MAN'S BEST FRIEND

Of no particular breed, Indian dogs roam the streets of cities and towns throughout India.  Aggressively territorial they stake their claim to a street or area and become its guardians, fending off any perceived intruders, bearing their teeth, snarling and occasionally biting a passer-by.  They are of medium height and usually yellow or black.  Their scruffy, injured existence, finds them anywhere and everywhere, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups scavenging for food, unloved and scarred by battles with man and animal, alike.

The large yellow dog who roamed my street was different - he'd lost a leg and now ran on three, seemingly unimpaired by such an awful loss.  He had developed a barrel chest of muscle to make up for the missing front right appendage - he was a big dog and when I first made his acquaintance, I wasn't sure if he was dangerous - so I approached him cautiously and so we got to know each other.  Every day he would come for a greeting and I would pat his side.  This was our sole contact.

Returning to India after an absence of 2 years, I found the neighbourhood changed beyond recognition - multi story tower blocks had sprung up in a frenzy of building activity - my friend the dog - I called him 'Touser', for want of a better name or '3-legs', was nowhere to be seen.

I had been back a few months when one day I set off in the morning emerging from the driveway into the road - I hadn't walked many paces when I heard a far-off bark, a couple of streets away.  Instinctively I knew that it was directed at me.  I walked on looking up the road into the distance and saw a yellow shape tearing down the road ahead - as the dog got nearer I could see it was running on three legs.  With wagging tail and anxious look 'Touser' could barely contain his excitement !  I crossed the road and he rushed at me, sole front paw up on my chest, tail wagging, he licked my hand in welcome, got down and made a rush at me again.  His joy was palpable.  I marvelled at this little miracle - he'd recognised me from a distance after an absence of two years and not forgotten a friend !

MULTI TASKING INDIAN STYLE

The Documentary Film Maker was to give a presentation of his work in retrospect.  He was 77 years old with an unlined face and dapper figure, without a centimetre of fat anywhere to be seen.  He had won numerous awards for his films, although some had been banned, as being too controversial.  A Documentary Film is essentially story telling, based on known facts - he explained that his motive in making films was to inform and communicate to as many people as possible.  He pointed out that film can reach a wider audience and has the power to move people to action, quite spontaneously.  Ideas came to him from everyday experiences.

Interestingly, this 77 year old film maker was also a Katak Dancer and at the end of his talk, the audience begged him for a demonstration.  Without being asked twice, he whipped off his socks and gave a demonstration of movement, balance and flexibility with a face radiant with energy.

Did the Katak dancing inform his Documentary Film Making or was it the other way round ?  But what is common to both, is the technique of story telling, whether it is through dance and mime or acting and dialogue !

MAHATMA GANDHI AND GRAPHOLOGY

In France, graphology is a very important means of assessing the application of a future employee and determining his suitability for a job.   Standing in the quietness of the Gandhi Ashram in Ahmedabad, I studied this beautiful handwriting of Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)  and wondered what a Graphologist would make of it.  The calligraphy is flowing and confident - i's are dotted and then elegantly looped in attachment to the next word, the tails of y's are similarly looped up to the next word, as are the cross bars of the t's - the rhythm is a perfect balance between forward movement and a long pause. 

Gandhi was born in Gujarat and trained in Law at the Inner Temple in London.  After a stint in South Africa, where he formulated many of his ideas about Civil Rights and Freedom, he returned to India.  He lived at the Ashram in Ahmedabad on the Banks of the Sabarmati River for 12 years and set up a tertiary school for manual labour, agriculture and literacy.  And it was here that he embarked, with 78 companions, on the 241 mile Dandi Salt Protest March in 1930, to highlight the unfairness of the salt tax.

I wondered whether his thoughts would be any different, when applied to the toxic global community that we live in now....!

CHECKS AND STRIPES IN MALABAR

Surprisingly these beautiful colours are 100% organic dyes, the herbs sourced from the forests of the Western Ghats of India in the Northern most part of Kerala, an area known as Malabar.  This mountainous area running parallel to the West Coast of India is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, with a fascinating biological diversity and forms one of the 4 water sheds of India.

Weaving centres were set up in Cannanore, Calicut, Chombola and Tellicherry, under the patronage of the Basel Mission who were active in India from 1834.  Their objective was to pass on Christianity but the main focus of their work was to create employment opportunities for the people of the area.  So they taught printing, tile manufacture and weaving.

