‘Shuffling’ his way to the top

As he waits for his 12th board exam results, magician Karun Krishna talks about how magic has been with him from before he started school. Confident, simple and with “a story behind every trick”, not to mention every answer, he recalls leaving the All India Junior Magic Convention with the first place. Winning 16 first prizes in Junior National Competitions, he is one of the youngest successful magicians in India.   

Q 1: Last year was a good one for you as you were inducted into the International Brotherhood of Magic (IBM), and the American Society of Magicians; any more such plans? A: Well actually, I first plan to write the CET and to get into mechanical engineering. But yes, I plan to participate in this year’s IBM Convention in Norfolk, Virginia. I want to win the first prize for manipulation; I mean the tricks with bare hands with doves or coins; the classy stuff. I know it’s not easy, but I will give it my best.

Q 2: How was your experience of being part of the Young Magicians Experience (YMX) in Dallas last year? Did the opportunity come easily?
A: Honestly, I grabbed that opportunity; it wasn’t presented at all easily. Eight out of 50,000 in India are selected for it. It was a great exposure and I got to meet the “Big cheese” of the magic fraternity. Some did say I have been lucky and that I might grow up with an air of arrogance because of such good opportunities. But such talk didn’t stop me because I want to make use of my time. And I’ve always done that.

Q 3: You sure have. If we widen the path you’re taking, it includes all unconventional fields. Do you think children interested in non- main stream fields, cultural especially, have a good chance at achieving their dreams? Can it be a fully fledged career option?
A: These days if the facilities are available, we kids can achieve anything we want to. But you have to be the best at marketing to make it an only profession. If I do become an engineer, that will win me my bread. Magic will always be with me as a passion more than a profession. I wouldn’t suggest to anyone to see something like magic as a fully fledged career. Also, it’s more likely to work if there are only a few in the field. But if you manage it, you’re one in a million.

Q 4: Do you mean that there are plenty in the field now? Is performing magic growing as a trend among people your age and younger?
A: That’s a tricky question. The question is whether you are a magician just because you own a kit. These days if you know a thousand tricks or just one; you’re a still a magician. It has almost become a commoner’s thing, although there is definitely an increase in sophisticated performers too. But the number of girls has dropped since around 2004 and there are only 3-4 girls in 15 contestants these days.

Q 5:  What according to you are the pre- requisites for a good performer? And what is the most satisfying bit?
A: Like my master, M.P. Hashim says, it’s important to adapt to situations. It’s not the clothes or the kind of tricks. It’s the entertainment value that counts. How you communicate with the crowd is what defines you. More than anything else I think you have to be passionate about it. Only then can you manage the rest.
For me, to involve the audience and get them to take part in a trick, and give them the happiness that they did it and that I helped them is the most satisfying part. And I feel it has been even from my first performance.

Q 6: If I remember right, you were shuffling cards and making coins vanish at 5! So, when did you first find yourself being interested in magic tricks?  
A: I don’t remember a lot of it as I was only three. But my family tells me it all started when I watched the Russian and Bombay circuses. I guess that was when the ‘fire for magic’ developed in me. Then I started playing with coins even before I could speak. My father took me to K. S. Ramesh, one of the biggest magicians in the country. He gave me a magic kit and I started off learning tricks. My first national level competition was in 1999 and I ended up winning it.

Q 7: So has your family always been supportive?
A: Yes. My father is familiar with the creative field.  He is the force that pushed me into performing magic. My mother helps me every time I have a show. My grandmother who’s an artist also has suggestions. My sister too helps with how I present new tricks. It’s like everyone in the family has a role in my magic.

Q 8: You seem to love on stage performances. You’ve also been involved with T.V. channels like Pogo in the Amazing Kids Awards and Bournvita Confidence Academy; and Zee Kannada. How was your experience on screen?
A: Those shows came at the right time for me. The Confidence Academy was crucial. But I’m not a big fan of reality T.V. In reality, it was very different from how it was portrayed. It was an experience that gave me some exposure. And I learnt how shows are made and run. I feel that anything on screen will give you instant stardom. People recognise me even today from those shows!

