Memories of KPAC Lalitha

 

Pics: KPAC Lalitha; The actor (fourth from left) in a scene from ‘Su.. Su... Sudhi Vathmeekam’

The Malayalam character actress KPAC Lalitha passed away on February 22, at the age of 74.

Here are some reminiscences of her by people in Mollywood. This has been culled from articles I had written earlier for the New Indian Express:

By Shevlin Sebastian

On the morning of September 13, 2015, director Ranjith Sankar was going through moments of agony. The next day was the last one of the shoot of ‘Su.. Su... Sudhi Vathmeekam’ at a house in Alathur. But a crisis had cropped up. A day earlier, Sidharth Bharatan, the son of veteran actor KPAC Lalitha, had been injured in a car accident. He was admitted to the Medical Trust Hospital in Kochi. Lalitha was now at the hospital.

The last day’s shoot consisted of an engagement scene. It was between Jayasurya’s character, Sudhi Vathmeekan, and Sshivada Nair’s Kalyani. As Jayasurya’s mother, in the film, Lalitha had to be present.

The shoot could not be extended, as Jayasurya, and the others, like Aju Varghese and Sunil Sukhada, had other commitments.

“I did not know what to do,” says Ranjith. “I could not imagine calling Lalitha Maam on the phone.”

So, Ranjith had a discussion with his team. He asked whether the shooting could be done without Lalitha's presence. “We could say that the mother was not well, and hence could not come for the ceremony,” says Ranjith. “But, somehow, we felt that the audience would not be convinced. We concluded that it would not make sense without the presence of Lalitha Maam.”

However, at night, on September 13, Ranjith got a call. It was from Lalitha. She said that she would come for the shoot the next day. “I immediately said there was no need, especially at such a moment of crisis,” says Ranjith.

But Lalitha said that Sidharth was in the intensive care unit. And she was sitting outside. “There is nothing I can do,” she said. “I know my presence is very necessary in this scene. My only request is if you can send me back soon.”

The next day, Lalitha arrived in the morning.

When Jayasurya and Ssivada put rings on each other's second finger, a poignant Lalitha said, “During Sidharth's engagement, he did the same thing.”

Ranjith was moved, as were the other actors and the crew. “No matter the tragedy that had taken place, Lalitha Maam was calm and retained her presence of mind,” he says. “For me, this is professionalism of a high standard. That is why she is a legend. And has lasted so long.”

But there were happy moments, too. During Jayasurya’s birthday celebration, on August 30, at Alathur, the crew had gathered around. Among them were Jayasurya’s wife, Saritha, and children Adwaith and Veda, as well as Ranjith’s wife Smitha, and their children Tara and Tarun. “There was a lucky dip,” says Ranjith. “And of all the prizes, the one which Lalitha Maam won was a case of beer.”

The crew had a big laugh, and shared the cans, but not before Lalitha shared a can.

“In the end, by the grace of God, everything turned out so well,” says Ranjith. “Sidharth recovered, and my film did well at the box office.”

Photographer Momi:

The shoot for the film 'Veendum Chila Veettukaryangal' (1999) took place at Ottapalam. This was soon after the death of director Bharathan, on July 30, 1998. Bharathan's wife KPAC Lalitha had a major role. But nobody was sure whether she would be able to perform.

She and Nedumudi Venu were supposed to shoot a scene together. “In real life, Bharathan and Lalitha were very close to Venu and his family,” says Momi. “Following Bharathan's passing, Lalitha had not seen Venu.”

But when Lalitha met Venu, she lost control and began crying. She did not stop for a long time. Venu tried to console her but to no avail. “The director cancelled the shoot,” says Momi. “But after a couple of days, Lalitha managed to regain her composure and resumed work.”

Actor/scriptwriter Murali Gopy:

Murali Gopy has pleasant memories of the shoot for 'Pava'. This is the short form for 'Paappanekkurichum Varkeyekkurichum'. Murali played Devassy Paappan, an 80-year-old Christian patriarch. Anoop Menon did the role of Varkeyekkurichum. But, in an interesting twist, Paappan's younger sister was played by KPAC Lalitha.

Lalitha had played the lead, with Murali's father, the legendary Bharat Gopy, in 'Kodiyettam' (1978), while in 'Ormakkayi' (1982), she acted as the sister to Gopy. “Lalitha Aunty would always tell me on-set anecdotes about my father,” says Murali. “She has so much to share about the old days.”

So, it came as no surprise that Murali had a great feeling, when he had to act, as her older brother, during the shoot, at Bharananganam, in December, 2015.

