Davara, Tumbler & Me

“In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities; people are not numerous enough. You must see the world there, perforce. Every man is himself a class; every hour carries its new challenge. When you pass the inn at the end of the village you leave your favourite whimsy behind you; for you will meet no one who can share it. We listen to eloquent speaking, read books and write them, settle all the affairs of the universe. ……The ancient map-makers wrote across unexplored regions, ‘Here are lions.’ Across the villages of fishermen and turners of the earth, so different are these from us, we can write but one line that is certain, ‘Here are ghosts.’ (“Village Ghosts”)”W.B.Yeats, The Celtic Twilight:Faerie and Folklore.Life often is like that. We breeze through our youth rushing past ,without noticing things around us. When we move into the cities, our villages become only memories that trail behind.  We carry these ‘ghosts’ and try to understand them only when we are well past  our prime. With the passing of time, cultural memories get hidden and lost unless they find their way into books or museums.It was one such dream of a single man called Nage Gowda(Senior Bureaucrat)to keep alive folk traditions  concentrated and afresh within 15 acres of land  . 53 kilometres away from Bengaluru, on the way to Mysore in Ramnagara district  is the beautiful folk village museum called Janapada Loka. An imposing gateway with metal work of trumpets , horns and harige(shield) that adorn it immediately holds the attention of the viewer. As soon as you walk through the gateway, you are greeted by massive  Nandidwajas standing tall and majestic on either side of the pathway. The  lush greenery is instantly soothing to the eyes, and it does not seem too difficult to walk across the long stretch of land,  for there are stone benches  all around and winding pathways with tiny shelters where you could halt and rest before proceeding to different museums. The monkeys and the geese kept us company as we sauntered ahead.Our first stop was at the Lokamata Mandira , where a variety of household utensils and agricultural tools that were in use in rural Karnataka are in display. A folk artiste( clad in trousers and shirt)took us around explaining the purpose and function of each of them, and we found we were actually familiar with some of them in our own grandparents’ homes- grinding stones, coconut graters, saavige(sevai) maker, and so on. Tall urns  that towered over us were used to store ragi, the staple food .Seeing our sincere interest, he went on talk about folksongs, and we discovered just how talented he was when we heard his magical, deep-throated voice reverberate across the area. All that  talk of grains and millets , the food, the way it was cooked soon made us hungry. We soon headed to the Lokaruchi Upahara Mandira. Traditional food was served on plantain leaves-delicacies hitherto forgotten except in some traditional homes, where closely guarded secrets lay hidden and tucked away. Kadubu idli wrapped in plantain leaf, mango pulp saaru, Ragi mudde, jolada rotti and akki rotti to mention a few. I recalled eating  piping hot ragi mudde once long back. It was served on a plate with a stone underneath. Saaru would be poured , wetting the mudde just lightly but not keeping it spongy. It reminded me of the coffee plant grown on slopes- it needs water , but not stagnant .Here mudde was served hot with a dollop of ghee poured generously. The speciality of eating a mudde is you dip it ever so lightly in saaru and  eat it hot, swallowing little balls , one at a time. A very popular dish among the village folks, not so much because it is a delicacy, but because it is extremely nutritious and was the farmer’s  manna, something that was easily available and very inexpensive. In fact, landlords who had to serve food on estates to their employees  fed them mudde because the workers could toil hard for long hours with the mudde sitting comfortably in their stomachs.There was definitely a sense of déjà vu as one gobbled the mudde. But I felt I would have enjoyed the perfect scenario where I had to sit cross-legged in front of my plantain leaf served on a  mane( small wooden seat) instead o the hard wooden chair that I had sat on.Of course, once you eat the mudde, you have no option but to start the walk  around the folk museum to digest the stubborn mudde ! Mudde thara koothir beda (don’t sit like mudde ) must have originated thus to prod people to toil so that it would digest.We sauntered to the part  where the prized artefacts were stored. Loka Mahal  was truly impressive with its large collection of artefacts-large dolls of Yakshanagana and Garudi artistes, Kodava couple, a life-like bullock, leather puppets, war drums that when it was beaten produced the most powerful sound transporting us to a different  time altogether.The place has a beautiful amphi-theatre as well, where performances are staged  on specific days. What was disappointing was the sight of the completely dry lake ,which explained as to why the geese kept walking all around the place and literally led us to a wild-goose chase toward the non-existent lake ! What is interesting however is that on the banks of the lake is housed a well equipped library that encourages students to re-search folk traditions: Janapada Loka offers certificates/diplomas recognized by the Bangalore University.Life size dolls and animals depict the rural life style in an open court yard, where pottery is also demonstrated  by artistes. Of course it would be impractical to uproot a village and bring it here. Besides the agricultural implements, what did fascinate me was also the beautifully carved chariot in wood that was so strategically placed that you had to instantly stop before you proceeded any further.We were fascinated by the Dodda Mane: it seemed to be fashioned after old village homes in rural Karnataka, with a central courtyard, exuding stark simplicity that one would associate with folk traditions. Dodda Mane lets out its space for people to conduct their weddings- a destination wedding amidst mango and  flowering trees, with chirping birds certainly sounds like a dream, for people who have lost all their ‘roots’ with their native villages. The place also serves to house all folk artistes visiting and staying at Janapada Loka.Janapada Loka….a haven , where you reconnect to your roots and find resonance with your cultural history.

