She decided to put her efforts into bringing about social change through art with her project ‘My Father Illustrations,’ in 2013.
Breaking gender stereotypes with self-respect & love! #myfather #voicestobeheard #Shiftyourperspective Posted by My Father illustrations on Monday, September 19, 2016
Debasmita wanted to create awareness about ideologies that empower women instead of suppressing them.
Embrace the brighter side of life – that’s what Shumon Sengupta tells his daughter, Minnie. I was so touched when Shumon... Posted by My Father illustrations on Tuesday, September 6, 2016
She took these words very seriously and returned to Afghanistan to start a school after finishing higher education in the US.
"They can take everything from you except your knowledge"...The journey of My Father illustrations started with this... Posted by My Father illustrations on Sunday, September 4, 2016
She said, “Every story makes me believe the world has a lot of positive energy that we need to share, to be good and do better.”
Whether you win the trophy or not YoU already won our HeaRts <3 #DipaKarmakar from India qualifies for vault finals in... Posted by My Father illustrations on Monday, August 8, 2016
Debasmita has published over 200 stories from around 46 countries.
The Unbeatable!!! <3 Monica Singh is an acid attack survivor from India. She was 19 when she faced this earth shattering... Posted by My Father illustrations on Saturday, August 6, 2016
When a Daughter fulfils a Father's dream... Mohammed Saleem Haji had this dream - a school for the children living in a... Posted by My Father illustrations on Tuesday, July 19, 2016
While elaborating on the response from communities, she said, “They wanted their daughters to find the best education and find happiness by serving their communities. They wanted them to lead by example many other younger girls. I am always open to collaborating with other nonprofits to organize more DwDs in communities.”
Growing up, so many people might have said, “you can’t do it”…“you aren’t cut out for it”… But those voices aren’t going... Posted by My Father illustrations on Tuesday, July 5, 2016
A road accident gave her new life. She discovered the #artist within her - the one she was meant to be. Her first art... Posted by My Father illustrations on Sunday, June 26, 2016
I have a special name for today's #myfather #illustration ... SURBAHAR (SUR means music & BAHAR means spring). That's... Posted by My Father illustrations on Saturday, June 11, 2016
17-year old Anum Qambrani from Pakistan aspires to be an international boxer. Her father, Younis Qambrani, is her mentor... Posted by My Father illustrations on Sunday, April 17, 2016
Woman-of-the-match Harmanpreet Kaur!!! Harmanpreet scored a 31-ball 46 against Australia in January 2016 that brought... Posted by My Father illustrations on Monday, March 21, 2016[embedvideo id="lai2W9VFRA0" website="youtube"]
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I started Project VOICE when I was 16. So I was still in high school. And I had found spoken word poetry outside of school. It was like this beautiful safe place that I loved and I had found that I could explore who I was and what I believed, and what I experienced, in a way that other people would listen to it. And I felt very seen and very heard in a way that I had never experienced before. I thought – ‘Wow, if this is so powerful to me, I bet it will be powerful to other high school kids too’.
So, initially, the very first version of Project VOICE was really very small and it was just about how I could share this with my friends. That was it! But what’s funny is that I designed it to have a structure even though it was just supposed to be for my friends. I designed it in a structure that has ended kind of still being the structure that it is today – which is, that first I begged and pleaded and worked very hard to let my high school give me an assembly period. Then I had my friends perform poems with me. Basically, I wrote a lot of poems and I made them memorise them and perform with me so that it looks like this is already a very popular art form, which was a huge lie. But my friends were very kind and did this for me. So we put on this performance, which was like the first time people had an opportunity to see it and hear this art form, and be introduced to it. And then I asked a professional poet to come and teach at workshops so that kids would have an opportunity to try it out and learn about how they could try it themselves. And then I hosted my school’s first open mic, where anyone could share what they had worked on and created.
And that three-tier structure is kind of what we still do today, but obviously with the aim being not about just my one-time school but try to repeat that process in lots of other schools and tailor that process so that it fits best in whatever school we are in. But we still start with a performance so that people get an opportunity to see it and learn about what it is and what it can be and then we go into workshops so that kids have an opportunity to try that themselves. And then hopefully, theoretically, we help them lay the groundwork so that they can create some kind of other performance, an experience, or poetry club or opportunity for continuing exploration of this art form. So it started really as a personal project to share with my friends then it became about – how can I share it with everybody.