During their first shot together, Lalitha, who was wearing a chatta and mundu, delivered her line: “Paappa, don't cry.” Paappan then mumbled an indecipherable reply. After the shot had been canned, they smiled at each other, knowing that it had been a special experience. 

Today is my Dad’s first death anniversary. The accompanying piece contains remembrances of the day last year and some reflections

When the sheltering tree fell

By Shevlin Sebastian

At 10 p.m. on February 18, 2021, I went downstairs to see my bed-ridden father, Joseph (‘Appachen’) Sebastian, at our home in Kochi. This was a daily routine. On this night, my dad looked fresh as ever. At 94+ years, he had an unlined face, a smooth forehead, black hair among the grey (what an exceptional genetic gift) and was clean-shaven. At 6 p.m., the caregiver Shafi (name changed) had given him a bath, put powder on his face and body and jasmine oil on his hair. My dad was clad in a blue shirt and a white dhoti.

He was breathing through his mouth. His eyes remained closed. He may have been sleeping. I sat next to his bed and stared at him. Shafi sat on the other side. He told me things didn’t look too good. My dad was sleeping most of the time. His appetite had gone down. His kidneys had started to malfunction. We opted for palliative care at this late stage, rather than rush him to an ICU and ply him with medicines.   

Shafi said, “Why don’t you give Appachan some water? Since Appachan is breathing through his mouth, he must be thirsty.”

So, I took a small plastic bottle, removed the cap, but found that my hands trembled. I couldn’t pour without some of it falling outside.

Shafi said, “Use the cap.”

So, I did so.

Dad drank the water.

I did so three times.

Then I placed the bottle on the table and caressed my father’s forehead a few times. Then I stroked his chest.

“Daddy,” I said. “It’s me, Shevlin.”

He heard me, and his eyelids quivered. But he could not open his eyes.

A few minutes later, I told Shafi, “I am going up.”

He nodded.

I walked up the stairs with a heavy heart and opened the door.

My mobile rang.

It was Shafi.

He said, “Appachan has passed away.”

My wife, children, and I ran down the stairs. As soon as we reached the bed, I noticed he was not breathing.

“How can you be sure?” my wife asked Shafi.

We called our neighbour, Dr Hari, who arrived with his stethoscope. He checked all the vital signs, looked up, and said, “He has passed away.”

Shafi later told me, “Dad took one deep breath, and he was gone.”

Immediately, we informed all our relatives. Many people, including my uncle Babu, aunts Rani and Sessy, cousins Reena and Anitha, arrived at the house.

Anitha’s husband, Vinoo Devasia, a successful entrepreneur, took control of matters. There was a need for a COVID negative certificate. We took the body in an ambulance to the Lisie Hospital, where the nurse performed the test. Since he was brought dead, the police had to be informed. We had to go to the police station. Negotiations took place. They came to the hospital to certify it was a normal death.

It was a ceaseless round of activity. But thanks to the efficiency of Vinoo, the hospital released the body the next day, at 7 a.m., with all the permissions.  

The burial took place in the afternoon, at 4 p.m., at Changanacherry, my dad’s hometown, 100 kms away. Earlier, the body had been placed in the ancestral home, where people came and paid their respects. Nuns sang hymns, and the Archbishop came and said prayers. Relatives and friends offered their condolences. 

It was at the graveside that something strange happened to me. My defences collapsed, and I began crying. Soon, my body was wracked with sobs. Wave after wave of sorrow passed through me. I could not believe this was happening. I had never cried in public before. My eyes were closed. My wife held me by the shoulders and whispered in my ears, “It’s alright. Let it out.”

And as I watched the coffin go down, another bout of convulsions hit me. It seemed to be that the sorrow was unending. Perhaps it was the stress of the past several months, or I had loved my father without realising it. Later, in the car, I continued to cry. My son put a conciliatory arm across my shoulders. The journey back to Kochi passed in a blur of tears.  

It has been a slow recovery ever since. Now and then, I think of him and I can feel the tears rise behind my eyelids. In the beginning, the tears rolled down my cheeks. Once, when my uncle called me from Chicago, I spoke calmly for a while, then I burst out crying. It was hard to accept that he would no longer be physically present any more.

A few weeks later, my wife and I donated all his clothes and other accessories to an old age home for poor men. I am sure my father would have been happy we had given his clothes to help others.

I called my childhood friend. My father had been a mentor to him. He began weeping.

