Sunday Puzzle

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On-air challenge

Every answer is the six-letter name of a world capital, in which I’ve changed the first and last letters. You name the capitals.

Ex. VASSAL  –>  NASSAU (capital of the Bahamas)

1. CONDOR

2. ROSCOE

3. PUBLIC

4. SAVANT

5. ZANILY

6. DRAG UP

7. ETHENE

8. TARSAL

9. TUSCAN

10. NONACT

11. I AGREE

12. [7 letters:] CALLING

Last week’s challenge

Rearrange the letters of NECESSARY MISPRINT to spell a familiar phrase.

Answer: Sic semper tyrannis.

Winner:

Judy Alexander of South Burlington, Vermont.

This week’s challenge

This week’s challenge comes from listener Michael Pickard. Name something in 10 letters that’s found in a kitchen. Drop its sixth letter to name something on a keyboard. Then drop the new word’s fifth letter to name something no one wants to get. What words are these?

If you know the answer to the challenge, submit it here by Thursday, June 18 at 3 p.m. ET. Listeners whose answers are selected win a chance to play the on-air puzzle. Important: include a phone number where we can reach you.

A wish is a deeply personal thing, often fleeting and silent. But sometimes, a wish is a collective endeavor, a bold and communal call for action.

Yoko Ono’s “Wish Tree” installation is both. The piece — which Ono has staged more than 250 times in 35-plus countries — draws on a Japanese tradition at Buddhist temples that invites visitors to scribble their hopes and dreams onto paper tags and tie them to the branches of a tree. The wishes are left dangling amid the tree leaves, like budding fruit.

Ono’s very first “Wish Tree” — a baby grapefruit tree planted in a wooden box — was shown in 1996 at Santa Monica’s Shoshana Wayne Gallery in Bergamot Station. It was part of Ono’s solo show there. After the exhibition closed, the gallery planted the tree on its property. It was so meaningful to Wayne that when her gallery left Bergamot Station in 2018 (it’s now located in West Adams), she re-planted the iconic tree in her own backyard — in Pacific Palisades. It tragically burned in last year’s wildfire.

Now, 30 years after its initial debut, a grove of “Wish Trees” is in bloom at the Broad museum. And they appear to be much needed right now, given the voracious response from the public. The installation, “Wish Trees for Los Angeles,” is part of Ono’s solo exhibition at the Broad, “Music of the Mind.” Outside, on the museum’s East West Bank Plaza, 10 century-old olive trees are brimming with paper wishes from the public. Together, the bounty of wishes reflect our collective mood in L.A., offering a prismatic snapshot of our hopes, frustrations, anxieties, dreams and desires at this moment in time.

“Ono’s work is ever-relevant and it connects with people where they are, regardless of the context. But of course, right now, we need a place to put hope and think about making the world better,” said Broad curator and exhibitions manager Sarah Loyer. “We’re in a really difficult, dark place globally, nationally, and all of the ways we’ve experienced that as a city with the effects of climate change, the fires and ICE. It feels really important that we have space for hope and reflection.”

On a recent morning, hundreds of sun-dappled wishes shimmied in the tree leaves in at least 10 languages: English, Spanish, Japanese, Korean, German, Italian, Chinese, Persian, French and Turkish among them. They’d all been penned that day. Nearby on a table were paper tags, pens and instructions, which included asking a friend “to do the same. Keep wishing.”

Some wishes called for world peace or the end to war. Others spoke to financial hardships, like the desire to buy a home or keep a job. Many wished for strength to combat physical or mental illness. A slew of wishes echoed the universal yearnings for health, wealth and true love.

“Wishing for a free Iran,” one tag read in Persian.

“PEACE,” echoed another.

“I wish for things to make sense,” read another.

One particularly moving wish hung by a small bunch of flowers tucked into a tree trunk nook: “Wishing to find the strength to let go of the weight of the pain my mother brings me in the final years of her life on this earth.”

Sadie Whitman, 25, left, and Jaisa Pinnock, 25, from New York ready their wishes.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

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Yoko Ono’s original “Wish Tree” in 1996 at Shoshana Wayne Gallery, long before it burned in the Palisades Fire.

(Shoshana Wayne Gallery)

A Broad visitor experience team member, whose first name is Ash, was especially touched by a wish written in Spanish.

“It was a child wishing that their parents’ visa would be approved,” she said. “Being Latina and living in L.A. right now, that hit so close to home. I have a lot of experience wishing for the safety of the people in my community.”

