september-2010

Teacher’s Day Special

VOLUME 1, ISSUE 10 September 2010

Sponsored by:

2 CONTENTS

Editor

Nandini Murali

Assisted by

Ezhil ElangoMedia Relations Officer

Coordinator

Joel Powel Abraham

Sivakasi Projects Abroad Pvt. Ltd.,

Reporters and Designers:

Akiko ShimadaAndreas KohlmannAngus RocheCamilla TrodybCatherine GerstChiara ManciniCostanza GiannelliDario BosioEri KakinumaKohei YamamotoMarie FontaineRie HorimotoRufus PfingstagSonia RutenburgNobuyuki Kim

Contact:[email protected]

MADURAI MESSENGERNo. 17, T.P.K RoadPasumalaiMadurai – 625004Tamil NaduIndiaTel. 0452-2370269

Cover Picture:

Dario BosioCover design:

Chiara Mancini &Costanza Giannelli

ContentsSeptember 2010 | Issue No. 10

EDITOR’S CORNER

03 She Brought us DaffodilsCOVER STORY

05 Teacher’s Day Special A Sisterhood in Teaching07 She Walks the Talk09 Meenakshi Srinivasan: Bridging the Urban Rural Divide10 Shanta Rajaram: A Journey in Teaching12 Prayer for a World without Nuclear Weapons MAKING A DIFFERENCE

14 Child Jesus Siddha Hospital: An Act of Love CULTURE

16 Tattoo: Personal Stories in Body Art18 The Mystique of the Rudraksha Beads

PEOPLE

19 Tracking the Past WEEKEND WANDER

21 Goa: A Multicultural Indian Paradise FILM REVIEW

23 Naan Kadavul: Let those who Suffer Sleep Forever BOOK REVIEW

24 A Glass Palace: A Remarkable Epic Novel 25 The Paliyar Tribe: The Wind Is Changing

3Madurai Messenger September 2010

remember the day Lillian Boog breezed into our class. Tall and willowy, her straight black shoulder-length hair and slanting black eyes accentuated her Indo-Japanese heritage, and her 1000-watt smile could dispel even

the sombre Siberian gloom. My classmates and I were bewitched.

Lillian Boog scanned the classroom, and when her gaze fell on me, a warm peace floated up my navel. My shoul-ders relaxed, my limbs felt heavy, and I heaved a great sigh, as if I only then realized I’d been holding my breath. Her look filled me with serenity.

When I went home that day, I had interesting happenings at school to regale my mother.

“Ma, guess what? We have a new class teacher whom I’ve fallen in love with! I too want to speak English the way she does! And she looks so much like Zeenat Aman!”

“I’d love to meet her,” my mother replied. Evidently she shared her impressionable daughter’s gushing admira-tion for this new person in her life. In her first class Lillian Boog shared one of her favorite poems William Wordsworth’s The Daffodils. The sky was overcast and a gentle breeze wafted through the classroom window. We were already transported to the Eng-lish countryside… She asked us to close our texts and just listen to her read the poem. We then reconstructed the poem with the help of word-images evoked by the poem. Although none of us had ever seen a daffodil, she recreated the beauty and character of the flower through interactive teaching. Poetry was so alive and sensuous. “A host of golden daffodils” never seemed more real. That very evening I memorised The Daffodils. Even today I can still rattle off the poem.

Lillian Boog knew the art of tailoring her teaching to learners’ requirements. Her greatest asset was her ability to level with us. For the first time, I met a teacher who considered herself a co-learner and who journeyed along with her students. We delighted at the nuggets of wisdom and knowledge we discovered along the highway of education. Her lack of intellectual snobbishness and an I-told-you-so attitude singled her out as a different teacher, despite the fact that she was just out of college and expected to conform to popular stereotypes. When she got to know us better, she disclosed that her father was a Japanese dentist who chose to live in Madras, a city in South India, after World War II, and her mother was Indian. She was exotica to her students.

I looked forward to Lillian Boog’s classes. As a teacher, she was a natural, and far ahead of her times. She be-lieved in the centrality of the learner and thus drew the best from her students. We learned without being aware of it. She dared to cross boundaries of traditional teaching by encouraging independent thinking. She inspired us to express our opinions and tolerate those that were tangentially different from ours. Most of all she listened. She “walked the talk” and led through example. Her standards were high, but she never belittled a student who did not meet her expectation.

The whole class would wait with bated breath as she distributed our English test papers. She would call each student to her table and discuss the answers. She should praise us where we deserved it, and show us how to write better. She graded our papers with individualized comments that were perceptive and compassionate.

My paper would always be last. I guess it was her way of acknowledging me. When she called out my name, I tiptoed to her side with anticipation and excitement.

“Wonderful, my girl! “she exclaimed.

“Girls, let’s give a big hand to Nandini for the highest score – 70 percent. This is equivalent to 85 percent as I’m very strict in corrections.”

She Brought us Daffodils

I

4 EDITOR’S CORNER

Across my paper she had scrawled, “I’m proud of you, Nandini! Keep up your excellent work!”

I was speechless with joy. Secretly I resolved to raise my standards even higher next time. Lillian Boog was a reinforcer.

I bloomed in Lillian Boog’s class. Thanks to her mentoring, I discovered hidden talents—writing, quizzing, and debating. She spurred my love for reading, and we often discussed books that we both enjoyed. As an adult, I realize that this was the Pygmalion effect in action -- the expectations of significant others in our environment often motivate us to fulfill those expectations.

I lost Lillian Boog when she quit teaching because of personal reasons. Why did she leave without even saying “Good Bye?” I hoped that somewhere, sometime, I’d see her again… Later when I taught high school English, Lillian Boog was my role model. Today when former students tell me that I was a special teacher, I’m filled with a sense of déjà vu. Lillian Boog was my role model and I tried hard to live up to her example.

Towards the end of 2002, I came across an obituary that Lillian Boog’s mother passed away. My heart pounded as I scanned the familiar name over and over again. My eyes regressed over her name and I spelt it aloud to reas-sure myself that it was she. Could it be the same woman? My favourite childhood teacher?

I made my move—a phone call to Lillian Boog. Would she remember me? How should I introduce myself? As a starry eyed student who adored her as a child and still does so? What if she refused to meet me?

“Mrs. Boog? I’m Nandini… I was C.R. Nandini, your former student from the batch of 1976 at Church Park. Do you remember me?” I spluttered.

Her voice came across the line.

“Are you the girl with curly hair who used to sit in the front row?”“The soft-spoken sensitive girl… are you still the same?”

The voice was unmistakable. Despite the intervening years, it had not lost its lilt and impeccable accent. Al-though she initially found it difficult to identify me by name, she soon fit in the missing pieces.

She plied me with questions.

“So what are you doing now? Where do you live? Are you in touch with some of your classmates?”

Lillian Boog suggested a reunion in Hotel Taj Coramandel in Chennai.

February 15, 2003, was a great day for me. I was excited as a new bride. Just as the river meets the ocean, I walked straight into her encompassing embrace. I gave her a bouquet of yellow roses—the nearest I could get to the daffodils. She looked as youthful and radiant as I had seen her the last time. Our conversation was natural and spontaneous. She told me that she had switched from teaching to a corporate career. The intervening years blurred into insignificance. It was yesterday once more.

When I apologised for tracking her, she remarked, “As we grow older we need to touch base, to reconnect. I too have done this many times.” Her words were wise as always.

I was overcome when she wanted me to autograph one of my published articles. As I scrawled across the page, I realised our roles had reversed. The teacher and the student merged in synergistic symbiosis.

I found Lillian.

Nandini MuraliEditor


In many ways, teaching is a thank-less job. No matter how determined they are, a classroom can be a very stressful place for the person in charge if the kids aren’t motivated, and the student to teacher ratio starts climbing to insurmountable heights. Their numbers dwindling and their funding negligible, teach-ing is the forgotten profession.But not on September 5th, the one

day of the year when their selfless contribution to Indian society is realised and appreciated. Teacher’s Day is celebrated on the birthday of Dr Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, the second president of India and a man who has inspired a nation with his philosophy of hope and tolerance. In this edition of the Madurai Mes-senger, we profile some of Madurai’s best and brightest educators, tell their stories and recognise them as

a fundamental element of any suc-cessful country.

My companions and I are pleasantly surprised at the outward appearance of TVS Lakshmi School, Madurai. Even though we were aware that the institu-tion is prestigious, it seems we could not shake off the vision imprinted in our minds of Indian schools as crowd-ed, dirty and understaffed. Quite con-trary to our expectations, the grounds are clean and handsome, the buildings tall and imposing. We spot a couple of

large sporting fields in the distance, and a bag full of balls, cricket bats and other sporting equipment lying casually on the grass. Gazing around at our sur-roundings, I realise that this school has a better atmosphere and more luxuri-ous facilities than my old high school in Melbourne.