A huge goal of what we try to do at Project VOICE is to make poetry feel accessible and to help people expand what they believe poetry can be. So a lot of times when people say they don’t like poetry, they don’t get poetry, it is because they have been led to believe that poetry is only written by a certain type of person, or that they have been made to feel stupid because they couldn’t get a poem. Both aren’t fair or accurate, because as I have seen throughout my life – you can write a poem about anything and it can be done by anyone. That doesn’t mean that all poems are good. But certainly, there is enough room in the house of poetry for everyone to feel welcome there. And that’s the work that I am most focussed on. For example, a lot of times, the traditional education structure is sort of top down, by which I mean that a teacher enters a classroom and says, ‘I have the knowledge. I am going to give you the students this knowledge. You are going to receive it and that is how you are going to learn.’ But when I step into a classroom, I say, ‘You have the knowledge and you have the experience and you have the voice and you have the opinions and I want to hear about them from you. And I want you to communicate what it is you have wanted to communicate.’ And once they start to communicate with me, then together we can talk about what are the best ways to get this message across. Or how can I help you be the most effective communicator of the thing you want to communicate. And by just that little shift of dynamic of the relationship between a teacher and a student, I think it makes a big difference to how young people feel about their own comfort level in regards to poetry.
God, I hope so! Because otherwise, what am I doing? I think there are a lot of wrong ways to teach poetry. I think that people can teach poetry badly. And I think when poetry is being taught badly, it feels almost like a trap, and it feels like an exam; like something you are only doing for school. The thing that’s magical about poetry is that it can open so many doors for people and so it should feel like something that you are doing for you, not for an exam or school. So if it is taught well, it feels like something that is a joy and a gift, or, at the very least, a coping strategy or a living strategy. Or something that feels like – ‘this act of writing or the act of creating this poem is beneficial to me and I feel that way as opposed to feeling that someone is twisting my arm to make me do it.’ That shouldn’t be the way poetry is taught. So yes, I think you can definitely teach poetry, or else you can teach poetry badly. I am trying to avoid doing that.
I say no to that. I don’t think you have to study something specific. I think poets can come from anywhere and poets can be anyone. And it doesn’t have to be that you are an English major or a literature major to be a poet. I do think that it requires a certain dedication to craft. And you have to be willing to spend time writing and re-writing and reading and listening to other poets. You can’t just be like – ‘Oh! I am going to spit out a poem once or twice and never read anyone else.’ No. Then you are an asshole. I do think it requires a certain amount of curiosity and open-mindedness. I have met poets who are medical doctors, and also poets who are policemen, and also poets who are plumbers. Like I said, there is enough room for everybody here. It doesn’t have to be reserved for someone who has studied literature.
If you were to read all of my poems there are certainly a lot of poems that are not happy. They are about heavy topics and there are lot more difficult topics. But also, to me the act of writing a poem is an act of celebration that anything I am taking the time to investigate and hold up to the light and say, ‘Hey everybody look at this,’ that’s an act of celebrating even if what I am celebrating is something sad or something angry or something terrible; like the fact that this is the thing I wanna focus on for three minutes or five minutes or whatever – it tells you that I am celebrating it in some way. And because of that, because I connect my act of writing to an act of celebration, I think that that tends to leak into a lot of the poems that I write. So the positivity that you are picking up on, I think probably comes from there.
Not necessarily. But I found poetry through spoken word poetry, as opposed to written literature. And because of that, most of the poets that I first experienced performed poems the way people talk. It’s from an oral tradition instead of a written tradition…I think that’s because I originated in a space where poetry was born out of conversational language, which still is the type of language that I gravitate towards. Also, because so much of my work is focussed on how to invite more people into this art form and make it feel more accessible to more young people, I would want to do everything to be inclusive in my language and not write poetry that feels alienating. I don’t want someone to hear a poem of mine and go, ‘Oh! This makes me feel stupid because I don’t get it.’ I want there to be a poem that makes someone go, ‘Oh! I get it. And I am in this with you.’ I want to create a shared experience, instead of an alienating one.
There is a famous quote about pornography, which is – ‘I can’t tell you what it is but I know it when I see it.’ That’s sort of how I feel about inspiration too. Because I can’t tell you where it comes from, but I know when it’s there.
Sarah Kay was recently in Bengaluru to perform at and host the first ever National Youth Poetry Slam in the India. The event was organised by Campus Diaries and Airplane Poetry Movement (APM). Know more about APM 
Other artisans in the North-East make these products out of bamboo and cane. But the Kouna reed is specific to Manipur, giving women like Renu Devi, Somolita, Premlata and Thombi an edge over the competition. It is a tradition for a woman to start learning the practice in her adolescence.
