Kochi couple makes first-ever Hindi song on ISRO

By Shevlin Sebastian

From the time Joffy Jose was a child, growing up in Guruvayur, he has been fascinated by the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO). “I would read up about ISRO all the time,” says Joffy, who has studied only till Class 10. Following his marriage to Mollywood playback singer Liji Francis, Joffy came up with the idea of doing a song about ISRO.

The music video, a Hindi song by Liji, showcases the major achievements of ISRO, like the launch of the first satellite, Aryabhata, the first mission to the Moon – Chandrayaan-1, as well as the Mars Orbiter Mission (Mangalayaan).

The song, which has been written by lyricist V. Mahadevan, begins like this:

Theree Kasam

Aan Aur Shaan Hum Laayenge

Maa Theree Kasam

Roshan Karenge Theree Naam.

Aasmaan Ko Chuenge

Thaaraon Se Milenge

Aan Aur Shaan Hum Laayenge

(Promise on you

We shall bring pride and prestige

Mother India

Promise on you.

Your name will be made brighter

We shall touch the skies

Meet with the stars

We shall bring pride and prestige)

The couple's four-year-old daughter, Velga, runs aloft with an Indian flag in the five-minute video. The others who were involved are Mollywood personnel Binu Parameshwaram (camera), Philip Jaykumar (music), Rathyush Ramachandran (technical advisor) and Abdul Jabbar (editing/direction).

“They asked for little,” says the Kochi-based Joffy, who runs Gulf Tech, an electrical and home appliance maintenance firm. “In fact, they were keen to be part of the project.” Overall, Joffy and Liji had to spend Rs 3 lakh.

“I don't have a problem with the cost,” says Liji. “The idea is very interesting. I believe it will appeal to young and old alike. This is the first song ever on ISRO.”

The couple showed the video to Thrikkakara MLA Benny Behanan, who liked it. He then arranged for Chief Minister Oommen Chandy to view it at Cliff House, Thiruvananthapuram. Later, the CM agreed to release it, provided there is an all-clear by ISRO. So, the couple went to Bangalore and met the then Chairman K. Radhakrishnan last year.

“Radhakrishnan Sir also liked the song,” says Joffy. “But he said he would prefer images of him to be replaced by team pics.”

Joffy and Liji felt encouraged. There were a few exchanges of e-mails. But once Radhakrishnan retired on December 31, 2014, there has been no response from ISRO. After a seven-month lull, Joffy is now planning to petition Prime Minister Narendra Modi to release it. 

(The New Indian Express, Kerala editions) 

The Sound of Love

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn

Jesna Joy talks about life with the ace musician Stephen Devassy

By Shevlin Sebastian

When Jesna Joy's father told her that there was a proposal from Stephen Devassy's family, she was not very keen. She had just completed her B. Tech from Kumaraguru College of Technology, Coimbatore, and was planning to go for higher studies abroad. “Dad found it difficult to say no because we are close family friends,” says Jesna. “So he told me to meet Stephen. And if I did not like him, then we could leave it.”

At that time, Jesna was staying with her parents in Dubai. The day before Stephen was supposed to come and meet her, she prayed to God. At the end, she said, “If we are supposed to be together, please make Stephen wear a white shirt and blue jeans.”

The next day, they met at a cafe at the Dubai Festival City. While Jesna came with her parents, Stephen was accompanied by his elder brother Sam. They had flown in from Chennai.

But the moment Jesna saw Stephen, she got a shock. Stephen was wearing a white shirt and blue jeans. “That was a turning point for me,” says Jesna. “I realised that this was a sign from God.”

Four days later, she gave her assent to the marriage. The wedding took place, on November 16, 2010, at the Indian Pentecostal church at Ottappalam. And at the wedding reception, Jesna remembers, celebrity musician Shivamani came to the stage, raised his hands, and blessed the couple.

One day later, she was in Delhi because Stephen was performing in a show in honour of the Dalai Lama. It was the first time Jesna was seeing her husband play at a concert. “There is no doubt that Stephen has a God-gifted talent,” she says. Jesna also met celebrities like Mahesh Bhatt and Rani Mukherjee. “I was in awe,” she says. “I was thinking, 'From where to where God has taken me. I had been getting prepared for something else in life'.”

After the show, Stephen and Jesna met the Dalai Lama. “He told Stephen that he liked his way of playing Western fusion, and blessed him,” says Jesna.

Today, the couple lives in Mumbai with their five-month old son, Shawn. Asked to list Stephen's plus points, Jesna says, “He is a very loving person and always buys me gifts.” After his last international trip, to the USA, last month, Stephen presented Jesna with a bag which contained an I Phone, a perfume called One Million, a Michael Kors watch, sandals and handbags.