Friends and RivalsSita Krishnamoorthy and Shanthi Mohan, well-known teachers of English

in the schools and colleges of Madu-rai, have worked with one another for over 25 years, together navigating the complex maze of dilemma and diversity that is the Indian educational system. Born and raised in Madurai where they studied English literature ,their friendly rivalry constantly inspires them to become better educators.“We bounce off each other,” reminisces Sita Krishnamoorthy, now retired. “We are, of course, good friends, but are also in an ongoing state of friendly competition. Neither of us ever allowed

the other to get too far ahead, and in this way we are both still learning and improving both as teachers and as mentors to the children.”

Inspired at birthEven during adolescence, Shanthi Mohan, currently vice principle of TVS Lakshmi School, always had a certain aptitude for teaching. “I can’t remember a time where I didn’t want to be a teacher” she says.

A Sisterhood in TeachingAngus Roche meets celebrity English teachers Sita Krishnamoorthy and Shanthi Mohan, who have inspired a generation of students in Madurai with their creative teaching methods and wise mentoring.

Angus RocheMelbourne, Australia

Team English: Sita Krishnamoorthy(Left) and Shanthi Mohan

6 COVER STORY

“I apparently told my father it was my dream to be one from as a young an age as five years old. It was an easy decision for me. My mother was a teacher and all my aunts were teach-ers, and so it made sense.”Both of these two women attribute their success to one of their childhood teachers in particular who inspired them to strive for new and higher ground, Mrs Mohan to her famous col-lege professor Dr Paul Love, and Mrs Krisnamoorthy to her Sanskrit, Math-ematics and English teacher in school. “He made learning easy, even for an average student like me,” she says. “He explained things clearly and precisely; I wanted to be like him,” says Sita Krishnamoorthy.

‘Like My Birthday’When I ask them about Teacher’s Day and what it means to them, an almost childlike look of wonder lights up their faces. “It’s a very special day for us teachers; it’s like my birthday,” says Mrs. Mohan, grinning ear to ear. “Although originally inspired by the work of the great leader and scholar Dr. Radhakrishnan, it has evolved into a day where the work of no teacher goes unappreciated. We run a series of special activities on the day, games and celebrations. The children orga-nise much of the day’s proceedings, including competitions and debates for the teachers. A lot of role-reversal is present.”

A Global LanguageAll classes at the school are taught in English, though the school offers Tamil and Japanese as second languages. “It can be a challenge to get the kids to speak in English at school,’ Mrs Krish-namoorthy muses. “At home they usu-ally speak Tamil, and thus they often find it easier to give in to temptation and talk in their mother tongue. But learning English is of vital importance. Not only is it the lingua franca that allows for worldwide communication, but unless our students can speak it fluently, they will not be able to pursue further education or reputable employ-ment.”

A Great Learning Envi-ronment“This school has greater privileges and prestige than any other in the area,”

Mrs Mohan tells me. “Most of India’s best institutions are located in the big cities, like Delhi, Mumbai and Chen-nai. Only rarely is one situated in a small town like Madurai. We are almost unique in this respect.” It’s easy to observe such luxuries as we are shown around the school and take a look into a classroom or two. They are cool and relaxed, with a maximum of twenty-five students to a teacher. We invite the kids to ask us questions, but they are too shy to respond. Only as we are wandering around the grounds does one girl pluck up the courage to ask us what country we are from, and soon we are surrounded by twenty or so children chatting and asking us to take photos of them, curious, smiling and joyful.

Disparity of Opportu-nityLooking around the campus and talking to these two teachers, I am im-pressed, but also saddened. TVS school is without a doubt a fantastic environ-ment for young minds to develop. The facilities are excellent, the teachers intelligent and devoted, the classrooms spacious and air-conditioned, and I am glad that these kids have such won-drous opportunities. But I am troubled because I know that just down the road there are schools with forty kids to a class, four classes to a room and only very basic facilities that are so under-staffed that they gladly accept volun-teer offers to teach from completely unqualified Western teenagers.

Issues to addressThe bare facts about the Indian educa-tion system speak for themself and are quite staggering. Despite compulsory education up until the age of 14 and other massive improvements in the last thirty or so years, around a third of the population is illiterate, only around 40 percent reach high school and only around 10 percent undertake tertiary education. 89 percent of schools have no toilets, and the average teacher to pupil ratio is around 1:35. Female students have a particularly hard time, as their rate of graduation, literacy and everyday attendance is significantly lower than males. All in all, the prob-lems are severe and plentiful.TVS Lakshmi is a private school and their students pay a large annual sum of money to attend it, and as such, they

receive certain benefits. Students are treated equally here regardless of their gender, and almost all graduate and go overseas to attend world class universi-ties in places like America, Europe and Australia (though few ever return to India). Students in many government schools are not so lucky.

The Great Divide“There is, unfortunately, a great dif-ference in the quality of education in government and private schools,” says Mrs. Mohan, the atmosphere suddenly darkening. “This is due to the facilities and working conditions. Though things are improving, in many government schools the classes are overcrowded, the kids can’t afford textbooks and there simply is not enough funding for luxuries like air-conditioning and toilets.”“This impacts upon the overall experi-ence of the teachers as well, whom in government schools are often absent from their classroom,” says Mrs. Krishnamoorthy. “Because the working conditions are challenging in govern-ment schools, the best teachers usually teach at private institutions, despite receiving no money from the govern-ment, and thus, a lower wage. We used to fantasise about creating a first-rate government school ourselves, but the lack of proper funding would have made our dream impossible to realise.”

Improving the SystemI then ask how the educational system in India could be improved and they respond in almost perfect unison; the government needs to invest more money in education. “Education is a vi-tal part of the decline in India’s poverty. Funding for schools must continue to grow and prosper if India is to do the same.” Sita Krishnamoorthy and Shanthi Mo-han are two truly inspiring women who have worked tirelessly to ensure their students are employable in the modern, globalised world and have a quality education. But shouldn’t a quality edu-cation be a basic and universal human right? Should it really be a commodity to be bought and sold?


Education is a delicate thing and a perfectionist’s nightmare. Is schooling merely a means to equip youngsters with the skills they need to seek em-ployment, or is it also about character development and inculcating values? Is it better for children to learn through observation, theory, or practice?

For centuries, such questions have stimulated the imagination of philoso-phers and inspired debate amongst academics as to what the purpose of education should be and how it should be applied. At Mahatma Montessori School in Madurai, they think they have found an answer.

The Life of an EducatorS. Premalatha has been enlightening young minds since 1974, after graduat-ing with a bachelor of economics from Thiagarajar College of Arts and Science in Madurai. She became a headmis-tress immediately upon entering the industry, though she had no plans or expectations for such grandeur. After working in three different schools in and around Madurai for ten years, she and her husband S. Paneerslevam began to create their own institutions, with an emphasis on a new ideology, and she is now the senior principal of Mahatma Montessori School.As a child, she attended a small government school in a village north of Sivakasi. Despite the rural location, she believes she received a quality education.“My teachers were very commit-ted’ she says. ‘I won’t speculate over whether things have got better or worse, because so much depends on the school. Certainly classrooms are more overcrowded nowadays, but the trend is changing in terms of women’s education. Women, in private institu-tions at least, now achieve success in greater numbers than men, as they are

more consistent in their learning.”

Rigidity in LearningTeaching in both government and private schools during the early stages of her career led Mrs. Premalatha to observe disparity in the graduates from either type of institution, particularly in their English skills. “It is easy to tell whether someone at-tended a government or private school by their knowledge of the English language,” says Mrs. Premalatha. “The government of Tamil Nadu does not support private institutions financially,

partly because we put so much em-phasis on learning English. Traditional languages of India are slowly becoming more uncommonly spoken, and they fear that English may one day replace Tamil altogether. The Tamil language should of course be maintained, but not at the expense of English.”The experience of teaching economics in a government school was rela-tively comfortable in terms of working conditions, but she felt she was being restricted. “As teachers we had we had to follow a strict and rigid curriculum, with little or no opportunity for improvisation,”


She Walks the Talk S. Premalatha, an all-round educator, teacher, principal and founder of the Mahatma group of institutions, is passionate about ensuring that her students have a first-rate education. She talks with Angus Roche about her four schools, where she insists upon an adaptable and innovative tutoring approach from all her teachers.

