Flotsam and Weeds

Book on Women – First of the Series

Some of the pictures from my latest work, a book on the history of women’s movement for rural and semi urban readers. The narrative evolves around 7 women who meet and talk about different concepts, life and what it is like to be a woman in today’s India.

The book is scattered with debates, songs and poems.

I found the text quite bold and rather well written. There are references to Mira, Sita… debates about the ‘nobility’ of Ram who stood by as his wife had to undergo a trial by fire.

These 3 illustrations are some of the final options I arrived at for some text on patriarchy. The client and I had a hard time getting this one right. The concept of patriarchy is more easily explained with words, putting it down into a defined visual proved not very easy. Especially because pictures can be interpreted in so many ways… but then that’s what is rather magical about visual language I suppose.

A few of the motifs and borders that will be scattered around in the book.

This is the first of 4 books. And it is exciting to be part of something that you know will lend to some change however small, but significant nevertheless.

A book for a penny

Been away for too long. Must make some amends soon. I made a book for a dear friend’s birthday… here are some of the pages.

Shami wrote the story.

The Lives of Women

Working on a very interesting project right up my alley. The first part of a series of 4 books on the History of Women’s Movement for an NGO based in Ahmedabad.

The books talk about several issues; based on a play format, and the audiences range from rural to semi-urban to urban. The books will be published in both Gujarati and HIndi and the attempt is to try and not resort to any stereotypes, keeping the characters generic.

Its been fun evolving these characters. These women meet and talk about their lives, societal norms, patriarchy and some the arguments presented in the book had me sit up!

For instance, in one segment, the women are talking about Ram, Ram is historically presented as the ideal man who was always righteous. The women question how he could have subjected Sita to the trial by fire? They say that if Ram was all that righteous he should have gone away with Sita, when her chastity was questioned, he should have forsaken his kingdom, as she had done when he was sent into exile. That was the right thing to do.

There can be several counters to this… but the idea somehow seems so simple and logical. I like the fact that the writer of the book has presented interesting and even somewhat radical ideas like this… it heartens me further that somewhere, there will be this woman, or women who will read this text and choose to look at their lives differently.

Tagged

I’ve been tagged by Ankit. It’s a game of blog tag. Where bloggers tag fellow bloggers with an assignment, and the blogger then has to tag someone else. My friend Ankit tagged me.

The house rules:
* Each person tagged has to write random facts/habits about themselves.
* Those that are tagged will have to write a post on their own blog (about their twelve things)
* At the end of your blog, you need to choose two other people to get tagged and list their names.
* Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

My 12 random thingummies:
1. Unless all the furniture, stationary, stuff, cushions, dabbas, randomness are not arranged in neat right angles, I get ulcers.
2. I love making extensive to-do lists and ticking off things I have done with a fat, black pen.
3. I am obssesed with my hair/or lack of it
4. I go crazy in food stores, I love buying tons and tons of food and stocking my fridge. I have a huge fridge which I paid big bucks for just to do this.
5. I secretly think that I must have been an Egyptian in my past life. I am deeply fascinated by the pyramids.
6. I have 6 lovely saris hanging untouched in my cupboard. I take them out, look at them and put them back.
7. I was always cast as a boy in all my school plays. I had a ‘boy-cut’ till I was in 9th standard.
8. I am deeply terrified of horror films and spiders. I will not watch Arachnephobia even if I was paid gazillions (of euros).
9. Every single time I order a fruit juice… it has to be Mosambi juice.
10. I have always wanted to learn to bake. A quasi Vianne Rocher (Juliet Binoche in Chocolat) of sorts. A french accent would also be nice.
11. I am crazy about freshly, brewed filter coffee. I drink upto 3 cups a day.
12. My dream is to have a house with a shingle roof, vegetable garden with a wide, comfy jhoola.

So these were my 12 random things. I now tag Shami and Shreyas.

Chidiya Udd in the news

Thank you Suzanna! I love the writeup.

http://www.trendy.in/2008/07/31/a-lil-birdie-told-me/?city=2

And thank you Sony! You have been so patient! Big hug!

http://indianbydesign.wordpress.com/2008/07/31/artist-speak-kavita-arvind-and-chidiya-udd/

Chidiya Twitters

I now twitter at http://twitter.com/chidiyaudd

Absolute Life

And I don’t mean this as an ode to any inebriating beverage! I mean that I embrace absolute life. Its an incredible feeling to wake up and feel a bounce in your step and a nice breeze in your heart. I feel just about as colourful and cheery as this page. Here’s to new beginnings and renewed resolves! My new blog-avataar (thanks to the toils of the husband) has me chirruppy and syrupy.

Here’s to a post everyday!

Gym Tales

I have recently made the acquaintance of a whole lot of very interesting people. For more than an hour and a half, we sweat, jiggle and grunt together and all the while pretend to ignore each other. Its been about a month and a half since I have been going to a gym (shit! now that I have said it, am I going to jinx it?). And while I strain and pull at the weights until my eyeballs pop and pant and huffnpuff on the treadmill, the most deliciously exotic of people waft or thomp around me (depending on their tonnage).

First there are the trainers, all beefy, taut young men who take their jobs far too seriously and want to look over your shoulder at the scales, when you try and sneak in and weigh yourself all alone, and then go about asking loudly whether you have lost any weight at all… sigh.

Then there are these two ladieslog who come in all trussed up in the fanciest gym gear and shoes and while they slowly perambulate on the treadmill, chatter incessantly with one another.
When I workout, I have very little breath left to gulp into my lungs and I cant help but sneak amazed glances at these two chatterboxes.

