Made for Each Other

 

COLUMN: The Tunnel of Time 

JAGAT and ANITA NANJAPPA, the husband and wife team of motorbike rallyists, have consistently won national-level rallies for the past nine years. But, despite their stupendous achievement, they are unknown and unsung. This is the story of a couple who, with dedication and courage, have etched their names in Indian rallying history.

By Shevlin Sebastian, Coorg 

It was while sitting in photographer George Francis’ studio in Madras that the idea to do a story on the Nanjappas came. He showed me numerous colour negatives of shots that he had taken when he had gone for a three-day holiday to the Nanjappas’ plantation.

“My God,” I suddenly remembered. “This story has been pending for years. Whenever we go to Bangalore, Joy George of our office there used to urge us to visit the Nanjappas. But who wanted to go to Coorg? I mean, there was the hassle of taking a photographer along!”

“So you go now,” George said, immediately opening a small, white book which contained telephone numbers.

“The Nanjappas do not have a telephone,” he said, as he dialled a number. “The phone is in Anita’s mother’s place. She runs a school for infants.”

George got through, then introduced himself and later, me. When I came on the line Mrs Deviah was friendly and forthcoming. She said, “Do come. There is no problem at all. You will enjoy your stay here.”

“But Madam, what about accommodation?”

“Virajpet, the town closest to us, does not have good hotels,” she said, in a soft voice. “But don’t worry. You can come and stay with us. I have a spare cottage nearby.”

And so it was that I took the night train to Bangalore and from there, at the State bus terminus, I got into a luxury bus that sped off to Virajpet, 300 kms away. I reached Virajpet in the afternoon. From there, I took an autorickshaw to the Deviah Memorial Preparatory School in Bitangala. The house was set, at quite some distance from the road, amidst large trees and flowering plants. Mrs Deviah, on hearing the roar of the autorickshaw came out of the house. She was a woman in her late fifties, with silvery hair and a child-like face and wearing a white saree.

I introduced myself. Then we went into the drawing room. She brought me a glass of orange juice. Then she said, “I will send you to the empty cottage which is nearby. Jagat and Anita will come in the evening. They live on a plantation which is 15 kilometres away.”

A young girl, in slacks, picked up my duffle bag and we walked down a mud path for about ten minutes. Then we reached a whitewashed cottage, which was surrounded on all sides by tall, swaying casuarina trees. It was a beautiful setting — the deep, blue sky; in the distance, the rolling hills of Coorg; the fresh and pure air; the exhilarating silence.

At about 5 p.m., I heard the hum of a vehicle as it approached the cottage. There was a long driveway from the gate to the cottage. I peered through the window. A man was sitting behind the wheel of a red Matamobile. He came to a stop and sat inside for a while. I went out and introduced myself. He looked a little askance at my striped Bermuda shorts and red t-shirt. He seemed to have expected a more formal dressing.

But the first impression of Jagat Nanjappa was that he was very retiring. The words seemed to be stuck in his throat. The next impression was of his slimness. He seemed perfectly fit, wearing brown denim trousers and thick soled brown shoes. His wife ambled over, through the path on which I had walked earlier. She was slim and cute but there was a look of wariness on her face. I told her the truth: that I had no plans of doing this story when I set out from Calcutta. Then I told her about George Francis’ photographs.

Anita smiled suddenly. I could immediately sense that she was disarmed by my frankness. She said, “Come on, let’s go to Mother’s cottage and have tea.”

We sat in the drawing room, the windows opening out into the garden and we had tea, biscuits, cakes and sweets. Thereafter the interview started smoothly, as the sun began its daily journey into the bottom of the western horizon.

On when they started rallying

Jagat: I first got the idea in 1980. I saw the Karnataka rally which passed through Coorg. I compared the timings of the bikes on the regular route which I used to ride, on my way to college. I saw that I could easily match the timings of the rally riders. So, the very next year, I took part in the same rally. And I came fifth.

When did you have your first victory?
It was in 1985. We won the Coffee 500. Then, the next year, we won the South India rally. In the course of the past nine years, we must have had about 40 victories. But I can’t say this with certainty, since I don’t keep track at all.

