Life & Style

Seated on the grasslands in remote hamlets, usually under the shade of a large tree, the Toda women of the Nilgiris engage in their art — a distinctive, Geotagged black and red embroidery — singing full-throated songs that talk of damp grass, warm sunlight, and mountain air. Deeply inspired by Nature, this intricate pukhoor (motif) embroidery meticulously follows the warp and weft of the base cloth, creating a stunning visual effect. Artisans count threads purely by touch, gently stretching the fabric as they stitch — a testament to their extraordinary skill and intuition.

Ramya Reddy, author of the book Soul of the Nilgiris and founder of Coonoor& Co
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

On August 29, Aadhyam Handwoven, a social enterprise that supports craft and weaving clusters, and Coonoor & Co, showcase a curated line of Toda shawls, scarves, home textiles, and linen saris, handcrafted by artisans at an intimate gathering in Hyderabad. “We have a full range of stoles and shawls on luxury fabrics. We are also unveiling an expanded home collection — a range that includes new designs on cushions, lumbar pillows, runners, and throws in soft cotton,” says Ramya Reddy, author of the book Soul of the Nilgiris and founder of Coonoor& Co, a slow life inspired journal and online store. Ramya will be in conversation with Anuradha Gunupati of Saptaparni and Dr Reddy’s Foundation, as she holds forth on the evolution of the exquisite geometry of Toda embroidery — it’s measured rhythms and lineage of hands.

The artisans are encouraged to embroider their initials or names directly into the pieces
| Photo Credit:
Ramya Reddy

The first look of the Khadi line, a work-in-progress developed specifically for Toda embroidery, and another featuring block prints inspired by Nilgiris botanicals will also be showcased. “These prints, designed by our in-house designer, will appear across khadi and linen bases, and are envisioned to sit synergistically alongside the Toda work in future collections. We have been working with an indigenous community in West Bengal for our khadi and our block printers belong to an artisan community in Udaipur,” explains Ramya adding that another key component is art offering. This is a collection of hand-embroidered wall art, created through close collaboration between artisans and design team, showcasing both classic motif-based pieces and more abstract, conceptual expressions of the embroidery. One of the compelling examples is the reinterpretation of the puthukuzhy, the ceremonial cloak, as textile artwork.

The collection as a whole reflects a deeply collaborative process, one that respects lineage while making space for experimentation, she explains. “Three of our Toda artisans will be travelling with us to share this journey and also demonstrate the work.”

Residing in remote settlements in the Nilgiris, an ecologically rich UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in the Western Ghats, the Toda community is an ancient, pastoral, indigenous group. Here, amidst lush biodiversity, the Todas have maintained their cultural traditions over generations. With fewer than 1,700 Todas remaining and only about 500 artisans actively practising, preserving this embroidery is critical to maintaining their cultural identity.

The foundation of The Toda Project, Ramya recalls, lies in a long-standing relationship with the Toda community, going back over a decade, during the research for her book, Soul of the Nilgiris. “When the book was published, I felt so strongly about the community’s imprint on the project that we embroidered each spine (2000 unique spines!) with a unique, hand-stitched Toda motif. That gesture of letting the book carry their thread deepened my connection. I became particularly close to an elder named Mutsin: a wise, forward-thinking woman with a quiet but visionary outlook. Before she passed, she nudged me to think about what more this embroidery could become,” she explains adding that after Mutsin’s passing, her daughter-in-law Seeta picked up that thread — quite literally — and began to actively pursue ways to evolve the craft. Along with her sister Satya and artisan Anbu Lakshmi, they became the first collaborators. “They were curious, open to experimentation, and brought in a small group of seven women to begin our first round of work,” says Ramya, reflecting upon the genesis of the brand.

Linen stole
| Photo Credit:
Ramya Reddy

What began with seven women has grown into a collective of nearly fifty artisans — many of whom now consider this their primary source of livelihood. “The nature of embroidery is like inheritance, an astonishing geometry that is so perfect. Done entirely by hand, with a humble needle and thread—anchored in touch, repetition, and a kind of inherited intuition that borders on ancestral muscle memory. Both sides of the cloth can be used or displayed, something quite rare among global embroidery traditions,” explains Ramya. She began a long process of experimentation, testing various fabrics, consulting with weavers across the country, and iterating on weave structures that could accommodate the unique demands of the embroidery. One of her early breakthroughs was with a cotton-merino wool blend, which offered the right structure and a gentle hand-feel. She launched the first range of shawls and stoles in 2023 and later expanded into home textiles and saris on these fabrics.

Senior artisan Anbulakshmi with her wall panel
| Photo Credit:
Coonor and Co

“Each piece carries the imprint of place and memory. The Toda embroidery language is entirely rooted in the landscape, the mountain ranges, specific flowers of the Shola forests, butterflies, elements from sacred rituals, and even the clay lamps used in temple ceremonies. The motifs are passed down, but always interpreted anew. We now encourage artisans to embroider their initials or names directly into the pieces,” says Ramya and pauses to discuss the challenges. As Toda women live in remote, dispersed hamlets across the Nilgiris, some of which aren’t even accessible by car, it affects every aspect of the work — from quality control to process design. To add to this, there are erratic phone and internet connectivity, sudden weather events that block routes or delay travel, and the rhythms of community life. Weddings, funerals, and other large gatherings often draw entire hamlets together, making it impossible to keep a strict production calendar.