As soon as he returns home, after a long tour, he takes the family out for dinner, “That is because I am a foodie,” says Jesna, with a smile.

And because Jesna loves travelling, Stephen has taken her to many places – the USA, Singapore, Malaysia, Germany, Spain, Austria and Switzerland. Their last trip was to Rio Di Janeiro in Brazil. “It was a breath-taking experience to see the Chris The Redeemer statue [located at the top of the Corcovado Mountain],” says Jesna. “We also spent time on the beautiful Copacabana beach. The Brazilian people are friendly and outgoing.”

Stephen is also outgoing as a father. “He loves to spend time with Shawn,” says Jesna. “In fact, he is sometimes amazed that he has become a father.”

Despite this deep affection for their child, Jesna is frank enough to say that music is Stephen's first love. “Stephen has been in love with music for as long as he can remember,” says Jesna. “He has been in the profession for 18 years, while I came into his life only four-and-a-half years ago.”

Asked about his negative traits, Jesna says, “Like any artiste, Stephen has mood swings. He gets upset and angry very suddenly. He can also get excited and happy very quickly. I have got used to it. I can see his mood changes on his face. At heart, he is a child. And I try to give him the space he needs.”

Stephen needs the space because he does a lot of the composing in a small studio at his home. He works late into the night. “But he tries to wake up by 9 a.m.,” says Jesna. “After breakfast, he spends some time with us. Then he goes to his studio to do some work. 

Thereafter, he works out at a nearby gym. He is careful about his health. In the evenings also, he does gym work. And he keeps a sharp watch on what he eats.” However, for the major part of the month, Stephen is travelling, for performances, so Jesna has learnt to manage the home on her own.

Finally, when asked to give tips for a successful marriage, Jesna says, “In every marriage you have to give it some time. In the initial months, it can be very tough, but you have to be patient. You should stay together no matter what happens. I believe that nothing can work out without the help of prayer. Human beings have limits. So you need to rely on a limitless divine power. It is also good to remember that, at all times, God is with us.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

Birdwoman!

Artist Sreeja Kalappurakkal pastes the feathers of birds onto her paintings. The effect is charming and attractive

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photos by Ratheesh Sundaram

In the 1980s, Excise Inspector Vijay Kumar would go in search of bootleg smugglers in the Nilambur Forests of Kerala. During his work, he would also have an assignment given by his eight-year-old daughter Sreeja Kalappurakkal. Vijay had to collect the fallen feathers of birds. “From childhood, collecting feathers was a great passion for me,” says Sreeja. “I would also go in search of it in the nearby houses and gardens.”

Once she got a feather, she would clean it with soap and water, then place it inside a folded paper, and write the name of the bird on top. “A feather is like a human hair,” says Sreeja. “It lasts a long time.”

When she grew up, Sreeja got married and went to Mumbai in 1999. Then her mother gave the feathers away to various nephews and nieces. When in 2002, Sreeja returned and settled down in her hometown, Thrissur, she got a shock to know that her collection no longer existed. Undeterred, she began once more.

Some pet-bird owners gave feathers easily. Others would say a point-blank no.
Meanwhile, she had a stroke of luck when she met businessman Vinod Davy. “He has birds worth Rs 20 lakh in his house,” says Sreeja. “Vinod would just open his cages and allow me to go in. I got a lot of feathers like this. Anil Thambi, another bird owner, also helped me a lot, apart from my friends.”

Today, Sreeja has a collection of 500 feathers. They include the feathers of pet birds like parakeets, macaques, pigeons, kites, cockatoos, egrets, pheasants, canaries and parrots.

Sometime, last year, Sreeja stumbled onto an idea: to paste the feathers onto the paintings that she was doing. So, for her first exhibition, at Thrissur, of flora and fauna, she used feathers as part of the drawings. So, instead of drawing leaves, she would paste the feathers. “People expressed a lot of appreciation,” she says. “Quite a few wanted to know how it was done. Many were shocked to know that there are so many types of birds in Kerala.”

The second exhibition, not surprisingly, was on birds. So, she would paint the head and the beak, and then put actual feathers for the wings. “I use Fevicol to paste the feathers,” she says. Sreeja has also used feathers for her paintings on tribals, landscapes, houses, people, paddy fields, a swarm of fish, peacocks and butterflies. The end-result is charming: you feel drawn to the paintings simply because feathers have always had a magical effect on people, right from one's childhood.