What qualities does a rider need to be successful like you?
A rider should start very young. Then automatically, he learns balance. His body knows how to adjust to a bike. Because when you go at high speed, there is a sort of hammering. The whole body gets buffeted. So you have to learn to balance yourself on the bike. And this balance can only be learned if you start very young.

Secondly, there should be good preparation of the bike. It must be in top class condition. It should be finely tuned, so that the engine can perform at its best. You have to know how every mechanical part works and for what reason. Basically, you must know how to repair a bike on your own.

Thirdly, you have to have an excellent rapport with your navigator, who, in this case, is my wife Anita. Then you need to have pretty good mental and physical endurance. For example: if I make a mistake, as regards the route, I have learnt to be calm. By being calm, I avoid making more mistakes. This calmness is very necessary since we are performing under high stress and pressure. I have seen bikers, who, when they have a small accident, try to repair it on the spot and because they are not calm, they take longer to repair it. And inevitably, the job is not done properly.

Coming to another point, what is the reason for this fascination with speed? Some people like to go fast all the time.
It’s nice to have a feeling that you are the master of a vehicle. It’s sort of having a sense of power. There is also a sort of freedom. When you are on a bike, you are away from life’s hassles and tensions. There is just you and your bike and you can ride like the wind.

Is there a connection between bike and rider? Pesi Shroff talks about a non-verbal connection between horse and jockey. Can there be such a connection with a lifeless thing as a motorbike?
Yes, there is a connection.

But a bike is an inanimate object. How can there be a connection?
I don’t know. Somehow, you feel it. By tinkering with the machine, by fine-tuning it so well, you give it life. I even talk to my bike, especially after it has done well! I tap it and say, “Good show, boy!” I congratulate it after a win. Because, for me, a bike is alive, it’s got a mind of its own. It can throw you off, when it does not like the way you have ridden it. There is a sort of communication between the bike and me and it responds all the time.

Do you practise every day?
I ride every day. And whenever I ride, I always go very fast. So that is the practice for me. I have noticed that whenever I ride slowly, I tend to make mistakes. Because when I go fast, I concentrate better.

You mean, a high level of concentration is synonymous with speed?
Yes. As I begin to go faster and faster, everything becomes razor sharp. For example: my hearing becomes very sharp. I listen to the sound of the engine, to know if everything is working smoothly. So then I know whether I can rev it higher or whether I need to slow it down a bit. Then my eyesight becomes keener because I don’t want to crash into anything.

Do you notice the scenery at all?
No, it just passes by me.

What, if a pretty woman walks down the road?
(Smiles): I will see her in my peripheral vision. But I am going much too fast to really appreciate her!

On the husband and wife partnership

When did Anita join you?
In 1981. At that time, we were not married. We married in 1982. I met Anita in Coorg, at a cousin’s wedding. She was studying in a boarding school in Ooty and had come down for the holidays. We are related in a way. Anita’s mother is my first cousin. So, in a way, I have married somebody like my daughter!

Anita, when you started out, did you have any idea of navigation?
I had no idea at all. I had no idea of bikes before I met Jagat. But he explained to me the basic things and then I picked up as we went along. I remember, in the first rally, I made plenty of minor mistakes but it didn’t matter at all. The rally was 36 hours long. And it finally extended to 42 hours. So, it was one of endurance. So even if we wandered off and went down a wrong route, we could come back and correct ourselves. In those early days, things were very different. It was of a short duration, almost like a sprint.

Jagat, you mentioned earlier, that …
… you should have confidence in the navigator. For example: if the bike has a fall, the navigator should be strong enough to get up quickly and start again. Or if the navigator makes a mistake and we go down a wrong route, then try to correct ourselves, instead of wasting time in recriminations.

Normally married people try to do different things, to have a sense of space. You don’t have that problem of being together for 24 hours?
I am not always with my wife. When I have to repair my bike, I have to go to Coimbatore or Bangalore. So I am gone for a few days. Then I get the break I need. It’s not 24 hours at all.