When I thanked a cousin, he said, “You don’t understand. Your father was like a father to me. He helped me so much.” Another relative, in his mid-seventies, said, “You don’t know it, but your dad was a great man.” 

He helped start many careers by getting them jobs. Many thrived; they went up the ladder. They bought cars and houses, married well, and provided an excellent education for their children. Through careful savings, they built a tidy nest egg for retirement.

A few were grateful to my father.

Down the road, where we lived, was a person called Elias (name changed) who lived in Kolkata. Occasionally, my parents would have conversations with Elias. His wife had died of cancer and now he lived all alone, as his two sons lived abroad.

One day, he told me he would be forever grateful to my father. When he went to Kolkata for the first time, it was my father who helped him to settle down and got him his first job. When I told my father this, he could not recall this. 

A day after my father passed away, I got a WhatsApp message. A school classmate’s sister passed a message from her mother. ‘Very sorry to hear that Appachan had passed away. He was like an elder brother to us. Always ready to help.’

I am so proud of his legacy and his impact.

The backstory

In August, last year, my father had a series of minor strokes. It did not paralyse him, but his brain got damaged. His memory became spotty. Sometimes, the words that he spoke couldn’t be understood. Sometimes, he would struggle to say a word. But the word no longer existed in his brain. He shook his head and felt puzzled. 

I would watch him with a feeling of alarm within me.

Since my father suffered from an early stage of dementia, he could see people in spirit form. The doctor said it was hallucinations, but I believe science does not have all the answers. Many spirits came to visit him. He stared at the ceiling, sometimes at the corners of the walls, and he could see these people. Once, he told Shafi, his parents met him. His brother-in-law, who died in a bike accident when he was 24, came once. Then it was his business partner, TB Viswanathan. Sometimes, he expressed his inability to recognise who they were. He conveyed all this during his rare moments of clarity. Shafi said this was a common occurrence. 

Once, when I was sitting on a chair near his head, I saw his eyes bulge as he stared at the ceiling. Then he whispered, “Wonderful.” I wondered what he saw. But it was something that gave him pleasure. 

But steadily, my father’s body was breaking down. How this happens has been described brilliantly in the book, ‘How We Die’ by Sherwin Newland, an American surgeon who passed away in 2014. It was an international bestseller. I read this book several years ago. I told my sister about this book. So I bought it online and gave it to her.

Now and then we put up photos of him in family WhatsApp groups so that they could know what was happening. Many live in America and couldn’t visit because of the pandemic. In reply, we got emojis with hands joined in prayer, a flower bouquet, hearts or thumbs up. Those who live nearby came, smiled, touched him and said sweet things. My dad smiled when he was awake.

Otherwise, if he was sleeping, they stared at him, talking in a low voice to us.

My dad’s caregiver, Shafi, came to us by accident. A Hindu client had called the agency where he worked. But when they discovered he was a Muslim, they rejected him. (Oh God, will this bigotry ever end?)

And so he came to us. 

Shafi looked after my father well. He bathed him twice a day (this was my dad’s practice for decades), shaved him, brushed his teeth and put oil on his head. Sometimes, he massaged my dad’s head. And dad almost went off to sleep.

Shafi, even though he is only 34, has looked after over 20 end-of-life patients. He told me the end can be terrifying for onlookers and loved ones. He had seen patients whose heads had enlarged. Some patients shouted and screamed throughout the day and night. Others no longer had control over their bowel movements. The transition to the other world can be painful and horrifying. In the end, he said, wives and children have no option but to pray that the man of the house passes away. Love gets burned up in the agony of seeing their father/husband suffer.

But not all are physically present. There are many cases where the children are abroad. The father is alone with a caregiver. The mother has passed away. There are cameras in the rooms and the children are trying to monitor the activities from 8000 kms away. But there is nobody to say soothing words to the old man, caress his face, and talk to him lovingly. There is silence, the bored instructions of the caregiver, and emptiness.

Dynamic Dad

I had never seen my father lying on a bed. During his several decades in Kolkata, where we grew up, he got up early and moved about like a dynamo throughout the day. In 94 years, he would not have spent more than a month in a hospital. God blessed him with great health: no sugar, no diabetes, no blood pressure, and no cardiac problems.

What helped was a loving attitude towards people. He was always ready to help. He was a progressive long before the word came into fashion. At home, my father assisted my mother in the kitchen. He loved to iron clothes. Dad took out all the bed sheets and pillowcases and replaced them with freshly ironed ones. He made the morning cup of tea, and our breakfast, since my mother, a teacher, left by 8 a.m. I had my shoes polished by him. He edited a magazine and did an enormous amount of social work in the slums of Kolkata. Many visitors from Kerala stayed with us whenever they came to Calcutta.

