I have been a journalist for the last 18 years. Have worked in magazines and newspapers in Kolkata, Kochi and Mumbai. Have published more than 1200 articles and four books for children. Now working in the New Indian Express in Kochi
A few days ago, Sr. Regina spoke in public for the first time about why she left the Franciscan Claris Congregation at Irinjalakuda ten years ago. This was at a symposium on the problems faced by nuns, organised by the Kerala Catholic Federation at Thrissur.
She says the primary reason was the vow of obedience that she had taken when she became a nun. “The superiors demanded blind loyalty,” she says. “They felt that they had been appointed by God and had to be obeyed all the time. I did not agree to that.”
Regina says that the superiors failed to respect a person’s individuality and feelings and did not encourage the development of a person’s God-given talents. “Everybody should be equal before God,” she says.
She says the lack of freedom was soul-sapping. “We are unable to take an individual initiative to help the people,” she says.
After 20 years as a nun, Sr. Regina could not take it any more. She got permission from the superiors and walked out in 1999. And, like in the case of Sr. Jesme, Regina’s family, the Valiyaveetils from Thrissur, tried to discourage her.
“They said that if I had any difficulty I should resolve it through discussion with my superiors,” she says. “But I tried that for so many years and it did not work.”
Thankfully, because she is a professor of history at St. Aloysius College, Thrissur, she had a good salary. With that she was able to rent a house near the college campus. Incidentally, Regina holds a doctorate on ‘the origin and development of Kerala Catholics’.
V.K. Joy, the secretary of the federation says that Regina was asked by the audience whether she faced any sexual harassment from priests and nuns, similar to those faced by Sr. Jesme. “I did not experience anything like that,” she says. “In fact, I did not come across anybody who was sexually harassed.”
However, Regina says, she admired the courage shown by Sr. Jesme. “It was good that Sr. Jesme spoke out,” she says. “I support what she has done. People have different experiences.”
Asked why she decided to speak out after so many years, Regina says, “People have asked me to talk about it only now. I want the church to reform itself. I don’t want the nuns to leave the convents. Instead, the conditions inside should improve.”
But there has already been a negative fall-out. “Less and less girls are opting to become a nun these days,” says Regina.
Actors, directors, producers, and singers go through a wrenching time when their films are released on a Friday. Some follow rituals, while others pray hard for the most elusive thing on the planet: a box office hit
Photo: Director Lal Jose
By Shevlin Sebastian
In the early morning on a Friday if director Lal Jose is in Thiruvananthapuram he will go for a long walk on Shanmugham beach. Sometimes, he goes with friends, but most of the time he is alone. At other times he might step into a church when it is empty. “I go there for peace of mind,” he says.
Meanwhile, as the time gets closer for the first show of his new film on Friday afternoon, Lal Jose experiences an intense discomfort and unease. Unable to bear the tension, on a few occasions, he watches the film with the audience. By the end of the screening, the reactions come in: from friends, members of the audience, and acquaintances in the industry.
“When I get a positive feedback I feel a tremendous sense of relief,” he says. “However, if there is a negative reaction, I feel very tense. Immediately, I set out for my home in Kochi. I am able to bear this disappointment only when I am in the company of my wife and children.”
Actor Mukesh has a less intense reaction on the day of a film’s release. “I don’t have much anxiety,” he says. “Of course in films where I play the hero I do feel nervous. Sometimes, when I have played a role differently, I will be curious to know what the audience reaction is going to be.”
For Mukesh, it is only by Monday that he will judge whether a film has done well or not. “I don’t take into account Saturday or Sunday, because people usually go to see films on the weekend, but on Monday I will know for certain whether the film has succeeded or failed,” he says.
Singer M.G. Sreekumar does not follow any rituals for the success of a song that he has rendered for a film. “For a song to be a hit, a lot depends on the picturisation, the music, and the lyrics,” he says. “There also has to be good direction, powerful acting, and a strong script.”
However, if the song becomes popular, Sreekumar is euphoric. “It is similar to the delivery of a baby,” he says. “After nine months when a woman gives birth, she feels a sense of achievement and satisfaction. That is the same feeling I get when a song becomes a hit.”
If the song is not appreciated, Sreekumar puts the blame on fate. “Sometimes, the song is very good, but the picturisation is poor,” he says. “Or the film is a flop. Then the song might not do well.”
Of course, the industry, in every language, all over the world is looking for three letters to be attached to every film: HIT! But, unfortunately, nobody has any idea of what works, and what does not.
Mukesh tells a story. He had acted in a film called ‘Kouthuka Varthakal’. When he saw the preview in Chennai, he realised it was going to be a flop. So he decided to stay back a few days more in Chennai because he did not want to face the people after a failure.
“However, three days later I got calls from several friends in Kerala asking me why I was not coming to celebrate,” he says. The film had become a huge hit.
So, there is no guarantee which film will do well or not. “The reason is simple,” says Mukesh. “The evaluation is done by ordinary people.”
Director Siby Malayil agrees: “The audience, a mass of people, is doing the judging. We are unable to know their tastes, interests, likes or dislikes. We can only hope that they will enjoy watching the films we make. If they do, you have a hit. Otherwise, it is a flop.”
