Bharatanatyam for aficionados; a humbling experience

The evening Bharatanatyam performance by Prof. C.V Chandrasekar was an eye opener for many in the audience. The clean lines, perfection in posture and footwork and precision in hand-eye movement, were new experiences. The full program included an invocation to Ganesha, a Tanjore Quartet varnam, an astapadi, Javali and Padam. Click here to see the full program list Items that should also be mentioned are “Adum azhagai paaradi”, Ksheera Sagara Shayana choreographed by Chandrasekhar as well as the concluding Hamsanandhi tillana which was composed and choreographed by him.

The simple and elegant costumes distracted nothing from the aesthetic movements on stage. It was also refreshing after a long time to see a program without the usual and insipid “convent English” translations. The nattuvangam by Jaya Chandrasekar was crisp and unobtrusive, complementing and blending with the dancers’ movements. This was a program that any aficionado of Bharatanatyam should have seen and heard. The vocal music sung by Vanathi had been meticulously prepared and presented.

More the pity that the hall, though well filled, was not packed to capacity as would have been the case if the dancer was one of the glitterati names who adorn the Bharatanatyam stage today. The audience was also given reassurance that yes - the art and classicism of Bharatanatyam is alive and well even if not in abundant evidence. V.V Sundaram sums it up well in his remarks by saying “I thought I had seen some Bharatanatyam in my time. But I feel humbled by what we have seen today”.

The following day Prof. CV Chandrasekhar conducted a two-hour lecture demonstration on two themes: the emotive aspects of nritta as well as aspects of music for dance programs. The latter brought out the significant differences in singing for dance concerts versus singing at a music concert.

This was followed by a presentation of his abstract dance ballet, Panchabhootam. Ramya Harishankar and her troupe presented this program. They had come all the way from California at their own expense. In Ramya’s own words “ we wanted to present and share Chandrasekhar’s work and pay tribute to him at this event where he was honored with the title Nrithya Rathnakara.

Shankar Ramachandran, Cleveland, April 14, 2004

Navarathiri; a womens' festival

Young Rukmini gets ready to go to the temple with her mother. Her hair is braided into two tight plaits. Her face is scrubbed and shines with expectation and pride at wearing her newest skirt, a bright blue one with a red border. She and her mother are about to walk to the temple near the village for the evening Navarathri celebrations.

All the women from nearby will be there with their daughters. For weeks now each family have been busy with their preparations, polishing a brass plate until it shines like a mirror, making powders of various colours from vegetable leaves and such. Black from dried curry leaves, red from powdered brick, little white beads from cooked rice paste. With a light sticky gruel they had made kolams on the tray and stuck these rice beads to form the lines and borders. The space in between is filled with the painstakingly prepared coloured powder. And this evening all the women congregate at the temple and offer these “painted prayers” to the Goddess.

Dressed in their best, dark shining tresses tightly tied back, red kum-kum shining on their foreheads, the women arrive at the temple with their daughters in tow. The children wear the little jewellery they possess. As the evening light fades and the only sounds to be heard are that of the gently swaying coconut trees and the rustle of pepul leaves, the oil lamps are lit . The mothers and daughters hold out the trays in their outstretched arms. Together they rotate them in front of the shrine and pray for the future of their families and their children.

The scene is visual. But the smell of freshly broken coconuts, camphor and incense fill the air as do the fragrances from the jasmine and tulsi and kadambam garlands that adorn the shrine. Every woman has a small bunch of flowers tucked in her hair. The sound of brass bells from the temple doors mingles with the soft chimes of the silver bells on the little girls’ ankles.
After the pooja, the girls talk excitedly about the kolam competition the next day. Who will win this year? Will it again be Mala and her mother from the next village? People from nearby villages come to see the kolams in the temple courtyard. The simple, white rice flour with the occasional dab of red from crushed brick pieces belie the complex patterns. Yellow flowers from pumpkin creepers are occasionally used to add a flash of colour.

Navarathri is essentially a woman’s festival. It reflects and perhaps helps develop an aesthetic sense that is essentially feminine. No crackers or boisterous processions here. Neither big feasts nor ostentation are a part of this celebration. Each family decorates its home in a simple fashion. An arrangement of dolls and ornaments form a prayer area. Each evening the women and their daughters visit their friends and neighbours and sit together in a ritual bonding that helps them remember who they are. They are the keepers of the hearth. They share a little sundal and a simple sweet, sing songs for each other and pray for peace and tranquility. The Goddess of Navarathiri, Durga in the form of Mahishasuramardini, is the one who vanquishes the demon Mahisha who represents violence and evil.

