Hri Institute for Southasian Research and Exchange

Terence Bech, photo credit: Amar Gurung/MPP

A recent piece by Amar Gurung, chief archivist at Nepal’s Madan Puraskar Pustakalaya, highlights the recent return of a rich collection of Nepali music (“Songs of our times”, Nepali Times, 9 December). The recordings, transcriptions, and instruments — all gathered by Terence Bech, a Peace Corps volunteer to Nepal from 1964 to 1966 — was housed at Indiana University. Bech, an explorer, mountaineer, and sailor, gave Madan Puraskar Pustakalaya (an archival center in Patan,  and a partner in Hri’s Archives project) permission to take copies of the collection. This will be an invaluable resource for ethnomusicologists, anthropologists, and ordinary citizens alike. (Visit the article for links to two songs recorded by Terence Bech.)

It was with Bech’s sense of curiousity that last year, Hri set out on the Music on the Move project. We wanted to document Gandharva musical traditions, as well as to understand the socioeconomic and cultural events that have led to changes in musical style and community structures. Some of our recordings and videos may be found here. We hope this documentation, too, will be a resource for musicians – Gandharva and otherwise – and that it will contribute to an enriched understanding of social life and cultural production in Nepal.

Image 4: Installation by Ashmina Ranjit

By: Sarita Manu

The workshop in early November 2011, “South Asia: Histories, Visual and Literary Texts” (jointly organized by Krantijyoti Savitribai Phule Women’s Studies Centre, University of Pune and Zubaan, New Delhi) introduced many new and interesting areas of studies to me, who is from a non- women’s studies or a social sciences setting. Given my background in art and architecture, the presentation, ‘Feminine Representations and Themes of Resistance in Nepali Art’ by Archana Thapa from Kathmandu, Nepal offered a very refreshing view of contemporary art from Nepal.

Image 1: Om Khattri

Archana’s selection of images from Nepal strongly focused on the theme of menstruation and the colour ‘red’ that occupies a significant place in Nepali culture and tradition.  Looking at the images, the themes seem to emerge so strongly due to two reasons. The first reason: ‘red’ is an auspicious colour adorned by Nepali women in every form, from clothes to accessories, especially among married women. And second: the same ‘red’ as menstrual blood, sees the women being ostracized during and on menstruation every month.

In many parts of Nepal, during menstruation, women tend to be kept in seclusion, with no access to proper food. They are considered “impure” and are forbidden from touching anything or, in some cases, even speaking to anyone on those days.  This is aptly represented in the installation by Om Khattri in Image 1 of a woman sitting alone in a makeshift hut / cowshed. The woman sits isolated and looks uncared-for. Another contemporary artist from Nepal is Asha Dangol, who has participated in exhibitions on similar themes. In Image 2, he shows the mannequin of a menstruating woman. Red threads representing the ‘impure’ menstrual blood flow out of her vagina and end up as the beautiful lotuses on the floor.  His installation attempts to shun the association of ‘impurity’ with menstruation, by using lotuses, which are considered very pious in Hindu religion.

Image 2: Asha Dangol

Menstruation also presents itself as a stark interruption in the life of the ‘Kumari Devi’, the Living Goddess of Nepal. The Kumari Devi is a deified young (pre-pubescent) girl who is worshipped in the Hindu-Buddhist tradition in Nepal.  A girl from the Newar Shakya community of Nepal is selected to be the ‘living goddess’, upon passing all the eligibility requirements. She is highly revered and worshipped as a goddess. When the Kumari starts menstruating – or sheds blood in any form – she ceases to be the ‘living goddess’, as menstruation is considered ‘impure’. Following the end of her life as the Kumari, she starts living the life of a normal girl, but is considered unlucky for marriage.

In a sharp contrast to Asha Dangol’s installation that sets about to erase the ‘impure’ and embrace the ‘pure’, artist Ashmina Ranjit’s installations and performance are very blatant and ‘in-your-face’. The image (see Image 3) of Ashmina performing in a dress made of sanitary pads, from March 2010, made some of us gasp and most, guffaw. Ashmina Ranjit successfully draws attention to the act of menstruation in an attempt to eradicate the taboo associated with menstruation and menstruating women. A thin tube spews blood on the napkins one at a time, as Ashmina carefully folds and discards them in the trash bin. In a similar effort as seen in Image 4, Ashmina also creates an installation of a woman’s toilet by covering it entirely with sanitary napkins. It was interesting to note a woman from the participating audience comment on how the modern sanitary napkins not only reflect menstruation successfully but also the face of capitalism. The ultra-thin sanitary pads seen here are a modern replacement of the traditional cloth or cloth pads used by many.