The best way to learn I have discovered is to travel. It is like reading a book- discovering things first-hand. There is tremendous joy in always leaving behind a home that is ridden with mundane problems, seemingly endless chores, the drudgery of a routine in short! It is like the frog in the well experiencing and breathing new freedom outside-  an entire world waiting to be discovered with all its beauty and short-comings.

My brief stay in Palakkad helped me rediscover the simple joys of life that I seemed to have forgotten at least for a while. While the bustling city life has its numerous advantages, I sometimes feel the disconnect that it also brings with it. In the quiet village home in Palakkad, I am quite happy to be without wi-fi and my laptop. My senses are alert and I realized I had become more observant. Summers in Palakkad are quite unbearable and the monsoons are awaited eagerly.

There are row houses facing each other, and every morning would see the women of the homes wash the black Cuddappah stone  laid neatly in front of each home  and draw out the perfectly drawn kolam out of rice flour to be seen in contrast to the back background.  Kolams are almost like graphology- just as you can read from a handwriting, so also kolams tell stories about their authors ! Some are drawn out of mere routine, some in a hurry, some out of compulsion , but the ones that stand out are simple ones drawn out of love. There is a delicacy in each perfect line , and festive occasions would mean more elaborate kolams, drawn out of freshly soaked and ground rice, a liquid that like paint is ore free-flowing and does not get erased away that easily unless the intention is deliberate!

Palakkad is essentially the corridor that allows entry into Kerala because of the Palakkad gap, that is a low mountain pass that bridges Coimbatore to Palakkad and cuts through Nilgiri hills and Anaimalai hills. The Bharatapuzha river that originates from here caresses the entire place along with her tributaries . It is a feast to the eyes to watch the lush green paddy fields , the many rivulets, the swaying coconut palms dotting the horizon and the shore and the several colourful birds that find haven in these surroundings.  The  clear blue skies add to the hues of the blue green waters of the rivers, and it is here that I have found every home with at least a few “basic” trees!  

The evening sky glows with the red sky reflecting its glory on its red-tiled roofs. Then as darkness spreads its blanket across the sky, the moon rises shining like a large lamp and the temple priest  lights up the temple bringing light from the corner of the street. Then one by one, all lights in the villages are lit. The evening prayers begin and as the priest raises the aarti plate, the entire village stands with folded palms praying from the sacred space of their own homes, thus symbolically taking in the sacredness from across the temple to the altar of their homes. The villages in Palakkad were essentially agraharams(Brahmin residents) and the oldest among them being Kalpathy , which has been regarded as a heritage village. The temple chariot rituals in each of these villages are worthy of participation and are rich memories to carry back home.

The village homes are large and airy, well ventilated with wooden roofs and beams and wooden stairs that lead to the bedrooms of the main part of the house. There is a central court yard  which doubles as a wash area to clean hands and legs should one come in from outside. It is quite a treat to hear the sound of rain on these tiled roofs and when they pour down the roof, they almost resemble a mini waterfall !