Leading by Example: S. Premalatha

8 COVER STORY

she muses. “It was not a challenge for the teachers. The textbooks did the teaching and all we did was clarify-ing. The kids memorised but did not integrate their knowledge; they only rote-learned.” Her dissatisfaction with the limitations of government education inspired her to create her first school in KK Nagar, Madurai, with her husband in 1984. Twenty-six years on, they now own four private institutions, each inspired by the Montessori ideology.

An Alternative SystemThe Montessori Method is an ap-proach to educating children that was originally conceptualised by an Italian educator named Maria Montessori, developed through experiments she conducted with mentally disabled children in the early 1900s. In these experiments, she observed children participating in their natural and au-tonomous activities and modelled her educational philosophy based on their actions. The method is hard to define and many institutions that claim to practice Montessori’s ideals interpret her work very differently, but its basic principles are generally associated with flexibility, learning through doing, self-directed activities and the naturally absorbent mind of children—ideas that Mrs. Premalatha considers to be vital in ensuring a child has the best possible education.“Private school graduates achieve

greater success because of the freedom they take in diverting from the syl-labus,” she argues. “The rigid cur-riculum used in government schools is not accommodating and does not take into account the uniqueness of the individual. Each child is different and deserves a different approach.” She and her husband wanted to start a school with totally different practices to the rote-learning-style education they had observed in government schools. The Montessori Method had fascinated Mrs. Premalatha ever since she worked with a woman who had studied the concept in England, so she decided to experiment with the idea. They were the first to implement a Montessori system of education in the Madurai area, so none of the staff were trained in Montessori, but their results have delighted Mrs. Premalatha nonetheless.

Flexibility in Learning “Under a Montessori system, there is a lot of opportunity for children to develop specific skills,” she tells me. “Both teachers and the children are constantly experimenting and explor-ing different methods of educating. Much self-direction on the children’s behalf is present, and the kids learn through hands-on activities. Though the government does insist we follow a common curriculum, we enrich and build on it in our own way.” The children who attend Mahatma Montessori School are, although

privileged enough to afford the signifi-cant annual fee, from many different backgrounds. The school does not offer scholarships as such, but does sometimes supplement the education of students struggling to pay their fees, and children of the school’s teachers get free schooling. Flexibility, therefore, is crucial. “We model a different approach around each individual student based upon their abilities, strengths and weakness-es,” Mrs. Premalatha declares.

A Difficult JobWith such a wide variety of tutor-ing techniques applied in Montes-sori schools, the teachers need to be versatile. Mrs. Premalatha expects her teachers to have obtained a teaching degree, good English language skills and basic knowledge in their subjects, but this alone is not sufficient. “Teaching is not an easy job; every day is a new challenge, and a teacher needs to have the patience to deal with these problems,” she says. “They cannot go into their classroom every day with the same plan and the same method, because the children will get bored. Kids learn best when they are motivated, so a teacher constantly needs to find new ways to keep them interested. They need to be ambitious, and they need to think beyond the classroom, beyond the curriculum.”In addition Mrs. Premalatha cites devo-tion and passion as qualities para-mount for an exemplary teacher. “I was drawn to teaching by my love of learning. Through creativity, innova-tion and commitment in a teacher’s techniques, they will continue to learn, every time they step into a classroom. One of the greatest pleasures of my job is the feeling of satisfaction I get from watching myself grow and develop alongside the children,” says Mrs. Premalatha.

A Refreshing ChangeLooking around Mahatma Montessori School is a humbling experience. In a world that seems to encourage children to learn merely so that they can pass tests the approach employed by Mrs. Premalatha and her schools is refresh-ingly creative and a welcome change-- one that with a bit of luck (and a cer-tain quantity of forward thinking) will be more widely implemented around India in the near future. Happy kids


An unusual careerMeenakshi Srinivasan tells us, jok-ingly, that she is going the wrong way. Usually teachers acquire higher qualifications and move on. Unlike her. After post graduation, she worked as a maths lecturer in a women’s col-lege in Dindugul. She got married a few years later and started teaching math at senior level. In 1993, she was offered a position at the newly founded Sundaram School just outside Madurai. Meenakshi found the project interest-ing – a company-run school for poor children from rural areas that provided education free of charge.

At first, the school was only a kinder-garten. Working with very young kids was most difficult for her as three to four year olds require a lot of attention. Yet it certainly was more challenging and more interesting than teaching at college.

“Children ask more questions, are much more open-minded than seniors, and often have their own logical rea-soning for wrong answers,” she says smiling.

Teaching at SundramMeenakshi Srinivasan has always entered schools in their growing stage, contributing to the growth and devel-opment of the institutions. The teacher in her can adapt easily from one age to another, from one institution to another. Yet she has a better affinity for rural families. The Sundaram School is not regarded as a business venture with a profit motive unlike some private expensive schools. “Working here is challenging and worthwhile. The teacher’s role is more

important here than in schools for children coming from wealthy families, with a lot of support and help,” says Meen-akshi Srinivasan.

“Teachers are everything for these children,” she adds. In fact the teacher in her can-didly admits that it was here that she really understood the concept of service.

Learning for the sake of learningQuality is the key concept for Meenakshi Srinivasan. The school gives prime emphasis on imparting quality training to the teachers not only in academic dis-ciplines like maths, and science, but also cross cutting disciplines such as psychology. As for the students, they are free to express themselves.

Freedom of movement is important to Meenakshi Srinivasan. The classrooms have been organised so as to allow the children to move around comfortably. Communication is the principal goal. The syllabus is mainly discussion-based. The kids choose the topics they want to discuss, and are asked to participate actively. In certain subjects, particularly science, a more experimental approach is used. “Above all, education should be inter-esting for children,” stresses the princi-pal. No pressure is put on the students, as no importance is given to exams. They learn for the sake of learning. “

A Challenging Task Meenakshi Srinivasan admits that given her background as a middle class urbanite it was difficult to adjust to rural surroundings. Besides other factors peculiar to rural areas such

as the low income background of the students is sometimes a disadvantage. Fights, drugs and alcohol abuse are common in rural areas, which cause some children to arrive to school rather depressed. They often don’t have much family help –although their parents want to see them succeed- because “many parents have no basic idea about children.”

This was a major challenge the first four to five years of the school and the parents needed a lot of guidance and counseling to address this issue. She therefore spent the first few years helping and educating the parents as a doctor. There have been many improvements since then, now people know more, but still difficulties are there. Furthermore, it’s not as easy for village children to learn a new lan-guage.

Teaching history, is for example ,very interesting, since the students can find out about the past from their own

Sonia RutenburgParis, France

Meenakshi Srinivasan: Bridging the Urban Rural Divide

Sonia Rutenburg meets Meenakshi Srinivasan, Principal, Sundaram School, Madurai, and discovers a teacher who bridges the rural urban divide with ease. Formerly a teacher in an urban schools and colleges, Meenakshi Srinivasan has today dedicated her life to empowering rural children through the gift of education.

Meenakshi Srinivasan: Reaching Out

10 COVER STORY

people, and what the practices were. Meenakshi Srinivasan also insists on the fact that the team she is working with is excellent, and that only their common effort explains the school’s success. But what brings her the most satisfaction is to see the children learn, as they grow and their knowledge develops. She keeps in contact with many students, meets them when they get older, which is very gratifying for her. Meenakshi Srinivasan always tried to deal with the individuals. Obvi-ously she has succeeded, as she won the best teacher award in the State in 2005-2006 – which for m her is a re-minder of what she still needs to strive for in education.

What Teaching Means to Her “Well, teaching is my cup of tea!” The personal interest she has in it is clear, and the fact that she’s good at it too. Above all, the principal insists that each child must have the space and freedom to express his or her individu-ality and not be boxed or limited in any way. In her eyes, they are very impor-tant for society, with all the differences they may have. As a core member of the Sundaram School, Meenakshi Srivivasan believes that poverty or rural background is not a hindrance to academic achieve-ments. As a teacher she would be fulfilled in her role as an enabler who helps children express their inheren potential--every one of them.

