At a recent party, the conversation veered rapidly from brandy and mulled wine to beauty and appearances. Amidst the general cheerful banter, a small group of people were discussing children with severe disabilities, especially the toll it takes on the parents. One guest happened to ask – ‘if parents had prior knowledge about a child’s mental disorder ‘before it is born’, then wouldn’t it be better to simply abort the pregnancy rather than face a lifetime of suffering?’

My first instinct was: If abortions based on children’s disability were to become common, then we tend to become very intolerant as a society.

It is estimated that 6 to 10% of children in India are born disabled. The statistics are only expected to rise.

Take a look at the statistics on this UK website.

‘1 in 4 people will experience some kind of mental health problem in the course of a year’

‘About 10% of children have a mental health problem at any one time’

If we knew ahead of time, would we simply axe a quarter of the population, or perhaps one tenth of all children?

The above argument is, however, idealistic.

We live in a world where anything less than ‘perfect’ faces some form of social rejection (forget the fact that perfection itself is over-rated and I am yet to come across a ‘perfect’ looking person – who has not had a nose-job or boob-job, that is!). That being the case, children who have severe mental disabilities might just be far more vulnerable than others, with mental illness often being regarded as taboo.

Brace yourself and click this link to get a idea of the wide range of disabilities. They range from physical to mental, and from mild to very severe. They could be very insignificant disabilities, whereas some could greatly hinder a normal life for an innocent child!

As Indians, I believe disability is a STIGMA. This link clearly impacts our thought process.
As I see it, the aspects that most influence the decision of abortion are:

1) Social stigma: Ridicule and Rejection.

As I remember it, about two to three decades ago, there was not much awareness of ‘special needs’. Take a simple example – A child wearing thick glasses or a crippled by polio child were often mercilessly teased as ‘blind’ or ‘lame’.

It gets worse as the disability is more severe. Take a child who suffers, say from ADHD. Due to sheer ignorance, the most likely reaction at school would be conferring the label ‘hyperactive’ or ‘wild’ child. Or take the case of an autistic child. The common man is quite likely to reject the child from social circles by branding him or her ‘mentally retarded’. Imagine the enormous social disadvantage.

A lot of research has gone into the spectrum of disabilities and special needs. Unfortunately though, awareness at a common level, is still not adequate. Therefore, a child with severe mental disability is likely to have a really hard time.

Is it kind to allow the child face the ‘big, bad world’?

2)Responsibility or Burden on personal resources.

We don’t quite have the concept of social protection or support in India. Unlike countries such the UK, where the state provides tremendous amount of support (carers, financial arrangements, free special needs schools, etc.) In India, health/education and social care needs are entirely the responsibility of parents and immediate family. The red flag here is: When will the primary (and perhaps, sole!) carer snap? There is a very delicate line differentiating ‘responsibility’ from ‘burden’. After all, carers are human too.

3) The great Karmic circle Guilt!

While abortion is often considered a crime, we often add the Karmic dimension to it, and make it a ‘sinful act’.

Apparently, abortion is legal in UK if the child is ‘that there is a substantial risk that if the child were born it would suffer from such physical or mental abnormalities as to be seriously handicapped’.

Abortion is legal in India too, under certain specific medical circumstances. However, the concept of ‘sin’ attached to abortion results in the feeling of guilt.

Now, the big question:

What is cruel and what is kind? Is aborting a severely disabled child cruel and heartless? Or is it simply an act of kindness to rescue a child from a life of hardship?

What do you think?

Photo credit: Reuters

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When I was younger, I would, as some sort of a recurring joke, facetiously ask my mother, what she would do if I were an atheist (although I see nothing funny about this question now.) She would reassure me, quite sincerely it seemed, that she would always respect whatever faith, or non-faith for that matter, I chose to follow. Nevertheless, my mother would quickly follow up with a smug grin: “But you’re not having any ideas, are you?”

Well, I am having ideas right now. I don’t believe that I am an atheist but I find certain tenets of Hinduism much less appealing to reason than certain aspects of atheism.

So how did this transformation occur? How did the girl who once scoffed at atheism as the hallmark of callous, joyless weirdoes learn to celebrate its virtues?

