My Indian Artist Friend Gets a Swedish Solo Show!

Babu KG’s work travels to Stockholm…

In Kerala myth, dragonflies represent the souls of the departed. Photo Copyright Babu KG.

If not for the Covid-19 pandemic, Kerala artist Babu KG would by now be in Sweden, where his solo exhibition at the Väsby Art Gallery is opening on September 18, 2021.

Due to the ongoing pandemic, the Swedish Consulate has not been issuing visas to Indian citizens for a while now, except in a handful of special cases. Unfortunately, having your first solo exhibition abroad does not fall under any of them.

The silver lining, however, is that Babu KG’s canvases, at least, were able to make the trip and have been given pride of place at the spacious Väsby Konsthall.

KG Babu’s work on display at Väsby Konsthall, Stockholm (Photo copyright Dorina Mocan).

“Somewhere, the Dragonfly is me, my soul that has moved on aeons hence, my spirit that has wandered in search of deeper meanings of life, in search of the light at the end of tunnel, despite darkness and trials. – Babu KG”

The Journey of the Dragonfly

After participating in multiple group shows, both in India and abroad, and several solo shows in his home country, this exhibition, with the title “Journey of the Dragonfly,” marks the next big step in the Kerala artist’s path to international recognition.

In his Artist’s Statement, Babu KG elucidates the significance of the dragonfly: “For us, Keralites, the dragonfly has its own myths. They are the souls of the departed, hovering over our landmass and seascape, traveling like birds from terrain to terrain. Indeed, they are the harbingers of the Southeast Monsoon rains that nurture Kerala. In Kanyakumari, at the southernmost tip of Kerala, people gather to watch the arrival of the monsoon rains. Waves of dragonflies hover in the sky for three to four days, a famous tourist attraction there.”

And in conclusion he states: “Somewhere, the Dragonfly is me, my soul that has moved on aeons hence, my spirit that has wandered in search of deeper meanings of life, in search of the light at the end of tunnel, despite darkness and trials. The dragonfly is me, the signature of my SOUL on my canvas.”

An extraordinary body of work

Minute detail and brilliant colors in “Moonlit” (Oil on canvas). Copyright Babu KG.

The Swedish exhibition brings an overview of this versatile artist’s range. Apart from his signature large canvases with their minute detail and brilliant colors, some smaller works are also represented: striking portraits of street people, executed in ballpoint pen, as well as charming drawings in watercolor, color pencils, and mixed media. His Mattancherry mural in Kochi, where I first caught a glimpse of his striking oeuvre, is also represented.

Ballpoint pen sketch of a street character. Copyright Babu KG.

Babu’s pen drawings have the intricacy of a fine etching. For a while he tried to do one every day. But ultimately he decided this practice was too time-consuming to keep up.

Goat (mixed media — study for the Mattancherry mural). Copyright Babu KG.

The Swedish connection

The exhibition is curated by Dorina Mocan, an accomplished Swedish artist of Romanian origin. I wondered how she discovered Babu KG’s work, and what most appealed to her in it.

With her permission, I have summarized, below, part of the speech Dorina drafted for the official opening of the exhibition, which will be attended by the Indian Consul.

“The best kind of recognition you can get as an artist is appreciation from a skilled colleague. Ever since we first made contact in the fall of 2019, Babu KG and I have slowly gained insight into each other’s work and everyday life. I became aware of how different it is to work and live as an artist in our respective countries. But our devotion and love for our art are the same, and therefore there is more that unites us than what separates us. In the Painter’s World, we speak the same language and are always close, despite the fact that Sweden and India are so far apart.

We artists need each other to get energy, to talk, to weave dreams, to support each other, in our otherwise lonely work in the studio. Witnessing someone else’s passion for their work is so much needed and contagious, and there is nothing that can spur one more as an artist than to see a colleague work hard and succeed, to see a great talent develop and flourish. From this feeling and these thoughts came the question, What can I do for my artist friend Babu?

I know from experience how important it is to show your art on other latitudes and from that knowledge came my desire to support Babu and give him the opportunity to show his art to the Swedish audience. I already knew then that his world of images will touch many, just as it touches me.” – Dorina Mocan, curator

What next?

Babu KG dreams of bringing his work to North America, especially as it would give him an opportunity to meet with some of the Indigenous People of the USA and/or Canada. He shares a strong bond with the tribal people in Kerala and India in general. Their deep connection with Nature remains a continuing source of inspiration for him.

Like Dorina Mocan I, too, am looking for a way to make it happen!

(This article was first published on http://www.medium.com)

Chance Encounter With An Artist

The amazingly talented Mr. K G Babu

Artist K G Babu. Photo by author, Fort Kochi, Kerala 2020. ©Elisabeth Khan

Browsing for souvenirs…

About a month before we would all be sheltering in place, hiding from a pandemic, I was happily traveling around in beautiful Kerala (AKA God’s Own Country) with my husband, our youngest daughter Shirin, and my sister Christine, who lives in France. We had just visited the historical synagogue in Mattancherry and were about to walk back to our hotel. But first Christine and Shirin needed to find some gifts and postcards for their friends.