Home range collection includes new designs on cushions, lumbar pillows, runners, and throws
| Photo Credit:
Ramya Reddy

“That’s also why the work is so meaningful. The embroidery continues to happen in situ — within the hamlets, surrounded by the Shola forests and the sacred mountains. The women work communally, sitting together under trees or on verandahs, and the work holds the spirit of that land: its light, its rhythms, its stories. The process is slow, layered, and deeply human,” she says, adding, “The joy lies in watching the work take root in the way they live —not by imposing external timelines, but by finding a rhythm that allows the embroidery, and the women behind it, to truly thrive.”

The Art of the Toda is happening at Saptaparni, Banjara Hills, Hyderabad on August 29, 6pm. The exhibition remains on view till August 31. Visit coonoorandco.com

Published – August 28, 2025 04:30 pm IST

A still from The Horse
| Photo Credit: Neville Sukhia

Neil Bhoopalam is one of those actors who has always managed to make his presence felt on stage. Whether it was as the endearing Kaffee in A Few Good Men or as Alexander Ivanov, the dissident who speaks against the regime in the dark, yet funny Every Good Boy Deserves Favour. After regaling the Mumbai audience with The Horse, a political farce which is part of Aadyam Theatre, Neil hopes to recreate the same magic in the capital as well.

Directed by Sunil Shanbag, The Horse has been adapted from a text by Hungarian writer Julius Hay and is a musical comedy set in a Roman tavern during the reign of Emperor Caligula. Neil plays Selenus, a young lad who comes to Rome with his horse, marking the beginning of a series of events that threaten to upend the Roman order. The play takes aim at celebrity culture, unchecked ambition, and the erosion of public institutions, and the actor is clearly impressed by the text. Giving credit to Aadyam and Shanbag for bringing this production to the Indian stage, Neil says that he was blown away by the text. “It is fantastic how Julius Hay has captured a time during the Roman civilisation and transformed it into a comic satire,” he says, adding that comedy continues to be one of his main draws on stage.

A still from The Horse
| Photo Credit:
Neville Sukhia

For someone who has masterfully traversed the worlds of television, OTT, films and theatre, it is the latter that continues to inspire him every day. “Theatre is my passion. It is an art form where you create something out of nothing. Yes, there is a script, but everything else is magic,” says Neil, who makes it a point to do a play a year. Last year, it was The Nether directed by Mohit Takalkar and before that was Every Good Boy Deserves Favour.

The 42-year-old actor was approximately 19 years of age when he started doing theatre with directors such as Atul Kumar and Rehan Engineer. “I remember once we were backstage in the green room just before the start of a show for which we had rehearsed for a month or so. Rehaan Engineer came up to me and told me to forget everything we had rehearsed! I couldn’t believe it,” he laughs, adding that it is only much later that he understood why he was asked to do so. “Rehearsals are done in controlled environments, but on stage, anything can happen. So, I think what he meant was, trust your instincts to adapt if you need to,” he says.

Neil Bhoopalam
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Neil is of the opinion that the only thing that can better society is theatre. “It is an active art form. Cinema is aided with live locations and background music, whereas here, one is only equipped with the human being who is in front of you. The human spirit gets inspired when it watches a story live. Something touches your chakras, your mind, and your past when you watch a story unravel in front of you,” he continues.

On the film front, the actor was recently seen in the epic historical action Chhaava (starring Vicky Kaushal in the lead) as Mughal prince Muhammad Akbar, earlier this year, and describes it as a “golden opportunity” to work on such a massive production. “I trained for almost three weeks and learnt horse-riding and sword fighting for it. Just to be able to jam with Vicky and to see the director’s conviction and belief in his actors was fantastic,” says Neil, who will next be seen in Nikhil Advani’s period drama The Revolutionaries.

The Horse will be staged at Kamani Auditorium, Copernicus Marg, Opposite Doordarshan Bhawan, Mandi House, on September 6 and 7.

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An artwork by Satish Gujral
| Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

Four galleries of the Salar Jung Museum, Hyderabad, will host Harvest 2025 from August 31 — an exhibition of paintings, sculptures, installations and textiles by leading and emerging Indian artists. On view will be works by Sakti Burman, S.H. Raza, Sanjay Bhattacharyya, Satish Gujral, M.F. Husain, Bose Krishnamachari, Bhuri Bai, George Martin, Bhagat Singh, Krishen Khanna, Paresh Maity, Jangarh Singh, Ram Kumar and Chintan Upadhyay, among others.

The title Harvest may seem unusual for an art exhibition. Payal Kapoor, director of Delhi-based Arushi Arts, which is organising the show, recalls arriving at it while brainstorming with the late art critic Suneet Chopra: “We thought of harvest since the curation is like reaping a bounty from diverse artworks across the country.”

Payal founded Arushi Arts 28 years ago, with the gallery releasing its first catalogue in 2001. “This year marks the 25th anniversary of the catalogue. Staging a large-scale exhibition outside Delhi is always a challenge, but the Salar Jung Museum is an iconic venue, and the display will be of international standards,” she says.

An artwork by Bose Krishnamachari
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

On the opening day, visitors can watch Sanjay Bhattacharya paint live, accompanied by a recital of tabla and sitar. Tribal art will also feature prominently, alongside textile works by Chandrapal Panjre from The Raza Foundation.

The Harvest 2025 catalogue includes nearly 200 artworks, of which 120–140 will be on display. “Every piece of art carries some history; even the younger artists have been practicing for at least eight or nine years,” says Payal. The works, she adds, are “affordably priced, starting at one lakh,” making the exhibition accessible to first-time buyers as well as seasoned collectors.

