Thursday, April 9, 2026

Published!

 



Two years ago, I participated in a paper weaving workshop taught by Helen Hiebert. I created the above 👆piece titled Marriage of True Minds. Helen included this artwork in her new book Weaving with Paper which came out last December. The book is a treasure trove of weaving techniques all beautifully illustrated abd a gallery of works created by very talented artists. Helen is a dedicated teacher and I greatly admire her teaching approach. I learned a lot in her workshop. I hope to take another workshop with her. 



Thanks for visiting.

What is Thideer Nagar

 

Greams Road Thideer Nagar Today

As a recent transplant to Chennai, my curiosity has been aroused every time I passed this road sign 👆tucked into a little corner of Greams Road. Greams Road is a long road that begins at the intersection of Anderson bridge and College Road and ends at Anna Salai. A quarter of the road runs parellel to the Cooum River but a wall of blue screens completely block the view of the river from the road. For the rest, small businesses, eateries and banks dot both sides of the road. It even has an art gallery. (A google query “Greams Road Chennai” will bring up several videos of Greams Road at various points in time.)

Now coming to Thideer Nagar. Thideer means sudden and nagar means a town or a neighborhood or a human settlement. In the present day Greams Road Thideer Nagar one doesn’t see any sign of human settlement. Google search revealed that Chennai has a number of such thideer nagars—they are unplanned settlements formed when migrants from outside come into the city and settle on the banks of Cooum and Adyar rivers and other waterways. These are shanty towns consisting of several hundred families. Men and women worked locally and children went to neighborhood schools. Because Thideer Nagars are illegal settlements, they could be razed and families evicted without due process. That was the fate that fell upon Greams Road Thideer Nagar. Between 2015-2018, despite stiff resistance, all the families were evicted and resettled in a different location by the Greater Chennai Corporation as part of Cooum river restoration project. A number of thideer nagars by the Cooum river have suffered a similar fate. 

Eight years later, what remains of the old Thideer Nagar is a cluster of cars parked where there used to be auto mechanic shops. Based on newspaper reports, it seems that the municipal corporation has not been able to evict them because they had proper patta to their property. So, even if humans have been disappeared, Thideer Nagar still lives. 

As for Cooum river restoration, that project supposedly started sixty years ago. The river is still as dead as it had always been. Even the dead would not want to be dead there. 








Thanks for visiting. 

All photos by Indira Govindan. 





Wednesday, April 8, 2026

Kerala: God’s Own Country—A Photo Journey Part 1



Kerala is a visitor’s paradise. It has an abundance of natural beauty—rivers, beaches, mountains and trees. It is place of great religious diversity—Hindus, Muslims and Catholic and (even jews once upon a time) call it their home. It has art forms that are centuries old, both in crafts and performance arts. It is a photographer’s dream place—for a visitor there is always something to capture on camera—the birds, places of worship, public murals. During my six-day trip to Fort Kochi and the backwaters of Kerala, I kind of ran away with my camera. This first set of photos give a sampling of the different places of worship. 

























Thanks for visiting.


Saturday, April 4, 2026

Robert Macfarlane: Is River Alive Review

 