 Q 9: What do you feel about magicians revealing tricks on T.V?
A: It makes me quite sad. Whatever point they’re trying to make, the method I feel is not right. You can’t just throw things at the public. By teaching in unconventional methods, they’re breaking the tradition of magic. If people are truly interested to learn and understand magic, they should do it the conventional way.

Q 10: You have been trained methodically, so what level are you on now? What’s next?
A: I am training at advance magic, almost like the seventh year at Hogwarts! But the thing with advanced magic here is that it goes on and on. There’s no end to learning.

A story retold

Here is yet another version of the Mahabharata. Only this time the narrator in The Palace of Illusions is Draupadi, taking on the role of an unusual woman of that age rather than the wife of the five Pandavas. The author, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, seems to give a voice to Draupadi than a narrator to her book. Through this character’s critical eyes, the epic is given a whole new feminist perspective.   

The timeless story of the Mahabharata is made relevant in more ways than we are used to by questioning conventions and stirring feminist emotions. As she fancies her other name, Panchaali; as she is secretly attracted to the enigmatic Karna; as she manages her balancing act as the wife of the Pandava brothers; as she wonders about her complicated friendship with Krishna, I found myself identifying with Draupadi, something I had never managed before.

The language flows easily as does the story and stories within stories, from Panchaali’s birth in fire, “the game of dice, treachery and loss, banishment and return, the war with its blinding mountains of bones” to her end. Many subplots of course are left out of the novel but one can hardly fit the entire epic in 360 pages.

In the author’s note, Divakaruni takes on a tense that says the characters ‘were’ but the story ‘is’. Its effect remains with the reader till the last page. Presented poignantly from a different view, the same turns in the story we grew up with do not fail to surprise, shock and move us. 

The author offers her insight about many characters in the story which if not always fair, are interesting nevertheless. I fell in love with Karna by her simple yet heart rending descriptions; and with Krishna by her colourful imagination. Her interpretations may remind one of Kannada writer, S.L. Bhyrappa’s in his award winning book Parva where he dwells deep into the psychology of the same characters.

The images that Divakaruni creates and the metaphors she uses are uniquely Indian. The experience of reading it can take the reader back to the age of Mahabharata, right into Indraprastha, the palace of illusions! It can at the same time make the characters come alive in today’s world. The relationships are felt rather than understood because of the intimate descriptions in the book. I felt Panchaali’s need for attention, for love, for control, and her desire for revenge, and more strongly her regrets.

Even through interpretations that the reader might not agree with and the despair of the epic treachery and war that comes right out of the pages, it is a definite page turner. This story of the heroes and that of good versus evil, retold as the story of a woman who changes the course of history is a must read even for the male species. 

Child Within

I ran until I reached the cover of trees. I quickly hid behind one and tried to catch my breath. I slowly peeked for a sign of him; there was none. And then suddenly, there he was, a few meters away, staring at the very spot I was taking refuge in. I pushed myself back with my heart beating hard. I peeked again and saw him moving toward where I was. I moved as he did around the tree, in its cover, until he had his back to me. He was at an arm’s distance. Then I crept slowly behind him. Something in his stance told me he knew I was there. He would turn around in a second and I would be done for, but I did not stop. Just when his head turned to his side, I hit him hard on his back and shouted ‘DABBA!’

All our friends came laughing out of their hiding places, as I had outwitted the denner.

I felt like a seven year old again. Felt good to play hide and seek with my friends, to know that I was in touch with the child within.

I felt that it is important for everyone to be able to let that child out often. Those who rarely or never get the opportunity should find a way to. 

Get to the end, don’t be offended

What works best when one feels blue? Well, these days one can get on the almighty internet, find on Google some ridiculous phrase about sorrow and put it up on... what? every possible social networking site?  Then get a couple of “what happened”s and a few more “awes”. This simply reminds us of that now famous line “If you have a problem, face it. Don’t Facebook it.” Anyhow, happy with the attention, one can go back to one’s monotonous life.

