How the concept of Mangal Sutra has evolved over the centuries

 

While the idea of a sacred thread did exist and so did the practise of adorning the bride with jewellery, the ritualistic aspect of a mangal sutra along with the many class, caste and community distinctions in it is a fairly modern concept.

The sacred thread of Hindu marriage, Mangal Sutra, recently made headlines for its alleged appropriation by fashion designer Sabyasachi. Although the advertisement campaign that intended to portray Indian culture through a modern, inclusive lens has been withdrawn, it has left several questions unanswered about the sociological undertones of a mangal sutra.

“There was no concept in ancient India of a marriage being solemnised through a mangal sutra as we know of it today with diamonds, pendants and the like,” explains historian of Indian jewellery, Dr. Usha Balakrishnan. As she explains, while the idea of a sacred thread did exist and so did the practise of adorning the bride with jewellery, the ritualistic aspect of a mangal sutra along with the many class, caste and community distinctions in it is a fairly modern concept.

The purpose of the wedding jewellery

Balakrishnan along with Meera Sushil Kumar in their book, ‘Indian jewelry: The dance of the peacock’ write that historically in India “ornaments functioned as auspicious symbols of marital status”. The only time one gave up on them was on the occasion of widowhood or while giving up on worldly affairs. The authors cite the Atharvaveda which said that the marriage ceremony concludes with the father of the bride stating, “I give away this girl adorned with gold ornaments to you.”

The Manusmriti categorises bridal jewellery as her ‘stridhan’, the only kind of property that is irrevocably hers. In a male-dominated and unsupported social structure, the marital jewellery came as financial security against widowhood and old age.

The mangal sutra, as Balarishnan explains, is not mentioned in any religious text as a ‘marriage ornament’. The Grihya Sutras (Hindu texts prescribing ceremonies for each stage of an individual’s life) make no mention of the practise of tying a mangalsutra for the sake of solemnising a marriage. “Etymologically, the mangal sutra refers to an auspicious thread. Traditionally and even today during auspicious occasions, a thread dipped in turmeric or kumkum is tied around the pulse points of the body like the neck or the wrist. Mangal sutras were basically talismans tied/worn to protect, ward off the evil effects of the planets and to give courage,” she says.

Speaking about the archaeological evidence of wedding ornaments, Dr. Preetha Nair, head of the department of archaeology in the University of Kerala, says that from the early historic period (roughly corresponding to 500 BCE and 500 AD), we get several black beads which were perhaps used for making the mangal sutra later. “However, it is impossible to suggest whether they were worn only by married women or unmarried ones as well,” she says. “However one of the earliest literary references to a string being tied by the groom around the neck of the bride is from the Sangam literature (300 BCE to 300 CE), which can provide some evidence of the presence of something like a mangal sutra.”

The adoption of the mangal sutra by different communities

Balakrishnan and Kumar explain in their book that the practise of tying the mangal sutra during marriage had more to do with convention than religion. Traditionally a sacred thread was worn by both men and women as part of their initiation into the life of a student. As the practise faded away for women, the sacred thread was adapted as tiru-mangalam or mangal sutra to “sanctify a woman’s marital status and accord her social recognition”. “Often on, this string was accompanied with a motif like a leaf from an auspicious tree, a tiger claw or anything that was symbolic within that community,” says Balakrishnan.

Over the years, the motifs and make of the mangal sutra came to differentiate among caste and communities as well. In Tamil Nadu and Kerala, for instance, the mangal sutra is known as the tali, which refers to a species of the palm tree or a grove of palms. “Though literary evidence is neither consistent nor conclusive on the origin of the term, even today among the Gonds, Savaras and Munda tribes, the bridegroom ties a string with a palm leaf around the bride’s neck,” write Balakrishnan and Kumar.

Variations of the tali often indicate the natural or supernatural phenomenon revered by a community or tribe. The amai-tali, for instance, carries the emblem of a tortoise. The pulippali-tali, on the other hand, displays a set of tiger’s claws. A Shaivite Brahmin Tali carries the representation of the Lingam or the three horizontal lines of the caste mark.