There is a sense of participation from the entire village when it comes to temple festivals, weddings or even solemn occasions of the passing away of a village resident. It is then that we understand how much we miss the human strength and support when we distance ourselves from the cultural roots.

It was here that I enjoyed teaching my children how to learn from residents how to be resourceful. When my son wanted to play cricket and we did not have a bat- (we had to go to the town to source it), my uncle came with a solution. He used the thick  base portion of the coconut frond and easily chiselled out a well-shaped out though rustic bat. When my son found the grip on the handle not too good, my mother promptly came up with a solution- use the jute rope; when the rope was coiled around the handle, it not only looked aesthetically beautiful, it also enabled better grip. It was the first lesson in resourcefulness. The ability to think quickly comes in with being thrown to basics- when solutions do not land on a plate, the mind begins to work. They soon learnt how to send rockets flying in the air using the coconut leaves! Children learnt to make bracelets and coconut –leaf balls too! By the end of the vacation , they had learnt to identify the vegetables and flowers better- Botany seemed fun this way , and all without any compulsion! Soon they found that among all other trees in the garden- a small farm(!), the coconut and the plantain tree could be regarded truly special- every part of the tree could be put to use!

As we plucked the jasmine flowers for my mother who would weave it into a beautiful strand, I found my uncle suddenly quiet as he drew me away from the malli bush. High alert. None of us moved- all remained quiet. After six minutes, we saw a long snake slither away! I gasped- my uncle said: “Pooh, it is only a cherai (rat snake)!” It drew my attention to the fact that living in the quiet of the countryside perhaps teaches us to be alert and sensitive to Nature around us- to be conscious of little sounds, little movements, and more importantly the ability to respect space and species.

In later years, it was perhaps his training in early childhood that probably taught my son to respect creatures around him on his university campus too. He once used a long stick waiting for the snake that had slithered on to the main road, allowed it to settle on the stick before he could  carefully put it away from the main road where it could possibly run the chance of being killed.

Vacations in Palakkad taught us to be happy with little,  taught us to notice the animals at closer quarter- we understood the calls of birds- the large chemboth (Greater  Coucal) , the king fisher, the wood pecker. We watched the flowers bloom, the fruits appearing and the ecstasy of drinking tender coconut fresh from the tree!

All was quiet

Yet , a lot of disquiet within

The need to let out the tears 

Seemed so strong.

And, yet, ...had to hold back.

Then,

 I looked up at my Maker

He understood.

A sudden clap, a flash-

 The tears unleashed

Merging with the rain

“Aeni, Kozhu, Sriram....onnu sheriya prarthichukonko. Shraddichu odanam.” (Aeni,ladder- by virtue of being tall; Kozhu or kozhakattai because as a young lad, he probably had  been roly-poly and the name stuck).The instructions were being given to the young men advising them to pray and safeguard the deity with utmost care , even as they ran.

Vaango, ottom thodangaporadhu . Come all.The race is to begin.There is hurried activity- everyone finds their spot against the background of the row houses. Young children  run at a safe distance behind the runners, never ahead of them. All traffic is stopped- streets have been cleaned in preparation of the event. The runners run , a magical moment ,the hour of dusk after the Gods have been propitiated. It seems then as if the Wind God adds speed to their steps and as the village stands back to watch the seemingly ethereal runners, we are aware that that act of participation even as a spectator has been a special one.

The event we just witnessed was the Kudhurai Ottom , one of the rituals that are special to villages in Palakkad. No, horses are not used for the ottom. A palanquin with the kudhurai(horse) vahana is carried by able-bodied men/boys ,of roughly the same height. It is a treat to watch eight boys suddenly lifting the palanquin and running along from one end of the street to the other like horses galloping with all energy, eyes fixed straight ahead, all the time taking care to see that the deity is intact. The ottom is given much attention because mishap to the Lord during the race automatically spelt bad omen! While many villages do have the kudhurai ottom, the one at Lakshminarayanapuram has by far been the best that I have seen.