This year, amidst college applications, I’ve been doing some reading. In my English class, we explored existentialism and after learning about it, I revealed to my mother what I knew about the philosophy. I explained that existentialists believe that the world is absurd because (1) human beings have a proclivity to impose order upon the universe and (2) this despite the fact that the inherently chaotic universe resists any such preordained meaning.

This notion might sound grim, however, existentialists believe that the best way to wrestle this absurdity is by living authentically – that is, faithfully to one’s own spirit despite external pressures such as social mores. While I found the existentialist ethos liberating, my mother found it, as a whole, too edgy.

Apart from reading existentialist works, I also read those of noted atheists, namely Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens. They made the case against organized religion and all the atrocities it has and continues to foster by indoctrinating its followers. In April of last year, when The NRI published an article about India’s shameful regard for the late Sathya Sai Baba, I found myself especially irritated. The notion of criticizing a prolific philanthropist just seemed irreverent. Sure, I thought, Sathya Sai Baba promoted religious complacency, but so what? He gifted his docile followers with modern necessities and they innocuously followed his teachings.

It wasn’t until I read the writings of the aforementioned atheists that I saw the urgent danger of grandiose divine claims such as those of Sathya Sai Baba. They encourage a lack of inquiry and deference in the place of spiritual inquiry. This same ignorance, while meek and fawning one moment, turns manically proselytistic and violently intolerant the next.

At this point, I began looking at Hinduism critically. If seeking truth and reason is the noblest endeavor, then the superstitions (vastu shastra, for instance) that Hinduism entails become void. So too do the ideas of reincarnation and vasanas – some sort of karmic remnants of a past life that contour the present – deem themselves false.

My mother is, to put it lightly, upset about these recent changes. But why wouldn’t she be? Wasn’t this transformation something my ancestors would never have been able to imagine? Haven’t I just lost my religion?

The answer is maybe. The Gita, at its crux, makes one claim that it is not religious but rather entirely spiritual. It asserts that the concept “God” is, quite simply, the life source within every living being. Here, it doesn’t claim to know the beginnings of the universe or try to impose some moral order. It doesn’t encourage deference. It holds none of the trappings of religion. Rather it uses the concept of “God” to encourage a respect for the life – the oneness – shared by all living things. In this vein, this version of Hindu spirituality encourages that we conscientiously make the most of our life and our intellectual capacity.

Hinduism – not as a religion, but as spirituality – promotes that which atheism – the inherent celebration of reason and intellect – and existentialism also uphold. It is here where I currently find myself.

But what is the evidence for my position? What is the evidence that the very life inside every living thing is godly? There is none. I know this one detail sounds contradictory to what I have been seeking the entire time. However, what my position is backed by, more importantly, is reason: If the concept of “God” suggests the noblest being, what use is it to endow this stature to some unworldly force? Why not dedicate our time to living righteously for the sake of the life that every creature shares instead of paying paeans to an outside deity? Call this line of reasoning opportunistic. I call it worthy of our effort.

Photo credit: humanistlife.org.uk

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Two Indian newspapers have recently exchanged critical television advertisements about each other in an effort to draw customers away from the competition. This has led some reporters and commentators to use the words ‘foray’, ‘blitzkrieg’, ‘battle’ and especially ‘war’ [1 2 3 4].

I will now draw some awkward comparisons between India’s newspaper war and the Hundred Years’ War between England and France.

1) Like the Hundred Years’ War, India’s newspaper war has been going on for a really, really long time. Its principal adversaries, The Hindu and The Times of India, are both more than a hundred years old and between them sell in excess of five million papers per day across the nation. It is a conflict of immense volume and just as either side’s momentum can be irresistible, so too can its inertia be crippling. Meanwhile, their subjects – the readers – have more or less forgotten a time when there wasn’t a war on. Newspapers spitting and tearing at each other’s pages has become the norm.

