Latest news with #Adyar
New Indian Express
17-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
Art beyond the aisles
The scribbles and strokes on the last page of your notebook. The balance a family living on the streets achieves in assembling and organising their belongings. The paper boats you leave to float in rainwater. The office corner where golden-hour light catches the plant — and you, sitting beside it. The synchrony of motorists braking in unison at a signal. The storytelling session over a cup of chai at a tea stall. Aren't these art? According to the Cambridge Dictionary, art is 'making objects, images, music, etc., that are beautiful or that express feelings.' Does this mean that art should be confined only to the canvas — whispers from behind the glass of galleries? In reality, art can speak on street corners, train platforms, and tea shops. In his recent Cannes speech, Robert De Niro remarked, 'Art is inclusive. It brings people together.' This thought resonates deeply with an upcoming inclusive exhibition — Art & I — to be held this weekend. Art & I is a collaborative art show, created by Sunshine House, an art house, and Backyard, Adyar. The art-based organisations are bringing all kinds of art under one roof through a one-day event. From miniatures to large canvas paintings and ceramic pottery, all art forms will be on display and available for sale. Akshaya ChittyBabu Nithya, founder of Backyard, explains, 'We prefer calling it an art show because there are certain processes and interactive elements present at each stall where the artist demonstrates their style and also engages with the viewer or audience. Those who come in will also make art in one way or another — solving an artistic puzzle or painting on a blank canvas puzzle.'
Hindustan Times
16-05-2025
- General
- Hindustan Times
Is a River Alive?: Read an exclusive excerpt from Robert Macfarlane's new book
Dusk falling fast on the coast. A night wind rising. Chennai flashes and blinks behind us. Huge surf breaks and withdraws, breaks and withdraws, filling the air with its roar. Somewhere a dog-pack howls. In the black ink of the ocean, night travellers are approaching shore, drawn and directed by instincts etched deep into their brains by evolution's needle. Sea-mist shows grainy where arc-light falls. Salt in the nose, stinging lips. A barn owl is hunched on the skeleton of an abandoned building. Its feathers glow faintly white: a phantom in the girders. Yuvan and I have at last, in our slow descent of the rivers of Chennai, reached the sea. We have arrived at the long shore where the Adyar, the Cooum and the Kosasthalaiyar meet the Indian Ocean: Chennai's celebrated beach, a vast intertidal zone, a meeting of worlds which stretches for miles along the coast. Tonight we will not sleep. Tonight we will walk the beach, watching and waiting for female Olive Ridley sea turtles – those night travellers – to haul themselves ashore, dig their nests and lay their eggs. The fossil record shows that sea turtles have been voyaging the oceans of Earth for at least 120 million years: that is to say, some 70 million years before the Indian Plate crashed into the Eurasian Plate to create the Himalayas and fuse what is now India to what is now Asia. Sea turtles have survived much upon this Earth in their long tenure, but it is possible they will not survive us. Human predation, exploitation and habitat destruction are proving severe challenges for these gentle, deep- sea voyagers. For centuries now, sea turtles have been caught and killed for meat, eggs, bait, leather and oil. Turtle meat was a fuel that powered the engine of colonialism: the British would stack the storage decks of their ships with living sea turtles in order to provide a durable source of fresh meat for long voyages. Now far fewer turtles are killed for their meat, but many more die after being struck by the hulls or propellors of ships, snagged in trawl- lines or tangled fatally in the thousands of abandoned 'ghost nets' which haunt the world's oceans. Between January and April each year, hundreds of female Olive Ridley turtles come ashore in the darkness to nest on the Chennai coast. And for thirty years, during nesting season, a group of volunteers has been walking the beaches every single night, in order to guard the mothers from harm and ensure the safety of their eggs. They call themselves the 'Turtle Patrol'. Yuvan has walked with this group many times. The leader is a man called Arun Venkatraman. Few people know more about sea turtles' lives and deaths in southern India than he does. Arun is fifty or so. He is tall, tired and articulate. 'It is a bad year for the turtles so far,' he says to me. 