There is a school of thought that suggests that these are the demons we face within ourselves. The worship is our endeavour to come face to face with the turmoil and conflict within each of us. For this we seek the grace of Goddess Durga. And in Her name the women gather to unconsciously reflect on their most basic social obligations. They keep the peace, raise the children and promote gentleness and maintain cultural memories.

In recent times, Navarathiri has changed and transformed itself as it adapted to city life and the urban environment. Dolls are made and sold in markets. These are collected, some painted clay and others in tiny plastic forms. The decorations became more elaborate as the collections of dolls grow. Small themes would be created. A hill with a temple on it, a bus stop and a few dolls become the pilgrims. The fact that the pilgrims are disproportionately larger than the bus stop does not matter. A mirror edged with sand forms a small pond. Sprouted mustard seeds and coriander seedlings form a grove and a forest behind the hill.

Another practice involves dressing up children in different costumes. These costumes are made with odd pieces of cloth, a dab or two of talc, and a prop or two taken from the odd cupboard. A little girl becomes Krishna with a peacock feather stuck in her hair. Another in a turban becomes Thyagaraja the composer. Together the kids go from home to home in the neighbourhood. In each home, they are welcomed with smiles and affection. Their costumes are admired, they are given sundal to eat. So many varieties of sundal! Some have fresh coconut grated over them, others have a lime dressing and still others are made with dark beans and chopped unripe mango that imparts a crisp texture and a tart aftertaste. Plenty of mustard seeds, a few dried chilli peppers and lots of asafoetida are the secret to the success of any sundal.

Navarathiri is a time for giving. In each home are prepared little bags of take away gifts. Typical gifts include a comb, a small vanity mirror, a small plastic kum-kum box, along with the usual betel leaves and nuts and of course the omnipresent haldi andturmeric which have come to represent all that is feminine in our culture. Each family gives gifts that reflect their means and budget. The importance lies in the joy of giving.

In recent times the Navarathiri Kolu has become more elaborate and thematic. Affluence, urban life and a market economy have left their indelible mark. The Kolu has become a festival in itself. Big themes from the Ramayana and other Hindu stories are portrayed. The dolls and the theme park efforts often remind one of elaborate Lego lands or other Disneyland like properties. Some are tasteful. Others are garish and some glitter gaudily in the dark. Secular themes of Independence days and national political figures form the basis of some Kolus. Environmental themes predominate now, with water conservation a particularly popular theme. This is only natural in a city whose population has grown well beyond its ability to supply water to its citizens.

Perhaps this year someone will have a 9/11 Kolu replete with burning towers, Bush and Bin Laden. Some more daring themes include an anti-war presentation with newspaper headlines and photographs pasted on the wall. Quixotically, birth control and AIDS awareness, infanticide and other pressing social issues are nowhere to be found.

Despite the vivid imagination, the artistry and skill reflected in these theme extravaganzas, despite all the good taste and the new ideas, these exhibits are missing in something. Perhaps it is the essential simplicity of our lives that is gone. Where are the children and their mothers who used to make and display these dolls together? Is it a life and an innocence that we have lost forever?

But Navarathiri is also being reborn. An artist friend, Deppika, is organising a 'traditional' Kolu replete with handmade dolls and clay figures hearkening to yesteryears. A 'tableau', she calls it. The theme is Andal Charithram, the Tamil story of the woman who is regarded as the greatest of the Alwar poets. Deppika and her mother Uma have together worked on this Kolu. I wonder if the sundal will have grated coconut and chopped mango in it! Will it be homemade or will it be catered from “Suriya’s Sweets”?

Shankar Ramachandran, Chennai, October 2002

Prelude to the Cleveland Thyagaraja Festival

In the Eye of the Storm; Gomathi in her Kitchen

Outwardly, the house looks like any other in the sleepy Cleveland neighborhood. A few more cars parked in front is all the clue one gets that this must be the house of the Cleveland Thyagaraga Academy President Balasubramaniam & Gomathi. As soon as we walk in at 8.30am, we are offered breakfast. Gomathi has started cooking. Today, on the day before, she is busy preparing lunch and dinner for some 35-50 artistes and volunteers who will be arriving through the day. For the next 10 days, meals for all the artistes and the volunteers will be cooked in Gomathi’s kitchen and sent to the Comfort Inn.

For Saturday, she will have the help of some 80 volunteers who will cook and bring the food to be served at breakfast and lunch to all of the attendees. “My volunteers are great” says Gomathi with pride in her voice. “I have a group of old timers but each year we get some new volunteers also. I make out the menu and then share it out. Only thing is that I have to spend a lot of time on the phone calling everybody. A few years’ back Donuts were suggested for breakfast. I felt we should have South Indian food. After all, if it is donuts for breakfast, why not salad and sandwich for lunch?” She asks me.

