Category: Hum log

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Meet a really big loser

Hunk Sandeep Sachdev acts in films and imparts fitness training – but a few years ago, he weighed 125 kgs.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

Sandeep Sachdev (30) is fit and hunky, just the kind of guy who would get a film offer. Sandeep, a Malad resident, has already done films in the South, and is gearing up for his next release, Inkaar, opposite Chitrangada Singh in January 2013.

Apart from films, Sandeep is also a fitness trainer, nutritionist and motivational speaker with Fitness First. “On the days when I have no shoots or anything else happening, I work out twice a day for an hour each session. On other days, I do a 90-minute workout,” he says, explaining how he maintains his fabulous physique. “I am also careful with my diet, though I eat everything.”

But if you think his good looks and stunning body were handed to him by an indulgent God, think again. Five years ago, the present-day Sandeep was fighting to get out of a fat, 125 kg body.

Biggest Loser

Sandeep was a passionate banker who wanted to try acting, so he shifted to Mumbai from Delhi in 2003. “I loved being in Mumbai, and as bankers, we would look for every opportunity to drink and eat outside. I soon put on a lot of weight, but I didn’t do much about it till my doctor told me I had blood pressure.”

Then Sandeep heard of the show Biggest Loser Jeetega, which was anchored by actor Suniel Shetty and which had 16 participants trying to lose the most amount of weight to win. “I applied for it and they conducted a psychological and physical profile on me to see if I was fit enough to be on it. I was selected and the show became a life-changing experience for me,” he remembers.

Participants were provided with the best trainers, nutritionists and medical experts. “We would work out for four and a half hours every day, with cameras monitoring us constantly. It was difficult initially, to go from a no-exercise lifestyle to gruelling daily workouts. We were totally cut off from the world for four months – we didn’t even know what was happening with the World Cup that year.”

Sandeep says he never entered “a demotivated zone” and never let the “mind games and politics” inside the house affect him. “I put all my energies into my workouts. The show was not like Bigg Boss; here, the harder you worked, the closer you came to winning. Every week, I saw that I was losing weight and that really gave my efforts a big boost,” he explains.

He entered the show with the scales tipping at 124.9 kg, and left it at a cool 74.2 kg weight.

Had lost weight before

In 2002, when Sandeep was still at Delhi, he had lost a good amount of weight through jogging and sensible eating alone. “My brother was an actor in Mumbai, and I decided to get fit, too. I followed a no-cola, no-hard-drinks, no-fried-food diet and I would jog. Even though I was overweight, I didn’t have a negative self-image and I wasn’t embarrassed about my body.

I remember, I would jog past the Lady Irwin College every day, and these girls milling about outside would look at this chubby guy jogging past and laugh. That actually motivated me to work harder. In five months, I knocked off 25 kgs. Once I started losing weight, I would jog past the College with my middle finger raised in the air,” he laughs.

After the show

He had a few film offers after winning Biggest Loser Jeetega, but nothing materialised right away. “I still did acting classes, and started maintaining my body. I did a few music videos and ads, as well,” he says. Then he was approached by a film producer from the South, who asked if Sandeep would train and help the heroine of his project lose weight. “I worked with the girl, and in 45 days, she knocked off seven kgs. I realised I could become a fitness trainer,” he says, explaining that training others to lose weight is tricky – you can work on yourself easily, but you don’t know what will motivate someone else to work out diligently.

“I got associated with Fitness First in 2009 as a personal trainer. I now conduct the Fitness Ki Paathshaala here, and I am also a nutritionist with them,” he says.

Set realistic goals

Today, as a fitness consultant, Sandeep talks of the importance of starting small and thinking big. “People make the strangest of excuses to not exercise. They also set some really big goals right at the start. While it’s okay to have big goals, the problem is that if you don’t achieve a fitness goal soon enough, it hits twice as hard,” Sandeep says.