(Harvest 2025 will be on view from August 31 to September 13 at Salar Jung Museum, Hyderabad) 

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Taylor Swift’s engagement ring broke the Internet and then some. It was not just a sparkle but a statement, massive and unapologetic, almost theatrically announcing a new chapter in her life. For millions of fans, it was not just about the diamond. It was the latest episode in a story they had been living vicariously for years, the story of a woman they had grown up with, rooted for, and learned to love alongside.

FILE – Taylor Swift embraces Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce after the NFL Super Bowl 58 football game against the San Francisco 49ers, Feb. 11, 2024, in Las Vegas. The Chiefs won 25-22 against the 49ers. (AP Photo/Julio Cortez, File)
| Photo Credit:
Julio Cortez

The excitement goes far beyond celebrity gossip. Swift’s engagement to NFL star Travis Kelce feels, for many, less like news about a distant star and more like a personal milestone in their lives. Psychologists call this a parasocial relationship, a one-sided emotional bond with a public figure. Researchers have long noted that these connections can resemble friendships in intensity even though the relationship exists only in the imagination. Much like a child’s attachment to an imaginary friend, fans project closeness onto a celebrity who does not know them, yet the feelings of intimacy and recognition are deeply real.

FILE – Taylor Swift gets a kiss from Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce as they arrive to watch play between Jannik Sinner, of Italy, and Taylor Fritz, of the United States, during the men’s singles final of the U.S. Open tennis championships, Sept. 8, 2024, in New York. (AP Photo/Frank Franklin II, File)
| Photo Credit:
Frank Franklin II

With Swift, this phenomenon takes on a particular intensity. Since her debut in 2006, she has released 11 albums and four re-recordings, providing the soundtrack for an entire generation. Listeners discovered her as teenagers falling in love for the first time, stayed with her through heartbreaks, reinventions, and reinforcements of identity, and now watch her step into yet another new chapter. Fans describe this as watching a friend grow, or even learning from an older sister’s mistakes and triumphs.

(FILES) Travis Kelce #87 of the Kansas City Chiefs (L) celebrates with Taylor Swift after defeating the Baltimore Ravens in the AFC Championship Game at M&T Bank Stadium on January 28, 2024 in Baltimore, Maryland. Pop superstar Taylor Swift and American football player Travis Kelce announced their engagement on August 26, 2025, setting the stage for a high-profile wedding for the celebrity couple. A joint post on their Instagram pages showed pictures of Kelce on one knee making his marriage proposal in a flower-laden garden, and then Swift, 35, displaying a large diamond ring. (Photo by Patrick Smith / GETTY IMAGES NORTH AMERICA / AFP)
| Photo Credit:
PATRICK SMITH

Pragya Garg, 25, a lawyer based in Mumbai, says, “Being a fan since ninth grade, I have seen her go through so many stages of life. I find her extremely empowering, the way she has turned setbacks into art and taken charge of her own narrative. It motivates me as a young woman to know you can channel negativity into strength.”

That is why the engagement feels so intimate to her. “This man celebrated her; it feels like a personal victory for some reason. When you follow someone for that long, she starts to feel like a friend. If she has found joy after all she has been through, it gives the rest of us hope that there are better things out there.”

Among Swifties, the global fandom that has followed her every move, the news is both celebratory and deeply relatable. Ananya Sharma, 25, a business psychologist and assessment specialist who lives in London, says, “I am not a big Swiftie, but this brings me so much joy because I know she has had her share of ups and downs. Now all the beautiful songs she wrote about falling and being in love seem to come to reality, almost like a movie climax with a happy ending. It gives so much hope that better things are out there.”

FILE PHOTO: Tennis – U.S. Open – Flushing Meadows, New York, United States – September 8, 2024 Singer Taylor Swift and Kansas City Chiefs’ Travis Kelce are seen ahead of the men’s final match between Italy’s Jannik Sinner and Taylor Fritz of the U.S. REUTERS/Mike Segar/File Photo
| Photo Credit:
Mike Segar

Gurugram-based N.C. Anagha, 25, a senior analyst at a gamified microlearning platform, reflects on the sense of belonging the artiste has cultivated. “She and her community of Swifties created this massive sense of companionship, something no other singer could have possibly created till date.”

This connection is not accidental. Swift’s careful orchestration of her narrative, including lyrics, Easter eggs, and subtle revelations about her personal life, turns the act of following her into an intimate, interactive experience. Fans do more than consume her music. They internalise her emotional journey, speculate on hidden messages, and find in her story a mirror for their own feelings.

The public nature of Swift’s relationship with Kelce has only intensified this sense of shared intimacy. Unlike her earlier, more private partnership with Joe Alwyn, this one has unfolded on stage and on the sidelines of football fields, offering her followers a steady stream of images and narratives. The couple’s openness gives fans a rare sense of being invited into the story, making the engagement feel less like gossip and more like collective celebration.

An Instagram post reading “Your English teacher and your gym teacher are getting married,” along with a photo showing National Football League player Travis Kelce proposing to singer Taylor Swift, in this screenshot taken from a social media post, August 26, 2025. Taylor Swift via Instagram/via REUTERS THIS IMAGE HAS BEEN SUPPLIED BY A THIRD PARTY. MANDATORY CREDIT. NO RESALES. NO ARCHIVES.
| Photo Credit:
Taylor Swift via Instagram

There is also a sense of cultural déjà vu. For earlier generations, royal weddings offered the same combination of glamour, intimacy, and imagined connection. Today, Swift occupies that symbolic role: her love story plays out in real time, but her audience experiences it as both personal validation and communal joy. The scale and immediacy of social media amplifies these parasocial bonds, letting fans across continents feel like participants rather than mere spectators.