“So I used to make 500 idlis myself. Then they came and helped me because they could see that I was not going to change” she says with a twinkle in her eye. Gomathi is cooking in her kitchen as we speak. Pots and pans filled with cut vegetables and soaking grains surround her. She has three large vessels on the stove. She stands on tiptoe to reach and stir the pot in the back in which she is making what looks like 15 quarts of More Kuzhambhu.

The phone rings incessantly. The printer is calling about the souvenirs. Someone needs driving directions from Pennsylvania. A lady from NYC calls for canceling her package because of illness in the family. I find myself answering the phone so Gomathi can cook without interruption. Husband “Cleveland” Balu is the president of the committee. “We don’t have members and meetings,” he says with a chuckle. “If you are helping, if you are cooking or setting up something you are in the committee.”

Within a couple of hours the house will fill up. There is a strange quiet this morning rather like being in the eye of the storm. Balu recalls an incident from years back when he came home. “There was a man in the house who told me where the food was and he asked me my own name!” he says with a chuckle.

Their house is getting ready for the Aradhana. In one corner sit a wall of cartons containing banana chips for the Saturday lunch. Today, Pepsi is delivering 240 cases of soft drinks; a gift from their CFO Indra Nooyi. Gomathi needs to make sure it goes to the University and not into her living room. In the midst of all this, Gomathi, Sundaram and Balu seem calm and confident. They have done this about 26 times before.

Balu’s daughter gives a message that there are 207 contestants for the children’s competition. They will need four rooms set up in order to get it done in a day. Sundaram says he will go to the University & make sure they have the rooms. Then they get the big call. The Air India flight bringing 29 artists is going to be 4 hours late into Chicago. All the artists will miss the last connecting flight to Cleveland. Coming the next day is not an option as they are to be judges for the Children’s Competition. Sundaram and Balu get on the phone and within a couple of hours they have a plan to bus the group from Chicago to Cleveland. “They will get here at 4am,” he says with a shrug and a smile. “But that cannot be helped”. The competition will have its judges.

Shankar Ramachandran, Cleveland, April 9, 2004

Artist Interview

Praying for the Gift of Playing the Nadaswaram; Sheikh Subhani Mahboob and his wife Khaleeshabibi Mahaboob at Cleveland Thyagaraja Aradhana 2004

This is the first time the Cleveland Aradhana has included a full-length nadaswaram concert. The artists, Sheikh Subhani Mahboob and his wife Khaleeshabibi Mahaboob say they need at least three hours or more for a concert as it takes time for the wood wind instruments to settle down in these dry and cold climate conditions. And they cannot warm up in the hotel room for fear of disturbing the other guest with the loud instruments.

These are not the usual loud and blaring sounds we hear in the background on festive occasions. The mood created by the talented duo was contemplative throughout. Natakuranji varnam precedes Hamsadwani and Akhilandeshwari in Dwijavanti. Sogasuga Mridanga Thalamu in Sriranjini was accompanied with a soft touch on the tavil.

The Thodi alapana was expansive and in the grand tradition of their Guru; Sheikh Chinna Moulana. They took up the difficult piece Chesinadella Marachitivo O Rama Rama that was executed with a precision not found in many vocal concerts. The nadaswaram seemed to virtually speak the lyrics out aloud.

Many senior artistes were in the audience and enjoying this soul fest. Prof. T.R. Subramaniam, violin maestro T.N. Krishnan, T.M. Krishna, Ramnad Raghavan, Guruvaiur Dorai and several other musicians were all present. During the tani Sri Vembu Muthukumar and Sri Manickam Sankar showed their dexterity and demonstrated that Tavil can also be played softly and produce sounds of exceptional nuance and resonance.

They ended the concert with the ten Bhaja Govindam verses in the ragamalika popularized by M.S. Subbulakshmi. Again one could sense the nadaswarams' enunciation of the Sanskrit verses of Adi Sankara.

I was struck by the incongruity. Here was a Muslim couple playing Hindu religious music. I also noticed that the box that held the nadaswaram had pictures of Hindu Gods. The couple was also the Asthana Vidwans of the Sringeri Peetam. I was curious to know more about how this husband and wife team was introduced to this music? Did they know the words of the songs they play so soulfully? Do Hindu rituals also enter their lives at home?