In her daily life, Sreeja is a drawing teacher at the Harisree Vidyanikethan school. So, she starts work on her paintings, only at 9 p.m., after her ten-year-old son has gone to sleep. And she works late into the night. “It can get very hot, since I cannot switch on the fan, as the feathers will get blown away,” says Sreeja.

Incidentally, her passion has enabled Sreeja to get an entry in the India Book Of Records. “I have the largest feather collection combined with art works,” she says. Today, Sreeja is giving the final touches on a book on art, which will be published in a few months time. 

(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)

A Multi-Dimensional Icon

Lawyer K. V. Prakash has brought out a 85-minute documentary on the life and times of the late Justice VR Krishna Iyer

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photos: K.V. Prakash -- Photo by Suresh Napoothiri; Cover of the DVD

When lawyer K. V. Prakash approached Justice VR Krishna Iyer to make a documentary on his life, the latter got very excited. It was a couple of months before his 100^th birthday, on November 15, 2014. But Prakash needed funds to do the filming. So he and Justice T.V. Ramakrishnan (Retd.) drafted a letter. It was shown to Iyer. He made some changes.

A list of 28 senior lawyers in the Supreme Court, as well as the High Court of Kerala was made. They included people like Soli Sorabjee, Fali S Nariman, Harish Salve, Gopal Subramaniam, and Indira Jaisingh. But then suddenly Iyer fell ill. “He could no longer sign letters,” says Prakash. “I was in a dilemma on what to do.”

 

Prakash decided to seek divine guidance. So, one morning, he went to the Ganapati temple at Edapally and offered a ‘Mrthvinjaya Homam’ in the name of Iyer. When he returned home, Prakash closed his eyes and took out one letter from among the 28. It turned out to be that of Harish Salve, senior advocate of the Supreme Court of India.

Thereafter, Prakash took the letter and met Iyer at the hospital. And, somehow, even though the eminent judge was gravely ill, he managed to sign the letter in a shaky handwriting that went from the left to the middle of the page.

Thereafter, the letter was sent to Salve. And then the miracle happened. Salve, who admired Iyer immensely, agreed to fund the entire film.

On April 7, 2015, the 85-minute documentary, 'Life A Saga', was released by Ashok Bhushan, the Chief Justice of the Kerala High Court. “The film traces Iyer's life from the room he was born in, at the village of Shekharipuram in Palakkad, to his cremation in Kochi,” says Prakash.

There are scenes set in his father's native place of Vaidyanathapuram. Iyer's father was a successful lawyer as well as a social activist. “In 1920, his father was the only one to own a Ford car in the area,” says Prakash.

Iyer began his legal career as an apprentice in the Calicut Court. Much later, in Tellicherry, his career gathered steam. Soon, he built a house on eight acres of land, facing the sea. However, when he got selected as a member of the Law Commission in Delhi, Iyer decided to sell the house. The buyer was the Catholic Bishop of Tellicherry.

At the Bishop's House, Mar George Valiamattam told Prakash that Iyer had showed the file which contained the entire expense of constructing the house. “He said, ‘Look at the amount I spent on the house and just give me that, along with the land value shown in the sale deed',” says Prakash. “And he kept his word and took that amount only. There was no profit for Iyer.”

In Delhi, as a member of the Law Commission, his main contribution was in providing legal aid to the poor. Later, when Iyer was appointed as a Supreme Court judge, he made landmark judgements on several subjects, like interpreting the powers of the Cabinet with that of the President, and gender discrimination. In the latter case, C.B. Muthamma was denied promotion to the post of Foreign Secretary because of her gender. But Iyer sided with her.

Not surprisingly, he has many admirers. In the film, Harish Salve says, “Justice Krishna Iyer is a remarkable son of India, whether as a politician, minister, lawyer, judge, and, after his retirement, as a jurist, social activist and a conscience-keeper of the nation.”

Former IG of Prisons Kiran Bedi said that, at Tihar Jail, she followed all the recommendations of the judgement made by Iyer regarding the proper treatment of prisoners.

Meanwhile, Prakash has some interesting moments during the shoot. He went to Salem to find the house where Iyer met his wife Sharada for the first time.

“Sharada came from a good family,” says Prakash. “Her father Parameshwar Iyer was a munsiff at Tellicherry court. Iyer won a case there. An impressed Parameshwar decided he should become his son-in-law. However, by that time, Parameshwar was transferred to Salem as a sub-judge.”

In Salem, nobody could point out to Prakash the house where the sub-judge stayed. “In those days, the judges travelled in horse-drawn carriages,” says Prakash. “And these horses could not travel more than ten kilometres in one direction. I met all the people above 80 years who lived in a diameter of 10 kms around the court. But nobody could identify the house.”

