“I have kept my Father’s Name, his name will always be attached with mine, I carry him with me, wherever I go”. Manju Ramanan
I first got a glimpse of Manju Ramanan, a couple of years ago at an event where she was a guest speaker on “The Evolution of Sarees”, she looked stunning in her electrifying peacock blue silk saree draped eloquently around her, it was an unforgettable sight.
She went on to share a very personal poem with the audience that she herself had penned. I was so touched by the experience, that after the event, I bought my very own first Saree. As the years progressed, we kept criss crossing eachothers paths and then one fine day, I got the pleasure to work with her on an event and since then, she has been a constant mentor and friend who, I’ve come to adore and be is awe of all at the same time.
The more I got to know Manju, the more I was confused. I cant explain it in words, I mean she is just different I guess, you know, one minute she would be in an interview with Amitabh Bachan Sahib and the next instant, she will be with Shahrurkh Khan, sometimes, Rithik Roshan is posting a selfie with her and at times Salman Khan is sitting next to her for a chat. She is someone, who celebrities line up to meet, and here she is, taking time out for me, a mere writer– who wants to write about people that are simply inspiring. I find this quality of being grounded the most attractive in Manju and it keeps me on my toes as well.
The Birth of a writer
(Nov 2000) Manju’s writing career began, after getting her M – Phil in literature, she was looking for a job to start off her writing career and she found her calling in India’s leading News Paper.
The loss
There is a sincere sense of sadness when Maju mentions her father, who she lost just when she was about to start her writing career and with his passing, being the only child; the financial pressure also bore heavy on her shoulders. Her father was one who had a great influence on Manju; eventhough he travelled extensively through his life; their bond was strong and their connection till today is alive. There is something Manju said which only a father’s daughter could say; “I have kept my father’s name, his name will always be attached with mine, I carry him with me, wherever I go”.
Journalism calls on Manju
Her getting the Job in one of India’s most reputable News papers & continuing to work in UAE’s top media firm is a huge feat, however when you speak to Manju, she humbly credits most of her success to destiny and to her mentor Mr. Kingshuknag; who she praises for his ethics in Journalism and for being a guiding force throughout her career.
Not many of us are fortunate enough to follow our passions, I am glad that Manju followed hers; She believed in herself, and pursued journalism unapologetically. Manju’s ability to become a medium to tell stories; to be unbiased and without prejudices, is what sets her apart from the crowd.
The skyscrapers of Dubai
I often bring up Dubai in my interviews, write ups, and chats, mainly because, I was born here and eventhough have lived here for almost all my life, still cant find the right words to describe it. I guess I try to find answers of my own questions; and Manju probably gave me the most unique answer of all, how the sharp edges of the “Sky Scrapers” poked her; as an artist, I could empathize; where most people are drawn to the city for the high rises and high end brands it offers, there are a handful who gravitate towards Arts & Culture. Her answer was not surprising; since her upbringing was in India’s most cultural hub of Baroda; she attended a university that was built in the colonial 1800’s. On exploring deeper, she discovered, in hidden corners of Shindigah, Deira Souqs, Ahmediya, Bur Dubai Creek & Bastakiya is bustling with History and Culture; where the soul of the city comes alive with smells from the spice market and chitter chatter in 100 different languages at the shops; where no matter where you come from, you are embraced as Dubaite.
Love for the eternal Poet
Manju has interviewed dozens of Celebrities, so when I asked her to choose one that she absolutely loves, with a heartbeat she mentions his name; her eyes glistened that she adores him for two reasons, First he shares a Birthday with her Father (18th August) and second, he writes from his heart; his words have inspired generations of love stories; he has penned emotions that have overwhelmed millions; her favorite celebrity is none other than “Gulzar Sahib” – The eternal Poet.
A Glimpse of the most important people in Manju’s world – Her Family (Manju’s Mother, Sunder Iyer – Manju’s Husband, Shashvat – Manju’s Son)
The Independent Woman
In Manju there are many facets, there is a strong Group Editor of Saffron Media who runs 3 leading Magazines (Filmfare; Femina & Salt n Peppa) in the region working with Madhu Arora MD and Vikram Arora CEO of Saffron Media Corp who are the wind beneath her wings; a caring wife to Sunder Iyer, who is her better half in every sense of the word, offering her the support & encouragment which allows her to soar high, a multi tasking mother to Shashvat who is her biggest inspiration, a beautiful daughter to her ma, her mother let her father take all the credit for shaping Manju’s life, eventhough she herself played a huge part in Manju’s life, she gave support and love unconditionaly becoming Manju’s pillar of strength; A poet who speaks volumes through her words, a loyal & supportive friend to many & lastly one of the most inspiring woman who speaks her mind and drapes the most stunning Sarees.
Manju the Poet
This is how I would like to leave you- with Manju’s poem that I heard years ago at an event and it touched my heart.
Six Yards of Beauty
Paati wore it years ago
Her slender frame
Wrapped itself in voluminous folds
She was a widow and
didn’t wear red or a bindi
I never saw her
In a six yards saree.
When you get married
Wait, you’ll wear a 9 yards sari
She smiled……..( did I see a hint of wickedness there!)