My father had a business that did well. But he worked in an unusual manner. While he devoted the first half of the day to business, the second half was for social work.

My father was a liberal. He loved and respected people of all religions and castes. As a liberal parent, he never interfered with my life. He allowed me to listen to my inner voice. And I could discover my calling as a writer. Because of this, I have enjoyed every moment of my life. Rarely do I feel depressed about anything. Yes, owing to the pricks and pains of life, I felt negative now and then, against people and destiny, but the mood does not last for long. Overall, it has been a happy life. All because my father gave me the freedom to be myself. 

Now what?

I do not know.

Friends, whose parents have passed away, told me this is a lifelong wound. The pain will lessen, but it will always be there. My uncle told me, “You will meet your father, but only in your dreams.” Another friend said that when he goes through hard times, he prays to his parents for help. “Things get solved,” he said. “They are there to guide you.”

I stare at the room where he had spent so many months. The hospital bed has been dismantled and taken away. There is an emptiness. I remember when my father was lucid, he would always say, with a smile, when I stood next to the bed, “Please sit down.”

I look at his photo, his watch, his razor, his spectacles, and the medicine box, which has slots for tablets for morning, noon and night. On Sunday evenings, I would fill the box with the different tablets for the coming week.  

The memories come.

And tears rise in my eyes.

But here is a happy memory. When my father was about to be taken in for an MRI scan in the hospital, a day after his stroke, he was lying on a gurney. My sister stood next to him. I came in a few minutes later. 

My sister said, “Daddy, Shevlin has come.”

My father opened his eyes, gave such a beautiful smile, my sister couldn’t help but exclaim, “Oh, Daddy is so happy to see you.”

A cross-country love story

Kristina Semaskaite is probably the first Lithuanian to fall in love with a Malayali, Johnson Varghese. She plans to marry him

Photos: The happy couple; the singer Monika Linkyte

By Shevlin Sebastian

When friends of Kristina Semaskaite met, a few of them spoke about the beauty of Kerala. They told her it was a place she had to visit. So, when she planned a trip to India in January 2020, she added Kerala to her itinerary. In early February, she came to a homestay, run by a man called Sagar Raja, on the beach in Alappuzha (53 kms from Kochi).

Her first impressions confirmed what her friends had said. “It was so green,” she said. “Compared to other states in India, it was much cleaner. There was less chaos on the streets. The people were friendly, and helpful.”

What surprised Kristina was to see so many churches. “I did not know there were so many Christians,” said Kristina, who belongs to a country that is Catholic. “I didn’t notice so many churches in other parts of India. I liked the intermingling of the faiths, with the church, mosque and temple side by side.”

Within a day of her arrival, Kristina, 33, met Johnson Varghese, 34, who was also living in the homestay. He runs a cafe where he sells tea and snacks and also manages a guesthouse for tourists. They were introduced to each other and started chatting. Soon, they got on the wrong foot when Johnson asked Kristina about her plans for the future.

She said, “I would like to settle down, get married and have children.”

Johnson scoffed and said, “A European backpacker like you wants to have a family. I don’t believe you.”

Kristina said, “Yeah, yeah. Who are you to judge me?”

However, over the next few days, they realised they had some things in common. Both believed in doing social work and helping others. Both had worked on different projects. Johnson is a joint secretary of the Democratic Youth Federation of India (Alappuzha unit).

Johnson told Kristina about his charity work during the calamitous floods that hit Kerala in 2018. Many families fell into difficulty. He also protected animals. “That got me interested in him as a person,” she said. “I realised he cared for others. He has moral values.”

Kristina developed a liking for Johnson. It was the same for him. At the end of March, as Covid became even more rampant, Kristina left India on the very last flight. “We were only friends at that point,” she said.

They remained in telephonic contact. “We kept talking a lot,” she said. “I had plenty of free time because we were in a lockdown in Lithuania.” But Johnson was very busy, as he was providing much-needed rations to poor people.

At some point, both felt the need to meet again and find out whether their relationship could work. But they had to wait for several months.

In March, 2021, Nepal opened the doors for foreigners to visit the country. Kristina went there to do social work. She asked Johnson to come. He took a train and arrived soon after.

The project was to restore a dilapidated building of the Big Buddha National Academy. Popular Lithuanian singer Monika Linkyte was the spearhead. She received funds from donors in Europe, including Lithuania. “We painted walls and repaired floors,” said Kristina. “We got to know each other better. I could see how hard-working he was. I appreciated how respectful he was to the older people and the children, even though he could not speak the local language. Little by little, I fell in love.”

