asking people to fill in their favourite “clean” swear words in their language, and use them in sentences. The responses flooded in, and then it was time for secondary research. The duo had to talk to native language speakers and also research the roots of the words suggested. Many times they found that the roots of the “clean” cuss words suggested or their usage was problematic. Neha gives the example of “pottan”, a word they got from a Malayalee. “It means fool, but the usage is misogynistic – it is used to call a man a ‘sissy’.” However, they found many words that did work such as the Kashmiri word ‘hakri hoon’, which is used for an eavesdropper. “Drawn from a folk tale about an eponymous dog that would roam around joblessly and put its ear on people’s doors, hakri hoon is used for someone who is eavesdropping,” Neha explains. This way, Neha and Tamanna put together a crowdsourced list of words from various languages, though they also encourage people to come up with words of their own too. After they are done with research and also understanding usage from native language speakers, they try to popularise the words and usage through their social media – the mainstay of any language, after all, is adoption and usage. Narrating an incident where a friend of theirs used a word she learnt through the project, Tamanna narrates how the friend used the word “batakh poth” (blabbermouth) at an unproductive and boring corporate meeting. “A Kashmiri colleague of hers recognised the word, and they both ended up bonding over it. Meanwhile, the person who was presenting also understood the gist of the word, and the meeting became productive after that,” Tamanna laughs. Towards adoption, Neha and Tamanna say that there’s a lot to be done, but they are optimistic because The Gaali Project is only about a month into its journey. “We are collaborating with a lot of young people across India to make memes and artwork to popularise the words. That way, the youngsters also get familiarised with the words. For instance, a college student from Rajasthan has picked up the word ‘Mudiyala’ which is from Tamil, and means ‘I cannot tolerate this anymore!’ He’s so tired of online classes, that this is what he’s using now to express his frustration,” Tamanna says. “This shows that there are clearly more people who also share our sentiments, but just haven’t had the awareness or the vocabulary to replace the problematic language with,” she adds. “Now they have some options!"

Art

By opting to pursue sustainable crafts and slow-art in a fleeting world, they are hoping to create as little harm as possible.

Neetha John

Aarthi Sivaramakrishnan

When the bright, the easy, and the convenient are all made of plastic, in a world that is literally choking with them, here are some artists who try the best in their capacity to lessen the burden. By opting to pursue sustainable crafts and slow-art in a fleeting world, they are hoping to create as little harm as possible. They are happy to see that their efforts are able to inspire change, even if small. Priya Sreekumar: Priya is a handmade artist based in Kochi. She started out with papercraft about two years ago. She has now diversified into embroidery hoops, which includes interactive embroidery hoops. She picked up the slow art of embroidery as the craft allowed her more freedom than papercrafts; she could travel with a roll of thread and still be able to finish her orders on time. One can be free of plastic-guilt when they buy from Priya. “The only time I used plastic in my products was when I had to make an international shipment. That required me to wrap the embroidery hoop in a bubble wrap. I couldn’t bring myself to buy one, so I used the ones that had been lying around. Since then, I have always collected bubble wrap, which I love to do!” she says. Even though she knows more customers can be attracted with colorful plastics in her handmade products, she deems them unnecessary. When there are other alternatives before her, she doesn’t see why she shouldn’t rely on them instead. She gets the drive to be sustainable from the people around her: “When you keep the company of mindful people, you engage in such conversations, you start picking it up by yourself.” She believes that as long as you make the ‘why I am doing it’ statement clear, people will come searching for you, the same way as this story, she asserts. “When I make an effort to opt for sustainable alternatives, my customers will also get inspired and start having these conversations themselves. That gives me much happiness,” she declares. Priya is determined to make the differences she can, however small they may be. While sustainability is one reason why customers buy from her, she thinks that personalisation - which can’t be store-bought - is another. Aarthi Sivaramakrishnan: Aarthi is the founder and the chief artist at The Color Company (TCC), a Chennai and Bengaluru based decor/gifts company. It was founded in 2016, as an Instagram page when Aarthi was left with several glass bottles that she didn’t want to be sent to the landfill. Aarthi calls herself a self-taught decoupage artist who reconnected with her forgotten interest during her pregnancy. Although she is a full-timer for TCC, she has managed to retain her background in HR, where she independently consults on various HR projects. She grew up in an environment that valued sustainability, and that has influenced her deeply, she recalls. She believes that it is not just the materials that can be sustainable, the process can be energy-conserving too. Aarthi would rather dry her bottles in the sun than depend on a hairdryer - even if that takes more time; she prefers a bottle varnish over a spray varnish - even when it demands more effort. She deals in a lot of upcycling, where the raw materials have to be worked on to make them fit for art in the first place - such as the case of a discarded block of wood or a curd bucket. She aims to break the fear among customers that the upcycled products lack in quality. Therefore she makes sure that her products are on par with her unsustainable competitors. “It is the joy that we did not let something go into the landfill, for me, joy is in being able to convince someone and being able to sell an upcycled product which is equivalent in quality to a store-bought product,” she affirms. Aarthi finds it very heartening that she is able to influence her clients to the extent that they now save commodities that she can upcycle. However, Aarthi accepts only those that cannot be recycled. She also doesn’t indulge in a logo, a sticker, or a packaging that can build her brand identity but resorts to reused packaging. TCC is currently venturing into utilitarian art/decor as the next step towards sustainability. Aysha Jasrin: Although she was always into handicrafts, it was the lockdown that presented the B.Arch student based in Malappuram with extra time to start Le_arts, an Instagram page that deals in ‘Everything and anything handmade’. She started the page for herself, to exhibit her creation and not with the intention of selling them. However, soon she began receiving orders for her macrame arts and upcycled journals. Some of the first things she made include journals made from her torn leather bag and denim pants. There was never a shortage of denim to make junk journals out of in the beginning, thanks to her hostel mates and relatives. However, it has turned challenging now. Aysha was always environmentally conscious. She was always taunting her friends for being careless with plastic and was nicknamed the 'wastebasket’ for always collecting plastic and disposing of them properly. As someone who upheld that behaviour, she couldn’t stand to be two-faced even when it came to pursuing her art, she says. For her macrame art, she uses only recycled cotton. When it came to sending her products to her customers, she couldn’t find paper packaging that did the job. Plastic options were in plenty and were cheap but she couldn’t bear to make an addition to the existing bulk of plastic. Aysha didn’t give in and started making her own paper covers. She also upcycles scraps of old paper to make bookmarks and postcards; pickle bottles and other cans to make plant-holders. “Plastic makes me really angry. It was when I began traveling that I noticed how plastic was everywhere. I cannot change everybody but I can change myself and the things I do,” she says. There is a lot more effort, time, money, and energy that goes into keeping plastic away, “but I think it’s all worth it,” she assures. She doesn’t feel limited by the choices she cannot have. Rather, “I just feel that there are many possibilities, but it takes more effort to find them and get started with them.” Aysha is also planning to add seed paper pens and recycled handmade papers into her collection. Urusha Maher: Urusha has always been into stationery and design. It was during one of her projects when she was studying for Architecture that she was disgruntled by piles of used paper lying around in godowns that seemed to be going nowhere. She bought a bulk of those papers which looked like they could still be put to good use. She made a couple of notebooks out of those distributed them among her friends. Her craft picked up from there when more people began to ask her for the customized notebooks she made. For the flaps of the book, she discovered that recycled cardboard papers were perfect which remains a signature style of the company she founded, The Paper Dolphin, in Chennai four years ago. Picking up the skill was an easy task for her, thanks to those arts and craft classes during which she used to keenly sit on the front bench at school. Two reasons pushed Urusha towards creating sustainable stationery. One is that quality stationery is very expensive and the other is that in that case, it might just as well have some cause behind it. “Rather than just buying luxury stationery, why not have stationery which makes a difference,” she says. For Urusha, being eco-friendly hadn’t been a priority until she got into this landscape. She is in the process of learning, she says. “There is a lot to learn, I am just trying to implement whatever I know and try to learn new things. The sustainability drive isn’t something that has always been there for me, but I am always open to learning new things,” she says. Some of the products that The Paper Dolphin sells are half-ticket notebooks, denim book sleeves, drawstring bags or pouches upcycled from used jeans (that cannot be donated), newspaper seed pens, notepads, etc among others. Apart from being a full-timer for The Paper Dolphin, Urusha is also a digital artist, and the organiser of Art Fleamart, a venture to support budding artists. Nancy Nayak: Nancy is a crochet artist who has also adopted several lifestyle choices to lead a sustainable life that sends the least to the landfills. Although originally from Mumbai, she divides her time between Bengaluru and Mumbai. If it hadn’t been for the pandemic, she would have been living in Bengaluru, she says. Nancy is also a solo traveler who has traveled extensively throughout India. Throughout her schooling, Nancy loved gifting cute cards and other handmade gifts to her friends. She was always drawn towards handicrafts. It was her friend who taught her the basics of crocheting. Two months later, she started an Instagram page, Tanabana, hoping more people would share her love for crocheting. She soon began carrying the yarn and the needle wherever she went. She also made a habit of gifting crochets to the people she met on her journeys, sometimes even giving them yarn and a needle if they showed interest in the handcraft. “One of the best things about crocheting is that you can always open the sieve and do it all over again. Nothing goes to waste,” she says. Even during her travels, she would pull out the yarn and crochet. “It also became a means for me to connect with people. Crochet became a medium for me to connect with people who love handwork and really value it,” she says. Nancy too likes to keep her craft one hundred percent plastic-free. Her packages are made of used paper and rather than using tape, she likes to fasten them with threads. She also slides in a letter to remind her customers about the sustainability of the art. Once when Nancy was in Himachal and had to send out some orders, she went to all the shops in the vicinity to get a paper envelope. In the end, when she couldn’t find any and buying a plastic-coated-paper seemed like the only option (which cannot be recycled), she chose to make a paper cover by herself to send it out. Although what comes to mind at the sound of crochet are sweaters and mittens, Nancy likes to engage in making what she calls ‘cute and small’, such as hairbands, bandanas, coasters, earphone pouches among many others.