While browsing the nearby shops, we stumbled upon the open doorway of Mandalay Hall, a very unique-looking hotel. The view of its verdant courtyard was intriguing, so we walked in and asked the receptionist if we could have a look around. We were in for a surprise: one of the courtyard walls was covered in exquisite, hyper-realist murals of Cochin street scenes, featuring locals, known — like the late Sarah Cohen — and unknown, and even tourists. The work appeared to be still in progress.

Some of the subjects were painted with their backs toward the viewer, as if they, themselves, were onlookers or passers-by. My limited photographic skills cannot do justice to the artwork, but you will get the idea.

Seated is the late Sarah Cohen, doyenne of the dwindling Jewish community in Cochin. ©Elisabeth Khan

We meet a mysterious artist

Dying to find out who the artist was, we asked a man who sat relaxing in the far corner of the courtyard for information. We could’t believe our luck when he turned out to be the painter, in person. A conversation followed, me gushing shamelessly, he answering my questions with endearing humility. I especially wanted to know if he also painted on canvas, because I’d love to acquire a small work by him, provided I could afford it. “ I have a website,” he said.

We exchanged contact info, and I promised to do a story on him. Back home, I did my due diligence, downloading his résumé and his website (see link: Artist-KGBabuTo remain in touch with nature, is to be in touch with the creator. And when one cannot fearlessly be present in this…www.artistkgbabu.com)

I also admired dozens of his astounding canvases, found on Google Images. Many of them have a touch of magic realism, with a uniquely Indian twist. I loved this one of a girl eating jackfruit:

Studying these materials, I found out a lot more about the artist: that he was self-taught, and socially and environmentally engaged. Much of his work had been done on commission from cultural organizations, leading to various solo and group exhibitions and awards in India, and also a few international art shows. But not nearly enough, in my opinion.

A little backstory

Something of a child prodigy, K G Babu started out with color pencils, then watercolor. Later he branched out to other media like enamel paint, charcoal, oil, pastel, and acrylic. By the time he was in high school, people were taking notice. But in India, you need connections to advance, and his family was of modest means. Like many artists, he admits to having no talent for business, and for years he struggled to get by. He gratefully accepted commissions by cultural organizations for several groups of artwork to accompany biographical exhibits about figures like Mahatma Gandhi and various Kerala cultural icons. Working from photographs, he brought them to life.

His series of sixty-two exceptional frames on the life of Gandhi were also used in a television program on the Mahatma. “Bulk orders” of this kind don’t pay well, but they brought his work to the attention of the public.

Watercolor from a series on the life of Mahatma Gandhi exhibited at Thrissur in 2011 © K G Babu

Even in mural art, K G Babu is entirely self taught, he told me: “No guru.” By studying the paintings of great masters, he figured out how to do it. His murals are not frescoes, but gigantic acrylic paintings, and so they are by nature ephemeral, he says. The artist finds happiness in his creative work, and that is all that counts for him.

He painted his first mural four years ago, in Kodungallur. It’s based on a famous novel by O V Vijayan. For inspiration he walked the places where the novel was set and made sketches. He also incorporated the author’s picture in it. The mural was used as the backdrop for a theatre performance, and has also been captured in two Malayalam movies.

Actors relaxing in front of the Kodungallur mural. Used with permission.

A multifaceted artist

K G Babu is not only a uniquely gifted artist, but a man of deep thoughts and humanity, as I discovered while reading a long essay that he wrote, “Art — A Pilgrimage to Purity.” It was published in a Malayalam-language magazine, and he sent me a translation done by one of his art students who lives in England.

His compassion for the underdogs of Indian society, the tribals, the poor, women and children, shines through in his art. Few people in the West are aware of the Adivasi (aboriginal) tribes of India: the Gonds, the Bhils, the Santals, and many others. In Kerala, the indigenous tribes are called “the protectors of the forest.” K G Babu idealizes them. Tribal people, he feels, are more pure, less polluted by our “civilization.”

The artist’s favorite picture is of a tribal couple floating paper boats on a river.* © K G Babu

On WhatsApp he told me of his dream to paint all the tribal people of the world, including the Native Americans. But he is aware that this is, most probably, impossible. My family and I were blown away by his art. Much of it has a haunting quality. After meeting the man behind it, I believe this artist deserves wider, indeed worldwide, recognition.

*What looks like an innocent, romantic interlude depicted above, is in fact an allegory of the impact of humans on their environment and the artist’s own hope that our coexistence with Nature will evolve into a cohabitation. The paper boats signify life, “on the shores of exuberating (sic) freedom and intimacy” that such a union with Nature would offer. In conclusion he writes: “This painting is the realization of nature as the torn half of my soul and the lost part of my being. It is the proclamation of this realization to the world.”