A Childhood Calling From a young age Shantha Rajaram knew that she wanted to teach, and she knew that she loved maths. Even during her schooling, fellow students would come to her for help. They said, “When you show us, things become easy.” Shantha Rajaram recalled with fond-ness the school she attended as a child. She was very enamoured of the emphasis that was placed on attitude and behavior, as opposed to book learn-ing, something that she would carry with her through her teaching career. She emphasised that at her childhood school failing a class carried no stigma, but students would be severely pun-ished for cheating. When it was time for university she chose to study mathematics, eventual-ly earning a Master’s degree from Stella Maris College in Chennai. Because many of her friends were looking for jobs in business, doing accounting and keeping books, she felt that she should as well, much to the consternation of her conservative family. But Shantha Rajaram soon found that she had no interest in ledgers and accounts. In the end she applied for a job as a teacher at a school in her home town of Chen-nai, a career which her father felt was appropriate for a woman. She taught at that school for two years before a marriage was arranged to ophthalmolo-gist Dr Rajaram and she left her job in order to move into her husband’s home in Madurai.

Family and Career After her marriage, Mrs. Rajaram would not teach again for seven years, during which time she gave birth to two sons. When it came time for her younger son to start school, Mrs. Rajaram thought that she would have lots of time on her

hands and laid down tentative plans to run a daycare for working parents with a friend of hers. However, when her husband went to turn in the applica-tion for her younger son to start school, the principal told Mr. Rajaram that the school would not accept a student who had an educated woman at home with nothing better to do than criticise his teaching and suggested that Mrs. Rajaram should apply for a teaching position at the school. Mrs. Rajaram was hesitant about returning to teach-ing, having had no contact with maths during the last seven years, but with her husband’s encouragement she turned in the application. The call for an interview from her son’s school took Mrs. Rajaram completely by surprise. Later she would learn that one of her coworkers-to-be was a former lecturer at her alma mater and had recommended Mrs. Rajaram to the principal. She was hesitant to go, wanting to make sure that the cooking was all done and certain that she would be a “sorry figure” after her seven year absence from mathematics. But, once again, her husband’s encour-agement convinced her. When Mrs. Rajaram arrived for the interview, the principal of the school asked her what she remembered about teaching and mathematics and she replied, “Absolutely nothing. My son is in first standard doing one plus one equals two and that’s all I know.” The principal, who was amazed by her forthrightness as well as by her opin-ions on teaching and her statements of the importance of attitude over book learning, offered her the job. Mrs. Raja-ram accepted the position and started out teaching 5th and 10th standard students, though eventually she would work up to teaching the higher level 11th and 12th standard students as well. She found that this school was a wonderful working environment, or as she describes it, a family. The

Rufus PfingstagLouisiana, United States

Shantha Rajaram: A Journey in TeachingRufus Pfing profiles well known Maths teacher Shantha Ra-jaram, for whom being a teacher means that she pursues a passion that is also her profession

Shanta Rajaram: A Natural Teacher


principal was very open to new ideas from the teachers. For example, when Mrs. Rajaram and a few other teachers suggested splitting classes based on ability level in order to best help both the high and low achievers, he was very supportive . Mrs. Rajaram also claims that this period of her life was an important learning experience for her, as the principal and other teach-ers were more than willing to share with her their different perspectives on situations in the classroom. In many ways her time at this school further cemented her belief in the importance of attitude and inspiration of students in the classroom.

Time Spent Abroad Mrs. Rajaram’s time in Madurai ended when her elder son finished his school-ing and was encouraged to apply for a prestigious scholarship at a university in Singapore. After hearing of this plan, her father-in-law called Mrs. Rajaram to tell her that she could not send her son off to Singapore alone and that she must apply for a job in Singapore. She thought her father-in-law must be joking, but nevertheless, obediently sent in an application for a teaching position in Singapore. After a round of three interviews, Mrs. Rajaram was of-fered the job. She accepted, though not before making certain that she would be allowed to wear the sari she was accustomed to! It was not until after she had signed the three year contract that her son informed her that he did not intend to go to Singapore after all. Mrs. Rajaram was unwilling to go back on her word, and so decided to move to Singapore despite her son’s change of plans. One of the first of Mrs. Rajaram’s many trials in Singapore was learning everyone’s names! She was accus-tomed to Indian names, and could barely pronounce the primarily Chinese names of her new students. It did not help matters that the first week of class her students decided to play a practical joke on her. Before class, each of the students swapped names with another student. So when she called the role, every name would be accounted for, but not by the right person! Mrs. Raja-ram discovered the student’s mischief when she noticed that, outside of class, her students all seemed to be called by a different name from the ones they had answered to when she called role.

In order to set the record straight she turned the tables by playing a trick on the students. At the beginning of class the next day, she announced a surprise test- the first test of the year. In their eagerness to get good marks, the students completely forgot about their game and they all used the correct names on their test, only realizing their mistake when she began using their correct names. Another example of Mrs. Rajaram’s at-tention to detail, and more importantly her attention to the students, came when one of her students decided to switch places with his identical twin to see if the teacher would notice. She realized something was wrong at the start of class, but couldn’t put her finger on what it was. To see if she could root out the problem, she told the students that they would not be doing their usual class work today, and that instead they should take out their workbooks. Of course the counterfeit twin was at a loss, not knowing where his twin’s workbook was. Mrs. Rajaram noticed his trouble and told him that if he had forgotten to bring his workbook he would have to stand in the corner. At this point the false twin was very scared that the principal would come by the classroom and realize what was going on. This was an especially worrying prospect as caning was the punishment of choice in Singapore. After a couple minutes of sweating the student broke down and confessed, begging for Mrs. Rajaram’s forgiveness and explaining the whole situation in the process. Since the student had confessed before she could work out the truth, Mrs. Rajaram felt it would be wrong to punish him and, much to the student’s surprise and relief, allowed him to return to class.Later in her stay in Singapore Mrs. Rajaram was appointed to the “disci-pline committee” of the school. She argued that she could not possibly be a disciplinarian at the school; after all she could barely stand to watch the canings when they were performed and she did not yell. The principal told her “We have people to yell, but you can talk to students and make them come around.” The administration had noticed that she connected with the students in her class and inspired them in their studies even when they weren’t inclined to do so. In one case Mrs. Rajaram had a student who said

he didn’t need maths because he was just going to sell fried chicken like his father. She convinced the boy that if he learned maths his children would have an easier time in school and maybe they wouldn’t have to sell fried chicken for a living. So from then on, in addition to teaching, Mrs. Rajaram was respon-sible for talking to and counseling the students who did not respond to the school’s normal disciplines. After three years in Singapore Mrs. Rajaram’s contract was up and, while the school wanted her to stay, she was relieved to be able to return to her home and her family in Madurai.

Homecoming After her return to Madurai, Mrs. Raja-ram intended to stay at home and take care of her aging parents-in-law. This plan, however, was once again upset by her husband. He encouraged her to seek a position at the school owned by the company he worked for. In the past Mrs. Rajaram had been the perfect employee, taking off only for scheduled vacations. But she worried that with her father-in-law’s failing health and her ageing mother-in-law’s increasing inability to care for him, she would be forced to take off work far more often in the future. The school assured her that she would be able to take off as often as necessary and offered her a job as the head of the mathematics department. Rather than teaching, she would oversee the ten or so teachers in her department. Mrs. Rajaram was worried that a management position would just be more of the office politics that she had eschewed in the past, but soon found that she could manage her department equally well through discussion and cooperation. She spent her years as an administrator teaching new teachers to have the same values in teaching that had served her so well. Mrs. Rajaram retired last year, to assist her father-in-law during his final days. She says she doesn’t know if she will return to teaching in the future, but if the past is any guide I suspect that Mrs. Rajaram will wind up in a school again one way or another.

12 IN MEMORIAM

August 6, 1945 It’s an unforgettable day for Japan. Many people were killed by the atomic bomb popularly known as the `devil.` Survivors still suffer from after effects such as various forms of cancer. However, with the passage of years it is likely that this is only a faint memory even for the older generation

and mere pages in history for Genera-tion X.

HistoryAt the end of World War II, U.S. forces were planning to drop the atomic bomb on Japanese cities to make the Japanese government surrender. On August 6, 1945, when “Little Boy” was dropped on Hiroshima, there were 140,000 deaths out of an estimated

population of 350,000. In addition, on August 9, 1945, when “Fat Man” was dropped on Nagasaki, there were 74,000 deaths out of an estimated pop-ulation of 240,000. The buildings within a 500m epicenter were destroyed or burned down by the blast. People who were outside were reduced to charred corpses because of the high intensity heat released.

Prayer for a World without Nuclear Weapons

On August 6, Nobuyuki Kim, a Japanese national, visited a photo exhibition on Hiroshima and Nagasaki at Gandhi Museum, Madurai, and also participated in a memorial service for the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bomb victims

The Mushroom cloud atom bomb dropped on Nagasaki

Nobuyuki KimChiba, Prefecture, South Korea


People who were within a 1km epicen-ter were exposed to severe heat and sustained severe burns over their bod-ies. The scenes were horrific. There were people trapped in debris, children wailing in distress for their mothers, and of people being maimed and disfig-ured irreparably.