Parasocial bonds are not without complexity. They blur the line between private lives and public consumption, raising questions about desire, hope, and belonging in the social media age. Swift maintains close connections with her fans, interacting with them online, sending personalised gifts, inviting them on stage during concerts, and even hosting secret listening sessions. In doing so, she has built not just a career, but a global community where millions feel seen, heard, and less alone.

That is why the image of an engagement ring on Swift’s finger resonates far beyond its celebrity sparkle. For her fans, it is not simply Taylor’s story. It is theirs too.

Published – August 28, 2025 12:12 pm IST

You walk into a darkened hall. Gauze curtains hang down, shifting slightly in the breeze, dividing the space into a labyrinth. Two projectors cast fractured images onto the fabric, like fragments of a half-remembered dream.

You take a seat, slip on a pair of headphones, and are transported to a morning at breakfast in your flat. A knock at the door. Two officers enter and detain you. When you ask on what charges, one of them laughs: “Next, you will want to see the arrest warrant.”

This is I, Josef, a multimedia presentation based on The Trial by Franz Kafka. The immersive theatre piece is part of Goethe Zentrum Hyderabad’s Kafka@101 programme, in partnership with Kaivalya Plays, Rangbhoomi Spaces and the Hyderabad Children’s Theatre Festival.

Kafka’s novel follows Josef K, a bank clerk arrested without explanation. His trial unfolds under increasingly absurd circumstances; the process itself becomes the narrative. The book gave rise to the term “Kafkaesque,” describing something marked by illogical, nightmarish complexity.

Since its publication a century ago, The Trial has been adapted repeatedly for stage and screen — from Philip Glass’s opera to Orson Welles’s film. I, Josef takes another route. As director Gaurav Singh Nijjer puts it: “It is a tale that has been revisited often, but we wanted to approach it differently by making it immersive.”

Experiential viewing

The headphones give each member of the audience a unique experience of the theatre presentation
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

It has no live actors, but pre-recorded voiceovers coupled with AI-generated visuals. Nijjer explains, “My colleague Varoon Anand adapted the story from the third person narrative to the first person. So now when you put on the headsets, you are Josef K. Everything is happening to you, characters are speaking to you. And we work with this idea, what if we stepped into this person’s shoes, what would it sound like? What would it feel like?”

I spot the scattering of chairs in the auditorium. I ask him which one should I pick, he smiles and says, “You can choose any seat in the theatre, but you will still not get a complete picture.” He advises me, “sit wherever you feel like and you will take from it what you take from it.”

I find a chair and pick up the wireless headphones. They all have a LED light on their sides, red for English and green for German. The rest of the audience slowly filed in. We are separated by the gauze, forming little cubicles. As we listen to the voice actors, the rain drumming on the roof adds a local percussive element to the soundscape.

A parade of AI-generated images wash over us, broken, diffracted, fractured by the intervening layers of translucent fabric. A blood-red fist. An officer in silhouette. An assembled jury. What I am seeing is not exactly what my neighbour is seeing. I have a perspective but it is not the perspective. The gauze ripples from the breath of the air-conditioning vent, as if it were the breath of the dead 20th century, whose anxieties have pervaded our own. Occasionally there is total darkness, lit only by the glowing headphones, or at times there are suspended blocks of text, rendered insubstantial.

The soundscapes that accompany the voiceovers have a little bit of the Delhi streets, as well as the relentless tick of a clock, the yammer of a telephone, or the peck of a typewriter. A torture scene is rendered vivid by the sound of a whip on a flesh. The headphones use “binaural audio, which is audio that you can perceive moving from left to right in your ear”. Despite this, Josef himself doesn’t utter a word, remains voiceless throughout. Nijjer says “It is important to give people space to make their own meaning. Now it can be for the audience to think of what they might want to say, or might want to react. Sometimes that’s also what people say, that they wanted someone to say something for them”. I tell them, “You can fill in that silence.”

After the show, I ask Nijjer what drew him to this adaptation. He admits that, he had “read a little bit of The Trial” in college but “could not understand it, so kept it away”. Later, he found his way to Kafka through absurdist theatre. “Samuel Beckett, Ionesco, they all code Kafka as a pioneer of the absurd writing movement”. Nijjer also found resonances to cases such as Umar Khalid, and “a lot of folks for whom there is no chargesheet filed yet, so even the crime has not been specified yet”.

Headphone theatre

He is optimistic of the future of “headphone theatre”, “as you would sit in your own chair, you can still have a very individual experience as well, which I think since the pandemic, we’ve seen a lot of people wanting that, a lot more people are homebodies”.

A visual from ‘I, Josef’ presentation
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

For new shows, he is interested in exploring a kind of documentary theatre, “Taking newspaper reports, actual interview recordings, how do you take non-dramatic text and make it dramatic?” “I would not be too fussed to go to a Shakespeare” he says, “I think the world really needs sort of new ways of looking at these new things, and by combining multimedia it is allowing us to enter that world, which is difficult to communicate using conventional theatrical tools”. He calls it a “post-dramatic” experiment and says “we are constantly being surprised by what all its allowing us to do which a traditional performance may not have done”.