Please note: This article was first published on Medium. If you like my writing, please follow me there!

Jai Jagat 2020, A March for Justice and Peace

Jill Carr-Harris (R) and her husband PV Rajagopal arriving at Sewagram in 2017.          ©Benjamin Joyeux – Mediapart.

My daily news feed is utterly depressing: the world we live in appears to be increasingly ruled by violence, injustice, and might-is-right thinking. It’s a cynical world, where lies and deception have become the new normal. But there is a resistance, and recently I was privileged to meet one of its leading proponents, Jill Carr-Harris. With her husband, PV Rajagopal, she is one of the leaders of the Gandhian movement in India.

When we met in Bhopal at the house of a mutual friend, Jill and I found we had a lot in common. We are about the same age and, despite being born in Canada and Belgium respectively, we both feel “Indian at heart,” have married Indian citizens, have adopted local customs, are fluent in Hindi, and delight in wearing traditional Indian clothing, especially khadi (handspun, hand-woven natural fiber) fabrics.

Over the last three decades, Jill’s husband Mr. Rajagopal, affectionately known as Rajaji, has worked tirelessly to improve the lot of the oppressed, the dispossessed, landless, and powerless, proving in the process that, more than 70 years after Mahatma Gandhi’s death, his principles are still very much alive and… working.

“Between silence and violence is active nonviolence.”  –PV Rajagopal

Starting at the grassroots, Rajagopal trained thousands of rural young people as community leaders, whose activities in several Indian states eventually led to national actions. In 2007, 25,000 landless poor, mainly tribals, marched 350 kilometers (217 miles) from Gwalior in Madhya Pradesh to the capital, New Delhi, to demand the land reforms promised them at Independence (1947). The action succeeded in bringing about the implementation of the Forest Rights Act.

In 2012 a second such march, this time of 100,000 people, was organized to demand people’s control over land and livelihood resources, resulting in a ten-point agreement with the Government of India.

In 2018 Rajagopal came up with an even more ambitious plan: to mobilize one million people to nonviolently claim their livelihood rights. After a year of planning and preparations, the movement is now poised to take Gandhi’s message across the globe and spread his ideals of peace and nonviolence. The scope, this time, is truly mind boggling.

Starting in New Delhi on October 2, 2019 – Gandhi’s 150-year birth anniversary – the year-long march will span 10,151 kilometers (a whopping 6,307 miles!) on three continents, culminating in a global action forum at Geneva, from 26 September through 2 October 2020. Participants committed to nonviolent change all over the world will march from India, Belgium, France, Germany, Sweden, Senegal, Spain, and other countries, to Switzerland.

The project is dubbed Jai Jagat, Victory of the World, and it is intended to be a victory for our common humanity, helping us to refocus on an inclusive world based on principles of peace and justice. (www.jaijagat2020.org.) The city of Geneva will welcome the marchers for eight days of action, where issues facing local people worldwide will be addressed with global institutions and policy makers.

For me, this is a glimmer of hope, a sign that the forces of good, the true proponents of peace and justice, still have a chance to make our world a better place for us all.  We ask our leaders to, for once, listen to the people, not to the demands of the war industry, to abandon the cynical view that destruction and reconstruction will boost the economy. We beg our governments to resist the blame games, warmongering, and arms races all over the globe. Only social justice can lead to lasting peace. Only peace can lead to lasting prosperity.

P.S. Jill has agreed to take time off from her busy schedule for an interview. It will appear on this blog soon.

If you are a journalist or blogger, I invite you to share both this article and the upcoming interview with as many news outlets as you can.

Healing Herbs of Midsummer

A posy of “St. John’s Herbs” tied with a ribbon in the colors of Catalonia. (Photo EK)

What’s Saint John got to do with it?

In pagan Europe, the longest day (and shortest night) of the year, associated with the summer solstice, was considered a sacred event. The actual date can fall anytime between 19 June and 25 June. In Southern France, and many other places, bonfires were lit on the hilltops, and healing herbs gathered before dawn were thought to be at the peak of their potency.

When Christianity was introduced,  the Church – not yet divided into Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant – allowed some of the ancient traditions to continue, after sanctifying them with a layer of religious varnish.

Thus, the 24th of June became the feast day of St. John the Baptist, and the bonfires became “St. John’s fires” (Les feux de la St.Jean in France and Québec) on the eve of it.

In some areas, the gathering of healing plants also survived. This has been the case in French Catalonia, where part of my family lives.

The magic of herbs

I happened to be present for the occasion a few years back, and have a few pictures (very amateurish ones, I’m afraid) to share. My sister Clara, who is married to the mayor of Montauriol, a tiny village in the Roussillon-Languedoc, has always been concerned about the disappearance of old local traditions and the danger of them being supplanted by foreign imports, like trick-or-treating on “Halloween.” She and her husband continue to encourage the old ways.