We caught up with the artists back stage. The soft spoken, unassuming couple and the equally modest and quiet Tavil duo sat down and spoke with us in a Tamil which was not adulterated with English vocabulary:

Q. Do you remember how you started to learn nadaswaram? A. I was five or six years old when my father started including me in the lessons he gave other students. By age ten I was playing at concerts with my father. She (he indicates his wife sitting by his side with an affectionate nod) is my own Athai's daughter. She was taught by her chittappa and by age nine she was also giving concerts.
Q. How were you able to wield such a big instrument when you were so young?A. We learned on a smaller nadaswaram because our fingers were small at the time. We could not have reached and held the instrument. Within a couple of years we were able to play the full-sized instrument.
Q. You are both Muslims. How did you come to be introduced into this life of playing religious Hindu music? A. Our families have a story about this (he says with a smile) that is written in our family record book. It may or may not be so, but it is our family history. Eight generations ago one of our grand parents was a young boy in Saathulur, which is in Guntur district. The boy did not do well in his lessons and his father punished him with a beating. This form of punishment was common in those days when they did not know better.
The young boy ran away from home in pain and hid in the nearby Munivandamma temple. That night, the Amman deity of the temple appeared before the boy and comforted him. It is said that the deity wrote a mantra on his tongue and blessed him with the gift of nadaswaram music; not only for his lifetime but also for the next seven generations to come. "The seventh generation ended with my father" Sheikh Mahaboob adds with a coy smile. We are the eighth generation. So we now pray to receive the blessing for the next seven generations. His plain white shirt reflects brightly and there is a warmth in his eyes as he says this.
Q. Do you learn the music as swaras or do you also learn the sahitya? A. We have to learn the words. Music (he uses the Tamil word paattu) cannot be learned and played by just learning the swaras. We are trained in vocal music and have learned all the pieces we play.
Q. What religious traditions do you observe at home? A. For us, all religions are one. But at home we observe the Muslim holidays and traditions. Our marriage was a traditional Muslim ceremony. However, my father asked me to tie the thali myself. Normally this is not done as the groom rarely meets the bride before the wedding, the elderly of the house tie the knot. We were the first to set this trend and since then, all the youngsters in our family do this. At that time it was a big thing.
Q. Were you satisfied by your concert today? A. No (they reply quickly and with feeling). We had a lot of trouble with the dry and cold weather. The Sivali (mouthpiece for the nadaswaram) gets dry and it takes time to settle down.
Q. What is a Sivali (pronounce sivaaali)? A. It is the removable mouthpiece of the nadaswaram. It is made from the leaves of the Naanal Thattai bush that grows along the banks of the Cauvery River. The leaves are picked, steamed and dried and then the sivalis are made. If you buy a dozen, only three or four will be usable.
Q. You say the art of playing the nadaswaram is going through a revival now with many colleges teaching the instrument in Tamil Nadu. What about the art of making the nadaswarams themselves? A. Nadaswarams are made from the wood of the Accha Maram tree. This is very hard to find today. Beams from old houses that are being demolished are scavenged to make new instruments. It is a dark wood. The dark color of the nadaswaram is the natural color of the wood itself. All nadaswarams are made in Narsingapettai near Mayavaram where a family of two brothers is continuing their tradition of generations.

Later on in the day we spot the couple enjoying flautist Sikkil Mala Chandrasekhar's concert.

Shankar Ramachandran, Cleveland, April 12, 2004

Artiste Interview

70 years young

The eminent Bharatanatyam dancer, choreographer, composer and teacher Prof. C.V. Chandrasekhar shared his memories as we were seated at the Kalakshetra auditorium with his dancer wife Jaya, waiting to watch the program of the evening. “You know I am 70 years old, don’t you,” he says with a wide smile and a chuckle.

Professor Chandrasekhar and his daughters Chithra and Manjari will perform a full Bharatanatyam program at the 2004 Cleveland Thyagaraja Aradhana during the prime Sunday evening slot on April 11th. The following morning they will conduct a lecture-demonstration on Nritta and the salient features of dance music. The lec-dem promises to be a compelling event for teachers, dancers, students and aficionados.

He reminisces about his interest in Bharatanatyam even as a child. At the age of six he would do the Bhairavi piece “Velavare” for anyone who asked to see him dance. He also recalls an incident when M S Subbulakshmi came to Delhi. The Sadasivams visited his family home with their daughter Radha. The eight-year-old Chandrasekhar was brought out to show his musical talent. Learning of his interest in dance, young Radha teaches him “KandadUndo Kannan Pol”. The memories bring a sparkle to his eyes and a warm smile lingers on his face.

His interest in Carnatic music lead him to Kalakshetra at Chennai in 1945 where his father, a civil servant in Delhi sent him to study music. Later, recognizing the young boy’s interest in Bharatanatyam, Rukmini Devi Arundale wrote to his father to ask if she could enroll him in the dance department. My father wrote her back saying “I leave him in your hands. You mould him,” recalls Chandrasekhar.