However, on the fourth day, a woman, in her nineties, remembered the sub-judge and knew where he lived. “And that was how I finally located the house,” says Prakash, with a smile. “The scene lasts only a few seconds on the screen.”

Asked about the quality that he most admired in Iyer, Prakash says, “He was always courageous. Most judges, when they are close to retirement, will plan on getting an assignment from the government. But Iyer Sir never cared for that. The law, he always said, should be for the benefit of the people.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

A Rescue In The Nick Of Time

Radhika Menon, the first woman captain of the Indian Merchant Navy, orchestrates rescue of stranded fishermen off the coast of Orissa

By Shevlin Sebastian

At noon, on June 22, second officer Manoj Chauhan, of the ship, 'Sampurna Swarajya', noticed a boat two-and-a-half kms away, off the coast of Gopalpur, Orissa. Owing to a deep depression there were fierce winds and rains. The wind speed was 60 to 70 knots, while the waves rose to a height of 25-27 feet. As a result, the boat was being tossed up and down.

Manoj informed Radhika Menon, the first woman captain of the Indian Merchant Navy. “When I looked through my binoculars, they were waving their shirts and clearly asking for help,” says Radhika, who is from Kodungallur, Kochi.

She immediately ordered a rescue operation. “We put out the pilot ladder, and kept on standby, life jackets and buoys,” says Radhika. Because of the turbulent sea, it took three attempts before all seven were rescued.

The fishermen, who ranged in age from the 15-year old Perla Mahesh to Narasimha Murthy, 50, were in bad shape. They were weak, starving and frightened. The food and water had been washed away. They survived by sucking on ice cubes from the cold storage, which is used for preserving the fish.

They were from Kakinada and had set out on the night of June 16. “Suddenly, the weather turned bad,” says Radhika. “Then the engine failed. So they decided to anchor the boat. Unfortunately, they lost the anchor, and were drifting for six days, before we spotted them.”

At their homes, their families had given up hope. They were sure the fishermen has drowned. Tents had been erected outside their homes to conduct funeral ceremonies. So, it came as a big shock when the fishermen were able to talk to their families through satellite phone and convey the good news that they were alive. Eventually, they were reunited with their families on June 29, when the ship berthed at Vishakapatnam.

“It was the humane thing to do,” says Radhika. “They told me that if we had not spotted them, they would have died. Which is probably true.” 

(Page 1, New Indian Express, Kerala editions)

Many Moods of The Master

​Top Karnataka director Girish Kasaravalli has made an absorbing 90-minute documentary on Adoor Gopalakrishnan, one of Kerala's great directors

By Shevlin Sebastian 

Photo by Ratheesh Sundaram

One day, a couple of years ago, V.S. Kundu, the Director-General of the Films Division of India called top Karnataka director Girish Kasaravalli and gave him a proposal: could he do a 90 minute documentary on Adoor Gopalakrishnan, one of Kerala's great directors. Kasaravalli was hesitant. “I am a feature film director,” he says. “Documentaries are not my domain.” But, later, Gopalakrishnan called Kasaravalli up and said, “It will be a different type of documentary if you do it.”

Encouraged, Kasaravalli got down to work. He read many articles and interviews of Adoor, as well as two books: 'Adoor Gopalakrishnan: A Life In Cinema' by journalist Gautam Bhaskaran and a book of essays called 'A Door to Adoor', which was brought out by the South Asian Foundation. "I also viewed his films repeatedly to form an understanding of his work,” says Kasaravalli. “Unlike me, Adoor is a minimalist. He has been influenced a lot by Kathakali, which also uses a minimalistic approach.”

After working on the script for one-and-a-half years, the film was shot over a 30-day period in Thiruvananthapuram and its environs. And the end result, 'Images and Reflections: A Journey into Adoor's Imagery', is an absorbing one. Not surprisingly, there are several distinguished talking heads: the historian KN Panikkar, acclaimed directors Shyam Benegal and Mrinal Sen, the veteran Malayali actor, KPAC Lalitha, senior Kerala-based journalists CS Venkiteswaran and Gouridasan Nair, Gopalakrishnan's daughter, Aswathi Dorje, and, not to forget, the maestro himself.

But it is the Mumbai-based Uma D'Cunha, who does the English subtitles of Gopalakrishnan's films, who caught his personality well. “Adoor looks like a humble person but inside he has an immense confidence,” says Uma. “It is the simplicity in which he tells the story, the way he presents human beings, with all their feelings that somehow the politics does not take centre stage. What takes centre stage is the human being. Therefore, they have a powerful impact on the viewer.” 

