A Perfect Landing

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn

Mariamma talks about life with the senior bureaucrat VJ Kurian 

Photo by Mithun Vinod

By Shevlin Sebastian

A few months after the completion of the Cochin International airport at Nedumbaserry, on June 10, 1999, the officers of the Indian Administrative Service held a function, at Thiruvananthapuram, to felicitate VJ Kurian, the man behind the show.

At the event, J. Lalithambika, who later retired as Additional Chief Secretary, said, “This is perhaps the only occasion where we will honour a fellow IAS officer.”

And that has turned out to be true. “It was one of the happiest moments of my life,” says Mariamma Alappat, the wife of VJ Kurian. “Some officers apologised publicly for making fun of Kurian at that time. One had even said, 'A bullock cart will not be able to land there'.”

During those years Mariamma went through a trying time. “My husband faced so many difficulties, but, amazingly, he remained optimistic throughout,” says Mariamma. “Many people regarded the idea of public-private participation as a joke. Today, everybody is following it.”

When Mariamma would read criticism about her husband by politicians and others in the newspapers or see it on TV, she would get very agitated. “Sometimes, I would call Kurian up, and tell him about it,” she says. “But Kurian always looked at the positive side, and told me not to worry.”

One advantage for Kurian was that the media, on their own, offered whole-hearted support. “That made a big difference,” says Mariamma.

Looking back, Mariamma has learnt some lessons. “If a government servant is sincere, honest, and true to his work, there is no long-term harm,” she says. “He might suffer a setback or two, but will come up again.”

And yes, Kurian is back on top. Apart from being the Managing Director of the Cochin International Airport Limited, which recently declared a profit of Rs. 124 crore, he is the Additional Chief Secretary (Water Resources and Aviation), as well as a Director of the Kochi Metro Rail Limited. As a result, the Kochi-based Kurian is spending four days in Thiruvananthapuram every week.

Clearly, Kurian possesses character traits that have led to success. “He always tackles problems and setbacks in a calm manner,” says Mariamma. “In fact, in 28 years of marriage, although it is amazing to say, he has never lost his temper with me.”

Other qualities: “My daughter says, 'Whatever you ask Appa, he will not say 'no',” says Mariamma. “'Instead, he will always say, 'Let's see.' Kurian is not rigid, but in the end he does what is right. There are many husbands who say a loud no at the beginning of a request and then say yes in the end. That upsets everybody.”

Perhaps Kurian’s best quality is that even when he had very little time he gave a lot of attention to Mariamma and the children. “My children think very highly of their father,” says Mariamma. “When my daughter was a child, she loved a particular type of hair band. Once when Kurian went to Dubai, he walked on the streets for a long time before he could locate the particular hair band that she wanted. My daughter was very happy when she got it.”

However, it was not happy going all the time. Mariamma is frank enough to admit that she was perturbed, at times, in the early years. “Kurian has never attended a single PTA (Parent-Teacher Association) meeting of our children, Joseph and Elizabeth,” says Mariamma. “Work always came first. After that, came the family.”

Because of his busy schedule, he also could not attend many family functions. “So our relatives would get upset,” says Mariamma. “When there were medical emergencies of the children I had to handle it on my own.”

But a wise Mariamma says, “I realise now that these were temporary difficulties. In the long run, everything has turned out well, including our children.”

Joseph, 26, is doing his Masters in Surgery (Ophthalmology) at Pariyaram Medical College, in Kannur, while Elizabeth, 19, is doing her first-year MBBS at the Government Medical College in Kalamassery.

“One reason why both took medicine, instead of the IAS, is because my father, Paul Alappat, was a doctor and had inspired them,” says Mariamma, who had herself secured the fifth rank for B.Sc Maths at Calicut University.

Meanwhile, both husband and wife find solace in the two farms they have in Kuttanad, where they grow cocoa, bananas and coconuts. “Kurian is the happiest at the farms,” says Mariamma. “He looks relaxed and peaceful. I think there is a farming gene in him. His father, Joseph Vattavayalil, a prominent lawyer in Pala, was also a farmer.” And the farms, like the airport, are making a good profit every year.

Finally, when asked for tips for an enduring marriage, Mariamma says, “You should have an unselfish attitude. Nowadays, girls don't have that. At the end of the day, a wife has to make more compromises than the husband.”