After his early training at Kalakshetra, Chandrasekhar goes on to complete Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in science, teaches biology and English at a boarding school in Mussorie, and works on his PhD in Botany at Benares. But dance keeps calling out to him and reclaiming his spirit. He turns to lecturing in this art initially at the Benares Hindu University and later becomes a Professor at Baroda, the first University in India to have a full curriculum in dance. Now retired, he and his wife Jaya, also a student of Bharatanatyam in the Kalakshetra tradition, conduct courses and workshops as well as teach.

Known for his adherence to the traditional Kalakshetra forms, Chandrasekhar says he has, over the years, both consciously and by dint of his training tried to stay within the spirit of his early tutelage. “That is not to say I have not evolved, nor even that the Kalakshetra style has stayed the same,” he adds springing out of his chair to demonstrate aramandi and hand mudras.” It is important to know the difference between being stiff and being firm in form. Line, anga-shuddam and neatness as well as the aesthetics of movement are important.

His energy fills the room as he demonstrates and sings familiar lines as well as the words from two of his own compositions in Tamil; thillanas set to misra-triputa thalam and Adi thalam. His wife Jaya, a talent in her own right as a dancer and nattuvanar seems content to listen and occasionally correct a date or detail which Chandrasekhar forgets.

Shankar Ramachandran, Chennai, March 2004

M. Chandrasekharan Sketch by Subhiksha

“An amusing incident happened. I was promoting Sruthi magazine that year at the festival. It used to come in print. You know those magazines I have stacked up to the ceiling on the table in my room? Do you read it every month Ravi? “ he asked suddenly in a firm voice. “ Yes Thatha.” Said the boy with affected patience, “I get it on my Ipod. Sometimes I read it and sometimes I switch it to listen mode.” Said Ravi impatiently. Before the old man could say it he added ., “only reading build up the habit and promotes a sharp mind” mimicking his grandfather’s singsong tone.

“Any way let me continue, said Ravis’ grandfather. “ I saw this young girl enter the hall one afternoon. I thought she had come to attend the festival. I immediately tried to sell her a Sruti subscription. She was quite polite and said she would subscribe when she got back to India. Then one or two others came by and told me who she was. She was the artist Subhiksha. Even in those days she was doing pencil sketches. But she had come to Clevelend to accompany her mother Smt. Lakshmi Rangarajan. A few minutes later they were both on stage singing. I felt a bit embarrassed that I had made such a faux pas.” He chuckled quietly at the memory of his own embarrasment. “I felt better soon after when someone else told me he had tried to sell her mother a set of DVDs.! “ “What is a DVD thatha?” asked the boy.

“Never mind. Let me tell you the rest. They sang so well together. Ennaganu Ramabhajana was my favorite I think I remember a solid Sankarabharanam essay and a robust rendering of Eduta Nilicite. After the concert I did get to meet Subhiksha again and she showed me some of her sketches. I still have the two she gave me that day. One is of the violin maestro M. Chandrasekharan who was felicitated that year. and another of a section of the kids who presented the Samapradaya concert. Thatha! You have original sketches by Subhiksha? Shouted the boy. Can I see them? They must be worth a lot of money. “ Well they don’t really belong to me.” You see I told her I would pay for them. But she didn’t seem too keen on that. Then she left. Since I did not ever pay for them I don’t feel they belong to me. So I have just kept them all these years. I didn’t know she would become such a famous artist. When we go home I will show them to you. But only if you can get your mother to make me a cup of strong coffee .

Cleveland Tyagaraja Festival is about Children

I arrived at Cleveland on Friday and went straight to the main hall. The lobby was buzzing with activity. Among the visitors, the artists, display booths and vendors, were all the children. They are everywhere. Bright faces and ages from age 5 to 17 or even 18. They are in th halls and the corridors. The fill up every room in the big complex as six to eight or more different age gropups and categories’ competitions take place simultaneously. There are parents hovering about. Some are meeting up with friends, some nervous and others purposeful. Grandparents stand by with food and drink. Volunteers for everything from ticket sales to serving food and from sound systems to stage set up and bustling about. And the children are everywhere in small groups and in twos and threes. The ones whose turns are over look relaxed and are playing. Others are practicing in every nook and cranny of the halls of Cleveland State University.

At the Sruti table we get to see a lot of the families. Every so often we would have a youngster stop by. We ask them how old they are and where they are from and make conversation. Pat come the replies. Some are a bit shy and soft spoken. Others speak with a sunny confidence. We asked a number of children to sing for us. With few exceptions they adopt a serious expression and proceed to sing krithis like Chakkani Raja or Marubalga. We even heard a Dwaitamu Sukhama. The voices are steady and have a firm grip on the months and years of effort. We get to know many of the youngsters who are milling about purposefully. Every corridor and every classroom is a scene of serous activity. The judges are listening and the children perform. Not just vocal. There are mridangam and violin competitions. Veena and flute. There is even a harikatha competition this year being judged by none other than Visaka Hari among others.