He adds that he gets letters from overweight people who say that they are embarrassed to step out of their homes because of their bodies. “Being overweight is nothing to be ashamed of. You have to accept the way you look. Only then can you do something about it.” The trick is to set a small goal, work slowly at first, then pick up the pace as the days pass. “It is also important to work towards achieving something that you don’t have because of your excess weight,” he explains.

 

 

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‘Pravin never discussed the Pramod Mahajan episode with me’

Sarangi Mahajan is slowly making peace with the present – but there may never be a respite from the past.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

It was a scandal that rocked the nation in 2006. Pramod Mahajan, architect of the Bharatiya Janata Party’s (BJP) still-used slogan ‘India Shining’ and the party’s probable PM candidate, was shot at by younger brother Pravin, at the former’s Worli residence. 13 days later, he succumbed to his injuries in hospital, and with his passing, Pravin, from being an unknown entity till that point, became the killer whose motive nobody could understand.

Two years ago, to complete an almost eerie state of affairs, Pravin passed away in hospital after a severe brain haemorrhage sent him into an 83-day coma. But the questions still remain. Why did he shoot his own brother, the man who he idolised? How was his wife, Sarangi, connected to the incident? Why did he surrender to the police, give a detailed account of his crime, but later maintain that he did not shoot Pramod?

More to the point, why did things come to such a pass in one of the most powerful families in the country?

I ask Sarangi these questions at the Mahajans’ modest home in Naupada, Thane. She is all friendliness and grace, instantly agreeing to this interview and inviting me to her home. “I don’t hold back any more,” she says, when I tell her I am surprised by her readiness to speak about what is probably the ghastliest chapter in her life. “Our lives were laid bare the moment it (the shooting) happened. Nothing is private now.”

At the centre of it all

December used to be a special month in the Mahajan household. December 4 is, as per the Hindu calendar, Pravin Mahajan’s birthday. Two days later came his and Sarangi’s wedding anniversary. And on December 22, is his twins Kapil and Sumati’s birthday. I met Sarangi on December 4, and asked her about coping with life six years after the incident that sent several skeletons in the Mahajan closet tumbling out. I am replaying several opinions about Sarangi in my head…it’s been said that she isn’t as simple as she lets on, that she consistently sticks to a script. But her answers don’t sound rehearsed. And she is charming enough to ask me, when I take her pictures on my camera, to send her a few “good ones” to upload on Facebook.

“You know, six years after Pramodji’s death, we celebrated Diwali for the first time this year. There was just too much going on before this…the court cases, prison visits, the publication of Pravin’s book (Majha Album), and then Pravin passed away in 2010. But we are slowly getting back to our lives, though everything has changed,” she says.

I suppose everyone expects her to be a weepy widow, and a bitter one, considering that her name often cropped up when the shooting was still fresh in public memory. Rumours suggested that her political ambitions, coupled with his simple lifestyle away from his brother’s meteoric rise in Indian politics, may have pushed Pravin to the edge. Sarangi has also been linked with the controversy in several unsavoury ways.

When things went wrong

Pramod was the proverbial father to his siblings, Sarangi says, but as his prominence within the BJP grew, his attitude towards  Pravin changed. “We began to understand that he and his family didn’t think we were at par with them. Pravin began to feel that his brother was embarrassed by him. He resented the fact that Pramod’s PA would set an appointment for the two brothers to meet, that Pramod didn’t return his calls. Soon, my husband stopped attending functions within the family, though he never stopped me and the kids from going. The last function I attended was Poonam’s (Pramod’s daughter) wedding in 2002. Pravin didn’t attend even that.”

She speaks fondly of Pramod bhavji, of how he took care of Pravin, helped him get a job at Reliance, even earmarked a flat close to his own at Worli. “The two were very close. Pravin was very knowledgeable about politics, so they got along well. When we were newly married, we used to live together in a house that the BJP had given Pramod. I loved living under the same roof as the family, because I come from a joint family myself. But he soon told us to look for a place of our own – he didn’t want the party to ask uncomfortable questions.”

