Women Travelling Ticket Examiners face resistance from travellers and an occasional sexist remark as they go about their jobs
By Shevlin Sebastian
It is raining in torrents at Ernakulam South station on a Monday morning, but that does not deter Travelling Ticket Examiner (TTE) Ann Mary Sydna D’Cruze, 36.
She jumps into a sleeper bogie of the 6041 Chennai-Alleppey Express and starts checking tickets. The men passengers look with surprise because she is a woman, but they comply silently.
Ann zips through each compartment, checking, signing and returning the ticket, all in one smooth movement. For a couple of male passengers who are sleeping on the upper bunks, she prods them with the tip of her pen. So far, everybody has tickets.
She goes into the next bogie: all is legal. Then the next bogie: no ticket-less travelers. In the fourth bogie, she turns to her boss, M.A. Varghese, chief ticket inspector, anti-fraud squad, who is accompanying her, and says, “Sir, we will have to move on to another train.”
He nods and they get down at a sleepy station, Turavur, and jump into the 334 Kayamkulam-Ernakulam Passenger, which is going to Ernakulam. And, immediately, Ann strikes gold.
“I was late,” says Nancy Thomas, 42. “So, I had no option but to rush into the train at Mararikulam without a ticket. But I have just told my son to buy a ticket for me.” Ann says, “I am sorry but you have to pay a fine of Rs 270.”
Nancy enlarges her eyes in shock and says, “Why are you harassing me? Don’t you have a mother or sisters? Why can’t you show some consideration?”
Ann is unfazed. “How much money do you have?”
Nancy opens her purse and shows a Rs 20 and a Rs 10 note. Varghese says, “Please deposit the money tomorrow at our office at Ernakulam South, otherwise, you will be prosecuted.”
Meanwhile, Ann opens a pad called the ‘statement of understanding’ and asks for the address and telephone numbers. But Nancy is suffering from amnesia. “I don’t know the pin-code,” she says. “We don’t have a phone at home.”
Ann says in a polite but determined voice, “If you don’t give me the proper details or pay the fine, you can be jailed.” Finally, Nancy’s resistance crumbles and she supplies the correct information.
Later, Ann says, “I am sure her son is not on the train. She may have been traveling ticket-less for a long time but, today, her luck has run out.”
In the next bogie, Joy George’s luck has also run out. “My friend, Prasad, has my ticket,” he says to Ann. But Prasad, who is sitting a few seats away, has only one ticket.
Varghese asks the 18-year-old, who is wearing a skin-tight T-shirt and a steel necklace, to pay up. Joy takes out a ten rupee note and says, “That’s all I have.”
By this time, a small crowd of curious passengers gathers around. Varghese tells Joy about the problems he will face if he does not pay the fine.
Prasad suddenly says, “We will pay,” and proffers a Rs 100 note to Varghese, a clear bribe. But the chief inspector brushes his hand away and says, with an unflinching gaze, “The amount is Rs 270.”
Prasad and Joy exchange glances. Then, reluctantly, Joy takes out a purse from his trouser pocket and pulls out Rs 100, while Prasad gives Rs 200 and the fine is paid.
It is a good day for Ann. She catches six ticket-less travelers in three bogies, but two of them -- Rajeev Menon and Sailesh Yadav -- are caught, just as the train reaches Ernakulam South station. So, they accompany her to the TTEs room, which is near the entrance.
Inside, there are several other TTEs sitting around and there is loud banter and laughter. A peon brings several cups of coffee and biscuits. As Ann notes down Rajeev’s address, he says sheepishly, “I forget to carry my season ticket today.” Ann tells him to pay the fine the next day.
Sailesh, from Patna, who works as a foreman in a construction firm, deposits Rs 240 and says he will pay the remaining amount the next day. They leave and Ann sighs, as she sips her coffee. After a brief rest, she will set out again.
During the eight-hour shift, she gets in and out of four trains. And on most days, she gets an average of two passengers per train. But she is glad she did not get an extreme reaction from passengers, like what happened to her colleague, Bindu Mathew, recently.
One morning, Bindu, 32, is checking tickets on the Island Express. Through the corner of her eye, she notices a young man -- who is sitting with a group of nursing students from Bangalore -- move towards the door. In one swift movement he jumps off and lands on the gravel and rolls for a while. When he gets up, there is blood on his face and hands. “Thankfully, the train is not going fast,” says Bindu.
