It is disappointing to see 'Yugadi' being spelt as 'Ugadi' in majority of English print and electronic media. Not only advertisements but also headlines spell it as 'Ugadi' with elan.
The word Yugadi is made of two Sanskrit words 'Yuga' meaning year and 'Adi' meaning beginning (yugasya adi = yugadi, beginning of the year). In Roman script the former word is always written as 'Yuga' not 'Uga'. If it is so then why would one write the word in question as Ugadi when it is an extension of Yuga?
If one still insists on sticking with 'Ugadi' then 'Yoga' will be 'Oga', or 'Yahoo' should be 'Ahoo' or better still 'You' should be 'Ou'.
In a similar situation about a name being written wrongly in Kannada, I told a former editor of a widely read Kannada newspaper about it. A few days later, after consulting a couple of linguists, he told that the popular usage is alright even if it is lexicologically wrong. I was flummoxed. It is the case of a lie turning into truth when told over and over again.
Now, do 'ou' want to correct the mistake or commit it time and again until it becomes the norm? As the Kannada saying goes, raayara kudure katte aagutta? Will the king's horse turn into a donkey? 'Ou' decide.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
My Blog is Going Places
Yeah, you heard it right! My blog is going places. Other day I came across an online article on doll tradition of south India and when I checked the 'source' section at the end, I was grinning wide at the monitor when I saw that my blog had been given a pride of place there. The article by Annapurna Garimella is well written. You can find the article here.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Childhood Jingle
Avalaki
Pavalaki
Kaanchana
Mina mina
Daam... Doom...
Duss... Puss...
Koin... (n is nasal)
Kotaar...
I heard this jingle today after a long, long time since my childhood. Whenever someone farted, we kids used to sing this to embarrass them. We used to pinch close our nose and I think we were also dancing in a particular way while singing so that it sounded and looked awkward.
The jingle does not mean anything because except two nouns (Avalaki and Kaanchana) all other words are gibberish. This jingle brought a flood of memories of those years.
Pavalaki
Kaanchana
Mina mina
Daam... Doom...
Duss... Puss...
Koin... (n is nasal)
Kotaar...
I heard this jingle today after a long, long time since my childhood. Whenever someone farted, we kids used to sing this to embarrass them. We used to pinch close our nose and I think we were also dancing in a particular way while singing so that it sounded and looked awkward.
The jingle does not mean anything because except two nouns (Avalaki and Kaanchana) all other words are gibberish. This jingle brought a flood of memories of those years.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Encounter with an Eminent Lensman
Early in the morning this wednesday, Gyani and I drove to the house of legendary photographer, T.S. Satyan who lives in Saraswatipuram. After we got the octagenarian on board, we drove to a small hamlet, Hemmaragaala which is about 15-20 kms after Nanjanagud towards Chamarajanagara. We were on a mission of photo shoot at Santana Venugopalaswamy temple there.
T.S. Satyan is a celebrated photojournalist of India; he was born in 1926 in Mysuru and after a highly successful career in photography he returned to his beloved city for good.
As an amateur photographer, I always harboured a desire to see this living legend at work. He had seemed elusive and unresponsive during all my previous encounters with him, though I never vocalised my desire which laid buried deep down inside. When Gyani told me about the trip on Tuesday evening I was like 'hey some one pinch me...'
At Hemmaragaala Satyan was in his elements. The pristine and quaint charm of the hamlet impressed the photographer and he started shooting immediately. He saw me carrying a digital camera and without me asking started telling how to compose a photograph, which angle looks good, what kind of light is better, etc. Only then I could muster myself and asked him, why does he prefer black-and-white photographs over coloured ones. Well he seemed disappointed with my question, of course it was stupid, but nonetheless explained why.
Satyan showed me the scene he had just shot and told that the if the photo were to be in colour it would be dull but when it is in black and white, we can click it in a higher contrast and the texture of the scenery is highlighted which would otherwise get distracted by the colour. It was a revelation for me.
During our drive back home we crossed another hamlet of Badanavaalu. Satyan became nostalgic and said that he had taught in that village. This came as a surprise since we didn't know he had worked as a teacher. When Gyani told him that, his reply was amazing.
In pre-independence India Mysuru was being ruled by Wodeyars and under kings like Mummadi Krishnaraja, Chamaraja, Nalwadi Krishnaraja and finally, Jayachamaraja, Mysuru progressed in all aspects, be it infrastructure, culture, irrigation, economy, literacy, etc. One among the many things that Mysuru pioneered was the adult literacy programme. For the first time in the country Mysuru initiated this concept and college students were supposed to go to rural areas and teach adult village folk. This was kind of a rural posting which they had to do for a few months in order to qualify for the graduation and Satyan was posted at Badanavaalu and surrounding villages.
Satyan revealed that along with adult literacy another movement that was initiated in Mysuru was Youth Hostel which has now grown into the gigantic Youth Hostels Association of India. He started recounting his fellow scouts and friends who went on to occupy international offices.