A good communication between husband and wife is also important. “Even half an hour a day is enough,” she says. “You also need the presence of God in your marriage to make it successful.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

The Life and Times of Swamiji

Tamil director RS Prasanna has made a two-hour biopic on Swami Chinmayananda, one of India's great spiritual figures 

Photo by P. Ravi Kumar 

By Shevlin Sebastian

In July, 2013, Tamil film director RS Prasanna had gone to Los Angeles to do post-production work on his debut film, ‘Kalyana Samayal Saadham’. On his return, he decided to have a stopover at Hongkong, so that he could spend time with his uncle, S. Narayanamoorthy. Right next to Narayanamoorthy's house, on Mody Road, is the Chinmaya Seva Ashram.

One day, Narayanamoorthy, a devotee, took Prasanna to the Mission. When Prasanna was introduced to Swamini Supriyananda as a former student of the Chinmaya Vidyalaya school at Anna Nagar, Chennai, as well as a film-maker, she said, “The Mission is planning to make a film on Swami Chinmayananda [the founder of the Chinmaya Mission]. So, why don’t you meet Swami Mitrananda in Chennai who is spearheading the project?”

When Prasanna met Swami Mitrananda, following extensive discussions, he was invited to make the film. “It was my destiny,” says the film-maker.

The two-hour long film, ‘On A Quest’, based on a script by Swami Mitrananda, was shot in places like Kochi, Gurgaon, Delhi, Sidhbari, near Dharamsala, as well as the Divine Life Society at Rishikesh where Swami Chinmayananda had spent some time.

The film has a time frame, from 1910 to the 1980s. A team headed by co-director Anand Krishnamoorthi did meticulous research, to portray accurately the period costumes as well as the props.

Meanwhile, the person chosen to play the older Swami Chinmayananda was an out-of-the-box selection. He is Thotta Tharani, one of Kollywood’s leading art directors. “My costume designer, Preethi Kanthan, suggested Tharani Sir's name,” says Prasanna. “She used to work under him. Preethi said that Tharani Sir had a remarkable physical resemblance to Swami Chinmayananda.”

Which turned out to be correct. And that was how Tharani was invited to act in the film. “It was his first role, but Tharani Sir was more than happy to do it, because it is a spiritual film,” says Prasanna. “He has given a fantastic performance. And so has Sandeep, a monk, who plays the younger Chinmayananda.”

Asked about the qualities of Swami Chinmayananda, Prasanna says, “Apart from being a great saint, he was a fantastic orator. The crew used to joke that some of his dialogues were like punch lines in a Rajnikanth film. And there are so many witty and interesting episodes which we have highlighted in the movie.”

In 1947, people avidly listened to the radio, to get all the news following India's Independence on August 15. One day Swamiji switched off the radio. When his companions asked him why, he said, “India is free, but are Indians free?”

Once when Chinmayananda met his mentor, Swami Shivananda, he kept asking questions expressing his doubts about the existence of God, and asked whether the latter was fooling the people by wearing a saffron robe.

Swami Shivananda said, “I can answer your questions in 15 minutes, but you should decide whether you have only questions to ask or are you on a quest?”

This became the motto of Chinmayananda’s life. When asked to explain the enduring influence of Swami Chinmayananda (1916-1993), Prasanna says, “He has a wonderful way of appealing to the skeptic, as well as the divine in all of us.”

The bio-pic will have its global premiere in September. 

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

“In Kochi, members of different communities dislike each other”

Prof. Ashis Nandy analyses the people of Kochi, as well as the behaviour of Indians during the 1947 Partition

By Shevlin Sebastian

A few years ago, political psychologist Ashis Nandy, 77, had come to Kochi to do a study on the people. But before he came he was told that there were no serious ethnic or communal violence for the past 3000 years. “That is difficult to prove, because the history of 3000 years is not available,” he said. “I then found that there were records available for the past 600 years. Essentially, Kochi has passed all the tests of good citizenship.”

When Nandy asked the local people the reason for this long peace, broken, with long gaps, by small communal flare-ups, these were some of the responses: 'We are secular.' 'We are progressive.' 'We have a high literacy rate,' and 'We don't fight like the uneducated ruffians.'

“The closest I came to a personalised response was when some of them said that Kochiites were not like the North Indians,” said Nandy, as laughter erupted among the audience during the talk, 'Another Cosmopolitanism', organised by the Kochi Biennale Foundation.