Around the months of May and June each year ,  the village temples in Palakkad get ready to host the annual thaer( chariot) festival. The row houses come magically alive and one can see the strain of age-ridden wear and tear beneath all the layers of paint used to give it a face-lift. Most of the homes have stories of cultural history wrapped into the walls of the brick and stone.

The village of Kalpathy is easily amongst the best known and enjoys the distinction of being the oldest . The thaer festival here is easily one of the most important ones. The more important temples  in all the villages either have their own elephant/s or they manage to hire them for the required period. The senior most village elders took charge. Today, the most popular and the influential ones take charge of the temple festivities, while most others are content in contributing in the best way they can.

While kudhurai ottom is quite popular across villages, there are certain ritual rituals that are specific to a particular village owing to certain events/beliefs that led to its origin..

             In  Kumarapuram(yes,Diwan Sheshadri Iyer was from here),there is a Konnangi who dialogues with the Lord seated on the chariot asking Him whether all the festivities that took place spread over a few days met with His approval. But what is unique to this village is the practice of Kallon porapadu . The story goes that many years back, a thief/thieves having stolen the divine ornaments hide/s them in different homes in the village. Even today, the legend is kept alive. At the stroke of mid-night, when the entire town is supposedly asleep, the temple chief along with a few other important officers goes on a beat , knocking at village homes briefing them about the stolen jewellery. At his knock, the owner of the house opens the door completely startled to see the officers calling on him at that unearthly hour.Remorse fills the hearts of the thieves and they retrace the steps  taking a list of the ornaments and the homes in which they have supposedly hidden them. The temple priest also impresses upon the villages as he knocks on each door ,extolling the virtues of the Lord and surrendering the case to Him. Well, before the break of dawn and the Lord is sent to His heavenly home, the jewels are traced and the village is saved –honour intact and no wrath of God incurred either !

The neivedhyams in some of the villages are something to die for and interestingly, many people (even from other neighbouring villages )are familiar with the  timings –which temple located in which village  has what neivedhyam planned for that important festival. So during Sasta preeti in the village of Noorani, it is Shadhashadhayam payasam(made out o 1008) coconuts. Through the day people are seen grating coconuts ,an important base ingredient for the payasam. For them, it is a matter of honour and pride to serve a meal to every visitor . At Lakshminarayanapuram, it is the large-sized golden-brown neiappam served at the Gopalakrishna temple that is the highlight. When you are in the village, you realize the neivedhyam perhaps tastes better because deep down, there is a sense of ownership , a sense of participation in the entire process of its making that perhaps enhances its taste.

It was my little niece who first mooted the idea of spending “together” time with the family. Though  hesitant initially, because I wanted time with my son( he was leaving home to join the University soon) all to myself, I found myself gently relenting to her idea. And so we approached Tour Bodies, a small company recently floated( though not new to the travel area). My demands were simple- I wanted to get away, but not waste time on travel. Yet, I always abhorred the crowded tourist spots. And so it was that we landed on Goan soil, about 45 kilometres away from the airport into the quiet haven  of Country Inns and suites, located in Candolim.  The red coloured drink was indeed welcoming. The rooms were truly luxurious, and I felt happy to have a room with the view of the beautiful blue pool radiating the warmth of the Goan sun. After a restful siesta, we asked the locals the way to the beach, and though we were warned that that part of the beach was not safe, we decided to at least walk on the sands. As we approached the beach, I could smell the intoxicating smell of an unadulterated beach with its wealth of fish tossed around with the magical smell of the warm sands , which was at once heady and calm. I suddenly sat down on the mound of sand, and signalled to the others to  go ahead. I wanted to connect to Mother Ocean, who seemed to understand my emotions: when one is in tune with Nature in its pristine state, there is a certain aliveness that has to be personally felt and experienced to be understood. As I sat and watched the sea, she seemed to beckon me to  come closer. Yet , when I got up to move towards her, she seemed to recede ….the sea seemed inviting, yet  strangely aloof. It was as if she was telling me that she would choose to wash my feet only when she felt I was ready to receive. It was a humbling experience. It was only when the looming dark clouds seemingly merged with the darkness of the sea that I finally got up to find my way back to the hotel.