It was a rite of passage for young girls so they could contribute to the household while the men farmed. Today, the men of Khangabok have learnt to weave these products to help when demand is high. In turn, the women help out in the farm when needed.
Their grandmothers are usually their first teachers, but other older artisans can also teach them the craft. The designs aesthetics and methods are passed down through the generations. Unlike other villages that have taken to farming and weaving, this village has tenaciously clung to its roots. Scattered villages throughout Manipur practice Kouna Saba.
These villages use it as a secondary or tertiary source of income, especially during the high farming season.
And what makes their art unique is the production level these women have: their products are sold nationwide, even as far as Goa.
For years, women from Imphal, the capital of Manipur, would come to this village to buy these goods. Over an hour’s journey, buyers would purchase the various products - mats, sandals, laundry baskets, dustbins, handbags, vases, hats - in bulk, before taking them to the markets in the city. After a while, one of the women, who was a regular said she could sell their goods in the markets of Dimapur, in neighbouring Nagaland. Hesitant at first, the group members finally agreed.
Once a deposit was received in an account, they would export the items from Thoubal in Manipur to Dimapur. Two years later, their goods are sold nationwide, primarily in Goa. Though none of these women have been to Goa or Dimapur, their products have traversed the country, making them prosperous on the way. Twice a month, they send their merchandise out of state.
With an increase in demand, the women applied for a loan from YVU, Milaap’s partner, to expand their business. They bought the Kounna in bulk and then started creating new designs with it. Though most of their patterns are ancient, dating back to their forefathers, these new ones are contemporary and modern, changing with the tastes of beach-goers in Goa.
Despite not being able to read or write, the women have secured their futures financially with a little courage. They’re working on ensuring that their children’s are as well. Each of their children is enrolled in school and admission fees and educational expenses are no longer an issue. “We just want to continue our tradition, and have our children and their children continue it. This is our wealth," they say.
Their forefathers' knowledge will be passed on, and that does not interrupt their children's educations. For now, they’re reaping the rewards of years of hard work and basking in the glow of having their products be in-demand around the country.
Shakeef Khan and Sujeet Maadhogaria[/caption]
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The Open Sky team from Pakistan(above) and India(below)[/caption]
Below are two collaborative projects put together by artists and poets from the two countries.
Two countries, two worlds
One border, one bond
Caught in the web of affection
Years, and years of knowing each other
Individually, yet
Growing together
The books, the movies, schedules and routines
Overflowing a chest of drawers
We access on this no man's land
Outlined with art where a border
Is a line where two worlds collide
Schedules and routines, rise and fall
With the sun outside our windows
Tucked and wrapped in nighttime's shadow
Days' full worth of happenings waiting to spill
From the loves of summer to the winter cry
So we type away into the dawns
Armed only with love and cups of chai.
Marble clouds offset green islets.[/caption]
In an unfailing ritual, year on year, my parents would point through the window at an abundant, scenic river seeking the horizon. In time, like every Malayali worth her salt, I understood that the Nila was integral to Kerala's ethos. I never asked why. The universe however had other plans for me.
In early 2016, I landed at the banks of the Nila for an evening. The few hours I spent by the river bank left me yearning for more. Even as I made my way back to the city, the river haunted me. Three days after my return, I sat late into the night, writing about her.
My writing set off another trail of interesting events and collaborations, and I arrived at the Nila again in October, this time to explore the Artistic Traditions of the region. Nothing prepared me for what I was going to experience this time around.
A tiny village temple lit up for the evening.[/caption]
The region nurtured by the Nila is beautiful beyond what words can describe. Golden waves of Palakkadan Matta sway to the breeze, white marble clouds kiss emerald fields, and meandering roads lead to ancient Kerala homes. Surrounded by these overwhelming natural elements are a group of artists, striving to keep their age old heritage alive. Some of them are the sole living custodians to their skill. Certain others see promise as their children want to continue the tradition.
Like all river valley civilizations, Nila set fertile ground for arts, craft, literature and tradition to flourish on her banks. Maybe river valley civilizations, due to plentiful and excess bounty, allowed people to pursue creative inclinations other than farming. It is in playing this role that the river transforms into a collective celebration of people and their creative aspirations. Perhaps this is also why rivers are revered and considered sacred across the world, they nurture everything that seeks them.
