Friday, January 20, 2006

The words bring moisture to one's eyes

Words of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother Hindusthan Records and Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust Vol. I 3719-C- 559 - Songs and hymns in Sanskrit - Various artistes - Price Rs. 50.
SRI AUROBINDO was a political activist, Indian Yogi, and spiritual master who first came into prominence during India's struggle for independence. He gradually withdrew from politics and shifted to Pondicherry to evolve a new method of spiritual practice or internal Yoga with the help of his spiritual collaborator, the Mother. He founded the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in 1926. Sri Aurobindo shed his mortal coils on December 5, 1950, and the Mother passed away in 1973.
Beginning with the chanting of the primordial sound 'Om', this audio album features songs and hymns in Sanskrit with recitation in English from the writings of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. A delightful musical composition by Shobha Mitra on India and her future as visualised by Sri Aurobindo and the Mother is flooded with melody. The choral singing and the individual renditions do invoke a spirit of emotional ecstasy.
The words of Sri Aurobindo pledging his love for India and professing his affection for her as one would his mother bring moisture to one's eyes. The narrator says that the Mother asks us for no schemes, no plans, no methods, she will herself provide them better than anyone can devise. She asks us for our hearts, our lives, nothing less nothing more. The narration, as perfect as the Queen's English, is an aural joy.
Hindustan Musical Products and Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust 3725- C-558 Vol II - Words of Sri Aurobindo - Nalini Kanta Gupta - Price Rs. 40.
WORDS OF Sri Aurobindo have been read by Nalini Kanta Gupta in an audio volume released by Hindustan Musical Products and the Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust, Pondicherry. Aurobindo's thoughts on physical sadhana, yoga, the purpose of avatarhood, and the importance of the Guru. In another album Sri Aurobindo expresses his views and attitude towards integral yoga, the supramental evolution, spiritual life, renunciation, the fundamental attitude, Sadhana and work, and education both physical and aesthetic.
The concluding sentences in the cassette get etched in one's memory: "Make the mind quiet so that what we call the opening is rendered possible. A quieted mind not necessarily motionless or silent, is good if one can have that at will and the persistent aspiration in the heart are the two main keys of yoga.'' - S.P. The Hindu Friday, September 21, 2001

Not be so bothered about making pretty gestures

The 1st Dec Programme: A conversation with Priti Ghosh ’64 , conducted in mid-November, on the intricacies of staging the 1st December Programme
Can you tell us briefly what is the subject of this year’s programme?
The subject which was suggested to me at the beginning of the year was ‘The Hour of God.’ I started working on it right away. Then, a few months later, I realised that it was getting a bit too intellectual and leading me nowhere. So I recast it in a completely different way. ‘The Hour of God’ is the theme, but the actual script is based on lines taken from Savitri and parts of the ‘The Hour of God’. Now the new script is titled ‘A Light There Is That Leads.’
I tried to find a way of expressing this idea in a simple way. The script is divided into five or six parts. First, we start with the Creation, then we show the Awakening of the Earth. After this there is the Emergence of the Ego, then Release from Ego. Earth is then ready to hear the voice cautioning her that this is the Hour of God. And finally, the Supreme Mother’s coming down to uplift mankind. That, in short, is the theme of the programme.
What will actually happen on the stage?
On stage there will be the performers, and on one side, facing the stage, the chorus, which will recite the lines. In fact we have decided to chant some of the lines rather than recite them in the usual way. And the dance movements will be in a free style, choreographed to Sunil-da’s music.
Right from its inception I had selected Sunil-da’s music for the choreography because it meant that at least one element was already fixed. That way it gave me the freedom to concentrate on the dancers and the recitations. Also, Sunil-da’s music carries an atmosphere which is very very elevating.
The interesting fact about the annual programme is that so much labour goes into the preparation of this one single performance. So many different kinds of skills are woven together before the programme can be presented. Can you tell us something about the details of the preparation of your programme?
When I started working on the script I realised that it was a colossal task. Directing one-act entertainment in the School Courtyard is one thing, and directing a programme on such a vast and abstract theme, and that too in the Theatre, is another – it is just stupendous. So I asked several people to help me, specially for the choreography.
As I told you, the music was already there. Now, for the dances, I wanted them to be choreographed in such a way that there would be no allusions to any of the classical forms. I wanted something different, something very expressive. It is impressive to see how Vimala (Molly), Shraddha, and Datta have put in their best efforts and hard work, and almost spent sleepless nights in trying to find something fresh and different and beautiful. Veenapani (Chawla) and Vinay too have put in a herculean effort to choreograph a scene for boys, which I wanted to be completely different from the others. I cannot leave out Ashok (Acharya) who has been perfectionist in taping the several pieces of music in our programme umpteen times. I have been lucky in the selection of my helpers.
And how did the dancers respond to this different choreography, since no one actually has any base in contemporary modern dance style?
Yes, that has been a problem. Our students are very gifted and graceful but the girls all have a background of either Kathak or Odissi. It is very difficult for them to break away from that mould into which they have been cast for several years. Their body automatically reverts to classical poses. We have actually had to work very hard to get them to express themselves freely and not be so bothered about making pretty gestures, to get into the feel of the text rather than execute a perfect, but flat, movement.
And what about the recitation part?
Here the person who has helped me most is Maurice. He is the perfectionist and relentless in his efforts. The only innovation he has tried is, as I told you, chanting, where Shilpa worked miracles with her suggestions.
As a director, you have an advantage in that you are also an artist. Your strong visual sense must have guided you for the lighting, décor, and the position of actors on the stage.
This is only partially true. Although I can visualise two-dimensionally, visualising for the stage has not been so easy. I have already prepared the colour schemes of the lighting by actually painting the scenes on paper. But visualising the position of the chorus has been complicated. Firstly, there is the technical factor which limits the possibilities of where the chorus can stand. Every time I chose a position for it, Mahi would point out the disadvantage it posed for the mikes. So finally the chorus will stand outside the stage to one side. As for the colours, all the costumes of the dancers are white so that the colours of the light remain very pure.
What has this work meant personally to you?
Thanks to this programme I have realised that so many of my capacities left unoperational had just gone to sleep. I have been concentrating so much on my paintings over the past long years that I have let myself get intellectually mouldy. At one point Maurice asked me to join the chorus, and I realised how difficult it was for me to memorise even a few lines, and yet it used to be so easy not so long ago. This programme has helped me to be conscious of so many other parts in myself.
How did you choose your cast? Did you face any difficulties?
Actually, the cast has changed in the course of the preparation. We had set off with a different conception so we had a different group of people. Then, as we changed our script I realised we needed more people. We have a group of dancers and another group, forming the chorus which will recite the lines. The best thing to have happened is that, apart from the selected few, some students themselves came forward and asked me if they could participate. So, in fact, leaving aside veterans, nearly the entire cast is made up of students. Some of the 3rd year Knowledge students who are passing out this year decided to stay back during the holidays and participate in the programme.
After we had started rehearsing with the final script some performers suddenly dropped out because of personal reasons, so we had to find substitutes. This did cause some difficulties. But we had decided not to get disheartened by them.
We are in a strange situation now. So few students stay back in Pondicherry after finishing their studies that we cannot any more have a group of actors who by participating in a number of performances gain experience and form a ‘talent pool’ from which you can actually choose a cast. Either you can take very young and inexperienced students or you can take ex-students, teachers and other adults who are experienced but not so young. And when they are together on stage the contrast is very striking. So how do you see the future of the annual programmes? How are you going to find the participants?
The 1st December programme is actually supposed to be a programme of the School, and so students ought to participate in it. In my opinion, students should be asked to stay here during the holidays. It should be made compulsory. They can then go out after the 2nd and come back by the 15th. The School holidays were started only so that students could prepare for the 1st and 2nd December programmes. Since most of them go away every year there are some who have never watched a 1st December programme! If one has not participated in these annual programmes then one has really missed something very special in life. They are a unique feature of our Institution. Once the students pass out of the School and leave Pondy they will never get that chance again. These programmes give the students an opportunity to ‘offer’ something creative and artistic, so it would be in their interest if they could take full advantage of this.
Once upon a time people would have considered themselves lucky if they were given the role of even a soldier who did not have any lines to say. But now one has to beg and plead with people to even play the part of the hero or heroine. If they accept they make you feel as if they are doing you a great favour and you have to consider yourself very fortunate if they don’t leave the programme half way through. Why is there this lack of enthusiasm? Why have people forgotten the importance of the 1st December programme?
Not all are indifferent. There are still some who do consider it a privilege to participate. Some of them have confessed to me that when one of their classmates was chosen to participate they did feel a sting of disappointment.
It is true that things are not like before. There seems to be this wave of media culture which has taken everyone in its sweep. For children it starts much before they come to Knowledge, they are so deeply influenced by it. But I know our students also are a part of general humanity and cannot remain ‘untouched’. To be so deeply engrossed in the entertainment media that one cannot perceive the value of anything aesthetic is an alarming signal.
But I believe strongly that this is only a passing phase. The Benevolent Power which is protecting us will see to it that our students once again become aware of the difference between what is refined and what is gross and cheap. People have suggested to me that we explain to the children the importance that Mother gave to the 1st December programme. It is true. It is our responsibility. The present generation is really not informed about the significance of the 1st and 2nd December programmes.
The 1st December programme is always based on something written by Mother or Sri Aurobindo, and yet it is often very difficult to choose the theme or the text. Putting on a play by Sri Aurobindo has become nearly impossible for practical reasons. The actors are simply not available, it is a formidable task to direct a play when you have to develop characters and maintain a continuity. So increasingly directors are turning to abstract themes where only dance and recitation are involved. However this also is not something easy. The text is often lines from Savitri which are so charged with mantric power that they cannot be recited just anyhow. How do you prepare young students to be ready inwardly to express these lines on stage?
Yes, a preparation is necessary. The only way in which this can be done is to start preparing the students and other members of the cast very gently from July or August itself. Perhaps once a week they could familiarise themselves with the text on which they are going to work. They could work on a little at a time so that when they start the regular rehearsals in October they would have been sufficiently in the spirit and the mood of the lines to feel them truly.
During some rehearsals I noticed that some students would complain that they were being made to do preparatory exercises for too long. But they don’t realise that everything counts, even the time that they spend waiting, watching others work. The one hour that they spend working on Sri Aurobindo’s lines is like spending one hour in His presence.
Nowadays a lot of plays are put up during the year so we have quite a large batch of students who get some exposure on stage, but the inner preparation is something we, the directors, have to work upon; perhaps we must help the children to understand the difference between merely ‘acting’ on the stage and ‘offering’.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Waltz of poetry, story and drama !