'We have had around a hundred nests and a hundred dead turtles. We walk the beach each night to the smell of rotting flesh. Those are the ones killed offshore, who then wash up here. All the nice dreams about leaving the turtles to their nesting have gone up in smoke. The beaches have become very unsafe. Tractors will collapse the egg pits, feral dogs will dig the eggs out.' When turtle hatchlings do emerge from their eggs, and excavate themselves from the sand, they are evolutionarily attuned to move towards the dazzle- path of moonlight on the sea or the bioluminescence of breaking waves. But now Chennai's bright lights confuse them. Street lamps and building lights lure many hatchlings inland, where they die on dry land, eaten by dogs or crushed by the wheels of vehicles. This is why the Turtle Patrol walks the beach carrying soft cloth bags. When a new turtle nest is found, they dig it out by hand, then carefully lift the eggs out and bag them, counting them as they surface. The eggs are then carried to a hatchery: a safe, fenced area on the beach. There they are reburied in the sand, in new nest- holes handdug to the same depth and dimensions as the true nest from which they have been taken. Records are kept of each nest: time, location and date of both finding and reburial; size of nest; number of eggs. Around forty days later, the sand above the new nest will begin to quake – and out will struggle scores of hatchlings, whom the Patrol oversee as they make for the ocean, turning back any that head inland. Arun estimates that the Turtle Patrol releases twenty thousand hatchlings in a good year. But many more nests and eggs are lost to dogs, and the burn rate of those hatchlings who do emerge from the hatchery's eggs is very high, even under the care of the Patrol. Only around one in a thousand will survive to reach sexual maturity as an adult turtle. Of all the threats sea turtles face, perhaps the greatest is climate change. Fascinatingly, the sex of a sea turtle hatchling is determined by the temperature at which the eggs gestate. The flip-point for sea turtle sexing in India is 31.5°C. Below that, the majority of eggs become male. Above that, the majority become female. Today, due to global warming, the sand on Chennai beach is reliably in the thirties, even as early in the year as February. The result is that future breeding ratios are heavily skewed. Yuvan, Arun and I wait together on the night beach for the rest of the Patrol to gather. We eat slices of hard mango sprinkled with salt and chilli powder, which set our lips tingling. Men sit alone in the dark on sand, silently watching the ocean. Couples hold hands. Boys in trainers laugh as they play chicken with the waves. Yuvan and I face the ocean and read aloud a praise-poem to the sea turtles – a ghazal – called 'Night- Swimmer' that we have written together over the past few months: What stories, what wishes, what warnings do you bring, night-swimmer? What wonders, what perils – the whale pods, the ghost nets – have you seen as you explore, Sea Turtle…? Hauled up along the beach are sharp-prowed wooden fishing boats, painted yellows and blues and reds, with powerful outboards lying flat on their sterns. These are the workhorses of the fisherfolk. They are fleet, elegant craft, designed to ride out through the big surf and then to work the waters within half a mile of the shore, rocking on the rollers. Far out at sea the mast lights of the trawlers can now be seen: seven or eight ships at least, harvesting perhaps six miles offshore, their long nets and lines slung behind them. This is the gauntlet the mother turtles must run to reach the shore safely: hulls, propellors, flipper-snagging nets and hooks. Other people drift out of the darkness to join us. There are curious locals from Chennai, and visitors from Hyderabad and Bangalore. All want to know more about these mysterious sea-beings, the turtles. We finally start walking at midnight. Arun leads. He invites me to join him at the front. We trudge north together. The main group stays thirty yards behind. Arun holds a torch and sweeps the sand in front of him in quick, efficient arcs, like a detective working a crime scene. I think he's looking for turtles, but really he's looking for tracks. The sand shelves steeply down to the surf. In the dark, the slope feels steep enough to slide down. The waves are big, brawling creatures, crashing ashore, surging up the berm and then clawing anything they catch back towards the deep. It is an intimidating sea. What must the Boxing Day tsunami have been like here? I wonder. The ocean rearing up like a curved wall of smooth concrete . . . A young woman comes up to me in the darkness with cupped hands. She opens them to show a tiny fleck of iridescent blue, the bright blue of old glacial ice. It shifts and runs in her palm like a sprite. 