Here and there in the great lobby there are small hives of activity. One can spot a Vellore Ramabhadran or a TRS holding court with students and parents listening attentively.
New Jersey and California seem to be the most frequently represented states, but there are children here form nearly every contiguous state on the mainland. Canada is well represented; Toronto and Montreal at any rate.

Vidwans and Vidushis abound. I could not begin to name them all. Senior musicians, musicologists, instrumentalists, established stars, and up and coming artists all congregate in Cleveland. They are all here to judge and to perform and suddenly it strikes me that they all also seem to enjoy mingling with the young children who are here for the competition.

As I was returning from lunch I heard someone playing the violin around the corner from me. I thought it must be a senior artist. I waited to see them emerge from behind the wall. I saw a little girl come by and then I expected to see the artist. No one else came out. I looked at the girl again and I saw she was carrying a violin box almost too big for her to carry. I squatted down a bit so I could be closer to her as I spoke. I ask her if that was her playing the violin. “Yes.” She hesitantly replies. I asked her if she would play a song for us at the Sruti table. “I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable, “she says. I suggest she go ask her parents. She gently nods in relief and walk away in her pavadai and chokka. She returns a while late with her mother. She is 10 years of age. She sits down on the floor by our table and plays “Kalikiyuntegada”. Exquisite firm notes emanate. Not a hint of any hesitation. The violin speaks and sings and we feel every phrase being delivered with a depth not found in more senior musicians. People around us stop to listen. Listening to her play it is easy now to understand why we think music is a divine gift. The next day she comes by our table again clutching a handful of trophies she has won.

What brings all these youngsters here? How do they experience Cleveland? What do they take away from all this? I catch up with three youngsters who agree to meet and speak with me about their experiences at Cleveland. Swetha Chandrasekhar and her brother Rohit form Princeton, New Jersey and Sarvesh Ramprakash from Potoma, Maryland chat with me for a while before they, along with most of the other children, disappeared on Sunday. They all go back to their buy lives, schools. Many will stay in touch with the new friends they have made. And they will agin return to Cleveland as part of this annual migration. Many of the artists will be back as well – to see all the children again.

Here is what Rohit and Swetha had to say- in their own words (sort of).

“My name is Rohith Chandrasekar and I am a 1st year engineer at The CooperUnion in New York City, USA. Carnatic music has been an integral part ofmy life for 7-8 years. I have been learning Carnatic singing for close to6 years now. My current teacher is Ashwin Bhogendra, but I used to learnfrom Sri Palghat T.R. Rajaram.This is the second year I participated in the Cleveland Tyagaraja Aradhanacompetition. As a high schooler, bogged down by hours and hours ofhomework, I could not fully appreciate or put in as much time as I wouldhave liked into Carnatic music. However, after attending the Clevelandcompetition, I always have a new insatiable fervor to delve deeper intothe ravines and deep caves of the art, understand it better and improve myvoice. But this interest does not arise from looking at the otherparticipants and proving myself to be the best. Whenever I see the otherparticipants, I am merely in awe of their accomplishments – despite theirnumerous activities, which almost always account for much more than Iengage myself in, are able to sing so well and with such ease. What’sfunny is many times, I receive this Muse from junior and sub-juniorsingers, who could have been learning for merely 5 or 6 years at the most!It is this environment at Cleveland that I love most. For that period ofthree days, despite the piles of work we have back at home, Carnatic musicis the only thing on everyone’s minds. It is as if we all attend a musicgurukulam for that short period, learning, enjoying and appreciatingmusic, while meeting old and new friends. This is the core of theCleveland competition that I hope transcends from this age into the next,providing such an enriching environment for young singers to come as ithas for me.Thank you so much for the opportunity.”
Rohith Chandrasekar