 

The villages of the region no longer have any permanent parish priests. Outside pastors are invited for occasions like this. (Photo EK)

And so it happened that, on the morning of June 24th, 2015, I found myself outside an ancient little chapel in a clearing of the woods, part of a small congregation celebrating la St. Jean, “comme il faut.” A white-robed priest pronounced the appropriate prayers to bless the “pagan” herbs, as well as the congregation, who were liberally sprinkled with holy water in the process. In conclusion, a hymn of praise was sung to Our Lady of the Canigou, an epithet of Mother Mary associated with a majestic local mountain peak.

One family’s supply of medicinal herbs for the year. (Photo EK)

The locals had gone out at the crack of dawn to gather wormwood, houseleek, ground ivy, daisy, yarrow, sage, and, of course, St. John’s wort. These would now be taken home to be dried and used throughout the year, individually or in combination. Clara had made little posies, to be given to relatives and friends. They would be fixed over the door in their houses as a decoration, but also to ward off illness and evil.

Congregants lining up for Communion. (Photo EK)

After the prayer service, the doors to the little chapel (too small to hold even this smallish crowd) were opened, so we could all have a look at the interior, decorated with flowers and candles for the occasion.

Candlelight creates an intimate atmosphere inside. (Photo EK)

The medieval Romanesque-style chapel is opened only a few times a year.. (Photo EK)

Saint Nicholas. (Photo EK)

Let me know if you have enjoyed this short journey to the South of France!

Wanted: Pied Piper

This story is not for the squeamish…

The glue trap worked like a charm, until…

This morning I sat in the coffeeshop of our local Barnes & Noble with a writer friend, Walerian Domanski. He had many questions about my life in India. For one thing, he finds it hard to understand why I prefer India to the USA and to Europe, where both of us were born. I have only one answer: “I just love it there, don’t ask me to explain.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like,” he said. “You don’t write your blog on a regular basis…”

He’s right about that. I am a lazy writer, and nowadays mostly active on medium.com, anyway. We started talking about his books and a movie script he’s working on. He mentioned that American readers seem to like dogs very much. Of the two collections of short stories he published, the one with the dog on the cover sells much better than the one that has the word “sex” in the title (although little of it between the covers). He made sure to include a storyline about a dog in his script. From there the conversation meandered to street dogs in Poland and in India. And how the stray dogs in our colony are regularly rounded up and “deported” but always come back. I said, “I don’t think there are shelters for abandoned dogs in Bhopal, and euthanising them is unthinkable. They won’t even kill the rats!”

Well yes, rat poison is for sale, as are different kinds of traps, but once a rat is caught in a trap, it’s hard to find someone willing to finish the job. I told him about my personal experience with this, and he was fascinated. “But you should write about it!” he said. So here goes.

For almost a decade, the city of Bhopal has been expanding in every direction to accommodate its growing population. New housing developments sit on areas that were scrubland or fields just a few years ago. Such is the case with the place where I live. Part of the original wildlife survives, including a population of rats that inhabit a warren of tunnels under lawns, streets, and houses. Houses here have no basements, the floors are laid directly on the soil. Due diligence in the form of reinforced-concrete subfloors is not always observed, as we discovered when our downstairs floors started rising in places and falling in others (see previous post). Gaps in the woodwork, as well as the plumbing, are an open invitation for these rodents to explore our habitat, and sometimes they like it so much that they decide to move right in.

After a prolonged absence, I noticed the signs. My husband’s caring relatives had cleaned the house before my arrival so the telltale droppings were gone, but for want of food (my pantry being almost airtight) the rat or rats had gnawed at everything. They had chewed up the dust sheets and burrowed into the sofa, left holes and tooth marks in and on multiple objects around the house, from cakes of soap to the handles of cooking pots, leaving me with a fine mess. You don’t want to use poison inside your house; there’s no saying where the rat will die. It could hide in or under the furniture and decompose there. My husband wouldn’t be arriving for a few weeks or months, and so it fell to my driver, Vijay, to select a sturdy trap in the bazaar. It was a metal cage with a spring mechanism that snapped shut as soon as the rodent pulled a morsel of food off  a hook. Fail-proof, right? Wrong!

In Europe we lure rats and mice with cheese, but my rat spurned this delicacy. Vijay recommended a piece of roti. My rat was interested but somehow managed to steal the bread without setting off the mechanism. Vijay fine-tuned the spring and that night, no sooner had I gone to bed when I heard the cage snap shut. I went to inspect it: the rat, a fine specimen, was frantically trying to find a way out. Sorry, buddy, I thought. Expecting it to tire soon enough, I went back to bed.