The Photo ExhibitionThis exhibition was held in Gandhi museum, based on the Gandhian ideol-ogy of promoting world peace and har-mony. The exhibition consisted of five parts: Hiroshima before the bombing, damage estimates for the U.S. military, bombed building material, the wounds of those who were bombed, Hiroshima after the atomic bomb, and Gandhiji’s views on the atomic bomb. There was also a discussion on “How can we stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons?”

A Dream and Desire In Japan, on Hiroshima Day (August 6), each TV station has special pro-grams. As I have often watched them, I thought I wouldn’t be shocked by terrifying images. Yet the photo exhibi-tion proved otherwise. There was one memorable note about Hiroshima for me.

“A father received his son’s dead body. His body was burned. His throat and shoulder had big holes made by broken glasses. When his mother saw his body, she lost consciousness. ”

This poignant message was a power-ful reminder of the horrors of nuclear weapons. We must resist every temptation to develop and deploy such weapons that have the potential of wiping out life as we know.

The global situation, however, is com-pletely different. Most of the superpow-ers have their own nuclear weapons whose stockpile continues to increase. Eager to get into the nuclear weapon club, some countries try to make them because others have it. The photo exhibition was an eye opener to the fact that humanity’s greatest threat stems from the destructive urges of its own members: a powerful reminder of humanity’s inhumanity turned on itself. Am impressed that this photo exhibition was held in India. If other countries hold this kind of exhibition, it has the potential of emerging into a big

movement. Across the world, people dream of and desire total abolition of nuclear weapons.

Talk in the Dark by Denise Levertov

We live in history, says one.We’re flies on the hide of Levia-than, says another.

Either way, says one,fears and losses.

And among losses, says another,the special places our own roads were to lead to.

Our deaths, says one.That’s right, says another,Now it’s to be a mass death.

Mass graves, says one, are noth-ing new.No, says another, but this time there’ll be no graves,

all the dead will lie where they fall.

Except, says one, those that burn to ash.And are blown in the fiery wind, says another.

How can we live in this fear? Says one.From day to day, says another.

I still want to see, says one,where my own road’s going.

I want to live, says another, but where can I liveif the world is gone?

14 MAKING A DIFFERENCE

The work that Dr. Kennedy, Sr. Antony Irudaya Malliga, and Sr. Ainthal do in the Child Jesus Siddha Hospital , a litt-le hospital in Vedar Puliankulam (about 10 km away from Madurai), is a testi-mony to their commitment and concern to reach out to people with mental ill-ness—especially those who have been abandoned by their families. .

Thirty years back Sr. Theresita, a Catho-lic nun and a qualified Siddha specialist, opened a hospital that would meet the needs of local people. This place accep-ted people with mental illness to help them acquire the basic necessary skills to lead a normal existence. Sr. There-sita is now 80 years old but the work she started here still continues as the Child Jesus Siddha Hospital. Currently ten men and thirteen women live in the hospital.

Originally the hospital was built to help people of the neighbourhood who, at that time, had to travel hours to reach the nearest hospital. Sr. Theresita who specialised in siddha medicine took care of mentally ill people.

“Following her example, we decided to learn how to take care of people with mental illness. We wanted to continue the work she did here, so we asked her to teach us how to treat these people,” say the nuns about their life long dedi-cation to helping the destitute mentally ill.

A Difficult SituationThere is considerable stigma, secrecy

and shame associ-ated with mental illness. Mentally ill people living in the streets are often re-garded as beggars. Isolated and shun-ned, they are often beaten and sexually abused. The situ-ation is not easy, even for those who live with their fami-lies as they are of-ten forced to spend all their time alone in a room and, so-metimes, they are regarded by their relatives as a bur-den. This is most apparent when the family tries to arran-ge the marriage of a son or daughter. The presence of a person with mental illness in the family reduces the chances of good marriage prospects for the siblings.

This centre welcomes everyone who needs help. This includes people sent here by their families and homeless people. The residents are provided shel-ter, food, care, and there is every reason to believe that they lead a life of dignity and respect.

Entering the Circle Usually patients are hospitalised here for a period between six months and one year, except for those with more

serious pathologies, whose admission may be long term. There are people who have spent almost their entire life in the premises.

When people with mental illness come here, it is difficult to communicate with them. They are often violent, scared or try to escape. But after few days of treatment which consists of shaving the patients’ heads to apply lime juice and oils, they become quieter and it’s easier to get in touch with them. In fact, the lime and oils have sedative properties and are use to cool the patients’ brains.

Child Jesus Siddha Hospital: An Act of Love

In a world where nobody does anything free of charge, where people only think about their personal gains, it is uncommon to see people willing to spend all their time, their energy, and their finances to help other people.

Costanza GiannelliVolterra, Italy

Sister Therasita(Middle), Sister Ainthal and Dr. Kennady


“The most difficult thing with these people,” says Sr. Malliga, “is to under-stand them and their behaviour: some-times is impossible to know the reason for their actions.”

During their stay in the centre, patients are taught how to carry out normal daily activities such as bathing, eating, and washing their clothes.

“In some cases they become quite self-sufficient in carrying out the activities of everyday life, but sometimes they need someone to tell them what to do at any time,” says Sr. Malliga.

They are also provided with occupatio-nal therapy such as taking care of the garden, cleaning the doctor’s office, and helping in the kitchen.

From the behaviour of the residents, one gets the impression that the treatment they receive here really works: they’re happy, relaxed and full of joy. It’s really impressive to see the way in which they relate with Dr. Kennedy, a siddha spe-cialist, how they listen to what he says and how happily they do the things he invites them to do.

Little Things make a Big Difference Dr. Kennedy has been working here for 15 years and divides his time between the siddha clinic he runs here and his patients. He and the nuns would do their best to help these people, but the staff is limited, and, during the day, he has to spend his time at the siddha cli-nic to earn money to continue to help the patients.

In fact they need Rs. 30,000 every month to provide three meals a day, clothes and everything else the hospitalised pa-tients need. They can afford this only by the revenue generated by the clinic and people’s donations. They don’t have government subsidies, donor grants, or any other sources of income. “I wish that organisations would help people with mental illness, taking them from the street and giving them shelter and treatment. But I see that no-wadays people do everything for them-selves, without thinking about others: in this way nothing will change, ” says Dr. Kennedy.

What is most impressive and touching is the fact that all these people not only work here free of charge, but they also invest their assets in this activity: the

nuns are retired teachers and they use their pension to run the institution.

It’s unusual to hear about people so devoted to others, committed to the care of others. But most important, the staff of the Child Jesus Siddha Hospital practises the deepest pre-cept of Christian doctrine: Love. Pure love and charity.

And, really, when you see the true happiness on the faces of patients, their faces lit with smiles, and the way they relate to each other surrounded by nature, you realise that maybe the-re is no need for anything else.

After visiting the hospital, some volunteers were so impressed by this lovely place that they de-cided to start a charity fundraising to help people living there. In order to give the smiles they saw there a chance to last long and to give to other such people the opportunity to be treated, they col-lected money through Face Book and invited other volunteers to donate some of their clothes .

The work of the people who work in the hospital deserves to be promoted: they need our help to keep providing their patients food, clothes and a house where they can live happily.You can participate in this great act of love simply by donating a small amount of money, clothes, rice, or anything else that comes to your mind.EVERY LITTLE GESTURE IS A GREAT HELP FOR THESE PEOPLE AND MANY SUCH LITTLE GES-TURES COULD MAKE All THE DIFFERENCE!

Some of the patients of the hospital

16 CULTURE

Tattoo: Uniquely Perso-nalised Nagammal is now 60 years old, and her tattoos too are as old. She decided to tattoo herself when she was only fif-teen, and wanted to have on her skin the same drawings she had seen on the bodies of the women of her community.

The ink, penetrating into the deeper layers of her skin, symbolises her mem-bership to her community, and to her caste. Nagammal belongs to the gypsy community, which has a very long tradi-tion in the art of tattooing. For the mem-bers of this community, tattoos were not something fashionable or aesthetic: it was a holy experience, deeply rooted in the traditions of the caste.“If you buy something, if you own so-mething, you can lose it or give it to

someone else. A tattoo is your own pos-session, it’s something that belongs to you and no one else. It’s something that will be yours forever, even after death,” said Nagammal.