The Party, she says, became an underlying theme in all their lives. “People thought: Pramod Mahajan is their family member, they must be rolling in money, he must be getting everything done for them. But look at my house, this is how we have always lived,” she gestures towards her simply furnished home. “Pravin never used his brother’s name, never tried to benefit from the Party’s connections. His motto was simple – live within your means, have enough for a few simple enjoyments, but don’t get into the whole ‘status’ thing, because it becomes difficult to maintain a rich lifestyle,” she says.

April 22, 2006

But what drove him to shoot at his own brother, then surrender to the police?

Her not surprising stand on the issue of the incident – she and her lawyers have maintained this throughout his trial and beyond – is that her husband did not shoot Pramod Mahajan. “He couldn’t have done it. Even at home, if he spoke harshly or did anything out of anger, he would feel bad about it later. But after shooting Pramodji, he didn’t show the slightest remorse. If he had done it, the guilt would have consumed him.”

So what really happened, I ask. She says, “I asked him this question several times. He would just say, ‘Let that subject be. Let’s talk about other things.’ I even asked our lawyer (Harshad Ponda) about Pravin’s statements in court (the trial had taken place in-camera, so details are not yet known) but the lawyer also didn’t give me details.”

She recalls how she first reacted to the news with shock, then dismay, then with a collapse. “I couldn’t believe that Pravin had done such a thing.” Then came the backlash. Till then, not many people knew that the famous Pramod Mahajan’s brother lived in Thane. “Suddenly, the media was everywhere. The police would come and go at all times. The family, and those we thought were our friends severed all ties with us. If you switched on the news, all you could see was the Pramod v/s Pravin issue. It was a nightmare.” Thrust into the spotlight, she says, she and her children were left to deal with the ‘criminal’ tag that would be associated with Pravin from the moment he pumped the first bullet into Pramod.

Learning the ropes

After Pravin’s arrest, the family’s bank accounts were frozen and their car was seized. “I had never used public transport; we had a car with a driver and there was never any need to use the train or bus,” she remembers. “Suddenly, I had no money. My brothers pitched in, gave me an ATM card to their accounts. I had to arrange for lawyers, try and get Pravin all the help he needed. I learnt things from scratch – how to travel by train from Thane to CST, take the bus, meet with lawyers, present myself in front of a judge, and then manage the home…it was all a tremendous learning experience.”

She remembers how her children, who were only 16 years old then, grew up overnight. “They learnt to deal with negative comments. I’m sure it wasn’t easy. They’ve both been good at studies, and despite the trauma in their personal lives, they passed their Class 12 exams with good marks. A lot of people expected them to do badly, expected us to fall apart. But we survived.”

Through all this, she lost all her friends. “I used to attend kitty parties. I had a big circle of friends. But none of them have contacted me in these six years. I help in social initiatives in the city (she recently participated in the Atre Katta’s boycott of autos and taxis) so I meet a lot of interesting people. I even have a court case going on against Pramodji’s family in Osmanabad (for ancestral land that the other siblings and Sarangi have staked a claim to) so I meet our relatives there. But I don’t have any friends in my age group any more.”

She goes back to describing the time she collapsed in the aftermath of what Pravin had done. “He was gone, and I was afraid to step out. For two months I locked myself up at home. But the day I learnt that Rahul (Pramod’s son) had collapsed with a drug overdose, I got the strength to stand up again.” She clarifies, “I have nothing against Rahul. He is a genuinely nice boy. But till that point, all fingers had been pointing at us, at our life, at how Pravin had ruined an innocent family. What happened with Rahul was unfortunate, but I was relieved that the world would finally know where the actual problem was. And it wasn’t with us.”