In the morning the cage was empty – a few breadcrumbs and droppings the only proof I had not dreamed the episode. I marvelled at the rat’s strength. That evening I set the trap again with more roti. It worked again, and this time the rat’s tail had gotten caught in the flap as it closed, severely limiting its mobility. Still, it put up a mighty fight. Finding the struggle hard to witness, I decided to put the cage in the front yard so I could watch TV in peace. But as soon as my head hit the pillow, I heard yelping and barking and got up to see what the commotion was about. A few of our resident street dogs had jumped the fence and were dragging the trap, with the hapless creature in it, all over my flower bed. No amount of shooing could discourage them. I felt very bad, for the flowers, the rat, and myself (luckily, I had no next-door neighbors yet). As expected, the poor thing expired in the night – must have had a heart attack – and in the morning I buried it in the flower bed.

I wish I could say that was the end of the saga, but alas, I would have several more encounters with rats, in and around the house. The next time I had an unwanted housemate, I used a glue trap instead. They are sold in three sizes and I got the largest one. It worked like a charm, until the rat managed to extract itself, despite my folding the sticky cardboard across its body. So, back to the cage it was, and when the victim was caught once more, the hairless patch on its back showed it to be the selfsame individual. What strong, what clever animals rats are! What worthy adversaries!

Hello Baldy my old friend…

I asked the gatekeeper to dispose of it. “How will you kill it?” I asked. “Oh no, madam,” he said, “I can’t do that! I will release it in the fields, far enough that it won’t come back.”  I agreed on one condition: “I will give you 100 rupees now, but if I see this rat, with the bald patch, ever again, I will ask the money back from you.” He took the bill with a smile. “It won’t come back, I promise!”

Later, I had to deal with rats digging holes in my tiny front yard and pulling plants inside their tunnels. I dropped squares of rat poison into the entrances, but in the end, the cage proved to be my ultimate weapon, even outdoors.

Outdoor individual, just caught.

As I’m preparing to leave for Bhopal after three months in the USA, I wonder what I’ll find there. I hope I won’t have to engage in this warfare again. Even as a child I had empathy for all mammals, keeping white mice as pets. And my experiences with rats left me with a healthy respect for their ingenuity and tenacity. “Never give up!” seems to be their motto. I actually learned something from them.

Tiles, glorious tiles!

I fell in love with these tiles in our Pondicherry hotel!

If you remember my post about the Lisbon Tile Museum, last year in August (https://wordpress.com/post/elisabethkhan.wordpress.com/4178), you won’t be surprised by what follows.

When we were first decorating our Bhopal house in 2013, I was frantically searching for tiles to finish my kitchen backsplash. And again, a few years later, when we had to redo all our downstairs floors due to a construction issue. Although tile shops abound in the city, I had a hard time finding something that I liked. I ended up going for a fairly neutral backsplash (in my favorite color, turquoise) and white, faux marble floors.

 

 

Turquoise backsplash….

I love the result!

I have not regretted my choices, but I was disappointed at not being able to find something more authentically Indian. Yet, in certain restaurants in town I had seen vintage tiling that resembled old-style European and Vietnamese cement tiles. And on a recent visit to Pondicherry in the South, our hotel room had some glorious, colorful tiles that I assumed must be local. I was told they’re called Athangudi (also Attangudi) tiles, after the village in the Chettinad region of Tamil Nadu where they originated. I had, however, little hope that they would be available outside that area.

In 2015 we had to replace the downstairs floors, with neutral tiles, out of necessity.

Until today, when I found in my (Indian) Houzz feed, an enlightening article about Athangudi tiles, the answer to my dream. Fellow tile lovers, rejoice! You’ll find a link at the end of this post.

Now that I finally know where and how to get my hands on these beauties, I have to find a project to use them. I’m thinking of redoing my bathroom, for starters… I never liked the builder’s default lime green.

Time to redo the bathroom tiles. Never liked this color!

Link to Houzz article on Athangudi tiles:

https://www.houzz.in/ideabooks/106489659?utm_source=Houzz&utm_campaign=u7904&utm_medium=email&utm_content=gallery0&newsletterId=7904

Athangudi

 

Please let me know if you have trouble opening the article.

 

Happy Turkey Day!

Majestic male turkey. (Image credit: “Kindhelper” – freeimages.com)

Friends from America have been sending me “Happy Thanksgiving” messages today. It brings back memories of my first Thanksgiving as a new immigrant in the USA, 27 years ago. Our family had been invited to “dinner” by a Chinese-American family. They asked us to skip lunch and to come to their house about 3PM. What? Dinner in the middle of the afternoon? How strange!

Until my children shared some knowledge they had picked up in school that first year, I had only the foggiest notion of what this “Thanksgiving” was about. It sounded vaguely religious, and given the season, it must have something to do with the harvest, I reasoned. I wasn’t too far off, but I was yet to learn all of the stories and traditions surrounding this most American of holidays.

Pilgrims, “Indians,” and turkeys

So yes, every year on the fourth Thursday of November, American families gather around a festive table laden with nature’s bounty, and give thanks for their blessings. The custom is not associated with any religious denomination, and nobody is required to go to church, temple, or synagogue. Usually, a short prayer of thanks is spoken at the beginning of the meal. In some families, including ours, every member in turn will mention something he or she is thankful for. A subtle exercise in gratitude.