And, rightly, Kasaravalli has focused on the acclaimed films like 'Elippathayam', 'Mukhamukham', 'Anantaram', 'Mathilukal', 'Kathapurushan' and 'Naalu Pennungal'.

The film is also studded with insights by Gopalakrishnan himself. Here is one about endings in films: “One of the difficulties I face is that the audience wants everything to be told, so that they can forget about it. But I want them to take the ideas home and ruminate over it. At the end of each film, I don't say this is all. Life goes on. This is only one ending that I have given. But there are several endings.”

Unusually, Gopalakrishan's daughter, Aswathi, talks about her father's childhood. “My father grew up in a joint family, where there were several uncles, aunts, cousins, and other relatives,” she says. “It was an environment which allowed him a lot of freedom. In a house which was full of children, nobody paid attention to him. It allowed a lot of room for creativity to come in.”

Kasaravalli has to be complimented for the manner in which he has been able to draw out all the participants including Gopalakrishnan himself. “Adoor is a warm person,” says Kasaravalli. “He is very committed to his art. But more than anything, Adoor is very accommodative. We vibed very well. I found the exercise of making the film very fruitful.” 

(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)

Something Unique About It

For the first time in India, a poetry installation, combining sound and sculpture, took place at the Durbar Hall Art Gallery, Kochi

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photos: The horse installation; the man; (from left) P Raveendranath, S. Kalesh, George Gabriel, Vinod Krishna and Renganaath Ravee. Photos by Ratheesh Sundaram

When the eminent danseuse Mallika Sarabhai placed her hands around a globe hanging between the head and tail of a horse sculpture at the Durbar Hall Art Gallery, Kochi, the voice of poet Ajeesh Dasan could be heard on the speaker system.

“The horse declared:
I am the National Animal
My ancestors took part in the freedom struggle.
I am not applying for a pension
As I do not have any certificate.

“Other animals stood around the horse
The elephant, the ass, the giraffe,
The peacock, the boar, the lion.”

A shrill neighing sound of a horse was heard on the soundtrack. Expectedly, this was followed by the angry roar of a tiger (India's National Animal), not happy at the desire of the horse to replace him. Thereafter, there was the rumble of an elephant, as well as the grunts of the ass and boar.

The poem ended with the chilling sound of a cage closing. “The zoo-keeper comes up and calmly pushes the horse into the cage,” says Ajeesh. “People are also getting caged and losing their freedom.”

For the audience, which included the former Education Minister MA Baby, the deputy mayor of the Cochin Corporation, Bhadra Satish, artist Bose Krishnamachari, the tribal activist CK Janu, and actor Joy Mathews, this was an unique experience. Not surprisingly, they listened in rapt attention. This is the first time in India that a poetry installation has been done.

Some time ago, when film-maker Vinod Krishna read Ajeesh’s poem, 'Deseeya Mrigam' (National Animal), he was reminded of the late American chess genius Bobby Fischer. “The Cold War was taking place between America and Russia, but Bobby was a man who did not believe in boundaries,” says Vinod. “The horse is also like that.”

But man is bound by too many restrictions and boundaries. “A human being cannot go anywhere without a passport,” says Vinod. “We have so many cards: Aadhar, Ration and the Unique Identity Card. But we come to the earth without any document. In the end, we become victims of the corporate culture and those who want to rule over us.”

One day, Vinod felt that there was a scope to do something with it. And that is how he came up with the idea of an installation. But he wondered how to get the funds for it. When he broached the idea to his lawyer-friend, P. Raveendranath, the latter immediately contributed Rs 1.5 lakh. The remaining Rs 1.5 lakh was got through individual contributions as well as loans.

Incidentally, the rearing-up horse, made by the sculptor Gabriel George, is 70 per cent iron, while the rest is foam and scrap.

The second installation, again made by Gabriel, is of a man lying down, his body shaped like a microphone, but with several loudspeakers attached to his body. The poem, 'Sabda Mahasamudram' (Ocean of voices), is by the talented poet S. Kalesh.

Here is the first stanza:

'A man, rankled
by his own sound
about to sculpt
a stout silence and play
suddenly one day
found himself ringed
by a herd of puny
little sounds.'

“The rulers are telling us what to do and what not to do,” says Kalesh. “And this is represented by the loudspeakers. The person represents the common man who is unable to talk back. We have so many things to say, but are not able to do so. Today, along with this loss of freedom, there is a simultaneous rise of fascism. We no longer have an individuality.”

In order to bring attention to the project, Vinod decided to rope in a celebrity. So, he sent the images, as well as the concept, to actors Nandita Das, Shabana Azmi and the activist Mallika Sarabhai. “All of them expressed an interest and said they would be willing to come to Kochi,” says Vinod. “But, when the hall was booked, only Mallika was free to come.”