2) Both are conflicts between north and south. Valois, smelling of cheese and snails, rudely scouted settlements on the English Channel, while Plantagenet brought grandiose manners, protocol and entitlement along on their numerous forays into French territory. A few hundred years later, any market share for Chennai-based The Hindu in north India is a matter of frustration for Delhi-based The Times of India, as are TOI’s attempts to secure south Indian markets. The Hindu, of course, speak English that is a mixture of pre-Independence verbosity and a comical Tamil accent, while TOI truly believe that the rest of the country should think, act and speak in line with their Amit ways. (Actually yaar they probably already do, right?)

3) Both ‘The Hundred Years’ War’ and ‘India’s newspaper war’ are terms invented by observers to lump a series of individual events together. This is an attempt to simplify and make sense of a nebulous, far-reaching whole, and also an effort to assign these events extra significance. Chennai has been the chief battleground since 2008, when TOI entered the market, and Feb 1st 2012 marks the official start of the Battle of Kerala. The fight marches ceaselessly onto new fronts, with new alliances (such as TOI’s with Malayalam newspaper Mathrubhumi in Kerala), decimating more and more areas of the news media landscape.

4) Dirty tactics are part of the game. In Middle Ages France, the rules of ‘total war’ meant there were no rules against slaughtering innocent peasants en masse as a means of provoking the enemy. In 21st Century India, the mass judgements are a little more subtle but only a little less damning: in this TV advertisement from late 2011, TOI suggests The Hindu readers are sleeping through the nation’s current events; then, in this series of ripostes, The Hindu suggests TOI readers are ignorant of important news but well-versed in the irrelevant. The Hindu’s campaign, being cruder and more offensive, has naturally generated the most attention on social media.

5) The Hundred Years’ War bears little influence on France-England relations, or the average Lucas Martin or Oliver Smith, today. (World War II, in which they fought on the same side, bears only slightly more.) The outcome of India’s newspaper war may yet mirror that of the 1400s, with The Hindu reclaiming and securing the South and TOI scurrying back to the North before they get slaughtered. Meanwhile, however, more and more Indians are turning to social media sites such as Twitter and Facebook to keep up to date [1 2 3 4]. At present, they represent a barely observable minority compared to the hundreds of millions of Indians who do read newspapers (and watch television), and a tiny proportion of Indians overall. But their numbers are growing. The Indian newspaper war, for all its bluster, will almost certainly end up as just another footnote in the history of Indian news media.

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In a country obsessed with cinema and filmy music, it is truly a feat to maintain a loyal fan base with non-film albums. But considering the immense talent and unique music of Kailash Kher and his band Kailasa, it’s no surprise they are one of the most popular bands in India. After three memorable and successful albums – Kailasa (2006), Jhoomo Re (2007), and Chaandan Mein (2009) – Kailasa is back with with their new album, Rangeele. As the title suggests, it’s a colorful album, but ‘colorful’ in the way that Kailasa does best – soulful music influenced by folk, sufi and western traditions.

The album doesn’t exactly start with a bang, but instead with the melodious, calming and foot-tapping Rangeele. It’s just as effective. It’s a mostly acoustic song with hints of saxophone and flute that give it a classy flair. It also sets the mood for the rest of the album, which stays melodious with rustic influences blended in.

The next track, Tu Kya Jaane, actually goes one step better than the title track. It’s a song about unrequited love and a complete devotion to that love, but remaining fairly upbeat throughout. Kher’s soulful voice carries the track through its beautiful arrangement. The cherry on the cake, however, is whenever fellow band members Naresh and Paresh come in with the chorus. The harmony between Kher, Naresh and Paresh works really well, especially the last two minutes of the song where the tempo builds. This one will make you go for repeat listens.

Albeliya starts on a slow piano track, which gradually builds into a rather catchy arrangement. However, the vocals and lyrics don’t carry as much gusto as the two previous tracks. The best part here remains the arrangement.

The following track, Yadaan Teriyaan, bears a suspenseful, haunting quality from the very beginning. A song about haunting memories, the orchestration and Kher’s vocals have an intensity that works well to evoke a sense of longing. It’s one of the instances where Kher proves once again the great versatility of his voice. The Yadaan Teriyaan Acoustic version  has a much more somber feel to it, not as intense or haunting. The effect is that of a song that is more sad and dejected, which is not quite as impactful as the original version.