Travel

The coastal journey took us from Udupi town to Malpe, Maravanthe, and Padubidri Beach, which was recently awarded the coveted ‘Blue Flag’ tag.

Susheela Nair

Stunning view of Baindur Beach from Ottinane sunset point

All photos by Susheela Nair

We were on a visit to Udupi district, the hub of temples and beaches. On the way, we drove by Kaup Beach (known locally as Kapu) which has the ruins of an old fort, some ancient temples and an old 130-ft-high lighthouse built in 1901 by the British. For a break in the coastal journey, we stopped by the Vaishnavite pilgrimage town of Udupi. The first thing that comes to one’s mind at the mention of Udupi is the ubiquitous masala dosa, which is said to have its origins here, apart from a whole school of south Indian cuisine that takes its name from this town. Today the names Udupi Hotel/Tiffin Room have become synonymous with inexpensive but wholesome vegetarian food. It is as renowned for its chefs, lip smacking cuisine, and 'Udupi Brahmin' restaurants as it is for its Krishna Temple and various mutts. Udupi is one of the seven sacred sites of the Tulu region. At the centre is Car Street, with the celebrated Krishna Temple and eight monasteries. The Ananteswara and Chadramoulishwar Temples here predate the Krishna Temple. The main attractions at this temple are the beautifully bejewelled statue of Lord Krishna and the Kanakan Kindi, a small window through which Krishna is believed to have given darshan to his ardent devotee Kanakadasa, a saint-minstrel. Udupi plays host to several spectacular festivals but the colourful Paryaya festival, when the officiating priests hand over their responsibilities to other seers, attracts thousands of devotees from all over the country every alternate year. Krishna Temple, Udupi From Udupi, Malpe is a pleasant 4-km drive. We visited its scenic beach, natural harbour, Balarama Temple, and Malpe’s oldest tile factory, set up by the Basel Mission. From Malpe harbour, we took a 30-minute boat ride to St Mary’s Islands to see the unique basalt rock formations protruding out of the Arabian Sea. The island is barely 300-m long and 100-m wide with a few palm trees. The hexagonal rocks in various shades of black and red is a National Geological Monument. Though Udupi district has five picturesque beaches – Someshwara, Trasi-Maravanthe, Malpe, Kaup and Padubidri – there is not much awareness of them except Malpe. Thanks to Dial Mantra, an organisation that has been accorded the task of maintaining Malpe Beach and also St Mary’s Islands, some perceptible changes like toilets, one boat jetty, lifeguard towers, drainage, food shacks, high mount lighting, cobbled walkways and parking area are discernible. Malpe Beach is also the first beach in India to have Wi-Fi facility. Tile factory “We’ve generated local employment, especially for women and people with disabilities. Sthree Sakti has generated several lakhs of revenue from the maintenance of toilets in Malpe Beach. Promotion of water sports in Malpe is part of the agenda of the Malpe Tourism Development Committee, which organised the Beach Utsav in early 2020,” says Sudesh Shetty of Dial Mantra. Though endowed with several tourist attractions, Udupi is not on the global tourism map. “Lack of funds and non-availability of updates on Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) rules are other deterrents to the promotion of coastal tourism. CRZ norms should also be relaxed to augment opportunities to exploit the available tourism potential. Infrastructure like roads, quality accommodation and eateries are woefully lacking, and connectivity development is poor. There is not a single five-star hotel in Udupi district but only guest houses, homestays and three-star hotels,” rues Shetty. Kaup Beach Scenic surprises awaited us as we drove up north along the coastal road to Maravanthe, 50 km from Udupi. En route, we passed by Kundapur, a small port with a 16th century Portuguese fort and lovely beaches. The road lies between two stretches of water – the sea and the Suparnika river – with the picturesque Kodachadri Hills in the background. Maravanthe wears the look of a fairyland at sunset when the sky turns crimson and the golden rays are reflected in both the sea as well as the river. You can gaze at the emerald sea, cross several rivers and drive through acres and acres of coconut and cashew plantations, and mango and jackfruit orchards. There’s just no end to the soothing, verdant greenery in these areas. The next halt on the coastal itinerary was Ottinane. Located a few kilometres beyond Baindur on the highway, the hillock offers a wide-angle view of the confluence of the Arabian Sea and the Baindur river. The sunset is simply stunning from here. If you’re there just at the end of the monsoons, you can savour the beauty of the hills magically draped in carpets of multi-hued wild flowers. Lighthouse at Kaup Beach Udupi district’s recent claim to fame is Padubidri Beach, which was one of the eight beaches in India to be awarded the coveted ‘Blue Flag’ tag by the Denmark-based Foundation for Environmental Education (FEE). A Blue Flag certification is a globally recognised eco-label accorded based on 33 stringent criteria under four major heads – environmental education and information, bathing water quality, environment management and conservation, and safety and services at the beaches. With the new label, Padubidri Beach has now earned a spot in the global map of tourist attractions. The state tourism department had developed various facilities at the beach, executing infrastructure projects. It bagged the coveted tag based on factors like cleanliness, safety, drinking water facilities, pollution-free atmosphere and generation of renewable energy. It is heartening to note that a vision document for the promotion of tourism in Udupi district is currently being prepared by the Udupi District Tourism administration. Susheela Nair is an independent food, travel and lifestyle writer, and photographer based in Bangalore. She has contributed content, articles and images on food, travel, lifestyle, photography, environment and ecotourism to several reputed national publications. Her writings constitute a wide spectrum, including guide books, brochures and coffee table books.

Music

The 25-year-old musician is known for songs such as 'Digital Moonji' and 'Excuse me Modi'.

