Latest news with #Amritavarshini
The Hindu
12-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Echoes of empowerment: ‘Penkaalangal' resonates at National Percussion Festival
A session titled 'Pennkaalangal,' meaning 'female rhythms,' drew a packed audience at the K.T. Muhammed Theatre on the second day of the National Percussion Festival on Saturday organised by the Kerala Sangeetha Nataka Akademi. The session opened with a captivating address by Mohiniyattam exponent and scholar Deepti Omchery Bhalla, who brought alive the poetic beauty of Mohiniyattam's padavarnnas, joined in soulful vocal support by Suprabha from Kerala Kalamandalam. Amritavarshini, a bold presence in the male-dominated thavil tradition, led a vibrant ensemble titled Yuvathaalatharangam. Her powerful performance set the stage pulsing. The akademi's platform was more than a stage—it was a resounding endorsement of Ms. Amritavarshini's rhythmic breakthrough in a patriarchal domain. Change and revival Adding to the tapestry of resistance and reclamation was Margamkali, once the bastion of male performers. With Akhila Joshi, Sibi Paul, and team at the helm, the presentation was a declaration of change and revival. From the traditionally male-dominated art of Thullal, a powerful performance by Kalamandalam Sharmila and troupe took centre stage, turning the form into a space for gender assertion and narrative justice. In the tabla segment, Mumbai's Mukta Raste proved that rhythm knows no gender. Her commanding tabla recital, accompanied by Santosh Ghande on harmonium, was yet another resonant statement of female prowess. The session culminated with an exhilarating thayambaka led by Nandini Varma and team. At a time when women were absent from chenda performances, Ms. Varma carved a niche through sheer dedication and grit. Her journey mirrored the struggles and triumphs of countless women percussionists. Pennkaalangal was not just a session. It was the akademi's heartfelt recognition of women percussionists, a rhythmic rebellion against patriarchy, and an ode to every woman who dared to beat the drum and reclaim her space. The second day of the percussion festival began with a stirring performance that defied time and age. The stage at the Actor Murali Theatre came alive with the majestic rhythms of Panchari Melam, led by none other than 80-year-old Therozhi Ramakuruppu and his ensemble. Youthful zest With a vibrant spirit that belied his age, Mr. Ramakuruppu took the chenda and began the performance with youthful zest. As the first beats echoed across the theatre, the sonic and visual splendour of the Melam captivated both eyes and hearts. Arriving at the venue early in the morning, Mr. Ramakuruppu was warmly welcomed by the akademi chairperson Mattannur Sankarankutty and secretary Karivellur Murali, who escorted him to the stage with due honour. True to its classical form, Panchari Melam unfolded in five rhythmic phases. It began in a slow tempo and gradually progressed, reaching a thunderous climax in the fifth phase. Each phase was helmed by master percussionists: Cheranallur Sankarankutty Marar, Tiruvalla Radhakrishna Marar, Porur Haridas, and Vellithiruthi Unni Nair led the second to fifth segments. The ensemble included chenda led by maestro Kizhakkoot Kuttan Marar, kurumkuzhal led by Panamanna Manoharan, kombu by Unni Nair, and ilathalam by Asiad Shashi, along with their respective teams. A remarkable 118 percussionists took the stage together in perfect unison, turning the performance into a living sculpture of sound and motion. With every synchronised beat, the crowd was drawn deeper into the spirit of the Melam. The powerful performance was not just heard—it was felt.
Mint
05-06-2025
- Mint
Plot twist: Can the monsoon become urban India's hero again?