So then what does one do after a happy experience? Post it. After a funny experience? Post it. After a frightful one? Post it. After just... an experience? Freakin post it! “I’m sloshed” on Twitter could be quite destructive.

Why, I did post about my laundry and got a few likes. So no big shakes in updating “I brushed my teeth.” You and 27 others would like it in less than 24 hours. The comments would go “wow, really?? :O”, “hey, guess what? I did too! :p” This is because... yes, because we know to laugh at ourselves.

Of course, social media has helped a great deal in a load of movements from “what the hell is Tomatina in Bangalore?” to India Against Corruption to the Arab Spring. “Social Media Revolution”.

New talents have been recognized, art skills appreciated, helpful forums created. Great work.

So many editorial pages filled with opinions on this wave, so many RD articles on pros and cons... and last week we read about the guy who updated his Facebook every minute of his wedding.

Why though? Why do we sit glued to these networks as early as in our preteens? Is it really about simple networking? Why do I already want to post this everywhere while I write on Word?

It is a feel good factor. Target Rating Point of our individual selves as some of us call it. I know my parents used to get that feeling when they won a debate or a drama competition, or when they ran through the streets playing Kalla- Police. 

Attempts

Something from the study holidays before 2nd P.U. Boards...

Just when I sit down to study, my phone beeps. I furiously pick it up to switch off the damn thing. But I smile as I read the silly forward. I put it back on the bed and sit at the table. I read the first few lines with great interest. A few minutes later I look out the window. I forget what I just read and stare aimlessly at a tree. It takes me another beep on the cell phone to come back to reality. Instead of getting straight to where I was reading earlier, I get up to check the message on the cell. I immediately reply in spite of the oath of not using the phone whilst the attempt to study.

I take it along to the table and set it next to my book. I pick up a pencil to scribble as I learn to ensure remembering it better. But wait, I practice a couple of more lines and slowly begin to doodle with the pencil on the spaces between the equations… above the questions… around the diagrams…

*BEEP*. I snap back. I check the message, reply in less than half a minute. Looking back at the book I freak out just a little. I read a few more lines and in not many seconds begin humming a popular tune. Naturally I drop the pencil, stare at the wall and picture the visuals associated with the song. Another beep, once again I check the message, think of what to write back and finally reply. I take about a minute. I look at the time and freak out slightly more than the last time.

 I get back to what I was trying so hard to study. It looks a lot harder than it did when I decided on the chapter. I think about harder chapters and forget to breathe. I turn to a book on the shelf. Math. I freak out a lot more than before.

My gaze moves to a book on the next rack; my old notebook of poems. I think about all that’s written in it and the situations that made me write them. I miss school. I get up to browse through ‘the more interesting’ book. I read through a few passages, not realizing I happen to be standing. Two beeps on the phone take me back to the table.

I reply and this time, freak out a little too much looking at the clock. Again, instead of hurrying with the study I send instant messages to all close friends with pretty much the same grade, asking them how it’s coming on. They respond in the positive. When I say positive, I mean they agree on how sad studying is and how awfully we are failing to complete all that is in the syllabus. I feel good, although I lose considerable time on punching in the ‘short’ messages.

As my mother enters the room she asks me how it is going. I tell her how distracting everything around the place is. Oh yes, blame the place of study. She advises me to move and try to focus. I mumble something on how comfortable the place is though. She suggests keeping the phone away as more messages make their way to me. “Oh no, it helps me concentrate. See, I’d drift off if it weren’t for my friends writing to me”.           

The Fortunate Ones

This is more for (what do they call us?) the Gen- Y, than anyone else. Although it hardly says what we can do, we are all smart enough to find ways, aren’t we? Ever heard of “Childline- 1098”? Google it. Also write to Post Box No. 5555 if you witness child abuse of any sort.  

Look at the old lady across the street with a load on her head, balancing like she did every single day, probably since she could walk. That is what she did, that is what she will do for the rest of her life. You are not her.

