Her “mind’s diary”
By Humra Quraishi
THE season has just begun and the Copernicus Marg-situated Lalit Kala Akademi lies cramped. And in one of its six galleries stand out Aradhana Tandon’s paintings—figures of men and women, human forms looking for help, solace and peace. A few happy or contented, the rest as though in some sort of deep turmoil or else wanting to escape. And though these works initially come across as rather routine and amateurish, a closer look could change your perception. For they seem to portray what the artist yearns to put across. Probably, that’s why Tandon has titled these paintings as “My Mind’s Diary.”

Serial on life in valley
By Kavita Bhargava
MUCH water has flown down the Jhelum since the eruption of militancy in the state of Jammu and Kashmir for the past 10 years. The media has given a lot of coverage to the turmoil in the valley. Doordarshan also has not remained behind in projecting Kashmiri society, its problems, insurgency and rich heritage through its various programmes, including serials, tele-films, documentaries, current affairs etc.

Magic of Raina’s theatre formulae
By Nonika Singh

“THEATRE isn’t the art of make believe, but the magic of reconstructing time.”

“Theatre isn’t demagogue or propaganda. It most certainly is a means of recreation, but not a medium of senseless entertainment.”

“Out of myriad emotions that a human mind celebrates, crying is as important as laughter.”

Musings of a man who lives and breathes theatre. Please behold M.K. Raina, celebrated theatre director whose thought-provoking observations are as enlightening as his riveting plays. Plays like “Parai Kukh”, a reference point in history of Punjabi theatre, “Kabira Khada Baazar” with a shelf life of over 10 years, and “Muvawaze” amongst others have withstood the ultimate litmus test i.e. the test of time and are relevant even today.

In City Beautiful recently to conduct a workshop organised by Chandigarh Sangeet Natak Academy, in an animated tete-a-tete Raina builds up a strong case for the efficacy of theatre. He contends, “The role of theatre in a society just can’t be wished away. Its place is as vital as say a hospital or a school.”

Calling for nurturing of think-tank of human minds, however, Raina rues that the cause of theatre is being undermined by the very people associated with it “for all sorts of amateurs believe that they can indulge in theatre.”

Theatre, according to him, is an acquired skill, a specialised training. Though he himself has passed out of the hallowed portals of the NSD, Raina doesn’t argue that the country’s premier institute is the only training ground. In fact, he recalls that most of what he learnt at the NSD has been undone by first-hand knowledge of personal encounters. He says, “The pedagogue that I have developed over the years is borne out of sheer experience”. Experience that encompasses not only plays, but telefilms and movies as well.

Associated with parallel cinema ever since Raina made his debut on the stage, the actor in him quips, “It’s a bliss to be directed.” But then he has worked with art cinema’s stalwarts like Kumar Sahani, Budha Dev Dasgupta, Govind Nihalini et al. However, mainstream cinema “not my world” has never beckoned him.

Lashing out against commercial tinsel town, which he calls a huge super market seducing people to repose faith in false values and beliefs, Raina says, “Even a critically acclaimed film like ‘Bombay’ fails to grapple with reality. Instead of tackling the complex issue of minority psyche, the film romanticises the notion of Hindu-Muslim unity without probing deeply into the monster of communalism”. For this Kashmiri who hasn’t seen his home for 10 years, communalism isn’t a political slogan to be hijacked for personal gains, but a harrowing reality which has only firmed up his resolve to fight against this virus spreading in our socio-political system.

Accepting the epithet of radical conferred by friends and foes alike, Raina doesn’t believe in sugary syrupy presentation. Emotions, according to this sensitive director, cannot exist in isolation, but are relevant within a particular milieu. Good theatre by its very genre disturbs the status quo and re-examines the present system. So in this sense it is anti-establishment, unless accepted as an equal partner in a throbbing democracy which alas India is not.