However, on further investigation, Nandy made a surprising discovery. The different communities, whether it be Hindu, Muslim or Christian, had a mutual antagonism. “Alas, Kochi's marvellous cosmopolitanism was based on dislike,” said Nandy. “But I did find some unusual factors. Nobody could describe the city without invoking the other communities. For the people, the landscape has always been full of multiple communities. While each group thought it was the best, and regarded the others as inferior or flawed, they also knew that the others thought of them in the same derogatory manner.”

In his essay, 'Searching for the Alternative Cosmopolitanism of Cochin', Nandy described this attitude as an 'epic culture'. “In Indian epics, the Gods as well as the demons are never perfect,” he says. “The interaction between them is a human one. Along with enmity, there is an element of affection.”

Nandy noticed this affection among people when he was researching the religious riots during the 1947 Partition of India. “40 per cent of the respondents, who fled from Pakistan, confirmed that they had been helped by members of the other community,” said Nandy. “There were Muslims who died while trying to save Hindus. The survivors told me that. The angry Muslim rioters also killed their brethren when they came to know that they were shielding Hindus.”

But it was not only Muslims who were reaching out. In Pakistan, Sikhs were saving Muslims. There was a young Sikh who abducted a Muslim woman, and brought her home. His elderly father said, 'Son, this is not permitted by Sikhism. Return the woman to her family.' But the youngster had seen his friends abduct woman and some had even married them. So, the boy refused to obey his father. Consequently, the patriarch took out his sword, killed his son, and returned the girl to her family.”

A Pakistan researcher told Nandy that there were more than hundred cases like this. “Our people don't need advice, theories, and concepts from the middle class to learn how to be hospitable,” said Nandy. “They don't need to learn tolerance and secularism from textbooks. They have their own humane principles which are often grounded in their own religion.”

Nandy recounted a story told by a Hindu woman, Neelima (name changed), who grew up in Pakistan and had lost the majority of her family members during the Partition. “She used to play with her neighbourhood Muslim girls,” said Nandy. “But her family, particularly her mother, used to beat her when she ate at their house. So, one day, when she went to her friend's house, Neelima told the mother, 'When I come to play with your daughter, my family is happy about it. But if I eat at your place, they beat me up. But I like the food at your house more than the food at my home.'”

The mother said, “That is not a problem. I will solve it. Do you know any Hindu mantra?”

Neelima said, “I know the Gayatri Mantra.”

“Okay,” the woman said. “I will teach you a verse from the Koran. When you leave your house, you should recite this. By the time you arrive at my house, you will become a Muslim. Then you can eat anything. When you leave, you must recite the Gayatri Mantra, so that you will become a Hindu when you reach your own house. But don't say this to your family.”

Indians, especially those who live in cities, which did not witness colonialism first-hand, like Kochi, have the ability to accept the otherness in people who are different from them, says Nandy. “So, all types of people – like the Jews and the Konkanis – were able to find refuge in Kochi,” he said. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

A Taste of Kerala

Noted Cuban violinist Santiago Jimenez plays with the Indo-Swedish band, Mynta. But he took a year's sabbatical to teach in a music school at Kochi 

Photo by Melton Antony

By Shevlin Sebastian

In 2005, violinist Santiago Jimenez of Cuba came to India for the first time. From the airport, he went directly to the late Alla Rakha's house in Mumbai and met the legendary tabla player's illustrious sons, Zakir Hussain and Faisal Qureshi. “They hugged and welcomed me with an open heart,” he says. “I will never forget that. I immediately felt that I had met the right people.”

The next day, Santiago reached musical nirvana. At an auditorium in Mumbai, he met his teenage idol, the British guitarist John McLaughlin, who is regarded as one of the all-time greats. “We jammed together on stage,” says Santiago. “It was an unforgettable experience. A dream come true.”

Santiago's turning point occurred when he joined the Indo-Swedish band, 'Mynta', in 1987, which was led by Swedish bass player Christian Paulin. Together, the band travelled all over the world, and played more than 400 concerts.

“That has given me a lot of exposure,” he says. “I met many good musicians and had a good interaction with them.”

Later, 'Mynta' released eight CDs and appeared on TV and on radio numerous times. “The music of Mynta is a mix of Indian classical, African, Latin-American rhythms, Arabic sounds and Scandinavian folk music,” says Santiago.

Asked about the impact of Indian music on his work, Santiago says, “When I heard the ragas, for the first time, it was a deeply spiritual experience. I have enjoyed listening to Indian music on the radio but I especially loved the songs of Mohammed Rafi. Whatever improvisation I have done is mostly because I have been inspired by Indian music.”

