Raja Ravi Verma at Malavli!
Bina Thomas ( binatho@gmail.com )
Dear Diary,
Mom and I were driving towards Pune after visiting the amazing rock cut prayer halls at Karle and Bhaja. Suddenly Mom asked me if we could stop by at Malavli, a village by the expressway. I was a little tired after our morning trek and was longing to reach home and rest. But when I heard Mom say “Raja Ravi Verma’s press” I was interested.
Earlier on Mom had told me about Raja Ravi Verma, a 19th century prince and painter from Kerala. He belonged to the royal family of Travancore (South Kerala). He began painting at a young age and his works are world renowned. I have seen them on the internet. Ravi Verma’s real life portrayal of human figures, especially in scenes from Indian mythology and ancient literature are very beautiful. Various palaces hosted him as a special guest and he created enchanting portraits of its royal residents. He is even credited to have `dressed’ our Hindu goddesses and gods in sarees and dhotis!! “And what did the Prince have to do in this remote village in Pune? Isn’t that what you are wondering about?” Mom’s question shook me out of my reverie, and I agreed.
She explained that printing technology was advancing at that time. German printing machines for oleographs or prints of paintings were gaining popularity. A press was started in Bombay for the same purpose. Prints of Raja Ravi Verma's paintings of Hindu gods and goddesses were made available to public and it gained acceptability among the ordinary people. This was the beginning of `calendar art’ in India. Today, can one imagine an Indian household without pictures or calendars of gods and goddesses? But the press had to be shut down due to various reasons. Raja Ravi Verma shifted out the press from Bombay and in 1896 set it up in Malavli; a quite and peaceful village not too far from Bombay and close to Peshwai Pune. Later the press was sold to one of his German technicians, and sometime later was shut down. Descendents of the German owner now own the property.
With permission from the guards, we entered the 100 acres of private property. We strolled around the press building, and surveyed its dilapidated condition. The guard informed us that apart from a couple of printing machines and perhaps a few oleographs strewn around the few rooms that housed the press there was nothing in the locked building.
Our visit was like homage to the great painter. As we continued our journey home, Mom and I discussed the possibility of converting the building and premises of the Raja Ravi Verma Press into a museum or an institute for Fine Arts. Is someone listening?
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Anaconda in my backyard!!!
Anaconda in my backyard!!!
Bina Thomas ( binatho@gmail.com )
Nandini was very happy. Her dear friend, Meghna, was visiting her during the holidays. For friends who had grown up together in the same city and school, Nandini’s shift to a new city had been heartbreaking for both. So, when Nandini heard of Meghna's visit during the holidays, she was delighted. Finally they would be chatting away like old times. In person, and not on email!!
And there was so much that Nandini wanted to show Meghna. Her brand new pink room, her new computer and study table, the smart glass cupboard which displayed all her precious curio collection, and the old trunk that Nandini was nostalgic about, chock-a-block with stuff toys that they shared when they were younger.
However there was one silent prayer on her mind. May Meghna never open the window overlooking the backyard of her building!! The Anaconda would strike her and she would be smitten with disapproval of her room, house, building, and perhaps even the posh locality they lived in!! Nandini couldn’t bear the though of it.
Actually what Nandini called an `Anaconda’ was a dirty, smelly nalla flowing behind the building. Till just a few months ago, this dirty, smelly nalla was a stream. A gently flowing tributary of the river the city was located by. But things had changed so rapidly in the last few months. Many new construction activities were sprouting in the vicinity. Initially, it was the construction debris from these sites that was very conveniently dumped by the edge of the stream. The workers were instructed by the contractors to do so. Slowly, the heap of debris became a curtain for the workers to use the stream as a common toilet!! And when residents came in to occupy these buildings, it became a common dump yard for all kinds of domestic waste!!! To the extent, that the once gurgling stream turned into an unbearably smelly nalla that snaked the area, like a dark and dense Anaconda!!!. Post monsoons it had even stopped flowing. The stagnant nalla not only looked ugly, it also posed a threat to the resident's health.
“But why don’t you do something about it?” asked Meghna, when she did open the window and saw the dirty nalla. Nandini was clueless. “At least begin by asking friends and neighbors to suggest what we could do to prevent further pollution of the nalla,” Meghna clarified. “I am sure we will find somebody who will help in this matter”.
And sure they did. Not one. Many residents. Seniors were soon writing letters and talking to people in authority like the Area Ward officers, and Corporators. They were geared up to even meet the Municipal Commissioner if needed. The two friends were very happy that things were moving. The fact was, the residents were equally concerned about the matter, but were perhaps waiting for `coordinators’ like Nandini and Meghna to bring them together and `push’ them forward.