Anjana Shekar

Rapper Nigavithran in a white t-shirt with the words 'Tamizhan' written in black in Tamil, black pants and black jacket

Nigavithran’s '82 D Block', a hip-hop/rap album, was launched recently on iTunes but the 25-year-old rapper from Chennai isn’t a new kid in town. Nigavithran showed interest in music very young, picking up Malaysian hip-hop and rap when he was still in school, and he already has a couple of viral protest songs to his credit. When he wrote and performed 'Digital Moonji' in 2017, the song was widely shared and used during the Neduvasal Hydrocarbon protests in Tamil Nadu. “The song was shared by many channels but we never got the credits for it. However, I was happy that the song I wrote for people reached them,” he tells TNM. Then this year, his rap titled ‘Excuse me Modi’ written during the protests held across the country against the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), National Register of Citizens (NRC) and National Population Register (NPR), went viral. “I don’t usually sit at home and pen my songs about protests. During the anti-CAA protests, I was there in person for most of them. I helped with designing posters and wanted to be a part of it in every way I could,” shares Nigavithran who presently works at Pothigai Channel in their computer graphics department. That's how ‘Excuse me Modi’ came out, with lyrics condemning the government that was splitting its people based on religion. This song went viral during the protests held earlier this year. Another interesting song is 'Namma Street' released as part of Azadi Records''Sound of Resistance Volume One'. Nigavithran had collaborated with artists like DBK from Sri Lanka, Tre Ess, RAK from Mumbai and DJ Uri. "When you listen to this song, it's like going on a trip on the streets we're talking about. I wrote lines about my street Lock Nagar in Chennai, DBK and RAK sing about their areas. It was quite an interesting collaboration," he says. But Nigavathiran was not always writing songs about protests. His journey, he shares, was influenced by his brothers and friends who at different points, changed his perspective. Talking about his initial days, he says, “When you start listening to rap, you automatically begin writing. There’s something about the genre. I think a majority of rap listeners turn into writers themselves. That’s how I started as well. While at school, I would write rap lines on my life in school.” “Paadam enaku pudikala, paada enaku pudikudhu” (I don’t like lessons, I like to sing) is a line from one of his earliest songs, written while being punished to stand outside his classroom. Has he performed them to his teachers, we ask. “No, I haven’t gone back to school since I left. Although, they did know that I used to write songs and sing,” he adds. From writing lines on his life, he then progressed to writing about love. However, when he joined college, Nigavithran briefly stopped making music. “I never gave up completely, I would continue writing songs but didn’t perform them. It was mainly because I was unsure of how to pursue it. I didn’t want to burden my family financially. Renting a studio as a 17-year-old is an expensive task,” he says. Yet music found a way to pull him back into it. “Around the third year, I joined another classmate, whom I didn’t know until then had an interest in music and we formed 'Dudez in Madras' band,” he says. This led him to Vinoth, a sound engineer who helped him record his songs. “I recorded at his studio and he offered to work with me. His offer was an important step in my music,” he says. Poet and writer Muthurasa Kumar, and Nigavithran's brother Kavithran too were great influences in refining his style. “They exposed me to social issues and expanded my understanding of it,” he says. Nigavithran was part of Sethil Paya, a musical event organised by a group of like-minded people in December 2017. “This was before music-activism gained traction. We performed at Nadu Kuppam, a fishermen’s colony in Chennai to great response,” he says and adds that this was one of his first experiences that gave him a social connect with people. His new album, '82 D Block', has eight songs on different topics, all written a year-and-a-half ago. There’s a bit about his life, there’s a tribute to his mentors, there’s a love song, and there are songs on social issues ranging from sexual assault to demonetisation. The name itself is a tribute to where his journey began; his house 82 on D Block in Lock Nagar area in Chennai. “I lived there from the time I was born until I finished school. It was where my music journey began and I wanted to name my album after it,” he shares. “The 'Don’t Touch' song (on sexual assault) has explicit lines and I had written it during the Kathua rape incident. I did consider changing it for this album, but it is true to the feelings I had then and now. I wanted to retain it as is,” he explains. There’s the 'Puratchi' song, a protest song that covers a range of issues, and 'Machi Tea', an ode to the humble tea. For this album, Nigavithran thanks Rayappan Francis of RayApp Studios who helped him record and distribute it. “Rayappan anna was a great support. He gave his studio for free, helped with production and also took it to iTunes,” Nigavathran tells TNM. The album will soon be up on Spotify and other streaming apps. “There’s a big underground scene with many talented rappers in our city but most tend to stay underground for several reasons. One is the lack of financial backing. It is very difficult for an independent artist to stay independent. They always need the support of someone to help promote their music. I have faced the same difficulty and this needs to change,” he finishes.

Books

In an interview to PTI, Congress MP Sharoor Tharoor talks about his book ‘The Battle of Belonging: On Nationalism, Patriotism, and What it Means to Be’.

PTI

Shashi Tharoor in a green kurtha and black overcoat stands in an office holding his book, next to the Indian flag

By Asim Kamal Secularism as principle and practice in India is in "danger", but "forces of hatred" cannot alter the country's secular character, senior Congress leader Shashi Tharoor told PTI in an interview on his new book The Battle of Belonging. In the book on nationalism, patriotism and belonging, the Congress Member of Parliament (MP) from Kerala makes a stinging critique of the Hindutva doctrine, asserting that it is a political doctrine, not a religious one. Here are some excerpts from the interview: In your book you have vehemently argued against the Hindutva idea of India. But with Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP)'s meteoric rise and electoral success, would you concede that a majority of the country is not against Hindutva as many liberals make out to be. What are the reasons for Hindutva's popularity? I don't agree, because the 37% vote won by the BJP last year is not a majority! Yes, Hindutva has successfully exploited fear of the 'Other', just as most reactionary ideologies do. The Hindutva ideologues in power have also had no qualms about appropriating or undermining the ostensibly independent branches of governance, from autonomous bodies like the Election Commission or the RTI (Right To Information) commissioners or the Reserve Bank to even media and the courts, in the service of their version of nationalism. This creates a sort of self-reinforcing echo chamber, in which the government is able to constantly push Hindutva ideas. That is why I would caution against the idea of Hindutva being 'popular', as you suggest. How can we tell? Sure, the BJP holds a commanding parliamentary majority, but it has worked overtime to suppress dissenting voices. In that sense, it is difficult to get an accurate gauge of support for Hindutva among ordinary Indians. I do not think that a majority of the country supports the hateful rhetoric and exclusionary nature of Hindutva. With Hindutva now a reality in mainstream politics and often setting the agenda, do you think opposition parties including Congress have been forced to peddle in soft Hindutva or 'Hindutva Lite' at some point in time or the other. Judging by the number of times I have been asked this question, I do recognise that there's a very real and tangible concern for some liberal Indians. But as I have often pointed out, we in the Congress Party are very clear that we cannot allow ourselves to become a BJP-Lite. I have long argued that any attempt to emulate 'Pepsi Lite' by 'BJP Lite' will end up with us becoming like ‘Coke Zero' that is, Congress Zero. Congress is not BJP in any shape or form, and we should not attempt to be a lighter version of something we are not. Nor are we trying to, in my view. The Congress party makes a distinction between Hinduism and Hindutva. The Hinduism we respect is inclusive and non-judgemental, whereas Hindutva is a political doctrine based on exclusion. So we are not offering a watered-down version of the BJP's political messaging: Rahul Gandhi has made it explicitly clear that, for all avowing of his personal Hinduism by going to temples, he does not support any form of Hindutva, neither soft nor hard. As a Congressman, I understand that whereas Hinduism is a religion, which is the personal concern of every individual, Hindutva is a political doctrine that departs fundamentally from the principal tenets of my Hindu faith. While Hinduism is inclusive of all ways of worship, Hindutva is indifferent to devotion and cares principally about identity. Hinduism is open to reform and progress, which is why it has flourished for 4,000 years; Hindutva is reactionary and regressive, with its roots in the racial pride' ethos that spawned fascism in the 1920s, which is why it is unlikely to outlast its current peak this century. Do you think as an antidote to the Hindutva agenda, Congress needs to talk about secularism more often than it has been doing of late? Has secularism become a sort of bad word not used even by the opposition much? I disagree with the assertion that Congress has not talked about secularism enough. We have at every opportunity stressed our unshakeable commitment to secularism not as distancing from religion but encouraging all to flourish -- and the party's glorious heritage of advocating freedom of religion has sustained and strengthened over time. Politically and personally, we embrace the acceptance of difference. I think that the spirit of Indian secularism is alive and well, both in the Congress party and in the country at large, and we are striving every day to ensure that it is safeguarded from those who seek to erode it. You have also talked about the abrogation of Article 370 and violation of rights in Kashmir at length in your book. Congress leader P Chidambaram recently called for the restoration of Article 370 and was attacked by the BJP. What are your views on the issue? I have already articulated my stand clearly within the walls of Parliament and it is a matter of public record. It's not just an issue of abrogating 370; even Nehruji had said the provision was a temporary one. But the Constitution specifies how it is to be done. So though it shouldn't matter what side of the debate on Article 370 you stand on -- after all, differing voices are the lifeline of any democracy -- the manner in which it was implemented, the way our own fellow citizens were overnight clamped down upon by their own government, consciously and willfully disregarding the democratically enshrined rights guaranteed to all Indians, does not bode well for the future of our country. No political objective can justify the huge-scale abuse of the rights of Indian citizens in this manner. You have also talked about the 'Hindu Pakistan' controversy at length. You have argued that the BJP intends to create a mirror image of Pakistan. Have we become more intolerant as a society already as the recent Tanishq ad controversy showed? The Tanishq controversy offered yet another illustration of how reactionary and bigoted certain right-wing fringe elements have become, even as the ruling dispensation was quick to distance itself from the episode (you must have seen the surprising but welcome condemnation by the Home Minister, no less). But let us not forget that this is a Frankenstein's monster that they have created, sustained through organised and vicious social media trolls, and it's just one more reminder of the appalling power of the full-throated communal hatred that is so often unleashed in today's India. As I have said, if such people are so infuriated by Hindu-Muslim 'ekatvam', why not boycott the world's longest-surviving symbol of Hindu-Muslim unity: India itself? Petty prejudice can exist in any society, but what troubles me about the present is that our national leaders, who should be models for the country to follow, don't appear to be in control of the hatred they themselves have created and enabled and in letting this loose, they are allowing the haters, the trolls, the cynical and opportunistic TV anchors, the vigilantes on the streets, all of them to take us to a very dark place indeed. Maharashtra Governor Bhagat Singh Koshyari took a dig at the state’s Chief Minister Uddhav Thackrey over secularism. Do you think the word secularism in our Constitution is in imminent danger? Yes, I suggested he should be given a different letterhead to express such ideas, rather than the official Raj Bhavan notepaper! The word (secularism) is only a word; but even if the government takes the word 'secularism' out of the Constitution, it is still a secular Constitution. After all, freedom of worship, freedom to profess and propagate your religion, freedom of expression, minority rights, and equality of all citizens, are all part of the basic structure of the Constitution. They can't disappear by deleting a word. The ruling dispensation may well try to do that: there is certainly a concerted effort to erode secularism and replace it with a sectarian way of being that offers no place to religious minorities in Indian society. Secularism as principle and practice is in danger, but I do not see it falling anytime soon: India embodies tolerance and pluralism in its very essence, and I do not believe that forces of hatred can permanently overcome our fundamental secularism. But we must not let our guard down; we must continue to oppose such regressive ideas wherever they arise. My book is a contribution to that effort and to reclaiming nationalism and patriotism for those, like me, who would extend the embrace of these terms to all Indians. With the focus on jobs in the Bihar polls, do you think the result of the Bihar Assembly election could be an indicator of economic issues taking precedence over more emotive issues like those of nationalism for the common man? It remains to be seen! State issues involve verdicts on state governments' performance. But with Mr Modi campaigning for the BJP and his party raising Pakistan and nationalism as issues too, one cannot escape those topics either. We will have to learn from the results whether the voter was swayed.