At this point my eyelids started growing heavy and I was lulled to sleep by the drone of the car and the breeze. Though I consciously love it, unconsciously I still seem to get bored of unknown names and dates of history. My snores betrayed my best intentions and I was later told by Gyani that they earned a look of disapproval by Satyan. Well, that's my encounter with T.S. Satyan as close as I have ever got.
T.S. Satyan is a celebrated photojournalist of India; he was born in 1926 in Mysuru and after a highly successful career in photography he returned to his beloved city for good.
As an amateur photographer, I always harboured a desire to see this living legend at work. He had seemed elusive and unresponsive during all my previous encounters with him, though I never vocalised my desire which laid buried deep down inside. When Gyani told me about the trip on Tuesday evening I was like 'hey some one pinch me...'
At Hemmaragaala Satyan was in his elements. The pristine and quaint charm of the hamlet impressed the photographer and he started shooting immediately. He saw me carrying a digital camera and without me asking started telling how to compose a photograph, which angle looks good, what kind of light is better, etc. Only then I could muster myself and asked him, why does he prefer black-and-white photographs over coloured ones. Well he seemed disappointed with my question, of course it was stupid, but nonetheless explained why.
Satyan showed me the scene he had just shot and told that the if the photo were to be in colour it would be dull but when it is in black and white, we can click it in a higher contrast and the texture of the scenery is highlighted which would otherwise get distracted by the colour. It was a revelation for me.
During our drive back home we crossed another hamlet of Badanavaalu. Satyan became nostalgic and said that he had taught in that village. This came as a surprise since we didn't know he had worked as a teacher. When Gyani told him that, his reply was amazing.
In pre-independence India Mysuru was being ruled by Wodeyars and under kings like Mummadi Krishnaraja, Chamaraja, Nalwadi Krishnaraja and finally, Jayachamaraja, Mysuru progressed in all aspects, be it infrastructure, culture, irrigation, economy, literacy, etc. One among the many things that Mysuru pioneered was the adult literacy programme. For the first time in the country Mysuru initiated this concept and college students were supposed to go to rural areas and teach adult village folk. This was kind of a rural posting which they had to do for a few months in order to qualify for the graduation and Satyan was posted at Badanavaalu and surrounding villages.
Satyan revealed that along with adult literacy another movement that was initiated in Mysuru was Youth Hostel which has now grown into the gigantic Youth Hostels Association of India. He started recounting his fellow scouts and friends who went on to occupy international offices.
At this point my eyelids started growing heavy and I was lulled to sleep by the drone of the car and the breeze. Though I consciously love it, unconsciously I still seem to get bored of unknown names and dates of history. My snores betrayed my best intentions and I was later told by Gyani that they earned a look of disapproval by Satyan. Well, that's my encounter with T.S. Satyan as close as I have ever got.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Miss You
Your smile has faded for me, I miss you...
My arms've forgotten your hug, I miss you...
I can't smell you anymore, I miss you...
No more of your sweet lips, I miss you...
Oh, that song again, I miss you...
You can never be mine, I miss you for good...
...
Monday, December 31, 2007
A Gift On New Year's Eve
Gyani and I were driving down from Bengaluru to Mysuru this evening. At Channapatna we decided to check on the person who is working on new dolls. 4-5 months ago I had designed a set of dolls for the first time and had given them to him to convert the 2-dimensional design into 3-dimensional dolls.
Channapatna is known for the craft of lathe turned wooden lacquerware. Dolls and toys that are crafted here are cute and liked for its simplistic design and minimal decoration. Wood is turned on either manual or motorised lathe, and the colour is also applied simultaneously; only extra details like facial features are hand painted. Hence the overall look of the doll/toy is rounded and curved.
While giving the designs I was unsure whether that guy will really work on them, hence I was reluctant today to go in. Anyway I waded through the messy place to a room where he took out some pieces from a carton box. Initially they looked like some unwanted pieces of dolls thrown into waste bin, but I went speechless as I took a closer look. There they were, the dolls that I had designed in full form. Whoever had worked on the dolls had done so diligently and whole heartedly, for he had recreated the design exactly.
Hmm... I am now a designer, officially. Thanks Gyani, for introducing me to my potential. This is my new year's gift.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Babaiah the Tiger Boy
Six years old Charith is the youngest and wildest among my four nephews. He has always been independent minded; even as a toddler didn't allow anyone else other than his mother to hold or cuddle him.
Last Saturday my sister called me and asked whether I can dress up Charith for a fancy dress competition at his school on Monday. I asked her whether he's ready to get dressed as he had created a racket last year and hadn't allowed me even to touch him. I could hear his stern voice in the background asserting that he's ready to dress up as anything but a female.
It was 8.00 am on Monday and I hadn't yet finalised the costume. There were three choices - a. Newspaper costume; b. Karaga carrier; c. Babaiah or Huli Vesha or Tiger dancer.