But in a rally, you are always together. Then, don’t you grate on each other’s nerves?
In the initial years, yes. Because we were new to rallying and we did not have the necessary confidence and experience. We were still learning. The co-ordination was not there. But now, we have a keen idea of each other’s movements. The mental understanding is much deeper and so everything goes smoothly.

What qualities do you find in Anita that eggs you on?
Anita has got a fantastic memory. For example: she can memorise most parts of the rally chart, so that she can tell what is coming next on the road, almost by memory. That is a very important quality. So, in spite of being bumped about and not being able to read the rally chart properly, she can still give directions through the strength of her memory.

Then she gives good directions on how to improve the functioning of the bike. We have been together for so many years, doing the same thing, so she has a good idea of what sort of bike we need.

Then what other qualities?
If we have a toss, she will always pull me up and say, “Come on, we’ve got lots to do.” When I would think, “Enough, no point in carrying on.”

You tend to give up earlier than Anita?
Yes, I tend to do so.

Are tosses a regular occurrence in rallies?
In every rally, you can expect at least one toss. And sometimes, it has been dangerous. There were times when I was injured badly. It is very difficult to ride a rally without falling off. Because most of the terrain is through dirt roads.

The next day…

The next day, on the dot of eleven, Jagat zoomed in, in his Matamobile. The car’s engine was in such perfect tuning that there was no noise at all. It was like a silent ghost. He was dressed in the same manner as yesterday — white shirt, tucked into light brown denim trousers and thick brown shoes. I got into the car and we turned around and moved off. The drive was smooth and easy. The road to the town was deserted and silent. It was no wonder how Jagat learned to drive fast. On these roads, you could go on for quite a while before you encountered a vehicle.

We reached Virajpet and there was the astonishing sight of Jagat saying ‘Hi’ to so many people. Most of them were in Maruti vans or jeeps or bikes.

“How come you know so many people?” I asked. 

“The Coorgis are a small community,” he said. “So everybody knows everybody else.”

Here, all the plantations were owned by the Coorgis while all the shops and the businesses were owned by Keralites. After all, Kerala was less than 100 kms away.

He stopped in front of a liquor shop. 

“What would you like to drink?” he asked. 

I did not know what to reply, as I was not much of a drinker. 

“You could have some beer,” he said, smiling slightly. 

“Well I could give you some company,” I replied.

He laughed sardonically as he got out of the vehicle and said, “That’s what everybody says.” He went into the shop and within a couple of minutes, he returned with a case of beer. He put it into the back and got in. He inserted a cassette into the car stereo — that perennial classic — ‘Country Roads’ by John Denver.

We started again and now we were climbing a hill. We went further and further away from the town. It became beautifully silent except for John Denver’s dulcet tone. There was greenery all around.

“If you look hard, you will see different shades of green,” he said. And true enough, there were a variety of different shades of green. One tree had one colour of green leaves; another, a different shade altogether.

Then Jagat stopped the car and pointed at a small, bright pink polythene packet lying on the side of the road. 

“Don’t you think,” he said, as he lit a cigarette, “that this packet is an eyesore?”

And again, astonishingly, what he said was true. It was indeed an eyesore. He started the car and now, we moved away from the road onto a yellow dirt road. We drove on for fifteen more minutes before we reached the house, which was on a lower level than the road. 

Jagat cut the engine and we rolled down the slope. He parked the vehicle to the left of the porch. It was a sprawling house with a red tiled roof. Anita came out. She was dressed in a white t-shirt and black denim trousers. She was also wearing sneakers.

She smiled. She looked cute when she smiled.

We went into the drawing room. The dogs were barking like mad. Jagat told them to shut up. Inside, there was a coir carpet on the floor and the chairs and sofas were made of coir threads. At one corner, on a low table, there were a few trophies. Nice taste. Simple, yet elegant. Anita went into the kitchen and returned with glasses of iced watermelon juice. I took out the dictaphone and we started talking once again.

What rallying is all about 

What are the formalities for taking part in a rally?
First, we fill up the entry form along with two passport-size photographs. You are supposed to have a competition licence. This is different from the normal licence. This is issued by the Motor Sports Federation (FMSCI) and it is valid for a year. The navigator should have a passenger licence. 