Poetry

The Quarantine Train, a community of poets and writers, instituted the memorial prize after Khiwani’s untimely death in March.

Anjana Shekar

The quarantine train Deepankar Khiwani Memorial Prize collage

R: Deepankar Khiwani

A creative writing workshop that came into existence this March, when lockdown was imposed to control the pandemic, has burgeoned into an important community for poets and creative writers across the country. The Quarantine Train (TQT) was started by Pune-based poet Arjun Rajendran, who at first set out to gauge people’s interest for a regularly held creative writing workshop. “In March when the pandemic was at its peak, I posted on Facebook to know if people would be interested in a regular creative writing workshop. I was, of course, holding such workshops since 2017 but this was going to be new, it was going to be held online. The response immediately was very encouraging,” Arjun shares with TNM. The group first started with poetry appreciation sessions held over Zoom, and later progressed into poetry critiquing and guest sessions. TQT has had guest speakers from countries like Ireland and Canada, and the group presently has about 71 members. TQT has announced its first poetry competition under the newly instituted Deepankar Khiwani Memorial Prize, with prizes worth Rs 30,000. Poet Deepankar Khiwani, who had moved to Mumbai from Paris only recently, passed away at the age of 47 on March 28 this year. “Deepankar is a dear friend with whom I have shared many ideas. He is an expert in the metrical form and has released a book named Entr’acte (which means interlude between two acts in a play in French). He always wanted to do something for poetry in India. His sudden and very unexpected passing earlier this year came as a shock to the community. I wanted to institute a prize in his honour and pay respect to his memory,” Arjun says, whose latest poetry collection, 'One Man Two Executions', was published recently by Westland. The prize has no entry fee, and is open to all Indian nationals aged above 18. Submissions can have three to five original, unpublished poems in English. “We opened the prize on September 15 and the last date is December 31. We will take about three months for judging and results will be announced by April 2021. This will be a “blind process” judging to eliminate all forms of partiality,” Arjun adds. Noting that the prize money is indeed a high amount as far as Indian poetry competitions go, with the first prize worth Rs 15,000, Arjun shares that they were able to do so with help from donors. The membership fee collected from TQT members has also contributed towards this. What started as a space to encourage creative writing has turned into a nurturing ground for fresh talents. “We have been compared to a fellowship program, a second-degree program…” Arjun says. The bi-weekly sessions that convene every Tuesday and Saturday between 9 and 11 pm, Arjun adds, have turned into a “home” for creative writers. “A lot of them have told me that TQT has given them more focus during lockdown. Most importantly it has given them a community of like-minded people, a connection with well-read poets who can mentor them. We have poets of all ages and all skill levels, reading and growing together,” he observes. Those wishing to enter the Deepankar Khiwani Memorial Prize can do so by logging on to TQT’s Facebook page here.

Social Media

Most of them are based in the UAE and cover a variety of topics in their vlogs like beauty, technology and education.

TNM Staff

Jovita in a dress, Ahmad in a black t shirt and Veena in a yellow and green Sari

Jovita, Ahmad and Veena

From food to education to roast videos, video bloggers entertain through a variety of ways on the internet, sought after for content as well as style. Roasts are perhaps the newest entrants in the wide range of subjects covered by these YouTubers and content creators. Here is a list of Malayali content creators popular across the world. Roasting: Ahmad Al Kaashekh is a Dubai-based Malayali vlogger and YouTuber who describes himself as an actor who also does science. He has been putting content on his channel 'Ahmad Al Kaashekh' for over two years now - mostly humorous videos, or performances. Recently his videos, roasting shows like ‘Annie's Kitchen’ and a popular TikTok user Viber Good, have been going viral. Watch: Ahmad's video on Viber Good Gayathri Babu is another YouTuber who does roasts based in Dubai. A former radio jockey, Gayathri got pulled into this line of work after an episode of Annie's Kitchen had made her angry enough to react to it. She puts her videos under the label 'Get Roast with Gaya3' and in sarcastic pieces, reacts not just to shows, but certain actors who belittle her. Read: Malayalam actor mocks YouTuber and asks her to cook in the kitchen, she roasts him Food: Veena, hailing from what she calls a 'sleepy sweet village' in Thrissur, lives in Dubai with her family and blogs about authentic 'thani naadan' Kerala food. With 1.7 million subscribers, she regularly updates her YouTube channel 'Veena's Curry World' with recipes for all occasions. Her catchphrase is, "If I can cook, you can too." Watch: Veena cook Kerala nadan chicken curry Firzon Chuttipara: Another popular food vlogger is Firoz Chuttipara who runs The Village Food channel on YouTube. Firoz, who migrated from Palakkad to Saudi Arabia to work as a welder, came back home a decade later as a skilled meat chef! His food recipes that could serve a large number of people, which we sometimes see his team serve at charity homes. These are often cooked on a big stove in the open air. Read Firoz's story here. Skills: M4 Tech is a popular blog run by two Malayalis, Geo Joseph and Praveen Joseph. They produce interesting technology-related video content on their M4 Tech YouTube channel. Android tips and tricks, 'unboxing', tech reviews are some of the aspects they cover. Mujeeb T, a Chemistry teacher, runs a popular YouTube channel called MT Vlog, with more than a million subscribers. There are more than 200 education videos with Mujeeb giving tips related to psychology, effective parenting, personality development and career guidance and so on. Apart from being a teacher, he has also been a soft skills trainer for 15 years. Watch Mujeeb's videos here. Beauty: Aishwarya Ajit has Malayali parents but Dubai has been her home. She was a presenter on Dubai One's TV's show Studio One before turning into an entrepreneur with her company Lockstress. Aishwarya is sought after for her beauty and makeup tips videos on Instagram and YouTube. Unnimaya, a young Instagrammer, is known for her videos on beauty and make-up tips. Her videos are on Instagram and YouTube under the label Simply My Style Unni. Jovita George is a beauty vlogger based in Kuwait and she has made a space for herself by being one of the few who addresses the Malayali obsession with fair skin colour head on. She is a former Miss Kerala title holder who took to fashion styling after having brief stints as an anchor, model etc. She blogs under Mr Jovita George on YouTube. Watch: Jovita's video on festive Indian Saris Also read: Parotta, pulisserry, paayasam: Meet 6 food vloggers that Kerala loves