June 26, 2004 Reviewer: Samesh Braroo (foster city, ca United States) - See all my reviews
Having read some of the greatest playwrights, from Shakespeare to Miller to Kalidasa to Chekov, I assumed I had seen it all, or at least summed a good some of it, but not. Welcome to the dramatic world of publicity shy Sri Aurobindo ! His poetic plays are a treat of humor, tragedy, language and understandings of our world. Sadly his dramas have been buried by his own more dominant works on Yoga. If he hadn't been approached by philosophy, that drove people into making more attention for his yoga and divine elaboration, he would have been recalled as a great dramatist. Sri Aurobindo is one of the greatest and rarest of poets, philosophers, story tellers and a spiritualist of the divine caliber - indeed one of the most virtuous sons that Heaven spared for mankind's love and respect, and if I may so add - joy's best tears will not be shed reading anything else!

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Bringing history back

Stephen Jay Greenblatt talks about New Historicism, its genesis and future and his current concerns in Cultural Studies. SACHIDANANDA MOHANTY The Hindu Literary Review Sunday, Jun 05, 2005
Known as the founder of one of the most influential schools of literary theory and criticism today called New Historicism (or cultural poetics), Stephen Jay Greenblatt is Cogan University Professor at Harvard University, where he teaches English. With the publication of his Renaissance Self-Fashioning in 1984, Greenblatt's ideas revolutionised literary studies. He is also the editor of Norton Shakespeare. The new insights in "contextual" reading that he developed are widely applicable in various disciplines today. Excerpts from an interview.
On the genealogy of New Historicism
and his role in founding the movement
The formal education which I had received, and was grateful for, did not allow for certain questions to be asked, about society, culture, anthropology, gender and race. In the 1970s, Women's Studies played an important role as a catalytic agent. You began to ask what the rules of the discourse were, who was being allowed to speak and who was not. Berkeley, California, in the 1970s is also associated in my mind with the smell of tear gas. In a variety of ways, Berkeley then was in a ferment of rebellion. It was a time for change. I do not wish to claim that New Historicism was mine alone. Like so many things in the 1970s, it depended on a collective enterprise. We were sitting together, reading and arguing about Althusser, Marx, Freud late into the night. The immediate genealogy of New Historicism was not German historicism but the Marxism of the mid-20th Century. In my case, studying with Raymond Williams was very significant in Cambridge. In early 1970s, I used to teach Marxist aesthetics in Berkeley. In addition to being a way of rebelling against New Criticism, it was also an attempt to try to think about how to reintroduce history into cultural studies.
How different is New Historicism vis-à-vis
Bateson, Caudwell and Raymond Williams?
Raymond Williams is trying to hold on to the model which in Christopher Caudwell (of Illusion and Reality fame) is very strong — the idea that literature is part of the superstructure and economics is the base. We wanted to make the context not simply a safe background but actually a part of the enterprise. In an older historicism, you adduced a context in order to secure the meaning of a work of art. We wanted to say that what was being described as the context, was itself open to interpretation. It was not the stable background. We wanted to have the interpretive struggle shared by what used to be called the background.
On his interest in Shakespeare
and Renaissance Studies
If you are interested in Renaissance studies, it is hard not to be interested in Shakespeare. I became interested in Renaissance while studying for the tripos in Cambridge. I read at that time Sir Walter Raleigh's "Ocean's Love to Cynthia" and I remember being powerfully struck. I thought it was a fantastic poem. In fact, I thought that it was a poem strikingly modernist, a sort of poem written by T.S. Eliot. My sense of literature holds on to a strong aesthetic dimension, an encounter with something that seems to reach you only because Raleigh sounded like Whitman. It was a work that wasn't written in the 1920s. It was written in the 1590s. How does this work seem so contemporary? In other words, historicism for me arose from an aesthetic engagement of feeling that you have been spoken to. It rises from a contemporary encounter. It is not antiquarian. In that sense it is existential.
Some want to dislodge the Western Canon completely.
Others like Harold Bloom and Cleanth Brooks
have made a qualified response. Is he defensive?
No, I am not defensive. I am actually quite interested in the range of works from different parts of the world that have now been put in play in literary studies. It is a large world and it is appropriate that there should be many things read and studied. But, there are practical problems in anthology making. The Norton Anthology, for instance, is 6000 pages long and we can't make it longer. The question is, for every Anita Desai, Naipaul or Achebe that we bring in, what is it that we take out? As an editor you have to figure out where the centres of interest might be now. But this is an ongoing problem.
On the relationship between
literary production and social production
The idea that imagination is only the possession of specialists, that language is the possession of specialists is undemocratic and unjust: We know from our daily experience that language and imagination are universal possessions of humanity and they don't belong to particular classes, groups of specialists, particular races and religions. They are part of the apparatus of human life. There is something constricting and absurd in the counter position that only cultural production will be beside the imagination.
On New Historicism
as a network of signs
New historicists feel that they can use their hermeneutical skills on all aspects of culture. We understand that most of literature is signs of systems, but sign systems do not stop on the boundary of books. They are networks and dense textures that embrace all other fields as well. I myself have been greatly interested in anthropology, in history of art, and more recently, in the history of science and philosophy. There are no a priori limits.
On Marvelous Possessions and
the discovery of the new world and the genesis of this project
Towards 1998, the U.S. was in an elaborate multi-year build-up for the 500th anniversary of Columbus' landfall. That enterprise led to what I thought was a particularly repellent burst of American/ European chauvinism — a fantasy that there was nothing there before the Europeans arrived. For many years, I was teaching in the San Francisco Bay area and there was a remarkable statue of Columbus looking out into the Pacific, suggesting somehow that Columbus had been to California and was now setting his sights on Asia. The uncritical circulation of such ideas in the 1990s served the need of an answer, a response.
On the main insights of Marvelous Possessions
with regard to the history of ideas
In Columbus' diary, there is a chilling reference to a native who touches one of Columbus' swords and cuts his finger because he had not seen this kind of sharp metal object. But what fascinated me was the way in which the dream of possession was enacted through speeches, declarations and announcements. It was the idea that you could claim to own huge tracts of the globe and human beings who lived therein, through the performance of certain words — that seemed to be compelling and fascinating. In Columbus' speech acts, there is the emptying of the other as if the other had been erased, the other had no language. He was going to kidnap some of these people and bring them back so that they could learn how to speak. As the ancient principle aptly says, to be human is to have language.
On the crucial role storytelling plays
for the practitioner of New Historicism
The idea that you could somehow escape from a narrative, that you could find your way into some kind of scientific and analytical language, could only be done at an enormously high cost. In writing recently a popular biography of Shakespeare, I saw the attraction of doing this by tapping into the popular fascinations with the literary biography. And this fascination is entirely bound up with the desire to tell a story.
On connecting with the Indian cultural universe
while traveling to South Asia
India made an overwhelming impression. I was there for several weeks. I had the feeling of encountering a world rich and complex, dense and bursting with life, intellectual and cultural energy.
On the future of
New Historicism
At least in the American cultural scene, a lot of the work of New Historicism has been absorbed. It is no longer new. It is well established. It is being absorbed into ordinary works of literary studies. New Historicism is moving, at least in one direction, towards a trust in mobility, not only in travel narratives but in the idea that culture itself is always moving from one place to another. And it is that extraordinary mobility of which India is a sublime example. That seemed to be one of the challenges in the years ahead. Sachidananda Mohanty is Professor of English at the University of Hyderabad and a recipient of the 1992 Katha Award for outstanding translation.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