The holiday seemed to offer just what each one of us wanted- a surprise meeting with the Chef was planned especially for my son who enjoys good food – the spread that was laid out for breakfast or lunch was a treat to the eye and the appetite! The magical concoctions they called fruit punch was sufficient to embolden me to punch the secret recipe out of them !

And as for the girls, the pool seemed so inviting and enticing. The decks chairs around the pool were certainly well maintained and so comfortable. For the tall family who really enjoyed swimming, the pool was not deep enough though. Yet, a holiday seems to bring out the imp in everyone, and that is exactly what the girls did- deep or not deep- make a go of the pool , they would !

“ She was free in her wildness

She was a wanderess, a drop of free water

She belonged to no man and no city.”

-Roman Payne.

These lines best describe Dhanya who is an avid traveller and loves to be in the wild amidst Nature that she so dearly loves. She grew up in a household where she was surrounded by dogs- so many of them, for her mother was a breeder and used to provide a home for many- so her home looked like a overgrown garden with animals running around. It was but natural  for Dhanya to develop a strong bond with the four-legged friends with whom she shared many a secret and many a happy moment. At any given opportunity, she loved to visit  the zoo and spend as much time as she could just watching the animals and birds.

Yet, when she set on a career she took up a job at a call centre. But as destiny would have it, the twist came when she met a friend who was working as a naturalist. She soon underwent a training meant for Naturalists . Opportunity   came in the form of her being invited to lead a tour. She worked in resorts and led tours- essentially Nature treks. She found herself working directly for UK- based Lionscape and later Pench and Satpura as a tour guide and choosing to drive the jeep with her small group.

The naturalist guide becomes the ears and eyes while you are exploring wildlife, essentially guiding you to observe and notice things you wouldn’t probably notice . Dhanya is quick to recognize the sharp calls of birds and animals and will point out the indigenous and endemic flora and fauna of each place and tell you fascinating stories about the unique species .

An oft repeated question that she meets with each time she meets with a group is: “ How safe do you find yourself in these jungles?” to which Dhanya has the perfect response: “ A lot safer than I would find myself in the city where I have more things to fear- rape, plunder ...”

She is a strange mix of extreme quiet and chatter- quite fluent in a few languages- English, Tamizh, Malayalam, Kannada and Hindi , it makes it easy for her to fit in as a local speaking the language as comfortably as they would. She speaks about the usual routine but very pertinent instructions that visitors are expected to follow when in the jungles- the need to maintain silence( including switching off mobiles and other gadgets), no flash photography, use of neutral coloured clothes( so as to avoid attracting attention and blending with the environment) , sans perfumes ,and the need for patience. She firmly believes that the jungles are not the place for you to visit “if you think you are there to just spot the tiger or the lion”. The question that several teams ask her is : “ Will we be able to spot a tiger / lion?” Her advice is simple: “ Don’t enter the forest expecting to spot a particular species. If  we  just allow yourself to be led by what the forest is willing to offer you for that day, we will be surprised to see what She has to offer-  may be not a single animal one day, but may be a big cat on another- yet we cannot ignore all the other magic that is there in the forest for us to observe- the rich flora, the various sounds and calls. If we soak in the  magic of the forest , the forest will present a magical performance”, is Dhanya’s firm belief. She loves talking to children who are enthusiastic and enjoys teaching them about Nature awareness. There is need for great patience once we are in nature and it is best to just go with the flow- the unexpected rewards thus received are far greater than it would be if we had tall expectations that could result  in disappointments. Even naturalist guides cannot predict whether they can spot  a big cat on a particular day- they can of course pay attention to the call of the animals, distinguishing their loud mating calls from the sharp barks meant to announce a predator!

Dhanya  loves her own company when she is not leading tours. At these times, she prefers to go back-packing, a way a traveller would as opposed to a tourist- just allowing her feet to guide her, travelling, exploring new lands, seeking new adventures and above all learning more lessons that Nature has to offer her each day. On these occasions, her camera is her constant companion and she admits, “ there are times, I forget I have to take a picture to document my journey because I am so absorbed in the moment.”

