I have been addicted to child detectives
and spies since I was about seven. When I am bored today, my daydreams
are often packed with Holly Short and Harriet the Spy, the Famous Five
and Nancy Drew and, more recently, Andreas Steinhofel’s The Spaghetti Detectives. I am seriously tracking down The Great Cake Mystery, Precious Ramotswe’s first case as a schoolchild. Maybe with a detour via Anushka Ravishankar’s Captain Coconutand theCase of the Missing Bananas.

I am puzzled by the dearth of captivating child detectives amidst the
tidal wave of Indian children's fiction across the last twenty years.
That is why my pulse quickened when I read about Archit Taneja’s
Superlative Supersleuths. Who are they? The talkative, logic-wired
narrator Rachita and her on-and-off sidekick Aarti, both aged about
eleven or twelve. While Aarti is in week-long candy exile, following a
root canal procedure, cupcakes, laddoos and candy go missing from
classroom lunchbox treats. A promising start to an action-packed
narrative, I think to myself.

The assorted dramatis personae have everyday charm. This is as true
of Rachita’s parents, totally in sync with their resident private eye,
as of a dental evangelist who urges the children to quit their sugar fix.
The motley classroom cast includes Arjun, who loves food beyond reason,
and Mrs. Dutta, who teaches maths through thermocol-rich charts. The
four-footed stars – a dog and a pet rat.

Taneja’s writerly mind has a logical, playful quirkiness. I imagine
him being a hit at sleuthing workshops or investigative quizzes that
lead children up the garden path to a giggle-and-guffaw finale. But this
plot lets Taneja down. It has too little pace or tension, too many
meanderings, too meagre a scattering of clues. It trips over extended
detailing – Rachita’s plethora of sheep dreams, a favorite sandwich
recipe, or mundane thanks for a proffered guava.

On an extended revisit after my first reading, I scout for reasons
why. Could it be because the detective duo are not on the same page?
Rachita is immersed in real-time facts, letting her mind roam
irrationally only in her dreams. Of Aarti, she writes: “Aarti hates
detective books. She doesn’t even share the table with me because she
detests them so much. I convinced her once, to read one of them. After
reading a few chapters, she threw it back at me in disgust… She’s into
fantasy books.” Rachita’s voice – whether she is writing or dreaming,
speaking or thinking – could have been delineated with more sparkle and
conviction. The mix does not benefit from the excess of colloquial
“aghhhs” and “ugghs” either. Even the clues lack surprise after the
initial chapters. As a reader, I was upset that I could spot the culprit
early on.

It is not easy to get the Indian child's voice absolutely right in
print and I admire writers who have perfected it – Anushka Ravishankar,
Sigrun Srivastav, Asha Nehemiah, Poile Sengupta, Subhadra Sen Gupta and
Uma Krishnaswami, among them.

I now face a maze of pesky questions. Could the Superlative
Supersleuths have been honed to a smoother finish with guidance from the
editor/s? Perhaps a few drafts more? A sleuthing duo less reliant on
adult help? More action, less sluggish thoughts? But I live in hope.
Perhaps there’s a Superlative Supersleuths sequel in the pipeline. I’m
sure that will live up to Taneja’s latent potential, with a guiding hand
from Duckbill.

To me, Duckbill remains one of my favorite Indian imprints for
children. This book could have been a winner, but misses by more than a
whisker. I wish…

Sunday, 30 November 2014

Art can be an exciting idea, not something one physically owns. This is the spirit that drives the newly-opened Gallery SKE in Bangalore.

(This article was originally published in October 2003)

A shrinking community: Mahendra Sinh portrays the Parsi.

IF YOU'RE art-alienated, it's time to take a look at the new Gallery
SKE, launched on October 18, an open space for ideas that could redefine
Bangalore gallery trends.

The brainchild of Sunitha Kumar Emmart, who earlier managed Sakshi
Gallery, the space takes its name from her initials. Its contemporary,
globally-styled area, bamboo greened beyond sheet glass, boasts of
supporting wall text. The gallery opened with Mumbai-based Mahendra
Sinh's black-and-white Parsi photographs that grow beyond documentation
to lyrical insights.

"I learnt so much from the energy and experience of Sakshi's Geetha
Mehra," says Sunitha, who'll be shuttling between Bangalore and the U.S.
because that's where her American husband, Niall Emmart, runs a
software company. "But while visiting private galleries in New York and
London, I admired their strong, exclusive commitment to select artists."