Then a day before the event, the officials scrutinise the bike. They find out whether it is eligible for that particular class; whether the safety standards are okay. Then we have to produce a medical certificate, stating that we are physically okay. You have to mention the blood group. In the evening before the competition, there is a compulsory briefing by the organisers. They tell you where to be careful, what you should do. Then they brief you about the rules.

How is a rally conducted?
There are two stages. One is called the competitive stage and the other is called the transport stage. This always alternates, from one to the other. The transport stage is when we go from one competitive stage to the other. This is usually through city roads clogged with traffic.

The competitive stage is where the actual competition takes place. The organisers normally try to find deserted sections for this part of the rally. Usually, the rallies start in the city and we have a speed of about 30 km/h. So, you are not allowed to overspeed through cities. You are also not supposed to go early to a time control. If you go early, for every minute, a penalty point is given. And it is the same for reaching late. After the transport stage, in the competitive stage, the speeds are usually unattainable.

That means?
They will give you speeds which you will find are very difficult to attain, because of the terrain. Now the maximum is 110 km/h.

What happens if you cross the speed limit?
In a competitive stage, it is just not possible to attain these speeds. Because the terrain is usually very rough, and they are normally dirt roads. But if it is a tarmac road, there is a chance. But even that becomes difficult, because the road is rarely straight.

What then is the idea of having an unattainable speed?
To give points to those who can reach the closest. If you have an attainable speed, then everyone will reach the time control, and so, there is no competition at all. Generally, the person with the least penalty points wins.

Do people cheat in these rallies?
Sure! They try to put in parts that are not allowed by the organisers. The reason is that they want to win desperately. Because if they win, they will get sponsorships and then they can earn more money. But inevitably, they get caught.

Is there a chance of them not getting caught?
That’s very rare. Maybe, you can escape in one rally, but you will get caught in the next one. Because the checking is very strict. Although these riders are very smart. Just before they finish, they put back the old parts, so when the checking is done after the rally is over, everything is in order.

On sponsorship and its problems

Jagat, how much does it cost to take part in a rally?
Till recently, we had MRF as our sponsor. So, for them, it cost between Rs. 75,000–85,000 per rally.

How is the money given?
They give some money for preparation costs. So, you can spend all your money on the preparation costs or save some of it. It comes to about Rs. 25,000. Then they pay for your accommodation, your travel, the charges for the service team.

Did MRF pay you extra for wearing their logos?
No, this is included in the Rs. 80,000 total contract that we sign. However, if we win a MRF sponsored rally, we get a bonus of Rs. 25,000. Incidentally, after the initial payment, I do the spending for the rest of the season.

How much would you spend in a season?
I would spend about Rs. 40,000 for a rally. So I end up spending close to Rs. 3 lakhs in a season. And if the bills are cleared after a year then it’s almost like a bonus to me. For example: I have not had my 1992 bills cleared so far. We stay in all those fancy five-star hotels, but we are getting nothing and people don’t know about it. We are now thinking of financing our own races. We know that, if we are careful, we do it cheaply. You know, instead of staying in a hotel, we can stay with somebody.

How about getting some more sponsors?
In India, to get a sponsor, it is better to meet them personally. Then there is a chance to get something. But we live so far away. The sponsors live in cities like Bombay, Madras, or Delhi. It is just not possible for us to visit them often. It’s also not possible to run for sponsors and do top-class competition at the same time. Abroad, the case is different. There are agents who will do this work for you, in return for a commission. But here, we have nothing like that, although we have got feelers from Sunil Gavaskar’s Professional Management Group.

Just out of curiosity: how much would your average income from rallying be, in a particular year?
It depends on the victories. There are about six rallies in a year, spread over 12 months. I earn about Rs. 1 1/2 lakhs a year as profit. But the pressure is on me to win.

The plantation life and the big ride

We went out to the porch and sat on low stools. Anita brought the beer, frothy and cold, in large glass mugs. We sipped and I looked around. This place, like the cottage where I am staying, was beautiful: coconut trees in the distance; paddy fields; coffee bushes for miles together; guava and orange trees.