Adakkaputhur kannadi, where metallurgy innovation and craftsmanship come together to create beauty[/caption]
During my trip, I managed to meet a few craftsmen integral to the region. Each of them honing, defending and nurturing their craft from dying an untimely death. Be it the Aandipandaram, Koodiyaatam doyne, Kathakali Koppu Maker, Weaver at Killimangalam, Metal Mirror Maker or the young, charming Chenda Melam artist, each one of these practitioners had the same story to share. The story of tenacity to rise above the neglect and disdain the new world bestows upon their skill.
What was overwhelming in each of these interactions was the simplicity of hope, ardent belief in selflessness and unwavering reverence to century-old myth and tradition. Each of these artists display a love so pure to their tradition, that there is no distinction between self or art! There is contentment even in the face of impermanence.
Being apprentice to the master Kathakali Koppu Master. He was immensely kind to let he try his tools.[/caption]
After we returned from our trails, we spent nights staring at the moon, casting her reflection into the century-old Kullam. Sipping badly made tea, we spoke of being children in a different time, where gathering seeds and making toys from coconut leaves won friendships. A time so simple and yet so impactful.
And it is then that I realised the secret of the artists of the Nila. They have not forgotten the Wisdom of Children. It is as children that we resonate with the earth most. As children, we don’t see ourselves different from river, ocean, sky or mud, we become each of these in absolute love & abandon. This kind of love is compassionate, selfless and beyond all worldly rules.
And this is the kind of love & belief we must strive protect with our actions and choices!
Aditi Rao[/caption]
“This process helps teenagers become empathetic and allows them to learn leadership in a slightly different way – they start to understand how at different points in the room, different teenagers have different kinds of issues and how they can work to solve them. Like how a person with a disability can step in and adjust into a group activity in a way that he/she feels included; or in what ways does the story of girls in the programme help the boys check their own behaviour,” says Urvashi. Last year, a guy in the group who used to eve-tease girls on the streets stopped immediately when he came to know about how the girls feel about it. He also convinced his friends to stop.
Tasawwur has worked with 60 teenagers till date and the organization is now working on refining its curriculum so they can train teachers and help organisations and schools take the model forward too. With a core team of three members, Tasawwur works with trained facilitators and theatre professionals. They obtain most of their funds with the help of donations and grants.
Sairi manifested her innate talent for dance at a very young age. At the age of four, when most children have just started walking confidently, this little girl started matching her steps accurately to the beats of music.
It was at a school function where little Sairi outshone senior dancers that her parents, Prakash and Meeta Rahangdale, noticed her developing an interest in classical dance. Convinced about her talent, they encouraged her to pursue Bharatnatyam. Sairi's talent bloomed under the expert guidance of her dance teacher and soon she had mastered many dance routines.
In Chhattisgarh, she is a regular performer at the Chhattisgarh Rajyotsav, the Bhoramdev Mahatsov and the Rajim Kumbh.
Talking to TBI , Sairi's mother Meeta Rahangdale says,
She makes time to regularly visit old age homes and spend time with senior citizens there. She also insists that her parents not spend any money on fireworks during festivals and instead feed street children and those in nearby orphanages. Sairi also ensures that the weekly dance classes she conducts at home for the slum children come with a free lunch prepared by her mother. In all these initiatives, Sairi is whole-heartedly supported by her proud parents who believe that the happiness of their family lies in their daughter's satisfaction.
A fine example of the beauty that is created by the hands of artisans, Bandhani. Women artisans tie tiny knots or 'bindis' of fabric which is then dyed by a master artisan[/caption]
Today, fewer artisans have stories to tell. With the advent of globalisation and virtual markets, new markets have unfolded overseas. This also means that skilled artisans from around the globe have seized the opportunity to meet a growing, global demand for their work.
For Indian handicrafts, however, international competition is hardly the problem. The real concern for homegrown artisans is the threat posed by colossal manufacturers who produce handicraft replicas en masse. These industrial bigwigs have the resources to keep abreast of customer trends, respond to them swiftly and deliver their products through the right distribution channels.
During our visit to Bagalkot, weavers tell us how they have been forced to shift to power looms and hence, most of the Ilkals in the market today are not handloom[/caption]
There are a number of sectors that have been straining under the pressure of the ballooning counterfeit craft industry. Varanasi, for instance, has long held a place on the world map as the cradle of Banarasi brocade.
While the Uttar Pradesh government has not released any statistics about the weaving industry or its size in Varanasi today, one report suggests that the town is home to approximately 5,00,000 weavers. The 2011 census revealed that amongst these, only 51% are currently engaged in spinning and weaving. Today, only about 10% of weavers work on handlooms; the rest have abandoned it in favour of power looms. This hasn’t been an overnight phenomenon.