Bina Thomas ( binatho@gmail.com )
Nandini was very happy. Her dear friend, Meghna, was visiting her during the holidays. For friends who had grown up together in the same city and school, Nandini’s shift to a new city had been heartbreaking for both. So, when Nandini heard of Meghna's visit during the holidays, she was delighted. Finally they would be chatting away like old times. In person, and not on email!!
And there was so much that Nandini wanted to show Meghna. Her brand new pink room, her new computer and study table, the smart glass cupboard which displayed all her precious curio collection, and the old trunk that Nandini was nostalgic about, chock-a-block with stuff toys that they shared when they were younger.
However there was one silent prayer on her mind. May Meghna never open the window overlooking the backyard of her building!! The Anaconda would strike her and she would be smitten with disapproval of her room, house, building, and perhaps even the posh locality they lived in!! Nandini couldn’t bear the though of it.
Actually what Nandini called an `Anaconda’ was a dirty, smelly nalla flowing behind the building. Till just a few months ago, this dirty, smelly nalla was a stream. A gently flowing tributary of the river the city was located by. But things had changed so rapidly in the last few months. Many new construction activities were sprouting in the vicinity. Initially, it was the construction debris from these sites that was very conveniently dumped by the edge of the stream. The workers were instructed by the contractors to do so. Slowly, the heap of debris became a curtain for the workers to use the stream as a common toilet!! And when residents came in to occupy these buildings, it became a common dump yard for all kinds of domestic waste!!! To the extent, that the once gurgling stream turned into an unbearably smelly nalla that snaked the area, like a dark and dense Anaconda!!!. Post monsoons it had even stopped flowing. The stagnant nalla not only looked ugly, it also posed a threat to the resident's health.
“But why don’t you do something about it?” asked Meghna, when she did open the window and saw the dirty nalla. Nandini was clueless. “At least begin by asking friends and neighbors to suggest what we could do to prevent further pollution of the nalla,” Meghna clarified. “I am sure we will find somebody who will help in this matter”.
And sure they did. Not one. Many residents. Seniors were soon writing letters and talking to people in authority like the Area Ward officers, and Corporators. They were geared up to even meet the Municipal Commissioner if needed. The two friends were very happy that things were moving. The fact was, the residents were equally concerned about the matter, but were perhaps waiting for `coordinators’ like Nandini and Meghna to bring them together and `push’ them forward.
Finders Keepers
Finders Keepers!
Bina Thomas ( binatho@gmail.com )
Often in our daily lives we come across instances which reveal great Truths. They bring us face to face with the teachings of Saints and Philosphers. And that is exactly what happened to Monu and his mother when they met a group of young boys from the neighbourhood slums. Read on to know what happened …….
Monu was engrossed in his search, when a gang of boys stopped him.
“Are you looking for this?” asked one of them. He held the `lost’ book.
“Yes, that’s mine!” Monu jumped at it.
“But now it’s ours,” said the boy shoving the book into his shirt, “and if you want it back you have to pay 50 rupees for it” he said.
“50? That is too high! My mother would never agree to pay that much.”
“How about 30?”
“Could we settle for 20 rupees?” Monu finally asked.
“Ok. Done.”
Monu heaved a sigh of relief. It all was his fault. While cycling home from the library, he did not realize when one of his story books fell off the bicycle carrier. On confiding to mom, she had suggested that he retrace the entire stretch between home and library once again and look for the book. The book must have dropped off at the hutments near the cross roads and was found by one of the boys.
Thus, the matter was settled. 20 rupees! Although Monu knew his mother wouldn’t be happy with this negotiation, he desperately wanted his book back. What if the library cancelled his membership because he lost a book? What if he had to pay the cost of the book? That would be much more an amount!
Monu told the young boys to wait at the same spot till he returned with the money. His mother was both angry and amused on hearing the demand. She decided to accompany her son. The boys were a little nervous on seeing an `Aunty’ accompanying their `prey’. But, they put up a strong front. Aunty too was prepared to explain to the boys that it was wrong to keep something that didn’t belong to them.
“But the book doesn’t belong to you”, Aunty pursued.
“And I am going to return it,” replied the young kid and sniggered. His gang giggled among themselves.
“But only for a price?” asked Aunty.
“Yes, 20 rupees,” he confirmed.
“Why?” Aunty wanted the kid to think and realize how unreasonable his demand was.
But his reply was quick!
“Madame, I am being honest and told the truth that I have the book,” said the boy. “It was your son who was careless and lost a book which does not even belong to him. I found it and kept it safe. It is now my property. I could sell it to any secondhand books store and make some money. But, I chose to return it to your son,” with complete confidence the young boy reasoned it out.