Hindus believe that once a person dies, it’s impossible to carry any of our belon-gings with us; every thing we own in our life will be left behind at the moment of cremation except for the tattoo, the only thing that can really be held, which will pass over the cremation and survi-ve along with the soul.

Sixty years ago, just one rupee was enough to buy this immutable and eternal sign, which demanded you just stand a little pain and a small injury. Six needles, linked together, imprinted the drawing on your skin while you were singing traditional songs or looking straight into the eyes of your communi-ty members.

Every gesture was imbued with sancti-ty and tradition, a tradition which, no-wadays is dying.

“India has the world‘s second high-est incidence of AIDS, and people are scared to be infected through tattoos. At the same time, tribals tried to find a different way to make their living, whe-reby thery can earn more money such as selling garlands,” admits Nagamma.

Maintaining a traditi-on…just for fashion!Arjun and Raja are brothers who also belong to the gypsy community. They, however, don’t seem be worried about hygiene or health issues; as if the spect-re of AIDS did not exist, they keep on a tradition begun almost 250 years ago, when people started tattooing their body with the name of their beloved. For the two brothers tattooing is not holy or religious. Rather the tradition which began as a medium of expression people’s feelings, nowadays has turned into something just fashionable.

Wandering around during religious fes-tival, they do not just sell necklaces and

Tattoo: Personal Stories in Body Art A tattoo is not just a sign on the skin: it’s something that speaks about us, something that speaks for us. Sometimes tattoos tell our history and our origin, showing our deepest roots and inner longings and desires, writes Costanza Giannelli, who proudly shows off a piece of this body art on her foot!


The instrument used for tattoos

Nagammal’s tattoo


other trinkets but ‚advertise‘ their tat-ooing abilities. “We sell tattoos…we sell tattoos…”Thus they seek buyers ready to im-press on their skin the name of their be-loved, relatives or their preferred leader.

It seems that the brothers are into a pro-fitable business. They can earn from Rs. 300 during small festivals up to 3000 every day during the big festivals. They guarantee that their system of tattooing is completely safe. “It’s 100 percent safe. Before tattooing we immerse the needle in a cup of hot water and then pass it over a small fire. In this way all the germs are elimina-ted!”

We would like to believe their words, but seeing the instruments they use makes one doubtful. It’s a little electri-cal hand-made machine consisting of a battery and two safety pins used as conductors. The main body consists of a broken pen refill and a safety pin that serves as a needle.

People seem to trust their explanation and continue to come to Arjun and Raja to have their skin tattooed with the In-dian waterproof ink: it’s a black ink that turns green when it comes in contact with the blood. After the tattoo they use coconut oil or turmeric powder and they assure us that customers never get injured.

Raja, the younger brother, has a big dragon on his biceps. Several peop-le started tattooing this drawing after watching a Chinese movie in which a gypsy community sported it.

Writing My Story on the SkinI live in Italy where the tradition of tat-tooing the body disappeared centuries ago. In the ancient Rome tattoos existed under the name of „stigma“, and were initially performed only on slaves, gladi-ators and criminals. Later even soldiers were tattooed as a mark of identifica-tion. The nobility were not tattooed, as it was a sign associated with marginal groups.

With the advent of Christianity, tat-tooing was banned because of their as-sociation with paganism, superstition and marginal classes and because they wanted the body, created in the image of God, to be free of what was perceived as ‘disfigurement.’

Nowadays because Italians do not have a culture of tattooing, everyone who decides to tattoo does so for a different reason.

I had my first tattoo when I was eigh-teen and, as in the gypsy tradition, eve-rything started because of love. In fact, mine was not a story of happy love, but, at least, it had a happy ending. I did the tattoo to celebrate my strength in over-

coming a situation that seemed impos-sible for me to face. I decided to impress on my skin my victory, not to forget that nothing is impossible to overcome. Since that day, I celebrate my goals, my achievements, my joys and my sorrows with a tattoo.

In fact, I’m writing my own story on my body. Each of my tattoos, which cost me a little pain and hundreds of Euros, re-minds me of a very important moment in my life, it doesn’t matter if it is good or bad. I don’t know the common me-aning of the drawings on my skin, but, for me, they have a deeper meaning: they have the meaning I decide to give them. A tattoo lasts life long. It will ne-ver change. In the same way, the mo-ment I decide to celebrate with a tattoo, will be with me for the rest of my life.

Every time I look at my tattoos I’m awa-re of what I went through, of what made me the person I am now. In fact, every time I look at them, I see myself, I see what I’ve been, who I’m now and I be-come aware of the person I want to be in the future.

It’s neither a fashion statement nor a religious one; it’s just the story of my life, which runs throughout those black signs on my skin.

Costanza’s tattooRaja’s tattoo

18 RUDRAKSHA

Upon arriving in Madurai, I am mild-ly disappointed to discover that the Poompuhar exhibition had officially closed the previous day. But far from being disheartened at my late arrival, the caretaker manager Mr. Solairaja kindly consents to showing me some of the large collection of spiritual artefacts still on display. A plethora of items are placed around the exhibition, prices ranging from Rs. 10 to 19000, originating from as far as Nepal and Australia. The shop is only about the size of a small apartment, but is packed to brim with products. In every corner rests an exquisitely carved brass statue, on every table lies a beau-tiful glass necklace and every wall is ad-orned with handsome paintings. Of particular interest is the wide va-riety of Rudraksha beads, small seeds taken from a certain tree that grows in South Asia. Believed by Hindus to pos-sess mystical and divine properties, the beads are deemed in legend to have grown from the tears of Lord Shiva; the name comes from the combination of the words ‘Rudra’ and ‘Aksha’, which mean ‘Shiva’ and ‘teardrop’ respectively. They are most commonly worn as neck-laces but can also be worn on the wrist, chest or forehead. “The beads have both spiritual and me-dicinal powers,” Mr Solairaja says. “This has been proven conclusively and there are many books written on the subject. On the medicinal side, the seeds lower blood pressure, stress and depression; and on the spiritual side, they allow the

wearer to meditate for longer and pro-tect them from impure thoughts.” When I ask Mr. Solairaja if he wears the beads personally, he shakes his head. “A man who wears the seeds of a Rudraksha will not be able to indulge in alcohol, cigarettes or women,” he ex-plains. There are many different types of Rudraksha beads, which distinguish themselves from one another by the number of ‘faces’ they have. Seeds with 1 to 21 faces are still readily available, each corresponding to a different God or combination of Gods and thus ha-ving a different power; for example, a five-faced seed represents Shiva and a three-faced seed represents Shiva, Vis-hnu and Brahma. Mr. Solairaja also warns of fake beads. Some con artists are known to fashion the beads themselves, or scratch ext-ra lines on genuine beads to add more faces to them and make them appear to be a more uncommon type; both are scam and a wearer of such seeds will not experience any effect. Common sense will guide you well here, he says. Some beads are worth more than Rs. 4000, but counterfeit beads are often sold for as little as Rs. 100. He therefo-

re encourages potential wearers to buy from respectable shops or exhibitions rather than off the street, and to bear in mind that if the price seems too good to be true, it probably is. Another method of determining a true Rudraksha seed is to place it boiling water; authentic seeds will be unharmed, but a fake will disintegrate. The beads are used for medicinal pur-poses for all people in India, but the spi-ritual effects are only experienced by Hindus. “Christians and Muslims think that Hindus are deluded, just as Hindus think the opposite,” he says. “Non-Hin-dus are hesitant to believe what they hear about the power of the beads, and that is why they do not wear them.” It is perfectly true that many in the West would be sceptical of the suppo-sed control these inanimate seeds can have over a person’s mind and body. However, it is also true that the power of the beads to cure high blood pressu-re has been well documented. The only debate that remains is whether or not a wearer’s expectation of the effects, that is to say, the placebo effect, has anything to do with this.

The Mystique of the Rudraksha Beads

Angus Roche visits an exhibition of spiritual artefacts. Among the things that caught his eye were the famous Rudraksha beads, believed to confer mystical powers and psychological wellbeing on the wearer. Is it just the wearer’s expecta-tions or is there more to this world than what our senses tell us?

Rudraksha



For over 25 years, V. Narayanamoorthy has been leading a twin life. On wor-king days he is a banker. The assistant manager at the Indian Bank in Palani in the Dingdigul district devotes the rest of his time to his passion—archaeolo-gy that he studied at the Tamil Nadu Archaeological Research Institute. A month ago, looking for relics of the past, V. Narayanamoorthy discovered two symbols drawn on the wall of a cave near Palani. According to him, the symbols are similar to the script of the Indus Valley civilisation.