“My name is Swetha Chandrasekar and I'm fourteen years old. I live inPrinceton, New Jersey and I've been learning Carnatic Music for about 6years now. My interest in "paatu" first sprouted when I started attendingslokam classes. My mom enrolled me in paatu classes when I was about eightyears old. I've been learning continuously since then and for the past threeyears, I've been learning from Sri Palghat T R Rajaram.For the two years that I have had the pleasure of attending the ClevelandAradhana Music Festival. It has always coincided with my school's springbreak, so I get to see all the concerts after the competition. I am certainthat Cleveland is one of the most inspiring experiences of my life. Seeingchildren as young as six and seven years old singing like professionalspushes me to learn and practice more. Apart from the competition itself, myfavorite aspects of going to Cleveland are hanging out with friends fromaround the country, whom I don't get to see very often otherwise, dressingup, going to kutcheris and socializing. One of the most exciting parts ofCleveland are meeting the artists in person and getting autographs.Cleveland is not just about coming and competing to see who's the best. Itbrings people from all over the world under one roof to share the one thingguaranteed to be common among everyone, the love for music.I have stage fear and my participation in the competition is helping mereduce my nervousness. When I told V.V. Sundaram Mama about my fear, he told me that there are two things that anyone singing on stage should always have; fear for the stageand respect for the music. He assured me that these two things areessential, even among the most famous artists.Overall, Cleveland has helped me see that there never has, never is andnever will be a limit to what you can achieve, and reach high because evenif you don't make it, you'll be able to look back and see how far you've come.”
Swetha Chandrashekar

Navarathiri; a womens' journey

Young Rukmini gets ready to go to the temple with her mother. Her hair is braided into two tight plaits. Her face is scrubbed and shines with expectation and pride at wearing her newest skirt - a bright blue with a red border. She and her mother are about to walk to the temple near the village for the evening celebrations of Navarathiri.

All the women from nearby will be there with their daughters. For weeks now each family has been busy with their preparations busily polishing a brass plate until it shines like a mirror. Making various colour powders from vegetable leaves and such. Black from dried curry leaves, red from powdered brick. Little white beads from cooked rice paste. With a light sticky gruel they have made kolams on the tray and stuck these rice beads to form the lines and borders. The spaced in between are filled with the coloured powders so painstakingly prepared. And this evening all the women congregate at the temple and offer these “painted prayers” to the Goddess there.

There they stand wearing their best clothes. Their dark shining tresses tightly tied back, Red kum-kum shining on their foreheads. Their daughters wear the little jewellery they possess. And, as the evening light fades fast to give way to the tropical night of gently swaying coconut trees and the hushing rustle of peepul leaves, oil lamps are lit and mothers and daughters now hold out the trays with both arms outstretched. Together they all rotate them in front of the shrine and pray for the future of their families and their children.

The scene is visual. But the smell of freshly broken coconuts, camphor and incense fills the air as do the fragrances from the jasmine and tulsi and kadambam garlands that adorn the shrine. Every woman has a small bunch of flowers tucked in her hair. The sounds of brass bells from the temple doors mingle with the soft chimes of silver bells on the little girls’ ankles.

After the pooja the girls are excitedly talking about the kolam competition to come the next day. Who will win this year? Will it again be the Mala and her mother from the next village? Everyone from nearby villages comes to see the kolams in the temple courtyard. The simple, white rice flour with the occasional dab of red from crushed brick pieces belie the complex patterns. Yellow flowers from pumpkin creepers are occasionally used to add a flash of colour.

Navarathiri is a women’s festival. It also reflects and perhaps helps develop an aesthetic sense that is essentially feminine. No crackers or boisterous processions here. Neither big feasts nor ostentation are part of this celebration. Each family decorates their home in simple fashion. An arrangement of dolls and ornaments forms a prayer area. Each evening women and their daughters visit their friends and neighbours and sit together in a ritual bonding that helps them remember who they are. They are the keepers of the hearth. They share a little sundal and a simple sweet. Sing songs for each other and pray for peace and tranquillity. Even the goddess of Navarathiri, Durga in the form of Mahishasuramardini, is the one who vanquishes the demon Mahisha who represents violence and evil.

There is a school of thought that suggests that these are the demons we face within ourselves. The worship is our endeavour to come face to face with the turmoil and conflict within each of us. For this we seek the grace of the goddess Durga. And in Her name the women gather to unconsciously reflect on their most basic social obligation. They keep the peace, raise the children and promote gentleness and maintain cultural memories.

In recent times Navarathiri has changed and transformed itself as it adapted to city life and urban development. Dolls were made and sold in markets. These were collected - some painted clay and others in tiny plastic forms. The decorations became more elaborate as collections of dolls grew. Small themes would be created; a hill with a temple on it or a bus stop nearby. A few dolls become the pilgrims. The fact that the pilgrims are disproportionately larger than the bus stop is no matter. A mirror edged with sand forms a small pond. Sprouted mustard seeds and coriander seedlings form a grove and a forest behind the hill.

Another practice involves dressing up the children with costumes. These costumes used to be made with odd pieces of cloth, a dab or two of talc, and a prop or two taken from the odd cupboard. A little girl becomes Krishna with a peacock feather stuck in her hair. Another in a turban becomes Tyagaraja the composer. Together the kids go from home to home in the neighbourhood.