A most splendid variation of the tali is the necklace of the Nattukottai Chettiars of Chettianadu in Tamil Nadu. The community is known to have originated from the ancient sea port of Puhar and their patron deity is Lord Shiva, while their most important shrine is the Nataraja Temple in Chidambaram. “The necklace is a magnificent ornament made up of two rows of horizontal beads, interspersed with elaborate pendant pieces and an ornate tali pendant in the centre,” describe Balakrishnan and Kumar. “The traditional M shaped centrepiece of the necklace features a miniature replica of the temple in Chidambaram worked in repousse. Within this temple, Shiva and his consort Parvati are depicted seated on their vehicle, the bull. The claw-like pieces on either side are embellished with artistic details typical of the architecture of Chettinad.”

The practise of tying the mangal sutra has seeped into religious groups other than Hindus as well, and is often adapted to indicate their own belief systems. “For instance, the Syrian Christians in Kerala wear a mangal sutra, but with a cross on it,” says Balakrishnan.

There are other communities though among whom the mangal sutra seems to be absent. Other forms of marital tokens though seem to have taken its place, encapsulating the same idea and objective as that of the mangal sutra. In large parts of north India for instance, the bicchwa or the toe ring and glass bangles are supposed to indicate marital status of a woman. The Kashmir marriage symbol consists of a long string, drawn through a hole pierced in the cartilage of the ear, with an ornament at the end.

In Bengal, the shell and coral bangles or the shaakha pola is worn as an indicator of marital status. “The pola for instance signifies the strength of iron wished upon the woman. It also consists of lead. It is believed that a small quantity of lead is good for the body to absorb through the bloodstream. It is considered all the more important for women who are expected to bear children,” says Balakrishnan. The shell, she says, is an indicator or a fish-eating ocean bound community. “The shell is an important symbol of prosperity and longevity.”

Speaking about the rebranding of marital tokens in recent times, Balakrishnan says that “marketing companies in the west took a diamond ring and turned it into an object that was compulsory to sanctify a marriage. Every woman, therefore, wanted that ring as the ultimate symbol of a man’s love and devotion to her.” The evolution of the mangal sutra over centuries is best understood in the same context.

Written by Adrija Roychowdhury

Source: Indian Express, 5/11/21

Culture Needs A Plan

Institutions for the arts need professional managers for a turnaround

This paper reported earlier this month that state-funded cultural institutions have been asked to generate revenue amounting to 25-30 per cent of their budget initially and “eventually” achieve “self-sufficiency”. The idea will remain utopian unless professional cultural managers are inducted to lead these institutions.

The government needs to create a cadre of professional cultural managers which calls for professionals with a host of skills and training, among which is the requirement to be sensitive and knowledgeable about the wide, diverse and complex cultures and traditions of the Subcontinent. Such persons alone will be able to create business plans for these decadent institutions, provide a vision to connect them to audiences and “markets”, evolve practical strategies to conserve traditional knowledge skills and creative expressions. Only then can these organisations create self-sustainability and have renewed relevance. In their present form, these are white elephants.

Most of these institutions are now led either by artists (performing or visual) who have no idea of or training in administration, policy or management. Or, they are run or controlled by non-specialist bureaucrats. The few professional cultural managers are not motivated to join since they are unable to provide appropriate remuneration and, most importantly, ensure functional autonomy. The dearth of professional cultural managers is unlikely to be addressed soon; not one eminent management institute in India offers a programme in cultural management.

Most state-run cultural institutions across India have been unable to chart a meaningful functional role for creative communities or the preservation of their cultural traditions. Relevant outreach programmes have also not been created. Cultural ecosystems are rocked when a cultural skill or knowledge dies. It is similar to what happens when the tiger is endangered — the impact is felt all over the ecosystem. Several knowledge systems related to performing arts, crafts in India and communities that practice them now face the threat of massive deskilling and marginalisation.

There is no cultural policy that offers a holistic and realistic approach to this complex, contested terrain. Committees to formulate policies are mostly formed with artists and cultural academicians; rarely are cultural management professionals or cultural economists invited to join them. Not surprisingly, these committees are unable to evolve strategies to ensure sustainability and conservation of creative communities, and other manifestations of our rich cultural heritage.