Books

As part of his research, the poet immersed himself in English translations of the Tamil diaries written by Ananda Ranga Pillai, the interpreter for the French governor.

Chintan Girish Modi

Collage of poet Arjun Rajendran with his book One Man Two Executions

Arjun Rajendran, author of the poetry books Snake Wine (2014), The Cosmonaut in Hergé’s Rocket (2017) and Your Baby Is Starving (2017), is jubilant about the publication of his new volume, One Man Two Executions, with Westland. Of the three sections this book is divided into, the first is set in French colonial Pondicherry during the Carnatic wars. As part of his research, the poet immersed himself in English translations of the Tamil diaries written by Ananda Ranga Pillai (1709-1761), who used to work as a dubash or interpreter for the French governor Joseph François Dupleix. Here are some excerpts from an interview. What led to your interest in the diaries of Ananda Ranga Pillai? My father is interested in numismatics and history. In 2015, when he came across online translations of Pillai’s diaries into English, he asked me, “Do you know this guy who has written copiously about Pondicherry in the 18th century?” I had no clue. I started looking into the diaries only in 2017. I found them rich and detailed but took a while to figure out how to approach them as material to make poems. History is only a launchpad for me to create ambience and images. I am not a historian and I’m free to take creative liberties. How would you describe Pillai’s contribution to the historical record of life in French colonial Pondicherry during the Carnatic wars? Invaluable! Pillai was not only an interpreter to the French governor Joseph François Dupleix but also in charge of espionage. Through his diaries, we learn about power dynamics between the French, English, Danish, Portuguese, Mughals, and Marathas -- all of whom were vying for the Coromandel coast because of its strategic significance. We get to know about ships that no longer exist, coins minted during that time, the role astrology played in people’s lives, weapons used, price fluctuations during wartime, the practice of slavery, physical segregation between ‘caste Christians’ and ‘casteless Christians’ within the church, and more. Could you share a bit about the process of crafting poems out of this historical research? I read the diaries several times, and made notes whenever I came across descriptions of events that struck me. Pillai writes with a sense of self-importance. He isn’t witty or entertaining, so reading was certainly a challenge. Each poem took almost a month to write. People who read my initial poems found them dense, so I realised that I needed to go easy on the history. I introduced more imaginary elements. Three of the poems in the first section of the book -- “guzzerati girl, riverbank,” “The Lascar’s Wish,” and “Pirate” and a few other poems -- are about someone I love. I have inserted her into the 18th century. This way, the first section segues into the second, “The Girl in The Peapod". What is the story behind your poem “One man: two executions,” which gives this book its title? Tell us about the priest who “condemned/ the condemned/ soul to a second hanging.” During Pillai’s time, there were two methods of execution -- death by firing squad for military officials, and death by hanging for civilians. It was believed that, if the rope used for hanging gave way and broke, God had pardoned the person. The priest was called in to give his blessing, and the person was exonerated. In this poem, the priest defies the custom by not absolving the criminal. He overrules God’s decision, and his own duty to pardon. He demands that “the almost-hanged” be hanged again. How did you process what you read about casteism in Pillai’s time? I had an emotional moment when I read about an incident, which is referenced in my poem “Desecration.” Christian priests in Pondicherry, thanks to the encouragement of the French governor’s wife -- who was a fanatic -- threw faeces in the courtyard of a Hindu temple. It’s not mentioned in the diaries but it’s a well-known fact that Hindu priests were unwilling to get their hands ‘dirty’. It’s assumed they expected the filth to be cleansed by the oppressed castes, who were usually not allowed to enter the temple. They were brought in to do the job but worshippers would not even look them in the eye because they were considered a polluting influence. What a conundrum! If you could go back in time, and present Pillai with a copy of your book, what might such a scene look like? Pillai was an affluent man, so the occasion would demand an enormous ceremony. I would wear opulent robes, and travel on an acheen horse and palanquins bearing gifts to meet him. At that time, writing was mostly done on palmyra leaves. A book printed on paper would be a treasure even for a man of his standing. It would be brought in a special carriage with great fanfare. Guns would be fired to mark the occasion. There would be dance and music, perhaps even a feast. How did your Charles Wallace Trust fellowship at the University of Stirling, and your archival work at the National Maritime Museum in London, help you write this book? Stirling is a medieval town in Scotland with a long history of resisting the English. It was a fortunate coincidence that I was writing about another power doing the same in Pondicherry. Stirling gave me a lot of space and time to contemplate and write. However, I could hardly meet any scholars of the historical period I was interested in. At the university, professors’ pensions were being threatened; many of them were protesting and the campus was deserted. Going to the National Maritime Museum in London helped me appreciate the complexity of workmanship that goes into ship-building. Looking at the meticulously crafted models, I imagined those vessels sailing in the ocean. It bolstered my creativity. Would you mind talking about your time in Pondicherry? Frankly, it didn’t add much to my research. I spent only three days there. The Pondicherry I visited was vastly (and predictably so) different from the colonial town that Pillai inhabited. His house, now converted into a museum, isn’t well-maintained. The room where he used to write and his diaries were out of bounds for visitors. I saw some artefacts from Pillai’s time, most importantly his portrait commissioned by the trader he saved from ruin. And I met his descendants -- including the spouse of Ananda Ranga Ravichander -- who were proud of their ancestry. Who wouldn’t be? All images courtesy Westland.

Media

From civic issues and community activities to supporting local business, neighbourhood newspapers are geographically focussed.

Shiba Kurian

A senior citizens reading a newspaper and holding a mug. The man is seen wearing a yellow t-shirt