Later, the nursing students tell her that the youth had boasted to the girls that he is a successful businessman from Bangalore. “So, probably, faced with the embarrassment of being exposed as a ticket-less traveler, he had taken this extreme step,” she says. “Many passengers do this.”
Apart from the men, there are several ticket-less travellers in the ladies’ bogie. “Most women feel there will be no checking,” says Bindu’s colleague, S. Sreedevi. “However, once they are caught, the majority pay up quickly.”
Several TTEs say they rarely face any problems from ordinary people; instead, they face stiff resistance from the educated and affluent people. “They want to wear us down by arguing and by hinting that we may be pocketing the fine,” says Jiji Balan.
Others who don’t pay are college students. “Most of the time, they only carry an ATM card,” says Ann. So, at the next major station, the TTE will get down with the youngsters, so that they can withdraw the money from the ATM.
If they do not have an ATM card, the youth will have to go home or to one of their relative’s house and get the money. “We lose one or two hours waiting for these passengers,” says Ann.
Like in any job, they also encounter problems. “There is eve teasing,” admits Bindu. “Sometimes, a man will make a suggestive comment, but I ignore it. If I try to make a hullabaloo, the other passengers will hear about it and it is not worth the trouble. Secondly, I will be wasting time.”
Time-management is important to these women who have to handle the hassles of managing a home and a career. Surprisingly, they also face problems from the weather. “The rainy season is the most difficult,” says Jiji. “Because, despite having an umbrella, we always get wet, when we go from the reserved to the general compartment, and when we cross platforms, to get into another train.”
Whatever the problems, these women TTE’s are determined to extract their pound of flesh for a simple reason: every month they have to meet a target of Rs 15,000; hence, the need to nail every transgressor.
To ensure that they are successful, they wear ordinary clothes, instead of the distinctive white uniform of the TTE. (Incidentally, in Kerala, there are no regular women TTEs. In fact, all of them work in the anti-fraud section).
So, come rain or shine, they are focused on their daily cat and mouse game with passengers. So, what is the advice they would give passengers? “Please pay the fine,” they plead in unison. “We cannot understand why people would want to risk going to jail, or lose an arm or a leg or even their lives, rather than pay a fine which, usually, does not exceed Rs. 300.”
Varghese remembers a group of football lovers who had come to watch a match at Ernakulam and took a train to return to Aluva, 30 kms away. None of them had tickets. When he confronted them, all seven rushed to the door and jumped off, one by one. “Sadly, the last man slipped and fell under the wheels,” he says. “Please pay the fine!”
(Some names have been changed)
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Chennai)
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Looking back with pleasure
(A series on childhood memories)
Despite suffering from mild dyslexia, Kochuouseph Chittilappilly had an enjoyable childhood
By Shevlin Sebastian
Kochuouseph Chittilappilly was sitting on the last bench in Class three at St. John's Primary school at Parappur, near Thrissur. Behind him was a bamboo partition and on the other side sat the students of Class four.
Suddenly, he noticed a girl's long plait was trailing under the partition. As Gopalakrishnan Master droned on, Kochuouseph lifted the end of the plait and tied it around a nail on the partition.
Soon, classes ended, and when the girl tried to stand up she fell over backwards and landed on the floor. "There was a hullabaloo and I was caught," says Kochuouseph. "But what saved me from a severe punishment was that my cousin sister, Alice, was a close friend of that girl, and so, she did not create a fuss."
More than half a century later, a boyish grin breaks out on the face of the managing director of V-Guard Industries Ltd., as he recalls the incident, while sitting in his palatial house, besides National Highway 47 at Kochi.
More memories tumble out. When he was in Class two, the class teacher would take the help of children to grow vegetables in the backyard of the school.
"We would plant the seeds and water it regularly," he says. But when the vegetables were ready the teacher would take it home or give some to his colleagues. “We did the work while the teachers enjoyed the fruits," he says.
Before joining school, he was taught at home by a retired teacher called Panicker Master. Kochuouseph was a natural left-hander, but Panicker compelled him to write with the right hand.