New Delhi: The Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh, has said that Premchand's writings belong to that unique category of literature which have deeply influenced progressive forces all over the world. Calling his literature, a rare voice against the social exploitation, the Prime Minister said that Premchand used literature as a powerful weapon for the cause of the people riddled with social and economic deprivation. Dr. Manmohan Singh was releasing Hindi, Urdu and Punjabi versions of Seva Sadan and Hindi, Urdu versions of Rangbhumi on the occasion of 125th birth anniversary of Munshi Premchand, here today. Chairman, National Book Trust, Shri Bipin Chandra, renowned Hindi critic, Prof. Namwar Singh and Urdu scholar Prof. Mohammad Hasan also addressed the gathering. newsletter@indiaedunews.net

A rich veneer of subversion

Subaltern soliloquy Utpal Banerjee The Pioneer July 09, 2005
In Shakespeare's Othello, the Moor of Venice fell for and married Desdemona, but is the Moor's conversion to Christianity not a hidden agenda in the turmoil-ridden manoeuvres in the play? Our own epic poet Kalidasa may not be the Indian syllabus-makers' choice, yet his prototype of a jilted and discarded woman who finally walks out on her abhorrent lover-king in Abhijnanam Shakuntalam, is a familiar one. Parnab Mukherjee, who presented Kalidasa's Kumarsambhava, at the India International Centre besides carrying the burden of soliloquy on his sturdy shoulders, passionately believes that both Kalidasa and Shakespeare, in their own times, have left a rich veneer of subversion in their otherwise main text - raising questions on ethics, morality, sexuality, body and body-politics.
Using the superbly lyrical transcreation by Rishi Aurobindo, as well as the part rendering by Ritwik Ghatak, he keeps the story-line fairly linear, namely, the disturbances created by demons like Tarakasura; Kamadeva's efforts to tempt Shiva to fall in love with Parvati resulting in fiasco; Parvati's resolve to stick it out alone; Shiva's disguised encounter with Parvati culminating in the marriage; the much-awaited birth of Kumara; the latter's heroism as he takes on the demons; and annihilation of the evil forces after a marathon battle. "I feel Kalidasa has a powerful undertone of protest in his writings.
I consider him great for the extraordinary lyricism of his verses, but beyond that sublimity lies a very strong matrix of protest literature, which is relatively unexplored. I'm working on my fellowship on 'Alternative Approaches to Theatre and Media'. This brought me close to 'café theatre' in Kolkata and Darjeeling. I'm particularly connected with the jute-mill lockouts on the Hoogly river-stretch and the closed tea gardens in the Doors, apart from conducting programmes in Delhi and Benaras."
Mukherjee adds, "My production combines installation techniques, Purulia Chhau (in the battle sequences), hand shadowgraphs, multi-media exploration and interplay of modern symbols to create a memory scape. I've used video clippings of 9\11, I think the event shares striking similarities with the war among gods and demons." According to this young director, Kumarasambhava upholds two modern traits. Firstly, Shiva decides to marry when he wants to. This conveys male-domination. Second, only he can endorse the war and allow Kumara to fight. This is not different from dynastic pattern, as evident in Bush, Senior and Bush, Junior! Looking at Kalidasa's subaltern theatre, I was inspired by Badal Sircar's 'Third Theatre. I, too, am using spaces which are non-proscenium but, unlike Badalda, my performance is spread out."

Bride of the fire

Bride of the fire, clasp me now close,
Bride of the fire!
I’ve shed the bloom of the earthly rose,
I have slain desire.
Beauty of the light, surround my life,
Beauty of the light!
I have sacrificed longing and parted from grief,
I can bear thy delight.
Image of ecstasy, thrill and enlace,
Image of bliss!
I would see only thy marvelous face,
Feel only thy kiss.
Voice of infinity, sound in my heart,
Call of the one!
Stamp there thy radiance, never to part,
O living sun.
— Sri Aurobindo
DNA Sunday, October 16, 2005 20:30 IST

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Music and the Soul

The Rautavaara Connection: In the second to last chapter of Music and the Soul, I wrote a lengthy essay on the music of the Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara (b. 1928), whom I consider to be an "evolving mystic." Rautavaara's music, considered as a whole, records his spiritual evolution beyond the level of thinking mind that most composers work from.
I believe that the higher levels of creative achievement are related to higher levels of consciousness experienced by longtime meditators. Beyond the thinking mind comes higher mind, illumined mind, intuitive mind, and overmind. (These terms come from the Integral Yoga developed by the early twentieth-century spiritual teacher Sri Aurobindo.)
An evolving mystic is one who is progressing through these states with each stylistic period. Bach represents the highest level of development, as an overmind composer. At this level, the cosmic or God consciousness works directly through the composer with no interference from the ego. On the other extreme, thinking mind composers are bound by the ego.
The determining factor is where one's music originates from. The easier it is for a composer to access the seventh (expanded consciousness) and eighth (cosmic consciousness) centers in his or her music, the higher the level of spiritual evolution, and the greater the likelihood of producing a transcendent musical experience in a listener. Rautavaara seems to me to have achieved the level of illumined mind, a rare distinction. Illumined mind composers write music from middle or upper 7. posted by Kurt Leland Saturday, December 17, 2005 at 9:22 AM

Monday, January 09, 2006

Art contributes to enlightenment and spiritual renewal

Cecilia Suhr's Vision Artist's Vision
A man is a transitional being. -Sri Aurobindo
Most artists are guided by a vision, regardless of whether or not they openly share it with others. Some artists may feel that explicating one's own work defeats the purpose of creation, for creating artwork in and of itself is a means of communication, a silent communication between separate souls. In my artistic endeavors, a handful of authors has influenced and reaffirmed my artistic vision and philosophy of artistry.
However, first and foremost, I owe a large debt to the great composers of the past; in my life, the most prominent are Ravel, Stravinsky, Brahms, Shostakovich, Vivaldi, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, Ysaye, Wieniawski, Tchaikovsky, Bruch, Sibelius, Bach, Paganini, Bartok, Schumann, Barber, Bloch, Vieuxetemp, Arensky, Scriabin, Chopin, Saint-Saens, Sarasate, and Accolay.
Through their music, I heard their invisible outcry as it rang out in between each note and pause. More than a mere attempt to create beauty, their music contained messages filled with encouragement and love for the subsequent generations' creators. These new artists' mission is to uplift and refresh the ailing spirit of a society in desperate need of transformation. To be an artist in today's society is, indeed, a difficult task. Nevertheless, countless struggling artists continue to create their works, seeking audiences for their creations and hoping for appreciation. This virtual space is thus a blessing and an outlet for my work. I am comforted by the knowledge that my inner voices will be heard by the few who may stumble upon this site.
My music does not only reflect life itself. In my mind, it builds a transitory bridge between life and the beyond. My hope is that whoever listens to my music will proceed on his or her journey with a richer understanding of the way in which art contributes to enlightenment and spiritual renewal. The end does not exist, and perfection never ceases. Only in the process of "perfecting" can my breath be rejuvenated. Cecilia Suhr Thursday, January 05, 2006
"My hope is that whoever listens to my music will proceed on his or her journey with a richer understanding of the way in which art contributes to enlightenment and spiritual renewal."Very well put. Posted by Mike Barber on Sunday, January 08, 2006 at 2:27 PM

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Emergence of some common language