Suresh Kumar, who has produced more than 30 films, says that in his career the hit to flop ratio is 50-50. “Sometimes, despite the presence of superstars and a good script, the film will fail,” he says.
Actor Jagadish says there are several reasons why a film does not do well. “If four good films are released at the same time, only two will succeed,” he says. “The others will become failures even if they are good.” Sometimes, a spell of bad weather can damage a film’s prospects. Or school examinations, a sudden bandh, or the season when the temple at Sabarimala is open for devotees.
Because of this highly unpredictable reaction, the industry depends a lot on superstitions to ensure success. “For many years, an entire film would not be shot at Munnar because it was considered to be bad luck,” says Jagadish. But that myth got shattered when Siby Malayil’s ‘Summer in Bethlehem’, which was shot exclusively in Munnar, became a blockbuster hit.
The scenic location of Thodupuzha was a no-no for a long time. But it got a thumbs-up, when director Sathyan Anthikad shot his hit, ‘Rasathanthram’, starring Mohanlal and Meera Jasmine, there.
But no matter where a film is made, in Kerala, every morning, before the day’s shoot, everybody takes part in one ritual. “A coconut is broken and a prayer is said, and everybody participates, whether they are Hindus, Muslims or Christians,” says Jagadish. “It creates a good mood, and gives a chance for everybody to get in touch with God.”
When Om Puri acted as a policeman in ‘Ardh Satya’, it was the biggest turning point in his life
Photo: Om Puri with the Order of the British Empire that he received in 2004
By Shevlin Sebastian
On a windy moonlit night on the beach at Kovalam, actor Om Puri is dressed casually in a bright orange T-shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts. He has come to attend a literary festival where his wife Nandita read extracts from an upcoming biography of him.
Om is at ease, as guests mill around him, as he talks about his mentor, the director Shyam Benegal. “Have you seen Shyam’s ‘Welcome to Sajjanpur?’” he says. “It is such a wonderful comedy.” Seeing his down-to-earth manner it is difficult to believe that he is, as veteran American film critic Michael Sragow says, ‘the greatest living actor today.’
A day later, at poolside of the Taj Green Cove, smoking a Benson and Hedges cigarette with relish, Om talks at length about his life.
In the early seventies, at the Khalsa College, in Patiala, Om was acting in a Punjabi play called ‘Anhonee’. He played the role of a poor girl’s father. The landlord was trying to seduce her. Eventually, she was killed and Om has a fight with the landlord. “It was very dramatic,” he says. “I tore open my shirt.”
The judges were a couple from the National School of Drama (NSD): Harpal and Nina Tiwana. “They gave me the best actor award,” says Om. The Tiwanas invited him to join their troupe, the Punjab Kala Manch. But he did not have any free time. During the day he worked as a lab assistant in the college, while he attended classes in the evening. Harpal said, “How much do you get paid for your job?”
When Om replied that his salary was Rs 125, Harpal said he would give Rs 150. Om joined at once. “Acting was my passion, so I had no problem in saying yes,” he says.
Om remained with the troupe for three years, acting in plays all over Punjab. Thereafter, following a stint at the NSD at Delhi, he wanted to join the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) at Pune, but he had no money to pay the fees.
During this time he was acting in ‘Hamlet’ in Delhi. A junior student from the NSD, Neelam Man Singh, came to see the play along with her boyfriend, Jugnu, who was an industrialist. When Jugnu expressed admiration for Om’s talent, Neelam told him that the actor wanted to join the FTII, but had no money. Jugnu agreed to sponsor Om at Rs 300 a month.
Om managed to get into the FTII in 1974. After a month he wrote a letter to Jugnu, but no money was forthcoming. Om was in a fix. He did not have the financial resources to pay the course fees, as well as the hostel and canteen bills.
For one year he did not pay anything. Then the director of the FTII, Girish Karnad, who had heard of Om’s financial problems, offered him a role in a children’s film, ‘Chor Chor Chup Jha’, which was directed by B.V. Karanth.
Om accepted and was paid Rs 3000 for his role. With this he cleared off his debts.
Following the conclusion of the course, Om moved to Mumbai in 1976 and played bit roles, before Govind Nihalini cast him in ‘Aakrosh’ in 1981. Then came Satyajit Ray’s ‘Sadgati’, before he got the role of Sub-Inspector Anant Velankar in ‘Ardh Satya’ in 1983.
“It was the biggest turning point in my life,” he says. “When I read the script by [Marathi playwright] Vijay Tendulkar, I said, ‘Wow’. I could totally identify with the character. This is the story of not only a police officer, but of anybody who works in a government institution. The political interference, the pervasive corruption, and the way it damages the soul.”
When the film was released it was a hit. “I came into the national limelight in full force,” he says. “The film industry took immediate notice.” Several movies followed.
Om’s next big break came when he was cast as Hasari Pal, the rickshaw-puller in the Roland Joffe film, ‘City of Joy’ in 1990. Following the release, he received worldwide critical acclaim.
“It opened a big window of opportunity for me in the West,” he says. He acted in several Western films, including ‘My Son the Fanatic’, ‘East is East,’ and ‘Wolf’.