The kids are all right

Her son, Kapil, walks in from work at this point. He listens to our conversation for a while, then says, “The incident showed us who our true friends were. I understood how courts worked, how to scrutinise medical and legal documents. I even telephoned them (Pramod’s family) several times, but they never spoke to us.

I feel every young person should go through the trauma we went through, because it builds character. If my uncle was still alive, I would have been secure in the knowledge that he would get me a job somewhere, that I didn’t need to prove myself because he would help. But my sister and I did well on our own. We finished our studies, I got a job on my own merit. I understand what the thrill of achievement is; I wouldn’t know about it if nothing had changed.” And continuing in the tradition of his paternal grandfather and father, Kapil is also a teacher – he teaches English and Business Communication at a town college.

Sarangi says that her children have bravely faced a world that has branded their father a murderer. “My children turned out fine. They respect their mother, they work hard, they are good human beings. I never had to worry about them going wayward.”

Dealing with the family

Sarangi admits that ‘the Mahajan family’ has been an important constant in her life. “I used to be an ABVP worker, and I would have loved to continue my work after marriage. But the women in this family have never been allowed to work, and later, we had to mind ourselves constantly because we had to keep up Pramod’s image. Then my children were growing up and I was with them all the time. But in 2004, I wanted to return to politics, and Pravin was fine with it. To this end, I had started doing work in the locality. And then 2006 happened.”

She says that these days, she attends several functions and meetings by city-based NGOs. “I never refuse an invitation, because I get to meet so many people and know what society is thinking. I am busy with Pravin’s book, which is doing very well. I am also running from pillar to post trying to get the Rs 7,00,000 compensation that the Maharashtra State Human Rights Commission awarded me (after Nashik jail authorities were found to have been negligent with Pravin’s medication when he was incarcerated there), and there’s the court case at Osmanabad. Plus, I want to get my daughter married off next year.”

Does she still harbour political ambitions? “Almost every party offered me a ticket to contest elections, but the time was not right. It still isn’t. We are settling in slowly. My children are now independent and I don’t need to be at home constantly. Yes, life changed dramatically, and Pravin is no more. But he is still with us – in the discipline he insisted on at home, in the way all of us are leading our lives in an upright manner.”

And will she ever reconcile with the Mahajans? “I have always wanted a reconciliation, but they don’t. I have lost count of the number of times I have tried to speak to them, meet them. Tell me, what was our fault in what happened? They have had enough opportunity to get in touch with us, and they are welcome to do so. I hope that at least the children will get along some day.”

(Mahajan family and Pramod Mahajan pictures courtesy outlookindia.com and thehindu.com) 

 

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The objects of her affection

Shrutti Garg is a talented young photographer who doesn’t like to capture people or nature – give her objects, instead.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

Shrutti Garg (25) is a Worli resident and ace photographer who doesn’t like to capture people’s faces, or nature. Her latest works – Objects as streets, streets as objects, and The Green Project are on display at Gallerie Max Mueller, and the two walls of the Gallerie that hold the exhibition’s photographs are strong examples of how objects are central to Shrutti’s imagination.

In a series of black and white pictures across half of one wall, there are glimpses of people carrying their belongings as they move about the streets –a woman’s bundled several bags into one shopping cart, in another, a musician’s put down his guitar on the sidewalk. In a third, you see squashy sleeping bags. The Green Project, meanwhile, has a series of colour photographs in which Shrutti’s aimed for a contrast between life as it happens and a single object or piece of clothing or even a mark on the road, that is bathed in a startling shade of green.

“I went to Cologne, Germany in 2011 through Max Mueller Bhavan for a six-month artists’ residency. Before my departure, I had discovered the word ‘flaneur’, which describes a person who walks through the city to explore it. I took this idea for the Objects… series, wanting to see how people moved from place to place with belongings they held dear, because there was maybe a strong memory attached to them. The first three months I was there, I simply walked everywhere and explored. During these walks, I saw several interesting examples of people moving from spot to spot with their belongings – some in one big bag, others in a shopping cart,” she explains.