Aunty was speechless. It reminded her of an episode in the life of Gautama Buddha. Prince Siddharta, as the Buddha was known when he was young, once saved a bird which was shot down by his cousin Devadratta. When Devdratta made his claim for the bird, Siddharta refused to part with the helpless creature. The matter then went to court. The young princes had to present their case. Siddharta said that since he had saved the bird from death and thus given it a new life the bird should be allowed to remain in his care. The court was adjourned in Siddharta’s favour, because, a Protector is nobler than a Destroyer.
Aunty was so impressed by the young lad’s reply that she could not resist but give him the 20 rupees he expected. “This is for your honesty and fearlessly speaking your mind,” she said.
Bina Thomas ( binatho@gmail.com )
Often in our daily lives we come across instances which reveal great Truths. They bring us face to face with the teachings of Saints and Philosphers. And that is exactly what happened to Monu and his mother when they met a group of young boys from the neighbourhood slums. Read on to know what happened …….
Monu was engrossed in his search, when a gang of boys stopped him.
“Are you looking for this?” asked one of them. He held the `lost’ book.
“Yes, that’s mine!” Monu jumped at it.
“But now it’s ours,” said the boy shoving the book into his shirt, “and if you want it back you have to pay 50 rupees for it” he said.
“50? That is too high! My mother would never agree to pay that much.”
“How about 30?”
“Could we settle for 20 rupees?” Monu finally asked.
“Ok. Done.”
Monu heaved a sigh of relief. It all was his fault. While cycling home from the library, he did not realize when one of his story books fell off the bicycle carrier. On confiding to mom, she had suggested that he retrace the entire stretch between home and library once again and look for the book. The book must have dropped off at the hutments near the cross roads and was found by one of the boys.
Thus, the matter was settled. 20 rupees! Although Monu knew his mother wouldn’t be happy with this negotiation, he desperately wanted his book back. What if the library cancelled his membership because he lost a book? What if he had to pay the cost of the book? That would be much more an amount!
Monu told the young boys to wait at the same spot till he returned with the money. His mother was both angry and amused on hearing the demand. She decided to accompany her son. The boys were a little nervous on seeing an `Aunty’ accompanying their `prey’. But, they put up a strong front. Aunty too was prepared to explain to the boys that it was wrong to keep something that didn’t belong to them.
“But the book doesn’t belong to you”, Aunty pursued.
“And I am going to return it,” replied the young kid and sniggered. His gang giggled among themselves.
“But only for a price?” asked Aunty.
“Yes, 20 rupees,” he confirmed.
“Why?” Aunty wanted the kid to think and realize how unreasonable his demand was.
But his reply was quick!
“Madame, I am being honest and told the truth that I have the book,” said the boy. “It was your son who was careless and lost a book which does not even belong to him. I found it and kept it safe. It is now my property. I could sell it to any secondhand books store and make some money. But, I chose to return it to your son,” with complete confidence the young boy reasoned it out.
Aunty was speechless. It reminded her of an episode in the life of Gautama Buddha. Prince Siddharta, as the Buddha was known when he was young, once saved a bird which was shot down by his cousin Devadratta. When Devdratta made his claim for the bird, Siddharta refused to part with the helpless creature. The matter then went to court. The young princes had to present their case. Siddharta said that since he had saved the bird from death and thus given it a new life the bird should be allowed to remain in his care. The court was adjourned in Siddharta’s favour, because, a Protector is nobler than a Destroyer.
Aunty was so impressed by the young lad’s reply that she could not resist but give him the 20 rupees he expected. “This is for your honesty and fearlessly speaking your mind,” she said.
Teach children about religion
INTERVENTION
Teach children about religion
They may be more perceptive than you think
BINA THOMAS
Religion is indeed a very sensitive issue. And for some, especially the cosmopolitan liberal, it is a exceedingly personal issue. It is either not right or appropriate to discuss it in any informal gathering. And for the same reasons we try and keep away from discussing it with our children.
Or maybe we think our little ones are too young to understand the complexities of the issue. But the fact is religion is the most important source of identity for millions of Indians. Thus, the knowledge of the religious diversity in this country and the need to be sensitive and tolerant to the teachings of every religion and, most importantly, the need to coexist in peace and harmony with all are integral learning exercises for any child.
It is not that children don’t wish to know. They are curious. Right from the time they join a school and mix with other children, they want to know why certain festivals are important to some and not to all. Why do objects of worship differ from home to home? Why do some bury their their dead, while others cremate them? Questions on ‘my God’ and ‘your God’ are a part of their identity. One need not be a regular at a temple or mosque for the child to grow curious about these matters. The school and playground are adequate to set the child thinking on what for others are ‘intellectual’ musings.