The turning point came on May 16, the last evening of the project. There was a barbecue on the terrace. Music was being played. The volunteers were chatting with each other.

At this moment, Johnson presented a ring to Kristina, who was sitting on the floor, and proposed.

In the event's video, Kristina burst out crying. Johnson, who was wearing a multi-coloured shirt and white dhoti, hugged her. He presented a small bouquet of daffodils. A volunteer played a guitar, while Monica sang her hit song, ‘Silkas’ (‘You are my silk’). Then Kristina hugged Johnson. Then she cried again. Johnson tried to soothe her by caressing her face. Finally, she said yes and hugged him. The onlookers clapped and shouted their approval. It was a silver ring with stones. “I liked it, because I am not fond of diamonds or gold,” she said.

She knows it will be a challenge to live in Kerala. “There is a language barrier,” she said. “In the area where I stay, in Alappuzha, few people know how to speak English. Sometimes I feel lonely.”

Of course, Kerala differs greatly from Lithuania. “Our country also has a lot of greenery, but our trees are different,” she said. “We have pines, birches, oaks and elms. There are many forests. But during the winter all the greenery is under a blanket of snow.”

The climate is different, too. In February, it is cold in Lithuania, while Kristina is perspiring in the heat and humidity of Kerala. “In Lithuania, winter ends in March,” she said. “There are four seasons of three months each: spring, summer, autumn and winter.”

Kristina finds the weather in Kerala hot in the middle of the day. “I love the mornings and the evenings, especially after sunset,” she said. “But in the afternoon, I feel lethargic. That usually never happens to me when I am back at home. I am very active and move around a lot.”

In a surprise, Kristina said she likes the spicy food of Kerala and enjoys fish curries. “I go to the local restaurants in Alappuzha and have no problems at all,” she said.

The traditional food in Lithuania comprises potatoes and meat. The national dish is the Cepelinai. It consists of grated potatoes, stuffed with meat, cheese or mushrooms. “During the long winter, vegetables were scarce,” said Kristina. “As a result, we would rely on potatoes as they last a long time. Pork and chicken make up the meat. The meat provided energy in the cold months. But things have changed in recent times. Plenty of international food is now available throughout the year in the supermarkets.”

The date for the wedding has not been set. They have applied for a civil marriage. The waiting period is from one to three months. “As for the ceremony in the church, we will wait till our parents and relatives will be able to travel to India,” she said.

Kristina’s father, Jouzas Semaskaa and mother Roma are both agricultural scientists. She has one younger brother, Paulius, who works in a German electronics company. Kristina belongs to a small town called Akademija, which is 160 kms from the capital of Vilnius.

Asked whether her parents had any problems about her impending marriage, Kristina said, “My parents are tolerant people. They felt that since I have travelled around the world, I might meet somebody with whom I would fall in love. My mom worried only about the cultural differences, and how it would pan out in the future. But other than that, my parents were very accepting.”

Unlike her parents Kristina is not inclined towards an academic career. She is passionate about travelling. She would work a bit and save the money to spend on travelling. So far, she has journeyed to over 80 countries on all the five continents. In most places, she did volunteer work, especially with children.

She says that people are the same all over. “Everybody wants to be happy, to love each other, and to have families,” she said. “The only difference is economic. The children in African countries have limited opportunities, while compared to youngsters in places like the USA and Europe. That is the singular difference.”

She has learnt not to discriminate against human beings based on their religion, culture, colour or dietary habits. “There are only good or bad people,” she said.

She has had a few unpleasant experiences like her luggage getting stolen or people trying to cheat her. But now she has developed an antenna to watch out for those who want to take advantage of her.

In Delhi, she went to a travel agency. They tried to sell a ticket, but when she checked the price on an app on her mobile, she realised they were charging ten times the actual amount.

As for the attitude of Johnson’s family towards her, Kristina said that when she met them for the first time at their home in Kottayam a month ago they were very welcoming. “They showed me a lot of love and kindness,” she said. “Since I don’t know how to speak Malayalam, Johnson helped with the translation.”

Kristina admits she may be the first Lithuanian who is planning to wed a Malayali. “I know of Lithuanians who have got married to Indians from other states,” she said. “I am sure there are Europeans who have married Malayalis.”

Kristina is keen to take Johnson to Lithuania so that he can understand her background. “It will help increase our understanding of each other,” she said.