Representative image from Picxy by lakshmiprasad

‘Anna Nagar postal staff threaten to go on a strike’ — “This headline might have been of little to no consequence to residents across Chennai; but for the residents of Anna Nagar, their lives depended on it, as communication with loved ones in other countries happened via letters to a great extent in the ’90s. This was one of the first news articles we published when we started this neighbourhood newspaper in September 1992,” said KS Ramakrishnan, the editor and publisher of Anna Nagar Times, a newspaper focused on a major residential area in Tamil Nadu’s Chennai city. Over 28 years, the circulation of Anna Nagar Times has gone up from 8,000 to 60,000. “Hyperlocal newspapers are like town criers, who make public announcements in a street or at a marketplace in a town,” said Ramakrishnan, who is the former Resident Editor of Indian Express. He also owns the hyperlocal newspaper, Mambalam Times. Screenshot of e-paper version of Anna Nagar Times There are scores of hyperlocal newspapers across the country that cater to a vast neighbourhood, a section of a neighbourhood, a gated community, a region or even a district. Many are run by passionate journalists like Vincent D’Souza, the editor of Mylapore Times, and some by residents’ welfare associations (RWAs) like the Tarnaka Times, a monthly newsletter by the Standing Committee of Tarnaka Residents' Welfare Associations (SCOWTRA), a federation of 18 RWAs based in Telangana’s Hyderabad city. Screenshot of an article on Tarnaka Times, run by a consortium of RWAs How hyperlocal sector contributes to the news ecology Ganga Sridhar, a resident of Mylapore, lists a string of reasons to subscribe to Mylapore Times: “Updates on summer camps and activities organised for children in the neighbourhood, information on health camps or workshops for adults, updates on certain roads being made one-way or blocked during festivities, and information on new eat-outs or recommended shops are useful.” Such updates are the result of a confluence between journalists, residents and local non-governmental organisations and activists. “Most of the issues come to the notice of the civic officials, who then resolve them, although in a slow-paced manner,” said Ramakrishnan. “But, when a civic issue is resolved by a local authority, we highlight that in the newspaper. It encourages them and helps us establish a good rapport with local-level officials rather than antagonising them.” Residents also turn to hyperlocal newspapers to publish news about a school annual festival, small achievements by their children or a local contest. It gives them a sense of joy to see their celebratory photos published in the media. “Besides, if a minister is invited to inaugurate a campaign or initiative by RWAs, mainstream newspapers highlight the former rather than the residents who were behind it,” pointed out Rao Chelikani, Chief Editor of Tarnaka Times. Neighbourhood newspapers also amplify the efforts of residents and organisations fighting for a cause. For instance, Kirthana, who runs Hope for Critters, an animal welfare NGO, out of her residence in RA Puram, asked residents to alert her if they find dogs in need of medical attention in the area through Mylapore Times. They also highlight civic campaigns. Based on a meeting by the 'Ennikala Nigah Vedika' (Telangana Election Watch Wing) of SCOTRWA, which runs Tarnaka Times, the State Election Commissioner said it was mulling setting up e-voting facility for eligible senior voters during the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation (GHMC) elections amidst the pandemic. An article by Uthradesam helped this family in Kasaragod get fund to rebuild their roof While newspapers covering a single or a block of the neighbourhood have a skeleton team of 10 to 15 reporters, photographers and marketing staff, newspapers covering a larger portion of a region or district have about 100 odd staff. Jessy (name changed), a Chennai journalist working for a leading newspaper in India, has covered news for the main edition as well as the hyperlocal supplement. “We usually cover one or two beats in the main paper and have many boundaries. With hyperlocal news, there is a flood of stories to spot if you are out on the field, and the connect you make with people is more satisfying,” she said. Karavali Ale (Coastal Waves), a Kannada newspaper published in Mangaluru, has reporters in every taluk and neighbouring areas. Utharadesam, a Malayalam daily newspaper that covers local news across Kasaragod district, has full-time and part-time reporters as well as contributors as news sources. Karavali Ale and Utharadesam also run one or two pages of national and state news that are pertinent to the daily debates among residents. By default, residents become the creators and consumers of hyperlocal news as they have their ears to the ground and are personally affected by the issues, pointed out a senior journalist in Chennai, who handles hyperlocal newspapers for a prominent news organisation. “But, the role of the editor is to check for facts, bias and exaggeration to ensure the element of objectivity,” said the senior journalist. Many civic issues are often published as letters from readers. “Most of these letters have abusive language. So, we have to tone down the language and highlight only the issue,” added Ramakrishnan. These news organisations rely on circulation revenue and advertisements to sustain. Local businesses like a hole-in-the-wall tea shop, textile store or a coaching centre advertise at low costs in these papers to target their audience. Hyperlocal newspapers also get a sizable amount of obituaries and other classified ads. However, many have had to close shutters due to loss in both the revenue models. Seetaraman, who has worked for Indian Express and The Hindu, said local ads are just not enough to sustain hyperlocal journalism, adding that he once met former Karnataka Chief Minister Siddaramaiah and asked him to consider giving government ads in local newspapers. The senior journalist had to shut down his Canara Times, a local English daily in Dakshina Kannada, due to losses. How COVID-19 changed the dynamics of hyperlocal news The media industry took a hit when the COVID-19 lockdown was announced in March. Many hyperlocal newspapers had to stop printing. “But during emergency situations, residents want to know whom they can turn to locally for help, food and medical support. So we went beyond journalism during the lockdown,” said Vincent, who used Facebook and turned Mylapore Times into a 24x7 local news and help centre. Vincent and his team were busy attending to the barrage of queries from residents — where can I find a nurse for my ailing mother? Is it safe to bring domestic workers from other areas? “We even received queries at midnight from abroad as many of their parents are living alone in these neighbourhoods. They wanted to know if it was safe for their parents to step out,” said Vincent. “Readers, too, would pitch in with useful information, including suggesting good doctors. While many were a newer audience to us, some started actively participating. As a result, we were able to drive traffic to our website.” These newspapers told the ground stories, notably on what each community group was doing and managing during the lockdown. “Many of our reports on Tarnaka Times during the lockdown were on who helped in a humanitarian manner, to serve as an example. Residents’ groups in Hyderabad provided ventilators to hospitals, personal protective equipment (PPE) kits to municipal workers and sanitation workers and distributed food to migrant workers. Such news encouraged other residents to contribute too,” said Rao Chelikani. Mujeeb of Utharadesam dedicatedly busted fake news spreading on WhatsApp as a social responsibility. “Residents in Kasaragod were relying on us to get clarity on the message they received. The district administration also supported us during the period,” he said. Since bus services were suspended, Seetaraman said he hired private vehicles to deliver the Karavali Ale newspapers to far-flung villages in parts of coastal Karnataka following requests. Screenshot of a page from the e-paper version of Karavali Ale newspaper When the lockdown was lifted, Mylapore Times started publishing stories on local businesses, including home-based businesses like a resident selling podis, in order to boost their morale. “Since July, we have been keeping our ad rates low, because hyperlocal news organisations depend on the local market, which, in turn, ride on us. We created small ad patches on the website, and many clients have been coming back to us slowly and steadily,” said Vincent. READ THIS WEEK'S MYLAPORE TIMES E-PAPER / October 31, SHARE it with friends too! It is posted online. Download. http://www.mylaporetimes.com/epaper/MTOct312020.pdf Posted by Mylapore Times Newspaper on Friday, October 30, 2020 While Vincent said the funds he had saved in the previous years came in handy, Mujeeb was greatly helped by the Journalism Emergency Relief Fund from Google News Initiative. Future of hyperlocal news sector The silver lining in the pandemic for neighbourhood newspapers is that it pushed them to enter the digital space. “Utharadesam’s online presence was just supplementary. Because we faced several constraints in printing the newspapers, including getting the printing plates and chemicals from neighbouring Mangaluru (borders were closed), we started focussing more on the website and Facebook page, including online ads. We now give live updates online, which has helped us increase our reach,” said Mujeeb. Vincent, who used WhatsApp to broadcast local news in Tamil, is set to start a Tamil website — “the Tamil avatar of the Mylapore Times”. He also started a YouTube channel called MylaporeTV, which posts local news videos every week. Avenues, a monthly newspaper just for Harrington Road in Chennai, was forced to shut its print edition during the lockdown due to shortage of ads and funds. But its editor Suhasini Frederick is starting Avenues Broadcast on WhatsApp. “Now I am enjoying the fact that I don’t need to pay for paper, printing and delivery. Ad tariff is also low and advertisers are finding it attractive,” she said. Notably, the hyperlocal sector has seen new entrants on the digital front. For example, Lokal is a Bengaluru-based startup that offers hyperlocal news to the non-English speaking, mobile-using readers in Tamil Nadu, Telangana and Andhra Pradesh via app. Though hyperlocal news organisations are making inroads into the digital medium, Vincent noted that readers still value print editions, especially senior citizens in neighbourhoods, who form a major proportion of the readers.

Art

Devi Menon is an artist, author of the graphic novel ‘Amla Mater’ and a software professional based in London.