Kher jumps right into Daaro Na Rang, kicking off a beat that calls for almost immediate foot-tapping. The song has a very unique arrangement, blending what seems like Middle Eastern and country western influences with a steady drum beat.

Kathagaan is an incredibly refreshing track in the album. It changes the tone immediately with its peppiness. Kher seems to be having fun with this song, getting into the full spirit of singing a story. It also helps that the arrangement and vocal backing is inspired, adding a new sound to the  already diverse Kailasa palette. A fun listen!

The following song, Babbaji, makes a complete flip turn, going for a much more somber mood. It’s worth a listen but one of the weaker tracks in the album since it doesn’t offer anything too new to the album.

The mood picks up once again with Samvaad (Hudkaan Maan Bitti), a fast-spaced, comical song. Kher once again has fun singing this one, playing with his pitch, tone, and even accents. The song also features a special appearance by Kher’s two-year-old son Kabir, whose vocals add a good dose of innocence to the whole track.

One of the special tracks in this album is Dharti Pe Jannat Ka Nazara, which brings in Amitabh Bachchan for a short cameo. However, more than the cameo, the song itself is uplifting, spirited and memorable. As Kher told The NRI in an interview, the song was composed for the show ‘Kaun Banega Crorepati’ (the Indian version of ‘Who Wants To Be A Millionaire’), which would explain Bachchan’s cameo and also its generally upbeat feel. It’s short and sweet, but makes you want it to be longer.

The album ends with Ujaale Baant Lo, an evocative song that allows Kher to explore his more serious side. The song warns of darkness taking over the world and calls for the spreading of light. It’s a meaningful listen but perhaps not the best choice as the final track of an album that has otherwise maintained a colorful, spirited feel throughout.

Kailasa’s Rangeele adds another feather in the band’s accomplished cap. They retain their unique charm and wonderfully fused music throughout this album as well. As with their previous albums, Rangeele boasts songs that will be remembered down the line, proving once more that Kailasa is one of the best contemporary bands in India today.

For more information on Kailasa’s upcoming world tour, visit Saregama Events.

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That night Mr. Daler Mehndi kept me company in my loneliness as I drove the 400 miles and the eight-hour stretch between Virginia and Connecticut. While he sang “Amritsar se Amrica hil gaya, Dulha mil gaya, dulha mil gaya” (Rough translation: The world is shaken from Amritsar to America …. Because we found the groom) in a loop, my thoughts had gone on to the auto pilot mode, wondering what made him so sure that someone had found the groom. Where in hell was the groom? It is a different story if the groom is in Amritsar right now, but if he was in Amrica, surely I have not seen him.

Looking at the vast expanse of the freeway, stretching hundreds of lonely miles in front of me and eventually leading to menopause and infirmity, I sighed not for the first time at the irony of the song. It was not the I-95 North I was thinking of, it was the freeway of singlehood, the freeway where all our journeys started. However, every now and then, exits took you to another parallel freeway- the “Marriagehood” freeway. You could in fact see, wave to, and honk at all your friends in the other freeway.

Early twenties, fresh out of college, some of my friends took the exit and changed freeways. I was happily driving in my freeway, looking forward to a few vista points like an F-1 visa stamped on my Indian passport, Benjamin Franklin and Gandhi ji living harmoniously in my wallet, some international travel magnets on my fridge, and the independence to make my choices without being a trailing partner. My friends claimed that they could change freeways and look for the same vista points, but some of them never reported back. I assume they found their own unique vista points, like honeymooning in the Bahamas, respite from the nightmare of not dying single, observing Karwa Chauth as a national holiday, posting pictures of hubby dear holding a bunch of roses, updating Facebook with “<3 you honey, come back from office soon, made Rajma Chawal for dinner, XOXOXO” type status updates, and promises of a more fulfilling drive (pun unintended).

As I drove along, my better friends started to change freeways. They waved me goodbye and exited. I often wondered how it must feel like to drive in the other freeway. For here was a basic driving rule. Once you left your singlehood freeway, there was no coming back. If you figured out eventually that marriagehood freeway does not work for you, there was yet another freeway somewhere far down you were banished to. It was really far, as far as Burkina Faso, and none of my friends had ever reported back from there. Some researchers even claimed that people who took the marriage freeway lived healthier, with good cardiac health and prolonged longevity. I thought I will drive some more and find out what my freeway had to offer. My heart was beating just fine.

