A Blog of One's Own

Abhinaya’s Macbeth (dir. Jyotish M.G.; with D. Raghutaman as Macbeth, Athira as Lady Macbeth) Review by Ralph Yarrow I saw this at Abhimanch, NSD, on Jan.9 2009. Excellent use was made of inventive staging, involving large mirrors reflecting the protagonists, subtle entrances and exits, use of swathes of material, striking costumes for the chorus, simple but effective ramps and an imaginatively conceived and effectively used set of severed Banquo heads in the banquet scene. The twin video screens presented surprisingly impressive effects, mostly oblique representations of key motifs (introspection, hand-washing, birds in flight, the dagger – the latter mercifully suggestive and brief). The sound – haunting music with strong moments of intensity and menace, choric speaking amplified at appropriate moments – was also well used and contrasted effectively with the non-amplified speech of the main characters, as though they were battling the elemental forces around them. Lighting was also...

One more Keralappiravi has passed on 1st of Nov, 2008. As the govt. tirade against the Chengara struggle and the apathy of the general public to it continue in Kerala, let us remember Poykayil Appachan (1879-1939), the tireless crusader against casteism within the dominant churches and outside; he not only redefined religion but urged people to convert the dream of liberation into a reality on this earth. For Amarapuram, established under the leadership of Poykayil Appachan in 1910s, so many dalits had shed their sweat and tears and they’re not mere pieces of land, but as the name suggests the symbol of hope, an eternal city of freedom. We rejoice to reach Amarapuram Its beauty is unsurpassed Is it heaven or its peak? Is it luck or its peak! I am not the one to narrate it all! For this and translations of other songs of Poykayil Appachan by Ajay Sekher, see Unknown Subjects: Songs of Poykayil Appachan , edited by V.V Swamy and E.V Anil (Kottayam: Institute of PRDS studies, 2008)

Poem by G. Sasi (1959-2002) Soumini, You said that black is beautiful Poets have sung it Then, How did the black people get humiliated? We are not the ones who suck blood and sweat We are melting… The blazing sun and the burning earth Are not tending us Mother, There is no space for the black people To hide in your wings We are being thrown out Oh mother Kali! Your neck has been ornamented By whose heads? When you quench your anger By sucking blood On whose headless body are you standing? Soumini, Don’t say for the sake of saying That black is beautiful… Don’t sing, Black is the seed of riot in the self Mountain of turbulence Shadow of suffering The color of love (Translated from Malayalam by Sreekala Sivasankaran) G. Sasi was born in 1959 in Madhuraveli, Kottayam district of Kerala . His parents Gopalan and Kuttippennu worked as coolies and they lived in the Ayamkudi slum colony. Sasi, after completing his school education went to college but could not continue the studies. His poems...

between the mountains black tuberoses blooming between day and night distance or closeness?

Huzoo-e-shah mein When, in the king’s durbar, poets compete In the garden’s durbar, sweet songs compete To heavenly women poets compare their loves But it is for gallows and rope that we fight Look! She’s here! Don’t say: “I haven’t seen”-- A test for the assembly’s patience and restraint? Let the sweet heart-piercing shaft go deeper still Is the she-archer’s skill now being put to test? The sacred thread and the rosary are both worthless For brahmin and sheikh, it is a severe test Experiment with her lock of hair’s great strength Hold on! Why restlessness? O my slave-heart! She will come, Ghalib, It’s a promise. Don’t fret! Beneath the old sky, the torturer’s new experiment! (Translation by H S Shivaprakash)

Aloke Roy (1939-2004), a pioneer in the post-independence India to use mime as a medium for theatre campaigns. He founded the Jagran theatre for the slum dwellers in Delhi. (Portrait by Samkutty Pattomkary)

Have you ever faced with the problem of your writings/posts misrepresented in internet sites? Have there been instances of unknown people quoting your name and comments added to a particular article or blog, in their own blogs without your knowledge and with changes made by them to suit their purpose? I think this is one problem that I’ve been facing for sometime now in my blog experience. What solutions are available and what actions can be taken in such instances in web forums and blogs? Share your views and experiences.

What kind of untouchability is this? The untouchability of the lords! Go away, go away The stumbling block, go away… Go away, go away Even Pakkanar§ has to go away! If the salt is sown, Would it sprout? And creep onto the fence? Then, what is this untouchability? The untouchability of the lords! If the salt is sown… If the salt is sown, Would it sprout? And creep on to the fence? Go away, go away The stumbling block, go away… Go away, go away Even Pakkanar has to go away! Is it possible to drink and bathe, In the stream where fishes are? And forget the water drunk? Then, what is this untouchability? The untouchability of the lords! Is it possible? Is it possible to drink and bathe, In the stream where fishes are? And forget the water drunk? Go away, go away The stumbling block, go away… Go away, go away Even Pakkanar has to go away! If the arrow is shot into the sky, Would it pierce? Then, what is this untouchability? The untouchability of the lords! If the arrow is shot… If the arrow ...

15 Minutes Can’t you find 15 minutes To write a line ? Not that there aren’t 15 minutes 15 minutes are misplaced Like a book lost somewhere in the shelf. Sreekala S

Bastar Cockfight by Sreekala S Achuthan glides in his bermudas Along the Chitrakote [1] waterfalls Reading the river for his end-term Osho’s tongue licks his wet thighs from his pocket Neil has migrated to the internet Computer has grown 24 legs His father from the city does not get him On the mobile phone. Alban has not come to the school His mother’s wounds need dressing Of his tears and lessons as the drunken father Snores atop the afternoon Tarcila has run like a hound To get an income certificate from Her illiterate sarpanch to submit to the Suited booted university. At the moot court rehearsals when, Cocks fight to defend the space laws Moon has walked onto the mahua tree Asking for the hands of a stable partner The woman prisoner awaiting trial At the Bastar central jail Has to go back home To fight for drinking water Shall we go to the forests? Where warmth would be waiting, Where all the denials get sacrificed, And shade you enough from the pain of remembering? I will meet yo...