“How big is this plantation?” I asked Jagat. 

“About 75 acres,” he replied, as he gulped down a deep draught of beer and wiped his lips with the back of his right wrist. “But this is a small plantation. People own 200–300 acres on an average. So I call myself a small landowner.”

“Actually,” Anita added, leaning against the doorway, “our plantation is neglected. Since we are rallying so much, we are rarely here to look after it properly. For example, now is the time for sprinkling water on the coffee plants. But we do it two or three times only. We are off on some rally or the other. It’s not possible to do both: look after the plantation and rally at the same time. Because plantation work is a full-time business.”

“Then who looks after the place when you are gone?” I said. 

“Thankfully, we have more or less honest servants,” Anita replied, as she poured more beer into Jagat’s mug. “We have an old man, called Chellappa, who has been here since Jagat was a kid. They are honest people and keep a sharp eye. But these servants are disappointed with me. They feel that I am not the ideal bahu. This house belongs to Jagat’s grandmother and Chellappa comes from there. He is always comparing me with the grandmother and says that I have a lot to learn.”

Jagat gave Anita a mocking grin. Anita twisted her lips in a grimace.

We went into the drawing room.

Then she sighed and said, “Let’s go in for lunch…”

The dining room was in the middle of the house. Instead of walls, there was wire netting all around. You could see the sky from the dining table. Lunch was simple: rice, chicken curry, cabbage, mango pickle and pappad, eaten in silence. Jagat’s eyes were slightly red now. He got quieter and quieter.

After lunch, he said, “Would you like to sleep for a while?” 

“I don’t mind,” I said. It was clear from his question that he wanted to sleep. The beers were having their effect.

Anita took me to a spare bedroom. Because of the high ceiling, the room was exceptionally cool. There was a bookcase there and as I looked at it, she said, “I am an avid reader. Here, there is nothing else that you can do. We have no entertainment, no TV and so reading is the only thing that I do.”

“Who is your favourite author?” I asked. 

“At present, I am reading Roald Dahl,” she said, as she held the thick Penguin paperback. “He is very good. His trick endings, the suspense is superb.”

Anita left; I drifted off into a deep, pleasant sleep…

In the evening, Jagat and I sat on the porch drinking cups of tea. Anita was watering rose bushes with a hose. Then she turned to Jagat and said, “Why don’t you take our friend for a bike ride?”

Jagat was not in the mood, but he was too polite to say no. We finished our tea and then he took out his 350 cc Rajdoot bike from the garage.

I got on at the back and instantly, he zoomed up the dirt road. Then quickly, he began to speed down the road, and the lack of a silencer, created a loud, throbbing sound. He leaned forward, and you noticed it instantly, he had such a sure feel of the bike. We hurtled down the dirt road, my body felt the jerks so keenly, but for Jagat, it was just another day at the office.

We reached the tarred main road and then without any warning, Jagat increased the speed dramatically. It was one of the more frightening moments of my life. We began to go faster and faster. The scenery began to blur. The wind hit me with enormous force and my eyes narrowed to thin slits. I gripped the rod at the back with both my hands, but still, I was almost lifted off the bike. My heart started to thud like crazy. I wanted to shout, “Please stop, please stop”, but that would be a shameful thing to say. Jagat went faster and faster. The roar of the bike was huge, throbbing and menacing. 

And just when I felt that this was the end of the world, he suddenly slowed down. From tremendous speed, quickly down to the speed of a tortoise. What a topsy-turvy contrast. He looked back, tears streaming down his face and said, “That was140 km/h. Actually, this bike is in very poor condition. Because I can do 160 km/h on it.” I nodded and thought to myself: ‘Thank God for screwed-up bikes.’

I exhaled through my mouth audibly. Jagat smiled sardonically, as he saw the shock in my eyes. Then he turned the bike around and again, without warning, he went to full speed once again. This time, I was totally terrified. I closed my eyes tightly and held on for dear life. Again, I felt that I was about to be blown off. I opened my eyes and saw a lorry whiz past us. ‘How did Jagat manage to avoid it,’ I think, ‘especially since the road is full of curves.’