Home > Liberation > Year_2002 > September > Hindi Nationalism Author: Alok Rai 129 pgs., Orient Longman, 2000 — Sundaram
As a young boy from a south Indian family being brought up in north India I still remember my puzzlement at what exactly the ‘Hindi’ language was all about. While on one hand much of the local population spoke its own lingo — Bundelkhandi – the ‘Hindi’ that was taught in my school was quite different from the ‘Hindi’ I heard in the Bollywood movies. Adding to the confusion was that learning ‘Hindi’ was easier for me with my Sanskritised Tamil background than for many of my classmates from the northern Indian states! And then of course was the conundrum of what exactly was Urdu — was it really a different language or was it invented to sing ghazals, and organize mushairas ?
In his very absorbing and important work of cultural analysis titled ‘Hindi Nationalism’, Alok Rai not only clears up such confusions but also explains the pernicious politics of defining, redefining, refining and ultimately defiling Hindi as played out in the cow belt states over the last century and a half. At another level Rai, who just happens to be the legendary Premchand’s grandson, neatly links up the history of linguistic battles in northern India with the contemporary rise of political Hindutva and points out the reasons why English-speaking, westernised, Nehruvian ‘secularists’ fail to contain this menace.
To begin with, Rai goes back in history to the days prior to the carefully contrived debate between ‘Hindi’ and ‘Urdu’ when the two had not yet acquired distinct ‘identities’ and were indistinguishable as the most popularly spoken language of the northern Indian states. Born out of a long process of fusion of cultures, local and foreign influences as well as the daily creative talents of the common citizen, Hindi and Urdu were but two names of the same language. In tracing the ‘original sin’ that led to the schizophrenic split in the Hindi-Urdu unity, Rai’s research naturally goes back to the early days of British colonial rule around the turn of the eighteenth century when a British surgeon and self-styled linguist named John Borthwick Gilchrist took up the task of teaching ‘Hindoostanee’ to newly appointed officers of the East India Company. The College of Fort William set up in 1800, where Gilchrist was appointed Professor of Hindustani, brought together a staff of Indian scholars and translators who took upon themselves the onerous task of defining what the language was really all about.
Avoiding the cliched charge of adopting a deliberate ‘divide and rule’ policy against Gilchrist, Rai nevertheless points out how his attempts (aided by local zealots) to restore the language to its imagined ‘pre-Mughal’ form ended up in turning out all the Arabic and Persian words in Hindustani and substituting Sanskrit ones. In the words of one historian quoted in Rai’s monograph, “The British — set out to ‘discover’ something which science told them had to be there; not surprisingly, they ‘succeeded’ and soon generated a vast and consequential literature of grammars, dictionaries and lexicographies”.
Once initiated, this construction of a ‘pure’ Hindustani, like a predictable science-fiction monster, took a life of its own. Aided, abetted and fiercely nurtured by self-appointed guardians of the language from the savarna castes of Punjab, Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, this process finally laid the foundations of the unintelligible, highly Sanskritised ‘Hindi’ that has mistakenly been foisted on the Indian people as their ‘national language’. (While still marginally better than contemporary ‘Zee TV Hindi’ which uses phrases like “Pradhaan Mantri ney Parliament mey Vote of Thanks present kiya” or the notorious “Hamey banana hey” of Rajiv Gandhi, there are few – familiar with the living languages of northern India – who would not throw up when our Deputy Prime Minister LK Advani starts off in his ultra-puritanical ‘Hindi’.)
Tragically enough, in a classic example of how one fundamentalism feeds off another, the systematic attempts to de-Persianise and de-Arabicise Hindustani also provoked similar efforts to de-Sanskritise Urdu within sections of the Muslim elites. Ironically, it is this highly Arabicised and incomprehensible ‘Urdu’, that has become the national language of Pakistan and is a mirror image of the highly Sanskritised ‘Hindi’ in the Indian context.
Rai very interestingly points out that in its early stages, in the first half of the nineteenth century, not all of the emerging competition between ‘Hindi’ and ‘Urdu’ was about zealotry. There was, intertwined within this emerging lingusitic battle, also the valid struggle to replace the Persian script– used by the old Mughal rulers and understood only by a minority of both Muslims and Hindus– by the more widely used Nagari (Devanagari) as the language of administration and courts in northern Indian provinces.
Over a period of time, however, it was this campaign to oust Persian and open up employment opportunities for those familiar with Nagari that coalesced with the resentment of the Hindu savarna castes against political and economic domination by the Awadh ‘Muslim’ elite. The roots of the modern ‘Hindu-Muslim’ divide, cunningly exploited by colonial administrators and continued to this day by successive Indian governments were thus embedded in the controversy over language and indeed became part of common vocabulary itself.
Amidst all this depressing history of the decline of the composite culture and lifestyle that large parts of pre-British India was justly famous for, Rai points out, the one movement that could have still nipped the emerging menace of religious sectarianism in its bud was the 1857 War of Independence. But the defeat of the rebels and the massacres of thousands of innocent civilians that the British carried out in reprisal, Rai says, only exacerbated the divide with both the post-1857 Hindu and Muslim elites competing with each other to prove their ‘loyalty’ to their now well-entrenched British ‘masters’.
Comparing these massacres to the Nazi Holocaust, Rai tellingly points out that the only difference between the two events was that in the case of 1857 the ‘Nazis won the war’ and the “surviving victims were condemned to living with the victorious victimisers: the ‘guilt’ of 1857 was visited solely on the victims, while the vengeful victors became also the party of virtue, of progress and modernity”.
One result of the terror unleashed by the vengeful British rulers was that members of the Hindu savarna castes, who formed the bulk of the early Hindi/Nagari agitations, sought to distinguish themselves from the Muslims who had been so ‘unforgivingly disloyal’ in 1857. When Raja Shiva Prasad, one of the early protagonists of Hindi/Nagari, petitioned the British government on behalf of Nagari in 1868 he sought to assure the rulers that the Hindu middle-class would be happy to accept the domination of the ‘fair-complexioned’. “Never will it be safe to leave any district without a fair-complexioned head. It is not the excess but rather the dearth of the fair-complexioned that we have to complain of”. (Raja Shiva Prasad could have been Jaswant Singh, our erstwhile foreign minister talking to his new masters in the United States on behalf of the ‘Hindutva’ middle-classes !)
Rai’s account of the debates in the immediate period after Indian Independence over making Hindi the national language, the anti-Hindi agitation in non-Hindi speaking states and the proliferation of ‘Hindiwallahs’ out to preserve the ‘purity’ of ‘Hindi’ will be familiar to most readers. However, while deploring the repressed, upper-caste nature of official ‘Hindi’, Rai also poses an important question whether the current dominance of English as the language of the privileged is really sustainable.
“English is too much the language of privilege, it is too visible a symbol of a ruling elite whose social base and claim to legitimacy is becoming ever narrower and ever more untenable. English cannot break out of its narcissistic confinement, its historical complicity with a scavenging elite”. One way out of this dilemma he suggests is to adhere to the goal of democratic and participative citizenship by first implementing governance in different parts of India in the local languages. Very importantly he concludes that in the Hindi heartland, using this principle, means using all the variants of Hindi such as Bhojpuri, Awadhi, Maithili etc., and not the same old Sanskritised ‘Hindi’ of the upper-caste, urban elites. The needs of communication between different regions he avers will ensure, in the longer term, the emergence of some common language that could be ‘something like Hindi’. But this process cannot even begin till the imposter Advani’s ‘Hindi’ stands in the way!

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Music and Creativity assist our transformation

"Importance of Music in Education Plato in his Republic has dealt with extraordinary emphasis on the importance of music in education; as is the music to which a people is accustomed, so, he says in effect, is the character of that people. The importance of painting and sculpture is hardly less. The mind is profoundly influenced by what it sees and, if the eye is trained from the days of childhood to the contemplation and understanding of beauty, harmony and just arrangement in line and color, the tastes, habits and character will be insensibly trained to follow a similar law of beauty, harmony and just arrangement in the life of adult man... A similar result is produced on the emotions by the study of beautiful or noble art. We have spoken of the purification of the heart, the chittaSuddhi, which Aristotle assigned as the essential office of poetry, and have pointed out that it is done in poetry by the detached and disinterested enjoyment of the eight rasas or forms of emotional aestheticism which make up life unalloyed by the disturbance of the lower self-regarding passions. Painting and sculpture work in the same direction by different means. Art sometimes uses the same means as poetry but cannot do it to the same extent because it has not the movement of poetry; it is fixed, still, it expresses only a given moment, a given point in space and cannot move freely through time and region. But it is precisely this stillness, this calm, this fixity which gives its separate value to Art. Poetry raises the emotions and gives each its separate delight. Art stills the emotions and teaches them the delight of a restrained and limited satisfaction, - this indeed was the characteristic that the Greeks, a nation of artists far more artistic than poetic, tried to bring into their poetry. Music deepens the emotions and harmonises them with each other. Between them music, art and poetry are a perfect education for the soul; they make and keep its movements purified, self-controlled, deep and harmonious. These, therefore, are agents which cannot profitably be neglected by humanity on its onward march or degraded to the mere satisfaction of sensuous pleasure which will disintegrate rather than build the character. They are, when properly used, great educating, edifying and civilising forces." Sri Aurobindo from www.auromusic.org About everydayness What is everyday guru?

Friday, January 06, 2006

Tell each child who grows on this soil everything about this soil

In An Antique Land SHONAR The Times of India Monday, January 2, 2006
The drums roll and from inside the temple comes a short yell; out jumps the body of the Sun, huge and wide, dancing with flaying arms, eyes blackened and stark, darting here and there, terrifying. It is the night of a Theiyyam performance outside a kavu in one of Kerala's umpteen villages and our orange-hued man is now no longer the toddy-tapper he was an hour ago. In trance, consumed by the spirit of his deity, he is now God, and God moves on earth to dance and bless his people. They believe in him, they touch his feet, they touch his hands, they hold their ears and bow before him. He is God and he has come to them on this special day. For one hour he showers love and blessings, collects in return tokens of gratitude, and then retreats just as suddenly into the temple. The Deity leaves man and goes back into the stone image, where it will remain, worshipped with milk and honey, until another special day arrives, another Theiyyam begins, another toddy-tapper becomes God for just one hour, and lets the devout touch him, touch God.... Bhakti cannot be completely annihilated from a people who have survived on it as a principal nourishment from the day of inception.
Bhakti is still there, but dormant. And all it needs is a shake, a little poke, and it shall rumble out of its latent state, to come cascading from the dark grottoes within our souls, pushing ahead, drenching every slumbering cell — the millions of cells in our body are just the same as the millions of people that make the body of this nation. If the wake-up call begins in us, the trumpets will echo into the air and under the seas until each and every soul is wide awake and ready to blow into the dying embers which are waiting to be refuelled once again. We have a historical past that has outlived other civilisations and is still coursing through our blood. But we cannot piggyback on the achievements of the bygone eras. We have to learn from them, better them, and move one step ahead. And in this, our education plays the biggest, most crucial role. It is the most widespread, albeit still not sufficient, instrument that we have in hand by which we can paint vivid pictures of the values, the ideals, the forces that drove this country to a status of superstardom. We have to tell each child who grows on this soil everything about this soil. Not just what pertains to his religious background or his regional placement.
He must be as well informed about the other areas of his country as about his own. Without having to go there, he should have a feeling of awe for what exists there. Konarka in Orissa and Chidambaram in Tamil Nadu, Alchi in Ladhak and Golden Temple in Amritsar should all be familiar to him. He should feel the currents which flow into the sculpting of gods, of the painting of cultures, of the spinning of yarn. His eyes must see the diversity, his ears must hear the multitude of tunes that mingle with each other across the valleys. He should hear not the sounds that break the silence but the sounds that make it. When this is imparted to him, then all else will follow. Once he has even the faintest glimpse of that eternal beauty, the beauty that we have lost contact with, then all that the ancients have discovered and left behind will be swept up in his arms and carried forward with love and tenderness.
He will improve all that they have done — not to outshine them but make them proud as a son who vies for his father's approval. The past has left us many lessons to learn and if we wish, we can dip into our reserves and let them act as constant reminders, or we can simply closet them in the darkest cupboards, and plunge into the wrong once again... To highlight the achievements of today's India is not our concern because we live in the present and we know; we know the leaps we have taken in science and technology... We know of the foresight that has led our businessmen into crafting empires... We know that our brothers-in-arms are tough as nails and save this soil, laying their lives down in sacrifice. We know we have the dedication of teachers, the skill of craftsmen, the enthusiasm of children. We have all that it takes to make a perfect nation. But we are not perfect yet. And that is what we need to look into... (India's) culture sits inside a genie lamp, always ready to spring out a new surprise. But she is also restrained and confused, suspicious and insecure. These are evils that rankle any growing soul. (If we do not) jettison such negatives, we will travel... with the pace of a snail, not the gallop of a cheetah. Excerpts from the author's Of Past Dawns and Future Noons: Towards a Resurgent India