And I blushed and ran away
Amma only wore saris
She woke up in a faded cotton
Crumpled by sleep
That climbed an inch high
Showing her ankles
Wore a crisper one
As she wrapped her long wet hair
And cooked in the kitchen
Before changing into
One of her breath-taking ones
When she left for work
She usually wore all kinds
Dad worked
In an an acrylic fibre plant
And like the man of his times
Believed that synthetic saris were a new invention and should be worn
Because they imitate real fabric
In a world of natural cottons and silks
He went to Japan when I was three
And among many things
Bought us three Lady Hamilton saris
While he handed it over to ma
He told her
Keep the multicoloured one
For her wedding (mine)
I was three and
My wedding trousseau was being planned
As a child, I was a tomboy
Scraping my knees and wearing my cousin’s clothes
Never for a moment waiting to be a girl
But the saris were around me
My bua, a dreamer also, only wore saris
She had this beautiful purple sari
A shade, I still cannot find anywhere
But my family had one peculiarity
Every once in a while
They would air out the costly saris
Usually the wedding saris
So, out came the expensive kanjeevarams
That is a Rama green, and the border is pure gold, ma would say
My sari was the best in the lot my athai or bua would boast
About her vaira usshi ( diamond needle) sari
It was an orange and green and glittery but sober
Like a thousand needle like sparks
Flashing across the fabric
One day
I was returning from a flower plucking session
And my family was laughing at something
A European family had bought some expensive saris
From Kanchipuram and
Cut them up and used them as curtains in the house
My people found that funny……
I laughed too
For, we never saw a sari any other way
Than it being draped around us
Or cut up as a dress or an odhni
Half saris happened, so did short saris
For dance practice and programmes
Never curtains….
By the time I was in Std 10
My wedding sari collection
Was spilling over
It was the Garden Vareli phase
And you fascinate me
Fascinated all of us
But ma knew more
Than synthetic saris
For teacher s day
She bought me my first Mysore silk
A Rama green with pink border and a blue blouse
She would hold it close to her cheek
And tell me, to touch it
She would know instantly
If a sari was fake( synthetic) or real ( woven or natural)
I wore it and fell in love with it ever since
In college, saris happened once in a while
But by then both my parents
Had abandoned synthetic saris shopping
And got into the world of handlooms and handcrafted saris
Shops in old town in Baroda
Where we sat on white gaddis
Where the owner spread out his saris for you
At times draping it around himself too
That would make you smile
Literature class and some professors
Made me sensitive to the sari
Especially the arty ones
Seminars and conferences
Made them dress up in what looked like intellectual saris
Kala Niketan salesmen used to call them
Widow saris
Because they were somber and not fun and colourful
You should have a sari from every part of India
Said my dad
Handing me over a motra from Rajashtan
Or a Jodhpuri bandhni
We also bought the Jamnagri bandhni and leheriya
The Rajput part of Gujarat
Or the Pochampalli of the South
But we couldn’t ever afford its expensive cousin
The Patola of Patan
The saree also inspires several garbas
And weddings in Gujarat
I grew fascinated by the white red and green panetars
Maharastrian neighbours
Introduced me to the Pooneris and the Jija Mata
Named after Shivaji s mother
Then came the world of saris named after towns and villages
The Chanderis, Lucknowis, ichalkaranjis, Barmeri etc
The Chanderis
Especially fascinated because
Out of the 27 paintings commissioned to Raja Ravi Verma
By the royalty of Baroda
All the royal women he painted
Wore a chanderi
Its gossamer folds
Falling elegantly around the diamond kadas and bracelets
Saree sighting was a common occurrence
When friends started getting married
The family would call us all
And in the bedroom, spread over the sheets
Came out one beauty after another
Navratris also became an occasion to see the spread
Kutchi handwork, mirror work, wool work and the works
Sarees got irritating
When the family forced me to wear them
For studio photos for circulation
In the marriage market
I deliberately chose cottons with greys and reds
Not any eye catching colours
Needless to say, to my delight
The photos were ignored
Sarees came handy
When as a young lecturer
And in a bid to look older than the rest of the class
I draped myself in one
For my wedding
I couldn’t buy any of my saris, not even choose them
It was the year 2002 and Gujarat was burning with the riots
My masi asked me my colours over the phone
And got them woven at Kanchipuram
When I got to see them
I had no complaints
Each of it is like a poem filled with love and affection
For the bride who couldn’t shop for her clothes
Saris in my home are associated with memory
Like most homes in India
That tusser that Poulomi s mother gave you
Or that Kantha that Ashok uncle got made for you
Each sari has a memory and that makes it special
Today as my son digs his head into my lap
Or wipes his wet hands in the pallu
I feel as part of a continuum, a chain
Of what I
Felt as a child, when I cuddled up my ma
And wrapped myself in her pallu or
Wiped my tears as a teenager
Not telling her about a friend’s biting insult
The garment has a sense of dignity and pride
Of being Indian
Yet not too jingoistic
It keeps people in place
Their body language behaves
Because the aura of the saree
Protects you
And gives out a signal of grace, dignity and pride
Isn’t that all we need as women………….
(By Manju Ramanan)
– End –
