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Himachal hydel projects |
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This above all
TOUCHSTONE
On the record by
PROFILE
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This above all
It must be more than 50 years ago when I was living in London to gather material from the India Office library to write my two-volume “History of the Sikhs” (OUP). I took a break of a couple of weeks to be with my parents in Delhi. On my way back to England, I took a British Airways flight which touched down in Karachi to pick up Pakistani passengers. I was travelling economy class and found a window seat at the end of the plane. The seat beside me was vacant. I ordered a Scotch-and-soda dinner to be served after the plane picked up passengers from Pakistan. By the time Pakistani passengers were shown to their seats, I was somewhat sozzled. To my utter delight, the seat alongside mine was allotted to a newly-married girl of around 18. She was in her bridal attire, including ivory bangles (choora) covering both her arms. She turned out to be quite a chatterbox but spoke only Punjabi. I have related this encounter before, adding more mirch maasala to each narration. She opened the dialogue as dinner was served. She picked up a slice of bacon and asked me, “Soor da maas (is it pig’s meat)?” I replied, “Yes, it is pig’s meat”. She dropped it on my plate saying, “Soor khaanaa haraam hai”. I picked up a slice of beef from my plate and dropped it on hers, saying “Gaan da gosht haraam hai (cow meat haraam hai). So we got chatting in Punjabi as she spoke no English. I asked: “Naveen, naveen shaadee hoi hai (Are you newly married)?” “Haan — pichhlay haftay” (Yes, only last week). “Gharwala kithey” (Where is your husband)? “Lunnan” (London). She took out a photograph of her husband and showed it to me. “Kee karda hai” (What does he do)? “Naukree” (Service). “Pahley milley sao” (Did you meet before)? “Na, na, sirf fotoo vekhee see” (No, no, only saw his picture). “Nikah kivain hoya” (How did you get married)? “Foon tay, Qazi Sahib nay usnoo foon marya, tay puchhia, meher kitnee deynga” (How much will you pay her as dowry)? Then he asked her on the phone: ‘Qabool ay?’ and she replied it was acceptable to her. He pronounced them man and wife, all done on the “foon”. So we chatted on and on through most of the night before we dozed off in the early hours of the dawn. I woke up and found myself holding her hand. At London’s Heathrow airport, we stepped out of the plane with me carrying her hand luggage. Her husband, relations and friends who had arrived at the airport in large numbers to welcome her were bewildered to see me. After embracing her in turns, they asked who I was? “Naal dee seat tey bathia see (he was in the seat next to me), naan shaan nahin pata (don’t know his name or anything). Gapouri bahut hai (he just kept on talking).” And finally she added: “Saaree raat suttey nahin” (We did not get a wink of sleep). I never got to know how she explained her conduct to her husband and in-laws. Fighting taliban I signalled to Ravi to cut the connection; I am expecting a call, I mouthed at him. He ignored me and continued to discuss some fine points of Quranic exegesis. I wrenched the receiver away from him. He would have resisted but for the fact that he was still clad in a precariously knotted towel, which had to be kept in place with one hand. “Hello, hello,” said the voice on the other end. Then it continued in chaste Urdu, “As the Quran Sharif says in its infinite wisdom…” “Excuse me”, I said in chaste Urdu too, “the connection is extremely bad. I cannot hear you very well”. There was a bit of beeping. The guy evidently had a team working on the technology. Volume and audibility increased. “Is it better now?” the anonymous proselytizer asked. “Hello, hello,” I replied, “I cannot hear you…” “Just a second, janaab. Don’t put down the phone”. “Hello,” I said, “hello, hello, hello….” I put the receiver down. The phone rang again in two seconds. I put it down once more with a string of strangulated hellos. Ravi came out of his room, buttoning his jeans, bare-chested, he shook his head. “You, my friend, are the reason why the infidels are winning,” he said. (Tabish Khair in ‘How to fight Islamist terror from the missionary position’, “Fourth Estate”). Matrimonial What does conferring of Honoris Causa degree amount to? Ans: “Bin phere, hum tere”. Gratis post Identify a post which one gets by chance. Ans: Chancellor More pull Q: What does having 21 chief parliamentary secretaries against 18 ministers in the Punjab Government mean? Ans: Moustache is longer than the beard. (Contributed by
K.J.S. Ahluwalia, Amritsar) |
TOUCHSTONE IRA PANDE
On May 3 this year, Satyajit Ray, arguably India’s greatest filmmaker, would have turned 90. When he passed away in 1992, shortly after he was given the Lifetime Achievement Award by the American Academy of Motion Pictures, and the Bharat Ratna by the government of the day, Ray was just 70 years old. Gravely ill by then, one of his last public photos shows a gaunt man lying in a hospital bed, clutching the coveted Oscar trophy. To fully appreciate the poignancy of that image, one has to go back to this man’s work to understand why in cinema, as perhaps in all art, the less shown and said, the better. A Ray film is sheer cinematic poetry, where image and nuanced expressions, restraint and an understated passion makes dialogue almost irrelevant. In “Shatranj ke Khilari”, Ray hardly uses any dialogue, yet he brings alive all the nuances of the political drama rocking Avadh by concentrating it all on a