The Green Project, meanwhile, was an exploration of two contrasting symbols attached to the colour green – of new beginnings, and envy. “I started it in Mumbai; it explores the balance between these two opposites. It was fun working on it, because I only photographed this one shade of green which was the most eye-catching, and I had to find situations and items bearing this colour. I have not Photoshopped the colour in any of my pictures. I’m not a fan of Photoshop anyway,” she smiles.

Shrutti, a Commercial Arts graduate who was attracted to photography very early in life, has always “worked in a series, I’ve rarely worked on individual pieces” – prior to this, she’s worked on Mumbai in Motion, about how everything moves fast in Mumbai but how one still has to wait, Hidden Realities and Luxurious Life Of the Streets, among others. “I also showed the Objects series and The Green Project in Germany, and it was interesting for them to see my point of view in the pictures,” she says.

She also heard a few interesting back stories of some of her subjects. “There were these two guys who met when they were living on the streets, and they would move everywhere in twos, because while one was away, the other would look after their belongings! Then I learnt that you can’t live on the streets in Munich at all. Besides, the weather plays a big role in people staying out or going underground.”

Her focus is always on objects, not on faces. “Your imagination must guide you to ask questions about the person you can’t see,” she explains. “Besides, I am very attracted to objects in the context of the environment they are in. I’m not into photographing people or nature.”

She is currently working on a privately-commissioned series of photographs very much like The Green Project, but “the colour the client wants is blue,” she says. She is also toying with the idea of a project where she asks you to part with a very precious object and substitute it with a picture of that object. “I’m also applying for a lot of residencies,” she says.

Shrutti Garg’s twin exhibition, Objects as streets, streets as objects and The Green Project concludes at Gallerie Max Mueller, Kala Ghoda, today.  

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‘Make men a part of women empowerment’

He says men’s engagement with women’s issues can bring about empowerment. Harish Sadani is truly an activist for all seasons.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

An ad in the Indian Express caught Harish Sadani’s eye in 1991. The Mahim resident was intrigued by the ad, an appeal that read, ‘Wanted: Men who believe that wives are not for battering. If you are a man wanting to stop or prevent violence against women, please write to Box No. _____’.

“I responded to that ad, and so did 205 others,” Harish remembers. We are at a bus stop outside Dadar station, but the unceasing traffic does not once break into his thoughts. “The ad had been put there by the Express’ journalist CY Gopinath. He analysed all the letters he received, and all of the letters were personal perceptions of the issue of violence against women and how it must stop. Of these 205 men, 99 were from Mumbai. He called all 99 Mumbai men for a meeting in early 1992.”

That meeting, and the fact that the same issue had been haunting Harish for a long time already, was to change the course of his life. “I was volunteering with a women’s rights organisation, but their manner of ‘punishing’ men who harassed their wives through public humiliation, was not something I agreed with. So this meeting came at the right time. About 25 men came for the meeting, and one of them was a 14-year-old school boy!” The meeting largely focused on the men’s opinions about how to end violence against women, and was the start of many more meetings.

“We would meet periodically to address the felt needs of men, what needed to be done to address the issue in a different, non-threatening way. We spoke to lawyers, doctors and psychiatrists, did research for a year. Then we came together and formed Men Against Violence and Abuse (MAVA) in 1993; there were about nine of us who started it.”

Harish has been MAVA’s secretary from its inception, and is the only person with a Masters in Social Work (MSW) degree from TISS, Mumbai. “What motivated me was that if I could take on the mantle of responsibility, I could be a part of a large movement for the future,” he explains. Today, Harish has won recognition for his efforts in promoting gender equality, and was the recipient of the Ashoka Changemakers award two years ago.