As I leave the hall, I think of one of the lines intoned by the judge, “Your very denial is proof of your guilt”. Once absurd, it has, in our times, assumed the frightening form of truth.

(I,Josef will be staged till August 31 at Rangbhoomi Spaces, Hyderabad. There are multiple time slots, each session accommodating 30 audience members. Tickets on Bookmyshow)

Published – August 28, 2025 12:06 pm IST

In India’s cultural imagination, the wedding sangeet is a scene of music, camaraderie, and colour. What if that same gathering became a stage for women to question expectations and share their truths across generations?.

That is the premise of writer and director Purva Naresh’s Ladies Sangeet: A Musical Dramedy, which blends music, humour, and social critique. Presented by the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art (KNMA) as part of its growing cultural programming, the play returns to Delhi-NCR after nearly a decade, on August 30 at Apparel House, Gurugram. 

The production by Aarambh Mumbai (founded by Purva and Asmit Pathare) features music by Vidushi Shubha Mudgal, Harpreet, Anadi Nagar, and Nishant Aggarwal.

For Purva , the play draws deeply from her formative years in the arts. Trained in Kathak and percussion, she recalls being urged by her gurus to surrender wholly to one discipline. “At home I was encouraged to question and explore,” she says, “but my gurus and institutions always pushed me towards obedience and choosing one form over the other.”

Stills from Ladies Sangeet
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

That spirit of inquiry, shaped further at Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) Pune, found a voice in the character of Rukmini. 

The wedding backdrop, Purva says, came naturally. “North India’s fetish for wedding celebrations prompted the theme and the universe of this play.”

Laughter as a lens

What makes Ladies Sangeet distinctive is its blend of humour and seriousness. “Music and humour save the play from becoming heavy-handed,” says Purva , who prefers satire and music as tools when working against the popular narrative.

Her characters draw from life —Megha reflects her mother’s generation, while the wedding planner was inspired by a small-town event manager she once met on tour. 

“He kept promising to show me a demo on his ‘lappy’ [laptop] when it was clear he had none. For a while I wondered if he was making an advance,” she laughs. 

What began as comedy became a metaphor: “The joke was not on him alone, it was on all of us. He showed how society makes us celebrate our own subjugation with glee.”

Women across generations

At its core, Ladies Sangeet is a conversation among women across generations — each strong in her own way, each negotiating tradition and modernity differently. For Purva , this was deeply personal. “It was tough not to judge them and yet keep them from becoming unidimensional,” she admits.

“I admired and empathised with them because they were brave women — resilient above all, though sometimes less analytical,” Purva says. 

Stills from Ladies Sangeet
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

The play also mirrors her own tussle between reverence and rebellion. “As a classically trained dancer and percussionist, I have deep respect for the arts and my gurus. I had to find a balance between unquestioned reverence and informed respect.”

Still relevant, still resonant

Nearly a decade on, the themes of Ladies Sangeet remain relevant. If anything, Purva feels weddings have only grown more ostentatious. “When last checked, weddings have become bigger, longer, and fantastically ridiculous,” she says. 

Social media, she adds, has only fuelled the appetite for spectacle. “The only change is that middle-class parents are arm-twisted into organising lavish weddings with fewer guests, so the couple can have more room for friends or a grander celebration.” The rise of ticketed ‘fake weddings’ and sangeet events, especially in Delhi, proves her point.

For KNMA, the production aligns with its wider cultural mission. “As we expand into new geographies, this presentation is a part of our larger effort to connect with new audiences and to create accessible and thought-provoking encounters with the arts,” highlights Aditi Jaitly, senior curator for performing arts, KNMA.

Theatre’s contract with its audience

For Purva , theatre remains the most powerful medium to probe such contradictions. “The moment the audience buys a ticket, there’s a contract. They suspend disbelief, and the performer promises a world through imagination. How can it not leave an impact on both parties?” she asks.

Purva Naresh
| Photo Credit:
Neville Sukhia

The impact is evident in the varied reactions Ladies Sangeet has evoked — from girls being led out of a performance in Jhansi by their teachers to a woman in Delhi returning for a second show with boxes of mithai; only because she felt like part of the family. 

“All these reactions tell us that there is an impact — that they are listening,” says Purva .

The play, scheduled on Aug 30, 7 pm, at Apparel House, Sector 44, Gurugram, Haryana-122022 is for age group 16 and above (for ages below, parental guidance is advised). The run time is 120 minutes (plus 15 minute interval). Tickets can be purchased on district.in

Published – August 28, 2025 12:03 pm IST

Rahul R with a 3D pookkalam, with kathakali dancer’s eyes moving. 
| Photo Credit: SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

Preparing pookkalam (flower carpets) has marked the commencement of Onam festivities in Kerala for decades. From the smaller pookkalams made with flowers foraged from the house garden to enormous displays filled with market-bought flowers, pookkalams and Onam are inseparable.

For Rahul R, a UI/UX creative designer in Bengaluru, designing new pookkalams has been an annual ritual. It was around three years ago that he decided to tweak one of his pookkalam designs featuring a Kathakali character, with green and white colours dominating the facade. He believed his pookkalam was missing the expressive eyes of the dancer to convey complex emotions with intricate movements of the eye. That was how he thought of a wooden eye powered by electricity. The oscillating iris recreates a Kathakali dancer’s expressions on a face made of white chrysanthemums, marigolds and bachelor’s buttons. “When the prototype was a success, I thought of sharing it with other people,” says Rahul, who hails from Kottayam.