This migration of workers started back in 2001, when India lifted quantitative restrictions on silk imports. This paved the way for Banaras to become a cesspool of cheap, Chinese silk yarn. Chinese silk yarn is ideal for power looms. Composed of between 18 and 20 filaments, the thread flows easily through the machinery. Indian thread, on the other hand, contains only 10 to 20 filaments, making it more difficult to work with. But while Chinese silk may match the quality of its Indian counterpart, Indian silk is far more durable. Some Banarasi saris are even made in China, and are imported and sold in shops in Banaras. Mind you, the imitations are just as beautiful, and can bedazzle any customer with their vibrant colours and vintage motifs. You would never even know that it was made in a factory. Yet, the difference lies in the detail.
A handwoven Ilkal saree[/caption]
The reality is that a handloom weaver in Banaras typically takes about fifteen days to complete one sari, and his earnings in a month are just south of Rs. 4,000, hardly enough to sustain an individual, let alone a family. Ironically, the government has provided free electricity to power looms, and handloom workers have been relegated to the side lines.
Since 2002, over 175 Banarasi weavers have committed suicide as a result. Today, it is more lucrative for a weaver to share weaving techniques and skills with a power loom than to continue in his own profession. By sharing know-how about traditional patterns and weaving styles, he can earn more than if he were to weave a single sari.
The obscure town of Sualkuchi in Assam is the silk centre of the state. Its beleaguered silk industry, however, is struggling to survive. The influx of Chinese silk has hurt the small community. In September 2013, after realising that they needed to protect their interests and combat spurious silk imports, the weavers of Sualkuchi formed the Sualkuchi Tant Unnayan Samiti, a committee dedicated to prohibiting unscrupulous traders. But perhaps the efforts of the denizens of Sualkuchi were too little, too late.
In 2007, the Association of Handloom Units released a report that announced that 60,000 Bodo households would lose income as a result of counterfeit products. The economic decline in the silk town has continued ever since.
The toy town of Channapatna, in Karnataka, has been similarly challenged by the invasion of China-made wooden toys in the country. In December 2015, the Lok Sabha acknowledged the harm done to the Indian toy industry as a result of Chinese imports. Toy imports increased at a compound annual rate of 25% between 2001 and 2012, a solemn indicator of how harshly local craftsmanship has been overthrown by Chinese automation.
Although the central and state governments have taken steps to alleviate the downslide, they have not been very effective. The Karnataka government has allotted subsidised power and 254 houses to toymakers in the town. Yet, there are droves of workers who are still left unsupported.
The handloom provides a canvas to the weaver, a vision to do justice to their heritage, and the finer nuances during the weaving process make the handloom product irreplaceable[/caption]
The tragedy is that even the greatest aficionados of handlooms and handicrafts are seldom able to differentiate between genuine handmade products and factory-made replicas.
Take handloom for instance. There are few ways to distinguish between authentic silk and synthetic polyester fabric. One way is by burning a single fibre from the cloth. If the thread leaves a plastic-like residue behind, you know you have a saree made of polyester. But a thread that vanishes entirely, without a trace, is testimony of pure silk or cotton fabric.
There are aesthetic differences too. If you look carefully, you’ll notice that handloom weaves, though meticulous, are not always even. In fact, that is one of the classic features of handloom; the diminutive difference between each thread.
To identify whether the yarn is polyester or natural fibre, just burn a small thread from the garment/ textile. If the thread forms beads it is polyester ( as seen in the picture) and if no residue is left then it is cotton or a natural fibre.[/caption]
The government has taken certain measures to distinguish genuine products from spurious ones. Tags certifying authenticity have been assigned, based on industry. Handloom mark, Woolmark, Silkmark, Seal of Cotton and Craftmark correspond to the handloom, wool, silk, cotton and handicraft industries respectively. It is up to the customer to inspect a product closely to determine its origin. A good practice is to buy from organisations who follow Fair Trade Norms.
Artisans remain one of the lowest socio-economic classes in India today, and the community is shrinking rapidly. The onus lies on policy makers to strengthen the value chain, drive marketing programmes and empower artisans. Only then, will artisanal products earn the recognition that they deserve. In turn, the community of craftsmen in the country will flourish, and maybe someday soon, more artisans will have stories to tell.
Incase you know of any artisans who India Kala can work with, please mail us their details at 
What is striking about this project is that nobody in India has really delved into this genre of films (post apocalyptic) before.