In the absence of professional cultural managers, bureaucrats in charge of these institutions take up the task of making India’s great cultural heritage visible on the international map. For example, the Festival of India model has not evolved since its inception in the 1980s. Those in leadership positions can’t grasp the international discourse on culture as they are unfamiliar with its vocabulary. They fail to address conceptual frameworks while keeping in mind the Indian context and Indian artists’ interests.

For instance, there is great attention given these days to ideas like cultural mapping and the conservation of intangible heritage, both by government and non-government institutions. However, there is a dearth of people who actually understand these complex issues or have the capacities to collect such data, which will involve large sums of public money. There is also a shortage of persons who are equipped to develop strategies to use the collected data in a manner that the welfare of the bearers of tradition, many of whom are living in poverty, are addressed. Just passing directions to recreate themselves as sustainable organisations will not generate the desired results, nor will a choice of leasing the land and infrastructure of these institutes to corporates provide a new functionality to these cultural institutions.

There are, of course, people committed to the field of cultural management and economics. The question is, if the government will induct them as professionals, as they do with scientists, health professionals and economists? If the cultural sphere is not addressed in a systematic, detached and professional manner, we risk to lose huge capital. Culture is too precious to be left Ram bharose!

The writer is vice-president, Centre for New Perspective, an organisation that works on areas related to traditional skills and sustainable development

Source: Indian Express, 18-05-2017

Neither cultural nor revolutionary

In the government’s new ‘cultural revolution’, culture becomes a mask to hide material realities

We live in ironic times where the establishment quotes Bob Dylan, an anti-establishment figure. Last month, the Prime Minister cited lines from Dylan’s song, The Times They Are A-Changin’ including “And don’t criticise/ What you can’t understand”, ostensibly targeted at the critics of demonetisation.

Demonetisation is an event of biblical proportions. But even as its economic consequences are discussed, what goes unnoticed are the new cultural imaginaries that are sought to be put in place. Rather than see demonetisation as only an economic measure to curb corruption, the government wants to usher in “a behavioural change at all levels of society”, which is a part of “the grand ‘cultural revolution’ that the PM is working on” (M. Venkaiah Naidu in The Indian Express, Nov. 29).

The problem is that this cultural revolution is neither cultural nor revolutionary. Culture becomes a mere appendage to technological transformations which still mask material exploitation. In this cultural revolution, the government still needs lucky draw contests (and prizes worth Rs. 340 crore) to incentivise digital payments and behaviourial change. Also, the revolution will be ushered in through an executive fiat from above rather than it emerging organically from the people.

Emptiness of words

Technology is the fulcrum of the new cultural revolution. As the Prime Minister puts it, in ‘Digital India’, “your phone is your wallet.” But when Dylan becomes yoked to the project of Cashless India and Digital India, culture becomes instrumental and hollow. Otherwise, how is The Times..., reflecting the American youth’s anger against imperialism perpetrated by their own government, quoted by a government that has come down heavily on dissent?

The cultural revolution is supposed to completely overhaul the system. In a reference rich with religio-cultural symbolism, the Prime Minister calls demonetisation a “yagna against corruption, terrorism and black money.” There is, of course, tremendous hardship for the people. But he asks them to endure it to make the nation great and modern. Remarkably, in this vision, there are no cultural revolutions to annihilate caste, the most important barrier to India becoming modern. Nor there are yagnas against class and gender exploitation.

In this cultural revolution without culture, anything goes, so the Prime Minister can wish that “the youth seize the moment and be the winds of change” even after his government has virtually criminalised any youth politics unpalatable to the state. Or a Union Minister can also quote Dylan to critique patriarchy in Muslim community, but not patriarchy among Hindus.

No critical pedagogy

Such a conjuncture is itself a result of India’s failure to build a critical pedagogy. Instead of questioning the fundamental bases of exploitation, the entire pedagogy has been built on a technocratic understanding of society catering to building “meritorious” citizens, a society which merely reinforces existing hierarchies. In this pedagogy, as the philosopher Ivan Illich put it, “medical treatment is mistaken for healthcare, social work for the improvement of community life, police protection for safety, military poise for national security, the rat race for productive work.”