Pookkalam with Kathakali design
| Photo Credit:
SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

“While in school and college, I was the go-to person for pookkalam designs among my peers during Onam,” recalls Rahul, who has previously worked in advertising field.

Rahul R designing the eyes of Kathakali dancer
| Photo Credit:
SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

This year, Rahul has introduced a snake boat model, placed in the middle of the flower carpet. The handmade product, made of plywood and 3D-printed material, has three oarsmen with Mahabali a.k.a. Maveli at the helm. The figures start rowing once the boat is connected to a USB power source, like a phone charger or a power bank.

Pookkalam with snakeboat design
| Photo Credit:
SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

“I wanted to bring something new. All parts are handcrafted by my wife, Chitra Rahul and me,” says Rahul, who sells his 3D pookkalams as kits under the brand name Asan Hobby.

“Each kit has a pookkalam outline with a diameter of five feet, which will be marked with the colours to be filled. Another component is the moving module, which is either the eyes of the Kathakali dancer, or the oarsmen in the boat race model,” says Rahul. “After Onam, you can use the boat as a showpiece.”

The snakeboat showpiece
| Photo Credit:
SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

“Even without sketching skills, you can create a beautiful pookalam,” says Rahul, whose interests extend to assembling miniature aircraft and selling airplane building kits. He has made over 50 aircraft models and organises workshops on the same. “I am self-taught in many of these fields,” the 36-year-old says.

The pookalam kits are priced from ₹3,800, and his customers are mainly from Kerala, with multiple enquiries from abroad.

He adds, “We want to produce more designs. Some people may not feel like using our templates; so we can give them more options to customise. And we look forward to sell conveniently over a website.”

Rahul believes that his models have not “modernised pookkalams. We are just making the job of drawing easier. However, the remaining steps, such as cutting the flowers and laying them, should still be done by people.”

For instance, someone who lives in an apartment with marble floors, Rahul says, might not be able to draw on the floor with chalk. “We make people’s jobs easier not cut them from their culture. It’s just a guideline for making the pookkalams.”

For details, contact the Instagram handle, @asan_hobby

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The courtyards of Jaipur’s City Palace have seen plenty: royal processions, polo matches, and the shimmer of courtly patronage. This month, the palace opens its doors to a peculiar exhibition — one that asks what belonging looks like when you’ve spent years being told you don’t quite fit.

Non-Residency is presented by the Jaipur Centre for Art (JCA), a new cultural hub co-founded by Sawai Padmanabh Singh and curator Noelle Kadar to bring global conversations into the city’s historic heart. Across the world in Los Angeles, Rajiv Menon launched Rajiv Menon Contemporary in 2023 and quickly drew attention with ambitious programming and museum acquisitions. Two young institutions, two cities, one show — bringing 16 South Asian and diasporic artists together to decipher “the emotional texture” of the experience of migration, immigration, and displacement.

Rajiv Menon (centre) with Sawai Padmanabh Singh and curator Noelle Kadar

“Non-resident” is not a romantic word. In India, NRI (Non-Resident Indian) is a legal category; in the U.S., “nonresident alien” is a tax status — both ways of filing people into forms. Menon flips the chill of paperwork into something human: “For me, it was about that uncanny in-betweenness — the way the diaspora can feel both familiar and unsettling,” he says. The exhibition turns that unease into image, material, and mood. Or as he shares on the The Creative Process podcast, into an exploration of how the artists encounter their homeland from the position of the diaspora.

You feel the argument immediately in a pairing that shouldn’t work but does. Hung near visual artist Viraj Khanna’s maximalist, satirical embroideries New York-based artist Melissa Joseph’s felted works look almost whisper-quiet. Based on family photos, Joseph’s faces blur at the edges like the texture of memory over time and space. Khanna’s panels, meanwhile, riff on the social-media image economy and the theatre of the Indian wedding; they swagger into the room and then turn the mirror. Restraint and exuberance stand shoulder to shoulder, each making the other read more clearly.

Melissa Joseph’s What We Leave Behind 

A few paces away, Boston artist Ricky Vasan’s Thanksgiving shrinks the epic of migration down to a table and a glance — domestic, diaristic, and disarming. San Francisco-based Anoushka Mirchandani lingers on the women in her life in quiet figurative scenes, while American-Sri Lankan artist Shyama Golden plants a flag for crisp, graphic clarity in It’s All Uphill From Here. Together, they argue that the everyday — well lit and well seen — can be as urgent as any grand narrative.

Ricky Vasan’s Thanksgiving
| Photo Credit:
Ruben Diaz

Anoushka Mirchandani’s art
| Photo Credit:
Paul Rho

Shyama Golden’s It’s All Uphill From Here

Room of sharp contrasts

Non-Residency, which encompasses paintings, sculptures and textiles, is also a conscious move away from the position of subordination that diaspora art usually finds itself in. As Menon states in the podcast, he wanted “to show that diasporic work is very much thinking in the present tense… that they’re taking their position and using it to create art that are wholly original”.

Multidisciplinary artist Kelly Sinnapah Mary taps into her Indo-Caribbean heritage with hybrid beings entangled in leaves and lore; her canvases feel like haunted herbariums that ask who gets to plant and who is allowed to grow. Jersey-based Sahana Ramakrishnan’s The People Under the Sea dives into myth and metamorphosis, braiding South Asian cosmologies with a restless eco-anxious contemporary hand.