Contrary to popular perception that such films are full of zombies and merciless murders, Zaman will be different.“The most post apocalyptic thing about the film is the backdrop; the primary focus is on the characters. The protagonist, Tawhid Zaman, is going through survivor’s guilt after losing his wife who meant the world to him. And he is about to kill himself when he hears a radio message about the existence of a farm that claims to protect the survivors of the apocalypse.”
When asked if there was a particular reason for the obvious age difference between the main characters, Athul says: “Tawhid meets them and doesn’t think he’ll like them, but a deep friendship blossoms in the most unlikely scenario. I have always been interested in the conversations that take place between people who belong to different generations because I feel there’s so much to learn. This is a film about the people, rather than the apocalypse.”
Each school had a slightly different design configuration and yet a similar look and feel. Some of them had four classrooms, others five. The goal was to create something on the walls that would appeal to the young students as well as local villagers and visitors. Finally, on September 10, after many days of creative brainstorming and planning, the Delhi Street Art team left for this exciting art adventure equipped with paints, brushes, rollers, and other supplies.
Day 1: Late on the first night, after a brief stop in Rishikesh, the first stop was on the outskirts of the town of Rudraprayag. The first village school was still a few hours’ drive away but it had been a long and tiring 12-hour journey and driving at night could have been risky.
Day 2: The valley of Rudraprayag was stunning. Pilgrims walked barefoot towards their religious destinations while trucks and mini-buses struggled up and down the steep roads. A two-hour drive brought the team to the small town of Ukhimath. The hills, as far as the eye could see, were lush green. In the distance, however, large chunks of soil and rock had caved in at several places and led to massive erosion, damaging the roads below. The village of Karokhi is another half hour drive from Ukhimath on the road to Chopta – the famed town in Uttarakhand that is also referred to as the Switzerland of the hills by some locals.
It looked a fairly long and steep hike to get to the top. It was! After a slow and somewhat breathless climb through a narrow, picturesque village path, the Karokhi School was clearly visible. It was a newly built structure and some of the landscaping work was still underway. After walking around the hillside and observing local flora and fauna, the team spent most of the afternoon and evening sketching out the designs on the walls. Being a Sunday, there were no children at school. But a few of them stopped by to admire and even bring some hot tea.
Day 3: The Delhi Street Art team got down to business early! There were five bare classrooms walls and a long front facing wall. As the day started warming up, the shapes on the walls started to take definite form and a more finished look. This was a school day and two of the rooms were occupied by students attending classes. As soon as the children took a break from their class, they eagerly joined the team in painting the walls. A mid-day meal prepared for the children was also enjoyed by the art team along with locally grown fresh pahadi cucumber.
Day 4: Huddu village is further down the same road from Karokhi, but the road is broken in many places with landslides and often accompanied by cascading waterfalls. The school is a 200 meter downhill hike from the road and the buildings are visible clearly from all the surrounding parts of the valley. This being a Sunday, none of school children had come. The walk down the path offered stunning panoramic view of the valley. A special task undertaken at this location was to painting a giant “smiley” on the roof of the school building, because it is visible from where the kids and teachers approach the school.
Day 5: The target location for the day was a small village hamlet of Phali Pasalat. In order to get there, the team had to traverse for a couple of hours back through Ukhimath, and past the town of Guptkashi. The long meandering path leading to the school passed through terraced fields, lush countryside, and a picturesque village with stone walled homes. This was a smaller school – small classrooms and small walls. Right next to the school was an ancient Shiva temple – claimed by locals to be more than 5,000 years old. By now the art team was working like clockwork and everyone knew what they had to do and get done. For the first time, distant snow-capped mountains could be seen at the horizon now that the clouds had given way to bright sunshine. The day certainly had warmed up significantly. Dal, chawal and vegetable of raddish leaves was served as the midday meal for all.
Day 6: The school at Sitapur is located slightly above the main road and is split between two sets of buildings – one with two classrooms and another with three. Right next to it is the old school building showing massive cracks created during the earthquake. While some classes are still being held there, the plan is to move children to the newer, safer buildings as soon as they are ready. Several kids jumped in to participate in wall art.
By 5 pm, all walls had been painted, selfies clicked and all the supplies packed and loaded into the car. They were now ready for the long journey to Tilwara – back on the road towards Srinagar and Rishikesh – the final destination of the trip.
Day 7: The village of Dangi Gunau is a steep one hour drive up from the town of Tilwara. The school is another short but steep walk up from the main road.
Many young people of the village appear to have moved to nearby towns or distant cities in search of jobs and faster life. It seemed a shame that while city dwellers craved to be out in the hills in search of clean air, water, peaceful surroundings, and healthy food – so many in these pristine mountains had settled for polluted, crowded city environment.