-          Hema Iyer Ramani

After sundown , a small  dark cloud seems to rise from the base of the Aravalli(line of peaks or awl-shaped) ranges that to me looks like a giant bat ,and I observe that the dark cloud is but a group of bats that seem to have risen from behind the ranges that are shaped like the very bat! It is quite an experience at the campsite near Mount Abu and it was dusk by the time we reached the site all crammed into one small car!

The marked difference in the air is immediate especially when the place you have driven from is Ahmedabad. September in Abu seemed perfect and with bare minimal lighting, the night sky shining upon us in all its splendour, there was nothing much, one really needed to ask for.  The night was silent with only the sounds of the  rustle of the leaves, an animal scurrying away or the bark of a dog. I could understand why Van Gogh was so mesmerized by the night sky to create his unforgettable masterpiece- The Starry Night.  For a long time, I just lay on a flat rock observing the night sky and listening to the sounds of the nocturnal animals. Then the aroma of food tempted me to move away to dine with the others. The food was unbelievably delicious, nothing exotic, but very welcome.

We soon decided to retire and we snuggled into a tent that could hold eight to ten adults. Except for a few electrical bulbs at vantage points, the place was not disturbed with  harsh lights. The calls of the peacock were always sure enough to wake you up each morning. And I walked around the campsite to look around as the morning rays washed nature with its soft light adding a touch of mystery  and magic to the surroundings. I could not spot the peacock though I had heard its distinct call, quite unlike my visit to Tirukurungudi, where the peacocks walked very close to my verandah .

I hear the musical call of the rufous treepie and I happily spot many of them with joy.Then the  green munia enticed me with its melodious call. This green and yellow bird has been made mascot by the Rajasthan Forest department in order to intensify the conservation efforts of  vulnerable species and also create an awareness among the people. It is also interesting that the munia is barely five inches long and I had to run with my binoculars to spot it, patiently trying to focus on its call and search for it among the green! Thankfully, there is still a healthy population of the green munia in Abu region .

The camp site is a perfect place not only to laze around doing nothing except listen to the calls of the birds, animals from afar, an occasional sloth bear which could walk into when there are few campers perhaps.

This beautiful place is a haven for people who seek the quiet and the leisurely pace. Janak, who owns and manages the place had not really planned on buying up a plot and creating it into a holiday space. What happened was a very natural process that finally led to the birth of the campsite near Abu. Janak was drawn into outdoor life early on in life thanks to his father who was the first sports director in Gujarat University. Watching him from close quarters naturally drew him to the outdoor more and that’s when his love for the mountains began when he then began attending mountaineering camps and slowly assisting his instructor Kiran bhai from whom he learnt not only to love the camplife but also to run it. What began as a hobby soon developed into a passion and when Kiran was no longer into the camp and running of it, Janak felt a void. Though he continued to run his sports business with his brother, there was something that he always seemed to want but was not able to put a finger on. And then, when one day, the place came up for sale, he had no second thoughts- a camping site was born- with no frills or fancies, with as minimal alteration as possible. But realizing that he could not run it without certain comprises, he slowly gave into providing for very basic facilities  . There would be no landscaping done, nor trees cut off as it is an eco-sensitive area. So, the campers who frequent are generally ones who want solitude or who have the love for long walks, treks, some rock climbing and so on.

However, it was chance that got in touch with Hardhik who had visited him to buy some sports equipment. Soon talks and discussions brought them closer and the twosome decided to collaborate bringing each one’s strength to the table. While Janak is the quieter one, Hardhik is more gregarious, and that helped bringing in the corporate sector who could visit the campsite over weekends. It was Hardhik who introduced adventure activities such as zipline, rope bridge, spider web and so on which draws the young and the old alike with enthusiasm.