Monday, December 26, 2005

Treasure troves of knowledge and an innate sense of well-being

Reviving an ancient language. Samskrita Bharathi is continually making efforts to reintroduce Sanskrit in Indian communities over which its hold is fast loosening, writes
S RADHA PRATHI. Deccan Herald » Spectrum Tuesday, August 16, 2005
The moment one hears the word Sanskrit, one associates the word with the intellectual elite. It speaks of a rich cultural past, the incomprehensible treasure troves of knowledge and an innate sense of well-being. Nothing about Sanskrit appears to be contemporary or happening. Yet everything about India is associated with Sanskrit. In fact, the synonym of Sanskrit, called Geervana Bharathi, suggests that it is the language of Bharatha (India). The Indian term for culture - Samskruthi - has been derived from the word Samskriti. In short, Sanskrit is the decoction of the very essence of India. The Indian way of living, the languages that we speak, the religion we follow, the concepts of morals and ethics are but an offshoot of what the language holds in its wide spectrum. This language enjoyed supreme status once upon a time. The syntax, structure, phonetics and grammar of the language have been adjudged as most scientific and precise.
Perhaps the quintessence of the tongue can be best expressed in the words of Sri Aurobindo, “Sanskrit language has been universally recognised by those competent to form a judgement and is one of the most magnificent, the most perfect, the most prominent and wonderfully sufficient literary instrument developed by the human mind.” Yet somewhere along the archives of time Sanskrit was relegated to a corner, crowned as a finer language meant for the scholarly Brahminical race. Sanskrit was excluded from the mainstream and was patronised by the priestly clan to communicate with God in the form of prayers. Interestingly, it is ironical to note that the best literary products of the language display a contrary record. Great Sanskrit works were written by non-Brahmins, Vyasa, the son of a fisherwoman authored the Mahabharata; Valmiki, a hunter, wrote the Ramayana; Kalidas, a shepherd, composed extraordinary plays and poetry, and Jabala, an outcast, compiled the Jabala Upanishad.
The constant invasions and exposure to varied foreign culture made the common man in India lose track of the language over a period of time. He shunned the language unable to cope with its exactness and wholesomeness, switching over to user-friendly dialects. Sanskrit was slowly sidelined and all the Indian languages that we speak today emerged and evolved varying in shades, complementing the region it was adopted by. The education policy put forth by Lord Macaulay nailed the language to irretrievable levels. Yet Sanskrit survived the onslaught because academicians across the globe realised that a wealth of knowledge encompassing all subjects under the sun lay beneath the veneer of this ancient language. The decline of Sanskrit in modern times worried people like Sri Krishna Sastry who agonised at the vistas of learning and research we were losing by forgetting the language. He proposed, “Let service to Sanskrit not stop at worshipping with the language; everyone should be able to speak it. Conversational Sanskrit has to be taught and popularised.” Sri Krishna Sastry, with a group of like-minded friends at Tirupati Sanskrit College, founded Samskrita Bharathi and evolved the “Speak Sanskrit Movement” in 1981 at Bangalore. The Aksharam centre at Girinagar in Bangalore has taken the onus of spreading the spoken language of Sanskrit through extensive Samskritha Sambhashana Shibira, which teaches elementary communication in just ten days. A Sandhya Kendra conducts a five level course sponsored by Rashtriya Sanskrit Sansthan among a horde of other courses. The Organising Secretary of Samskritha Bharathi exudes the spirit of the language by supplementing a chaste “Hari Om” instead of the customary “Hello” over the telephone. He strongly feels that the only way to resuscitate the language is to speak it.
Surprisingly, it is not at all difficult to comprehend the casual conversation in the language carried on by the inmates of Aksharam though one cannot reply in the same lingo. The atmosphere strongly reminds one of Swami Vivekananda’s words who said, “Sanskrit education must go along with general education because the very sound of the language gives prestige, power and strength to people.” Mr Srikanth Jamadagni, the organiser of the Sandhya Kendra at JP Nagar, realised the virtues of Sanskrit while he attended a Sambhashana Shibira in the US and decided that he should do his bit to contribute to the rejuvenation of the language. He feels that a lot of educated people across the globe, especially Indians, have realised the need of the hour. Mr Balasubramaniam, the President of Sanskrit Lovers’ Association, feels that the misconceptions regarding the language can be best eliminated only when they start speaking the language. Ms Bhatt, a Sevavrathi, feels that the so-called students of Sanskrit who study the language as a part of their academic curriculum are not in a position to speak even elementary sentences in the language. This scenario can change only when people start conversing in the language. Twenty four years after its inception, the organisation has managed to train 70 lakh people to speak the language from all over the world. They have trained over 50,000 teachers and have their own publications, audio/video cassettes; they have also established over 5,000 Sanskrit homes.
They have found Karnataka a veritable haven for their widespread activities which propagates the language. Bangalore functions as the epicenter which co-ordinates with nodal centres at Bidar, Gulbarga, Belgaum, Dharwad, Karwar, Shimoga, Udupi, Tumkur, Kolar, Mangalore and Chamrajanagar. Among the most unusual results of the Speak Sanskrit Movement are those in the two villages of Mathoor and Hosahalli in Karnataka. The movement adopted them as a means to promote spoken Sanskrit. Today, everyone irrespective of caste, creed, educational level and social status speaks Sanskrit with elan. These two villages are known throughout the country. More recently, Samskrita Bharathi succeeded in teaching conversational Sanskrit to the entire tribal village of Mohaka, near Jabalpur. Perhaps the success of Samskritha Bharathi lies in its secular and practical approach while highlighting the linguistic features of the ancient language. The word sanskrita- means “purified, consecrated, sanctified.” The language has by definition always been a ‘high’ language, used for religious and scientific discourse and contrasted with the languages spoken by the people. The oldest surviving Sanskrit grammar dates back to the 5th century BC.
Almost every student of Sanskrit hears the traditional story that Sanskrit was created and then refined over many generations (traditionally more than a thousand years) until it was considered complete and perfect. When the term arose in India, “Sanskrit” was not thought of as a specific language set apart from other languages (the people of the time regarded languages more as dialects), but rather as a particularly refined manner of speaking, bearing a similar relation to common language that “Standard” English bears to dialects spoken in the United Kingdom or United States. Knowledge of Sanskrit was a marker of social class and educational attainment, and was taught through close analysis of Sanskrit grammarians such as Panini. This form of the language evolved out of the earlier “Vedic” form, and scholars often distinguish Vedic Sanskrit and Classical Sanskrit as separate languages. Vedic is the language of the Vedas, the earliest sacred texts of India and the base of the Hindu religion. The earliest of the Vedas, the Rigveda, was composed in the 2nd millennium BC. The Vedic form survived until the middle of the first millennium BC.

apolitical and almost global in its cultural survey

Categorising the colonisers: A Raj Collection; edited by Saros Cowasjee, OUP, 2005 Lata Ramaswamy A collection of four novels reflects life as it was during the ‘Raj’ when the British and French ruled over the country. Deccan Herald » Book Reviews » Sunday, July 17, 2005
Critiquing the critics of India, Sri Aurobindo divided them into three basic categories–the sympathetic, the dispassionate and the hostile. The four novels in A Raj Collection give the reader a sample of each of the three kinds of mindsets identified by Sri Aurobindo. This, coupled with the fact that the selection covers the period from 1857 to the emergence of Independent India, makes it a valuable volume for anyone engaged in trying to understand how the Raj came about, what it was in them and us that made it possible, and how it finally had to come to an end.
The most fascinating of the four novels is Christine Weston’s Indigo. Its canvas is larger than that of the other three because it includes the French in India, in the form of Madame St Remy who has made India her home. What is most relevant to us at this time in this novel is the formulation of a consciousness that is apolitical and almost global in its cultural survey–a formulation that comes about through the interplay between Jacques, the son of Madame St Remy, his friend Hardyal and Hardyal’s father, Ganpat Rai.