9.00 am at my sister's place, I am hoping that Charith will once again throw a tantrum and I am spared of handling the little terror. I asked him whether he's ready to be a Karaga carrier which required him to wear only a loin cloth for which he refused flatly. I was sure he will say no to Babaiah (tiger dress) since he had to wear only an underwear brief.
I was quite surprised when he said yes; he was excited with the prospect of being a tiger. Okay! the kid was unpredictable as usual. It was time for me to work without wasting time because I had only 45 minutes, the competition started at 10.00 am.
I mixed turmeric powder with coconut oil and applied the herbal paste on the scrawny frame of my nephew. His pale skin was now a glowing amber. I painted him amber from head to toe, even the face, kind of body painting.
Next was the tricky task of painting bubris. Uma, my sister, passed me the tiny case of home made kohl. With my index finger as the brush, I smudged a little kohl on it and started carefully creating bubris on the amber body of Charith. What I was dreading all this while, happened suddenly. Charith realised that he is being very calm and obedient which is so unlike him and began tapping his foot, scratching his back, stretching or stiffening limbs; it was as if he was a participant of 'Non-cooperative Movement.' All his movements were very non-cooperative for me.
In the meanwhile my bro-in-law was sent on a tiger-tail-hunt, by me. The poor chap hadn't even had his bath and was running around to find a tail for his son (how much more weird can this sound?) like Shiva went around to find a head for his (okay, this one's weirder). Well, he bought a black woolen rope which was wound with a yellow cloth to resemble the tiger's tail.
Tail was ready but the brat was not. He thoroughly enjoyed the cartoon programme on TV while I was made to go around him smudging black bubris pattern. I begged, ordered, bribed, pleaded, commanded and did everything, but to no avail. He had turned a deaf ear to me and I had to work on my own.
Finally, I smudged his nose tip black with kohl, four black dots on each cheek and red lips for a dramatic effect. The tail was tied and I asked him to be natural and just be himself on stage. I was wonderstruck when he told with a cunning grin that he will go on stage, scare the wits out of his teachers and still not be punished.
Epilogue: Babaiah or Huli Vesha means Tiger costume. Men and boys paint their body in the patterns of tiger bubris or leopard spots including their face and go out in procession during festivals or any community/cultural parade. They gyrate wildly to the virile music of crude drums and cymbals.
Last Saturday my sister called me and asked whether I can dress up Charith for a fancy dress competition at his school on Monday. I asked her whether he's ready to get dressed as he had created a racket last year and hadn't allowed me even to touch him. I could hear his stern voice in the background asserting that he's ready to dress up as anything but a female.
It was 8.00 am on Monday and I hadn't yet finalised the costume. There were three choices - a. Newspaper costume; b. Karaga carrier; c. Babaiah or Huli Vesha or Tiger dancer.
9.00 am at my sister's place, I am hoping that Charith will once again throw a tantrum and I am spared of handling the little terror. I asked him whether he's ready to be a Karaga carrier which required him to wear only a loin cloth for which he refused flatly. I was sure he will say no to Babaiah (tiger dress) since he had to wear only an underwear brief.
I was quite surprised when he said yes; he was excited with the prospect of being a tiger. Okay! the kid was unpredictable as usual. It was time for me to work without wasting time because I had only 45 minutes, the competition started at 10.00 am.
I mixed turmeric powder with coconut oil and applied the herbal paste on the scrawny frame of my nephew. His pale skin was now a glowing amber. I painted him amber from head to toe, even the face, kind of body painting.
Next was the tricky task of painting bubris. Uma, my sister, passed me the tiny case of home made kohl. With my index finger as the brush, I smudged a little kohl on it and started carefully creating bubris on the amber body of Charith. What I was dreading all this while, happened suddenly. Charith realised that he is being very calm and obedient which is so unlike him and began tapping his foot, scratching his back, stretching or stiffening limbs; it was as if he was a participant of 'Non-cooperative Movement.' All his movements were very non-cooperative for me.
In the meanwhile my bro-in-law was sent on a tiger-tail-hunt, by me. The poor chap hadn't even had his bath and was running around to find a tail for his son (how much more weird can this sound?) like Shiva went around to find a head for his (okay, this one's weirder). Well, he bought a black woolen rope which was wound with a yellow cloth to resemble the tiger's tail.
Tail was ready but the brat was not. He thoroughly enjoyed the cartoon programme on TV while I was made to go around him smudging black bubris pattern. I begged, ordered, bribed, pleaded, commanded and did everything, but to no avail. He had turned a deaf ear to me and I had to work on my own.
Finally, I smudged his nose tip black with kohl, four black dots on each cheek and red lips for a dramatic effect. The tail was tied and I asked him to be natural and just be himself on stage. I was wonderstruck when he told with a cunning grin that he will go on stage, scare the wits out of his teachers and still not be punished.
Epilogue: Babaiah or Huli Vesha means Tiger costume. Men and boys paint their body in the patterns of tiger bubris or leopard spots including their face and go out in procession during festivals or any community/cultural parade. They gyrate wildly to the virile music of crude drums and cymbals.
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