The Delhi Street Art team shared their time and creative efforts and left some colour and imagery on the walls, but most importantly, they experienced the joy of being a part of an initiative of hope and happiness!
(Written by Yogesh Saini)
Know more about Delhi Street Art 
On visiting a doctor he received the shocking news that he had atherosclerosis – a condition that leads to hardening of the arteries in the ear and causes hearing loss. The doctor suggested immediate surgery and informed him that any delay could lead to permanent damage. But, unfortunately, even the surgery didn't help him in the long run. Rajen lost the ability to hear in his left ear. A year after that, he was diagnosed with tinnitus, a condition that leads to buzzing or ringing in the ear. “Tinnitus patients suffer from depression and have suicidal tendencies too. I went through all that for a long time. But then, one morning, I decided that instead of spending years worrying about my condition, which I had to deal with anyway, I would use my time more productively,” says Rajen.
Later, he decided to try his hand at writing, a hobby he had developed over the years. Rajen took a course in journalism and photography and started working as a freelancer for a leading Indian newspaper. “I was the senior-most student in my photography class and could not initially understand a word of what I was being taught. I was doing photography only to add to my writing career. I never thought of it as something that I wanted to make an independent career in. But slowly, I started getting more recognition for my photography skills than for my writing,” he says.
This was just the beginning of a long and beautiful journey. On looking back at the reasons why he turned out to be a better photographer even though the subject was so new for him, Rajen thinks it was because of his hearing disability.
The classes were free of charge and went on for three years. They included theory classes on photography equipment, going outdoors for shoots, organising exhibitions, etc. Word about his work spread across India and abroad, and a well-wisher from Australia even flew down to gift him nine cameras for his classes (he still uses them in all his workshops). After three years, it started becoming difficult for Rajen to continue teaching the classes using his own money. “But the kids wanted to continue,” he says. “I told them that there were no funds and it was not possible. But I had developed a special bond with them by then and my relationship with my students always went beyond my classes. They were an important part of my life. So we decided to meet once every month for outdoor shoots and those classes continue to this day,” says Rajen. Five students from his group are on the verge of starting their own careers in photography today. Despite coming from underprivileged backgrounds, they saved money to buy DSLR cameras and are practising to become wedding photographers.
These classes were a part of HOPE -- an annual cultural programme organised by the hospital – with the underlying message that cancer is curable. Following this, some other NGOs approached him. Now, Rajen conducts regular photography workshops on invitations from NGOs.
His aim is to bring kids with disabilities into the mainstream and he has worked with over 500 children till now, including those with visual impairments, Down syndrome, autism, etc., in places like Faridabad, Goa, Bengaluru, and more. During his three-day workshops, the first day is dedicated to learning all about the equipment and the theory of photography; this is followed by two days of outdoor shoots.
“Once, in collaboration with an NGO, I conducted a three-day workshop in Dharavi. The kids wanted to continue after those three days. When I told them that we wouldn’t have the required place, they offered their own homes to learn. And we continued the classes for about six months in a shanty in the slum,” recounts Rajen.
From among the group of five regular students in his group, he has already lost two to the disease. “We have a WhatsApp group named ‘warrior photography’ because all these students are warriors. They are much stronger than adults like us. I lost Gulshan and Harsh, two teenagers full of life, hopes and dreams. While this shook me initially, my other students helped me cope,” he says.
“My message to kids with disabilities is: ‘Today you are pampered by NGOs, schools, colleges, and parents. But tomorrow, these people might not be with you. So don’t become a liability. You have to learn something that will help you’. The same goes for children suffering from cancer. I feel that creativity can help them fight the agony, pain and mental trauma they have to go through. I tell them that that if they don’t fight bravely, the medicines will not work,” he concludes.
The legendary Kishore Kumar[/caption]
Childhood photo of Kishore Kumar[/caption]
A still from the movie 'Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi'[/caption]
Born on August 4, 1929 in Khandwa district of Madhya Pradesh as Abhas Kumar Ganguly, Kishore went to the Christian College in Indore after his matriculation. His college continues to remember the exploits of the actor-singer who was a prankster at heart. Few know that Kishore Da still owes five rupees and 12 paise (he immortalised this fact in that famous song Paanch Rupaiya Barah Anna from the 1958 film, Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi) to his college canteen.
Kishore Kumar with brothers, Anoop Kumar and Ashok Kumar[/caption]
He was known for his trademark outfit: the black overcoat, white pajamas, muffler and leather sandals. He would never take off the coat, as he was very insecure about his scrawny physique.