A prophetic vision of brave new, love-filled world

THEATRE: MAITHREYI M R Deccan Herald, Sunday, December 07, 2003
Where there is hope there is way. And showing this ‘way of hope’ will be In the Hour of God, an English play brought on stage by Pattabi Rama Reddy Productions. Based on Sri Aurobindo’s magnum opus Savitri, the play invokes the traditional myth of Satyavan-Savitri to narrate a tale of undying love, which can even conquer death. “This script was originally meant to be a film. The original English cinema script was written by T P Rama Reddy. It then passed through several revisions by Dr Chadrashekar Kambar, Rama Reddy himself, Rajeev Taranath, and the final English script was written by Rama Reddy and myself. Dr U R Aanthamurthy was the script consultant. The script consultant for the play is Dr Arshia Sattar,” explains Konarak Reddy, director of the play.
A longstanding cinema project, it never materialised for want of sponsors. Finally, it is coming on stage as a play in English. “This is a tribute to the memory of my mother Snehalatha Reddy, who had a great love for theatre. She founded Madras Players in the early ’60s. I was only a child then and she would take me to rehearsals and plays. In Bangalore, she founded Abhinaya along with Ashok Mandanna. This play is for her and my father, all of 83 now, who essentially wrote this script to highlight Aurobindo’s idea that life is all about hope. ”Basically a musician, Konarak is directing a play for the first time. “But I have all the veterans like Arundathi, Jagdish, and Ashok Mandanna. I have done the music too. It is a fusion of Western and Indian classical styles,” elaborates Konarak who believes that all forms of music can mingle together easily in harmony.
It is the free spirit of Savitri that is being celebrated in this play. There was a context for Aurobindo to create such a ‘free spirit’. For that was the time, as feminist scholar Susie Tharu writes in her essay ‘Tracing Savithri’s Pedigree,’ when writers like Aurobindo, Toru Dutt and Sarojini Naidu found it necessary to “rebut the negative image the British projected (of Indians), and redeem, if not the present, at least the past”. And Aurobindo revived Savitri, who through her purity, power, and love could alone save Satyavan (the nation and the human condition itself) from ‘death’. That such redemption placed an enormous burden on the Indian women who came within its defining scope is another argument. Something that does not really concern In the Hour of God. But “Aurobindo’s Savitri offers the viewer, in these times of pessimism, a vision of hope, a prophetic vision of brave new, love-filled world,” insists Konarak.
Even the traditional attribute ‘Sati Savitri’ is a mere connotation forced on her, whereas, in real, Savitri is “strong and multi-dimensional”. The play promises to be a grand affair, with state-of-the-art audio, video design by Challam Benurkar, sets by John Mathew & Studioline, lighting design by Daniella Zehnder, costumes by Julie Kagti, Sutra and Grasshopper, special visual effects on the backdrop, and thespian actors. In the main cast are Keertana Kumar, Sameer Sheikh and Shiva Subramaniam. They have even reworked the language to make it contemporary and add humour to an otherwise serious play. Narada, the sutradhar, begins the play from Aurobindo’s Ashram in Pondicherry! The play will be staged on December 11, 12 and 13 and tickets are available at K C Das, Casa Piccola outlets, Bombay Store and Supermarket.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

If Kipling is here, so is Aurobindo Ghosh

An Illustrated History of Indian Literature In English Edited by Arvind Krishna Mehrotra INDIAN ABOVE ALL- Indian literature in English is not, and has never been, all Rushdie and Roy
Uma Mahadevan-Dasgupta The Telegraph Friday, February 21, 2003
While welcoming every new novel from Amitav Ghosh, or every new translation into English of a work by Mahasweta Devi, Nirmal Verma or U.R. Ananthamurthy, we ought also to be glad, funnily enough, that Thomas Babington Macaulay, in 1835, issued his famous Minute on Education — for that was how the English language was formally gifted to India. Even if Macaulay’s Minute seriously aimed at only creating a class of Indians who would be “English in taste, in opinions, in morals and in intellect” — English, that is, in every way. Arvind Krishna Mehrotra reminds us in the introduction to the Illustrated History of Indian Literature in English, Macaulay’s Minute did not stop at creating what a Salman Rushdie character dismisses as “bleddy Macaulay’s minutemen”. It went on to create, over time, an English that became Indian in every way.
The language of the colonizers, when adopted for the creative expression of the colonized, could and did become, as in Kylas Chunder Dutt’s A Journal of Forty-Eight Hours of the Year 1945, a language of subversion. And it was such a language that Gandhi used — bringing to his English, with utmost ease, not only the principles of ahimsa and satyagraha, but also that very powerful slogan, “Quit India”. Indeed, as Sunil Khilnani points out in his essay on Gandhi and Nehru, Gandhi wrote with his characteristic wisdom, in one of his last articles in Harijan (January 25, 1948): “The rule of the English will go because it was corrupt, but the prevalence of English will never go.”
Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s welcome new literary history traces the complex evolution of Indian literature in English from the year 1800, by which time British dominion in India was virtually complete and when the English language first began to be introduced as an interface with the subjugated people. And it traces this evolution all the way down to the logical conclusion of this process: the growing interest, today, not only in original Indian literature in English, but also in translations from the Indian languages into English — translations that are aimed, moreover, primarily at Indian audiences. Indian literature in English owes its evolution not only to its most famous names, V.S. Naipaul, Rushdie and Arundhati Roy, or to other novelists and creative writers, but also to social reformers, political leaders, scientists, scholar-gypsies, and more. And so the 24 essays in this volume range from Raja Rammohan Roy, Henry Derozio and Michael Madhusudan Dutt, to the diaspora and the “after-Midnight novelists”.
Here, then, is a history that does not claim to be the last word on the subject — and Mehrotra apologizes at the outset for the absence of the art historian, Ananda Coomaraswamy, and of a discussion of periodicals and little magazines in English. Yet, it brings us all the clamour, colour, and diversity of Indian voices that have expressed themselves in English. For it is not, and has never been, all Rushdie and Roy. If Kipling is here, so is Aurobindo Ghosh; and not only R.K. Narayan, but also Verrier Elwin and Nirad C.Chaudhuri, with entire chapters to themselves. The chapters, too, have been written by a diverse panel of contributors — and what this might take away in terms of consistency of tone and treatment, it more than makes up for by way of perspectives. Contributors include Pankaj Mishra on R.K. Narayan (“writing from deep within his small and shrinking world”), Mehrotra himself on A.K. Ramanujan (“a master of disguise”), Shanta Gokhale on the dramatists, and Arshia Sattar, who has herself done an excellent translation of Valmiki’s Ramayana, on translations into English.
This is an illustrated history, and what a difference that makes. I first turned the pages all through to look at the pictures, some of them familiar, others rare and intriguing, and several of them accompanied by marvellous details. First the collage on the cover (though it could have been made less drab) — so many faces, including Ramanujan with his parents’ portrait imprinted on his forehead; Seth, Desai, Ghosh, Sealy; Nehru gazing into the distance, and above them, Imtiaz Dharker’s line-drawing of Nissim Ezekiel, with round spectacles and flowing hair. There are many more delights inside, although the reproductions are of uneven quality.
I was struck by the cover of that interesting 19th-century enterprise, “Mookerjee’s Magazine (New Series) of Politics, Sociology, Literature, Art, and Science, including chiefly History and Antiquities, Geography and Travels, Bibliography and Oriental Literature, Jurisprudence and Commerce, & c”. Elsewhere, a photograph of the forgotten Palghat-born novelist, M. Anantanarayanan, on whose name John Updike composed a poem: “I missed his book, but I read his name” — “I picture him as short and tan./ We’d meet, perhaps, in Hindustan./ I’d say, with remarkable elan,/ Ah, Anantanarayanan —/ I’ve heard of you. The Times once ran/ A notice of your novel, an/ Unusual tale of God and Man.” The final illustration in the book, rather fittingly, is from a production at the Guthrie Theatre of Girish Karnad’s play Nagamandala, in translation.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Do you want to contribute to Op-Ed Page

  1. Keep it straightforward. A simple axiom to remember for technical jargon and specialist vocabulary: Less is more. (Edited)

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Let my life rot in hell, but be world saved