It is on this ground already ploughed by conformist currents that the seeds of the new cultural revolution are sown. How else does one explain sections of the most “educated”, including in the bureaucracy, with a bird’s-eye view of governance, seeing demonetisation as a panacea to all our ills? The crux of technocratic thinking is to paper over systemic causes of issues such as poverty and prescribe technological fixes.

The root cause for our misery in this technocratic vision is a culture steeped in corruption. While there is truth in this, the decadent culture is not caused by the ruling classes in general, but only, as a government representative puts it, “encouraged by Congress and its friends all these years in power.” Again, the accumulation of privilege by the upper castes/classes or of the state-sanctioned plunder of public wealth, forests, minerals, etc. by the ruling classes goes unmentioned.

When one identifies the problem as such, the solution can only be superficial. Demonetisation becomes a magic wand to end corruption. When the Prime Minister tells a rally that the rich are queuing up at the houses of the poor to seek their help in depositing black money, he is not referring to the ultra-rich in India. So, the cultural revolution is already making a distinction between the rich themselves.

In this cultural revolution, culture becomes a mask to hide fundamental material realities. Thus, it does not tell us that the top one per cent of people own 58.4 per cent of the country’s wealth. When the bottom 50 per cent own only 2.1 per cent of the wealth, how does the promised manna of a few thousand rupees in Jan Dhan accounts alter anything?

The staggering levels of inequality have very little to do with black money held in high denomination notes, but are a result of a skewed distribution of wealth, resources and power legally enforced. That among the prominent economies of the world, India is only second to Russia, which is known for its mafia capitalism, in terms of the wealth owned by the top one per cent says something about our rapacious model of development, especially under liberalisation.

The cultural revolution does not tell us that the revenue foregone by the government in corporate income tax, excise and custom duty since 2005-06 is Rs. 42 trillion — an amount which can fund the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act for over 100 years! Neither does it tell us that state-owned banks have written off Rs.1.14 lakh crore of bad loans from 2013 to 2015 or that just two corporate houses alone owe over Rs.3 lakh crore in debt to the banks.

The tragedy is that the questions not asked by the cultural revolution are left unasked by popular discourse. And they will not be until we are prisoners of what the cultural theorist Henry Giroux calls as the “relentless activity of thoughtlessness” fostered by dominant power through its cultural apparatuses. What they do is to transform the genuine aspirations of the people for equality, a corruption-free society and anger against the existing system into sanitised expressions like demonetisation which do not fundamentally challenge the system.

It is in the absence of a genuine cultural revolution that we have reached a conjuncture in which a nation as diverse and unequal as India is asked to place its hopes on an individual leader as a talisman for a cultural revolution. A cultural revolution in which mobile phones will herald a corruption-free society. To unveil this cultural revolution, we need to go back to deciphering Dylan ourselves.

Nissim Mannathukkaren is Chair, International Development Studies, Dalhousie University, Canada. E-mail: nmannathukkaren@dal.ca

Source: The Hindu, 28-12-2016

A culture of tolerance can be a binding force

Apart from its scenic and strategic geography and Article 370, Kashmir, till 1990, also had the unique distinction of cultural tolerance. Much against the widespread impression that was sought to be created when independent legislator Engineer Rashid hosted a beef party to defy the ban and prohibition, the fact is that most Kashmiri Muslims do not eat beef.

No wonder Rashid reportedly served mutton at his ‘beef party’, apparently knowing well that not many people would eat beef, which would have defeated his purpose of making a religio-political statement.

Having lived in Kashmir for 19 years, until being forced out during the onset of the Islamic insurgency in 1990, I can say that Kashmiri Muslims, despite being in an overwhelming majority, had due respect for the minority sentiments (in Kashmir, as also in the state of Jammu and Kashmir, the Muslims are in a majority).

Beef never made it to the routine course. It was consumed, that too rarely, during marriages or Id-ul-Azha. Only the marginalised and underprivileged sections of society would slaughter a calf or two on occasions as they could not afford either sheep or lamb.

In our predominantly Muslim neighbourhood when someone would slaughter a calf, he would do it in a clandestine manner, more out of respect for our sentiments than for fear of the law.