Apart from Mallika, many ordinary people, too, also came. One morning, a 34-year-old physically challenged man arrived in a wheelchair. “He had been to many art shows,” says Vinod. “But after listening to the two poems, he suddenly felt a desire to stand up and walk. This was the first time he was experiencing this feeling. I was deeply moved by this.”

Interestingly, Vinod says it was the youngsters and women who enjoyed the show the most. “Many women told me that they felt a mental release when they heard the poems and saw the installations,” says Vinod. “I think it is because they have been suppressed for so long.”

Says the Mumbai-based Renganaath Ravee, the sound designer for the project: “Everybody wants to experience something new. In India, movies and TV serials are the only forms of entertainment. The traditional art forms are not moving with the times. Maybe, that is why there has been such a positive response to our show.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

The Star of Their Publicity Campaigns

Many top business people in Kerala, like Boby Chemmanur, TS Pattabhiramam, Dr. M M Ramachandran and Beena Kannan, appear regularly in their print and visual media advertisements. They give their reasons for it

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photos: Boby Chemmanur with Diego Maradona; Beena Kannan 

At 9 a.m., on the morning of October 24, 2012, businessman Boby Chemmanur felt extremely tense. He was at a suite of the Blue Nile Hotel in Kannur. Football legend Diego Maradona was sleeping. He had checked in late the previous night after a long flight. But the introduction of Maradona to the people of Kannur was to take place at the Municipal Stadium at 10 a.m. Despite repeated entreaties by Boby and the former footballer's manager, Maradona refused to get up. Instead, he threw a pillow in anger at Boby.

“He asked that the inaugural function be shifted to 4 p.m.,” says Boby. “It came as a shock to me.” Boby switched on the TV and showed Maradona the lakhs of people who were waiting for his arrival.

In the end, Maradona got ready, hugged and kissed Boby and went to the stadium. He danced, sang and did tricks with the football. The crowds were entranced and happy.

Thanks to this unprecedented event, Boby got priceless media coverage. “I have to admit that the sales went up,” he says. “It also led to the development of my business. My own image was projected all over.” Today, Boby's Chemmanur International Jewellers is a RS Iyer​ 2,000-crore group, with branches in Kerala, Tamil Nadu, Maharashtra, and in places like Dubai, Kuwait and Kuala Lumpur.

Later, Boby also did a well publicised 812-km run from Kasaragod to Thiruvananthapuram to spread the message of blood donation in March 2014. “Again it was well received,” he says. And Boby began appearing in his company's ads regularly.

Asked the reason why, he says, “I felt that I would be the best person to promote the brand, as compared to a brand ambassador. I realised that what I say about my products will be accepted by the people. With a brand ambassador the public will always have the feeling that they took money from the sponsor and hence they are promoting the product.”

There are others who are doing the same thing. They include TS Pattabhiramam of Kalyan Silks, Dr. M M Ramachandran of the Atlas Group and Beena Kannan of Seematti.

Whenever customers become aware that Beena is at her Kochi store, they will go to meet her. “They want to know about the new products of Seematti,” she says. “So I will give a detailed explanation. They feel confident about the product, because I am the designer.”

That is how, one day, when she started her own boutique in cotton sarees, Beena decided to appear in the print and visual advertisements. “I felt it would be more authentic if I appear in my own advertisements,” she says.

However, Beena says that she does not want to do it too often as people will get tired of seeing the same person. So, she has taken on brand ambassadors like Lisa Haydon and Urmila Matondkar. “They have their own impact,” she says. “But you need to change your brand ambassadors often, because people want novelty, glamour and new faces. Look at Mollywood. All the heroines keep on changing, but the heroes have remained the same for decades.”

Meanwhile, when asked about the impact from the marketing point of view, US Kutty, Director, Sobhagya Advertising, says, “It was a masterstroke by Boby to bring Maradona to Kerala, especially in the north where there is such a craze for football. By associating with Maradona, Bobby enhanced his personal brand value. And his jewellery firm became famous.”

And when the owner projects himself, a lot of attention falls on the company. Especially if there are many companies selling the same type of product. “So, in that way, Boby Chemannur, Beena Kannan, TS Pattabhiramam and Atlas Ramachandran are doing the right thing,” says Kutty.

Adds Dominic Savio, Vice President, DDB Mudra, South and East: “When the owners appear in their own ads, it definitely adds value to the brand. For example, Beena Kannan is a known face. She is fashionable. Women tend to believe her because she is regarded as an authority on fashion.”