Robert Macfarlane is a popular nature writer who has been on the NewYork Times best seller list several times and won many prestigious awards for nature writing. I personally own The Lost Words, a book he co-authored with Jackie Morris who created absolutely beautiful illustrations for the book. Is a River Alive was published in 2025 to a generally favorable reviews. Even though I consider myself a committed enviromentalist I wasn’t planning to read this book (not enough time in the day).  But I read it because it had a section on the rivers and waterways of Chennai, the city where I presently live. I will confess that I only read the section on Chennai rivers. My town is very close to where the Cooum river flows and even when one becomes inured to its deadened state, it registers in a sad way every time I drive past it. Most regular inhabitants of Chennai feel this sense of sadness. There is a feeling of hopelessness that nature does not stand a chance against uncontrolled, unregulated industrial development and those who care about protecting the rivers and waterways are fighting a losing battle against corruption and rapacity of the political system. In a society where even certain groups of people are denied equal rights and equal protection under the law, an argument for personhood of and legal rights for rivers can seem quixotic. Macfarlane’s interlocutor in Chennai was Yuvan Aves, a 30-something naturalist and an environmental defender and, the founder of Palluyir Trust for nature education and research. As an active member of resistance and community movements against ecocide and industrial violence, he is one of many inspiring figures who keep fighting the system to prevent industrial encroachment of protected lands and to restore lost wetlands. Perhaps the most heartwarming is the story of Turtle Patrol— a group of vounteers who between January-March patrol Chennai beaches at nights to protect the Olive Ridley sea turtle nesting sites, relocate eggs to hatcheries, and assist hatchlings safely reach the sea. They have been doing this for more than three decades. Macfarlane himself is not optimistic about the survival of Chennai waterways but people like Yuvan give us hope. 

The section on Chennai makes one serious factual error that is repeated throughout—Cooum and Adyar rivers empty into the Bay of Bengal, not the Indian Ocean as the book keeps mentioning. Again, the beach where the sea turtles come to nest is located on the Bay of Bengal not the Indian Ocean. 

Wednesday, March 18, 2026

Drive by Chennai: 1

 


Quirky!!

Published!

 


In the Fall of 2023, I had the fortune to participate in Kolaj Institute’s Folklore Collage Virtual Residency. There were other residencies on the same theme and the work created by the artists resulted in a new journal called Folklore Collage Society. I had the honor of having my art chosen to be the cover for volume1 of the journal (see above) All artists were asked to create accompanying text with the artwork and I was thrilled that my 1000 word article included in its entirety (see the video below).


Thanks Kolaj Institute!




Monday, March 16, 2026

Belinda Bauer:The Impossible Thing Review






I chose Belinda Bauer’s The Impossible Thing to read for ReadingWales’26 March event by BookerTalk. To take part in this event, we need to read a book from any genre written by an author from Wales. Belinda Bauer presently lives in Wales, where before turning to fiction writing, she was a court reporter at Cardiff and several of her books are set in Wales. She is an acclaimed award winning author. This was my first book by her. I picked up the book because it has a compelling story—beautifully written with engaging good guys, perfectly woven storylines with an evocative sense of place. It bills itself a crime novel—it is that but it is also a story of moral awakening of a young woman. It is also a tale of one stubborn determined bird. 

The story is set in dual timelines—The first part is set in the twenty years between the two world wars in northern Yorkshire by the rock cliffs over the coast of North Sea. The second part takes place in present-day rural Wales. There are two protagonists in each section— a girl and a bird in one; two 20something men in the other. The thread that connects the two parts is theft of bird eggs and their trafficking (legal and illegal) to traders and collectors. The narrative switches back and forth between the two timelines. 

The cracks on the cliffs of Yorkshire, where the story starts, are nesting grounds for millions of seabirds—“Gulls and fulmars and guillemots and puffins and gannets and kittiwakes and razorbills…every one of them drawn back every summer to the same face, the same place, the same tiny ledge, where it would lay its eggs and raise its chicks”. For the “climmers”, going down on the rope along the cliff face, four or five times a day, collecting 40 to 50 eggs per day, from March to July and selling them to traders and brokers gathered on the cliff top was lucrative, more lucrative than laboring on the farm. There was money to be made on each and every egg but colorful large eggs fetched the highest price. Stealing eggs from the nests and selling them for highest bidder was legal then and there was no moral qualms about either. Many farms along the cliff top lived well on stolen eggs but not the Sheppards of Metland farm. Their farm, unfortunately ended on an overhang which made it impossible to rope down the cliff wall and pluck eggs from under the birds. But the overhang had a crack through which a very tiny body could pass.  