During Muslim marriages, there would be a separate kitchen for the Hindu guests managed by Hindu cooks. And the same practice was followed in Hindu marriages, sometimes, even for a single guest.

Food habits are driven more by culture than religion. This is the reason why not many Kashmiri Muslims eat beef and not many Kashmiri Hindus eat pork, as it was never a part of their culture.

Even now, when Kashmiri society is considered to have been more radicalised, people strongly resist eating beef.

One of my Kashmiri Muslim friends recently refused to eat beef served by a Hindu secularist as he had never eaten beef in his life. The same friend was warned by his mother against eating or bringing beef at home.

Our daily lives are determined more by culture and less by religion. But the moment these roles are reversed and religion is imposed as culture, the entire social edifice threatens to collapse.

Culture, unlike religion, is a binding force, and the culture of tolerance is the strongest at that. This is what Kashmir taught me and it is something I will always remember with nostalgia.

(Vimal Sumbly is a former journalist based in Punjab. The views expressed are personal)

Source: Hindustan Times, 4-11-2015

Jul 03 2015 : The Economic Times (Delhi)

How To Preserve A Sweet Tradition





In the diabetes capital of the world, should anyone care if a sweet seller shuts shop, other than to cheer good riddance?
When the sweet shop in question is 225 years' old, things are a little different. Ghantewala, in business since 1790, has sold traditional Indian sweets made in pure desi ghee from its place near Delhi's Red Fort to Mughal epigones, lesser aristocracy , visitors to Dilli and to New Delhi, tourists and regulars, connoisseurs and gourmands, the rich and the not-so-rich. It had been an icon, in other words, of the culture of Old Delhi, a fixture on the itinerary of heritage walkers. The shop was living tradition, its closure leaves a cultural void.Modernity takes its toll. Ice cream, chocolate, frozen yoghurt and doughnuts find a place on the modern Indian's sweet palate because sohanhalwa and habshi barfi yield theirs. That retreat from monopoly to competition and coexistence is natural, and welcome.
Respect for tradition cannot mean rejection of the new in a globalising world. But is obliteration of tradition inevitable?
That has to do with a missing policy on protection of living heritage. And when that living heritage is part of a bustling commercial place, only very complex policy , including spatial planning and traffic management to facilitate consumer access, and its careful execution will fetch results.
If the Amazon jungles are the world's lungs, should the rest of the world not compensate Brazil for forgoing the revenue to be had from clearing the forest? If the revenue from alternate uses of the prime property is much higher for Ghantewala's owner than that from running a sweet shop, should there be a policy to compensate him for keeping tradition alive? Or should we step back from history's path, consoling ourselves that nostalgia is sweeter than Ghantewala's offerings?

TN village gets rain after 200 goats sacrificed

Erode TNN





Erode: People from 10 hamlets in Andhiyur forest range in Erode district performed a special puja praying for rain to their deity Lord Muniappan on Sunday , which received a heavy downpour soon after.They sacrificed 200 goats to the deity and organized a feast for more than 5,000 devotees. Since morning, people from 10 villages started gathering at the temple in the reserve forest.
Officers from the forest department were deployed at the temple to oversee the rituals.There was rain shortly after they dispersed. Villagers believed that their lord accepted their offerings.

Mainstream, VOL LIII, No 16, April 11, 2015

THE LAST DEVADASI: DOES HER DEATH BRINGS DOWN CURTAIN ON A DISGRACEFUL TEMPLE CUSTOM?

Sunday 12 April 2015, by A K Biswas

Devadasi, though described as a female slave of the gods, used with reference to women dedicated to the temple, was actually a temple prostitute. Many parts of India boasted of these women who were an integral part of Hindu shrines. And she pandered to the carnal desires of the priests, besides the rich and wealthy visitors, who undertook the journey to those places under the religious pretext. These women were a source of attraction which enhanced the reputation of many temples. The Jagannath Temple, Puri, Somnath Temple, Gujarat, various shrines in Tamil Nadu, to mention a few, had these unhappy women to serve the priests and visitors. The system has slowly faded away partially.

