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She cartoons around with history

Former journalist, now writer and archaeology student Shubha Khandekar talks about creating archaeological cartoons and studying history with a sense of humour.
by The Editors | editor@themetrognome.in

Let’s face it – we Indians are a ‘sensitive’ lot. Increasingly, everything hurts our feelings; unintended slights, a jokey reference to our history and culture, even a stray illustration about something Indian. But Shubha Khandekar loves taking a fond, humorous look at our history through cartoons – the former journalist and now writer and PR professional has been a dedicated archaeology student for the longest time, and wonders why we “can’t stick out our tongue at Kautilya, pull Anathapindika’s leg, make fun of the globe-trotting Aryans and the seafaring Harappans?”

In an interview, the 50-something Kalyan resident tells The Metrognome about being one of the few Indians drawing archaeological cartoons, how our apathy and callousness towards our archaeological wealth, why she wants a device that can see underground, and what those wishing to study archaeology should do.

When did you first develop an interest in archaeology?

I postgraduated in Ancient Indian History at Delhi University, after which archaeology was merely the next logical step forward. I did a one year PG diploma in archaeology from the School of Archaeology, Archaeological Survey of India, New Delhi, after which I went to the Deccan College Postgraduate and Research Institute in Pune for a Ph.D.

You’ve been a journalist for a major portion of your working life. How did you choose journalism when your natural inclination is towards archaeology?

I trained and worked as a journalist for over 25 years in Nagpur and Mumbai. Due to some domestic problems, I had to abandon my Ph.D. and take a short break from my studies. The break grew longer and longer and the opportunity to resume almost never came back until in 2012,  after a gap of 30 years – I came across Mugdha Karnik, director, Centre for Extra Mural Studies (CEMS), Mumbai University and Dr Kurush F Dalal, who teaches archaeology there.

And I simply got sucked into it, to join the one-year certificate course in archaeology with them!

Meanwhile, I’d taken up journalism for a living, and I am not too sorry about it as journalism gives one an exposure, vision and perspective that no other profession does. And come to think of it, journalism is reporting on the present and history/archaeology is reporting on the past: small difference!

How did you start making archaeology-related cartoons?

One tends to trivialise the art of cartooning till a cartoonist is thrown into jail! While at the Free Press Journal I had seen Pradeep Mhapsekar at work and had realised the enormous intellectual effort that goes into creating a single cartoon. I was fascinated by it and tried some amateur cartooning. In a contest for women cartoonists declared by the Marathi daily Loksatta I won a consolation prize.

Later, being in a PR company, I made some PR-related cartoons. What really triggered the archaeology-inspired cartoons was the robust, overabundant sense of humour with which Dr Kurush Dalal spiced up his lectures for us. Laughter began to burst through the cracks in academics and ArchaeoGiri (the Facebook page that Shubha uploads her archaeo-cartoons on) was born!

Are there many people who draw cartoons like you do?

No. At the international level, there are cartoons galore on Greek and Egyptian histories. Well-known characters – Noah, Moses, Cleopatra, Archimedes – all have meekly surrendered to the swish of the cartoonist’s pen. There is a whole Asterix series cocking a snook at the mighty Romans. Cartoons on the Stone Age and cave men too are plentiful, but none reflect the features that are specific to the Stone Age in India.

Why can’t we stick a tongue out at Kautilya, pull Anathapindika’s leg, make fun of the globe-trotting Aryans and the seafaring Harappans? Perhaps because we don’t know these people well enough, we need to. Familiarity will breed banter. Perhaps because we take ourselves and our past too seriously although nobody else does. Our ‘feelings’ get hurt at the drop of a hat. Through ArchaeoGiri I have tried to pull historical figures out of boring textbooks and seat them at a modern Indian’s chai-nashta table for a hearty gupshup session.

What are some of the excavation trips you have been a part of?

I’ve been to Sringaverpur in UP and Inamgaon in Maharashtra. Shringaverpur was identified as a ‘Ramayana’ site and excavation was undertaken there under BB Lal. Inamgaon is a pre-iron age site near Pune where extensive work was done by Deccan College for about a decade.