Kishore Kumar with R.D.Burman, Asha Bhonsle and Lata Mangeshkar[/caption]
Kishore Kumar with Satyajit Ray[/caption]
From Left: K.L.Saigal, Rabindranath Tagore and Danny Kaye[/caption]
Kishore Kumar with Amitabh Bachchan[/caption]
Kishore Kumar with Dev Anand, R.D.Burman and Yash Chopra[/caption]
Clockwise from Top Left: Ruma Guha Thakurta, Madhubala, Leena Chandravarkar and Yogita Bali[/caption]
Kishore Kumar with Mehmood in the film 'Bombay to Goa'[/caption]
When filmmaker Hrishikesh Mukherjee visited Kishore at his bungalow, he was stopped by the watchman. The watchman had mistaken Mukherjee for another Bengali producer, who Kishore Da refused to let into his home. This was reportedly why Anand went to Rajesh Khanna.
A still from the movie 'Abhimaan'[/caption]
Gouri Kunj, Kishore's family home in Khandwa[/caption]
Women have got basic training in cutting and stitching.[/caption]
That experience has turned out to be life changing, to say the least. That’s because here, they connected with Kristine Gottilla, designer and founder of Spencer Devine, an American hand and travel bag label.
Gottilla has been visiting the state since 2012 to derive design inspiration from the exquisite weaves of the region as well as to do her bit to help local women and alleviate them from their circumstances.
According to the Brooklyn-based designer, not only are the traditional motifs and designs of the different communities in the North East “extremely interesting”, but the skills of rural Assamese artisans are truly matchless. Both, Spencer Devine and NEST, came up and experimented with different possibilities of taking this initiative to a different level and worked on it over the past couple of years.
American designer Kristine Gottilla with women artisans at Bokakhat.[/caption]
Today, Gottilla is successfully retailing ‘Assam Capsule,' a range of bags for her US customers, by integrating different fabrics and designs woven at Bokakhat.
With the sewing machines they have received, most women are now running sewing schools and doing some additional tailoring work on the side. So far, 10 machines have been given out, including to Anjumoni and Ritumala, who are happy to have benefitted from this project.
Usha International, from whom the sewing machines have been purchased by NEST, has given the women seven days of basic training on cutting and stitching, apart from tutorials on maintenance and repair. This has, in fact, helped them run their tailoring schools efficiently and enabled them to give a certificate to their student at the end of the course.
The Assam Capsule range includes a variety of leather pouches besides totes.[/caption]
While select artisans from Bokakhat weave exquisite fabrics embellished with their special designs, the beneficiaries of the Sewing Machine project create the preliminary shapes of the bags. These are then shipped off to Gottilla’s studio in Brooklyn.
Once there, her team and she get down to the task of giving the finishing touches by putting together the leather work, the Assamese embroidery, motifs and other add-ons.
The end result: the Spencer Devine LG A-line, which is a fine, yet durable, leather tote that easily transform into a backpack and is one of their best-selling items.
The Assam Tote, a simple and light-weight cotton carry-all that can be packed to the rim with market bounty.[/caption]
The price of these bags ranges from USD 42 and USD 524. The bags can be used in multiple ways, right from morning bike rides and yoga classes, to formal business meetings or an evening of cocktails.
Thanks to this collaborative venture, the 21 talented women creators at the Assam end of the manufacturing line are able to contribute Rs 1,000 to Rs 2,000 to their family income.
While 11 women are weaving the material for the bags, 10 are stitching them with their new machines. Each one of them works from home, coming once in a while to the Bokakhat office for review meetings and to brainstorm for design development.
Joining hands with NEST and Gottilla has certainly changed Anjumoni’s life for the better. Earlier, she had to borrow her aunt’s sewing machine to do her stitching work but that’s not the case anymore.
As the proud owner of her very own machine and the proprietor of a small sewing school and tailoring business, these days she judiciously spends her time mentoring other girls while also expertly fashioning stylish women’s clothes for her clients.
Like Anjumoni, Ritumala is also pleased at the way things have turned out for her, especially her enhanced earnings and her new status in Bokakhat. She has two students presently, but hopes to eventually have a “big sewing school of my own."
Of course, the one constant source of pride for them all is their work on Assam Capsule.
Kristine Gottilla has been visiting Assam since 2012 to derive design inspiration from the exquisite weaves of the region.[/caption]
Though there is a renewed focus on indigenous Indian weaves as well as the conditions of weavers, commercially, this talented group is yet to get their dues. Such opportunities definitely bring in newer possibilities and the promise of good times.