It had been a week of bad news—of water filling homes, streets, even a presciently named Aqua Line metro station. The early monsoon brought little more than grim headlines of flooding and landslides, like a livestream of the effects of unplanned construction, deforestation and pure apathy. Until I found myself on the Ooty-Mettupalayam road in Tamil Nadu, following a motorcycle down to the plains. She rode sidesaddle, like so many women in India, a pillion rider with a baby in one arm and an overstuffed bag on the other shoulder. A light drizzle began to fall; she turned her face up and stuck her tongue out to taste the raindrops. In that moment of abandon and sly pleasure, she wasn't wife or mother or daughter or daughter-in-law, but a person enjoying the sensation of rain. Also Read: Urban flooding havoc: Dig deeper for root causes Summer in India has many moods. There's the oppressive, enveloping humidity of the coastal states, the exhausting and angry heat of north India's plains and the calming, cheery sunshine of the hills. No matter what kind of summer it's been, the rain brings its own shift in mood and a sense of languid serenity and hope. We settle in with spiced chai and warm snacks, sniff the moisture in the air, smile at the touch of cool breeze against the skin, and marvel at a sky that's suddenly lost the sharp brightness that made our eyes throb. As children, we were encouraged to dash out into the first shower of the season, to feel the drops on our faces and hands. Long before we discovered the word 'petrichor,' we were romancing the rain; there's poetry in the clouds that gather, in the heat released from the earth as the water falls from the sky, in the parched leaves that transform from an insipid shade of dust to a healthy green. Kalidasa wrote more than a hundred verses in classical Sanskrit to rain-bearing clouds, exhorting them to carry messages to a distant love, in Meghaduta. We have classical music raagas, from Megh and Malhar in Hindustani to Amritavarshini in Carnatic, that evoke the wonder we feel at the sound of thunder. 'Rain scenes' were a staple of many yesteryear films, when downpours seemed to wash away inhibitions too. Festivals countrywide celebrate the onset of monsoon rains, and each language has a raft of words to describe the many kinds of rain specific to the region. Hyperlocal cuisines make the best of the edible greens, veggies and fungi, such as thunder mushrooms and shevala or dragon stalk yam, that pop up with the first showers. We had eco-aesthetics, or the cultural appreciation of the natural world as an element of beauty, centuries before it became recognized as a distinct sub-genre of Western philosophy. For us, the monsoon held joy and a promise for the future. Until now, that is. Also Read: How India can floodproof its cities Despite the monsoon's critical role in India's economy and patterns of life, the relief its onset brings quickly gives way to worry as the reality of living with rain kicks in. Cut off from nature's rhythms and entirely dependent on abysmal urban infrastructure, we now look at the sky with trepidation. It takes just a couple of hours of rain to short-circuit the wiring of our fair-weather cities. Concrete has filled what were once lakes and parks, hillsides have been lacerated for wider roads, and the natural geography that aided the flow and absorption of water has been altered beyond recognition and good sense. Rain water that used to be absorbed by the earth now rises rapidly on streets which turn into mini-dams and hold water as well as traffic. For many, living in inadequate housing, rain drips onto belongings and destroys peace of mind as well as precious possessions. In the hills, which we've worked hard to cover with holiday homes and resorts that pay little heed to the local ecology, landslides and flashfloods are the danger during this season. Also Read: India's growth and urban planning: On different planets Climate change, too, has made the monsoon a moody beast that dumps within a few hours rain which was once rationed over weeks. This year, the monsoon arrived early, breaking over Kerala on 24 May—the earliest since 2009—to disrupt predictions and schedules, causing worries about whether it will stay the course over its usual four months. In recent years, while the volume of rainfall has been 'normal,' its distribution across the Indian landmass has been erratic, with extreme events causing irreversible damage to lives and livelihoods with greater frequency. The monsoon is an annual visitor, yet urban planners seem to treat it as an unwelcome surprise. We have turned the monsoon, once a muse and a wellspring for meditative ideas, into a destructive, unpredictable force. But maybe the rains just have a different role now. The monsoon is still central to the plot—as a villain exposing the rot that goes unseen on a sunny day. Just as it washes away the accumulated grime on trees and shrubs, the rains show up our sheer negligence of nature, our criminal laxity in urban planning and our disregard for the value of human life. Like any textbook villain, the monsoon exposes the conflict and chaos that we ourselves are responsible for—because we chose apathy over care. The author is editor of Mint Lounge.