If one wants to study the subject, what are the research tools available as of today?

It is essentially a postgraduate course, being offered at several universities. For lay enthusiasts in Mumbai, I would strongly recommend the certificate courses being run by the CEMS.

What is your comment on the current state of archaeology studies and research? 

At a personal level, those who are teaching me archaeology today would have been my students, had I continued my studies, but I have no regrets there. With their knowledge and scholarship, I feel honoured to be in their company as their student.

At another level, however, no country could be richer than ours in terms of archaeological wealth, and no people could be more callous and apathetic towards it. So enormous is this wealth that it can become a perennial source of infotainment, jobs and revenues, but we treat it with the utmost contempt. The state of explorations, excavation, publication, conservation leaves much to be desired. There is a strong case for public archaeology, but that can’t happen without political will and financial support. Despite the excellent work being done at CEMS, it has still not been possible to set up a full-fledged archaeology department there.

What’s on your archeo-wish list?

I would like a James Prinsep for the Harappan script. An Alexander Cunningham for every bit of architecture-sculpture lying orphaned in the wilderness.

A small museum at every district headquarter. A job for every archaeologist. A tool that can date stone artefacts. And equipment that can see underground.

(Shubha’s picture courtesy Pradeep Mhapsekar. Cartoons courtesy Shubha Khandekar)

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‘The only obligation you should have is to your craft’

SA artist William Kentridge’s mantra is amazingly simple: he believes that to appreciate art, one just needs an open mind.
by Salil Jayakar

On a visit to India, South African artist William Kentridge and his wife were taking a walk through the lanes of Colaba, Mumbai. His wife saw a sign pointing to Tushar Jiwarajka’s Volte Art Gallery, where the artist and the gallery owner had a chance encounter. Jiwarajka expressed his desire to exhibit Kentridge’s work and the rest, as the saying goes, is history.

‘Poems I used to know’, Kentridge’s first solo India exhibition was showcased at Volte for nearly two months from February to March this year. It included ‘I am not me, the horse is not mine’, an installation of eight projected film fragments, a series of flipbook films, two large drawings over multiple book pages, fragmented sculptures, a large tapestry, and several prints.

Now back home in South Africa, Kentridge expressed his “delight” to have an exhibition in Mumbai. “I was curious to see how my work would be received in a post colonial country other than South Africa, outside the periphery of Europe or America where I usually showcase my work,” he says.  According to him, the reality of atrocities isn’t native only to South Africa or India. “Every country has had its fair share of demons to deal with. The core theme of many of my works wishes to drive home the unifying point of finding that elusive form of optimism amidst the disparaging gloom surrounding us.”

An artist, painter, sculptor and theatre and opera director, Kentridge’s work has been seen at the Metropolitan Opera and the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York, the Louvre and the Jeu de Paume in Paris, the Albertina Museum in Vienna and La Scala in Milan. He received the Kyoto Prize in 2010. Yet, for all his work with different mediums and formats, charcoal paintings are a favourite. “All my work is rooted in drawing, as a primary medium. I guess charcoal paintings would be a personal favourite,” he says.

Kentridge confessed that he has a limited understanding of the art in India and knows very little about India’s art world. At the same time he saw a lot of similarities between the work done here and in his home country of South Africa. As he puts it, “I am astonished at the range of work and the ambition of scale that is being done here. Having seen work by a few well-known Indian artists, I look forward to discovering more in my subsequent visits to the country.”

For artists worldwide who are constantly in conflict with people and religions for offending sensibilities or hurting religious sentiments, Kentridge firmly believes that an artist has no obligation to either. “Your art is your own and the only obligation you should have is to your craft.”

Finally, for the layman who has no knowledge of art, Kentridge has these words of advice, “Anybody can appreciate art. You don’t have to be an art aficionado. All you need is an open mind to embrace creativity.”

(Pictures courtesy William Kentridge)

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Sunny days

He nursed his girlfriend for four years before she died. Sunny Pawar is now rebuilding his life through social service.
by Mamta D

Seven years ago, Sunny Pawar was like any other man in his 20s – he was deeply in love, he had a good job, and his future promised to be an exciting one. But as it generally happens when life is going swimmingly well, fate turned around and threw everything out of order.