So, Sunitha opted to focus on three artists whose work she had a gut
feeling for — photographer Sinh, and Bangalore artists Krishnaraj
Chonat, and Avinash Veeraraghavan. "When I moved to New York, I knew I
wanted to be involved in Indian art, but I didn't know in what way. I
needed a back-up space here," adds Sunitha.

Gallery SKE opens at a time when art as commerce governs media matters,
when installation and innovation are replacing oil on canvas and
standard sculpture, when art is defined by ideas, not conventions. "I
admire Mahen for being such a stickler for detail, from the Ilford paper
he prints on to the pasta he makes at home," Sunitha recalls. "He's
taught me so much about photography."

What shaped her stance? "The commodification of art bothers me. With the
lack of public spaces and museums here, I feel it's important for
artists to have a dialogue with other people," Sunitha says. "Ten years
down the line, I have a vision that younger people might want to support
art, perhaps by lending transport to an international artists' camp
like Khoj."

In a society that bypasses visual culture in daily life, how would
Gallery SKE bring this about? By creating cross-strata children's
workshops that unfold the secrets of colour or famous art. By staying
open on Sundays, so that senior citizens can join their families en
route to dinner or other destinations. By inviting the corporate sector
to send its young employees to expand their art horizons. By enthusing
schools to share a show, despite exam-centric pressures. By throwing
open the gallery's collection of books/catalogues to art students. By
organising artist juries to help young talent present work impeccably.
Perhaps, even by training teenagers to curate their own virtual art
shows, an idea Sunitha encountered at the PS One site, affiliated to New
York's famed Museum of Modern Art (MOMA).

As a first step, Sunitha is planning 16-week annual educational modules,
perhaps Sinh introducing the work of various photographers. "Art could
be an exciting idea, not something you own in a physical sense," she
stresses. "I joined the Young Collector's Council at New York's
Guggenheim Museum. You're invited to their openings, after which the
artist lectures on his/ her body of work. They even recommend books to
follow up on a show."

Sunitha sketches in her approach to catalogues. Sinh's show engages us
through poet-critic Ranjit Hoskote's essay, dramaturge Rustam Bharucha's
response, and the photographer's own perceptions.

In the future, she hopes to coax Canada-based novelist Rohinton Mistry
to write the text for an expanded book of Sinh's Parsi visuals.

"I don't see myself as a curator, but I can identify people's potential.
My skill lies in bringing talent together. I'm just the facilitator,"
concludes Sunitha, dreaming aloud for Gallery SKE. "People should be
free to fix a time to come and discuss their ideas, whether they are
finally formalized or not."

(This article was originally published in The Hindu Metroplus, Bangalore, on October 27, 2003)

Friday, 10 October 2014

I LOVE THEATRE. As much as I love writing, reading, travelling~ or even breathing, I guess.

At school in Jaipur, I loved being on stage. Transforming
into an 8-year-old boy in shorts at 15, playing Red Indians and cowboys, Minnie
Mouse voice, silken ponytail, and all. Or being an ancient crone in a ghost
story, with my hair powdered and streaked, my brow artfully etched with eye
pencil.

But what I loved just as much was watching scenes come
alive once the curtains went up. Especially when Geoffrey and Laura Kendall’s
Shakespearana troupe visited us at Maharani Gayatri Devi Girls’ Public School
annually. Their dramatic opening line still lingers in my memory, words I took
with me to Stratford-on-Avon and the recreated Globe theatre in London, ‘When
Shakespeare played, the stage was bare, the throne of England was a chair in
Shakespeare’s time…’

I felt so at ease while reviewing English theatre in
Madras (not yet Chennai) during my first decade at Indian Express, especially
brilliant productions at the Museum Theatre by directors and players like Vimal
Bhagat, Ammu Matthew, Mithran Devanesan, and Nirupama Nityanandan.

When I relocated to Bangalore in May 1992, I went
into mourning. As a viewer, I felt theatre during the Deccan Herald festival
fell flat at Chowdiah Memorial Hall, so large, so impersonal, with acoustics
more suited to music than theatre. Even Ravindra Kalakshetra, where I watched my
first magical Ratan Thiyam play, seemed cold when compared to the Museum
Theatre.

As if in answer to my prayers, Ranga Shankara was
inaugurated in J.P. Nagar in October 2004. I have been in celebration mode ever
since. The intimate space is perfect and heart-warming. So is the endearing
warmth of its founder Arundhati Nag.

