By Shevlin Sebastian
Sethu Das, founder of the Friends of Tibet Foundation, sent me a photograph on WhatsApp. It was of me interviewing Tushar Gandhi, the great grandson of Mahatma Gandhi. As I gazed at the image, my thoughts went back decades.
One day, at 9 am, in the 1980s, I interviewed Edmund Hillary, the first man to climb Mount Everest. This was in the dining hall of the Sinclairs Hotel in Darjeeling. Sitting next to him was his second wife Jane, looking tall but nowhere near Hillary’s height of 6 feet 5 inches.
Hillary’s first wife Louise and daughter Belinda died in a plane crash near Kathmandu on March 31, 1975. It was a tragedy from which Hillary never completely recovered.
Like I did with Tushar, I pointed a dictaphone at Hillary. During interviews, I always hold the dictaphone up, instead of placing it on the sofa or at a table nearby. I fear that otherwise, I will not get good audio reception.
I also lean forward and encroach on the other’s space. With men, it is fine. But with women, I always say, “Madam, I am sorry I have to come closer, because of the dictaphone.” Thereafter, the women are fine.
One benefit of holding the dictaphone is that I can always check whether the red light, which shows a recording is taking place, is flashing. In a few interviews over the years, I have forgotten to press on the recording button. But within minutes, I can detect the mistake. Then I press the button, offer my apologies, and restart the interview from the beginning.
Today, I keep the same habits from three decades ago.
To prepare for my interview with Hillary, I went to the library of Ananda Bazar Publications (ABP) at Kolkata and asked for the clippings file on him. I was working for Sportsworld magazine, an ABP publication.
This was during the pre-Internet era. So I read up all that I could about Hillary. And then as I prepared the questions, I asked myself this question: ‘What is it I want to know?’
In Hilary’s case, I realised I wanted to know whether he was aware of death during his ascent to the peak of Mount Everest. When I put this question to Hillary, his eyes widened. This was not something he was expecting a young man to ask.
This was what he replied: “I was frightened. I knew one mistake would result in me plunging to my death. So, the triumph is not only over the mountain, but over all the fears and anxieties that are raging inside you.”
It was a memorable answer.
For Tushar, it was a simple decision about what I wanted to know. The state of India at present. But this was what most people, especially liberals like me, would ask him. But as I did my research on Tushar, I came across an interesting item.
The police had detained him on August 9. He was about to take part in the Quit India celebration at Kranti Maidan in Mumbai. I wondered what it would be like when the police detained you. So, I asked him about this experience in depth. And that became the beginning of my article.
After the interviews, the process was the same. I would transcribe the conversation, make it an article, and file it. And the years went by with no major hiccups.
Except once.
In July, 2009, I travelled to Mundur, near Thrissur to do an interview with Kathakali legend Kalamandalam Gopi. This was for my column, ‘Turning Points in Life’ for the ‘New Indian Express’. I had an enjoyable meeting with him.
I returned to Kochi by train, rucksack on my back, and took a bus to the office. Although there was no seating space, there were few standing passengers. When I got down, something prompted me to check the pocket of the rucksack. And the unthinkable had happened. A pickpocket had filched the dictaphone. It was the first time I experienced the meaning of the term, pole-axed. Something similar would be to have a hollow feeling at the pit of my stomach. Or rather, I felt I had no stomach. ‘How did it happen when the bus was not crowded?’ I asked myself.
I did not know how I would write the article. I was so dependent on the dictaphone that I hardly remembered the conversation. Through a crime reporter colleague, I filed a police complaint. But, of course, nothing happened. Why should cops bother about a lowly scribe and his silly dictaphone?
So, this is what I did. The first half of the article was a mood piece about my encounter with the maestro and his wife inside the house.
Here it is:
‘At Mundur, near Thrissur, Kathakali legend Kalamandalam Gopi welcomes me with a smile to his home, ‘Guru Kripa’. He is wearing a maroon shirt and white mundu.
We settle down on a sofa and soon the interview begins. About twenty minutes into the conversation I tell him I am unable to follow what he has said. Irritated, Gopiyasan says, “There is nothing more I have to say. I have a sore throat and feel tired.”
It is at this delicate moment that I mention the name of my former colleague, Sreevalsan Menon, a passionate Kathakali fan. He has known Gopiyasan from his childhood.
A few weeks ago, Sreevalsan sent me a wake-up SMS at 4.45 a.m. He was keen to introduce a neophyte like me to the power and magic of kathakali.
There is a Gopiyasan dance being telecast at 5 a.m. And so, with sleep-laden eyes and a stiff body, I switch on the television.
For the next one hour Sreevalsan is on the mobile phone explaining every nuance, mudra, gesture and facial expression. Thanks to this class I am able to appreciate Gopiyasan’s genius.
When Gopiyasan hears this anecdote, he bursts out laughing. His equilibrium restored, the interview resumes once again. He talks with an infectious enthusiasm and joy, and poses for photographs, with his dazzling smile. And so, it is with a grateful shake of his hand that I take his leave and return.’
For the second half, I tried to recall whatever I could. Then I took some material from Wikipedia and completed the article.
As for the thief, I think about him even today. Was he able to sell the dictaphone? It was an old one. How much would he have got for it? It is now 13 years since the theft happened. Is he still getting on buses and stealing from unsuspecting passengers? He could be married now, with children. What would the children think of him, if they come to know their father is a pickpocket?
And one day, surely, his luck would run out, as alert passengers might catch him in the act and get him arrested. Has he spent time in jail? Did he have moments when he felt he should leave thieving and try something respectful? Who knows?
People make choices and pay the price for it. The dictaphone has probably outlived its usefulness and must be lying on some trash heap.
That is life. We do things to survive and if the actions are positive, there are no repercussions.
At the end of the interview with Tushar, as if on cue, the waiter arrived. He had a look of awe on his face. ‘The Mahatma’s mystique remains,’ I thought.
The waiter served black coffee and banana fritters. We ate and drank and talked about a variety of subjects including his recent chat with Uddhav Thackeray, the former Chief Minister of Maharashtra.
I felt thankful when I bid goodbye. Thanks to my work as a journalist, I have interacted with so many well-known people. Many of them were high-achievers. Some were geniuses. All pulsated with vibrant energy and infectious enthusiasm. Every day was a joy and a miracle for them.
As for me, the excitement of journalism has not waned. I know of reporters, who have been on a daily deadline for decades, who have burnt out. I may have escaped that fate because I was in feature writing all along. I managed to avoid doing hack work, which can be soul-sapping.
And I thank God for that.
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