Om has won numerous awards, like the Padma Shree, the Karlovy Vary award from Czeckoslovakia, and the Order of the British Empire, which he received from Queen Elizabeth in 2004. His filmography runs to over 200 films.
Asked to explain his philosophy of life he says, “The other day a dear friend of mine passed away. As I stared at his body, a thought came to me: ‘He has two hands, two eyes, two legs, a nose, a brain, and hair. He has everything, and yet something was missing. Why is he not moving? Why is he not talking?”
Om becomes silent and stares into the distance. Then he finally says, “The spirit is missing. What is life? It is so fragile. We are at the mercy of a power in the universe. So let us stop boasting, and become humble.”
Charles Dias is the first Anglo-Indian from Kerala to be nominated as a Member of Parliament. Even as the community celebrates his appointment, he worries about how to meet their high expectations
By Shevlin Sebastian
At the reception accorded to the newly appointed Anglo-Indian MP Charles Dias at Kochi recently, the president of the Kerala Pradesh Congress Committee, Ramesh Chennithala, said, “There were so many applications for the post. [Congress President] Sonia Gandhi scrutinised them all and selected Dias, because he was the most meritorious candidate.”
The man in question is a soft-spoken, mild-mannered man who smiles easily, and has an engaging personality. Unlike most politicians, Dias holds a doctorate in history. A member of the middle class, he retired, in 2005, from the Kerala State Electricity Board as a liaison officer. Married to Gloria, a school teacher, the couple has two children: Tina, 28, and Aaron Francis, 24.
Following his retirement Dias worked on his doctoral thesis on ‘the social history of the Portuguese descendants in Kerala’. He presented it successfully at Calicut University in May, this year.
In his research he discovered that 90 per cent of the present-day Anglo-Indians are descendants of the Portuguese. From the early 16th century, the Portuguese married Indian women and this continued for 163 years.
“The Eurasians were doing well and had a high financial status,” he says. But in 1663, tragedy struck, when the Dutch defeated the Portuguese and captured Kochi.
“The Dutch confiscated the belongings and the properties of the Eurasians,” says Dias. “Many people were killed and the rest were asked to leave one night with whatever they could carry. Overnight, they became poor.”
The Eurasians fled to interior villages like Elamkunnapuzha, Moolampilly, Vallarpadom, and Mulavukad. “These were places where there were no facilities for education or a decent profession,” says Dias. “So the Eurasians degenerated.”
He has a look of pain on his face, even though this event took place more than 400 years ago. “The descendants still live there and I want to work for their uplift,” says Dias, the acting president-in-chief of the Union of Anglo-Indian Associations.
Apart from Dias, 59, there is only one other nominated Anglo-Indian MP: Ingrid McCleod, 42, from Chhattisgarh. “Between the two of us, we will have to look after the needs of 4.5 lakh Anglo Indians all over India,” says Dias. In Kerala, there are 1.5 lakh community members.
During the function when Chennithala announced that Dias will be able to spend Rs 2 crore annually from the MP’s Local Area Development scheme, there was sustained applause.
“What most people did not realise is that the money is not to be used only in Kerala,” says Dias. “It has to be spent for development works in several states. So, in that sense the amount is meagre.”
Dias is already feeling the pressure because many people have approached him with requests for jobs and various proposals for projects. “I worry about how I will be able to fulfill the expectations of all the people,” he says.
What has made things more difficult is that it is a community riven by dissension and conflict. A chairman of a school board that oversees the functioning of the 13 educational institutions run by the community refuses to leave his post after nine years, even though it was supposed to be a one-year term.
“Our disunity has brought a bad name to the community,” says Dias. It will need high leadership skills on his part to unite the warring factions. But Dias says his immediate objective is to do an overall survey on the unemployment situation within the community.
One solution, he suggests, is if the Centre can implement a reservation policy. “This has happened before,” he says. “During the first decade after Independence, there was a quota for Anglo-Indians in the Railways, the Post and Telegraphs, the Customs and Central Excise.” However, to achieve this is not going to be easy, but an access to Sonia Gandhi, the Congress supremo, will surely be of help.
Last month, thanks to his elevation, Dias was able to meet Sonia at her residence at 10 Janpath, New Delhi. “Mrs. Gandhi said, ‘Welcome to Parliament,’” says Dias. “She was serious and formal, but smiled often.” Sonia glanced with interest through the two publications Dias presented: an Anglo Indian souvenir and a 400-page book of history which he had edited: ‘Kerala Spectrum’.
The new MP’s deep knowledge of history should help him avoid the pitfalls of the past and enable the community to make its way into the sunlight.
The cover of the book, 'God Forbid: why I cannot be a nun any longer’
Prof. Dr. Adelheid Herrmann-Pfandt, a scholar of Comparative Religion from Marburg University, was walking around the Frankfurt Book Fair when she came to the India section and saw large photographers of Sr. Jesme, the author of the best-selling autobiography, ‘Amen’. In it, the nun had chronicled her trials and tribulations as a member of the Congregation of Mother of Carmel.
“I immediately realised that there is a nun in Germany with a similar experience,” says Prof. Adelheid. “Her name is Majella Lenzen.”