small chess board and a game of chess. Perhaps all garrulous Bengalis that one sees and hears regularly on news channels should pause to appreciate the subtlety of this Ray-ism. Ray belonged to an aristocratic Brahmo family of Kolkata, more comfortable in the traditions of western classical music and culture than his own. A true Renaissance man, Ray was a brilliant illustrator and graphic designer (his name graces a typographical style he devised), a writer of mystery tales and short stories for children, a music composer and film critic. Above all, he was passionately fond of films and every aspect of filmmaking. He personally wrote scripts, directed lighting and camera work and scored unforgettable melodies and music. He sketched detailed instructions before he filmed a scene, and so perfect was his capacity to visualise an image that he rarely deviated from that mental graph. Yet, despite his great admiration for the western world and his cosmopolitan outlook, Ray retained a proud Indianness that made his oeuvre full of compassion and understanding of the travails of ordinary Indians. His depiction of the austerity and dignity of a peasant’s life was as real as his portrayal of the loneliness and decadence of an empty, rich zamindar household. This is perhaps why, whether we understood Bengali or not, we lined up to see a Ray film whenever it was released in Allahabad or Lucknow, the towns I grew up in. I must have been a mere 5 when I saw “Pather Panchali” for the first time in 1956 in Lucknow. My mother, who had been a student at Santiniketan along with Ray, took us along to see it with her. I was amazed to see how much of the film had stayed with me when I saw it almost 30 years later in Chandigarh at a film appreciation course. A Ray film stays with one for a lifetime, for it unfolds its magic slowly. Like Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland”, its appeal reaches different levels of understanding as one matures. In an age that seems bereft of icons and ideals, a Ray film is a reminder that the true heroes and heroines of this world are those ordinary, almost insignificant, men and women whose struggle to exist is an unending battle against poverty and pain. If anyone truly understood the “aam admi”, perhaps it was this gentle giant. His despair at the cruelty of life was so beautifully balanced with his faith in the indomitable human spirit that he never left his viewers devoid of hope. How one wishes this same mood could now be created. However, there is so much anger and loathing about the current situation that people thrash around trying to find something worthwhile in their lives but usually give way to despair. Many young people I speak to nowadays are disillusioned with politics, governments, institutions and the media and one can see why. But they must realise that the country will be theirs to govern very shortly and who will they then blame and what will they themselves do? It seems to me that despite the heavy load of books that our young children carry to school every day, they are not taught anything about the political system, how governments work, or the relationship between voters and their elected representatives. What is most shocking of all is that most have never heard of a social contract. And as they only read blogs and Twitter, one worries that they have no idea of how to change things for the better. Today, ideas go ‘viral’ within seconds only to die out as soon as another fad arises, and since most young people suffer from ADD (Attention Deficiency Disorder), their concern lasts all of half a day (or night). Lasting concerns, permanent solutions, reflective debates or slow-fuse books and films are now part of another age, another generation. This is why it is important to recall the great debt that we owe to all our cultural icons: they created an alternate world, peopled by characters whose lives revealed for us innumerable possibilities of affirmative action. From Ray’s famous debut in “Pather Panchali” to his last film, “Agantuk”, his work flows like a river: never still but ever there. He was perhaps our Mount Fujiyama, where the cool snow on its surface only concealed the bubbling lava beneath. |
On the record by An alumnus of the National School of Drama, Pabitra Rabha, 36, is a multi-faceted artiste who has carved a niche in the world of theatre with his penchant for working on unusual themes. His unique effort to introduce dwarf artistes into the world of theatre in a play titled “Kinu Kou” (What to say) has earned accolades all over. Born at Tangla in Assam, Rabha has been on stage in various part of India as well as abroad — acting and directing. He has set up a theatre group, Dapon (Mirror), at Tangla to develop talent in the Northeast. As an actor, Pabitra has played the title role in “King Lear”, besides acting in several feature films, including “Tango Charlie”, “Mukhbir” and “Kaya Taran” — all Hindi — and “Alexandra David Nil ”(French). One of his widely appreciated creations, “The Rhythm of Bardoisila”, revolves around traditional folk dance forms of the Northeast. The Tribune spoke to Pabitra to know of his unique experience: What inspired you to take up a project specially for dwarfs? I wanted society to realise that dwarfs are just the same as us, except the height — the same dreams and desire for a life of dignity. However, we never give them their due and respect. Many end up entertaining us as jokers in circus. I wanted to give them an opportunity to showcase their talent through my special play “Kinu Kou”, featuring them as artistes. What was the response? Do you think it made any difference