Music came easily to Santiago. His grandfather, Agustin Jimenez Crespo, is regarded as one of Cuba's great music composers. His father, Manuel Jimenez, is a percussionist, while his mother Teresa Borges, played the contrabass. Santiago received training at the Escuela Nacional Del Arte at Havana. All his three brothers are musicians.

But he is frank about life in Cuba. “The people are happy, but there is no creativity because of a lack of freedom,” says Santiago. “You cannot speak against Fidel [former President Castro].”

In 1991, on an invitation from Swedish musicians, he went to Stockholm and remained there. A few years later, he fell in love with the Swedish singer-flautist Jessica Hugoson. They have two children, Julius, 8, and Otto, 4.

When Jessica came to Kochi, in July, 2013, to spend a year teaching at the Amadeus Academy of Music and Fine Arts, Santiago took a sabbatical and followed her, and became a teacher himself.

Today, he has a good idea of the Indian education system. “It is too structured,” he says. “There is too much of focus on doing lessons in textbooks. You should have a free spirit.  You should not learn an instrument because it is a lesson. You should learn it because it brings you happiness.”

Santiage feels that the Indian students, by nature, are very obedient. “Some of the students should be allowed to go free,” he says. “They should not follow the teacher all the time.They are well behaved students. But they lack the creative edge. The teaching is too strict and that is a mistake, I feel.”

Despite this, he loves Kerala. “The climate, people and the small houses, they are all similar to Cuba,” he says. “The people are not afraid to show their spiritual side. In Kerala, like in Cuba, people look you in the eye when they speak.” But what was startling was his liking for old Malayalam songs. “I heard them when the movies were telecast,” says Santiago, with a smile. “You can get inspiration from anywhere.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

The rising incidence of Teenage Sex

By Shevlin Sebastian

This is a representative photo 

One night, Geeta Mohan got a call. It was from the tuition teacher who complained that Geeta's daughter, Shalini, 14, had not come for classes for several days. Geeta felt a sense of panic.

When her daughter went to have a bath, she decided to check her school bag. And got a shock. There was an unused condom. When Geeta confronted Shalini, the truth came out.

The girl was spending time with Rohit, a Class 12 student of a leading CBSE school at Kochi where Shalini is a pupil. They had sex several times at Rohit's father's empty apartment at Thrikkakara. Rohit's parents stayed in Dubai, while he lived with his grandmother at Padivattom. But Rohit had the key to the empty flat.

“Shalini told me that there was nothing wrong in having sex,” says psychologist Dr. Prakash Chandran of Kochi. “They see it on the mobile, and exchange WhatsApp sexclips all the time. On TV, almost daily, they see kissing scenes.”

Says Sreekala Ram, a Kochi-based school principal, “When students see pornography, they become curious and want to try it out for themselves.”

Both Sreekala and Prakash confirm that teenage sex has shown a marked increase in the past year or so.

Last week, a girl told Prakash that she had managed to sneak a boyfriend into her bedroom late at night, while her parents were sleeping in the next room. “There are cases where boys and girls have alcohol and drugs before indulging in sex,” says Prakash. “Many worried parents have brought their children to me.”

The city-based psychiatrist Dr. Janaki Sankaran says that parents are responsible for this. “There is no meaningful interaction between parents and children these days,” she says. “So teenagers have nobody to confide in. They look for help in their friends' circle.”

So what is the way forward? Sreekala believes that mobile phones should be given at a later age. “Parents tell me that they give mobiles to keep track of their children's movements,” she says. “But a child may be in a movie hall and glibly say they are at the tuition centre. How can parents know for sure?”

The access to the Internet by teenagers at home should be done in an open area, where everybody can see the screen. “It is also necessary to teach children thatteenage sex is not part of our culture,” says Prakash.

(Some names have been changed)

(The New Indian Express, Kerala edition) 

Love bridges the age gap

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn 

Hema talks about life with the musician Ramesh Narayan

Photo by Kaviyoor Santosh 

By Shevlin Sebastian 

Hema was living with her aunt and uncle, while she was doing her pre-degree course at the Krishna Menon Memorial government women's college in Kannur.

“My aunt and uncle were very interested in music,” says Hema. Both of them knew the musician Ramesh Narayan. “They would keep talking about how he was not getting any marriage proposals, because he was lame, and had no proper job as a musician,” says Hema. Ramesh, at that time, was earning his living by giving music classes.

“I kept hearing about this,” says Hema, a singer herself. Over a period of time, Hema began to feel a sympathy for Ramesh, although she had not met him. One day, she told her aunt, “I am willing to get married to him.”