Look at the man by the pavement, begging. Not for food as most of you might assume but money for his daily dose of alcohol, as only few of you might have understood. You are not him.

Look around… You are not the vegetable vendor you see on the bus, you do not have to worry about not making money because of the unseemly rains. All you have to worry about is the seam of your pants getting muddy. You are certainly not the weirdo who sleeps at your bus stop, the one who gives you the creeps.

You are not the kid begging at the traffic signal, who was vulnerable enough to be in that place. You are not the kid who is next in line to be sold off to a nasty flesh trader either. You are not stuck in a stranger’s house, looking after their children when you are one yourself! You do not do their dishes. You do not get beaten raw for missing a spot while you swab.

You are most definitely not the baby who gets drugged to sleep through the damned day so it can be tied around someone’s neck and used to manipulate people into pitching in cash. Neither are you the child who is forced to tie the baby and approach the oh-so-mistaken public, the one who will grow up having chronic neck pain.

You are not the girl who puts up a brave show, balancing on the rope in your neighbourhood. No, they vanish before you can come back for a second show, don’t they?

You are not your domestic help. You are not the corporation sweeper, mind you the one with a permanent job that neither you nor I have. Oh, you are not a lot of people around you.

In fact, you are the one who is fortunate enough to be able to read in the first place, if you are reading this. You are the one educated to keep the world clean and healthy, to make it a safer place to live in. Well, congrats on that. Now, what do you plan on doing for all the people you aren’t? Ever thought of being of any genuine help to the society? And no, sorry to burst your bubble, it is not about giving them money that a parent earned.

Twinkling Eyes

The water splashed as I stepped on a puddle, getting off the bus.

How I’d have loved to be one with the drops falling ever so lightly. But this was just the beginning. I knew soon there would be a downpour. “That would only make it more fun”, I thought. “Ah, my books would be ruined though”.

The drops got heavier as I got under my umbrella. The same long road that I took everyday looked so pleasant, more romantic than in spring.

I walked alone down the empty street, singing ‘Hear you me’ and ‘Let me sleep’ with a slight skip in my walk.

The rain poured down now as if the skies were torn open.

My floaters and my faded jeans were soaking wet but I couldn’t care less.

I walked on, under a eucalyptus tree and the drops fell harder.  A sudden wind and my umbrella threatened to fly away.

I smiled, imagining a scene, sweet sixteen after all. “The umbrella flies off. I look back at it to find Michael from the old movie Josh. He picks it up and hands it back to me with a mysterious smile and then disappears behind the heavy curtain of rain. All of it with the Lathika theme music or that of RHTDM playing in the background of course!”

I snapped back to reality, deciding fantasy is always better than reality.

And then I saw him. Standing under a tree, nine or ten, in his school uniform, bare foot, carrying nothing. He was staring at the ground, at the drops falling on every part of it, leaving no space at all.

His expression was hard to read, but I noticed a trace of wonder. Probably not the happiest face but definitely the most innocent I’d seen. Or was it?

I realized he would have seen more of the world and its ups and downs than I’d ever see. Was he in a hurry? Or was he enjoying the rain? He wouldn’t stand in that huddled manner if it was either. Was he reflecting?

I had walked past him and had gone a few steps ahead, before I stopped and looked back at him. He was looking at the other end of the road, from where I had started my journey on foot. I thought I’d call out to him, realizing there was enough room under my umbrella for both of us.

As though he had heard my thoughts, he turned around and caught my eye. “Twinkling eyes”, I thought. “Which way?” I asked, hoping he’d say “Your way”. He pointed slowly at the other end of the road with a smile and said “That way” in a soft but not small voice. I nodded and bid him good bye.

Judging by what I was wishing for, you’d think I’d be disappointed. But walking ahead, I felt satisfied with my offer to help. I walked with a different sort of bright smile. I’ll probably never see him again, our parts might never cross once more. But I’ll never forget that tiny figure under a tree on a rainy day.