Then, as suddenly, Jagat slowed down once again and I felt that I had stepped back from the abyss. This was too much for a guy who rides a bike at 40 km/h in the overcrowded streets of Calcutta. Slowly, ragged nerves began to calm down as now we drifted down the dirt road back to the house. As we slid down the slope and came to a stop, Anita immediately said, “Jagat, there’s something wrong with the engine. It’s not sounding right.”

Jagat acknowledged it with a nod of his head and said, “It needs a complete overhaul. But I think it is time to buy a new bike. I have heard that Karivardhan has a 350 to sell. Let’s see if I can get it.”

It was peaceful and quiet. The sun had begun to set. I inhaled deeply the fresh air. I wished I could live in a place like this. Away from the pollution, the noise, the overcrowdedness and the sheer stress of living in a cramped city like Calcutta. But, for them, they had taken all these things for granted — this fresh air, this silence, this privacy. Jagat was tinkering with the bike. Anita stood nearby with her dog Lizzie in her arms, looking at Jagat and the conversation started once again.

Anita on Jagat and other matters

Tell us something about Jagat the man, not the rally rider.
He is very understanding and sensitive. Jagat is a man who doesn’t talk too much. Most of the time, he is silent. If you ask him to express himself, it is very difficult for him. Most of the time, he is quiet. He does not like meeting other people. He is a bit of a loner. The only people Jagat likes to meet are other rally drivers. I suppose he can relate to them in some way. Here in Coorg, we keep to ourselves. This is because he has hardly anyone to talk to, on his wavelength. Both of us don’t mind staying at home the whole day, relaxing in each other’s company.

Photographer George Francis said that you are not planning to have any kids. Is this true?
Yes. We discussed all this before we got married. I felt that a kid would hamper our rallying career. Although when I started rallying, this was not such a firm thing. But now, kids will take too much of our time and energy. Also, I have never been a maternal sort of person, although I love other people’s children. I love my sister’s children. But when I see people having so much trouble with their children, I am glad that I do not have a child.

How old are you now?
I am 30 and Jagat is 33.

On the poor media coverage

Jagat: One of the reasons why the sport has not gained in popularity is because of the way it has been covered by the media so far. Because abroad, the coverage is always excellent, with their superb camera angles. They have cameras in the car, on the bikes focusing on the driver’s face. They even show how a suspension works through the help of a camera. 

In India, the camera is placed somewhere far away, and we are shown a distant shot of a Gypsy speeding through. The camera man shows lots of scenery and just a small car in the distance. The focus is not on the car at all, or how the driver is encountering the dangers and all that. They just say that this is car no. 33 and then they rattle off something like, “Driven by so-and-so.” Meanwhile, the car has whizzed past and gone out of sight.

At night, after dinner, they dropped me back to the cottage, which is 15 kms away. Jagat again drove with that easy, languid control of his. Anita talked about holding a rally in Coorg, with both of them being the organisers. It was utterly dark all around; there were no street lights at all. The road was lit by the steady light of the vehicle.

At the cottage gate, I got out. The only natural light was from a sliver of moon in the sky. I said goodbye in the reflected light of the headlights and both of them said, with deep warmth, “Next time, when you come, don’t come officially. Come for a holiday. You are always welcome.”

Then Jagat turned the car around, and pressed the accelerator. I stood at the gate and watched as the red taillights were finally devoured by the darkness all around. Jagat and Anita Nanjappa, husband and wife, testing the limits of speed and endurance and courage in their chosen profession and winning regularly.

They are stupendous achievers in a sport that tragically is not a popular one. Hence, they are almost unknown, virtual strangers, in the consciousness of the average sporting person.

But that does not bother them much. Because for them, more than adulation or money, the ultimate kick is to always live their lives on the razor’s edge.

(Published in Sportsworld, April 20, 1994) 

Photographer George Francis, the doyen of motorsports photographers, passed away on April 11, 2019, aged 58, at Chennai.