Cris

Plants, especially those you can eat, have a way of seeping into the works of Devi Menon. She is an artist, author of a graphic novel and software professional living in London, after spending many happy years in her hometown of Palakkad in Kerala, a few each in Chennai and Bengaluru, and then some time in Canada. In October – the month artists across the world celebrate as Inktober to challenge themselves to work every day – Devi found two hours every night after her little daughter fell asleep to create artworks around vegetables – the ‘unsung heroes’ of her kitchen. “During the lockdown, I was cooking so much that I realised we rely so much on vegetables – these unsung heroes of our kitchen,” she says in an interview. The heroes appeared every day, one after the other, on her Instagram page. Half an onion for a work on The Old Man and The Sea She doesn’t call herself a professional artist, but one who fell into the business by gorging on so many graphic novels. “The first of these was Amruta Patil’s Kari. And then there were so many - Guy Delisle’s travelogues, Michel Rabagliati’s Paul Goes Fishing and so on. When you read so much you also want to get into the medium somehow and draw yourself. That’s how it began – in my late 30s!” Devi says. A green chilly becomes the boat for The Lady of Shallot It wasn’t all digital work at first. She drew the old fashioned way, on paper, and these made their way into her first graphic novel – Amla Mater. Two little girls go their separate ways and reconnect later through Amla (Indian gooseberry) - is the short one-liner she could tell you about the book. Yali Publishing, which promotes indie publishing, let her write and illustrate the book too, Devi says. A major part of the book is set in Kunissery, a village in Palakkad that Devi grew up in. “It was surrounded by nature. I had such a magical childhood and I keep going to it in my mind. I wish kids of these days had that luxury of space,” Devi says. She put in her book the tales she grew up hearing, like that of the odayan, a magical creature that can change shape. It was also the subject of the Mohanlal movie Odiyan, released in 2018. Maggie Noodles in a depiction of The Wind in the Willows You can spot some of that magic in her Inktober challenges too. She converts a green chilly into the boat that the lady of Shallot escapes in, in Tennyson’s famous poem. Uncooked Maggi Noodles becomes the leaves of the willow tree for a picture on the children’s classic The Wind in the Willows. An unsuspecting mushroom becomes the mop of hair for The Beatles’ drummer Ringo Starr in another picture. Half an onion becomes the nose of the old man in Hemingway’s The Old Man and The Sea, and a handful of Basmati rice becomes the injured eye of the superhero Kung Fu Panda. Mushroom becomes the mop of hair on Ringo Starr “Last year I chose fall colours of leaves as a theme, and in 2016, when I just got back to work after maternity leave, I chose to draw office supplies for the Inktober challenge,” Devi says. Inktober was created in 2009 by artist Jake Parker to make drawing a habit and improve skills. Artists world over have since taken it up for developing their own skills and staying committed to working on art. Watch: How vegetables turned to art works for Devi View this post on Instagram Inktober 31 #inktober #inktober #unsungkitchenheros #seeyounextyear #illustration #sketch A post shared by devimenon (@devimenon) on Oct 31, 2020 at 3:19pm PDT

Food

Curry leaves form an essential taste enhancer in south Indian kitchens, where they are mainly used to temper dishes.

Anjana Shekar

Pixcy/Pankaj.madhu01

I dreamt that curry leaves were falling from the sky. Full sprigs with waxy, dark green leaves; smaller, tender, light green leaves… they all swirled down from above. I picked up a few and gathered them into a bouquet. I picked and picked until I could no more but the leaves kept falling… Later that day, the dream came back to me, reminding me why I probably dreamt about it in the first place. In my fridge were two boxes filled with curry leaf sprigs. If you were to open them, the cramped in curry leaf stems would plop out immediately, and if you’re not careful enough, down onto the floor. My “give me very few curry leaves, please” requests to the vegetable seller are met with the swift snapping of a generous branch in half, hurriedly stuffed into my bulging bag of fresh vegetables. There is no time to protest. One time when I did refuse, someone behind me said it was inauspicious to say no to curry leaves. As absurd as this may sound, Hazeena Seyad, author of Ravuthar Recipes, a collection of traditional Ravuthar style recipes, explains that this belief, which is prevalent in her hometown Tirunelveli as well, could very well be a myth created by vegetable sellers. “They usually do this to sell coriander leaves. By giving away free curry leaves, coriander leaves that tend to wilt sooner under the sun are sold too. That’s most probably where the notion came from,” she tells me. The curry leaf conundrum, as I’d like to call it, begins here. What to do with the excess? Last month, I coaxed my mother into whipping up a karuveppilai kozhambu – a spicy, tart paste made using tamarind, garlic, pepper and lots of curry leaves, which goes perfectly with hot rice or dosas. Stored in the refrigerator, it can be used for up to a week. Then a couple of weeks ago, I dropped a box of them at my mother-in-law’s place with an innocent “Oh, I had some extra, and developed a sudden craving for your karuvepillai podi” request. The dry condiment that is a great mixed with rice is made by grinding the leaves with cumin seeds, chana dal and dry red chilies. Truth be told, she did make it differently, adding some semi-roasted, semi-crushed curry leaves towards the very end, giving a whole different flavour and texture to the dry podi. But despite my clever tactics, I never seemed to be able to finish the branch that was so mindlessly added to my bag, before my next trip to the vegetable shop. The leaves only piled up. So now I had two full boxes that I dreaded opening and the dream was a manifestation of this deep struggle. The slightly bitter and herby leaves form an essential taste enhancer in Indian kitchens, south Indian to be specific. They are mainly used to temper dishes, from sambar to curries, to add a fresh, herby flavour. Deepa Bhasthi, a writer based out of Coorg, shares that her mother would air dry and powder the leaves and store them in bottles. “She’d add the powder to the dishes in the end and it gave the food an amazing fragrance. This is a good option if you don’t have access to fresh leaves,” she explains. Archana Pidathala, author of Five Morsels of Love, a collection of heirloom recipes from her grandmother’s Andhra kitchen, too follows a similar method. “I sun dry them for two to three days and store them in a jar. I sometimes crush them and add the powder over anything, from eggs to even rotis. I sometimes knead it with the roti dough just like one would use kasuri methi,” she shares. I also found that both Deepa and Archana have two very distinct ways of using these leaves that are quite inventive. If you have access to tender green curry leaves, you could try Deepa’s version of this potato curry. “It’s a lot like aloo palak but you’ll need tender curry leaves for it. It’s amazing and has quite a different taste too, I don’t think anyone else in my family likes it,” she chuckles. The tender curry leaves are first sautéed in oil and then the usual masala is added and the potatoes follow. “It is a dry curry but the fragrance of the curry leaves seeps into the potatoes,” Deepa adds. Archana talks about a particularly delish sounding raita-like recipe native to the Karnataka region called the tambuli, in which curry leaves are sautéed in very little oil first. “I add cumin, black pepper and a couple of tablespoons of grated coconut, and grind it all together. It’s then whisked in curd with a little bit of salt. It’s not exactly raita. I also do the same when I have excess dill or doddapatre (Mexican mint),” Archana explains. Chitra Agrawal, who lives in the US and runs a condiment company called Brooklyn Delhi, has another interesting recipe that makes use of quite a bit of curry leaves. “Just yesterday my husband made a pesto with carrot tops and tempered it with mustard seeds, asafoetida and curry leaves ground into the pesto for a herby flavour. It was delicious and a great way to use up leftover leaves,” she says. While she surprised me by saying that they also liked flavouring popcorn and hash browns with curry leaves, I found a very quirky recipe that uses curry leaves. A 2016 piece in The Guardian introduced me to a zesty and very Indian cocktail whose not-so-secret ingredient is curry leaves! Called the Mumbai Martini, a handful of curry leaves, ginger slices, a dash of lemon juice and sugar syrup is mixed and shaken with vodka and finally strained into a chilled martini glass. On how best to bring out the potent flavour of the curry leaves, Chitra says she rubs them between her fingers first to release their natural oils before frying them in oil. “I dry fry them as well before grinding in spice powders like saaru or huli. It’s important to completely dry the leaves when making a spice blend because if they have any moisture, the powder will not last as long. I sometimes grind them fresh when making coconut chutney. You can also freeze your curry leaves to make them last longer,” she adds. As for meat delicacies, Archana recalls how her grandmother would sauté 10 to 12 leaves in a teaspoon of ghee, pour it over the meat curry and cover with a lid to help permeate its full flavour into the dish. Hazeena talks about a particular green chutney in which she marinates her mutton for her mutton pepper curry. “It’s a thick gravy, I grind a handful of curry leaves, shallots, tomatoes, green chilies, ginger and garlic to marinate the meat,” she says. Then in a pan a few more curry leaves are tempered in sesame oil along with red chilies followed by the marinated meat, coriander powder and lots of pepper powder. “Add hot water and allow the meat to cook until it’s done. This curry goes perfectly with rice, rotis, idli, dosa… pretty much anything,” Hazeena adds. Curry leaves are also rich in vitamins and minerals and are often recommended to be consumed in full, sometimes forcefully, by elders. Hazeena also talks about a special hair oil her grandmothers would make for her as a child, one that she continues to use even today. This, I remembered, my mother did too. “It’s considered very good for hair growth and my grandmother would heat coconut oil, add plenty of curry leaves and henna leaves and allow it to cool for a day. In the night the mixture is strained into a glass bottle. This makes me nostalgic – I’d carry the dark green oil in a bottle to my boarding school in Ooty. The oil would turn pale green and freeze in the cold weather. I always found it magical as a young girl,” she chortles. While the name might be the most unimaginative – curry leaves, or sweet neem leaves or Murraya koenigii – there’s no contesting that the leaves add excellent flavour to dishes. They’re native to south India, but they’ve also travelled to south Asian countries like Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Myanmar, Singapore and Malaysia where they are incorporated into local dishes as well. However, I wasn’t quite prepared for the leaf finding a mention in a Sangam era poem. The poem, which appears in Perumponaatrupadai in the Patthu Paattu anthology, describes an unusual stir-fry recipe using curry leaves tossed in butter and juicy pomegranate arils! Deepa who wrote about the poem is excited when I recall this. “After reading my piece, a home cook reached out to me, having decoded the entire recipe. I tried it as well and it was absolutely delicious.” Arthi Rajendran, the Coimbatore-based chef who was inspired by Deepa’s piece in the Mold, makes the poriyal (dry curry) using black pepper, shallots, green chilies and grated coconut. The result is other-worldly, Deepa vouches. View this post on Instagram “Pomegranate Poriyal” - an Ancient Tamil Delicacy pulled right out of Sangam Literature . Food is a great way to understand a culture. A recipe so unusual and exciting such as this only makes you marvel at the creative and adventurous spirits of your ancestors! A stir-fry with fruit from ancient scriptures?? Who would have thought!!. The recipe is talked about in “Perumpāṇāṟṟuppaṭai“ - a poem in Patthu Paattu anthology of sangam literature. . The poet describes the dish as a delicacy served in vegetarian household for the guests. The scene is set in the old city of Kanchipuram. . The translation: . “... you will be given dishes made with freshly opened pomegranates mixed with warm butter from fragrant buttermilk of tawny cows, mixed with fresh curry leaves and black pepper.” . Amazing right! . The Recipe: . The recipe talks about Pomegranates, warm butter, curry leaves and pepper( a very rare and coveted spice at the time!). However, one naturally assumes that the recipe is not exhaustive- so, I went ahead and added shallots, green chillies, coconut and tadka to my recipe in hopes that the dish would have been something close to it . Also, I added the pome pearls at the very last after taking the skillet off the flame - wouldn’t wanna lose the nutrients, would we!? . Try it!! With the risk of sounding cocky, “You are most certainly going to love me for this recipe!” . Toodles! மீண்டும் சிந்திப்போம் !! . . . . . . . . #pomegranateporiyal #pomgranatestirfry #theskilletexpressions A post shared by Arthi Rajendran (@the_skillet_expressions) on Jun 2, 2020 at 2:26am PDT The poem describes the inner and outer beauty of a woman and goes on to talk about a particular meal she laid out for a guest. Imagine garudan samba rice, kommati pomegranate (a variety especially used to make this dish) poriyal in which the fruit is tossed in butter with pepper and curry leaves, and baby mango (maavadu) pickle served on a plate. Looks like Sangam era on a plate garnished with shiny green curry leaves.