There was levity as well: “I wish for a new game in Poki,” one tag read; “I wish for you to have a wish come true,” read another.

When words fell short, visitors to the installation drew pictures: a house surrounded by hearts; a smiling cat; a bowl full of wishes.

The need for a communal outlet for hope was not lost on the Broad. It accelerated the opening of the wider exhibition in order to bring it to Angelenos at a time when, the museum felt, people especially needed it.

The response to the “Wish Trees” was immediate. Even before the exhibition was open to the public, as the museum was readying for a private press preview, passersby on Grand Avenue grabbed paper tags from the outdoor installation’s instructions table and began filling the olive trees with their desires, the Broad said. The museum had designated one central tree to be the official “Wish Tree” and it had built an elevated platform around the trunk base, so visitors could reach the branches more easily. The public filled that tree on day one — and then spread their wishes to the surrounding trees, all of which are now part of the artwork.

Broad staffers now “harvest” the wishes from the trees every day, cutting them down and saving the “trimmings” in a box to make room for new paper tags (it draws about 500 to 800 wishes a day). When the exhibition is over, it plans to mail the wishes to Ono’s studio in New York, which has so far amassed more than 2 million wishes internationally.

Visitors interacted with the artwork in myriad ways.

Yoko Ono’s “Wish Trees” have amassed 2 million wishes globally; each day staffers need to “harvest” 500 to 800 wishes from the trees to make room for new paper tags.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

Two young women who appeared to be in their early 20s posed for selfies under a “Wish Tree,” mouths pursed. As they walked away, one of their tags fell to the ground: “I want to be famous,” it read.

Behind them, Lauren Lloyd, 33, visiting from Nashville, sat earnestly scribbling on her wish tag, which was filled from edge to edge with neat script.

“I think that when you’re surrounded by so much opportunity to see negativity, having an opportunity to see the positive, joyful, wishful thinking people have is very powerful — especially seeing it physically and not just scrolling [online],” she said.

Newlyweds Tito Avalos, 26, and Andrea Avalos, 24, who were visiting from El Salvador, tied their wishes to a tree together, their wrists entwined and fingers clasped. A street performer crooned, in the background: “I can’t help falling in love with you…”

“I think it’s really powerful — it’s a little bit romantic,” Tito said, adding that he’d wished “for a life of more travels and to visit a lot of countries.”

Andrea said that she’d wished for “a happy life together.”

“And more travels too!” Tito chimed in.

The most spirited response of the day came from 12-year-old Jailene Pimentel, between bites of a Subway sandwich. She lives in the West Adams area and was on a school trip to the Broad from Jane B. Eisner Middle School.

“I think it’s nice that people are so hopeful,” she said, adding that the positivity had surprised her.

Why? “Because of everything going on, like ICE, Trump. But people still wish for the best.”

As the wind kicked up, the wishes rustled, as if in conversation.

“To have a child.”

“To go to camp.”

“Prosperity.”

The wish tags hanging on the “Wish Tree” feature various hopes and dreams that are written in a number of different languages.

Seeing the accumulation of other people’s innermost desires in the trees — and given that the wishes are uncovered — lends the work an openness and accessibility that can be therapeutic, Loyer said.

“You can come away with a sense of healing, community and connection to a wider public or a sense of urgency to take more action,” she said. “It’s about spreading that message of peace.”

It’s the first scene in a new documentary. A group of women are being taught how to use phone cameras so they can make a documentary about their lives as domestic workers, community health workers, toilet operators and home caregivers. The voice of their instructor is heard talking about the things they need to think about: composing a frame, lighting, holding the camera still.

One woman raises her hand and asks: “Where is the record button?”

The room erupts in laughter.

Inexperience didn’t keep them from fulfilling their dream. These 10 working class women from Mumbai are the co-directors of the new movie Mast Mahila Mandali –- that’s Hindi for Cool Ladies Club –- which had its premiere this spring in Mumbai’s iconic, 1930s art-deco style Regal theater for an audience of 1,200 that included families and neighbors of the novice directors as well as cinephiles and media professionals.

The title came from Shilpi Gulati, the filmmaker they worked with and who taught them filmmaking basics. She suggested it at a meeting of the ten women. They deliberated over it and thought it fit the spirit of the film, pushing back against the idea that they are helpless women from the slums.

“For me, a ‘cool lady’ is someone who is bindaas — relaxed, fearless and does whatever comes to her heart,” says Rehana Shaikh, 32, a home caregiver and one of the ten selected to take part in this project.