to the status of dwarfs in society? “Kinu Kou” was an instant hit with theatre buffs in Assam and outside, as it had added a new dimension to theatre. The artistes worked with exceptional zeal to prove a point. Noted theatre personalities and directors such as Anuradha Kapoor were awed when they saw the play at the national festival in New Delhi in January 2012. The overwhelming response was very encouraging for the artistes. How did you find and select the artistes? I have a pet lifetime project, “Amar Gaon (our village)”, under which I want to set up a centre for dwarf people on the lines of SOS Villages. I want to give them a place where they can live a life of dignity, doing what they can and want best. The project was started in 2008. It took me four years to spot and pick willing dwarf individuals from various parts of Assam. We had to try very hard to persuade their guardians to allow them to come with us for a better future. The guardians were apprehensive, as society has generally been cruel to dwarfs. We held workshops in their houses to convince them to join the project. We managed to spot at least 70 dwarfs in the age group of 5-60 years, including nine girls and women. We trained about 30 for the play. We want to train them in other skills too so they may become self-reliant. There will also be a vocational training institute at Amar Gaon. How do you compare dwarf artistes’ performance to others? There is hardly any difference. Only a few technical problems arise because of their stature, which can be resolved. Their performance level is reflected in the success of “Kinu Kou”. Has all this changed their life? They have become discernibly more confident, realising better things are possible in life. It was a momentous occasion when a dwarf couple from our group — Nayan Daimari (36) and Torasona Mohilary (35) —married in February this year. About 800 people attended the wedding. That speaks volumes of their change in attitude. Has there been any help from the government in your efforts? The Bodoland Territorial Council in Assam initially helped us conduct a workshop to train these artistes for the play. Now I am trying for a repertoire grant from the authorities. Any new major project for the special artistes in the pipeline? This year they will be involved in two productions of my theatre group, Dapon. They will act along with other artistes so that their talent is tested in a regular situation. They should also feel they don’t need special treatment all the time because they are as normal as anyone. |
PROFILE The World Heart Federation, only global body dedicated to leading the fight against cardiovascular diseases (CVDs), will soon be headed by an Indian. Dr Srinath Reddy has been elected president of the Geneva-based WHF, an NGO devoted to prevention of heart disease and stroke globally, with focus on low and middle-income countries. Dr Reddy is the first Indian ever to hold this position. At present, he is president of the Public Health Foundation of India and former Head of the Cardiology Department of the All-Indian Institute of Medical Sciences. Dr Reddy says: “CVDs are collectively the main cause of death across the world, and have been increasing at an alarming rate in low and middle-income countries.” His first task would be to protect people from acquiring heart disease and provide them timely, effective and affordable care. Health services, he says, should enable risk reduction and cost-effective management of disease at all levels. “The WHF will catalyse these policies at the global level and assist national efforts through capacity building and collaborative research”. Every year, 17.1 million people die of CVDs. Well recognised in preventive cardiology, Dr Reddy has also provided outstanding leadership in tobacco control, which is responsible for nearly 5 million deaths annually. CVD is the number one killer of women worldwide — a fact most people are not aware of. Dr Reddy also has the distinction of having kept two Prime Ministers in good health — the late P.V. Narasimha Rao, and the present incumbent, Dr Manmohan Singh. He has believed in keeping a low profile, but when Dr Singh fell ill, as head of the Prime Minister’s health panel Dr Reddy was thrust into limelight. He has been quoted as saying: “The PM’s physician should always be available, but never visible”. The Prime Minister’s Office, however, decided Dr Reddy would be the single point of contact for media briefings during the PM’s stay in hospital. The doctor came under criticism for having advised the Prime Minister surgery. Many thought it would have been better if Dr Singh had opted for angioplasty. After the decision was taken, Dr Reddy informed Dr Singh and his family about the various options. Dr Singh just took five minutes to say, “On the balance of possibilities, let’s go for surgery”. Dr Reddy later said: “The PM’s recovery was the fastest I have seen. He has tremendous willpower. He repeatedly said he had to get back to work as soon as possible.” It was a moment of pride, as Dr Reddy had delivered the nation’s Prime Minister safely back home, and in good health. Dr Reddy is the son of a senior Congress leader, the late K. Raghunath Reddy, who was a Union Minister and Governor of West Bengal. But instead of politics, Dr Reddy preferred medicine for a profession. The cardiologist has a literary bent too, having won the ECAAR Global Peace Essay contest (adjudged by 11 Nobel laureates in 1992), and the Times of India essay contest on human rights. He was also a prize-winning debater at the university level. |
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