Harvest festivals and thanksgiving gatherings have been around for ages, but what is commemorated on this particular day is the legendary “First Thanksgiving,” celebrated in 1621 by a group of early immigrants on Plymouth Plantation in Virginia together with the Native American (“Indian”) tribe that had helped them survive in their new surroundings.

These immigrants were the Pilgrims, English Protestant dissenters who had fled religious persecution in their homeland. One hundred of them had arrived on a ship called the Mayflower. Literally half of the newcomers perished that first year, when they ran out of supplies before they were able to grow their own food on this foreign soil. Thanks to the natives of the Wampanoag tribe, who showed them some fishing, hunting, and cultivation techniques, the 50 survivors were at last able to hold a harvest feast that lasted three days, sharing the new-found abundance with 90 native guests. Two of the colonists, William Bradford and Edward Winslow, left behind descriptions of this event.

Here is an excerpt of Winslow’s account:

“Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruits of our labor. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which we brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others.”

The fowl that was captured in the woods probably included wild turkeys, and to this day no Thanksgiving is complete without a huge (now farm-raised) stuffed turkey and many side dishes that represent the produce of the new land: sweet corn, cranberries, potatoes and sweet potatoes or yams, squash, and pumpkin pie. Later additions are green beans and Brussels sprouts.

Once a majestic  bird…  (credit: as012a2569@freeimages.com)

Our hosts that first year had also included some Chinese dishes. There was so much food that we did not feel hungry until the next day. The following year we invited our American neighbors over for a turkey feast. And later still, when three of our four children had turned vegetarian, we usually prepared a Tofurky (a soybean-based roast shaped like a turkey) instead, with a smaller bird – Cornish hen or Guinea fowl – on the side for the die-hard carnivores. Most American families spend the rest of the day watching (American) football on TV and napping. No more cooking is done. If anybody gets hungry late at night, they can make themselves a plate of yummy leftovers to heat up in the microwave.

Serving my last Thanksgiving dinner in Michigan, in 2016.

Because Thanksgiving is a federal holiday and falls on a Thursday, all students and most employees get a long weekend (four days) off. Many people travel home from wherever they study or work, by road, rail, or air, to be with their loved ones, making for some of the busiest travel days in the year.

The day after is nicknamed Black Friday, and is known for huge discounts in all stores, often leading to chaotic scenes as eager buyers try to beat each other to the bargain merchandise. But that’s a different story!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Who manipulates social media and why?

By 2018, smartphones will account for 62% of mobile phones in India. (Photo credit digit.in)

(Trigger alert. Contains description of violence against humans.)

It’s been over a year now that I disabled my FaceBook account. No, I did not quite delete it, I kept my options open. I discovered that the Messenger function had somehow been preserved, which I thought at the time was a good thing because – even though I’d shared some alternative ways to keep in touch – some faraway friends prefer messaging. I’m beginning to have second thoughts about that now.

Why did I say goodbye to FB? Let me count the reasons… There was the poisoned political atmosphere during the last election campaign, the gross commercialism, the forced camaraderie, the excess of vanity and silliness, the mindless time waste, but most of all, the fake news being gobbled up and regurgitated by people I had previously regarded as discerning. I breathed a deep sigh of relief after leaving all of that behind.

Sadly, though, there’s no escaping fake news anymore. One of my best and oldest friends keeps circulating false information, no matter how many times I disprove her sensational “finds” and beseech her to fact-check before sharing. Why?  Because there’s always some compelling hook that will fool a certain percentage of the recipients. Clearly, unseen powers analyze our FB posts to identify our hot buttons, then use our pet causes and pet peeves against us.

A recent (October 29) article by Kevin Roose in the New York Times covered the problems FaceBook is facing as a result of this disturbing trend, whose effects are influencing politics and life worldwide. Because it’s not just “Russian interference” or “the Rohingya (pro and con),” but a wide range of issues affecting our everyday lives, no matter where we live, that are made to go viral and become many times more divisive than they deserve to be, with the help of photoshopping, deceitful captioning/voiceovers, and wrongful attribution.

It’s not just FaceBook, of course. This is the kind of world we now live in. To keep in touch with family members across the continents, my husband and I are using WhatsApp. It was only in the above-mentioned NYT article that I learned this handy, free, phone messaging app is owned by FaceBook. However, living in India, I have witnessed its crazy popularity and scary influence first hand over the last year.