Varnamala: Contemporary Oriya Poetry : An Overview Rabindra K Swain
Radhanath Ray (1848-1908) is the principal architect of the era of initial modernity in Oriya poetry. During the later part of nineteenth century, as in other Indian languages, interaction of the Indian Muse with the Western perceptions starts in Oriya too. With Radhanath modern sensibility enters into Oriya literature. The other noted poets of this period are Gangadhar Meher, Madhusudan Rao and Nandakishore Bal.
In between the eras of “initial modernity” and “neomodernity,” we find the Satyabadi and the Sabuja groups. Gopabandhu Das, Nilakantha Das and Godabarish Mishra are value-teachers in nation-building, life and poetry. Baikunthanath Patnaik is the cynosure of the Sabuja period. Non-Sabuja poets who shine are Kuntala Kumari Sabat, Mayadhar Mansingh, Ananta Patnaik and Radhamohan Gadanayak.
Satchidananda Rautroy is the harbinger of the era of “neo-modernity” in Oriya poetry. As Ramakanta Rath and Haraprasad Das observe, he is the “principal idiom-maker of modern Oriya poeltry.” He has a wide range and a world-view. His phenomenal presence is acknowledged by major poets younger to Rautroy, who have had their own zones since long. This anthology starts with the poems of Satchidananda Rautroy.
A rebel and a romantic, a humanist par excellence, Rautroy has authored numerous works of poetry. His format is mostly sculpturesque, his architectonics neat and elegant. A poet almost having a pact with Time, a poet with macro world-vision and micro attention to details, Sochi Rautroy’s impact has spanned the entire second-half of twentieth century Oriya poetry.
Next to Sochi Rautroy and his peer Ananta Patnaik, it is Guruprasad Mohanty who is reckoned as an icon in contemporary Oriya poetry. With a poetic corpus of hardly twenty poems, he virtually gave up writing. The degree of decadence portrayed in his poems may not be reflective of the reality of Cuttack and Orissa of his times, even his poetry may often mirror too much of Eliot in a desi frame, but the free flowing traits of Guruprasadian lyricism ingrained in his style captivated generations of readers.
Despite his anglicized construct in diction and narration, Ramakanta Rath, especially the early Ramakanta, attracted the attention of critics and younger poets. He has a unique blend of modernist esotericism, sardonic slant and a recurring vein of negation turned into art. A poet of complex man-woman relationship, that borders on oblivion, he has the power of juxtaposing the physical and the metaphysical in a deep dark world of realizations. “I am your husband’s skeleton,” he may tell someone, and “you are my beautiful widow.”
As Jayanta Mahapatra has put it, no major Oriya poet remained wholly uninfluenced by Rautroy, but they have taken different courses in the process of their growth. If Guruprasad remained a “poet of a season” inspiring generations of poets or Ramakanta gradually entered into a mellower world of SriRadha, Sitakant Mahapatra, Soubhagya Kumar Misra and Rajendra Kishore Panda evolved their own diction, a world very much their own.
Sitakant’s vision of a suffering world, perpetually in the process of self-redemption, maintains a strong link with the Oriya tradition and heritage. The ‘sky of words’ has a link with ‘the speckled river.’ A lonesome ‘islander’ may be led towards an ‘oceanization.’
If Sitakant and pre-Sitakant poets tended to be reticent and, often, too undertonal, Soubhagya Kumar and Rajendra Kishore came up with the trait of vigour of Rautroy and, in their own individual ways, charged it with new dimensions and wider connotations. Rajendra refuses to be ‘classified' : “the male, the rebel, the ascetic, the child, the lover, the jester alternate” in poetry, says he. Variegated though, the residual is a positive vision, despite the presentday oddities. He espouses a humanist cause: “Tender is the rebellion;” he is “prepared to bloom with the bud or burst with the bomb, unconditionally," every moment.
Soubhagya is a master micro-observer, turning even trivia into art, enlivened by wit and a racy narrative. His earlier swiftness has turned into sedate subtlety. He continues to take the reader to insightful stumblings. His ‘blind honeybee’ finds honey-saps even in unimaginable founts. Soubhagya and Rajendra, each having distinct ‘creationism,’ have one common point : they have inspired their younger fellowpoets immensely, making them non-hesitant, bold and have ‘oriented them towards poetic freed-speech’ in handling complex and unusual themes. The Oriya poetic diction has become vibrant and resilient in usage and connotation.
Sochi Rautroy’s lineage is very strong. Sitakant, Soubhagya and Rajendra have many peers, with their individual strength. The oracular Dipak Mishra with a strong sense of Clio and other Muses, the automystic Harihar Mishra with his Puri-Mahodadhi waves, the esoteric-intellectual Haraprasad Das with his neo-Charyapadic chants, the creative-errant Kamalakant Lenka with his undying metameaning ramblings, the poet-Adonis J P Das with his neat and symbolic articulations, the eternal adventist Pratibha Satpathy invoking the Lord, Savari-like, or bemoaning the lost child, the ever serene Sourindra Barik : all of them and many others have contributed to Oriya poetry. Jayanta Mahapatra, eminent in Indian-English poetry, has turned bilingual and has published original Oriya poems in several collections. Devdas Chhotray, the truant prince-of-romance, continues his search for evanescent Mallika!
If Brahmotri Mohanty has left the mossyard long back and has entered the sanctum, Rabi Singh continues to combat the forces of exploitation. Brajanath Rath loves both the red and pink colours of creativity. While Mamata Dash unifies subtle love with divine grace, Aparna invokes the passionate reality with unhesitant candour; Giribala’s poetry contains the feministic dissent within poetic limits. Asutosh Parida is a poet of creative dissent, a voice of conscience and humanist commitment.
Among the next generation poets who are both “young and not-so-young,” Amaresh Patnaik, Haraprasad Paricha Patnaik, Abhaya Kumar Padhi, Rohinikanta Mukherjee, Aswini Kumar Mishra, Hrushikesh Mallick, Bhagirathi Mishra, Satrughna Pandab and Aparna Mohanty have evinced their creative talents in variegated utterances. If one is a quasi-surrealist, another is village-nostalgic. Another moves from seerlike chant to populist polemics.
The latest group of poets who have attracted current attention are the young ones. Although universal inference is not always desirable, it seems that they have not absorbed much from their immediate predecessors. Many of them have taken the mantras from seniors, looking back to the generation earlier. But some of them have also looked around, and looked within. The bold approach, the ‘directspeak’ diction, the open-ended observations have been expanded. And, where all these aspects have been charged with flashes of vision, the results have been excellent. Among the emerging voices of this generation are Manoranjan Dash, Akhil Nayak, Pabitra Mohan Dash, Sucheta Mishra, Basudev Sunani, Sunil Prusty, Ajay Pradhan, Manoj Meher, Arupanand Panigrahi and many others. The oozings and cross-movements have been going on. It is premature to predict the courses of the streams and substreams. Back Contents Next