Majella, a nun in the Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood, was based in Tanzania for several years. When the Aids disease became a full-blown epidemic, she started the Rainbow Centre. As part of its work, the Centre's vehicle transported condoms to prostitutes. Soon, the African press labelled her, ‘The Condom Sister’.
This action of hers raised the ire of her superiors and the Church, which is against the use of condoms. “When I matured as a person I began to think for myself,” says Majella, who was known as Sr. Maria-Lauda. “I realised that I was in the right. This brought me into conflict with my superiors.”
Soon, colleagues criticised and ill-treated her. “Most of us are unable to leave the congregation, because we have no financial backing,” she says. “For those who remain, the convent is like a prison.”
Even though Majella was not asked to leave, she decided to move on in 1995. “I did not want to go against my innermost feelings,” she says.
Majella, 71, came to public attention in Germany recently because she has written a book called ‘God Forbid: why I cannot be a nun any longer’. Released in August, by Dumont Publishing, it has become a bestseller.
“The response has been very positive,” she says. Adds Prof. Adelheid: “In the book, Majella lays the blame on the rapid spread of Aids in East Africa on the Church’s resistance to the use of condoms.”
Adelheid says that Majella’s story has many parallels with Sr. Jesme. “Even the duration of her stay in Africa was the same as Sr Jesme’s stay in her own order: 33 years,” she says.
Meanwhile, Sr Jesme feels happy and relieved when she heard about Majella. “I want many more nuns to speak out about their experiences, so that there will be a renewal of the church,” she says.
As lakhs of Malayalis return from the Middle East because of no jobs, the spectre of financial collapse haunts many
Photo: John Lazar (left) and Yesudasan James at Shaktikulangara fishing harbour, Kollam
By Shevlin Sebastian
At Shaktikulangara fishing harbour, near Kollam, the smell of fish is so overpowering that the urge to retch is intense for visitors. But for workers John Lazar, 48, and Yesudasan James, 39, they look unfazed as they haul plastic crates of fish onto the back of trucks. Both are wearing dirty shirts and lungis.
Among their friends they are known as the ‘Gulf returnees’, having returned early this year from Dubai. The sky is a translucent blue, the sun is shining brightly, seagulls fly about lazily, and a nice breeze is blowing, but their eyes are downcast and their shoulders are stooped.
And there is a reason for this: John is neck deep in debt. In October, 2008, he was summarily sacked as the foreman in a company as the effects of the global recession began to be felt in Dubai. He hung on for three months looking desperately for another job but ran out of luck and money. He returned in January.
He had been earning Rs 35,000. Because of this, he took a loan of Rs 3 lakh from the local bank and bought a small house and property. The monthly repayment is Rs 7000 per month, which he has been unable to pay for the past few months.
Since he had used up his savings, he has taken further loans to meet the expenses of his family, which consists of his wife, a 17-year old son and a 15-year old daughter. “In effect I am Rs 7 lakh in debt,” he says. This job in the harbour gives him a daily income of Rs 250, but it is irregular.
At home he feels pained when his son asks for money to go for a college excursion or for a film and he is unable to give it. “But he does not complain at all,” says John. “He understands the problems I am going through.” But his daughter is different. She throws a tantrum when her needs are not met.
“To be frank, we have reached a stage where all four of us could commit suicide,” he says. “That is how bad the situation is.”
Yesudasan looks as depressed as his colleague. He was working in a marine company in Dubai for a monthly salary of Rs 23,000 when he also lost his job. Like John, he had taken a loan of Rs 7 lakh from the bank and put up a house. “The repayment is Rs 10,000 a month,” he says.
In the initial months, after his return, he had pawned off his wife’s jewellery and other valuables to make the payments. But now, for the past six months he has not paid anything. Yesudasan has to clear another sum of Rs 1.4 lakh which he took to pay the agent who took him to Dubai.
Yesudasan has a work visa which expires in September, 2010. So he went in July to try his luck again but did not get anything. “The situation is grim in Dubai,” he says. Incidentally, according to Morgan Stanley, a global financial services firm, the stalled real estate projects in the Middle East adds up to a stupendous $263 billion.
Meanwhile, like John, Yesudasan gets a daily wage of Rs 250. “I try not to think about the problems I am facing,” says this father of three small children. “I live from moment to moment. If you think too hard, you might want to commit suicide.”
A few streets from the harbour, in a cream coloured house, called ‘Joyland’ lives labour agent Joy Thomas. In the courtyard, there is a Mercedes Benz E-270, a Toyota Innova, and a Scorpio. Joy also doubles up as a film producer having brought out the 2007 Malayalam hit, ‘Hello’, which starred superstar Mohanlal.
A broad-shouldered man, in his late thirties, Joy has sent around 800 workers from Shaktikulangara in the past few years to the United Arab Emirates and other countries.
“Most of these labourers want an easy life,” he says. “Their biggest drawback is that they do not want to look for other jobs. They are only comfortable working for a marine company or a dredger.”
But he says jobs are available as electrical fitters and plumbers in Abu Dhabi and Qatar, but they are not willing to learn a new skill. “They have only themselves to blame,” he says.