Often his plays like “Oppenheimer”, which relives the secret trial of the American scientist, go beyond mere staging and was accompanied by a great arms super bazar to evoke feelings of repugnance amongst viewers who had to spend half an hour at the exhibition before watching the play. Besides, through innumerable projects which involve ordinary men, women and tribals, he is trying his utmost to use people as catalysts not to usher in a revolution, but at least create a ripple somewhere.

Married to a paediatrician, this science graduate sees no contradiction between art and science and feels that theatre is as exact a science as any other discipline. He adds, “If the formulae go wrong, the net results go haywire.” However, formulae do not hit him like a bolt in the blue and ideas don’t come like a flash. Instead, the seed germinates in his mind for years before it transforms into a sapling. For instance, though he chanced upon a book, “I am an untouchable,” years ago, it’s now that he is working on the stage adaptation.

At the moment Raina’s cherished dream is to televise Sadat Hasan Manto’s short stories for he hails Manto as the greatest Urdu, nay Indian writer, in the country. Presently Raina’s 52-episode serial, “Bulbul Shaakh,” is on the air.

Guided by the Gandhian philosophy, “Whatever you do, think of the most deprived person before you act,” Raina looks back at his life as a brook which despite rocky obstacles has continued to move on. For someone who thinks that man’s right to fail is as fundamental as to succeed he muses, “Well the brook might dry out.” But, the way his fountainhead of creativity is springing forth, it’s not likely to happen for a long, long time.

Her “mind’s diary”
By Humra Quraishi

THE season has just begun and the Copernicus Marg-situated Lalit Kala Akademi lies cramped. And in one of its six galleries stand out Aradhana Tandon’s paintings—figures of men and women, human forms looking for help, solace and peace. A few happy or contented, the rest as though in some sort of deep turmoil or else wanting to escape. And though these works initially come across as rather routine and amateurish, a closer look could change your perception. For they seem to portray what the artist yearns to put across. Probably, that’s why Tandon has titled these paintings as “My Mind’s Diary.” “The colours, themes and treatment reflect the state of mind at any given time. They are therapeutic... by expressing my anger, happiness, sorrow, disappointment, elation etc, they serve as the ideal catharsis....”

But ironies do stand out. When I ask this 47-year-old artist whether turmoils within and around were responsible for her getting drawn towards this medium, she sounds confused. “ Though I have been painting as a child, I took it up seriously only about eight years back.” Why? Because I used to feel suffocated and painting provided a relief, a soothing effect.” But, then, in the same breath adds that she has never suffered any disappointments in life. “I have got the best in my life— the best children, the best husband, in fact the only thing that is not best is me, myself!”

With that as I look at her eyes, they look sad and strained. And then as I look at her paintings, the connection is right there. Those works reflect the pain and yearnings of a woman who, perhaps, is in sorrow. And looking for a means of escape from that sorrow for several of her work depict the human form in deep meditation or equipped with wings to either soar high or else fade into oblivion. As she quietly adds, “ I’m becoming a loner.I am happy by myself, happy in complete solitude. Earlier I used to attend several kitty parties etc, but now I don’t feel the need to do so.” But then adds that after a day’s hardwork — running the house and painting — she doesn’t mind partying and socialising.

Perhaps, like her paintings she is in a state of evolution, still on the lookout for the exact direction. The day she manages to find that, her work will automatically reach that much-needed maturity and all gaps and voids would lie sealed. Not only that, the jottings from her “Mind’s Diary” will become bolder and louder.

Now that she has taken step number one of labelling her paintings as “ My expressions and feelings find a legitimate release on canvas....” I am sure that she would go a long way.

Serial on life in valley
By Kavita Bhargava

MUCH water has flown down the Jhelum since the eruption of militancy in the state of Jammu and Kashmir for the past 10 years. The media has given a lot of coverage to the turmoil in the valley. Doordarshan also has not remained behind in projecting Kashmiri society, its problems, insurgency and rich heritage through its various programmes, including serials, tele-films, documentaries, current affairs etc.

Till now Doordarshan has aired a number of serials on Kashmir on its national and metro channels. Militancy and turmoil in the valley is a favourite subject with producers these days. The subject is so powerful that even renowned theatre personalities Nadira Zaheer Babbar and M.K. Raina could not stay away from it.