The drive has been awesome so far, barring a few hitches like sitting through parties yawning while listening to women rant about impending annual visits of their mother-in-law. Graduate school, gainful employment, backpacking Europe, independence, respite from planning out February the 14th, writing, convocation, dissertation, everything happened eventually. Yet recently I looked at my freeway and was shocked to see it almost empty. My best buddies who once sang “Yeh dosti hum nahi todenge” (We shall never end this friendship. Movie: Sholay)with me are all driving that same motorbike and singing the same song to different people in a different freeway. Not good news. I started seriously thinking about changing freeways, especially after parents, grandparents, and best friends all honked and waved at me multiple times, asking me to take the next exit. Although I was not really hoping to find Ranbir the Rockstar waiting for me at the other freeway, I had to ensure that at least someone was waiting. Have you ever driven on the road, knowing that you should probably take the next exit, yet you keep missing exits because of a poor navigational instinct? I missed a few exits, while Daler Mehndi persistently screamed, “Dulha mil gaya, dulha mil gaya”. Driving alone is not fun come wedding season, with all the words of wisdom of the responsibility of passing down my wonderful genes as an obligation to humanity that spills gratis with every annual visit to India. My relatives and neighbors even point me to the passing fields along the freeway, indicating to birds flying in pairs and buffaloes grazing in pairs. They enlighten me, saying nature has meant us to live in pairs. Such profound wisdom brings tears to my eyes!

As I keep driving, the weather gets a little rough in my lane. I suddenly hear the tick tock that I wrongly thought was a time bomb planted in the car until someone tells me that it is indeed a time bomb, also known as my biological clock. I sigh, realizing that as I drive farther ahead, the exits drastically reduce in number. An old driver far ahead of me puts on his emergency lights, indicating to me, “There are no more exits left out here, if you need one, you better get to the other freeway soon!” Soon there will be a point beyond which there would be no more exits to take, and I will have to keep driving with that knowledge, the time bomb of my youth already detonated. Sometimes, some suspicious and creepy drivers who got a traffic ticket and were banished to the Burkina Faso freeway honk at me to get my attention. Their suffering and optimism once again brings tears to my eyes!

I keep driving in my lane, getting unsure with every missed exit. Pushpa coyly enlightens Ramesh Babu in the background, “Ek chutki sindoor ki keemat tum kya jano Ramesh Babu” (You know not the value of a pinch of vermilion Ramesh Babu. Movie: Amar Prem). I nervously look at my balding forehead in the rearview mirror. Pushpa is right, I should probably understand the value of a pinch of vermilion, perhaps for the sake of hiding my receding hairline. For I have even heard rumors about how my lane eventually ends in a black hole.

Amidst this honking, biological clock ticking, and missing exits, I drive along my lane in the darkness of the night. Daler Mehndi has stopped singing “Dulha mil gaya”. It is little respite that the next song in the playlist is “Ooh-La-La-Ooh-La-La, Tu hai meri fantasy” (Ooh-La-La-Ooh-La-La, You are my fantasy). Paints a pretty “Dirty” (and scary) picture.

Photo credit: Faramarz Hashemi

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In an industry where fickle item numbers and Hindi remixes rule the Indian charts for a few weeks before vanishing, the music of Kailash Kher has stood the test of time. As a singer, lyricist and composer, Kher is considered one of India’s top musical talents and rightly so. If you’ve heard ‘Allah Ke Bande‘, ‘Teri Diwani‘ or ‘Saiyyan‘, you’ll agree with us.

His powerful voice, poignant writing and inspiring personality have made him a household name in India and across the globe. Thanks to his populist approach and knack for writing catchy hits with his band Kailasa, Kher has helped bridge the divide between traditional and contemporary styles.

Gearing up for his very first world tour in April with his band, Kher tells The NRI why performing live across the world and creating his fourth album, Rangeele, is more meaningful than simply selling units.