Her aunt and parents were happy with her decision, but her relatives were against the idea since Ramesh was physically challenged. Anyway, in August, 1990, Ramesh came and and met Hema at her home in the village of Kalliasseri in Kannur. He wore a coffee-coloured kurta and had shoulder-length hair, apart from a rudraksha around his neck. “He looked more like a swami,” says Hema.

Ramesh asked Hema to sing a song. She opted to sing a devotional song called 'Thiruvaranmula Krishna' from the album, 'Thulasi Theertham'.

Ramesh liked her singing and complimented Hema. Soon, they decided to tie the knot, even though Hema was only 17, while Ramesh was 30.

The marriage took place on December 30, 1990, at Ramesh's home town of Koothuparambu. There was no honeymoon, but the couple went to the Moogambika Temple and prayed there.

Ramesh's mother, Narayani, a widow, had one request. “She told me that the only thing she wanted from me was that I should look after her son, and she would do the rest,” says Hema.

Which Hema followed to the letter. “In the initial years, I would be with Ramesh all the time,” she says. “He would play the sitar a lot. I would carry his instrument to all the concerts. It was a nice time.”

But Hema had to make a lot of adjustments. Sometimes, students would come home late at night to learn music from Ramesh. Inevitably, they would sleep over. “I found it difficult to adjust to this loss of privacy,” says Hema. “But, as time passed, I got used to it.”

She also got used to Ramesh's absence because of his busy recording career. When family events, like a wedding, would come up, he would not be able to attend. “I would get upset about it,” says Hema. “But then I realised that it is not possible to stop a recording all of a sudden.”

Asked about her husband's qualities, Hema says, “Ramesh is always helping me, especially in the kitchen. He knows how to make rice, sambhar and vegetable curries. When I got married, I did not know cooking.”

In fact, much later, Ramesh told Hema he had three children to bring up. One was Hema and the other two were their daughters.

The couple's two children, Madhuvanthi, 21, and Madhusree, 14, are also singers, like their father and mother. Incidentally, Hema has done 15 years of training in Carnatic and Hindustani music, perhaps the only woman in Kerala to do so. The children received training from their parents from their early years.

“In fact, whenever there is free time, we spend it by singing together as a family at home,” says Hema.

At heart, Ramesh is a homebody. “There are many artists who, after their work, will go to bars or spend time with friends,” says Hema. “But Ramesh comes home directly.”

One reason is that he does not like to eat or drink from outside, not even a cup of tea. “At home, he likes to eat dal and chappatis,” says Hema. “He takes very little rice. Chappatis are his favourite. He also eats lots of fruits. At night, it is usually dosas.”

Meanwhile, husband and wife sometimes have tiffs. But it is always Hema who steps forward to have a compromise. “Even when I feel that Ramesh is at fault, I cannot bear not to speak to him after a while,” she says.

Hema could also not bear the tension when, on October 8, 1994, Ramesh decided to set a record of singing non-stop for 30 hours during the Soorya Festival at Thiruvananthapuram. “I suffered a lot when he was singing,” says Hema. “He hardly drank or ate anything. I was scared about what would happen to his health, although a doctor was doing regular check-ups. At that time, my eldest daughter was only two years old.”

And yet when Ramesh set the record Hema was happy. “I was actually thrilled beyond words,” she says.

Then, on January 18, 2013, at the Film and Television Institute at Pune, to celebrate 100 years of Indian cinema, Ramesh sang non-stop for 36 hours. This achievement was later included in the Limca Book Of Records. “This time I did not feel nervous at all,” says Hema, with a smile. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)  

A Mother passes on her love for reading

By Shevlin Sebastian

My mother was only 18 years old when she got married in Kerala and went to live with my father in Kolkata. Since it was a new place, it was not surprising that she was taken aback by the culture, food, language and customs. And she struggled to adjust.

During the day when my father went to work, my mother felt lonely. And that was when she picked up her first paperback from a shelf of books on my father’s table.

And my mother never stopped reading ever since.

One of my most vivid memories of my childhood was to see my mother with her nose in a book. I must have been five at that time. It seemed to me a pleasurable activity, because my mother had a peaceful look on her face.

But, recently, my mother, while reminiscing about my childhood, gave me another image. When I was a one-year-old baby, she would sit on an armchair, place me on her lap, and read the newspaper. So, as a tiny tot, I would stare at print for several minutes every day.