While rest of the family toiled on the farm, Celie Sheppard, a six year old with a body so small that a wind could actually blow her away, takes the desperate risk to rope down through the crack in the overhang to steal some eggs because she wanted to eat omelettes.

“She could see hundreds of birds pressed against the cliff-face. And, as they shifted about, glimpses of eggs of every size and colour that she could imagine. They had chickens in the yard, of course, but they laid dull little brown eggs, and never enough to eat, only for selling. These eggs were two or three times that size, and speckled and spotted and splattered with brown and black on backgrounds that ranged from cream, through blue to green. Celie had never had a toy, but the thought of holding such eggs in her little hands made her nearly smile, with a feeling that was beyond hunger”.

When she ‘climmed’ the first time and got her first egg “ even though she had no way of knowing that night—wouldn’t understand for a good while—that was the egg that would change her life”. It was a guillemot egg—“ red in color, a deep, tapestry red, but grew lighter as it rose from the base, fading to a pretty pink blush at the very point. There was not a mark on it. Not a spot nor a squiggle to sully the perfection”. An “impossible thing”, this Metland egg as it came to be known, the one that would sell for £20, promised more if Celie brought one up the cliff top every year. Guillemots are creatures of habit—every year they nest on the same spot, lay the same colored egg and do so for thirty years. This bird too comes every year to the same “doomed” home to lay its egg and watch it taken away. In the struggle between survival and dominance, between the predator and victim, even a puny, scrawny child has more power than a bird. Does the bird feel the loss of its egg? Here is how the author describes it when the bird sees Cecie coming down the cliff: 

For the first time, the bird seemed to know what was about to happen. It did not flap. Flapping had never worked. It did not squawk, for squawking was pointless. It did not peck, for that had never stopped the thief. If birds can learn, it had learned. This time the bird just watched Celie approach… All around them a thousand guillemots shrieked warnings, and here and there exploded from the cliff in whirring sparks of chocolate wings. While this bird just watched her, and waited. Under its downy breast she could already see the prize. A tiny shock of red on the shaded wall. The bird shifted and the egg disappeared, and now there was nothing to distinguish this guillemot from any one of the thousand others under the Metland overhang. As if it knew it could not fight her, but hoped it might still deceive her…Gently, Celie reached under the bird. It turned its head away a degree, and half opened its beak and made a low grunt that Celie felt more than heard. Carefully she placed the egg in the satchel and tapped the rope. The bird sat and watched her all the way. 

Celie steals thirty eggs from that one guillemot over a period of fifteen years. She even becomes a minor celebrity; every summer tourists from all over England coming to watch her bring up that perfect red egg for everyone to ooh and aah over it. Yet, the author does not allow her to become a heartless waif. One summer she says no to climming and that’s when the collector and the thirty eggs disappear.

In the present day in The Brecon Beacons, Wales, Patrick Fort and Weird Nick, are trying to figure out why and who stole a wooden box containing a red egg that Nick had found in the attic. He had tried to sell it on eBay (because he needed the money for a gaming chair) but his listing is taken down since selling wild birds’ egg is illegal and then someone burgles his house and steals it and now Nick wants to get it back. Patrick is neurodivergent and Nick, a misfit, and both are living with their mothers. But they are sweet likeable characters and their interaction with each other is often lol funny. Their sleuthing exposes them to the world of illegal egg trafficking—a chronic egg thief, a vigilante officer of Royal Society of Protection of Birds and a curator of Museum of Natural History. Drawing inspiration from their Call of Duty slayings, they recover the thirty missing red Metland eggs, including Nick’s. In a scene that is almost cinematic, they metaphorically give the eggs back to the birds. 

The Impossible Thing is based on a true story—the original Metland Egg, all thirty of them are still missing. In the fictional version, Bauer gives them a heartwarming resolution.The novel is about poverty, deprivation, greed and obsession. It is also about redemption and grace. Fittingly, the bird has the last word:

And yet. 
Under one warm breast. 
Nestled against one tiny heart . . .
A single, perfect, red egg.