(Published in news9live.com)

https://www.news9live.com/.../lithuania-to-kerala-a-cross...

Setting a fast pace

K Hari Kumar, at 33, has already published four books and written scripts for film and web series. His fifth, a horror novel, ‘Dakhma’ has just been published

By Shevlin Sebastian

In December, 2018, author K Hari Kumar travelled to Mumbai to do research on the 50 most haunted places in India. This later became the book, ‘India’s Most Haunted’. He went to Malabar Hill in South Mumbai. According to news reports, there have been 20 suicide cases at The Grand Paradi Towers since 1998. The eighth floor is the most haunted. Hari stood outside the building and looked up.

Then he crossed the street and stood on the road that led into the 54-acre forest area that houses the Parsi Tower of Silence. This is also called the Dakhma (Parsi for funerary tower). “It is a completely different world,” said Hari. “Because of the canopy formed by the trees, there is no direct sunlight hitting you. In the pin-drop silence, you can hear the birds chirping.”

While walking around, the idea for his horror novel, ‘Dakhma’ came to his mind. Later, Hari read about the disappearing vulture population. It affected the disposal of the bodies of the Parsis. In the community’s custom, the bodies are kept in the open for the vultures to peck at, till only the bones remain.

As for the female character Anahita, who has mental issues, in ‘Dakhma’, this happened to a close friend of his. He used a lot of what he saw first-hand to build up the fictional heroine.

The novel is about Anahita’s mental trials. She slips into hallucinations and recalls the trauma of her early childhood. She has a fraught relationship with her husband Varun Anand, a political strategist. He is busy trying to boost the public image of Abhinav, the nephew of Dayanand Deshmukh, the founder of the Maharashtra Nationalist Party.

Hari has a tight style. While the first half is a bit slow, it picks up pace in the second half. There are a lot of twists and turns, and it careens at high speed towards the climax. You can finish the book in two days’ flat.

This is his fifth book. Shristi Publishers brought out the first three, ‘When Strangers Meet’, ‘That Frequent Visitor’, and ‘The Other Side of Her’. “‘Strangers’ remains the highest selling book in my career so far,” said the 33-year-old.

Asked about the horror books that influenced him the most, Hari said it was Ira Levin’s ‘Rosemary’s Baby’. Hari paid tribute by naming one character in ‘Dakhma’ as Rosemary. An elderly lady, she lives next door to Anahita in flat 7D in Paradise Heights. He also likes ‘The Shining’ by Stephen King. “But Rosemary’s Baby is the Bible for me,” he said.

He is also a scriptwriter. He wrote the script of the film, ‘E’ (2017), and the web series ‘Bhram’ (2019).

Hari has his own creative process. “Before I begin a story, I need to know two things. Where do I start and how do I end it? Once I know that, I innovate as I move into the book.” But whenever he writes for a film or a web series, he relies on plotting from beginning to end. That’s because every episode needs to end with a cliff-hanger.

All his writing is done at night. He sits at his desk at 10 p.m and works till 2 or 3 a.m. It took him a year to write ‘Dakhma’. Since he was writing about the Parsis and their customs, he had to do accurate research. “The character Varun is based on a political strategist,” he said. “So I would study videos of people like them, and read about their strategies and campaigns. Nowadays, you get everything on the internet.”

The book was supposed to come out in October, 2020. However, Covid happened. The publisher released it on Halloween, 2021. But Hari took it as a God-send. He revised the manuscript at least 10 times in the interval. “[Film Director] Sangeet Sivan gave me this advice,” said Hari.

Sanjoy Nag, a national award-winning director, has picked up the film rights.

Hari got interested in the horror genre thanks to his grandmothers. Once a year, during the summer vacation, the family would travel from Delhi to his father’s home in Vellangallur, in Thrissur district in Kerala. While there, his grandmother Thankamani would tell him stories about ghosts and demons.

Hari’s mother belongs to Mangalore. So, his grandmother Sharada would tell ghost stories from that region. “These stories fired my imagination,” said Hari. His Tulu ancestors migrated to Kerala for better economic opportunities.

He is that rare specimen: a full-time writer. Hari said that because his books are being brought out by leading publishers and he has projects in Bollywood, it is not so difficult to survive. To be near Bollywood, Hari now stays in Pune with his engineer-wife Pooja.

And people have appreciated his work. During the shoot of the web series, ‘Bhram’, in July, 2019, before the lockdown, the main lead was Kalki Koechlin. The location was in Shimla. It was a daytime shoot in a forest.