It would have been a soothing moment for me: leaning against my mother I could probably feel her heartbeat. And then there was this pleasant silence, punctuated now and then by the rustle of the pages as it was being turned.

My mother said, “You were the perfect baby. You never cried or made a fuss. In fact, once you went to sleep at 7 p.m., you would only awaken at 7 a.m. So I could safely leave you with the maid and go for a night show with your father.”

When I was seven or eight years old, we went for holidays to Kerala and spent time in my grandparents’ house at Muvattupuzha.

My grandfather suffered from glaucoma and could not see. But he was always keen to know the news. So my mother would sit next to him and read the entire newspaper: from snippets, to local news, editorials, national and international reports, and on to the sports pages.

I would sit next to my mother and listen to her. The entire exercise took about 50 minutes.

Is it any wonder that, with this sort of background, I became a voracious reader, as well as a print journalist?

I have spent many hours in libraries at Kolkata, Bangalore, Mumbai, Delhi and Kochi. I enjoyed the meditative silence that was present in reading rooms. Nobody disturbed you. You sat alone, with the magazine and your thoughts. The cacophony that characterised life in India was kept outside the room, more so, if it was an air-conditioned hall like the United States Information Service library in Kolkata.

Perhaps this activity was also an unconscious reminder of the time I spent with my mother, enjoying her love and companionship.

Today, at 78, my mother no longer reads books, but is an avid reader of newspapers. I still devour magazines, newspapers, books, and do relentless reading on the Internet.

And my children, a boy and a girl, are picking up the habit. Both are keen readers, but my daughter prefers to read on the Kindle.

Time goes on, but I silently thank my mother for this wonderful gift of reading that she has passed on to me… and future generations.

(Published as a 'middle' in The New Indian Express, South Indian edition)

“I like to watch Navas on stage”

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn

Rehna talks about life with the mimicry artist Kalabhavan Navas

By Shevlin Sebastian 

One day, when comedian Suraj Vejaramoodu called up mimicry artist Kalabhavan Navas, his wife Rehna picked up the phone. She has a husky voice. Sooraj thought that Navas was impersonating a boy. Immediately, he took on the voice of a girl and said that he wanted to talk to Navas.

Rehna said, “I am Navas's wife.”

Sooraj said, “Son, please pass the phone to Navas. I need to talk to him urgently.”

This went on for a couple of minutes.

An exasperated Rehna said, “I am going to put the phone down.”

Suddenly, Sooraj asked, in his own voice, “Are you really Navas's wife?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I am so sorry,” said Sooraj. “I thought that Navas was teasing me by talking in a boy's voice.”

This has happened earlier, also. When she was active as an actress, producers would call the house. When Rehna picked up the phone, they would immediately say, “Son, please pass the phone to Rehna.”

At her home at Choondy, near Aluva, Rehna smiles and says, “I have got used to it.”

The house is set in sylvan surroundings. There are coconut trees and jackfruit and all types of plants. The walls are made of mud, so there is a cooling effect inside. A small gap in the roof in the middle of the house ensures that rainfall falls in, creating a beautiful and cascading effect.

Navas and his family first saw Rehna at a dance programme in Changaramkulam in December, 1999. Soon after, Navas' brother, Niyas, came to the house with a marriage proposal. But Rehna's father, Hassanar, the stage actor, was reluctant to say yes, because his elder daughter, Swapna, was not yet married.

In the end, Navas waited for three years, till Swapna got married, before he tied the knot with Rehna on October 27, 2002, at Vadakanacherry.

It was a hectic time for Rehna. She had just finished shooting for the hit television serial, 'Sthree', on a Friday and had to set out early in the morning on Sunday to go to Vadakanacherry for the wedding. When they returned to her home at Aluva, at 10 p.m., Rehna was so tired that she went to sleep straightaway.

“That was how I spent the wedding night,” she says. But at 4 a.m., Navas woke her up saying that he had a sore throat and asked for a cup of tea. “I was so dazed, that it took me some time to realise that there is a man sleeping next to me and he is my husband,” says Rehna.

Over the years, Rehna has developed an admiration for Navas. “Nothing affects him,” says Rehna. “He is super cool. But I am a hyper person, especially when I have to deal with the children.”

They are Naharin, 10, and sons, Rihan, 6, and Ridwan 1 ½). “Navas is not strict with the children,” she says. “He is more like a friend.”