Image 3: Performance art, Ashmina Ranjit

As I ran over the images from Archana’s presentation in my mind, I could not help but wonder about how menstruation as a subject remains largely unexplored with contemporary artists in India, despite the fact that menstruation is taboo with many Indian Hindu communities, as in Nepal. Amongst many South Indians, the first menstrual cycle in a girl often calls for much joy and celebration as it indicates that the girl is now a ‘grown up woman’, with her womb ready to ‘receive’. At the same time and in a seemingly contradictory manner, it is customary for the women to be barred from entering the kitchen to cook during menstruation. Although some view this as the period when a woman is allowed to rest and be relieved of her domestic duties, she is not allowed to touch anyone or enter the temple or perform any religious rituals.

Today, in many families of the present generation, women are no longer barred from the kitchen during menstruation or treated as untouchables. But for menstruating women to enter the sanctum sanctorum of the temple or to stop considering menstruation as an ‘impure’ process is going to take more than just education and awareness.

Images 1 and 2 are from Archana Thapa; Images 3 and 4 were obtained from http://sanitationupdates.wordpress.com

- Sarita Manu

Why ‘Dhanush’ di? Honestly, it was more like, ‘Who, Dhanush di?” With my limited access (as a Tamilian) to Tamil movies in Mumbai, I had been running this question in my mind for the last few years. I could never figure out Dhanush as an actor, but when I heard about him lending his voice to a song that had gone viral, I had to (I repeat, ‘had to’) check it out. The official video had around 1.8 million hits a week ago and now it has gone up to more than 10 million hits on YouTube.

The catchy, “why this kolaveri kolaveri kolaveri di”, translates to “why this killer rage / murderous rage” in English. ‘Kolaveri’ could also roughly translate to “qaatilana” in Hindustani. In sounding more like a poetic narration of Tanglish (Tamil + English) lyrics, ‘Kolaveri di’ has made the critics cringe and even reject that this is a ‘true’ song.

So what really worked for Dhanush, the singer and Anirudh, the music director, with ‘Kolaveri di’?

• One –marketing;
• Two – more marketing;
  and
• Three – brilliantly executed marketing by Sony Music. With an official release on YouTube on Nov16th, this song went on to become a nearly instant viral – a sock in the face to all those who underestimated or wrote away the influencing reach of online social networking.

The catchy, ‘down-market’ (as some may call it) lyrics that even a non-native speaker of English can understand very obviously worked in its favour. How difficult can it be for someone who speaks broken English to understand what this means: distance la moon-u moon-u /  moon-u  colour-u  white-u /  white background night-u night-u / night-u color-u black-u

or even this: white skin-u girl-u girl-u /  girl-u heart-u black-u /  eyes-u eyes-u meet-u meet-u /  my future dark

and for the icing on the cake: god i m dying now-u / she is happy how-u

The target audience, boys who have failed in love, and have broken hearts, lapped up the song. The ‘soup song’ – a song about failure in love, ends with a dedication to ‘soup boys’ – boys who have failed in love. “Yo boys I am singing song / soup song … ”, starts crooning Dhanush and closes with, “…this song for soup boys-u / we don’t have choice-u”.

‘Soup’ is a Tamil slang for failed love or failure in love. It also strikes a chord with the slang, ‘Sappai’ – which means a simpleton. I was reminded of the dialogue in the climax of the brilliantly executed film, Aaranya Kandam, where Yasmin Ponnappa, the lead actress says, “Sappai is also a man, but all men are sappai”.

And when I walked into the class this week, one of my 10 year old student ran up to me, only to ask, “Have you heard the song, ‘Why this Kolaveri Kolaveri Kolaveri di’”? I was more than glad that I could reply in the positive and save myself the embarrassment of saying, “No, I haven’t. What is it all about?”