As for TS Pattabhiramam of Kalyan Silks, he has projected himself in a different way. “If you watch the advertisements of Kalyan Silks, he has positioned himself as an authority of silks,” says Dominic. “He is shown as visiting the smallest of villages in the remotest parts of the country in search of the best silks. Therefore, when you buy a product from his shops, you can be rest assured it is going to be pure silk.”

But Kutty says there is a risk involved also. “If something goes wrong, the owner will lose face and his reputation will be damaged forever,” he says. “Take the case of Maggie Noodles. If the company MD had projected himself in the media, it would have ended his career in the company.”

Adds Dominic: “The convicted Ramalinga Raju has not only destroyed his own image but also of Satyam Computers which had once been a savvy IT firm.” 

(Published in The New Indian Express, Kochi, Thiruvananthapuram and Kozhikode) 

“Artistes are singing the Songs of the Rulers”

Says danseuse Mallika Sarabhai, while inaugurating a poetry installation at Kochi

By Shevlin Sebastian

“I am Bose,” said Bose Krishnamachari, the Kochi Biennale founder, and held out his hand towards eminent danseuse Mallika Sarabhai at the Durbar Hall, Kochi.

“Of course I know who you are,” said a smiling Mallika. “The Biennales have just been wonderful.”

Mallika had come to inaugurate a unique poetry installation, which combined literature, sound, art and culture. She is a striking woman, with high cheekbones and flashing eyes, and with a fashion style of her own: she wore a large earring on one ear and a smaller one in the other, while a several- beaded necklace adorned her neck.

But what she spoke struck at the heart of the state of present-day society. “If you look at the history of any ancient civilization, the arts did two things: the arts educated and it critiqued,” said Mallika. “But somehow, because of the development of a capitalist culture, there is a culture of giving awards, a culture of doling out money, and giving freebies. As a result, the voice of artistes in India has become the voice of advertising. More and more artistes sing the song of the rulers, whether the rulers were kings earlier or politicians now.”

The greater part of the arts today has become uncritical and remains in the realm of safety, she said. “We have lost our voice and have been deafened by noise: intellectual, political and mercantile,” said Mallika. “We study, but we don’t learn. We learn, but we don’t become wiser. We listen but we don’t hear. We have forgotten to listen to either our own truths or the sounds of nature.”

For the audience, who listened raptly, these were disturbing truths in an era of fast living and little inner reflection.

(The New Indian Express, Kochi)

Down-To-Earth and Natural

COLUMN: OUR HOME

Sherly, wife of Benny Behanan, MLA, talks about her house at Thrikakkara

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photos by K. Rajesh Kumar

It is only at 10 p.m. that Benny Behanan, the MLA, gets free. That is when he repairs to his ground-floor bedroom at Thrikkakara. At one side, near the bed, there are two armchairs facing each other, near windows, which open out to a lawn. Wife Sherly sits opposite him. They chat about the events of the day. “It is the only period when we get to spend time with each other,” says Sherly.

It is a spacious bedroom. There are wooden slats placed in triangular and rectangular styles on the wall just above the bed. “These are the remnants from our earlier house, which our architect Suku [Dass] did not want to throw away,” says Sherly.

Indeed, they had been staying in the same area for more than two decades. The initial plan was to renovate the house. But a friend of Benny's suggested that a new house be built, since the original one was below road level. In the end the Behanans agreed with the suggestion. “We did soil-filling at the location, so that the house could reach the road level,” says Suku.

And three years ago, the house came up. The 3200 sq. ft. house has a sloping roof and a wide garage. Sherly had asked for one important attribute: there should be plenty of light inside the house. So Suku opened up a section of the terrace, just above the staircase, and placed a glass pergola. As a result, the sunlight just pours down the stairs. “I wanted to create a play of light and shadow,” says Suku.

And in a rectangle, near the staircase, filled with small rocks, Suku has embedded old bamboo poles and oars. A thick rope is connected to the ceiling. “I put in the ropes to emphasise the height of the stairwell,” says Suku, who got the ropes from a second-hand shop at Mattancherry. These had been used to hold a ship's anchor. The bamboo, which was treated naturally, was sourced from Adimali.

One visible result is that there is, indeed, a lot of light inside the house. “Whenever we go to other homes, I always get a feeling that there is not enough light,” says Sherly.

Among the many rooms, the dining room is the favourite place for Sherly. “Since it is South-facing, there is a lot of breeze in the evenings,” she says. “Tea and conversations takes place here often with family members.”

In the dining room, under the glass-topped table, Suku has embedded several wooden blocks and reepers. “These are the materials of the previous house, which I retained,” he says.