"I found it very difficult," says Kochuouseph. "Every time I wrote with my left hand, he would force me to use the other hand. As a result, my handwriting is still poor."
This forced change might have contributed to the mild dyslexia he has suffered throughout his life. "When I write the number 92, it comes out as 29," he says. "This happens even now. So, I always have to re-check whatever I write."
Although it hampered him in school, he never failed in a subject or a class. "I would just take more time than the others to finish my exams," he says. "There would be a lot of scratches and crosses in my answer sheet."
But Kochuouseph says that despite these minor problems, he had a happy childhood. And the summer holidays was the highlight of the year. Because then, he, along with his five brothers and sisters, would be taken to his mother's house at Njarakkal in the Vypeen Islands.
"We went by train to Ernakulam and then took a boat from the high court jetty," he says. "I still remember the train journey. The noise of the steam engine and the way the levers moved was very exciting. I would look out of the window and my face would get blackened because of the coal dust."
The Njarakkal property was large and there was an army of cousins present and they would play games, like ball badminton, and go fishing in the canal which flowed at the back of the property.
"When we returned from the summer holidays, the teacher would say, ‘Has anybody traveled on a train?’" says Kochuouseph. "I would be the only one to raise my hand. Then he would ask, ‘Has anybody traveled by boat?’ and once again I would raise my hand."
It was a comfortable life for the family, because his father was a prosperous farmer. But Kochuouseph was keenly aware that the other children were not having it easy.
He remembers the time when the school planned an excursion to the Peechi dam. “The teachers said they would need at least 50 children, but even in a school of 1200, that was not possible,” he says. “Money was scarce and, at that time, parents felt that this was a luxury.” So, for many years, the trips had to be cancelled.
But Kochuouseph did not mind. He spent his spare time repairing gadgets. “I was a technically-oriented person,” he says. And he put that knowledge to good use.
During Christmas, one year, he made a crib. “I had attached a switch in such a way that when you placed your hand on the baby Jesus, a bulb would light up,” he says. “I was only 11 years old.”
However, his sister, Achamma, who is a year older, says that when Kochuouseph was not tinkering with gadgets, he was always playing some prank or the other.
“He would get a lot of beatings from my parents,” she says. “I used to feel sad about it.” But Kochuouseph looks back with affection. “Even though my parents were strict, I could sense their love for us children.”
(Copyright: The New Indian Express)
Despite suffering from mild dyslexia, Kochuouseph Chittilappilly had an enjoyable childhood
By Shevlin Sebastian
Kochuouseph Chittilappilly was sitting on the last bench in Class three at St. John's Primary school at Parappur, near Thrissur. Behind him was a bamboo partition and on the other side sat the students of Class four.
Suddenly, he noticed a girl's long plait was trailing under the partition. As Gopalakrishnan Master droned on, Kochuouseph lifted the end of the plait and tied it around a nail on the partition.
Soon, classes ended, and when the girl tried to stand up she fell over backwards and landed on the floor. "There was a hullabaloo and I was caught," says Kochuouseph. "But what saved me from a severe punishment was that my cousin sister, Alice, was a close friend of that girl, and so, she did not create a fuss."
More than half a century later, a boyish grin breaks out on the face of the managing director of V-Guard Industries Ltd., as he recalls the incident, while sitting in his palatial house, besides National Highway 47 at Kochi.
More memories tumble out. When he was in Class two, the class teacher would take the help of children to grow vegetables in the backyard of the school.
"We would plant the seeds and water it regularly," he says. But when the vegetables were ready the teacher would take it home or give some to his colleagues. “We did the work while the teachers enjoyed the fruits," he says.
Before joining school, he was taught at home by a retired teacher called Panicker Master. Kochuouseph was a natural left-hander, but Panicker compelled him to write with the right hand.
"I found it very difficult," says Kochuouseph. "Every time I wrote with my left hand, he would force me to use the other hand. As a result, my handwriting is still poor."
This forced change might have contributed to the mild dyslexia he has suffered throughout his life. "When I write the number 92, it comes out as 29," he says. "This happens even now. So, I always have to re-check whatever I write."
Although it hampered him in school, he never failed in a subject or a class. "I would just take more time than the others to finish my exams," he says. "There would be a lot of scratches and crosses in my answer sheet."