You’ve just released your new album titled Rangeele with your band Kailasa. How did that come about?

Rangeele is my fourth album in conjunction with my band Kailasa who I have been with since 2004. Our fans globally have been quite angry on Facebook demanding to know why we hadn’t released something for a long while. The kept asking for us to come up with new stuff so it was long overdue.

What can your fans expect from Rangeele?

The album features eleven original tracks that are about discovering love from different perspectives.  Rangeele is my accolade to love in all its forms, be it longing, passion, patriotism, devotion or even hatred. It is also my gratitude to all my listeners since this is a reflection of my observation of my fans through my eight year career journey.

Love is a recurrent theme in Indian music. Is it possible to make an album without a tribute to love?

Yes of course! Love fascinates me, which is why I write about it. But people write about anything and everything and that is okay. You are free to create whatever you want for entertainment. I always joke that wherever there is alcohol available there are also love, prayer and enlightening (laughs). It’s an individual choice.

Legendary Bollywood actor Amitabh Bachchan is one of the surprise highlights on the album. How did you get him on board?

Apart from acting Amitabh ji is a great musician and singer because he knows folk music. He comes from a background of music and poetry as his father was a well known poet. I invited him to join us on ‘Dharti Pe Jannat Ka Nazara’, a song we were working on for the television show Kaun Banega Crorepati (Indian version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire). I requested him to sing a few lines for that and he agreed. Once he did that we were all excited. To our surprise he came to our Kailasa recording studio and sang, so we just had to include this in Rangeele.

Your two-year-old son Kabir (pictured above) makes his singing debut in Rangeele. How did he end up contributing?

We were all surprised when we heard him humming the tunes as we created them in the studio. But as soon as we put him in front of the microphone he would get shy. We put in our best efforts and finally captured his vocals for Samvaad (Hudkaan Maan Bitti) which is a light-hearted song inspired by my childhood.

Your lyrics are often spiritual and intimate in nature. What kind of writing process to you go through when creating a new song?

When I write lyrics I don’t do that in formal written form but in the spoken language which we call ‘bol chal ki basha’. Then I compose a very intense melody and then Naresh and Paresh Kamath, my Kailasa music partners, kind of come up with a very real and organic song. So our sound is a very unique in its own way and our fans are more of a niche yet mainstream audience. They are very sincere and genuine and count our music as more of a classic form, a kind of a collector’s edition.

Your rich, powerful voice has earned you comparisons to Pakistani legend Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Is that a badge of honour or burden?

It’s a huge compliment but with that comes responsibility. I don’t take it lightly. Nothing can get me carried away because my beginning was very tough and I came through big hardships that made me realise that nothing comes easy. And if it does come easy then you have to give it your best and make the world a better place because of you.

Besides performing with Kailasa and appearing as a judge on reality television talent shows, you are synonymous with Bollywood playback singing. How did that aspect of your career come about?

My career actually started through jingles in 2002 when somebody heard my voice and only then I started getting offers for films. I had my band Kailasa and was working on my own private album and that’s also where people came across my style of singing. Luckily the film songs I sang became chartbusters. I have worked with big composers like A R Rahman, Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy, Vishal-Shekhar, Vishal Bhardwaj, Ram Sampath and Saleem-Suleiman and have learnt so much. God has been kind to put me through so many variations of work.

You have been involved with Anna Hazare anti-corruption campaign in India. Do you have a political stance and where does the music fit in?

As a responsible citizen of India I always grew up listening to great people sacrificing for our country and our voice, so I am very sensitive to these things. When I heard about Anna Hazare and his movement I really wanted to do something. The best thing I could do was to compose music and so I wrote and performed the song ‘Ambar Tak Yahi Naad Goonjege.’ The song is very popular amongst the youth and Anna said it was being used as an anthem, especially in his village, to rally support. I composed it in April 2011 when he first went on hunger strike.

Kailasa is going in its first ever world tour beginning in April 2012. Where will that take you?

My band Kailasa and I haven’t been on tour before in the UK and Europe so we are really looking forward to coming to London, Birmingham, Leicester and Liverpool. The tour will make a pit stop in the Netherlands before moving on to the United States, Canada, Surinam and Trinidad amongst other Caribbean countries.