Around a thousand people have returned to Shaktikulangara in the past several months. “The job in the harbour finishes by 10 a.m. and till the next day at 5 a.m., they just idle around, smoking and drinking,” says Joy.
One reason for their indolence, says retired businessman Naithil Vincent is their lack of skills in other jobs. “They also don’t know how to run a business,” he says.
What has caused frustration is that the fishing business is not doing well, because there are fewer export orders. “Many of the boat owners are from outside the area and bring their own workers,” he says. So the gulf returnees don’t get much of a chance and suffer in silence.
This suffering is taking place in other districts of Kerala, like Kannur, Wayanad, Malappuram and Palakkad.
In Manayankod, in Palakkad district, T. Harichandran has returned after 28 years in Dubai. He was working in the electricity department when the government slashed his salary to one-third. “It was not possible for me to survive,” he says.
It is the end of the Gulf dream for him, as he is 50 years old and will not get a visa again because of his age. “I have a little bit of savings,” says this father of two college-going children. “I plan to start a business.”
Junaid, 43, was working in Dubai for 23 years. Last year, he joined the ‘Sun and Sky’ jewellery shop as the manager. When the recession hit, he lost his job. He returned to Chettuva, near Chavakad in central Kerala four months ago.
“I am struggling to find something to do,” says Junaid, who has two teenage sons. “It is also not easy to adjust to life here.”
In Malappuram, 90 per cent of the families have one member who has returned from the Middle East. One of them is P.K. Nissam, 25, who has come back from Dubai. He was working as a labourer loading and unloading containers near the port. “I was sacked suddenly,” he says. He tried hard to get another job, but to no avail.
Nissam had gone to Dubai in order to clear the debts incurred by the family following the marriage of his younger sister, Zubeila. “It came to Rs 1.5 lakh,” he says. However, Nissam had to pay the agent Rs 1.1 lakh to get the work visa. And now, his debts have not been cleared. “I am looking for work,” he says. “But jobs are so difficult to find in Kerala.”
However, P.K. Jayachandran, joint secretary of the Pravasi Malayali Welfare Association, says that jobs are available in the construction industry. But young people will not do hard labour work, because society looks down on it. “Nevertheless, they have no problem doing similar work in the Gulf,” he says with a laugh.
In this situation everybody looks towards the state government for help. Says John of Shaktikulangara: “We read in the newspapers that certain schemes have been planned for us, but so far no government official has come to see us.”
Sheela Jacob, the secretary of the state government’s Non-Resident Keralites’ Affairs Department says that they have unveiled two programmes.
One is the Entrepreneur Development Scheme. This is to enable people to start a small business, with assistance from the Kerala Financial Corporation (KFC) at a reduced rate of interest. The state government had given a loan of Rs 100 crore to the KFC to implement this scheme. “However, the response has not been encouraging,” she says.
The second scheme is to provide assistance to people who have returned within two years of going to the Middle East. A sum of Rs 10 crore has been earmarked for this. “We are making efforts to help the people,” she says.
However, the government’s efforts have not had much of an impact. Says Jayachandran: “These schemes are only on paper and are rarely implemented.”
The effect of joblessness is being felt throughout the length and breadth of Kerala, which, for long, had been known as the ‘money order economy’, thanks to postal remittances.
So many families had been able to raise their standard of living, over several decades, thanks to high wages in the Middle East. Now, as that labour market dries up, lakhs of Malayalis watch in fear as they edge closer and closer to the abyss of poverty.
--------------- INTERVIEW
‘Reverse migration has begun’ Says Dr. S. Irudaya Rajan of the Research Unit on International Migration at the Centre for Development Studies, Thiruvananthapuram
What type of workers have come back? Skilled, semi-skilled and unskilled workers have returned. But the extent has varied. For instance, unskilled workers like housemaids may not be affected, as you need their service even in times of crisis.
In which districts has the impact been the most severe? North Kerala has been more affected than the south.
What is the financial impact of migration for workers? Migrants generate the money to pay for the ticket, visa and other expenses from their own savings, or the savings of the parents, or by selling or mortgaging property or borrowing money from money lenders. One of the migrants whom I met in a worker’s camp in the Middle East said, “We borrow money to migrate to the Gulf and there we borrow money to send back as remittances.”
What is the psychological cost of losing a job? Every migrant goes with a dream. It could be to own a piece of land or a house or to pay for the dowry for a daughter or sister, provide for the higher education of children, or pay for the medical treatment of elderly parents. When this does not happen, the family is psychologically devastated.
However, there are positive aspects also. I met an elderly couple recently in Thiruvananthapuram and the man said, “My son lost his job and came back. The crisis has united our family. He had never visited us for the last four years.”
What should the state government do? If the government can provide a livelihood option for a permanent stay in Kerala, it will be helpful for the workers.
Is there a possibility of reverse migration taking place in the near future? My preliminary assessment indicates that the worst of the economic crisis is over and almost all countries are on the recovery path, thanks to several stimulus packages by their governments. There is the beginning of a trend of reverse migration. However, instead of the United Arab Emirates, it will be Saudi Arabia which may emerge as the number one destination for workers from Kerala.