Now that Ranga Shankara turns ten in October 2014, I
look back with wonder ~ and tenderness and incandescent joy. As a theatre buff,
I would like to offer a personal tribute by sharing ten random, unforgettable moments
through which I celebrate the first decade of Ranga Shankara. Here goes:

Arundhati Nag

~ ~ Listening to Arundhati Nag share the
theatre’s raison d’etre in 2004,
during an interview I did for The Hindu
Sunday Magazine: “This theatre will strive to bring Karnataka to the centre
stage of world theatre, as well as to bring world-class theatre to the common
man in Karnataka.” A dream achieved, quite irrefutably.

~ November 2004. Lahore-based Ajoka
Theatre’s Ek Thi Nani, in which
theatre veterans Zohra Sehgal and Uzra Butt played out a plotline parallel to
their own lives as sisters. Sehgal, then 92, had a fever when she stepped off
her flight. But her never-say-die spirit saw her through to a standing ovation,
bypassing coughs, pills and improvisations. I salute them both, onstage and off
it.

Measure for Measure

·~ November 2005. Director Simon McBurney
and his Euro-British Complicite theatre set the stage on fire with his interpretation
of Measure for Measure as a take on
the Bard for our time. Electrifying both
as drama and social commentary. I even interviewed McBurney between two
back-to-back performances, the chai he requested brought to us by young
playwright Swar Thounaojam. More recently, Swar’s plays have come to life at
Ranga Shankara.

·~ June 2006. Germany-based Gracias Devaraj
and Uwe Topmann in Nino D’Introna and Giocomo Raviccio’s ‘Robinson and Crusoe,’ a rollicking tale of two warring soldiers
marooned together. Enacted in English and (yes!) gibberish, it had an audience
of mainly schoolchildren rocking with laughter in their seats. As adults,
hugging our knees on the steps and in the aisles, we joined in.

·~ April 2008. Under the Mangosteen Tree, directed by Rajiv Krishnan of Perch from
Chennai. That was in its initial avatar as Sangathi
Arinhya, a celebration of Malayalam writer Vaikom Mohammed Basheer’s life,
personality and brilliant stories through a tight-knit, evocative production.
In tandem with black-and-white images of Basheer’s life by Punaloor Rajan and a
Moplah food festival at Anju’s in-house café.

·~ June 2011. The stellar Indo-German
premiere of Boy with a Suitcase,
which I found rivetting enough to revisit thrice with different friends in tow.
A Ranga Shankara collaboration with Mannheim’s Schnawwl Theatre, it captured
dilemmas about culture, continents and identity brilliantly, especially through
outstanding performances by M.D. Pallavi and Shrunga B.V.

·~ March 2012: Director Sunil Shanbag’s Stories in a Song, his tribute to music
as theatre (in collaboration with Shubha Mudgal and Aneesh Pradhan). Spanning
seven theatrical anecdotes (some
apocryphal?), it encompassed notes from Sufi geet to Kajri, brilliantly held
together by seasoned performers

·~ October 2012: An outstanding global
Shakespeare festival. Still luminous in memory thanks to plays like Atul
Kumar’s Piya Bahurupiya (Twelfth
Night) in nautanki style, the Tblisi-based Marjanishvili Theatre’s Rogort’s Genebot(As You Like It) in Georgian (a play within a
play, with backstage onstage and exquisite costumes), and even a Kiswahili
rendition of The Merry Wives of Windsor,
notable for its impeccable comic timing.

The Kitchen

·~ August 2013. Roysten Abel’s totally
experiential theatre in The Kitchen,
inspired by Rumi’s kitchen at Konya in Turkey. Its highlights included a 22.5
ft. high set, 12 mizhavu drummers from Kerala live, and two actors cooking
payasam from scratch onstage for the audience to taste when the last notes died
down. Calling sight, sound, taste, smell and touch into play, we experienced
theatre as a microcosm of life.

***

Thank you, Ranga Shankara for
bringing the best of local and global theatre to me. For energizing me to dash
from Cooke Town to J.P. Nagar every time you bring a good play to Bangalore.
For tempting me with sabudana vada and akki rotti at Anju’s Café, so I am never
late for a show.

I had not imagined such a dream run
when I first watched the staircase, the toilets, the café, the box-office and more
fall into place over slow months in 2003- 2004.

What can I wish you now, dear Arundhati
and Team Ranga Shankara? Cheers to the next brilliant decade! And perhaps the
next hundred years?