Celebrating the life of Laxhmie Kallicharran as we... Hear the Ghungroos sing BY PARVATI PERSAUD-EDWARDS Laxhmie Kumarie Vainmati Kallicharran was a writer who was one of the pioneers of Indo-Guyanese cultural awareness and the acculturation of the arts in Guyana. She re-invented radio and television programmes and broke cultural barriers, being the first Indian to produce a programme, Lalla Rukh at the disputed National Cultural Centre, which had been built by former President Burnham with monies he had appropriated from the Indian Repatriation Fund. She staged her first show in the early 1970s when there was considerable resistance within the ruling PNC to regard Indo-Guyanese culture as being representational of Guyanese culture. Her work included the organization of dance and music shows, being the face of the Gandhi Youth Organisation’s Miss Deepavali calendar programmes, the organization of an important photographic exhibition of Indo-Guyanese history and artifacts that whe took all over the world, and the publishing of Shraadanjali (1986), a small anthology of Indo-Guyanese poetry. Late cultural icon Laxhmie Kallicharran flanked by friends BORN June 5, 1951 Laxhmie Kumarie Vainmati Kallicharran would have been 62 this year had she lived. And, most likely, she would have heralded the event with one of her trademark parties, synchronizing a blend of cultural mix, with invitees from every strata of society intermingling with absolute camaraderie and joie de vivre. But she went out like a comet in a fiery blaze on January 20, 2002, after a life lived full and well, even if so cruelly and too early cut short. Who could decipher the enigma that was Laxhmie – then and now? She touched myriads of lives across the globe, in very, very diverse ways, but in the Guyanese cultural landscape, she stood supreme. She fascinated some people; she repelled others. Some loved her beyond limitation, while some hated her with a passion; but she always lived life on her own terms, with no concession to dogmas and fundamental limitations, and in so doing she was absolutely true to herself. She was a true Gemini – most often compassionate and understanding; but oftentimes she could also be dispassionate and selfish to the point of cruelty. The eldest of seven children, Laxhmie hailed from Rosignol, West Bank Berbice. Her grandfather, Pandit Kallicharran Prashad Mishra, was indentured to the Blairmont Estate, so Laxhmie grew up among rituals and religious texts; poojas and yajnas; and pundits and Brahmin orthodoxy. It is only if one understands the complexities and unrelenting dogmas that dictated the behaviour of orthodox Hindu girls during that period that one can understand the supreme courage it took for a girl to break out of that structured mould to create and carve her own destiny – for good or ill. Only a handful of favoured few realised what a bitter price, in the context of familial relationships, Laxhmie paid to blaze trails – on which others continue to tread. She became a cultural icon – never sacrificing her traditional roots, but embracing and celebrating the diversity of our national landscape with a grace that assumed an identity all its own. My name was known in the writing world and in newspaper pages since I was in primary school, but even after I was married, I was extremely private and reserved; few persons knew me at a personal level, so, for years, I eluded Laxhmie’s invitations to her various events, as I did invitations to other functions. However, when President Desmond Hoyte asked then Chronicle Editor-In-Chief, Ronald Austin, to identify the top four writers in the country with the relevant experience and credibility to bolster the paper’s image, he chose Roy Brummel, Cleveland Hamilton, Rooplall Monar, and myself. I initially refused because I had an overwhelmingly hectic schedule, but Ron asked me for reminiscences of growing up in the rural areas in Berbice, and I had no problem with that, because when I was homesick for my family and home in Berbice, I had written a series of stories entitled, ‘growing UP IN GUYANA’ to encourage my children to read. And these I gave to Ronald. The public response to these stories was overwhelming. Even the President and then Minister of Information, Ms Mavis Benn, indicated to Ron their pleasure in reading of those childhood adventures of mine, which replicated those of many homesick Guyanese living abroad; and this was what brought Laxhmie into my life. She told Ron she wanted to meet me and be a part of her group of artists, artistes and writers. She was like the Chinese water torture until she got her own way and her persistence finally paid off. she wanted some of my poetry for a collection she planned taking to an exhibition in London. Out of sheer self-defence, I became part of her group, which included Churamanie Bissoondyal, Kampta Karran, Rooplall Monar (Rooplall was chagrined because he had tried unsuccessfully for years to persuade me to emerge from my shell), and several others. Her birthday soirees were legendary, and one memorable evening, after everyone had left, Laxhmie requested classical dances from Mahadai Das and I to songs of her choosing. It had been years since I had danced Kathak, and I doubted that my muscles could withstand the pressure, but well … it was her birthday, so I danced Inhe Logone from Kamal Amrohi’s Pakeezah, and a song that I cannot remember from Madhumati, before my muscles gave out. However, Mahadai was having one of her saner days, and she was in her element as she danced to song after song while Laxhmie and I sat on the kitchen counters – three very individualistic women bonding in song and dance ‘til the wee hours of a June 6 morning. Who says a woman needs a man to provide her with companionship and enjoyment? It is a clichéd saying that one cannot take with them the things one values when one dies, but Laxhmie did. That pre-dawn fire that tragically cut short the life of a woman who had stamped her persona on the cultural dynamics of this nation for all time to come also took all her work and magnificent collection of literature, art, music, and artifacts. But somewhere in the stratosphere, ghungroos are singing a medley to the ages, because icons never die. WOMAN You’re Bharti Bhagwatie Kali Gaitree Gauri Dharti Parvati Laxhmie Saraswattie Garlanded with the tradition of goddesses Worshipped As the primal source Of life Aditi Earth’s Shakti Veiled Into antiquity By dictates Of blindness Chained Into oblivion By ignorance Of destiny Pardahed Into silence Yesterday Trapped By the schizophrenia Of history And traditions Subjected To lashes Of injustice and time For Freedom, rights, respect Today Dawns self-realization An ongoing Togetherness An unshackled Continuity Of and for Earth’s womankind By Laxhmie Kallicharran
Posted on: Wed, 05 Jun 2013 19:41:55 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015