Leaving a job in Doordarshan and meeting remarkable people like novelist O.V. Vijayan and architect Laurie Baker were the turning points in director Shyamaprasad’s life
By Shevlin Sebastian
In an air-conditioned room at the YMCA guest house at Thiruvananthapuram, film director Shyamaprasad is overseeing the editing of his short film, ‘Off Season’ starring the comedian Suraj Venjaramoodu. Watching him intently is his associate director, the Australia-based Bobby Mana.
A call comes on his mobile: Shyamaprasad is asked to appear for a programme for a television channel. He gives his assent after checking his I-Phone Organiser. Dressed in jeans and a white shirt, and frequently running his hands through his hair, it takes Shyamaprasad quite a while to delve into his memories. But, eventually, the stories come out.
One day in 1977, Shyamaprasad and his childhood friend Ananthakrishnan went with a group of friends for a picnic to a hill station called Dhoni in Palakkad. There was a big waterfall. All the boys jumped into the water.
However, there was a strong undercurrent. Soon, Shyamaprasad and Ananthakrishnan started to drown. Both did not know swimming.
“We were holding each other and struggling to stay afloat,” says Shyamaprasad. Somebody reached out with a towel. Shyamaprasad grabbed it and then lost consciousness. Later, he was saved. But, unfortunately, Ananthakrishnan drowned.
“We were close family friends,” says Shyamaprasad. “I was unable to look at his parents in the eye. From that day onwards I became aware of the pain of others.”
Because of this incident Shyamaprasad became a recluse for a while. He stayed at home, studied hard, and passed his pre-degree exams from Victoria College. He had an urgent desire to leave Palakkad. Luckily, at that time a school of drama was being started by Calicut University, at Thrissur, with a degree in Theatre Arts on offer. Shyamaprasad applied and was selected.
He spent the next three years studying under the playwright G. Shankara Pillai. “Today whatever choices I make, in terms of content, actors, style and décor, it goes back to what I learned from Pillai Sir,” he says.
Shyamaprasad joined Doordarshan and in 1985 won a two-year Commonwealth scholarship to do his Masters in Theatre and Media Production from Hull University. But when he returned he discovered that Doordarshan had cut his seniority and professional benefits due to him.
“It was a demoralising experience,” he says. “My stay abroad was regarded as a break in service, when the information and broadcasting ministry had approved of my stint in the first place.”
At this time Shyamaprasad had made a film called ‘Uyirthezhunnelpu’, which was based on an Albert Camus play. It won the state award for best film on television, as well as best director, actress and cameraman. The station director of Doordarshan told Shyamaprasad that he should not accept the award because Doordarshan is a central government organisation, while the award was of the state.
Shyamaprasad found the directive illogical and went ahead and attended the award ceremony. Thereafter he was suspended. The inevitable happened: Shyamaprasad put in his papers.
“It was tough to leave a cushy central government job,” he says. “I had a wife and two children to support.” But his family stood steadfast behind his resolve to quit. “Looking back it was the right decision, otherwise I would have vegetated creatively,” he says.
Shyamaprasad immediately began making movies: ‘Kallu Kondoru Pennu’ (1998), ‘Agnisakshi’ (1999), ‘Bokshu the Myth’ (2002), ‘Akale’ (2004) and ‘Ore Kadal’ (2007).
‘Ore Kadal’, based on a novel by Bengali author Sunil Gangopadhyay, won over 50 state, national and international awards, including the prestigious Audience Prize at ‘Bollywood and Beyond,’ a festival of Indian cinema at Stuttgart, Germany, in 2008.
Shyamaprasad’s latest film, ‘Rithu’, with several fresh faces, was released a few months ago, to critical acclaim and has done well at the box office.
The man who has such an impact on audiences was himself impacted by two remarkable men. The first was novelist O.V. Vijayan, a friend of his father, the BJP leader O. Rajagopal.
“I read the ‘Legends of Khasak’ when I was 12,” he says. “I grew up in Palakkad where the novel was set. It was a slice of society that Vijayan captured perfectly and I realised this was a genius at work.”
However, when ‘Dharmapuram’ was published in 1985, Shyamaprasad was confused on how to read it. “There were a lot of scatological descriptions in the novel,” he says. When he accidentally met Vijayan at a medical shop he said, “The book has an offensive tone. Is this art?”
Vijayan looked at Shyamaprasad silently and understood the boyish reaction. “He tried to tell me that each work needs its own idiom,” he says. “It was a lifelong lesson for me.”
The next person who influenced Shyamaprasad was the architect Laurie Baker whom he had met to do a documentary.
“The reason why Laurie Baker avoided plaster and paint in his buildings was because he felt that that the colour, texture and the little imperfections of a brick are beautiful by itself,” says Shyamaprasad. This has become his artistic philosophy.
“If we can bring out the truth through rawness it will create the highest aesthetic experience,” he says. “If a dialogue you write or a scene you make does not reach the level of truth, it is not beautiful. Beauty is not something that is applied afterwards. Beauty is inherent. It is something you discover when you peel off the falsehoods.”