As responsible parents and teachers, it is important that we explain religion to the child. Let’s teach them young, even before the ‘rewritten’ history textbooks get to them. Preferably with love and reason. Such an exercise also makes it easier for a child to analyse why then if ‘all Indians are my brothers and sisters’ should people live in fear of being hacked to death one day simply because he or she belongs to a different religion?
We cannot shield our children from these doubts forever. And why should we? It’s not being harsh on young minds at all. They get to know of it anyway. In between shifting channels or flipping through newspapers, they learn about the world around them. They have seen the damage caused in Gujarat. The older ones may have even read articles or watched news clippings with tears in their eyes. There would be many wanting to know what we mean by words like ‘fundamentalism’ or ‘communal harmony’.
Why should we be reluctant to address these queries in the same spirit of humanity that we render to issues of the drought or earthquake-affected? Are we scared to teach or children to love the ‘other’ because there is so much hate among ourselves? Or is it as plain as not wanting to learn from or listen to our own respective religious texts? As educated citizens, it’s time we equip ourselves with answers for such ‘personal’ questions. Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for. Sometimes they are more perceptive than adults.
The writer is an archaeologist, working with Bodhigram, a Pune-based centre for alternate education
Teach children about religion
They may be more perceptive than you think
BINA THOMAS
Religion is indeed a very sensitive issue. And for some, especially the cosmopolitan liberal, it is a exceedingly personal issue. It is either not right or appropriate to discuss it in any informal gathering. And for the same reasons we try and keep away from discussing it with our children.
Or maybe we think our little ones are too young to understand the complexities of the issue. But the fact is religion is the most important source of identity for millions of Indians. Thus, the knowledge of the religious diversity in this country and the need to be sensitive and tolerant to the teachings of every religion and, most importantly, the need to coexist in peace and harmony with all are integral learning exercises for any child.
It is not that children don’t wish to know. They are curious. Right from the time they join a school and mix with other children, they want to know why certain festivals are important to some and not to all. Why do objects of worship differ from home to home? Why do some bury their their dead, while others cremate them? Questions on ‘my God’ and ‘your God’ are a part of their identity. One need not be a regular at a temple or mosque for the child to grow curious about these matters. The school and playground are adequate to set the child thinking on what for others are ‘intellectual’ musings.
As responsible parents and teachers, it is important that we explain religion to the child. Let’s teach them young, even before the ‘rewritten’ history textbooks get to them. Preferably with love and reason. Such an exercise also makes it easier for a child to analyse why then if ‘all Indians are my brothers and sisters’ should people live in fear of being hacked to death one day simply because he or she belongs to a different religion?
We cannot shield our children from these doubts forever. And why should we? It’s not being harsh on young minds at all. They get to know of it anyway. In between shifting channels or flipping through newspapers, they learn about the world around them. They have seen the damage caused in Gujarat. The older ones may have even read articles or watched news clippings with tears in their eyes. There would be many wanting to know what we mean by words like ‘fundamentalism’ or ‘communal harmony’.
Why should we be reluctant to address these queries in the same spirit of humanity that we render to issues of the drought or earthquake-affected? Are we scared to teach or children to love the ‘other’ because there is so much hate among ourselves? Or is it as plain as not wanting to learn from or listen to our own respective religious texts? As educated citizens, it’s time we equip ourselves with answers for such ‘personal’ questions. Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for. Sometimes they are more perceptive than adults.
The writer is an archaeologist, working with Bodhigram, a Pune-based centre for alternate education
Spirits of History
December 01.2006
Spirits of History saunter around the fort
BINA THOMAS
Malhar and Mallika were admiring the architecture of the fort, when suddenly they met with the past.
"The fort walls look so magnificent in the evening sun," said Malhar.
"And so spooky!" added Mallika, a little nervous. The siblings were waiting for their parents outside the old fort.
The 200-year-old fort was the most important architectural feature within the city. It formed the core around which the entire city had grown. The monument stood strong and mighty, as the city bustled around it.
They were admiring the huge wooden door with metal spikes and plates. Suddenly they heard someone sobbing.
"Who's crying?" asked Malhar. There was no reply.
"Who's crying?"asked Mallika.
They looked around and spotted two men, dressed in silk dhotis, with regal turbans, and wearing leather joothis. Malhar and Mallika walked up to them.
"What happened? Who are you? Are you from the village? Do you need help?" they asked. But the men only wept. "We are not from the village," they finally said. "This fort is our home."