A report from Puri, Orissa suggests that the last devadasi, Sashimani, attached to the Jagannath temple, has died at 92, drawing a curtain on the disgraceful institution. Sadly, the report, though it appeared in a national daily with large circulation, seeks to mislead readers that the devadasi system was introduced in Puri’s Jagannath Temple in 1955. The report presented her as the ‘human wife’ of Lord Jagannath.1

It is shameful that truth has been sacrificed for vested interest. Francois Bernier (September 25, 1620-September 22, 1688) was a French physician and traveller. His account of travels in Mughal India is considered as a very valuable source material for the history of the country. He was the personal physician to Prince Dara Shikoh, the elder son of Shah Jahan, and after Dara Shikoh’s fall was attached to the court of Emperor Aurangzeb for around 12 years during his stay in India. He had visited Puri. His account discloses that every year prior to the ratha jatra in Puri, Jagannath took a new, young wife. She used to be deflowered on the first night for consummating the marriage by one of the temple priests intruding inside a room where she was sheltered.

A century ago Puri’s devadasis dominated debates of the Governor’s Legislative Council in the colonial era.

 In March 1912, Bal Krishna Sahay, representing the Chotanagpur Division in the Bengal Legislative Council, raised the “custom of dedicating female children to the temple of Jagannath in Puri who, when grown up, lead immoral life”. He demanded government intervention “to abolish the immoral custom”. The government’s response was classic. The government, the Council was told, “would view with favour and lend its support to any organised attempt made by Hindu society at large to eradicate the evils which have grown up around the system at Puri”. The British rulers flatly refused to initiate “reforms on its own motion in a matter so closely connected with religious observance”.2

In a dispatch to The New York Tribune, August 8, 1853, Karl Marx had charged the British saying: “Did they not, in order, to make money out of the pilgrims streaming to the temples of Orissa and Bengal, take up the trade in murder and prostitution perpetrated in the temple of Juggernaut?”3 It was not an insinuation. It was an admonition-based statement of facts, though he sounded highly abrasive against a shrine sacred to Hindus. After 74 years, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi in 1927 precisely made, in no mellifluous voice, the same point. “There are, I am sorry to say, many temples in our midst in the country, which are no better than brothels.”4 The Hindu, September 15, 1927, quoted him as saying: “In calling them devadasis we insult the God Himself under the sacred name of religion and we commit double crime in that we use these sisters of ours to serve our lust...........”

Karl Marx was not alone or without company in exposing the temple vices. In the 19th century, a thriving brothel had grown around the Tarakeswar Temple in Hooghly district (West Bengal). The prosperous shrine’s mahant, Madhav Chandra Giri, had the notoriety of kidnapping, seducing or inducing or procuring innocent women for illicit relations with him by deploying his musclemen. “Afterwards these women could not return to their families: their only sanctuary lay in the growing brothels of Tarakeswar. Newspapers in 1873 were full of lurid description of the temple pandas of Puri and Tarakeswar......... Tarakeswar has been a place for illicit assignation,” says Tanika Sarkar.5 The census report of 1871 shows that this district had second largest number of prostitutes, next only to 24-Parganas, in Assam, Bihar and Orissa, besides Bengal!6 What a contribution of a solitary priest to the womanhood of Bengal!

Rich and wealthy landlords of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa flocked to Puri under the pretext of pilgrimage with desire not so pious indeed. Some of the zamindars levied illegal imposts or abwabs for example, hatbhara mahaprasad, barunisnan to defray expenses for their prolonged visits to Puri. John Beams, the highly esteemed District Collector of Balasore, Orissa, reported this to the Bengal Government in 1871. Many of the zamindars from Calcutta spent lakhs of rupees on their visit to Puri, spanning over two-to-three months.

Temples Cesspool of Syphilis?