As Kalki was discussing an upcoming scene with the director, she turned to Hari and said, “This is a very nice script.”

It was a moment of elation for Hari, since Kalki was someone whom he had idolised when he was in college. “She had been careful in choosing her roles,” he said. “Kalki wasn’t a mass actress. I always wanted to work with her.”

Asked about the influence of social media on the book reading culture, Hari said,

“There are many genuine reviewers on blogs and social media platforms like ‘Medium’ and ‘Quora’ that help new books reach a wider audience.”

But like everything on the net, there is a dark side.

Many poorly-written books are praised through paid reviews. Fake followers promote the book online. When ‘Dakhma’ got published, many reviewers got in touch with Hari. They said they would put up a review, which he should write, on their blog or website, for Rs 150. “This is happening all the time,” said Hari. “Many well-off corporates will pay Rs 15,000 for 100 reviews. They don’t care about the money. But when you check, the reviews are the same. It is a matter of copying and pasting.”

Some books on e-commerce sites have reached the bestseller lists through dubious means. “The readers might not realise it is a substandard book because of its bestseller tag,” said Hari. “Only perceptive readers will know the difference. But they are few in number.”

Meanwhile, Hari bemoaned the lack of interest in the horror genre in India today. “We need more readers,” he said. “Horror has got a bad name because people feel it is only about ghosts and demons.”

But Hari is breaking the mould. His ‘India’s Most Haunted’ is being published in Malayalam and will hit the shelves in March.

There was a moment of sadness for Hari recently when he heard that Amazon had closed down Westland Books. “I felt bad for the lesser-known writers, like the late rationalist Narendra Dabholkar,” he said. “My current book is based on my research on his works. Now his physical books won’t be available after March. The mid-list will go out of circulation. Authors will have one less publisher to submit their manuscripts.”

(Published in News9live.com)

(https://www.news9live.com/india/going-at-breakneck-speed-152332)

In the twilight zone

Former journalist Sooraj D Singh had a car accident. It rendered him mute and paralysed. On the 9th anniversary, his mother, Devi J.S., talks about her experiences as a care-giver

Photos: Sooraj D. Singh in his prime; with his mother Devi J.S.

By Shevlin Sebastian 

One of the first things that Malayalam writer Devi J.S. does on waking up is to take an artery forceps and put cotton between the blades. Thereafter, she will dip it in a small steel bowl which contains mouthwash. Following that, she rubs the cotton all over the teeth of her paralysed son, Sooraj. Because of a lack of use, the lower teeth have fallen to a horizontal position.

At 6 a.m., she gives Ensure protein powder in liquid form through a plastic tube; this runs through the nose into the stomach. She gives nine feeds at two-hour intervals. The food items include oats, ragi, fruit juice, Complan, boiled rice, and vegetable soup. He is fed 300 ml each time.   

At 8.30 a.m., the home nurse Annie and the physiotherapist Dinesh arrive. Dinesh massages all the areas of the body, turns Sooraj around, and thumps him on the back. Thereafter, Dinesh, with Devi and Annie in attendance, gives Sooraj a sponge bath using soap and water. After that, Dinesh rubs moisturisers and oil into the body. “We have to do this to prevent bedsores,” said Devi.

As a former colleague comes to visit, Devi said, “Sooraj, look who has come?”  

All Sooraj can do is blink his eyes, but there is no recognition. 

“To be honest, we don’t know what he feels,” said Devi. “He does not express anything. But the doctor says it may be possible that in some part of his mind, there could be consciousness.” 

There have been many instances when Sooraj has not recognised his mother. “He won’t smile at me,” he said. “Before the accident, he was a friendly boy. We were so close to each other.” 

But Sooraj reacts to physical pain. This happens whenever a health technician inserts a needle in the tip of his finger to take out blood for a test. Then he looks away from the needle. 

Sooraj was a journalist. He had worked in The Week magazine, as well as the Times of India. His luck ran out on January 5, 2013. 

At 8.45 p.m., Sooraj was crossing the road on National Highway 47, at Edappally, where he had gone to meet a friend, when a car hit him. An 85-year-old man, a retired college professor, Thomas, was the driver. By mistake, he pressed the accelerator instead of the brake. The car skidded and hit Sooraj at high speed. The 6’ tall Sooraj went up in the air, landed on the bonnet and shattered the windscreen. From there, Sooraj fell to the ground. He was profusely bleeding from bruises on his head. Blood also poured out from the nose and the ears. 