When Instinct Leads to a Disco-very To tell us about his fabulous discovery,

V. Narayanamoorthy takes us on an expedition in the hills near Palani Kara-dikootam. After a short drive, we walk across a field to reach an area covered with large boulders and overgrown with grass. The sun has already begun its descent when we find ourselves at the bottom of a particularly steep rock.

“The cave is there, three-quarters up the slope”, says the archaeologist. We somehow climb the slippery rock before reaching a promontory behind which lies the famous cave.

“It’s my instinct that led me here. I was looking for tools from the Neolithic pe-riod and I told myself that I might find something special here,” says Naraya-

namoorthy about his hunch to climb this side of a particular rock.

A Special Discovery Indeed, his discovery is special. Placed side by side, the two inscriptions, one square and four squares open on one side, were probably painted with a mixture of herbs dating back to 3000 BC. “These symbols correspond to signs 240 and 247 of the Indus script. The British archaeologist Sir John Marshall has listed 417. The square apparently stands for “house“ and the four squares for “time” or “period.“ One theory is that the language of the Dravidians is the original language of India.“

The discovery of Indus writing symbols

Tracking the Past Catherine Gerst meets banker and archaeologist V. Narayanamoorthy who claims to have discovered inscriptions matching with Indus Valley civilization script unearthed in a cave in Tamil Nadu

Archaeologist V. Narayanamoorthy

Catherine GerstParis, France

in Tamil Nadu is very interesting because it links the Tamil Civilization to the Indus. This is one more factor in favour of this theory, “said the archa-eologist.

V. Narayanamoorthy now hopes that scientists will go to Palani to date the paintings. It will provide a scientific piece of evi-dence to my discovery,“ he says with confidence. He also expects to identify the composition of herbs used to paint the symbols. He will then publish the results of his findings in scientific journals. V. Narayanamoorthy is secre-tary of the Tamil Nadu Archaeological Research Institute in Cuddalore district and regularly publishes the results of his research in national newspapers.

Pallaanguzhi: A pastime for tra-vellers of antiquity The archaeologist leads us to another of his discoveries, located a hundred meters away from the cave: a traditio-nal game called pallaanguzhi, dug into

the rock, protected by two huge rocks. “Dating back to the Neolithic period (3000 BC), the traditional game of Tamil women also exists in other parts of the world, especially in Egypt. It is orga-nised into two rows of six shallow de-pressions in which players place shells or pebbles,“ says V. Narayanamoorthy. These games have been used by mer-chants and travellers, who borrowed an important trade route called Kolumam peruvazhi paathai. This route started

from Madurai, went through Palani and eventually joined the seaside. From there, merchants went to Greece and Rome.

The night has come. Our expedition is reaching its end. Going on about all the area’s archaeological treasures, V. Narayanamoorthy suggests the theme of sundials for a next expedition. Any-body interested?

20 PEOPLE

Journey to the Cave

Treasure Hunt!


As the plane begins to land at Goa’s tiny airport, it’s impossible to withhold an expression of pure wonder: an end-less, breathtaking landscape offers itself to the astonished passengers, leaving them speechless. The forest seems to be infinite, everywhere it’s an expan-se of green as far as the eye can see and sparkling rivers which cross what seems an untouched terrain.

Not Just parties!During the peak tourist season, Goa is the pulsing heart of India, a heart which beats to the rhythm of tekno, trance and –obviously – Goan music. People from all over the world come here to enjoy the wonderful beaches, the amazing seafood and, above all, to experience a non-stop party holiday!! From October to April, Goa seems to know no time: everyday, every time, is the right time

for parties, music and fun!

The monsoon seems to wash away the chaotic lifestyle of the summer; the rain takes away all the noise, the crowd and the parties, leaving behind a wonderful silence and an atmosphere of comple-te relaxation. Everything seems quiet, motionless, surrounded by shining clouds which give it an amazing, me-lancholy beauty. The streets crowded with tourists on holiday are a contrast to the silence of the past: in this period Goa seems to lower her Western mask, showing her inner Indian nature.

One can feel that this place is complete-ly different from the rest of India: Goa’s soul is multicultural. Western and Indi-an culture coexist in this kaleidoscopic reality. During season, however, Goa shows its more cosmopolitan face. Yet when the season is off and the lights go out from this summer stage, Goa goes back for a while to its Indian roots.

Riding into the greenThe best way to travel around Goa is on motorbike. If the weather is good, one can wander around for hours without being bored, riding on winding roads that climb the hills or on coastal roads that seem to caress the sea. Even if you do not have a particular place to go, a travel through these amazing lands-capes, following the roads that cleave into the green of the jungle is a memo-rable experience.

For those who like a journey with a des-tination, a visit to the beautiful ancient churches of Old Goa, a fun trip into the Tropical Spice Plantation in Ponda or simply lazing on one of the wonderful beaches to enjoy the fresh marine bree-ze is a slice of life of vintage Goa!

Everything in Goa throbs with abun-dance and silence. The profusion of tro-pical vegetation and the deep silence

Goa: A Multicultural Indian Paradise

Costanza Giannelli visits Goa during the non touristy season during the monsoon and is charmed by the sensuous delights of this famous tourist destination-- sights,

sounds and scenes that one often tends to overlook or miss as a regular tourist!

Goa Landscape


22 WEEKEND WANDER

that can be felt and experienced make it a paradise untouched by humans.

A Western Style Indian Tourist Paradise During the off season, most places are closed. But there are still places to vi-

sit. One has just to choose according to one’s taste: nice restaurants, beach bars or disco clubs. I felt that all these comforts are geared to meet the needs of people from the West.

These places, crowded up to capacityduring the season, are now perfect to chill out without the noise of the crazy summer nights, and the incessant flow of people. The place is surrounded by a lovely atmosphere in which the sound of music melts with the noise of the sea and, sometimes, with the incessant tap-ping of the rain.

It’s rare to see the sun during the mon-soonish off season, but this cloudy wea-ther only adds to the fragile beauty of this emerald land: everything is sur-rounded by a magic light which gives it an ethereal and timeless aspect. The sunbeam filtering through the clouds seems to caress the sea, the wind, and the trees: everything glows in a mysti-cal brightness.

But now it’s time to leave, and Goa bids us goodbye with an amazing, shining sunset over the sea.

Anjuna Beach


This is the movie that ensured the coveted Filmfare best actor award on young actor Arya’s mantelpiece. Of course there is really no purpose in arguing with that since his per-formance is of a rare kind and he masters the character of the silent and strong headed Aghori Rudran with grace and determination. Besi-des director Bala takes the viewer to see an India one just can’t find by walking down the street. This place is buried within the darkest backwa-ters of Indian society where malice rules and mercy gets lost; the place where the beggar mafia is king and their slaves provides their expensive meal ticket. If you are in the mood for a feel good movie, this is not the one to watch. Naan Kadavul leaves its viewer with a strange sadness but at the same time you know that you have watched something divine.

A father disowns his son due to astrological reasons. Fifteen years later, he repents, and brings his son home. To his despair he is not being reunited with a ‘normal’ boy but instead an Aghori. Filled with indignation and sadness he begs the Aghori sect leader to let him go home to Tamil Nadu. The leader

relents. But on one condition: that the boy will return. Being at ‘home’ Rudran has a hard time adjusting, to the lifestyle that is a contrast to the Aghori‘s, and he leaves home to a yogic life in a cave. Here he meets Hamsavalli (Pooja Umashankar), a visually challenged girl who is sepa-rated from her dancing and singing troop against her will and ends up in the hands of the beggar mafia.

A film like Naan Kadavul could easily have gone wrong. Its determination to portray the savage nature of hu-man beings, visual rawness and the fact that it refuses to take its viewers by the hand, is, however, actually what makes it work. Bala made sure that Naan Kadavul separates itself from the mainstream and formulaic films and he has created a movie that has an indie mood about it, a little piece of rough and authentic art the viewer will keep with herself for a long time. One thing, however, Bala could have taken in to consideration is the pace of the movie, since it seems to be choppy at times. This is particu-larly felt in the quick introduc-tion of the two narratives and the merging of the two. This re-viewer felt that the two narrati-ves were strong as separate nar-ratives and also when merged. But the forced pace of the mer-ger makes it

contrived.

Bala has done an amazing job with the casting. Besides superb perfor-mances from Arya and Pooja, the cast of the physically and mentally challenged beggars could not be better. Instead of doing the casting the ‘Hollywood way’ with famous actors to play the parts (Rainman, What’s eating Gilbert Grape, I am Sam etc.) he actually did his re-search and found real people, in this case beggars, to play the roles. Maybe that is one of the reasons why this movie will still haunt you and leave a lasting scar in your mind a long time after you’ve watched it. It is not for everyone and definitely not for the sensitive, but those who do watch it won’t regret it.