Old NSD classmates, Nadira and Raina have teamed together to produce and direct a 52-episode serial titled “Bul Bul Bagh” for Doordarshan. The serial has already been started from DD-I on every Friday at 9 p.m.

Depicting the life of the Kashmiri people living under the shadow of insurgency, the story touches the lives of the common masses very delicately. A sudden bomb blast, indiscriminate firing, innocent killings, massacres, excesses by security forces and militants, bloodshed and other traumatic experiences, which have become a part of the lives of the Kashmir people, have been portrayed quite sensitively by the director.

Raina, director, who himself is a renowned theatrist and had recently directed Shubha Mudgil’s video “Ali More Angana,” while talking about the serial informs that the story revolves around five middle class families living at Bul Bul Bagh, the garden of nightingales. The families are of a vegetable seller, a barber, a porter, a baker and a tangawalla. Among these families, Naseem, teenage daughter of the bakery owner, is the only girl who goes to school Jameel, the tangawalla, takes her to the school on his tanga (horse-cart). While ferrying her daily to the school, Jameel and Naseem fall in love, but Naseem’s parents are keen to get her married off to Parvez who belongs to a rich family and his recently returned from the USA after completing his studies.

Raina says the serial is a true picture of the events that shape and reshape Kashmiri lives and their aspirations. It also reflects the rich culture of the Kashmiris, their way of life, customs, traditions and rituals.

The director informs that though the serial has been produced at Film City studios, Mumbai, every care has been taken to give a realistic touch to the characters and the entire surroundings and sets. Besides, dresses, utensils, mats and other such things used by Kashmiri families have also been properly used on the sets. For this, a thorough research had been conducted by the production unit before the commencement of the shooting.

Talat Rekhi, who hails from Kashmir, is the writer of the serial. As he has spent his childhood and college days at Srinagar only, he has been able to portray life in the valley quite beautifully from the days of normalcy to the present turmoil.

Krishan Langoo, who had also given the music for the famous serial “Gul Gulashan Gulfam is the music director and Ashwani Kaul, another Kashmiri, is the cinematographer of the serial. Every frame has been shot with great patience.

Raina who is also performing a role in the serial says a sincere effort has been made to project the reaction of the Kashmiri people against militancy in the valley.

The other artistes include prominent Jammu TV artiste Ravi Braroo, Sheikh Samee, Deepak Qadir (Manisha’s uncle in the serial “Saans”), Rajesh Jais (Nanoo of soap opera “Shanti”), Reymon Singh, Rohitash Gore, Madhuri, Sanjeev Dixit, Zakir Hussain, Geeta Tyagi, Samta, Gian Prakash, Satish Jeet Sharma, Aman Hegde and Talat Rekhi.

by B.N. Goswamy
Early, look at Kremlin

THIS note is about a marvellous, richly illustrated, 16th century manuscript on Russian history, which has an altogether unusual interest. But, before I head towards that, a word or two about the terms that would be necessary to use: terms like “illumination” and “illustration”.

No one is really to blame, but there is some confusion — most people are in any case unable to tell the difference — between the two when it comes to manuscripts. The two terms are often used interchangeably, even if the former words comes from Latin, illuminare, which — relating as it did to oratory — meant “to adorn”, while the latter is derived from illustrate, “to elucidate; shed light upon”.

Since early books written by hand were often “adorned” or “elaborated upon” as much with colourful patterns and designs as with figures, the term “illuminated manuscripts” is generally taken to cover books with work of both kinds accompanying the written text. Nearer home, however, we tend to distinguish between “illumination” and “illustration”, the former taken to mean decoration of a floral or geometric kind alone — pages bearing the look sometimes of magical gardens in bloom —, and the latter consisting of work of a figurative kind: whole scenes possessed of the same wonderful intensity that one sees sometimes in miniatures.