The third space, the third culture, and the third history

Sura P. Rath, Louisiana State University -- Shreveport
Home as Place: Home is where I began, and where I shall return. In "The Narrative Production of 'Home,' Community, and Political Identity in Asian American Theater," Dorinne Kondo paraphrases Gayatri Spivak in defining home for people on the margins as ‘that which we cannot not want.’ "It stands for a safe place, where there is no need to explain oneself to outsiders; it stands for community" (97).
The logic underlying institutional policies of nativism is complex. Derived from the Latin nasci (to be born), the word nation provides a starting point as it encompasses the domicile family condition of belonging, the ‘natio’ signifying the local community, and a political nation-state. But as Biddy Martin and Chandra Talpade Mohanty suggest, ‘community’ as the product of work, of struggle "is inherently unstable, contextual; it has to be constantly reevaluated in relation to critical political priorities; and it is the product of interpretation, interpretation based on an attention to history." Similarly, Raymond Williams has noted that although "'Nation' as a term is radically connected with 'native,' we are born into relationships which are typically settled in place," and the jump from that primary and ‘placeable’ bonding to anything like the modern nation-state is entirely artificial. Yet, place as a reservoir of collective memories provides instruments of nativism and sameness (identity). These memories are collected in the books, newspapers, and other printed texts, which contribute to the formation of the ‘imaginary community’ that Benedict Anderson outlines.
In Tenement Lover Jessica Hagedorn, a Philipina American musician, performer, and writer, says: "When I think of home now I mean three places. San Francisco Bay area really colored my work. New York is where I live. But Manila will always have a hold on me. I really don’t think of myself as a citizen of one country but as a citizen of the world" (100). Similarly Naim Araidi says in an interview with Smadar Lavie, "I don’t feel grounded anywhere. I have come back to the village, but it feels like a hotel, not home" (55). Similarly, I ask "Where then is my home?" I struggle daily in the town called Shreveport in the bible-belt south of the United States: I teach there; I live there; I write about people who live there. It is my present. But my mind has been shaped by four other places -- Cuttack, Bhubaneswar, New Orleans, and College Station -- each of which can lay its claim as the home base of my psyche, hence my home. Above all, however, it is Balugaon, that clammy, dingy, fish-smelling sultry town on Chilika Lake where I sometimes return when I sing or dream of home. Does my naturalized American citizenship dissolve the past and make me a tabula rasa? Can one be reborn out of nothing, out of a void?
Home as Time: As a function of history, home is the reservoir of public myths and private memories. Mike Featherstone has noted two key features of postmodernism: first, "it entails a loss of confidence in the master narratives of progress and enlightenment," a Western paradigm, and a subsequent recognition of contingency, incoherence, and ambivalence; and second, "a democratization and popularization of forms of knowledge and cultural production and dissemination" (50) which were previously the monopoly of established groups. These, he deduces, are forces that have led to a dehistorized history and replaced it with histories.
To review my postcolonial self, then I must return to the past or to a crossroads of history. Born sometime around the mid-twentieth-century after the Indian national independence, after the declaration of the republic status of the country, I can embrace my postcolonial identity as an Indian. In addition, my early education and training in the indigenous cultural texts, such as the Bhagabata, the Puranas, the Gita -- much of it recited to me at four in the dew-damp mornings in the harvest seasons supposedly to please the gods but more practically, perhaps, to ward off early morning theft from the barn next door -- all make my experience authentic and real. There was little or nothing imagined about my ‘imaginary community’ ; the soil, the sand, the cow dung all were real. The text was as much in the book as it was on the stone steps of the village pond, where a vermilion covered rectangular stone claimed its divine status as a goddess and received morning and evening worshippers. The text was there on the mud walls where the most complex mythic images were meticulously drawn in circles and triangles with jhoti (pureed rice), where gods smiled in their cosmic glee.
But these early essences were coated soon with English poems such as "The boy stood on the burning deck whence all but he had fled" ("Casabianca"), or "There dwelt a miller hale and bold beside the river Dee;/ He worked and sang from morn to night, no lark was blither than he"("Miller of the Dee"); or "Breathes there the man with soul so dead, who to himself hath never said, this is my own, my native land? If such there breathes, go mark him well,/ For him no minstrel song shall swell"; or "Inchcape Rock" or "Ballad of Father Gilligan" or "Abu Ben Adhem." These were poems alien to my experience; they did not speak to my history, nor to my dreams, my future. They were my colonial inheritance, the cocoon that covered up my postcolonial self. They scarred my consciousness indelibly to the point that I still remember those lines. True, these readings were later punctuated with unforgettable lines from Gangadhar Meher and Radhanath Ray, Upendra Bhanja and Kabisurya Baladev, or Godavarish Mishra and Godavarish Mahapatra, and passages from Gopinath Mohanty and Kanhu Charan Mohanty and Fakir Mohan Senapati and Rabindranath Tagore, but the colonial virus turned active later and showed up in my critical veneration for Eliot and his ‘objective correlative.’ I read more Milton than Sarala Das, and dissected with the Derridean and de Manian deconstructive scalpel Oriya poetry by Sitakant Mahapatra, Ramakant Rath, Soubhagya Misra and Jayanta Mohapatra.
Virtual Home/ Virtual History: I began this presentation with a reference to Trishanku, a king in the Hindu epic The Ramayana. In his obsession with going to the heaven with his own body, Trishanku represents the consequences of narcissism; his story includes an encounter between the divine and the human, and the creation of an intermediate virtual space between earth and heaven, but above all it highlights the dichotomy between the body and the spirit. The sage Viswamitra enables King Trishanku to ascend to heaven in/with his own body, but Indra, the king of gods, returns him back to earth to protect the integrity of the gods’ land. As the king falls headlong down through the ethereal space, Viswamitra freezes him and builds a virtual heaven with its own pantheon of gods and angels. The sage is later pacified by a repentant Indra, but Trishanku remains in his third space. Indeed, he is that third space.
And I too am a third space. As I define my diaspora as a transplanted Indian in the United States, I see myself as a colonizer as well as a colonized. In formulating that part of my self that draws on my Indian heritage, I am keenly conscious of the postcolonial blood I share with the millions of Indians. If from half a world away I have the privilege and the luxury to ‘ objectify’ India and my own past, I am not alone. For the 60+ year-olds, those who actually lived under the British Raj, the past was certainly more peaceful and less turbulent than the present. In assimilating my present role as a university teacher and higher education administrator, I not only channel the thinking process of thousands of my students but also evaluate and sometimes redirect the professional activities of my colleagues and friends. Perhaps in me, as in thousands of other immigrants of diaspora who inhabit the third space, live the third culture, and shape the third history, postcolonialism has come full circle, and the trauma of postmodernism has a final relief. Introduction Three Items My Third Displace Three Parts of the Self Here/There/Where Three Homes Works Cited

Saturday, December 17, 2005

The true rebel is the true lover

True criticism, like true revolution, must be born out of love.
The true rebel is the true lover because he loves certain values or ideas very dearly.
He revolts, he criticizes because he wants to move towards a better perception of reality.

Sitakant Mohapatra
Beyond the Word : The Multiple Gestures of Tradition (MLBD)

Dance of the Dervishes and the Sufi Way

MRINALINI SARABHAI The Times of India Saturday, December 17, 2005
Sufism is a teaching based on love. There is a sense of unity of thought which speaks of the fundamental one-ness of all religions. Disharmony and dissent is often caused by language. It is explained that the travellers are the ordinary people of the world. The linguist is the Sufi. When differences of language, meaning and perception are sorted out, only then real teaching can be understood. The Sufi is a mystic who believes in attunement with the whole of existence. 'Sufism is truth without form', wrote Iba El Jalali. The word 'Sufi' in the Arabic means 'pure'. A literary interpretation of Sufi is people clad in camel's wool. It is difficult to define 'Sufism' for the Sufi practices 'alternate detachment and identification with life'. Sufis believe that everyone evolves to a known destiny. Life is both lived and perceived. For more than a thousand years the Hindus and Sufis exchanged ideas and many Sufi sayings were similar to Sanskrit shlokas about human aspiration.
In Sufism, the laws of life were kindness, generosity, good advice, forbearance to enemies, indifference to fools and respect for the learned ones. Jalaluddin Rumi warned: "Judge not the Sufi to be that which you can see of him, my friends". He himself had been transformed when he met Shams of Tabriz, a travelling Dervish. Dervishes were ascetics who founded the Sufi fraternity in Arabia. In their beliefs they unified the inner philosophy of all religious thought, and created a new genre of music and movement. The sacred dance of the Dervishes is said to have happened when Rumi once took a rhythmic turn. This movement unconsciously whirled the skirt of his garment. It formed a circle and with that the dance was created with a group known as the whirling Dervishes. There were varied scholars of Dervishes.
The sect which developed in India was the Naqshbandi, founded by Naqebhand, a great Sufi personality of his time. Rumi's ghazals continue to inspire singers and poets with their artistic reflections of spiritual love through human aspiration. The qawwalis are sung everywhere and combine various music traditions like the khayal, thumri, tarana and others. A marvellous tradition of humanity. I recollect an old song in this context: "They asked me how I knew/ my true love was true/ I of course, replied/ Something here inside/ cannot be denied". While it is difficult to describe Sufism, the emphasis is on perfect renunciation and total absorption in God. As a Sufi master said: "Love is action, action is knowledge; knowledge is truth, truth is love".

Friday, December 16, 2005

Dance is a celebration of the divinity of being

Sharon Lowen has dedicated her life to presenting and promoting excellence in Indian performing arts. Sharon is hailed today as one of the leading international performing artists of three forms of Indian dance: Odissi, Chhau and Manipuri. This is a remarkable achievement for an artist from the U.S.A. who first arrived in India in 1973 after acquiring her Bachelors and Masters degrees in Humanities, Fine Arts, Asian Studies and Dance from the University of Michigan as a Fulbright Scholar to continue her studies of Manipuri and learn Odissi and Chhau. Sharon has made her home in India to dedicate herself to her work as an artist and to promote education in the arts.
A scholar, teacher and performing artist, Sharon has been trained since 1975 in Odissi by the doyen of the art, Padmavibhushan Kelucharan Mohapatra; in Manipuri by Minati Roy from 1969 through 1971 and from 1973 by Guru Singhajit Singh in Delhi and Ranjani Maibi and Thangjam Chaoba Singh in Manipur; in Mayurbhanj Chhau by Late Guru Krishna Chandra Naik and in Seraikella Chhau by Guru Kedarnath Sahoo. She is the first woman soloist of a previously all-male form, responsible for introducing Mayurbhanj Chhau to the United States at the 1978 Asian Dance Festival in Hawaii and later at the Olympic Arts Festival of Masks in Los Angeles and is singularly responsible for getting Chhau presented on Doordarshan' s National Broadcasts. She has also choreographed and performed Odissi dance in Telegu, Bengali, Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi as well as Sanskrit and Oriya for performances and festivals around India, Doordarshan National Indian Television, and internationally.
Dance is a celebration of the divinity of being. In India the art of Dance is a result of thousands of years of refinement and countless cycles of artists and Gurus. Odissi invokes the grace of Lord Jagannatha, the Lord of the Universe, another attribute to Vishnu. Orissa is known as the land of temples and Odissi became an inseparable part of the rituals of the temple since the 9th Century. Odissi dance reflects the sculpturesque poses of temples dating back to the second century, B.C. in the rounded curves and flexions of the style, especially the "Tribanga" or "triple-bend" pose. The fact that this dance has survived so many centuries and has a vitality for us today illustrates how human nature continues to present universal truths through our arts. This is an art not only for connoisseurs, but is intended for all the people to enjoy, to embrace and to share.
Padma Vibhushan Guru Kelucharan Mohapatra is the primary architect in the revival of classical Odissi dance over the past half-century. Past 75 years, he is the undisputed master performing artist, choreographer, teacher and percussionist of Odissi dance. He has received every possible award, has trained most of the leading exponents of the form and is the revered and respected for his genius as an artist all over the world. Sharon had the privilege to study with Kelubabu from 1975 and having Kelubabu present her Odissi and Manipuri performance in Orissa in 1976. He has accompanied her on pakawaj for performances around India and on tour in the U S during the Festival of India – USA and performed together at the Metropolitan Museum in NYC.