Women Entrepreneur

Thuvam, run by three women including its founder Ponmani, was backed by a strong resolve to prevent women from migrating from the region.

Anjana Shekar

Ponmani smiling in an orange saree leaning against a pillar

In 2017, SP Ponmani, a fashion design graduate from Madurai, then 24 years old, visited Cuckoo Forest School near Puliyanur village in Krishnagiri district to attend an event hosted by Nurpu, a handloom weaving society founded by C Sivagurunathan. That year, Ponmani would herself be inspired to start something new, an initiative that would not just be novel but also empower rural women. She started the Puliyanur Village Tailoring School with the intent of teaching a new skill to women in the village. The idea was backed by a strong resolve to prevent women from migrating from the region. “We wanted to provide a livelihood for women who are the sole breadwinners of the family. Krishnagiri district has the most number of labourers migrating from here to other parts of the country to find work. In most families, both parents tend to leave in search of jobs. If there are children at home, they get to live with their parents only up to the age of three, maximum. They mostly grow up with relatives, with their parents visiting occasionally,” Ponmani tells TNM. “As for women, mothers in particular, who tend to stay back without their husband’s support, life is extremely difficult,” she continues. “They are forced to borrow money for sustenance and end up with a lot of financial problems,” she adds. A year and a half later, the tailoring school slowly turned into a sustainable brand called Thuvam, which at first exclusively made cotton undergarments for women. “When we thought about starting the initiative, we didn’t want to make garments that were already available aplenty in the commercial market. Cotton panties are something that most women don’t have access to. What is available in the market are the run-of-the-mill knitted fabric kinds,” Ponmani explains. In addition to introducing cotton underwear, setting it apart from knitted fabric ones, Thuvam also focussed on zero waste. The undergarments are made using machine-spun, unbleached cotton fabric sourced from Erode. They are available in two kinds – with elastic and with drawstring. Ponmani, along with a group of women, worked on different designs and cuts before zeroing in on the standard size. “We first used hand-spun cotton but that turned out to be too delicate for use. So we chose to use machine-spun, handloom finish (unbleached) cotton instead. This has better durability,” Ponmani points out. The products too are made very consciously, reusing scraps to make pillows and toys. Friends from cuckoo Forest School help them with branding and packaging, Ponmani adds. The team constantly listens to feedback from customers. “We keep tweaking the designs regularly to accommodate alterations. There’s also a small pouch cut into the underwear so women can insert pieces of cloth,” she tells us. This is very helpful for those experiencing vaginal discharge and also for those with urinary tract problems. “Cotton underwear offers better absorbency and there’s no discomfort. It’s an advantage for those sensitive to the elastic used in panties and there’s no chafing either,” Ponmani adds. Thuvam is run by a very small group – three to be precise, including its founder Ponmani. What it intended to do was provide the women in the village a steady source of income. “Working with us they manage to earn between Rs 150 and 200 per day, which is more than what they can earn here in the district on an average,” Ponmani shares. “You’ll have to understand that this is not a very profitable model. We also don’t promote or boost sales like commercial brands. Whatever sells is purely by word of mouth. All of us live very modest lives, and therefore this has been a successful model so far,” she adds. Mumtaj at work Not just for the women making the undergarments, but Thuvam has changed lives for those using them as well. “Most of our customers are regulars and they regularly share feedback with us on how to keep improving,” Ponmani says. Ponmani, who recently gave birth to a baby boy, is at her mother’s place in Madurai. The women employees too have moved away to take up work as daily wage labourers in mango farms, right in time for fruit picking season. Ponmani is managing with available stocks till Thuvam goes into production again in December, and she has an interesting line-up of ideas in the pipeline. Having recently introduced toys refashioned from scrap, Ponmani plans on expanding this range. “We’ve been making elephants and fishes, filling them with poly-fills so they are sturdier than those filled with cotton scrap. We’ll also be making owls and snails,” she adds. Bras and bloomers are other products that Ponmani plans on making next. Meanwhile, she’s also figuring out a better way of taking the undergarments to more women. “This is a very intimate, feminine product. During expos, we’ve noticed women are shy and awkward when it comes to discussing underwear. That is another area we want to work on,” she shares. Those wishing to make a purchase, can do so here.

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