Thus, one knows great manuscripts, from the eastern traditions, which are “illuminated” but not “illustrated”: the holy Quran, for instance, is never illustrated, meaning that it has no figurative work, on account of religious taboos in force; old, hand-written copies of the sacred Guru Granth Sahib, again, feature only “illumination” on their pages, all “illustration” or figurative work being left out from them. Jaina manuscripts, of revered works like the Kalpasutra, on the other hand, routinely feature both illumination and illustration, as one knows. There is a whole range thus that one can cite from.

But, to get back to the Russian manuscript — the Codex — that I started speaking of. Titled “Litsevoi Letopisny Svod”, it has been described, aptly, as one of the most “celebrated monuments of Russian medieval culture”. Not as well known to the rest of the world as some of the great masterpieces of the art of illumination and illustration in Europe — like the 8th century “Book of Kells”, or the 15th century “Tres riches Heures” by the Limburg brothers — the Russian work is truly monumental, and ambitious, in its conception.

With the history of the world — as known to the Russian writers of the times — as its canvas, nine volumes make up the work — most of them in the former USSR Academy of Sciences in Leningrad —, with as many as 16,000 paintings illustrating the text. Understandably, a great deal of attention is reserved for the history of Russia, till 1567 AD, and the painters return again and again in its pages to their beloved Moscow and the Kremlin, with close to 2,000 paintings treating of events connected with them alone.

Everything comes within the painter’s ken: architectural landmarks — the domed cathedrals, the sloping-roofed civic buildings, the massive defensive structures —, imperial campaigns, the life of the princes of old, happenings in the royal household, visits of dignitaries and saints. Turning the pages of the book has been likened to moving through time and space, surrounded by images of great, luminous vividness.

The manuscript would not perhaps qualify as one of those “Imperial” projects on which the finest painters and scribes of the age used to work together. But the work has about it a disarming honesty, an earthiness of approach, which goes straight to the heart. Within the limited spaces available to them, and with the need to provide terse visual equivalents to elaborate literary passages, the painters seem to have gone about compacting things, telescoping events and settings with a robust sense of the appropriate.

Here, on these softly coloured pages, a different, distant world unfolds. Aspects of fortified towns appear compressed; the viewer is allowed the privilege of peering at everything as if from a balcony, with things outside high walls made as visible as happenings inside them; figures rise tall so as to tower even above high structures; domes and turrets and gables are closely pressed together, all space between them having been sucked out, as it were. But there is great clarity in the designs and, despite much abstraction being employed, no room for ambiguity is left.

Two of my favourite illustrations, from among the few that I have seen, are: one, a scene of a group of artists engaged in painting a fresco on the wall of the newly finished (1344) Cathedral of the Archangel Michael; and, two, the rendering of the installation of a clock in the Kremlin, in 1404, by a Serbian master-craftsman for the Grand Prince of Moscow.

In the scene of the painting of the fresco, with the cluster of the five domes of the cathedral looming above everything else, and apprentices mixing pigments at the side, the group of painters form a wonderful study, all huddled together, each with a brush in hand, each looking up with eager devotion at the image of the archangel that is now nearing completion.

And the scene of the Kremlin clock the painter is able to invest with a sense of great excitement, with the master-craftsman pointing with an expansive, almost breathless, gesture, to the clock that now occupies a space high up on a church tower, pendulum and all, while Prince Vasily looks up with evident satisfaction, even as he extends a royal finger in token of appreciation. There is no drama in these paintings, no tumultuous event: just quiet recording of past facts with a sense of history and of time.

Marginal information

Speaking of manuscripts, one always tends to look, when one has the opportunity, for information concerning date, place, name of the scribe and the painter, which might have been incorporated in a copy, whether in the form of a proper colophon, or as a marginal note. Sometimes one finds it; but at other times one is in for surprise bits of information. At the end of a copy of a sacred scripture, I saw recently a note of several lines that simply contained a recipe for making black ink, siyahi da nuskha. On another, on the end-page was noted, of all things, a prescription for the preparation of an oil to cure all bodily aches. Speaking of being down to earth!