Kelly Sinnapah Mary’s Violette’s Book: The Girl with 3 Eyes
| Photo Credit:
Christopher Burke Studio

Sahana Ramakrishnan’s The People Under the Sea

One thread runs across the show: texture treated as thought. Embroidery, cloth, tufting, and other material interventions within the artworks are not mere embellishments but carry as much weight as paint or sculpture. This sensibility reflects Menon’s wider ethos — one attuned to fashion and the way many young designers use craft to generate form and meaning. “Craft, clothing, art — they’ve always spoken to each other in our cultures,” he says. “I wanted the exhibition to reflect that conversation honestly.”

You see that clearly in Canadian artist Keerat Kaur’s The Source, a pomegranate overflowing with its symbols of fertility, sits comfortably in the space of painting, while Mirchandani’s translucent wisp of a woman sits sprawled in a sari, the body disappearing into the surroundings. Here, fabric, embroidery, and collage hold their own against oil and acrylic across the galleries.

A work by Rajni Perera in the group exhibition Non-Residency

Straddling both worlds

JCA also launched an artist residency alongside the show, and the first resident, San Francisco-based artist Nibha Akireddy, used her month in Jaipur to learn block printing from local artisans and spending time in the palace’s archives. Her works fold that learning straight back into the exhibition: Night Polo nods to the city’s equestrian lore, this time with lithe women as players, while Sleep Study 1 and Sleep Study 2 tuck figures into block printed sheets. Public spectacle and private tenderness, side by side — homecoming as composition rather than return.

Suchitra Mattai’s Set Free

Despite the glamour of the setting, Non-Residency refuses to become an elite parade. Yes, there are sequins and saris and saturated colour, but the curation doesn’t hide from the power structures that once dismissed these very aesthetics as unserious. The pairings are political: a high-shine Khanna beside Joseph’s hush; Ramakrishnan’s oceanic eco-mythologies interrupting a sumptuous room; Vasan’s quiet table blown to the large scale of South Asian meals. Everywhere, the hang insists that difference is not a hierarchy.

Non-Residency at Jaipur Centre for Art

For years, diasporic artists were presented as colourful exceptions to someone else’s rulebook. Non-Residency offers a cleaner sentence: let the diaspora write the rules. Stitch, blur, collage, move from the side notes they have long been rendered into. In a palace that once dictated taste, the exhibition proposes a better standard: plural, stylish, critical, and, most importantly, collective. Far from asking the diaspora to apologise for its volume, it blares it as music — tuning the room, and clearly enunciating the conversation about what Indian art can be next.

The essayist-educator writes on culture, and is founding editor of Proseterity — a literary arts magazine.

Published – August 28, 2025 11:47 am IST

On the first morning of Ganesh Chaturthi, the 10-day festival that marks the arrival of Lord Ganesha into people’s homes and community mandals, kitchens come alive before the crack of dawn. Steam curls up from freshly ground rice flour, jaggery bubbles into a sticky syrup, and women gather around to coax delicate pleats into the steamed version of the modak or ukadiche modak. In most homes in Maharashtra, and Goa, the scent of sandalwood incense and marigolds hangs in the air, while children run in and out, waiting to pounce on the sweet dumplings once the aarti ends.

The thali includes chutneys, pickles, crispy aloo wadi and kothimbir wadi 
| Photo Credit:
Nav Chaitanya

For many, this is the image of Ganesh Chaturthi: Lord Ganesh, remover of obstacles, seated before plates loaded with his favourite sweet. Modak has become synonymous with the festival, and behind it, a richer story continues to unfold. The festival table is not only about sweets but also about community feasts, seasonal vegetables, and rare ritual foods that are a testament to regional diversity, ancient wisdom, and the very spirit of community that Lokmanya Tilak, one of the country’s most prominent freedom fighters and social reformers, sought to foster when he initiated the tradition of public Ganesh celebrations in 1893.

Unifying force

The offerings, known as naivedya, are not a one-size-fits-all affair. They are rooted in the specific geographical and communal identity of the household. As food writer Saee Koranne-Khandekar documents in her book Pangat, A Feast : Food and Lore from Marathi Kitchens, regional ingredients and community practices dictate the festive menu. For example, while the Brahmin communities of the Desh region, the historical heartland of Maharashtra, might favour a sweet flatbread called puran poli and savoury lentil dish katachi amti, the Pathare Prabhus of the Konkan coast have a tradition of including seafood — a practice that reflects their coastal environment and distinct cultural norms.

The ukadiche modak
| Photo Credit:
Nav Chaitanya

This devotion to regional authenticity is what inspired restaurateur Mitra Walke to launch Saee’s book at his restaurant, Nav Chaitanya, in Andheri. Having moved to Mumbai from Malvan in 2007, Mitra was driven by nostalgia. “The longing to return home for Ganpati is real,” he reflects. “Many, like us, can’t make it back, so why not bring a taste of home to them?” His festive thali is a revival of the traditional pangat gatherings of his hometown, where meals are served hot and in sequence, eaten while sitting on the floor.