An Imported Disease in Sanctum Sanctoram

Syphilis is not a native disease of India. It came from abroad. In fact the vicious disease was unknown to India before 1494. The discovery of America that year by Columbus is a watershed in public health globally, not to speak of many countries of Europe besides India, China, Japan, etc. In his Unhappy India (1927), the stalwart of the freedom struggle, Lala Lajpat Rai, laboured painstakingly to trace out the source of advent of syphilis in India. Quoting a contemporary medical authority Dr Awan Bloch, the Lala noted that “Syphilis was first introduced into Spain in 1494 and 1495 by the crew of Columbus who brought from Central America, and more especially from the island Hyati, from Spain it was carried by the army of Charles VII to Italy, where it assumed an epidemic form; and after the army was disbanded the disease was transported by the soldiers to the other countries of Europe and was also soon taken by the Portuguese to the Far East, to India, China and Japan”.7 In his seminal work, Prof Gilbert Slater, Department of Economics, Madras University, showed how priests of twelve great temples stacked with devadasis in Kumbakonam, a town 300 km south of Madras, critically infected their wives back home with syphilis.8

Syphilis did not make its appearance in South India but invaded the inmates of households of the priests. This underlines that this shameful disease had found its patrons in the elite class hailing from the upper social layers having access to the houses of gods. The doors of the Hindu shrines are still closed for people from the lower social strata across the country.

The Hindu temples were patronised by a strange class of people for access to the prostitutes, an euphemism for devadasis inside them. This is though an interesting, but little discussed, chapter of cultural history. Here underlies the mystery how the Britishers got access to the temple and prostitutes. William Ward, a Serampore missionary, had focused on this little known aspect. The English officials got foothold in Hindu temples with superb manoeuvre quite early in the day. “In Conjee-varam, the Shiva Temple was in ruins and the people did not care to repair. An English official induced the Company to carry out repairs and himself gave a gift to the temple.” 9 This surprise, nay, unpredictable munificence must have earned loudest admiration for the Company, yielding access for its official to the sanctum sanctorum of the Hindu shrines. This action threw open doors to them for intercourse with the devadasis. In the early days of the Company, their officials did not accompany their wives to India. Infecting the women in the shrine with syphilis was just the natural consequence! The temple priests and British officials shared the same women. So the priests carried the disease home and infected their women. The moral pretension of some of the priests is skyrocketing.

In 1803, the priests of the Jagannath temple handed over its management to the British after Orissa was conquered. As per the terms of transfer, salaries of the priests and others, including devadasis, dependent on the shrine were paid out of the temple coffers by the Company till 1841 when the Company withdrew from management of the Hindu shrine. The pilgrims resorting to Puri were subjected to entry tax varying from Rs 2 to Rs 10 per head. A Bengali journal in 1831 disclosed that in 17 years the revenue officials responsible for collection had grossed a sum of Rs 992,050 at Rs 58,355 per annum from the pilgrims.10

On December 16, 1997, Sashimoni and Parashmoni, both devadasis, called maharis in the Oriya language, gave public performance in Calcutta under the auspices of the Odissi Vision and Movement Centre. A media report quoted them as claiming: “We were born into high class Kayasth families from where maharis adopted us with the intention of training us like them.”11

Does the death of the last devadasi herald the end of sexual exploitation of women under the pretext of divinity? Does it as well usher a new era of reforms in the shrine of Lord Jagannath? A year back, an accomplished Odissi dancer, an Italian national, was assaulted by pandas who refused her permission to ascend to the rath (wooden chariot) while it was drawn on the streets on the day of puja. She did not pay the bribes they demanded. The Thai princess, few years ago, was denied entry into the temple of Jagannath because she was a Buddhist whereas every year scores of Scheduled Castes meet the same fate on the ground of untouchability. Will the temple authorities (readpandas) show liberal proclivity hereafter? I see no such possibility. Temple orthodoxy will be the last of the vices to abate from the soil of India. Till then the practice of untouchability will perpetuate.

Yogini, counterpart of Devadasi

The saga of exploitation under the name of gods does not end here and now. The vice survives in much worse shape and ramification in some South Indian States. Theyoginis, patronised there, involve the other side of ‘the same ritualistic sexual exploitation’. Young Scheduled Caste girls serve as prostitutes for dominant community members. In 2007, the Anti-Slavery International published a study on the practice of the ritual of sexual slavery or forced religious ‘marriage’. It found that 93 per cent ofyoginis or devadasis were from the Scheduled Castes and seven per cent from the Scheduled Tribes. Subjugating Dalit women as prostitutes and tying prosti-tution to bondage by dominant castes seeks to enforce their social status and economic superiority. Girls who become devadasis and yoginis are prohibited from marrying and are stigmatised by the community. The children of yoginis suffer from discrimination because nobody acknowledges their parenthood.