A ‘sissy’ writes to Smita Patil

Harish was brought up in a Mumbai chawl, an ecosystem where everybody’s homes look into your own and where nothing is really ever private. “I was witness to a lot of domestic violence, both in my joint family and in neighbours’ houses,” he remembers. “I would think about it for long, wondering why men hit women at all. My early life was shaped by my paternal aunts, who taught me that there was no shame in doing ‘women’s work’.” So he braved taunts and jibes of being a ‘sissy’ from friends and neighbours when he stood in line at the ration shop to get kerosene, or when he helped the women with their chores at home.

“I was already questioning gender roles in society. In my teens, I was very influenced by Smita Patil’s films, because she played very strong characters. I got her address from the magazine Madhuri, and began writing to her.” The legendary actress was initially taken aback by the young man’s several questions on gender issues, and what she felt about them. “She once wrote to me saying, ‘Your letters are the only fan letters I have to think deeply about before replying to,’” he grins. “She had a huge influence on my life. In fact, I decided to study MSW after watching her in Umbartha, because she also does the same course in the film!”

Involve, don’t isolate men

Throughout his journey as an activist, Harish has been insistent on one ideology – that men need to be a part of the solution. “It is one thing to identify them as perpetrators of violence, but it is wrong to exclude them. Men are not born violent, they are conditioned by patriarchal society to be masculine’ and they are trapped in this image. We must question this image and break out of it.”

MAVA started their work with street plays, counselling and awareness programmes on domestic violence. “But we did our first big job in 1995, when a student Dipti Khanna became the victim of an acid attack. Private donors gave us Rs 75,000 in two months for her plastic surgeries, but the most touching contribution came from prisoners of Nashik Central Jail, who contributed Rs 12,000 of their hard-earned money for Dipti,” Harish smiles, adding that this gesture built a lot of credibility for MAVA.

“We have always taken a stand on issues, be it the Bhanwari Devi case or the series of attacks on women arising from jilted love,” he says. “In 1996, we started the magazine Purush Spandana, a men’s-only magazine that we bring out in Diwali every year. Besides this, we have started various youth initiatives in colleges, Yuva Maitri, plus a helpline for the youth.” Harish has upscaled his efforts in Pune, Satara, Kolhapur, Bhandara, Buldhana and Nagpur as well. “We are encouraged by young boys wanting to engage with gender equality,” he says. “Their involvement and work is a throwback to the time we started MAVA, and when we took ownership of the same issues 20 years ago.”

 

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‘It scares me when people retweet my cartoons’

We chat with DNA’s chief cartoonist Manjul on cartooning in today’s times, the journalism space, and coming to work without a clue.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

In the early 1990s, a class 11 boy went to the Dainik Jagran offices in Kanpur and applied for a cartoonist’s job. “I had no idea that nobody is there at newspaper offices at 12 noon. There were just a few features guys there and I met the features editor. She asked me to leave my work there and they would get back to me.”

He returned the very next day for a reply. “I was determined to be a newspaper cartoonist when I was in class 8. But the editor told me she couldn’t employ me. She had shown my work to one of the artists at the newspaper, who felt that my ‘lines had no power’ and stuff like that – which may have been true, because I was very young, and my drawing used to be terrible when I was younger. I was disappointed, but to my good luck, I bumped into Rajani Gupta (one of the owners) on my way out, and I had met her only the previous day for the first time. I told her that I hadn’t got the job, but she got it for me,” he grins.

Now, over two decades later, he is the chief cartoonist at Daily News & Analysis (DNA), a position he has held since the paper’s inception in Mumbai in 2005. Manjul, the only part of his name he is willing to give (even his visiting card reads ‘Manjul, Chief cartoonist’), says he was hired because DNA’s owners wanted to ‘revive the dying art of cartooning’. “I feel that DNA has done journalism a big service by carrying cartoons daily,” the 40-year-old says, explaining that in 2005, the city’s newspapers, even the The Times of India, did not have cartoons in their pages. “Only Mid Day had cartoons by Ponnappa and Morparia. DNA introduced cartoons under ‘Nobody’s business’ in its DNA Money edition. It was a great chance for me to be part of the biggest product launch since independence and have a dedicated cartoon slot in the paper’s pages,” he says with quiet pride.