But Kochuouseph says that despite these minor problems, he had a happy childhood. And the summer holidays was the highlight of the year. Because then, he, along with his five brothers and sisters, would be taken to his mother's house at Njarakkal in the Vypeen Islands.
"We went by train to Ernakulam and then took a boat from the high court jetty," he says. "I still remember the train journey. The noise of the steam engine and the way the levers moved was very exciting. I would look out of the window and my face would get blackened because of the coal dust."
The Njarakkal property was large and there was an army of cousins present and they would play games, like ball badminton, and go fishing in the canal which flowed at the back of the property.
"When we returned from the summer holidays, the teacher would say, ‘Has anybody traveled on a train?’" says Kochuouseph. "I would be the only one to raise my hand. Then he would ask, ‘Has anybody traveled by boat?’ and once again I would raise my hand."
It was a comfortable life for the family, because his father was a prosperous farmer. But Kochuouseph was keenly aware that the other children were not having it easy.
He remembers the time when the school planned an excursion to the Peechi dam. “The teachers said they would need at least 50 children, but even in a school of 1200, that was not possible,” he says. “Money was scarce and, at that time, parents felt that this was a luxury.” So, for many years, the trips had to be cancelled.
But Kochuouseph did not mind. He spent his spare time repairing gadgets. “I was a technically-oriented person,” he says. And he put that knowledge to good use.
During Christmas, one year, he made a crib. “I had attached a switch in such a way that when you placed your hand on the baby Jesus, a bulb would light up,” he says. “I was only 11 years old.”
However, his sister, Achamma, who is a year older, says that when Kochuouseph was not tinkering with gadgets, he was always playing some prank or the other.
“He would get a lot of beatings from my parents,” she says. “I used to feel sad about it.” But Kochuouseph looks back with affection. “Even though my parents were strict, I could sense their love for us children.”
(Copyright: The New Indian Express)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
How to check your mate!
Lev Psakhis, one of the foremost chess coaches in the world, gives lessons to Kerala’s first grandmaster, G.N. Gopal
By Shevlin Sebastian
At 7 p.m. on a Friday, Israeli chess coach Lev Psakhis, 49, leans back in his chair and runs his hands through his dishevelled hair. It has been a long and intense day for him. In his hotel room at Kochi, there are CDs placed haphazardly on the bed, a half-open novel -- ‘Hyperion’ by Dan Simmons -- and a laptop. On a low table, there is a chess set, with green and white squares and cream-coloured pieces.
Sitting opposite Psakhis, looking cool and composed is G.N. Gopal, 19, Kerala’s first grandmaster, who is ranked No. 7 in India. Thanks to Geojit Financial Services Ltd., which has paid for the expenses of Psakhis, Gopal is being tutored for a month. “Gopal had wanted to be trained by a foreign coach, so we decided to help him,” says Jaya Jacob Alexander, the chief of human resources at Geojit.
T.M.S. Nampootiripad, Gopal’s first coach, says that Psakhis is one of the foremost coaches in the world. “He has a phenomenal memory,” he says. “He can recall every move in all the games that the former world champion Bobby Fischer had played in twenty years.”
So what is Psakhis teaching the youngster? “Gopal’s primary weakness is his inexperience,” he says. “So, I am passing on some tips that I have gained from my many years of international competition.”
Gopal says that since he is an attacking player, Psakhis is working on strengthening his defence and positional play. “He is also teaching me on how to make the right decisions during the critical moments of a game,” he says.
Another key area is the control of emotions. “The coach says that Asians tend to be over-emotional at all times,” says Gopal. “This is a genetic quality. Sometimes, this is good, and, sometimes, it is bad. However, it is better to be calm.”
The Russian-born Psakhis, who was once ranked World No. 7, was a calm player. In 1981, he was joint Soviet champion with Garry Kasparov. Later, Psakhis, who migrated to Israel in 1989, assisted Kasparov in his preparations for the world championships duel with Anatoly Karpov.
So, what does he think of Kasparov, who retired from chess in March, 2005? “He was the greatest player in history,” he says. “He was talented, self-motivated, and worked very hard. However, he had trouble in maintaining relationships. You may like or dislike him as a person, but as a player, he was supreme.”