It’s safe to say that almost everyone in India has a cell phone now, down to the farmers in all but the remotest villages. Tech research site Gartner reports that 62% of mobile phones sales in 2018 will be smartphones. And WhatsApp is not only universally popular here, but regarded by many as a reliable source of news. As such, it’s become an ideal tool for the unholy purpose of inciting hatred and violence between communities. As stated in Mr. Roose’s piece:

<<In India, where internet use has also surged in recent years, WhatsApp, the popular Facebook-owned messaging app, has been inundated with rumors, hoaxes and false stories. In May, the Jharkhand region in Eastern India was destabilized by a viral WhatsApp message that falsely claimed that gangs in the area were abducting children. The message incited widespread panic and led to a rash of retaliatory lynchings, in which at least seven people were beaten to death. A local filmmaker, Vinay Purty, told the Hindustan Times that many of the local villagers simply believed the abduction myth was real, since it came from WhatsApp. “Everything shared on the phone is regarded as true,” Mr. Purty said.>> (K. Roose NYT)

Over time I have seen multiple instances of misinformation on WhatsApp, and Messenger, but a few days ago I had a taste of just how insidious these things are and how they are crafted. My friend sent me a gruesome video accompanied by the following text: “Hindu girl burnt alive in Madhya Pradesh because she attended a prayer meeting in a Christian church. Send this around pls. This video must go viral. This is the real face of Shining India!” I’m purposely neglecting to include a link. It was a cellphone recording of a young woman in shorts being harassed by a mob, beaten, and eventually set on fire. Nobody came to the victim’s aid during the attack. Instead, the bystanders were watching and filming the spectacle. It’s the most horrible thing I have ever seen and I wish I could unsee it. But what shocked me even worse than the lynching itself was the realization that this clip was and is still making the rounds and being used for anti-Indian, anti-Hindu, and anti-Muslim propaganda!

The incident was purported to have taken place in Madhya Pradesh, the state where I happen to live. I won’t deny we have our fair share of violent crime here, duly reported on by the daily papers. However, I had never before seen anything reaching this level of communalism in our state. And there were other things that made me suspicious: the clothes and hats people wore, their faces, which were brown but not particularly Indian-looking, and the audio, which was unintelligible – consisting as it did of multiple voices overlapping – and appeared (purposely?) muffled. What I found really strange, though, was that I was unable to identify even a single Hindi word in the melee.

As usual, I searched for the source, and found it on one of the websites dedicated to separating facts from hoaxes. The video was exposed on the site 11 months ago by Prashanth Damarla, yet it appears to be as viral as ever. It originated in Rio Bravo, Guatemala, where the brutal attack happened in May 2015.

The actual cause according to Mr. Damarla: “The girl was accused of killing a 68-year-old motorcycle taxi driver Carlos Enrique González Noriega along with her biker gang, who managed to flee the scene. Talking about the unfortunate incident, a police spokesman said that officers tried to intervene but were blocked by the bystanders.”

In its new incarnation, various kinds of “explanations” have been posted with it on different sites:  “Different stories attached to the video say that the shameful and inhuman incident happened in Andhra Pradesh State or Hyderabad City of India, because the Hindu girl married a Muslim man, and she did not follow the Muslim customs.” (P. Damarla)

So the same mob-violence video was being used by discrete (groups of) people to spark indignation, rage, and similar states of mind possibly leading to… more mob violence. Also resentment between neighboring nations: the version I received came from Bangladesh. It blamed the girl’s own Hindu community, supposedly enraged by her visit to a church. Another version has been used against Muslims. On the other hand, the jibe about “Shining India” will to many Indians appear as having come from Pakistan.

So much mischief emerges from a single video clip.

Who is responsible? On the face of it, multiple entities, each for their own political gain. Or could there be a central puppeteer who benefits from the level of hatred increasing day by day in our world? (Fodder for a conspiracy theory, I know.)

What is the purpose? To have a candidate elected? To destabilize a local or regional government, or a central one? It’s not world peace, or even a quest for justice, for sure.

Years ago, Dr. Andrew Weil advised his readers to regularly go on a “news fast.” That is still good advice, if you want to keep your blood pressure in check. Nowadays, we should include a “social media fast” if we wish to keep our sanity.

But we also have to keep watching, and fighting for the truth to come out, and disabusing our near and dear ones who fall for this blatant manipulation. Which is why I decided to write this, instead of lying awake another night.

 

 

About Sharell Cook

Australian author/photographer  Sharell Cook has been writing about her love affair with India since 2008.

It was probably sometime in 2011 or 2012 that I discovered a blog named Diary of a White Indian Housewife. Sharell Cook, an Australian woman married to an Indian, wrote about her life in Mumbai. I loved the way she wrote about the country and about her experiences. My husband and I were, at the time, seriously considering our move to Bhopal. When we were in the USA, we were addicted to HGTV’s House Hunters International. Ms. Cook mentioned somewhere in her blog that she and her hubby had been featured on the show. I searched and found the episode in question. I learned a thing or two from it.

We bought a lovely townhouse in a brand new colony not far from Raja Bhoj Airport. We were promised possession in the summer of 2013. When we finally received the keys in November, I started spending a lot of time in Bhopal to transform this brick shell into a real home for my soon-to-be retired hubby and myself.  Meanwhile, Sharell’s blog grew ever more successful, too much so for her taste. It led to a book offer (Henna for the Broken-Hearted, published 2011) and a job managing the content of About.com’s India Travel site (now https://www.tripsavvy.com/india). While her blog reached 5000 page views per day (!), and had brought her many faithful fans, it also brought with it quite a few stalkers and trolls, which eventually made her decide to quit. Being a rather private, even shy, person, she had never sought this kind of fame. Plus, she did not enjoy being labelled or put in a box like “expat.”