The idea was to show what their lives are like — and also to show how cool they are by giving them a chance to express their creativity and just goof around on camera and have fun.

The idea for the film took root in 2024 and came from Supriya Jan of CORO India, a nonprofit group that teaches leadership skills to marginalized women. Her initial idea was to focus on the group’s Right to Pee campaign, which advocates for safe, clean and free public toilets. And she wanted women from the impoverished M-east ward to make the film rather than hiring an outsider.

Jan, the executive producer of the film, reached out to Shilpi Gulati, a filmmaker who teaches at the School of Media and Cultural Studies at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences in Mumbai, to work on the project.

At first, Gulati was puzzled by the idea. The women did not know anything about filmmaking, so how could they co-direct a film? She sprang into action: “It was a wild experiment. I put together a lesson plan so the women could learn the basics of filmmaking, from lighting to composition. We met every Saturday from about 1:30 to 6:30 p.m.,” says Gulati. With only five smartphones available, the ten women worked in pairs.

“I would give them a production exercise for the week — like shooting the Mumbai monsoon or interviewing each other about who you were in the past and who you are today?”

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As the women talked and filmed, the scope of the documentary expanded. Instead of making a five-minute film about sanitation, they wanted to document the unseen lives of ordinary women like themselves, sharing intimate moments, telling their stories. It became a 70-minute documentary that took six months to film and a year-and-a-half to edit.

The driving theme, says Gulati, is that even in their busy lives, these women could take time for themselves, build friendships and show that “having fun is not frivolous. That being mast [carefree] and claiming joy is cool. It is a radical act of resistance against oppressive structures.”

Darshana Mayekar, a toilet operator and a slum sanitation program leader, says the experience made her feel young again. “For 20 years, I have been busy raising a family and working. While making the film, I was able to live a little for myself. I am 50, but I feel 20,” she says.

Vaishali Mane, 35, a community worker who helps women access property rights, says being in front of the camera gave her the confidence to speak up — for herself and other women.

Then there’s the exhilarating story of Rehana Shaikh.During the months of filming, Shaikh was between jobs so instead earned money by doing tailoring – gluing tiny round mirrors to a dazzling yellow, silver and white colored sharara set of wide-legged pants, a tunic and stole.

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When it was time to take a break, Sheetal Navle, a community health worker, filmed Shaikh going up a narrow set of stairs in her two-story home to her kitchenette, where she would prepare dinner for her husband and three children.

Rehana Shaikh has her star moment as she dances in her family’s kitchenette while preparing dinner.

NPR screengrab from Cool Ladies Club via Vimeo

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NPR screengrab from Cool Ladies Club via Vimeo

In the scene filmed, as she cooks, she plays a rambunctious Bollywood number on her phone and begins to dance.

“I had always dreamed of being a dancer on screen or on stage,” she says. “Growing up, I was not allowed to step out of the house even for dance classes.

“When the opportunity to learn filmmaking came, I said yes because I wanted to learn something new. My husband said no. He didn’t want me on screen.” She says he was uncomfortable about women speaking openly on camera.

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“I convinced him by saying I will only be behind the camera,” she says, deciding to hold back on the details and negotiate with him over time.

Shaikh went back and forth on keeping the dance scene in the film, given her husband’s concerns. “The other women encouraged me, saying ‘don’t hide your passion.’ It became a way to inspire others to relieve their stress and dance.” 

At the premiere, her husband and three children cheered and hooted.

She was thrilled. “They were telling others in the audience, ‘She is my wife, that’s my mother!”

Note: In addition to Shaikh, Navle, Mane and Mayekar, the Mumbai women who served as co-directors are Kavita Ghuge, Rohini Kadam, Kavita Khomne, Gauri Rane, Anjum Shaikh and Nazneen Siddiqui. They were paid $262 each for their work on the film as co-directors; potential income from distribution deals and ticket sales will be shared as they own joint copyright of the film with Shilpi Gulati, who was also a co-director, and CORO India. Since the premiere, there have been additional community screenings of Cool Ladies Club, and the documentary will be submitted to film festivals this summer.

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Neha Bhatt is an award-winning journalist and author based in Delhi, India, reporting on public health, development and culture. Her work has appeared in The Guardian, The British Medical Journal, Stanford Social Innovation Review, The Globe and Mail, Devex and National Geographic. Connect with her on linkedin.com/in/nehabhattwrites