And then there is this charming slender young thing who has the stamina of a herd of hippos and three Khalis (do you watch WWF ever?). She wears an expression of utter calm, and her curls remain unruffled as she zips for what seems like hours on the treadmill and lifts all sorts of weights like they were made of candy floss.

There is also this lovely, lovely aunty who is larger than a tent and does all her exercises with the sincerity of a saint. I totally love watching her, she is about 50 years old. Some enthu!

Then there is the prima donna. She must be about 35-40. She wears her dark black hair very short, large, dangly earrings and very, very, very tight gym (usually all black) clothes.
Hmmm… how do I put this? Well, she exercises furiously whenever she comes to the gym, and she reminds me of jello caught in a landslide. Wonder why all the trainers buzz around her with that ingratiating grin huh?

There is another total darrling child. She is the size of a comfy fridge and has a lovely, pretty face. She walks very slowly, cycles slower and and gives a brilliant imitation of a cuddly pachyderm, plodding along. I suppose her silly mom must have forced her into the gym. I think she is perfect and darling the way she is!

There are also what the husband calls ‘fruit’, these are ripe young gangly men, who may or may not have fuzz growing on their faces. I hope they grow their hot-bod soon, I cant bear to see them strain so! I also watch the Dudahs, these are the super-cool-i-have-been-gymming-since-i
was-four-types. They pick humongous weights like Goliaths, run wihout a bead of sweat for eons, have perfectly toned bodies and make me want to cringe and bury myself under the pedals of the cross ramp.

What’s really interesting is that the larger people wear the tightest of clothes and the thin ones wear big, baggy jhola clothes (I wear jhola clothes, the husband’s oldest tees, I am thin, I am thin, I am thin… there! now it must be true).
I am having a super time. I am fit, happy, people-watching and surging with endorphins! Its a good life.

Atticus Finch

I have been a little under the weather the past three weeks with one illness after another queuing in unexpectedly. I haven’t had the heart to pick up the brushes in a while. But today I thought it was time to put some salve into my soul. So I curled up with a cup of hot bitter sweet coffee and watched “To Kill A Mockingbird”, all over again. I have read this book by Harper Lee several times over and watched the film about half a dozen times, and it remains very close to my heart.
I can easily say that this book is without doubt the most beautiful I have read and can ever hope to read. Like all good books, you notice something new and take with you something new from this book every single time that you read it.

I have never had role models and almost never really been in awe of anyone, perhaps with the exception of Atticus Finch, one of the characters from the book.
For those who have not read this book or watched the film, the story is from the point of view of Jean Louise Finch (Scout) as she remembers a summer back in Maycomb County when she was 6 years old. Atticus is her father, a lawyer who is assigned to be the state defense attorney for a young black man (Tom Robinson) who is accused of raping a white woman.
Jeremy (Jem) Finch is her brother who is 4 years older. Along with Dill, who visits his aunt every summer, the three kids spend most of their holidays wondering about their mysterious neighbour Arthur (Boo) Radley who has not been seen for several years and about whom some horrific stories abound in the small neighbourhood. Well, this is really the backdrop, the book addresses several issues, those of growing up, and racial prejudice, of parenting, courage and most importantly I suppose belief. This summary in no way does justice to the story, if you haven’t read the book, I suggest you do.

I cannot really sum this book, because as I said it brings me something new every time I read it. The film stars Gregory Peck in one of his most powerful and nuanced performances as Atticus and Mary Bedham as little Scout.

I cannot honestly imagine anyone else as Atticus. In fact it is difficult to separate the actor from the character he plays in this particular film. Atticus is a man of principles and mettle. His face is calm and compassionate; he always wears crisply ironed suits and ties.

In one of the scenes in the film, the two children are half asleep and talking about their mother who they lost 4 years ago, and the camera tracks very gently to Gregory Peck as he sits quietly on the swing at the porch outside, listening to his children. Atticus’s quiet face reveals just how much his wife meant to him. Enough to give you goose bumps.
And another sequence, where Atticus sits outside the jailhouse; guarding Tom who is inside. The trial is to begin the next morning. Atticus is reading under a lamp he has carried from home, it is the middle of the night and not a leaf stirs, all is dark, except for the light from the lamp, this shot is taken from afar. Four cars arrive with a lynch mob. What ensues is yet another remarkable scene in the film.

The character of Boo Radley is poignant to say the least. Especially when one realizes that Boo was once shut away from the world; but now chooses to shut himself away. The children are fascinated with him and in his own way so is he with the children. Perhaps he finds in their innocent curiosity and their foolish prying games the childhood he never was allowed. In a way I suppose Boo is the mockingbird and so is Tom.
“I could shoot all the Bluejays I wanted, if I could hit them, but (i was told) to remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird”, says Atticus as he remembers what his father told him when he first gave him a gun.

The truth is that I want to believe that there are men like Atticus. No. Let me rephrase that, I want to believe that Atticus still exists. That courage and integrity still exist. That in all this noise, clutter and fragile egos the size of football fields which has everyone screaming like infants for attention and security, there is this island, rock solid, quiet, that can harbor someone like you and me. Or perhaps I am hoping that I find this island inside of me. And inside of you.

You can read more about Atticus on wikipedia here.

More of Meera

I like drawing this little girl. Her name is Meera, and she lives in a modest little home with her parents and younger brother. Coming up soon is a strip/series on Meera. These are some sketches that go into my website which should be up soon!