Metro Plus
Bangalore
Chennai
Hyderabad
One day in the life of ... DakshinChitra
A slice of the South
|
From folk forms to ethnic homes, the 10-acre showcase of heritage leaves Divya Kumar awe-struck
|
Photos: R. Karunakaran
HAVEN OF CRAFT AND CULTURE Artisans at work in DakshinChitra
I am walking down one of the many rough-hewn stone paths that meander through the 10-acre grounds of DakshinaChitra on a drowsy Sunday morning. I am overcome with a feeling of peace with every step I take. The sound of honking cars and screeching brakes is far away now, replaced by the soft chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of trees. Golden sunlight filters playfully through the leaves on a young couple sitting together in the otherwise deserted open-air theatre.
I sigh happily to myself at the pretty picture, before realising guiltily that I’ve not been listening to a word of what Suresh Kumar, the deputy manager of DakshinaChitra, is telling me as he takes me around the grounds.
“… have 17 heritage houses from Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Kerala and Andhra Pradesh,” he’s saying. I nod intelligently, like I’d never missed a word. “We’ll start from the Chettinad house.”
And so begins our journey back in time. Most of the houses are over 100 years old, having been painstakingly dismantled from their original locations and reconstructed for posterity here. Each also has its own ‘housekeeper’, a woman assigned to dust, sweep and draw kolam everyday and keep an eye on the old artefacts in the house, answer guests’ questions etc.
Kanthamma, for example, is a tiny, wizened old lady who’s been at DakshinaChitra for 13 years. In charge of the Nattukottai Chettiar home for some time now, she is a celebrity of sorts: “Foreigners have taken thousands of pictures of me over the years,” she says laughing.
The old houses are dark and cool inside, and I wander through their narrow, low doorways, taking in the graceful old photographs, revelling in the quiet stillness and the sense of walking through a little piece of living history.
“…the Kerala section next,” a voice interrupts.
I glance around startled, and realise that I’ve not being paying attention to poor Suresh again.
Unfortunately for him, I get distracted by the killi josiar — he, like the palm reader, the glass-blower and the puppeteer comes here on the weekends. A man and a woman are getting their fortunes told, but the little boy by their side is interested only in getting the parrot (which coyly plays hard to get) to eat the peanut in his hand.
In a moment of confusion (or perhaps inspiration) he says, “Kaaaa!” to entice it closer. That earns him an admonition from mom that “it’s not a crow!” but the parrot does take a step closer, so maybe he knows something she doesn’t…
“Shall we go?” Definitely a trace of impatience this time. I tear myself away from the parrot and the peanut drama and meekly follow Suresh, thinking sadly that I’ll never know now whether ‘Kaa!’ works on parrots. Science’s loss.
As we turn the corner, a loud and musical drumming resonates in the grounds; turns out I’m just in time to see the free Tamil folk dance classes that Kannan conducts here every weekend at the Activity Hall. His class is a motley group of kids from the surrounding villages and an M.A. dance student who comes to get gyan from the old man who has over 45 years of experience in Silambam, Devarattam, Karagam, Poikaal Kudarai, Oyillattam and more.
Folk performers
The old man starts drumming and singing again even as his dancers give me a demo of Oyillattam; they’ll go on to perform at DakshinaChitra and some might join Kannan’s dance troupe in the future.
Our tour of the houses continues, and I only get briefly distracted by one of the housekeepers’ demonstration of making rattles and fans from dried palm leaf strands outside the Syrian Christian house. (I find out later that most housekeepers are taught a simple craft of this kind to entertain the guests.)
Luckily for Suresh’s sanity and my own guilt levels, we part ways at this point — he gets back to work and I, well, I act like a kid let loose in a candy store. I get my palm read, watch the raucous puppet show and get my hands dirty making a little mud pot with the resident potter Ramu Vellar’s help. I visit Srinivas Raghavan, the glass blower, watch Kesavan, the resident weaver painstakingly create a beautiful blue-green pattu sari (he creates about three a month that are bought by Sundari Silks), and wander through the craft bazaar where artisans from Gujarat and Rajasthan have put up colourful stalls (I leave happily with a lac bangle made to match my outfit by Mumtazuddin who has a Rajasthani bangle stall).
It’s now getting to closing time (6 p.m.), and the 70-plus staff members — the administrative staff, the 13 gardeners, the housekeepers and craftsmen — will be leaving. Only Kesavan and Ramu stay on, along with the elderly Balakrishnan and his wife Vishalakshi who take care of those staying at the guest house, keep an eye on any after hours construction work and oversee landscaping and cleaning.
As I leave the peaceful grounds basking in the golden twilight to battle with the traffic again, I’m just glad that I, like my little kaa-kaa friend and other visitors had a chance to get a glimpse of our history courtesy this haven of craft and culture.
Printer friendly
page
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Metro Plus
Bangalore
Chennai
Hyderabad
|