What can your fans expect to hear?

We will be performing crowd favourites like ‘Allah Ke Bande’, ‘Teri Deewani’ and ‘Saiyyaan,’ as well as tracks from Rangeele, plus Nusrat classics like ‘Sanu Ek Pal Chain Na Avey.’ People just go crazy for these songs. The concerts will be about giving audiences a rocking experience and enlightenment through music. We are very excited and looking for a good audience turn out. We want everyone to know that Kailasa is coming to your city and we are going to rock you and connect soul to soul. Come and experience it.

Why is it important for you to be part of a band?

I formed Kailasa because I had very different sensibilities for the kind of music I believed in creating. I come from the Indian countryside and all the band members, including the key founder members Naresh and Paresh, have been born and bought up in modern cities, so their influences are completely international and western sounded. But our sensibilities gelled completely and by some miracle they compliment each other.

You’re a role model to many. What’s your advice to aspiring singers and musicians?

Follow your instincts, listen to all kinds of music and don’t get stuck with only film music. Film music comes from all kinds of music. You can create your own way and your own interpretation of music and that’s how you can make a difference.

Kailash Kher and Kailasa’s UK Tour Dates:

Wednesday 4th April 2012 – Symphony Hall, Birmingham

Friday 6th April 2012 – Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool

Sunday 8th April 2012 – HMV Hammersmith Apollo, London

Monday 9th April 2012 – De Montfort Hall, Leicester

For more information visit www.saregamaevents.com

Image courtesy of Saregama Events.

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Last week, during a decluttering frenzy, I gave away most of my books and CDs and kept a handful of things neatly filed on my hard-drive. Why, in this digital age, do we still hold onto so much when it’s possible, I thought, to just live with a few items of necessity? Of course I kept a few treasures, but established solid criteria for what these needed to be: things of beauty and wonder.

One such item I’ve recently acquired is the The Golden Temple of Amritsar: Reflections of the Past (1808-1959) book. A large, hard backed first edition, this book is the accompanying catalogue to the exhibition I covered last year. The exhibition’s scope was so vast, that it’s no wonder this book was a while in the making. It comes on to the scene now, reminding us that reflections of the past are continually emerging. It chronicles both a testimonial and visual history of the temple from 1808 to 1959, pulling together specially sourced imagery and introductions. Most impressive, however, is its exquisite execution: a gold edged volume, with elegantly reproduced graphic elements, iconography, mapping, legends and indices. The palette is specifically designed to best offset images of the temple throughout the decades.

Alongside the book and the exhibition is the site, www.gt1588.com – where in his blog post, designer Juga Singh, comments that his aim was to ‘produce something that is beautiful, accessible, functional and most importantly, true to the brief’. In this, he succeeds. However, the book goes beyond being a coffee table adventure. Indeed, for most Sikhs, it is a commentary on our cultural evolution – as it reflects on the geographical epicentre of our faith. We learn the Amritsar was more than just a sacred vestige of faith, but a thriving cosmopolitan hub of learning, mingling, trade and exchange.

When I spoke to Harbaksh Singh, a prominent member of the project, we discussed both the book and the site and how they sit together. He explained that through the eyes of others – we’ve seen the temple move through the control of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, The British Raj and finally the SPGC. Though a broad overview of the temple’s history, within these transitions – the temple experienced major aesthetic and social changes. When asked why the coverage of the temple’s history doesn’t stretch to the modern day, the response has been about keeping the focus on the temple’s ‘golden age’. A fitting description for a time when visitors from across the globe experienced the temple with awe and delight. As such, the book begins with the earliest view of the temple through the eyes of a foreign spy, explored further in The Maharaja, the spy & the Temple of Gold. Then, by the end, we’ve moved onto views of the temple through the glossy images in a French travel magazine.