Perhaps the one negative is that like all artistes Navas spends a lot of time thinking. “When he is alone, he is busy writing a script, for his stage shows, or studying his roles,” says Rehna. “So when I tell Navas something important he will just stare at me and nod. I assume that he has understood what I have said, but the next day when I ask him about him, he will have no memory of it.”

But when he is not working, every now and then, the family goes to see films at the PVR Cinema in Lulu Mall or the Oberon Mall in Kochi. Sometimes, they go for short vacations. And end up having unusual experiences.

A couple of years ago, they went to Wayanad for a short vacation in their Tata Innova. When they reached Kottakal, Navas discovered that he had forgotten to take his purse which contained the money, as well as the ATM cards. Rehna also did not have any money. So she suggested that they return home.

It was about 7 p.m. But Navas had no mood to turn back. They sat for several minutes wondering what to do. Then suddenly, Rehna showed him the gold rings that she was wearing.

Navas then came up with a creative solution. He took a couple of rings, went to a jewellery shop, sold it, got the money and they carried on with their vacation. “It was so funny that I laughed till I cried,” she says. “Navas is crazy, but a loving person.”

Rehna also loves to watch her husband perform. “I have a great affection for stage artistes, since my own father was one. My father would say a lot of dialogues, had a good voice and looked nice on stage. So I feel very happy when I see Navas perform.”

But she does not feel the same excitement when she sees him in films.

“There is far less freedom while acting in a movie,” she says. “The area which you can move around is fixed, and you have to listen to the director. But on the stage you have the freedom to move around, and can exploit your talent to the maximum.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

The Throw Of The Dice

Writer-Director Geetu Mohandas' indie film, 'Liar's Dice', has made a mark on the international film festival circuit

Photo by Mithun Vinod

By Shevlin Sebastian

On the first day of the shoot of the indie film, 'Liar's Dice', writer-director Geetu Mohandas took images of the heroine Kamala (Geetanjali Thapa), working as a sweeper at a homestay run by a Bengali in the remote village of Chitkul in Himachal Pradesh. After the shot was canned, angry villagers swarmed around Geetu and told her, “You cannot shoot this. Our women don't work for other people. They only work for themselves.”

Meanwhile, the production members told Geetu, “If you listen to them now, they will not allow you to complete the film on schedule. They will dictate terms all the time.”

Geetu had to take a split-second decision. She listened to her intuition, and said, “I am going to take it off the script.” Then she told the villagers, “Tell me what this woman does. Write the first part for me.”

Thereafter, the excited villagers took Geetu and her crew to the most interesting spaces where the women worked. There was one particular spot, where they stacked hay, with leaves and sticks, before winter arrived, on a particular tree, high up on a mountain. “That became the opening shot of the film,” says Geetu.

'Liar's Dice' traces the journey of Kamala, along with her three-year-old daughter, Manya, as well as a goat, from Chitkul, via stops at Shimla and Chandigarh, in search of her missing husband at Delhi. Along the way, she is befriended by an Army deserter Nawazuddin (played ably by Nawazuddin Siddiqui), and the film highlights the tension and distrust between the two. “It is also a love story,” says Geetu.

But, at bottom, it is a political film. “I got the idea while reading a newspaper item, a few years ago, about migrant labourers and their displacement,” says Geetu. “It was about men from the interior parts of the country who were shown the big dreams of city life, and how they were recruited and the terrible conditions that they lived in. And if a calamity occurred, they became nameless faces or a statistic. They were never identified by name or the place they belonged to.”

The film has made a mark on the international film festival circuit. This year, it has won the Special Jury Award at the Sophia International Film Festival, as well as Best Film and Best Actress at the New York Indian Film Festival. Then it won the Bronce Alhambra award at the Granada Cines del Sur Film Festival, and National Awards for Best Actress and Best Cinematography for Rajeev Ravi, one of Bollywood's leading cinematographers, as well as the spouse of Geetu.

Not surprisingly, the film has also received positive reviews. “Geetu makes an assured debut,” writes Dennis Harvey in 'Variety'. “This Indian road drama is interesting to look at, and nicely observed.” Thus far, it has been screened in 22 festivals, with acceptances from another 30.

“It's overwhelming when your film is well-received,” says Geetu. “When you make a movie, you don't have awards in your mind. You just want to produce it within the allotted budget and make a good film.” 