Bobby John Mana went to Australia for higher studies and, thereafter, worked there for several years. But he had a secret desire to be a film director…
By Shevlin Sebastian
One day, while on holiday in Kochi, Australian citizen Bobby John Mana saw an item in the newspaper. A documentary film workshop was going to be held at the Amrita School of Communication. Among the speakers on the last day was director Shyamaprasad. Bobby’s ears pricked up when he read this.
Just a few days earlier Bobby had seen Shyamaprasad’s ‘Ore Kadal’ on DVD and had been deeply impressed. In it, Mammooty plays Dr. S.R. Nathan, a professor of economics who lives on the top floor of a building, while on the ground floor is a financially strapped couple, Deepthi (Meera Jasmine) and Jayakumar (Narein) with a son.
“I was wondering why the director had allowed people from different strata to live in the same building,” he says. “It seemed foolish.”
But halfway through the film, Jayakumar tells Deepthi that the builder initially sold the top floor apartments at a high price. Later, because of some problems, the rest of the units were sold at a cheaper rate. “I realised that Shyamaprasad had deftly answered my doubts,” he says.
Bobby was also impressed by the open-ended conclusion. “So many people liked the ending,” he says. “I realised that Shyamaprasad was a top quality film-maker.”
So Bobby googled Shyamaprasad, secured the mobile number, but felt hesitant to call. That was when he read about the workshop. So he enrolled with alacrity.
When Bobby met Shyamaprasad they clicked instantaneously. “Maybe it was because Shyam had also trained in Britain, so we could find a mutual wavelength,” says Bobby.
It was while he was dropping the Thiruvananthapuram-based Shyamaprasad to the North railway station, following the conclusion of the workshop that Bobby told the director about his background.
Born in Kochi, Bobby did his schooling at Rajagiri Public School. It was when he was a teenager that he developed a passion for films. “I saw many movies, especially English films at Sridhar and Little Shenoys,” he says. His favourite film was ‘Jaws’, because of its superb direction and special effects.
At that time, his parents would give him Rs 7 as pocket money and Bobby used it to see films. “Rs 2 was for samosas and coffee, while the rest went for the ticket,” he says.
After doing his graduation from St. Albert’s College, Bobby worked in the Kelachandra Group of Companies, before he went for his MBA at the University of Newcastle, near Sydney. Thereafter, Bobby worked in the IT industry at Sydney for ten years. However, all along, he harboured a dream about becoming a director.
In 2005, thanks to the prompting of a friend in a bar at Sydney, Bobby quit his comfortable job, became a cab driver in the evenings and did a directing course at the Metro Screen School in Sydney during the day. Following that he did a stint at the prestigious Australian Film Television and Radio School and took classes on the Stanislavsky method of acting.
Then he flew to Kerala for the Christmas holidays. That was when he saw ‘Ore Kadal’ and fate played its card by making him meet Shyamaprasad.
The award-winning director offered Bobby the job of assistant director for the film, ‘Ritu’. Bobby accepted and got a chance to see a master craftsman at work. “Shyamaprasad does not use a story board,” he says. “He is a gifted person, who has a vision. He can see things beyond the camera.”
But Bobby took some time to adjust to the chaos of film-making in Kerala. “A shoot is like a wedding here, where the bridegroom will also be running around, doing the last-minute arrangements,” he says.” Whereas overseas his only job is to play his role.”
Eventually, the film was completed and it did well at the box office. Later, Bobby, now promoted to associate director, worked on a short film by Shyamaprasad called, “Off Season.”
At his eighth floor study in an apartment at Kochi, he has a computer, a TV and a DVD system. A book of short stories by Anton Chekhov lies on the table. He has plans to write a screenplay based on one of Chekhov’s stories.
Meanwhile, he has started pre-production work on Shyamaprasad’s next film, ‘Electra’, which will begin shooting in December,” he says. “I am fulfilling my dream of being in films, step by step.”
Photo: Sr. Jesme during the reading at the Frankfurt Book Fair
Sr. Jesme, the author of the best-selling autobiography, ‘Amen’ has returned after participating in the Frankfurt Book Fair, which is regarded as the world’s largest and most prestigious book festival.
She stayed at the Hotel Reuterhof at Darmstadt and commuted every day by train to Frankfurt, a distance of 21 kms. At the fair, India had 42 stalls, while DC Books were the only representative from Kerala. In all 95 countries took part.
For the reading of ‘Amen’, Sr. Jesme began with a brief segment in Malayalam, before reading several extracts from the English version.
“There was a good gathering,” says DC Books Publisher Ravi Deecee. The audience comprised mostly French and German people, apart from a sprinkling of Indians. There was a café nearby and all the patrons were listening in.
“The most unusual aspect about the fair was how people seem to want to drink and eat and listen at the same time,” says Sr. Jesme.
Following the reading, the questions began: why didn’t Sr. Jesme leave the convent earlier? Will her book encourage other nuns to leave? What was the reaction of the church?
An Indian priest, who did not identify himself, said, “When you join the military or the police, you have to obey the rules. The same is the case with the convent. Why are you against the law?”
Sr. Jesme replied, “I respect law and order. However, I am against the interpretation of the rules that go against the spirit of the Bible and Jesus Christ.”
At the conclusion, a group of women came up to Sr. Jesme and shook her hand. Among them was Prof. Dr. Adelheid Herrmann-Pfandt, who teaches comparative religion at Philipps University, Marburg.