Keeping in mind the respect for the environment around them, they insist that the campers cannot waste food. In fact, there are people who not only serve food, but also admonish and insist that you polish off every bit of morsel on the plate! The rationale behind this is not only to make them aware of wastage , but also to protect the environment. Yet, in spite of repeated advice and warnings, food does get wasted and when the maids are out to clean the utensils, the langurs are out to grab the food. They know the exact moment when the washing ritual is to begin .The food encourages the large families of langurs to come for the food when they go waste  and that will in turn disturb their lifestyle, their natural food and so on.

While most campers are quiet, they do get a boisterous crowd once in a while and the duo know only too well how to deal when the situation gets out of hand. They are however very particular that the corporate groups and the family groups are not booked on the same days to avoid any problem that could arise.

While the area within the camp itself is enough to provide for enough exercise considering it is not levelled land, there are treks to the Golden Horn which is not only a long walk, but involves rock climbing and close encounters with perhaps sloth bears and some reptiles. But the view of the sun setting beyond the mountains is a view to watch.

All good things must come to an end. And soon , it was time to ride back home after a jeep ride which took us to Mount Abu which houses the fabulous Dilwara temple, so fabulously maintained and it is a worth a visit just to admire the handiwork of those sculptors, their artistry of so long ago, kept alive in a beautiful temple.

When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all  Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

(Ode to a Grecian Urn, John Keats)

 There are books and books, poems, millions of them, like the very stars in the sky- yet we chance upon one or a few who then begin to shine for us, and together, we make it a journey to call it our very own. Art like Poetry and books resonates to us with its own individual calling. We read many books to find out what is there in store for us; and yet, there are few others that we like to visit and revisit time and again, so much so that it becomes our calling-our homecoming of sorts. These remain timeless memories, our classics that we like to go back to time and again on a point of reference, and we find that the more we read , the more we rediscover, and the more we actually  connect to it, discovering facets we had not caught on earlier. For me, Art too like books must make that connection. It is not that ‘piece of jewellery’ that one would like to show off, without being able to relate to.  It is not important for me to say which

I walked into the garden of art, first merely observing and then understanding. Many many works I admired, but yet one artist stood out among the rest- Artist V.V.Ramani.  I watched his process, his ability to transcend across barriers and boundaries of medium and the disciplines of art. What struck me as singular was the way in which he allowed one art to flow into another borrowing phrases from one discipline to meld into another- to me it seemed as if one small stream met up with a river and together they began to flow ahead to meet other bodies of water. In an age, where there are clear boundaries- geographical and all else ,I find  resonance in Ramani’s works where I am able to identify myself with the art work and seek to find my own meaning .  

True art like poetry must be felt and experienced in our own way. In both fields, it is often the critic who tries to explain that the poet/artist ‘perhaps meant it this way’. Artists seldom wrote explaining why and what. Nor did poets. Yet, viewers and audiences through ages have found meaning reading, re-reading, seeing, re-seeing and finally failing to understand why a particular poem appeals to them- is it that the poem has perhaps touched a chord in the reader when he mentioned about the child? Did the artist perhaps understand the pain of the viewer? We will never know and there is really no need to know. It is that bond made possible through that special channel that one finds completion of one’s inability to express the same feelings perhaps!

V.V.Ramani has worked in various mediums of art- painting, drawing, oil pastels understanding theatre, dance and music too. But the one medium that became his expression engulfing him so completely was and is papier colle. Initially, he used pastels and paints to add dimensions to his collages, but slowly when he immersed himself into the layers of paper understanding it , he began to work almost Zen-like allowing the paper image to dictate the final artwork and not the other way around. He sat for hours – days would change into months without anything happening. In the beginning , I confused it for lethargy- but there was tremendous activity in the mind going on in the seemingly quiet exterior- a disquiet in the quiet actually.  There were  times, he listened to music continuously – sometimes singing along and at other times just listening. At those times, the music somehow managed to enter the artwork too capturing its haunting melodies.

Since he was in love with textiles and is a designer too, it was but natural for these influences to come into his art work too- he would have added on attention of detail to the costume of the dancer, or her jewellery perhaps, or it could be the sets he had designed for stage or a wedding that stayed on, or even a dance performance that inspired him visually that he had to pour it out in the form of an art work- every single line of his work/study weaved its way into his work sometimes consciously or most times inadvertently.