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

All About A Nose

The Lokadharmi Theatre enacted a play, 'Viswavikhyathamaya mookku' (The World-Renowned Nose), based on a story by Vaikom Mohammed Basheer. The group has staged more than 40 plays till now

Photo of Director Chadradasan by Suresh Nampoothiri 

By Shevlin Sebastian

At the start of the play, 'Viswavikhyathamaya mookku' (The World-Renowned Nose), held recently at the JT Pac, Kochi, 14 men and women, dressed in black T-shirts and trousers glide on to the stage. The stage has very little props: a wooden door, a stool, and a few boxes.

The actors carry on making slow-motion movements. Then all of a sudden all of them wear masks which are placed on a low box on the stage. “The idea to wear the masks is to make the faces look exaggerated,” says director Chandradasan, of the Lokadharmi Theatre.

As for the reason behind all the actors wearing black costumes, he says, “To project the face, black is the best colour. That is why I avoided all the other colours. And I wanted to give the feeling that everybody is the same.”

Chandradasan also decided to do away with scenery, costumes, and music. “It was a challenge for the actors to sustain the interest of the audience, without such tools,” says Chandradasan. But they did succeed in holding the audience's attention with elaborate movements and gestures.

The script is based on Vaikom Mohammed Basheer's classic story, 'Viswavikhyathamaya mookku', which was published in 1954. In the play, it is about a chef who works in a hotel. On his 24th birthday, his nose starts to grow. And it only stops growing when it reaches the navel.

People flock to see him. The owner has no option but to sack him, since the commotion is hampering his business. Then for several days, the man and his mother are starving. Then slowly, the mother realises the value of the nose. She succumbs to the temptation of accepting money and allowing people to see her freak son. 

Meanwhile, political parties try to get him on their side. And the media has a field day covering all the brouhaha.

“The story is relevant to our contemporary life,” says Chandradasan. “It reveals the manipulation of a person by politicians and the media. And how all this has an effect on the man.”

Three years later, the long-nosed man has become an important figure in society. “He becomes rich and famous,” says Chandradasan. “Then he acts in a film. At rock bottom the play is a social satire.”

Interestingly, it is a satire that uses a mix of Malayalam and gibberish. “Basheer has created a lot of gibberish in his work,” says Chandradasan. “It was an extension of what he has done.”

As for the cast, the highlight for them was the presence of superstar Mohanlal, who is the chairman of JT Pac. “Most of the cast members knew he was present, because he was sitting in the front row,” says Chandradasan. 

After the show, the actor came up on stage and publicly complimented the cast. “It was a well-choreographed play, and the actors gave a fine performance,” said Mohanlal. Some overwhelmed cast members went and touched Mohanlal's feet.

Chandradasan started the Lokadharmi Theatre in 1991, along with 25 other enthusiasts at Tripunithara. Today, there is a group of 150 actors and actresses, who come from all walks of life. So there are students, advocates, engineers, headload workers, painters and teachers.

Chandradasan, himself, is a teacher of chemistry at St. Albert's College, Kochi.

So far, Lokadharmi has staged more than 40 plays. They include 'Chattan Kattu' (an Indianised adaptation of 'The Tempest' by William Shakespeare), 'Poranadi' ('The Outcast' by KN Panicker), 'Medea' (the Indian adaptation of the Greek classic by Euripides), 'Macbeth' by Shakespeare and 'Karnabharam' (The Anguish of Karnna – a Sanskrit play by Bhasa).

In fact, 'Karnabharam' won best stage design, best costume design and best play in the Mahindra Excellence in Theatre Awards, 2008. When it was staged in Delhi, one of India's most popular playwrights, Habib Tanvir told Chandradasan, “I enjoyed every inch of the play.” Says a moved Chandradasan, “It was the best compliment that I have received in my career.”

Lokadharmi also runs 'Mazhavillu', a children's theatre at Changampuzha Park, Kochi. Boys and girls between 10 and 17 do improvisations, games, play readings and other theatre activities.

However, the team faces an uphill struggle because of the poor status of theatre in Kerala. “The audience does not have the habit of buying a ticket,” says Chandradasan. “They want to watch a play for free. In our society, people pay for everything, except for theatre. The group is finding it difficult because there are no sponsors, and no help from the government.”

Another problem is the lack of space to perform. So Chandradasan has invested his own money, around Rs 1 crore, to start a theatre in the Vypeen Islands. “It will be a place where research, training and performances will take place,” he says. 

And he is going to ensure it is a successful venture. In March, 2015, Chandradasan, who has won a six-month Fulbright Fellowship for Professional and Academic Excellence, will be going to the USA to study how theatre is managed there. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)