In each home they are welcomed with smiles and affection. Great admiration is shown for their costumes. They are given sundal to eat. So many varieties of sundal! Some sundals have fresh coconut grated over them, others have a lime dressing and still others are made with dark beans and chopped unripe mango that imparts a crisp texture and a tart aftertaste. Plenty of mustard seeds, a few dried chilli peppers and lots of asfoetida are the secret to the success of any sundal.

Navarathiri is also a time for giving. In each home they prepare a little bag of gifts to be given to the friends who come. Typical gifts include a comb, a little vanity mirror, a small plastic kum-kum box, along with the usual betel leaves and nuts and of course the omnipresent haldi - turmeric- that has come to represent all that is feminine in the culture. Each family gives gifts that reflect their means and budget. The importance of giving gifts is the significance in the theme here.
In recent times Navarathiri Kolu has become even more elaborate and thematic. Affluenza, urban life and a manufacturing economy have left their indelible mark. The Kolu has become a festival in and of itself.

Big themes from the Ramayana and other Hindu stories are portrayed. The dolls and the theme-park efforts often remind one of elaborate Legolands or other disneyesque properties. Some are tasteful. Others are garish and some even glitter gaudily even in the dark. Secular themes of independence days and National political figures form the basis of some Kolus. Environmental themes predominate now with water conservation a particularly popular theme. This is only natural in a city that whose population has grown well beyond its ability to supply water to its neighbourhoods.
Perhaps this year someone will have a 9/11 Kolu replete with burning towers, Bush and Bin Laden. Some more daring themes include an anti-war presentation with newspaper headlines and photographs pasted on the wall. Quixotically, birth control and Aids awareness, infanticide and other pressing social issues are nowhere to be found.

Despite the vivid imagination, the artistry and skill reflected in these theme extravaganzas - despite all the good taste and the new ideas - these exhibits are missing some element. Perhaps it is the essential simplicity of our lives that is gone. Where are the children and their mothers who used to make and display these dolls together? Is it a life and an innocence we have lost forever?

But Navarathiri is also coming again and being reborn. An artist friend, Deppika, is organising a “traditional” Kolu replete with hand made dolls and clay figures hearkening to yesteryear. A “tableau” she calls it. The theme is Andal Charithram - the essential Tamil story of the woman who is regarded as the greatest of the Alwar poets. Deppika and her mother Uma have together worked on this Kolu. I wonder if the sundal will have grated coconut and chopped mango in it! Will it be home made or will it be catered from “Suriya’s Sweets”?

Rhapsody with Lemons

Add the warmth and sparkle of lemons and fresh ginger to your meal
First concocted in Columbus Ohio in 1996; a poor imitation of my grandmother's pickles.

Ingredients
12 – 14 fresh lemons
2 large segments of tender fresh ginger
12 fresh jalapeno peppers
16 fresh Serrano or Thai peppers
18-20 tsp sea salt or table salt
4 cups virgin raw sesame oil (light)
2 tsp mustard seeds
6 dried chillies
6 tsp turmeric powder
16 tsp coarse chili powder
3 tsp asafoetida (lightly fried and ground)
3 tsp fenugreek seeds (toasted dark and ground)
2 tbsp white sugar

Ø Cut the lemons, ginger and chilies making sure to use a clean and dry knife and surface.
a. First slice off a bit near the stem of each lemon
b. Then cut each lemon into 8 segments each by cutting each into half and then each half into four quarters.
c. Peel, slice and cut the ginger stems into 1cm pieces.
d. Slice the jalapeno’s lengthwise and remove the seeds
e. Chop the Serrano’s into 5mm pieces

Ø Layer the lemons, chilies and ginger into a large glass or ceramic bowl sprinkling the salt liberally over each layer.
Ø Allow this to marinade for five days on a cool shelf. Keep it covered but stir once a day with a clean, dry spoon or spatula
Ø Heat the sesame oil in a large heavy bottom 6 quart sauté pan
Ø Add mustard seeds and allow them to sputter for a few seconds
Ø Add dried chillies broken into large pieces and stir
Ø Add the turmeric and asafetida. As soon as they are fried add all the other dry ingredients and stir for about 1 minute.
Ø Add the cut ingredients and heat over a medium flame while stirring gently and frequently until the mixture comes to a gentle boil.
Ø Add sugar and stir in.
Ø Remove from heat and allow to cool uncovered.
Ø Spoon into canning bottles.
Ø Refrigerate
Ø Send a jar or two to Shankar


HINTS
Use the freshest possible ingredients.
Get the tenderest bits of ginger you can find and the freshest of chilies.
If you do not have asafoetida pieces you could use the powdered form but increase the quantity by one tsp.
Use the best quality sesame oil but for a lighter taste you may use half sesame and half canola oil.

Wintry at Cleveland Tyagaraja Festival 2007