'Put out your hand,' she says, so I do, and she pours the quantum of light into my palm. 'Sea-sparkle,' says Yuvan, who has joined us. 'Bioluminescence. Rare at this time of year, but in monsoon the sewage treatment plants get overwhelmed, so you get more of the algal bloom feeding on the nutrients in the effluent, and therefore the sea- sparkle is brighter. At such times, the whole ocean can glitter with it far out from the shore. A degraded magic, if ever I heard it.' I pass the blue spark on, dabbing it with a finger into Yuvan's palm, and he carries it off in the darkness to give to someone else. Suddenly I'm back in the high clearing in the cloud- forest, with the mycelium shining in that deep equatorial darkness. You can see all the veins of the forest lit up – you can see that everything is connected . . . 'Last year I was for a fortnight or so with the Idu Mishmi people in the north of India,' says Yuvan when he catches me back up, 'to see if I could help their resistance to a mega- dam project planned for their river, the Dibang River. To them, it is a world- ending project: the river and the mountains around are the home of spirits, or khinus. The Lepcha people in Sikkim are also protesting a dam project on their Teesta River; their language is soaked in river metaphors. If their river is blocked, so their language and stories will be also.' glyan˙: the human spine; also the course of a river or the flow of time a-čin : uniting; as do two ridges of hills, or two rivers, or the veins of the body dár : to give birth, to procreate; also to increase as a river does after rain tsuˇ n : to join, to meet, to be confluent as rivers are I hear a faint ringing of little bells. Five glass flasks float in the darkness ahead. Within the flasks, glowing points of white light roam and flicker. Are they fireflies? A man in black clothes materializes out of the night behind them as we approach, holding these strange alembics of light. An older woman walks towards us, bearing a sparkling silver stick with which she points questioningly at my hands. Yuvan speaks to her in Tamil, gestures to her to walk on. 'She wants to tell your future, Rob. She will tap on your hand with the stick to do so. I told her there was no need.' I wish now that I had let her do so. Points of light are everywhere: the stars, the sea-sparkle, the clairvoyant's shimmering stick, the flasks with their fireflies . . . The smell tells us before we see it. Death is in the air. There it is: the shell and rotting corpse of an Olive Ridley sea turtle. Arun pauses at the body, checks something briefly, murmurs something, strides on. Yuvan and I stop beside her. Her nictitating membranes have closed over her eyes so they are milky grey. Her shell, bowed out like a conquistador's chest armour, is surprisingly small. There is a split running laterally across its layered hexagons. 'Another trawler strike, Rob. Either hull or the propellor. An impact death. You can see that this one has been counted by the Patrol. They tie a line of cord around a front flipper to show she's been added to the tally; that's what Arun just stopped to check for. Olive Ridleys are passive swimmers. They swim only just below the surface as they come in to breed. The fisherfolk can see them, and steer around them. The trawlers: no chance. They just plough right over them.' (Excerpted with permission from Is a River Alive? by Robert Macfarlane; published by Hamish Hamilton, an imprint of Penguin; 2025)
The Hindu
08-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
A last-minute gifting guide for Mother's Day 2025
Sporty action If you are in the mood to get competitive, head to Chennai's numerous board game cafes like The Boardroom India ( Mylapore and Anna Nagar), Gameistry in Egmore (which has over 1,000 games to choose from), Adyar's The Board Game Lounge. Here, you can spend hours playing board games while sipping on coffee. Popular games at these cafes include Yellow Yangtze, Splendor Duel, Ten, Saltfjord, Azul: Summer Pavilion, Ticket to Ride: San Francisco, Can't Stop, Catan: New Energies, The Red Cathedral, Space Alert, among others. For those looking to break a sweat, book a session of pickleball at the city's many courts. Turf Town, an app that lists all the courts in town shows 50-plus venue options for this sport in the city. Pickle On Top in Kilpauk, has a rooftop court, , just a stone's throw away is Paddle Rattle, then there is Ice Water Sports Arena in Express Mall, providing an outdoor setting, and Smashville in Injambakkam which has tennis and pickleball courts. Ready to rally, mom? Always wanted to get your mother to try yoga? Here is your chance. Teri Kumar Yoga has