Thankfully, Thomas did not flee. He took Sooraj in his car to the nearby KIMS Hospital. He spent three months in the hospital. To get expert treatment, Devi, her daughter Resmi and son-in-law Sajai took him to the Christian Medical College in Vellore. Sooraj remained there for five months, but there was no change. The doctor’s prognosis: Sooraj had suffered severe brain damage and became paralysed. The family brought him back to KIMS Hospital. “When the doctors examined him, they said there was nothing more to do,” said Devi. “But they also said a miracle could happen at any time.” 

Since Thomas had insurance, the company had to pay the compensation. “My son-in-law Sajai and I had to go every day to the court,” said Devi. “It was a big strain for me. They would offer Rs 25 lakhs. We would say no and this bargaining for Sooraj’s life went on and on.”  

Finally, after five years, they received suitable compensation. Professor Thomas never came to see Sooraj after the accident. Nor did he offer any personal compensation even though his sons lived in the US. “He said he did not want to bother his sons,” said Devi. “But he promised to pray for Sooraj. However, I thought, ‘Prayers won’t pay my son’s bills’.”  

The monthly expenses come to Rs 70,000. “Whenever there is a lack of money, it comes from somewhere,” said Devi. "It could be a relative or one of Sooraj’s friends who would send money. God is looking after me.”  

Sooraj had health issues earlier. On September 13, 2004, Sooraj, who was 33 at that time, had an aneurysm (this is a bursting of an artery which results in internal bleeding in the brain). At Amrita Hospital, Sooraj underwent a craniotomy. This involved opening the skull and clipping the artery. After that, the skull and the skin are stitched back. Thankfully, he made a full recovery. 

Earlier, in 2001, he had an arranged marriage, and the couple had a son Anand. But problems soon cropped between husband and wife. When Sooraj was in the Amrita hospital, his wife returned to her parents’ home with her two-year-old son, Anand. She never returned. In 2010, the court granted an ex-parte divorce. Anand has never met his father for the past 17 years. 

For Devi, the breakdown of Sooraj’s marriage was a painful experience. Because, like Sooraj, she, too, lost her husband. She had to fend for herself and her children. Thankfully, she had a job as a section officer at Mahatma Gandhi University in Kottayam. Her parents also supported her and so she could raise her children comfortably.  

Nowadays, Devi advises girls that whatever situation arises in life, they should never resign from their jobs. All girls should have a job before they get married. “I tell this because anything can happen to a husband,” she said. “He might fall ill, he might die in an accident, or he might want a divorce. So, it is better to have your own income. Then you can support the family.” 

Devi also had her share of health problems. At 38, Devi suffered from the early stages of ovarian cancer. But prompt chemotherapy nipped it in the bud. But when she was 56, the cancer returned. Again, chemotherapy could stop it. 

It has been nine years since Devi began looking after her son full time. They live in a sixth-floor apartment in Kochi. On the second floor lives Resmi with Sajai and their two children. Near the house is the well-known Toc-H Public School. You can hear the announcements and the singing of the National Anthem over the public address system.  

Asked how she copes with the situation, she said, “I am positive minded. Whenever I am in front of Sooraj or anyone else I have a smile on my face. I don’t blame God for what has happened. I believe that one day Sooraj will sit up and talk to me.”

But Devi also admits that sometimes she loses her tranquillity. There are nights she cannot sleep because of one overriding thought. ‘What will happen when I die?’ she thinks, as she is 71. ‘Who will look after Sooraj? It will be a burden for my daughter.’

She will pace the floor of her bedroom, up and down, drink several glasses of water, but sleep does not come. She remains awake the entire night. 

On days she feels low, Devi distracts herself by watching films on Netflix or Amazon Prime at her daughter’s flat. Or she reads books by young Malayalam writers. When she gets into the mood, she writes something. She has published 14 novels and collections of short stories. Devi is also a columnist. 

When asked about his qualities as a person, his former male colleague, who did not wish to be named, said, “Sooraj was ebullient and fun-loving. He liked to have a good time. He had a wonderful laugh. Women liked him a lot. I remember once he brought a stunning woman, dressed in a black top and trousers, to the office. There was an easy camaraderie between them. Later, he told us she was a model.” 

Devi added, “When Sooraj worked in The Week in Kochi, he travelled every day from our home in Kottayam. Sometimes, at night, the train would be late. Worried parents would tell their daughters to ask Sooraj to drop them home.” 

A thought arises: can Sooraj access his memories? Or has he lost his sense of self? 

“Nobody can answer that question,” said Devi, with a sad shake of her head.

(Published in News9Live.com)