Naan Kadavul: Let those who Suffer Sleep Forever

Director Bala combines clever narratives in an offbeat production about a dark side of India.

Camilla TrodybCopenhagen, Denmark

Cast: Arya, Pooja Umashankar, Rajendran etc.Language: TamilCountry: IndiaYear: 2009Official Trailer: http://www.youtu-be.com/watch?v=LRZBPvsC0L4

24 BOOK REVIEW

Rufus PfingstagLouisiana, United States

The Glass Palace, by Amitav Ghosh, is a historical fiction which spans three generations and more than a century. The novel is generally well written, and the story itself is nothing short of breathtaking. However, the sheer quantity of material covered, in combination with the frequent use of non-English words, caused some trouble for this Western reader.The first clarity reducing problem with The Glass Palace lies in the author’s use of local language in the narrative. While written and published in English, there are many cases where the author uses “local” terminology, be it Hindu-stani, Burmese, or another language. While not a huge problem, this reader felt that the use of non-English words was more a cause of distraction than an artistic statement. As an example, while discussing an upcoming wed-ding, the author describes the prepa-rations thus: “The days went by in a storm of feasting and observances: the solemn familial commitments of the paka-dekha led inexorably to the yellowed turmeric-anointing of the gaye-holud.”(p. 286). It is not truly important for the reader to know what commitments are involved in the paka-dekha, nor does the meaning behind the gaye-holud have any bearing on the narrative, but to the curious reader these questions are distracting and unnecessary. There are good reasons to use local words in a novel otherwise written in a foreign language, but few of the examples in the The Glass Palace display them. The second problem with the novel is not so much a complaint as a state-ment of the difficulties involved in a novel of this breadth. Over the course of the 100+ years covered in The Glass

Palace there are many marriages, in-ter-marriage between the products of the first marriages, dis-persion to the winds, re-acquaintance, etcetera. By the final chapters of the book, it was not uncommon to read several pages about a character before remembering whose child, long-lost friend, or former business partner was being discussed. To restate, this is not a complaint about the writing skills of Amitav Ghosh. Rather, this problem was created primarily by the reader’s lack of familiarity with south Asian names. While I can keep track of a novel full of Toms and Jacks, names like Rajkumar and Kishan Singh give me more trouble. For an Indian reader, it is likely that this entire problem would go unnoticed, but for readers of other nationalities, it is something to watch out for. Those two quibbles aside, The Glass Palace is a very well written novel with an interesting and thought provoking story. It is a difficult task to construct a novel that intersects with a world war and coups in multiple countries with-out allowing the narrative to be swept away by the events it describes. Be-cause in The Glass Palace the events are not the point; the coups, the wars, the death and tragedy, these are all just a framework for the truly important part of the novel: the people. The Glass

Palace is about the internal struggles of the characters; about the fact that even in the midst of the destruction of your homeland, the thing that wrenches at your heart is witnessing the destruc-tion of you home. Hearing of genocide on another continent cannot hold a candle to the pain of hearing of the death of a loved one. It is in relating this kind of personal struggle and pain that Amitav Ghosh excels and it is for this that the The Glass Palace is a truly remarkable novel.

The Glass Palace: A Remarkable Epic Novel Despite being flummoxed by the widespread use of several unfamiliar linguistic terms, The Glass Palace still struck a chord with Rufus Pfingstag because of its sensitivity in capturing personal pain and anguish


The Paliyar Tribe: The Wind Is Changing

Dario BosioVallecrosia, Italy

Just a few kilometers away from where the Silver Falls slide down the edges of the magnificent mountains that surround Kodaikanal, with their millenary forest that stands still, just as it always has done. Just some monkeys dare to sit on the roadside walls to mock the cars that, slowly, climb up the winding road to the top. The sky is darkened by the monsoon clouds and the sweet scent of wet trees fills up the air as we stop our car, apparently, in the middle of nowhere.

Ten meters above our heads some shel-ters built on the slippery rocks seem to pierce their nails in the wet ground to hold on, as three curious heads turn in our direction and watch us from behind the green curtain of leaves and bushes. The Paliyar tribe.

After making our way up to the shelters through the rough and narrow path

that climbs up the rocky wall, we sit in front of Mani’s house. A shy smile lights up his face as he greets us, while

some others watch us curiously, a few meters away.

“Our tribe is made up of forty families, but only six of them live in this area”, explains Mani. “The others have got their house in Kumbarai, a village nearby”. I take a quick look around, and try to identify the six shelters that stand up in the middle of the green forest. In between them, a big rock is used at night to light up the fire, while some clothes are hanging from a rope that runs from one tree to the other, like some coloured notes floating in front of the green and leafy background.“It’s hard to live in these conditions, and even harder now, during the monsoon period” says Mani’s wife, “It’s common to wake up in the middle of the night to protect the children from the sorts of things that can happen in

a place like this, such as heavy rain, or snakes crawling in the house. There’s no time to relax.”

The members of the tribe spend most of their time working as labourers in the farms that stands all around Kum-barai. Waking up at the first light of the day, they take a long walk to reach the fields where they work everyday from nine to five. “We’ve always been living here, and we’ve always been doing this. We belong to this land, since for-ever. This soil is like our blood.”But it is a soil that is hard with its tribe, a soil that these hands have always worked for and never owned.Every member of the tribe gets a sal-ary of about two hundred rupees per month, with which they can hardly make a living, especially with the chil-dren going to school.

“We know that school is a great oppor-tunity to improve our sons’ life, we are happy with it.”

A Paliyar’s Shelter

Dario Bosio interacts with the Paliyar tribal community who, he says, are poised on the brink of change.

26 TRIBALS

I ask him how many sons he has, and am surprised to discover that in the small shelter in front of which I am sit-ting, he sleeps together with his wife and four sons. As I take off my shoes to follow his wife inside the house, I won-der how six people can sleep on this wet and muddy soil. Inside the light is low, but it is enough to see a dozen metal pots shining in one corner, some random plastic bags here and there and, unexpectedly, a small transistor radio on the clay wall, their only diver-sion during the dark and cold nights in the forest.

There is no electricity here among the Paliyars, just a broken solar panel that stands up in the middle of the shelters like a useless monument to modernity.“At night we light up a fire there on the big rock, and we cook and sit around it, to enjoy the heat and chat for a while. This is the happiest part of our life, the community spirit. It would be impos-sible for us to live alone, only being together gives us the strength to hold on.”

They feel like an extended family, and somehow they are, since the young boys and girls can marry only members of the tribe, from one of the fourty Pali-yar families living in the area.

I take a quick walk around the shelters, a baby goat plays with me, running back and forth, and a woman offers me some delicious home-made honey. She says that there are no kids now, because they are at school. Being a scheduled tribe gives the Paliyar the opportunity for their children to study, that spells a brighter future. It’s a great effort to give an education to a son, but they all know that it is also the only way to change their descendant’s way of living.

Not more than fifteen years ago every child born among the Paliyans already knew their destiny: his school would have been the soil and the rough skin, working hard in some other people’s land, as it always has been, for centu-ries.

Now things have changed, and every kid is sent to school, to get away from the muddy and slippery soil that his ancestors have called home for so long.

Leaving the homeground is a painful

experience. Mani slowly expains that he could never do that. He was born here, and belongs to this land. But he also knows that there’s no future here, just a hard present that keeps on repeating itself every day, every year, every century.And he doesn’t want this present to be his sons’ life. After a life working like a slave, he wants his sons to live like humans, away from the labour and the rough skin, away from the snakes and the for-est, away from that misery.Away.

Just a few meters from there, a god called Paliyar rests in his small temple in the middle of the forest. Some shel-ters built on slippery rocks hide them-selves behind the trees while a couple bring up some waters to that shed that they call home. In a few hours the kids

will be back from school, and they will sit around the fire at night to hear the grown-ups chatting in the dark and wet forest. They will sleep, then, on that wet soil, in between a dozen metal pots and a small transistor radio, with their parents and brothers.

Then tomorrow morning the sun will rise above the trees, the monkeys will climb their way up to the road wall again, and some tourist cars will drive up that mountain to reach the mag-nificent Silver Falls. Somewhere on that same road, the Paliyar are going to work in some other men’s land. Somewhere on that road, the Paliyar’s sons are making their way to school. Somehow, on that road, a bright future is breaking up with the harsh present of deprivation. And those children are that future.

A woman of the community in her house

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september-2010