planned a two-hour gentle yoga session this Sunday to commemorate Mother's Day. The session comprises gentle yoga, a sound bath, post-session tea, and you get to take home a free polaroid photo of the two of you. The event is open to people with all levels of fitness, and asanas will be modified for those who prefer to practice seated on a chair instead of the yoga mat. Ticket is priced at ₹1,599 and includes entry for your mother and you. On May 11, 10.30 am to 12.30 pm at Ikigai The Space, Velachery. To register, WhatsApp 9003081725. Brunch with me If your mother is still making your morning coffee for you, it is time to return the love, but with a twist. At The Ground Flour (Chennai), Chef Mansi Sanghi has curated a thoughtful 'You're My Coffee' hamper. Designed as a takeaway coffee carrier, it comes with a coffee cup filled with the classic tiramisu layered with espresso soaked vanilla sponge, mascarpone cream, and an intense dark chocolate coffee ganache. Alongside, is a compartment with a wild flower bouquet. The hamper is priced at ₹800. To order, call 9150518666. At Six 'O' One, The Park Chennai's all-day restaurant, a special brunch for Mother's Day has been planned with special giveaways for all mothers. Alongside a live band performance, diners can savour dishes such as zucchini roulade, grilled prawn, smoked salmon, mixed vegetable and tofu dim sum, spinach and ricotta rotolo, among others. For dessert, there is bingsoo, a Korean shaved ice dessert made with condensed milk, chocolate sauce, strawberry compote, dry fruits and nuts. At ₹3,099 + taxes (per person) with alcohol, and ₹2,299 + taxes without alcohol. Fashion forward Instead of last minute shopping, (yes, it is okay if you forgot Mother's Day!) why not custom make something. Hidesign, which retails leather bags, wallets, belts, and footwear, gives you an option to craft your own wallets, and a range of bags at their physical stores. You can choose the design, shape, leather type (sheep, goat, deer, ostrich), colour, and also add personalised elements like name tags, buckles, and emboss names. Custom wallets are priced upwards of ₹4,000 at their outlets across the country. Out and about Everybody loves some me time. You can book a solo trip for your mother with Goa's luxe travel company The Soluna Experience. A getaway for solo women travellers is being planned in Goa next month, which is also the best time to enjoy the State's monsoon season. The trip will be curated for just 12 guests at a time, and includes treks and trails through the Western Ghats, walks across Goa's villages, a taste of the local cuisine, and more. Upwards of ₹70,000. For details, call' 9972924025. Want to head out but are not in the mood to cafe hop? A walking tour of the city could be a great bonding activity. Choose from the many heritage and cultural walking tours offered by the likes of Madras Inherited and Storytrails, across Georgetown, Mylapore, Marina Beach, and in Mamallapuram. These walks take you to popular sites such as Santhome Basilica, Ramakrishna Math, and Kapaleeshwarar Temple in Mylapore, the lighthouse and fishing hamlets along Marina Beach, and Fort St. George, St. Mary's Church, local markets, the Armenian Church, and more in Georgetown. Food walks in Sowcarpet and Triplicane are another option to learn about the localities. Relish Sowcarpet's murukku sandwiches, thattu idli, aloo tikki chaat and raj kachori at Kakada Ramprasad, podi idli and ghee dosa at Seena Bhai Tiffin Center, and in Triplicane, visit the classics such as Ratna Cafe, and Basha Halwawala among others.
The Hindu
22-04-2025
- Politics
- The Hindu
Chennai River Restoration Trust to restore 12 waterbodies across T.N.: Minister
As many as 12 waterbodies across Tamil Nadu have been taken up for restoration, rejuvenation, and development with parks, Minister for Municipal Administration and Water Supply K.N. Nehru said in the Assembly on Tuesday (April 22, 2025). The Chennai River Restoration Trust (CRRT), which undertook the Adyar project, will restore the 12 major waterbodies across Tamil Nadu, he said, replying to a query by DMK MLA M. Varalakshmi (Chengalpattu). During the Question Hour in the House, Ms. Varalakshmi asked whether the government would take steps to prevent sewage from being let into Ninnakkarai lake in Maraimalai Nagar, in the Chengalpattu constituency. Listing the various steps being taken to clean up waterbodies in Chengalpattu district, Mr. Nehru said once they were completed, the sewage flow into the waterbody would be stopped. The Minister also referred to the dumping of biomedical waste and sewage into Kolavai lake in Chengalpattu district, and said the district administration had placed a request to the Railways in this regard.