Drawing on life

Manjul’s parents were unhappy with his chosen vocation, but that didn’t stop him from working at a newspaper. “I was studying Science. They thought I was ruining my future, a very middle-class concern. My father would say that I would make more money selling potatoes! Later, I ‘ruined’ my brother’s career – he followed me into journalism!” he laughs.

He didn’t have a background in drawing – “I think I got it from my mother, whose drawing was very good” – and at his first job, he quickly learnt that repetition honed his skill. “We didn’t have computers in those days, so if there was any redoing to be done, you had to do the cartoon all over again. But on paper or on the screen, I find that drawing again and again only makes the cartoon better,” he explains.

Though thrilled with the chance to work with a behemoth like Dainik Jagran , he realised that he didn’t want to be stuck doing comic strips. “I wanted to do serious political cartoons. Soon I moved to a daily newspaper for a while, before going to a newly-launched paper in Lucknow in 1992.” He loved his time in a new city, learning from and mingling with several senior journalists.

“I understood that you can’t become a cartoonist just by drawing well. You must assess what you are trying to say, and your reader must instantly grasp your meaning.” But he had to quit the job in 1996. “I was offered a bribe for not drawing against chief minister Mulayam Singh Yadav. I ignored it for a while, till one day my editor told me not to draw a cartoon against him, when I decided to move to Delhi.”

Computers and cartoons

He was probably among the first cartoonists in the country to draw on a computer. “Dainik Jagran got a computer before everyone else. I familiarised myself with it, working on an extremely slow vector drawing software. But you couldn’t control everything on it, and drawing by hand was faster,” he laughs. “Later in Lucknow, when the paper became a colour paper, I used my skills to draw by hand, scan the drawing and colour it by hand again.

When I first told the processing team that we could do the colouring work at the office, they didn’t believe me. I persisted, saying that they could make separate CMYK plates, and when they tried it, the colours came out well,” he explains.

 English press, ahoy!

Manjul was lucky to get a break into the mainstream English press when he bagged a cartoonist’s job at The Financial Express in 1996, where Prabhu Chawla was the editor. “It was a big deal to come from the Hindi press and get a job with a big English paper. A year later, I moved to India Today after he (Chawla) moved there. They were technically the most advanced, and I got the chance to use a stylus there for the first time.”

The only difference between using a paper and a stylus was the hand-eye synchronisation with the latter. “But the stylus saves a lot of time,” he says.

Throughout all of this, he was learning just how impactful his job could be. “Observation is a big part of a cartoonist’s job. I still struggle every day, it’s never easy. I come to work with no ideas. Often I find that five cartoonists are saying the same thing, in slightly different ways. The best cartoons make fun of somebody without him realising that you are making fun of him.”

Working and networking

Journalists, whether reporters or cartoonists, must work for their readers. “A journalist is only as good or bad as their editor,” he says. Another consideration is the reach and speed of social networking in disseminating information. “Every time people retweet my cartoon, it scares me. It puts additional pressure on me to top my last effort,” he says. “But I must point out that social networking gives people a reference point. To understand a cartoon, you must be aware of the background information. Social networking has actually made my job easier, it makes so much information available that you are never out of ideas,” he explains.

He feels that Facebook and Twitter help him gauge readers’ thought processes, but he doesn’t want to be addicted. “So many editors are constantly tweeting. When do they read their papers, when do they prepare their editions? Also, so many print journalists tweet some really interesting things, but their published stories are rubbish. You can’t take social networking so seriously,” he says.

His story today

He says that the exposure with Hindi newspapers is tremendous, with higher circulation and readership, but he has been happier with editors in the English press. “An editor’s job is to pull you back when your cartoon is too harsh, and I welcome that. Freedom of expression comes with certain boundaries.”