In 2006, Sunny’s girlfriend Aarti and a few friends were riding near Gorai beach when their car had a nasty accident and turned turtle. The others got away with minor injuries, but Aarti was the worst hit. With serious head injuries, she slipped into a coma and was subsequently in an NICU (Neurological Intensive Care Unit) for the next four months. During these four months and in the next four years, Sunny did what few people would probably do – he never left Aarti’s side once during the entire time she was in the ICU, and even when she was subsequently moved to a ward.

His constant presence at her bedside made headlines in major newspapers and his story was covered by a few news channels, too. Sunny and Aarti became symbols for the ultimate love story in a cynical city that often has no time for love. Readers’ aid poured in, which helped Aarti’s family bear a part of her enormous medical expenses.

Things appeared to look up for the couple: in 2007, Aarti made a miraculous recovery from the coma and was sent home, though she couldn’t recognise anyone; not Sunny, not even her mother. Undeterred by her condition, Sunny fed her and continued to take care of her basic nursing needs along with her mother, Bharti Makwana. Aarti was still bed-ridden, with the right half of her body paralysed, but she showed a lot of improvement.

During this tumultuous time, Sunny had quit his Chartered Financial Analyst course halfway to tend to Aarti, but he gradually resumed his education in 2009. However, instead of the CFA course, he chose to enroll for a Masters in Social Work from Nirmala Niketan, College of Social work. “Instead of being frustrated with my situation, I decided to focus on doing social work,” he says.

“Each day, I hoped for her recovery and that she would be completely normal some day,” he adds.

But fate was still not finished with Sunny. In 2010, Aarti breathed her last after a sudden attack of pneumonia.

At this point, Sunny could easily have succumbed to depression or resorted to unnatural ways to vent his grief. “I had many negative thoughts during those tough times,” he says. “Like any other person affected by trauma, I struggled for more than five years and felt a huge void after Aarti’s death. Then I stumbled on the philosophy of helping strangers without expecting anything in return. I call this A.R.T after Aarti, an Act of Random Kindness,” he explains.

These days, Sunny is busy with his NGO work – he is Project Manager at the Shree Ramanugrah Trust, and often initiates many new welfare and empowerment projects on their behalf. Besides this, he has spoken at several motivational seminars, and enrolled in a part time MBA in Social Entrepreneurship at NMIMS. Most recently, he has taken upon a personal initiative, wherein he will distribute donated new or used footwear to female ragpickers he has met during the course of his field work.

Sunny recalls how his story encouraged another young man to follow his heart. “A couple of months ago, my story so far was published in a Kannada publication named Kannadaprabha. The next day, I received a call from a person named Sunil, who told me that he was in love with a girl from his own locality for four years, but due to his parents’ opposition, he had not been able to marry her till date. His parents had been opposing the marriage because the girl suffered from epilepsy.

But Sunil promised me that after reading about me and Aarti, he had made up his mind to marry the girl very soon, regardless of whether his parents gave their consent or not. The moment the call was over, I thanked God and Aarti.”

Ask him about his will to go on, and he says, “Whatever I am today is because of Aarti, my family, her mother and all those people who helped me during this acid test of my life. My parents, though shocked at first, eventually accepted and came to terms with what I was doing. They let me be, without becoming judgmental or stopping me from what I set out to do. They are my pillars of strength and support, without whom I would have totally collapsed. Aarti provided me an opportunity to get in touch with my inner self. Today I have found my calling because of her; she is physically no longer with me, but she is still with me through our shared memories and precious experiences together. Had she been alive today, this is what she would have done; she is alive through me and my work.”

He adds, “Opportunities to serve others sometimes come in the form of our own tragedies. Unpacking something with an ugly packaging requires a lot of audacity and struggle, but what seems unbearable is definitely not impossible.”

If you wish to donate new or old footwear for women ragpickers, you can contact Sunny Pawar on +91 9892856554. He is also available for group motivational talks and will answer donation queries, too.  

