Kallola

http://www.akssculptures.com/other-achievements   Dear Kodavas, We keep harping on about our identity and ethnic pride and are arrogant enough to look down on all other forms of human life. But what have we as a people done to actually achieve it? Our forefathers lived a certain way, we dress and profess our heritage in their style, we have a certain build and our reputation built on that. Today, the world knows us as inhabitants of the Great Western Ghats. We are spoken of as  a beautiful race of martial people with a unique culture. And coffee. Without a distinct and complete language, which forms the ramparts of any culture, how can we fortify this grand legacy? We speak kodavathakk and write in Kannada. Others, fascinated foreigners mainly, have tried to form a script on an anglovernacular basis. It was a grand scheme then and a valiant effort - something that came to nothing much more. And it still was not entirely unique. Since then, we have 'one of ou...

Back in London for my usual holiday, I was revved off my jet-lag this morning, with phone calls from friends confirming that I was indeed in town. Talk went from the Kodava Koota coming up in September to the coveted World Heritage Site tag that some want for Coorg and others oppose, to the miserable situation of connectivity and why we all, in spite of being intrinsically in love with our homeland, cannot see sense in returning to it the way it is now. We spoke of the many resorts and home-stays that have come up and, how, while they are very convenient to visitors like us, rampant developments like these, would impact the future of our homeland some years from now. And how all forest cover might be wiped out soon, in the name of indiscriminate 'progress'. I was instantly reminded of a recent visit to my Grandmum's estate in Coorg where my little son hoppity hopped along the narrow pathways between paddy fields and...

- Coffeland News. Fri, September 12, 2008. - Bangalore Mirror. Sun, September 14, 2008. I walked into my parents-in-laws’ house one day, to find the kitchen and part of the dining room under siege. Warm and sweet-smelling, the vapours of steaming rice filled my senses, as I stood in the familiar aroma of my favourite dish. For a quick moment, I tranced back to a life I was married away from, just months earlier. As my husband pushed past to get the car ready for the long drive, my mother-in-law was already onto her second round of kadambutté . The sekala simmered away on the hob and the pandi curry came to a boil. As I tucked into the putté - my first involvement with a community I was yet to meet, my father-in-law wore a beam on his face and proudly educated me on what was to come. We were getting ready for the annual gathering of the Coorgs in the UK- an eagerly awaited event at home. For six long years, my father-in-law oversaw these re-unions, with my mother-in-law in the backgr...