“I liked the reading,” she says. “Sr. Jesme is a powerful and courageous woman. I hope she will be able to carry on telling the truth about what is wrong in the Church. It is admirable that she has not lost her religious faith despite all her troubles.”
Later, Sr. Jesme was able to visit Heidelberg, which is regarded as one of the most beautiful cities in Germany. "Overall, it was a wonderful experience," she says.
The publisher was also very happy. “All the copies of ‘Amen’, which we had brought to the fair, were sold out,” says Ravi Deecee. “Several European publishers have expressed an interest in the book.”
Poet Chandrakanta Murasingh talks about writing in a much neglected language, Kokborok, which belongs to the indigenous tribes of the north-eastern state
By Shevlin Sebastian
Sitting on a lounge chair beside the swimming pool of the Taj Green Cove at Kovalam, Tripura poet Chandrakanta Murasingh launches into a poem in Kokborok, the language of the indigenous tribes of the state.
Here are a few lines, translated into English:
‘The haunting madhavi fragrance Escapes the rustle of spring air It is acrid with the smell of gunpowder.’
The word, ‘gunpowder’ is slightly jarring. So why has Chandrakanta used it? “There has been so much of violence in Tripura between the extremists and the Army,” he says. “The extremists want independence because of decades of neglect.”
What is peculiar about Tripura is the domination of the Bengalis in all aspects of life. “The indigenous tribes have no say,” he says. In fact, the Bengali influence is so pervasive that the Kokborok language uses the Bengali script.
Chandrakanta blames the former kings of Tripura who allowed the language to fall into disrepute, even as they adopted Bengali as the official language.
“The great Bengali writer Rabindrananth Tagore who had visited Tripura seven times never once spoke about the neglect of Kokborok,” says Chandrakanta.
Because of this, for years, the indigenous tribes suffered from an inferiority complex and never spoke the language in public. However, there was some redemption when the state government made Kokborok an official language, on par with Bengali, in 1979.
Chandrakanta’s poems deal with the social, political, cultural and psychological problems of the people. “I also write about the wonder of nature,” he says.
There is a reason for this. Chandrakanta grew up in a village called Twiwandal, which had mountains on all sides. Near the village there were jungles and streams. “It was beautiful,” he says.
When he was a youngster he would help his parents, both of whom were farmers, in tilling the land and taking the cows out to graze.
The urge to write poems arose when he was in high school. “I would get emotional and a poem would come out of me,” he says. He continued writing over the years and has published six books of poetry, even as he goes about his job as an officer of the Tripura Gramin Bank.
The highlight of his writing career occurred when he won the Bhasha Samman Award given by the Sahitya Akademi in 1996 for his contribution to Kokborok literature.
“It was a big moment for me, as well as for the language,” he says with a smile.
Photo: (From left) Cardinal Telesphore P. Toppo, Mar Baselious Cleemis, Cardinal Oswald Gracias, Archbishop Pedro Lopez Quintana, and Cardinal Varkey Vithayathil at the inauguration ceremony of the Indian Mission Congress
By Shevlin Sebastian
Prabhu Yesu Mahotsav (Lord Jesus’ Festival): that was the name of the first- ever Indian Mission Congress which took place in Mumbai (October 14-18). More than 1500 delegates representing the 180 dioceses all over India were in attendance. Also present were 116 Bishops, representing the three rites of the Catholic church: The Latin, the Syro-Malabar, and the Syro-Malankara rite.
Apart from the Major Archbishop of the Syro Malankara church, Mar Baselious Cleemis, the nation’s three Cardinals were present: Oswald Gracias from Mumbai, Telesphore P. Toppo of Ranchi and Varkey Vithayathil, the major-archbishop of the Syro-Malabar Church.
Cardinal Vithayathil, who delivered the presidential address, says, “The theme is ‘Let Your Light Shine’, which means we want to propagate the teachings of Jesus Christ to the people of India.”
He says that it is important for Jesus that nobody is forced to accept his message, and get converted. It is also important that all that is true and good and lovable in all the different religions of India should be respected.
“We want people to listen to the message of Jesus Christ and his doctrine of love, humility and service,” says Cardinal Vithayathil. “Acceptance of this message is each person’s freedom.”
Earlier, the meet was inaugurated by Archbishop Pedro Lopez Quintana, the Vatican Ambassador to India and the representative of Pope Benedict XVI.
In fact, it was the earlier Pope, John Paul 11, who, at the seventh mission congress at Guatemala in 2003 suggested that each year a mission congress should be held in one of the five continents. Thus, the Asian Mission Congress was held at Chiang Mai, Thailand, in 2006.
At that Congress it was decided that the Mission Congress should be held in different countries of Asia. “That is how it has come to India,” says Cardinal Vithayathil.
Apart from key-note speeches by eminent representatives of the church, there were discussions, exhibitions, cultural programmes and ‘sharing the faith’ workshops.
In these workshops people described how their faith in Jesus brought them peace and happiness, despite problems and trials. “It has been an enriching experience for me,” says Cardinal Vithayathil.
The aim now is to hold this event once every five years in Asia.