Mamta D works in the IT industry. Beyond her job, she writes, travels, paints and experiments with various side projects, among other things. She is also keen on making a difference to society in whatever way possible.

(Featured image courtesy timesofindia.com)

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Bollywood’s poster boy

Ranjit Dahiya poses in front of the first wall he ever painted, at Carter Road.
Artist, free hand painter Ranjit Dahiya is bringing Bollywood alive in Mumbai for a year, one wall at a time.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

Ranjit Dahiya is 33, charming and quite direct. He pays full attention when you’re speaking, is disarmingly honest, and wears his small town origins with enviable confidence. “I come from a small village in Haryana, and I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do as a young boy,” he remembers. “Art happened to me because it was an avenue that I decided to explore on a whim. I didn’t know any English, I didn’t know what art was supposed to be.” And yet, he graduated from National Institute of Design (NID) Delhi and holds a Fine Arts degree from a Chandigarh college – but everything’s come with a bit of a struggle.

Today, Ranjit is celebrated as an artist, especially since he founded and started the Bollywood Art Project (BAP), a community visual art project under which he hand paints popular people and moments in Hindi cinema on walls that are located in public spaces. He stays at Bandra and has also worked on walls in this suburb, though he is looking at ‘good walls’ in other places as well. “I came to Mumbai in 2008 because I got a job as a graphic designer with a website here,” he says. “I had just passed from NID. When I came to Mumbai, I realised that there were not enough art installations or paintings in the city. So I became very interested with The Wall Project, and met up with them to understand what they were doing.”

Through the Wall Project, Ranjit got the chance to visit Paris and later, Le Rochelle, both times to paint Bollywood-themed canvases. “I painted at 12′ x 32′ poster of Amitabh Bachchan at Paris, and I finished it in four days. The greatest moment for me was when Mr Bachchan himself arrived at the fest and congratulated me on my work – I have always been a great fan!” he beams.

His two trips made him realise that people abroad really loved Bollywood. “They like the style, the culture, the drama. This year, I started the BAP because I wanted to celebrate the spirit of Bollywood in my own way, in the city that I live in,” he explains.

Childhood scenes

Ranjit’s parents, both employed with the Government, expectedly wanted him to get an education and a stable job, but he flunked his college exams and his father told him to go tend to the fields that the family owned. “I actually loved going to the fields,” he smiles. “But my father wondered what I would do with my life. Then a relative once met me and said that I could learn how to whitewash walls from him. Soon, I was working with different contractors and whitewashing walls; for each job, I would get Rs 40.”

A few months later, he met a school friend who was studying to be an engineer. “He asked me what I was doing, and was stunned with my answer. He asked me if I had heard of Fine Arts. I said I hadn’t, and the conversation was promptly forgotten,” he says. At the time, the local school wanted a Saraswati painting done in its premises, and Ranjit volunteered. “People said, ‘What do you know about painting?’, but I had always loved drawing and painting, even when I was very young. I did a 6′ x 4′ Saraswati painting on a wall, and everybody liked it,” he remembers.

Spurred by this, he decided to visit a relative in Panipat, who promised to teach him how to write with paints and do other paint work. “I sat for my failed college year during this time, and returned after a year to apprentice with a local painter. You know, doing ‘Mera gaon, mera desh‘ kind of stuff. Then one day I remembered my friend and that he’d said something about Fine Art. I decided to check it out,” he says. After obtaining some basic information on Fine Art courses, I sat for and passed the entrance exam and got admission to a college in Chandigarh.”

“I was the small town boy from the village, I didn’t know what ‘art’ was, and my medium of instruction was Hindi,” he remembers. “It was tough, but I slowly got the hang of it. In my fourth year, I heard of this place called NID (National Institute of Design), and I asked a senior, ‘Sir, what is NID?’ His prompt reply was, ‘Forget it, you can never go there,'” Ranjit chuckles.