The Diary of a White Indian Housewife has disappeared. Now Sharell has a new site: Sharellcook.com. She continues to travel the country as a journalist and travel professional. She graciously allowed me to reblog her article – with lovely photographs – about the tribal cultures of Madhya Pradesh: http://sharellcook.com/2017/05/02/gond-and-baiga-a-tale-of-two-tribes-in-madhya-pradesh/ . She also recently gave a TEDx talk (after turning down the first request), overcoming her fear of public speaking – so inspiring.

Thank you Sharell! I hope to welcome you in Bhopal one day soon…

 

Beautiful Brussels (3)

Within walking distance from the Grand’ Place:

Need a shower in a hurry? Enter here.

When I was a teen, I loved to window shop at the windowless, “underground” Agora Gallery, just off the Grand’Place. In those days the shopping arcade was anchored by a large, exotic Japanese store. “Shibui” was stashed full of silk kimonos, fragrant chrysanthemum tea, incense, bamboo, and porcelain from the Far East. Alas, Shibui is long gone. Nowadays, the gallery’s offerings lean towards more popular tastes, like leather goods, sportswear and, of course, souvenirs. However…

Bargains galore at the Agora shopping arcade.

… should you be in the market for a sari, you can find one here, too! Most of the Agora shops these days are owned by South Asians. I’m told you can even use your bargaining skills, if you’re so inclined.

A sun dress, a windbreaker, or a silk sari; this Bengali-owned store has it all.

The mother of all shopping arcades

Before there were malls, there were elegant glass-roofed shopping arcades in Europe, and the Galeries Royales St. Hubert in Brussels is one of the oldest examples in existence. If you’re at all familiar with the Belgian weather, you will realize the genius of this idea.

Come rain or shine, you can have an outdoors feeling and still stay dry.

The Royal Galleries, designed by architect Jean-Pierre Cluysenaar, were inaugurated by king Leopold I in 1847. (A full 30 years before the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II in Milan, which is often called “the oldest shopping mall in the world.”)

Its three parts, the King’s gallery, the Queen’s Gallery, and the smaller Prince’s Gallery still house upscale jewelry and couture shops, a theater, restaurants, ice cream parlors, and tea rooms offering lunch and wonderful pastries. Also at least one excellent bookstore specializing in art books.

Indoor café terrace in the Royal Galleries.

“Chocolates or macarons, what should I buy?”

At the colonnade in the middle, you may decide to veer off into a narrow cross street, the touristy dining paradise of Brussels known as the rue des Bouchers. This street will lead you in the direction of the Opera House and the popular pedestrian-only shopping area of the Nieuwstraat/rue Neuve.

Rue des Bouchers (Butchers’ Street) offers dining options for every palate.

The area is reserved for pedestrians, and restaurants spill over onto the cobblestone pavement.

Fresh seafood is always an appealing option.

Ten euros is not a bad deal for our national dish (drink no longer included?).

 

And there are always other options nearby: Greek, Indian, Tunisian, you name it.

Like it spicy? This is the spot.

Not by bread alone…

Fancy some high culture? Close by is the famous Brussels Opera House named the Muntschouwburg (Dutch) or Theatre de la Monnaie (French), known for its quality productions. There has been an opera theatre on this site since 1700! The current Neoclassical building by Joseph Poelaert dates from 1856, with a 20th-century update by (among others) Charles Vandenhove.

Another notable fact about this opera house: this was the site where the Belgian revolution, leading to the county’s independence from the Netherlands, was sparked by the patriotic aria “Amour sacré de la patrie” in Daniel Auber’s opera “La muette de Portici” in 1830.

De Munt or La Monnaie is our temple of the arts.

Last but not least, your spiritual side needn’t starve either. The doors of an unassuming little Catholic church, “Our Lady of Refuge,” near the Brussels Bourse (Stock Exchange) remain open all day. You can sit down and meditate undisturbed for a while, or walk around and look at the artwork (don’t miss the ceiling and the historic organ.)

Our Lady of Refuge, on the corner of the Kolenmarktstraat/ rue du Marché au Charbon.

Easy to miss, this little 17th-century church is a gem of baroque architecture.

In its quiet interior you can admire the baroque details… as well as a message of peace and love for the world, in the shape of these Islamic and Jewish banners. (Apparently the parish priest had at one time served in the Middle East.)

This little baroque-style church is a haven of peace in a bustling area.

Of course there is much, much more to say about Brussels. But this is where I end my walking tour. Tot weerziens! Au revoir! Hope you enjoyed the experience. (I look forward to your questions and comments as a source of inspiration for future posts.)

Please note: All images belong to the author.