Varan bhat
| Photo Credit:
Nav Chaitanya

This year’s thali includes chutneys, pickles, crispy aloo wadi and kothimbir wadi set, while karela bhaji adds a gentle bitterness and dishes like kala vatana usal (black peas dal) and alu chi fadfada (a Maharashtrian curry made with colocasia leaves) bring earthy depth. Freshly fried vade carry the aroma of festive mornings, balanced by the soft sweetness of sooji (semolina) and the cooling freshness of chibud melon (a variety of mush melon). Classics like varan bhaat (pigeon pea dal and rice) with ghee and masale bhaat ground the spread in tradition. Guests at Nav Chaitanya can experience this festive thali in timed sittings at 11.00 am, 12.30pm, 2.00pm, and 3.30pm, with pricing at  ₹899 plus taxes for adults and ₹399 plus taxes for children aged below 12.

The pangat thali
| Photo Credit:
Nav Chaitanya

Beyond the familiar dishes, the festival holds lesser-known food traditions tied to specific days. Rushi Panchami, which falls on the second day, is a prime example. This day is dedicated to the veneration of the seven ancient sages (Saptarishi), and the food prepared is an act of devotion. The center piece is the rushi panchami chi bhaji, a mixed vegetable dish. While the Brahmanda Purana and other Hindu scriptures do not list the recipe by name, they dictate that the fast must be broken with foods grown without the use of a plough and oxen. This dish adheres to a strict rule: it must be made from vegetables and grains that have not been grown with the help of a plough and oxen.

The spread on the first day
| Photo Credit:
Nav Chaitanya

Beyond this, the act of offering food is a ritualistic ceremony in itself. The Shodashopachara (a structured ceremony designed to treat the deity as an honoured guest), or the 16-step tribute to Ganesh, is the cornerstone of the puja. As journalist Kaumudi Marathé highlights in her book, The Essential Marathi Cookbook, the 21 modaks offered are not merely a favourite food; “they are a mandatory part of this ritual, underscoring their deep-seated spiritual significance.”

Diverse appeal

While modaks steal the spotlight, Delhi-based chef and content creator Keertida Phadke, who hails from Pune, champions another festive treat from her family kitchen: nivagrya. “It’s the unsung hero of the season,” she laughs. “No one ever plans to make nivagrya, they just happen.” The process is instinctive and resourceful. The leftover ukad — the rice flour dough from making modaks — is mixed with coriander, green chillies, cumin, and salt, then rolled into rustic shapes and steamed. “Where modak-making is a high-stakes ritual, nivagrya are easy, forgiving. You can season and shape them however you like,” she says. For Keertida, they embody a resourceful mindset: never wasting, always repurposing. “It’s this genius little snack born out of what’s left behind.”

Nivagrya
| Photo Credit:
Keertida Phadke

In Goa, Pankaj Kamble, who curates food walks for immersive travel start-up Soul Travelling, views the festival as a lesson in local history. He points to the khatkhate, a classic vegetable stew from the Konkan region. Its name echoes the sound of vegetables cooking, and the dish itself is a ceremonial offering of the land’s first bounty. The secret to its flavour lies in the aromatic triphal, a Goan spice similar to Sichuan peppercorns that adds a subtle, peppery tingle. Pankaj also mentions the fried talniche modak, which offers a satisfying crunch and longer shelf life, making it a perfect gift for visiting guests.

Pankaj believes that a nuanced perspective is vital when discussing the festival’s vegetarian-only rule. “While the vast majority of Maharashtrians observe a strict vegetarian diet during the 10 days, a few communities stand apart,” he says. He cites the Pathare Prabhus of Mumbai, who have a long-standing custom of offering non-vegetarian dishes to the goddess Gauri. “This unique practice speaks volumes about how community identity can shape religious observance,” he adds.

Rooted in tradition

This regional specificity is also at the heart of the celebration for Shraddha Bhonsle, a member of the Sawantwadi royal family by marriage, who runs The Sawantwadi Palace Boutique Art Hotel (which forms part of the Sawantwadi Palace) with her husband. Her festive menu is a meticulously planned panch pakwan, a strictly vegetarian five-fold offering to Lord Ganesh, which after the ritualistic offering is complete, the food is considered prasad and distributed among the family, friends and neighbours.. “The variety on the menu is a testament to the cultural richness of the festival,” she explains. The feast includes a variety of bhajis and pulses, accompanied by staples like crispy puri and the essential varan and bhat. A refreshing koshimbir (a simple salad of cucumber and yogurt) and the tangy sol kadhi (a staple of the Konkan region believed to aid digestion) ground the meal in its Konkan heritage.

 A special meal of varan bhat accompanied by 21 specific vegetables at Sawantwadi Palace
| Photo Credit:
Shraddha Bhonsle

After the grand morning feast, the evening meal is a simpler affair, reflecting the transition from formal worship to family time. Yet, the ritualistic precision continues. The second day, called Rushi Panchami, for a significant fast. “The energy of welcoming Ganpati Bappa is immense, but the next day is equally important,” she explains. “It’s a time for reflection.” TThe fast, which lasts for a little more than a day and includes milk and fruits, is broken with a special meal of varan bhat accompanied by 21 specific seasonal vegetables, all grown without the use of a plough. “It’s a conscious choice,” she says, “a way to connect with a more natural way of living, even if just for this one meal.”

The Bhonsles of Sawantwadi

The list of vegetables she provides reads like a celebration of the wild and uncultivated: alu, pumpkin, lal bhaji, and even wild yams like karande and elephant foot. “This seemingly eclectic mix holds deep meaning,” Shraddha reflects. “It’s about maintaining those connections to our traditions, understanding the ‘why’ behind what we do.”

Roysten Abel’s The Manganiyar Seduction
| Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

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