Adamant to get into NID, he sat for their entrance exam and failed spectacularly. “My lack of English had let me down. I wondered what to do next, getting really confused about several available options. Finally, I burnt all the college prospectuses I had gathered, and reapplied to NID.” In the meantime, however, he put in a solid year of English learning. “I would read the newspapers and whichever books I could find. Soon, I began to understand the language, at least enough to know what was being said. I had flunked the entrance exam because I hadn’t understood the questions,” he says.

The NID life

The next time he appeared for the NID exam, he understood the questions, though his English was still questionable. “I cleared the exam, but I continued to flounder in the course because I had no idea about art. Finally, the faculty asked me to withdraw from the programme, because I didn’t have the required aesthetics and depth, or to take an extra year on my Foundation Course. I chose the latter option,” he says.

After spending over two years in one batch and submitting a live project comprising a 206-page document in English, plus an ‘identity’ for a museum in Pune, Ranjit was convocated in 2007. This year, he started the BAP “out of passion”. He says, “The best thing about BAP was that it helped me get back to painting. I had been working full time, but a job makes me complacent. So I take up freelance work and I founded by own company, Digital Moustache.”

The Bollywood connect

“I’ve always loved Bollywood films, and when I was very young, I’d painted a gate with the face of a hero from a film magazine,” he remembers. “I hadn’t realised that the connect with films was so strong, strong enough for me to want to be associated with Bollywood in some capacity. Cinema builds our culture and perceptions, and it is a record of our lives and the times we live in. I am enjoying the BAP because I love Bollywood,” he explains.

His dream is to revive the Bollywood posters industry, and he is currently scouting for the best wall to paint yesteryear dancer and actor Helen on. “Many people criticise my work, saying that what I do is just copy from somewhere, there is no originality. I don’t care about all of this as long as I am enjoying my work. There are a lot more people who are enjoying my work, and their appreciation gives me a real high,” he grins.

 

 

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The maestro in his home

Humra Quraishi met Pandit Ravi Shankar at his Delhi home before he moved to the US. This is her story.

I can never forget my first meeting with sitar maestro Pandit Ravi Shankar. It was around the time of his 70th birthday, and as I sat sipping my tea at his Lodhi Estate home, I got so terribly nervous that the entire cup crashed to the carpet of his living room. With that disaster, my nervousness peaked to such an extent that I could barely ask more than the basic, customary questions.

But  Panditji had simply smiled and tried his best to make me feel at ease.

It was only after a longish gap that I’d mustered enough confidence to try and meet him again. This was in early 1993. He’d looked frailer and quite sad. He’d told me that he’d been left totally devastated by the recent death of his only son Shubo. That was the time he and his second wife Sukanya were planning to shift base from New Delhi to San Diego, California.

When I asked him why he was moving to the US, the couple gave me a set of reasons. “The mess in the country is painful for me. Even a place like Delhi is becoming unfit for living. With everything else, the pollution here is killing,” he said. Sukanya stood close by and added, “The politicians and pollution have finished the city. We have already bought a Spanish villa in California and now I’m doing it up my way.”

To that he’d added, “For me, the house is a very important place. Since I was 10, I have been travelling, living in hostels, so I value my home. That feeling of warmth, coupled with a comfortable middle class lifestyle. Nothing gaudy or vulgar. Somehow, I totally dislike the Delhi concept of showing off. A dignified, balanced and comfortable way of life is what I like.”

He went on to tell me details of the very first house he had built for himself in Benaras. “I don’t know why I decided to build that house in Benaras. Probably because I was born and brought up in that city…and though I’d built it in the early ‘70s, within years I decided to abandon it. All sorts of crude elements had sprung up around me, those decaying values stifled me, so I decided to shift out of Benaras. I’m not a fighter. I’m a musician and I can’t stand vulgar people, besure log.”

Their Lodhi Estate home was really simple. There wasn’t a trace of any ornate furniture, no porcelain ware, no elaborate bedroom bandobast. In fact, the only room which looked well done up was the music room; with sitars, surbahaars , tanpuras neatly placed in stands and the walls of this particular room adorned with prized photographs capturing Panditji with John Lennon, Uday  Shankar, Baba Allauddin, Pablo Casals, Mariam Anderson, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru and Indira Gandhi.