"What! Even the watchman doesn't live here!" said Malhar. The two men looked puzzled.
"But we have been living here for the past 200 years."
"What do you mean?" "We are the chief architects of this vast fort," they explained. "We selected this spot and planned not just the fort but the market and residential areas around it," they added with pride as they wiped their tears. "You mean you are ghosts?" they nervously asked.
"Not ghosts. They are scary. We are souls of the fort, or better still, call us spirits," they smiled. "We are two of the many spirits that reside in this old monument."
Great grief
"Why were you crying?" asked Mallika, now a little relaxed seeing the gentle ways of the spirits.
"Everyday hundreds of visitors come to see the monument we built. We feel proud. But when we see the damage and the filth they leave behind we feel sad. The sweepers clear the trash every morning, but what about the stains and graffiti on our stonewalls? They are like scars on our body! People and children too, spit and urinate in any isolated corner within this structure! Would you do such a thing in your house?" they asked, seething with anger.
"Of course not!" said the children rather alarmed.
"This fort was the residence of the royal family. It also housed a few offices. It was all so neatly planned with corridors and balconies, gardens and fountains... " the spirits were ecstatic with nostalgia. "That was all so long ago. We are happy our country has declared this fort and many other such structures as `Protected Monuments'. But do the citizens really care? They cause so much damage!" they began to cry again.
"We can imagine the effort it takes to build a structure like this," Malhar consoled them. "We will talk to our teachers, so whenever children from our school go on a picnic to a historical monument, they will take care not to damage or dirty the monument or its premises," promised Mallika.
Suddenly they heard their names being called. They turned around and saw their parents at a distance. Malhar and Mallika turned once again to say `Bye' to the Spirits, but they were gone. "Sorry to keep you both waiting," apologised their father. "Were you scared?" he asked.
"Not at all! The spirits kept us company, " they said.
Spirits of History saunter around the fort
BINA THOMAS
Malhar and Mallika were admiring the architecture of the fort, when suddenly they met with the past.
"The fort walls look so magnificent in the evening sun," said Malhar.
"And so spooky!" added Mallika, a little nervous. The siblings were waiting for their parents outside the old fort.
The 200-year-old fort was the most important architectural feature within the city. It formed the core around which the entire city had grown. The monument stood strong and mighty, as the city bustled around it.
They were admiring the huge wooden door with metal spikes and plates. Suddenly they heard someone sobbing.
"Who's crying?" asked Malhar. There was no reply.
"Who's crying?"asked Mallika.
They looked around and spotted two men, dressed in silk dhotis, with regal turbans, and wearing leather joothis. Malhar and Mallika walked up to them.
"What happened? Who are you? Are you from the village? Do you need help?" they asked. But the men only wept. "We are not from the village," they finally said. "This fort is our home."
"What! Even the watchman doesn't live here!" said Malhar. The two men looked puzzled.
"But we have been living here for the past 200 years."
"What do you mean?" "We are the chief architects of this vast fort," they explained. "We selected this spot and planned not just the fort but the market and residential areas around it," they added with pride as they wiped their tears. "You mean you are ghosts?" they nervously asked.
"Not ghosts. They are scary. We are souls of the fort, or better still, call us spirits," they smiled. "We are two of the many spirits that reside in this old monument."
Great grief
"Why were you crying?" asked Mallika, now a little relaxed seeing the gentle ways of the spirits.
"Everyday hundreds of visitors come to see the monument we built. We feel proud. But when we see the damage and the filth they leave behind we feel sad. The sweepers clear the trash every morning, but what about the stains and graffiti on our stonewalls? They are like scars on our body! People and children too, spit and urinate in any isolated corner within this structure! Would you do such a thing in your house?" they asked, seething with anger.
"Of course not!" said the children rather alarmed.
"This fort was the residence of the royal family. It also housed a few offices. It was all so neatly planned with corridors and balconies, gardens and fountains... " the spirits were ecstatic with nostalgia. "That was all so long ago. We are happy our country has declared this fort and many other such structures as `Protected Monuments'. But do the citizens really care? They cause so much damage!" they began to cry again.
"We can imagine the effort it takes to build a structure like this," Malhar consoled them. "We will talk to our teachers, so whenever children from our school go on a picnic to a historical monument, they will take care not to damage or dirty the monument or its premises," promised Mallika.
Suddenly they heard their names being called. They turned around and saw their parents at a distance. Malhar and Mallika turned once again to say `Bye' to the Spirits, but they were gone. "Sorry to keep you both waiting," apologised their father. "Were you scared?" he asked.
"Not at all! The spirits kept us company, " they said.
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