He adds, “Cartoons are art. Art ceases to exist when something is created just to irritate somebody. Cartooning is not about insulting or unnecessarily provoking somebody. Bad cartoons are those that insult, that are created just to prove that you can draw whatever you please,” he says.

Manjul has also written opinion pieces, but only when he is unable to convey the depth of his feeling in cartoons, like after Mario Miranda died. “Also, I wrote a piece when I visited Jaitapur. If I don’t draw a cartoon, I become uneasy. But I regret not travelling more in India, not knowing a lot of things. Right now, this is too exciting for me, so I am not going to take a vacation till 2015,” he grins.

 

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The shoe stopper

Chondamma Cariappa’s blog, The Sole Sisters, lets you find and drool over the prettiest shoes in the country and abroad.
by Ritika Bhandari

This shoe blog will have you go ‘One, two, buckle my shoe…three, four, preen and post’. Adding a fun twist to the old nursery rhyme is a unique blog for the sole which loves shoes, and is aptly titled ‘The Sole Sisters’.

Advertisers are always in search of inspiration, and Chondamma Cariappa was no different. But instead of a commercial, she started a blog titled ‘The Sole Sisters’. The 32-year old Creative Director with Bates Advertising, Mumbai, took a cue from her personal Facebook album ‘Fetish’ and decided to give women all over the world a new pair of shoes to drool on every day.

Chondamma says, “Each time I travelled, I put up pictures of shoes I had bought from various parts of the world. This led to discussions and comments from friends. So I thought, ‘Why not start a blog for women who are passionate about shoes?’ That’s how the idea for The Sole Sisters was born.”

A shoe lover, the Bandra resident talks about how the space constraint in Mumbai doesn’t allow her to keep too many pairs of shoes. Originally from Bangalore, she moved to Mumbai six years ago and owns 50 pairs of shoes.

Her blog prologue reads, “You walk in wearing a nice pair of shoes and somewhere in the room a woman wonders, ‘Where did she get them from?’ and ‘Is she thinner than me?’  Sole Sisters is a blog dedicated to answering one of those two questions.” And Chondamma answers them with pictures of shoes sent in by readers and contributors from across the globe.

From wedges to high heels to knitted ballerinas, the blog features all kinds of lovely shoes. Till date, more than 400 contributors have sent in their photographs and 70 per cent of these are from India. But she says that the international demographic, as well as posts from small Indian towns intrigue her. “Initially, it started with friends and colleagues sharing their pictures. Soon, the word spread and we started getting emails from women all over asking us to feature their shoes,” she says.

Despite the overwhelming response, she only has herself and her friend Parveez Shaikh handling the blog – Parveez handles the PR and marketing for her. But how does one get an entry into the featured posts? Chondamma says, “We give high points to pictures which are shot interestingly or artistically. Having said that, sometimes a great or funky pair of shoes shot in a simple way also makes for a great picture.”

The Sole Sisters blog is definitely growing in popularity with the presence of a Facebook page, and the tags ensure that contributors help to spread the word. “Also, while travelling in India or abroad, when we come across anyone wearing nice shoes, we take pictures right then and there, or just give them our visiting card,” says Chondamma.

There is a website in the pipeline, which will feature sections like shoe reviews, discussions and online shopping, among other things. The first step in this direction has taken place with the launch of the Neon footwear collection by a local designer through The Sole Sisters blog.

Chondamma says that the best part about running the blog are the mails of appreciation she receives from women she has not even met. And yet they connect, not over coffee or clothes but shoes.

Simply put, her blog underlines the fact that a combination of a good pair of boots and a nicely shot, clear picture, can get your favourite pair envious likes, shares and comments. After all, isn’t Cinderella proof enough that a pair of shoes can change a person’s life?

The blog is at http://thesolesisters.blogspot.in

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