The maestro’s bedroom had only a double bed and a fax machine in it. As we neared the puja  room, he told me, “This isn’t just a puja room but my private corner. This is where I meditate, do riyaz, pray. For me, religion is a very personal thing. I am certainly not ritualistic. In fact, like me, most musicians are broad-minded.

When I was 18, I went to live with my ustad, Baba Allauddin, and though he was a devout Muslim, his home in Madhya Pradesh’s Maiher was full of photographs of Kali, Krishna, Christ, Mary…music makes you more tolerant. I only wish our present-day politicians were more musically-inclined; then there’d be more harmony and not the present-day cacophony!”

I asked him, “If religion is so personal to you, why is there such a bold ‘Om’ inscribed on the very entrance gates to your home?”

He didn’t just explain this with words, but he also wrote in my notebook. I quote him, “Om or Aum is the primordial sacred sound that has been uttered, chanted and sung by yogis, musicians and the common man for thousands of years. In music, Omkar plays a very important and a very great part. Mian Tansen and his family gave great importance in their singing to the aalap, which starts with the words ‘Hari Om’. This gradually changes to nom, tom etc…To me, as a musician, this sound signifies a deep spiritual vibration, mentally as well as physically.”

 (Picture courtesy guardian.co.uk)

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In a crisis? Presenting Doctors For You

This group of city-based doctors can be counted on to reach crisis-ridden areas of the country and offer medical aid.
by Nidhi Qazi

The year was 2008. A group of doctors reached Bihar in the aftermath of the Kosi river flood, one of the most disastrous floods in the State’s history which affected around 2.3 million people. People were in dire need of aid. This group of doctors worked day and night, helping the flood-stricken people.

Then came the Kokrajhar riots in Assam this year – the worst-ever case of ethnic violence in the country. Our group of doctors reached the area and started relief work there after a rapid assessment of the affected areas followed by the necessary relief and rehabilitation work.

What started as relief work in crisis situations continues today in other parts of the country as well, under the name Doctors For You (DFY). As the name suggests, DFY is a group comprising medical practitioners, youth and like-minded people who care for fellow human beings, in crisis or otherwise.

In Mumbai, DFY has established a sustainable project in Natwar Parikh Compound, a resettlement colony in Govandi. The project started in 2010 in collaboration with the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority (MMRDA). The centre is housed on two floors of a building in the Natwar Parikh compound with separate rooms for various departments.

Dr Ravikant Singh, President, DFY, says, “Our project is a comprehensive health project which focusses on preventive, promotive and curative health services.” Simply put, the DFY provides curative and preventive service for oral health, paediatric care, antenatal and post- natal care in addition to a general OPD, a minor OT (Operation Theatre) and DOTS (Directly Observed Treatment Short course) centre for TB. Its promotive services include regular camps and awareness workshops on immunisation, family planning, breast feeding and STDs (Sexually Transmitted Diseases).

The doctors visit the Natwar compound every alternate day and the Lallubhai Compound (also a resettlement colony) and Ambedkar Nagar on the other days. Health services are free for infants up to age 1, pregnant women and adults above 60 years. For the rest, DFY charges a nominal Rs 10 consultation fee on a weekly basis.

DFY’s Mumbai chapter, which was earlier funded by MMRDA, is now funded by Mumbai Railway Vikas Corporation (MRVC). The organisation also imparts disaster management training, capacity building and response training in five other states namely, Maharashtra, Delhi, Assam, Bihar and Jharkhand.

So what sets DFY apart from other agencies involved in relief work? “It is the fact that we are doctors. Simple. In any crisis situation, be it a natural disaster or riots, doctors are seen from a lens of trust and hope. We become an entry point for social workers who would otherwise be under the suspicion of the local people,” says Dr Singh.

The DFY team also has a few awards in its kitty – the SAARC Youth Award to Dr Singh and the British Medical Journal (BMJ) award for ‘Medical Team In A Crisis Zone’ category.

(Pictures courtesy doctorsforyou.wordpress.com and Nidhi Qazi)

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