Within this history, we also learn of the dramatic changes brought on through British control and eventually the SGPC. The architecture as well as the environment became more sanctimonious, utilitarian and militaristic. More than the temple, this was perhaps a reflection on the Sikh state of mind, which, for a new religion – is still evolving. However, at its detriment, it saw a certain aspect of Amritsar’s thriving splendour disappear. Fortunately, this book captures some of this, so we re-imagine the secret life of a Gurudwara as more than just a temple of worship. There are, for example, instances of people openly bathing, worshippers with uncovered heads and Amritsar as a commercial centre. The images capture a raw, colourful energy which now in Amritsar feels slightly muted and white-washed. The temple itself is perhaps the only surviving beacon of that former golden age.

For me, some of the enjoyable images in the book are those of temple appearing in unlikely places; the back-drop to regal paintings, on postcards, menus and tickets. Its image was at one time a commercial stamp – representing a glorious emblem of the orient. I fear that today – the very same use of that image may be considered blasphemous, which perhaps says more about us, than the temple.

Harbaksh alerted to me to an incident on Jay Leno, where the temple was featured as part of the satirical joke about the homes of Republican candidates. The SGPC’s backlash against this demonstrated that we’ve perhaps become a prudish, volatile and reactionary culture. Maybe this is an aspect of our militaristic history – or just an inability to accept something in context. Regardless – it’s proved a great opportunity for the temple’s true history to surface. In this book, we have evidence of just how varied and fruitful this history has been, as such, it’s a reflection of a people that have moved along with great change and upheaval.

For me, this book will remain a constant in my collection. Perhaps a lot to consume in one sitting, it offers the reader an opportunity of life-time re-visits, dipping in and out of its pages and thus exploring a new chapter of the temple’s past every time.

The Golden Temple of Amritsar: Reflections of the Past (1808-1959) is available to purchase through Kashi House HERE.

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Hermes, the scarf people, decided to pay a tribute to India and their Indian customers by introducing a silk sari that costs about $6,100 to $8,200. Forget the price tag; the luxury fashion house is entering a precarious territory. Clearly, Hermes has little awareness of the Indian sari sentiment and has not met my mother. Although the sari is not intended for people of refined taste like my mother or her South Indian counterparts, no Indian in their right mind would buy this sari because we need our money’s worth.

Let me tell Patrick Thomas (Chief Executive of Hermes International) the art of sari shopping in India, rather Chennai. In the process let me also elucidate the exquisite weave and the brilliant glow of a Kancheevaram silk.

As a girl blossoms into a woman, her wardrobe starts piling up with these ethereal silks. At first you are blissfully unaware and do not get tangled in the convulsed yet magical world of colors, borders, designs and motifs. But with the years, you develop a penchant and are in perennial search for that nonexistent hue missing in your wardrobe. You are stubborn about the mango designs on your pallu.

Take time to visit T. Nagar, the temple of silk saris in Chennai. It fairs well in comparison to the temple city Kancheevaram. The women in Chennai know the geography of T Nagar like the back of their hand. Pick a store and they would list out the price range, quality and customer service. If you are searching for a purple sari, you will get the purple sari. Not pink, not magenta, and not violet but purple.

The shops in T Nagar are not luxury fashion houses but they know their customers fairly well. The quest for the perfect silk can leave the male members annoyed and tired. So it comes as no surprise that Nalli and Kumaran (popular silk shops) have waiting areas specially designed for the male members to relax and recoup. They are intentionally equipped with The Hindu and various political magazines. The men are summoned at the time of checkout; in fact only their wallets are summoned. The lady of the house is tirelessly rummaging through the heap to find that perfect shade with that lustrous border. Even if she quickly ducks to the neighboring shop who is to know.

South Indians have specifics when related to silks. The sari defines their status and the weave, their taste. No self respecting south Indian who is born to my mother would wear a sari that has a border the length of a wrist band. It better be as wide as the Panama Canal! We do not walk into every store but restrict ourselves to a select few, simply because they are the ones that are entitled to the lotus feet of my mother.

When a purchase is finally made, the entire extended family is filled in on the bargain. There are lengthy discussions involving the price and the weave. They decide whether the store is worthy of a second visit. For Mr. Hermes, a sari is not just a sari, its folds carry memories, the weaving carries tales and wearing them brings a satisfaction and pride that no designer fashion can match. So you better stick to the scarves.

Photo credit: Hermes

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