In India discrimination is integral to social reality. It matters little to the elite class and rulers. So the yoginis may have to go a long way for emancipation. Threats of divine displeasure against discontinuance of the yogini system and vested interest of the powerful dominant castes may perpetuate the evil, how long nobody can predict.

Aug 20 2014 : The Economic Times (Delhi)

Dress Sense As Brand Sense





There's sound branding sense behind the old adage on how clothes make the man, writes Ambi Parameswaran, member ­ management board, FCB Ulka

It was 1978. I was on a summer break after my first year of slogging at IIT. I thought I should show off my new found fashion sense that was the rage on the campus: a white kurta and a pair of blue jeans. So wearing my new set of clothes I wandered into the venerable Mylapore Club in Chennai's Tam Bram Capital. Much to my surprise, the guys in the motorcycle stand found my attire curiously funny. I was almost laughed out of the club and then went home to change into a t-shirt and jeans.Why does dress really matter? And how have personality brands used them? This is indeed an interesting area of study. Just as packaging design maketh the consumer product brand, dress design maketh the personality! M K Gandhi used to wear a suit when he was a student and a practicing lawyer in London and later in South Africa. But when he returned to India and joined the freedom struggle he gave up those clothes to sport the attire of the Indian farmer. His dhothi was always in spotless white and he was often bare-chested. Interestingly the cap he wore got rechristened as the “Gandhi Topi“. So while M K Gandhi could go about his business in a suit, Mahatma Gandhi the freedom fighter needed a set of clothes that was seen as a common man's attire. I wouldn't want to repeat the reportedly interesting exchange he had with Winston Churchill about his clothing habits.Incidentally, Churchill did refer to Mahatma Gandhi (and his attire) derogatively as the “half-naked fakir“. M A Jinnah with his suits and cigarettes on the other hand decided to be a contrast to Mahatma Gandhi.
Jawaharlal Nehru did something different. He combined the formal western suit with Indian nawabi attire to create the `Bundhgala Suit', which got named the Nehru suit. It stood for a modern India, yet reflected western style and taste. We now note that the Nehru suit has been reinvented in many new avatars to suit the million dollar big Indian weddings.
It was therefore very interesting to read about the buzz that Narendra Modi's half sleeve kurta has created in the apparel world. I am told that #ModiKurta even trended soon after the election results came out.
Personality brands need to see how to use dress as a signal to their various audiences. Some leaders do it with style and panache. Nelson Mandela frequently appeared in traditional African attire, suitably modified for the modern age. In his heyday, Mahatir Mohammad the president of Malaysia used to appear in Malay Batik shirts.Hamid Karzai is reported to sport the nicest of clothes his embattled country produces.
If Mahatma Gandhi adopted the farmer's attire and almost appeared as a Hindu saint -just go to Shanmukhanda Auditorium in Mumbai and see how vividly this comes out; on one wall is an illustration of Mahatma Gandhi and on the other a picture of Chandrashekara Saraswati of Kanchi Kamakoti Mutt -Modi has done something interesting with the humble kurta. He has trimmed it to suit the new ethos. And the Modi Kurta ap pears in many attractive colors.
So why does the half sleeve kurta suit Narendra Modi's brand persona ?
A loose fitting kurta is not the most ideal form of attire for someone who is speaking of industrialisation and liberal economics. It is loose to start with and flaps about in the wind. You cannot operate a lathe wearing the kurta. Neither can you plough the fields in one. However Indian politicians have made the white kurta the uniform of their class. It is white to signify purity, it is the common man's attire and makes the political class appear a lot more approach able. Or so they believe.
So what to do with the kurta in order to make it more suitable for the need of the hour? The half kurta does precisely that. It signifies a `rolled up sleeve' attitude. The attitude of a leader who wants to get to work in a hurry. How ever the addition of a nice attrac tive well-designed waistcoat adds a touch of formality to an otherwise informal `half sleeve kurta'.
No wonder the kurta has caught on as the #ModiKurta. Don't be surprised if you start seeing more and more politicians sporting it in the months and years to come.