Traditionally the local villagers used small pit looms, weaving cotton fabric in their homes, but the Basel Mission, imported huge frame looms and the fly shuttle from Europe and for raw materials, they introduced scientific methods of cotton cultivation.  Women were employed as thread makers and spool winders, giving them economic independence.  Large sheds were erected to house the equipment and in this way they transformed what had been a small cottage industry into an economic enterprise.  By the early 20th c they were the largest industrial entrepreneur in Malabar.  Cotton fabric was exported all over the world, but particularly to Europe.  Kakki mill cloth for the armed forces was manufactured for the first time in India by the Basel Mission !

However, the World Wars saw their influence diminish and by the 1930s many of the Malabar
weaving centres had come under the jurisdiction of the State of Kerala, although small private concerns still exist.

The cotton fabrics in the picture above, are part of an exhibition being hosted by a private weaving centre in Gujarat.    

OH...........THE CUCKOO AFTER RAIN EARLY IN THE MORNING

A FAMILY MATTER

It was the Garba season and monsoon rains and continuing heat did nothing to diminish the general excitement as girls bought garba skirts in bright colours, embroidered with sequins and mirrors and skimpy tops to reveal an expanse of naked midriff.   Nine consecutive nights of dancing, in a swirl of pulsating rhythm and sweat - a test of endurance and stamina, in which everyone participated.

The girl from the slum hung out her spangled skirt to dry, the next festival would be Diwali, some weeks later.  She washed clothes for a living and I could hear her wooden paddle every morning, as she beat and scrubbed the garments in a monotonous and continuous rhythm.

But that night at about 10 p.m., everything changed.  She had met a boy - her father didn't approve.  A fight broke out, raised voices at first, but becoming louder and louder, as his fury increased - the family milled around - the sound of slaps, as blows rained down on the girl.  The situation grew more and more violent and her cries and protestations were of no use - the anger seemed to crescendo in intensity, like a tropical storm.  "Papa, papa",  she wept and cried out in broken, desperate, sobs.

The horrible sound of domestic violence and a terrible beating, continued into the night.  At 7 a.m. the next morning, broken, she whimpered in agony, as they tried to move her.  A few weak, groans and then she slipped away.  A man and woman ran from the dwelling, as if blown by a wind and the shock and finality of her death, was palpable.

A woman appeared wiping her eyes with the edge of her sari, as others used cell phones to spread the news.  Someone was summoned from the town and a group of women stood in a close circle, as they negotiated the cost of funeral arrangements and a stretcher to bear her body away.  As money was counted out from a large wad of notes, it reminded me of a painting or etching, by one of the Northern Renaissance artists, perhaps it was Durer, of the betrayal of Christ by Judas for 30 pieces of silver - the same furtiveness, as money changed hands, in exchange for a life.

By 11 a.m., a few more people had arrived - a gathering.  The girl's body was lifted onto the stretcher, covered in flowers and borne away.   There was a sense of catharsis, of spent anger, calm after the storm.

The next morning, women of the family, washed every piece of clothing, every sheet or mat - every vestige of the shocking night of violence.  And so they moved on with their lives.

"What happened?" I asked the watchman, some days later.  He looked at me quietly and said..."Madam, it was a family matter"........ and with that he turned away.

90' UP !

They didn't exactly shout 'timber', but whatever the local dialect was for 'mind your head, coconut on the way down' !  They were harvesting coconuts at Coconut Creek in Goa.  The South of India produces 90% of India's coconut production and it brings in a good income for the 'strapped for cash' Southern States.  Every part of the coconut is used, coir from the fibrous outer coat, the hard shell itself, produces charcoal, the water of the 'Jelly Coconut' is highly nutritious, containing proteins and antioxidants, then there is oil from the kernel and coconut milk and flesh,  are used in cooking. Even the palm fronds are used for making brooms, etc.

Coconut palms can grow up to 98', so no mean task for the contract workers to shin up the trunk, using footholds cut into the bark and a short rope round the trunk for leverage - they cut the heavy fruit with a panga and down it thuds, with a huge wallop, capable of killing or seriously injuring anyone underneath !

The palm tree, like no other, evokes an image of exotic tropical islands, fabulous holidays and happy sunshine.  But the palm frond is also a symbol for the Christian pilgrimage and the coconut itself, is used in all Hindu Religious Ceremonies, where it is offered to the God, as an important part of the ritual.  And if you want your prayer to be answered, after a visit to a temple, you smash a coconut with gusto and drink the contents !

Harvesting Coconuts