From the kitchen, the living and dining room, as well as the rooms on the first floor, the main gate is easily visible. “My son, Venu, and daughter-in-law are hearing-impaired,” says Sherly. “So Suku has designed it in such a way that they can see the gate at all times.”

On the first floor, in Venu's bedroom, there is a study area at one side. Suku has made a glass skylight on the ceiling so that natural sunlight can light up the room. On the opposite end, of the house, there is a family room which doubles up as a home theatre, with wall-length carpets adorning the floor.

As for Benny's office, it is located on the ground floor, at one side. There is a separate entrance, with inbuilt seats on the verandah. “This ensures our privacy,” says Sherly.

Overall, she is happy with the house. “There is a lot of positive energy inside,” she says. But there are a couple of drawbacks. “There is not much space in front, but the total area is only 11 cents,” says Sherly. “The garage seems to be small now. Again, this is not Suku's fault. We have three cars now.”

Another drawback: the road outside is narrow. So visitors have to park their vehicles on the main road, 50 metres away, if they want to visit the Behanans. “But we have nice neighbours,” says Sherly. “And there is plenty of water in the well.”

One of the first functions to be held in the house was a wedding reception for Venu on December 25, 2012. “[Senior Congress leader] Vayalarji [Ravi] came to the house the previous day,” says Sherly. “He liked the house. In fact, Vayalar Sir's daughter, Lakshmi, wanted to hire the same architect.” 

(Published in The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

The Paper Tigresses of Kochi

To help a friend overcome financial woes, Diwia Thomas began Papertrail, an outfit that makes paper bags and products. Now it is helping hundreds of troubled women to earn a living  

By Shevlin Sebastian 

Photos by Ratheesh Sundaram

One day, in November, 2008, Diwia Thomas dropped in at the home of her friend Susan George (name changed) at Kochi. After a while, she asked Susan for a cup of tea. Susan said that there was no milk. So Diwia replied that she was okay with a cup of black tea. When Susan returned from the kitchen, she said, “You are my closest friend. Why should I hide things from you? We have not had milk for a while. George's business has failed. We are in financial trouble.”

Susan belonged to an upper middle-class family. She could not go for work, because her son went to school at 7 a.m. and returned at 12 p.m. The daughter left at 9 a.m., and returned at 2 p.m. “This meant she had only three hours, from 9 to 12 p.m., to do something,” says Diwia.

An upset Diwia went home and wondered what to do. Then she suddenly remembered that she had learnt paper bag-making in Bangalore, while on a visit, several years ago.

The next morning, she told Susan about this. Susan agreed. Diwia taught her to make them. Within a few days, Susan was able to make 60 bags in three hours. She was paid Rs 2 per bag. And that was how Diwia's outfit, ‘Papertrail’ began.

Today, there are hundreds of women who are making different products: newspaper bags, gift bags, lanterns, gift boxes, coasters, cards and pens made of paper. The products are supplied to restaurants, boutiques and corporates. For example: a leading Japanese car company gives a custom-made art paper bag to their customers. This is made by Papertrail.

“Today, we make about 15,000 bags a month,” says Diwia. She has units in different parts of Kochi. But what is most interesting are the women who work for Papertrail. “They are the battered, abused, and abandoned,” says Diwia. “When a woman is thrown out on the streets by the husband, literally, with only her clothes on her back, she needs money to feed her children. So, we train them to make bags, so that they can earn quickly. ”

Sadly, abuse cuts across all strata of society. Meera Raghavan, 55, (name changed) stays in a tony neighbourhood in Kochi. However, her affluent businessman-husband is estranged from her, even though they are living in the same house. “He does not give any money to Meera,” says Diwia. “So she secretly makes paper bags to get some spending money.” Her only child, a married son, who is working in Australia, is unaware of this.

Asked about the advantages of an all-women workforce, Diwia says, “They are focused, trustworthy and responsible with finances. All the quality control is done by them. I tell them that the customers are theirs, not mine.”

But there are disadvantages, too. “They have mood swings,” says Diwia. “They become easily depressed. They feel a constant pressure from society. For centuries, women have stood beneath men. So they have a social conditioning which tells them that they cannot achieve anything without a man's help. But by doing this work, they develop self-confidence, courage and optimism.”

And Diwia is happy to do her bit. Her grandfather KB Jacob and her grand uncle were freedom fighters and Municipal Chairmen of Fort Kochi, while her father, Santhosh Burleigh, was a councillor of the Cochin Corporation. “We were taught that if you can do something for society, then you are doing something worthwhile,” says Diwia, a web strategist. “For me, Papertrail is my contribution.” 

(A slightly different version was published in Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)