When asked to compare Kasparov and Vishwanathan Anand, Psakhis says, “Both are strong players, but they are completely different.”
According to most media accounts, Kasparov destroyed Anand psychologically during the 1995 World Championship match at New York. “Kasparov is a killer,” says Psakhis. “He tries to finish off a rival forever, but Anand kills only for the match and does not mind facing the rival again.”
But Psakhis says that Anand has recovered strongly from the defeat and is a respected world champion. “There are no arguments about Anand’s stature,” he says.
Gopal listens intently to Psakhis. Every day, this lanky college student comes from his home at Aluva and starts training with the coach at 10 a.m. For the past few days, they have been doing an in-depth analysis of well-known games. The hours pass in a blur. “Sometimes, we have lunch only at 3 p.m.,” says Gopal. “After a two-hour break, we work again for two hours.”
As a result of this intensive labour, Psakhis has been unable to see Kochi. “Nine hours with Gopal and before he comes, I prepare for three hours,” says Psakhis. “It is work, work, and more work.” However, Gopal says, “For Psakhis, chess is a passion.”
After this stint, Psakhis’ next assignment is in Kozhikode where he will coach the Indian team, which includes Gopal, for the Chess Olympiad that will be held in November in Dresden, Germany.
Asked why, apart from Anand, no Indian player has made much of an impact at the international level, the coach says, “It is because of a lack of exposure. The more you play against foreign players, the better you will become.”
He says the situation will improve because, thanks to the rising affluence, Indian players are taking part in many more international competitions.
At this moment, he says, apart from Anand, only three players have reached the international level: K. Sasikaran, P. Harikrishna, and Koneru Humpy.
And Gopal is hoping to be the next player. “My immediate goal is to reach 2,600 ELO points. At this moment, I have 2,562 points. And, of course, my long-term goal is to reach the Top 10.”
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express,Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
At 7 p.m. on a Friday, Israeli chess coach Lev Psakhis, 49, leans back in his chair and runs his hands through his dishevelled hair. It has been a long and intense day for him. In his hotel room at Kochi, there are CDs placed haphazardly on the bed, a half-open novel -- ‘Hyperion’ by Dan Simmons -- and a laptop. On a low table, there is a chess set, with green and white squares and cream-coloured pieces.
Sitting opposite Psakhis, looking cool and composed is G.N. Gopal, 19, Kerala’s first grandmaster, who is ranked No. 7 in India. Thanks to Geojit Financial Services Ltd., which has paid for the expenses of Psakhis, Gopal is being tutored for a month. “Gopal had wanted to be trained by a foreign coach, so we decided to help him,” says Jaya Jacob Alexander, the chief of human resources at Geojit.
T.M.S. Nampootiripad, Gopal’s first coach, says that Psakhis is one of the foremost coaches in the world. “He has a phenomenal memory,” he says. “He can recall every move in all the games that the former world champion Bobby Fischer had played in twenty years.”
So what is Psakhis teaching the youngster? “Gopal’s primary weakness is his inexperience,” he says. “So, I am passing on some tips that I have gained from my many years of international competition.”
Gopal says that since he is an attacking player, Psakhis is working on strengthening his defence and positional play. “He is also teaching me on how to make the right decisions during the critical moments of a game,” he says.
Another key area is the control of emotions. “The coach says that Asians tend to be over-emotional at all times,” says Gopal. “This is a genetic quality. Sometimes, this is good, and, sometimes, it is bad. However, it is better to be calm.”
The Russian-born Psakhis, who was once ranked World No. 7, was a calm player. In 1981, he was joint Soviet champion with Garry Kasparov. Later, Psakhis, who migrated to Israel in 1989, assisted Kasparov in his preparations for the world championships duel with Anatoly Karpov.
So, what does he think of Kasparov, who retired from chess in March, 2005? “He was the greatest player in history,” he says. “He was talented, self-motivated, and worked very hard. However, he had trouble in maintaining relationships. You may like or dislike him as a person, but as a player, he was supreme.”
When asked to compare Kasparov and Vishwanathan Anand, Psakhis says, “Both are strong players, but they are completely different.”
According to most media accounts, Kasparov destroyed Anand psychologically during the 1995 World Championship match at New York. “Kasparov is a killer,” says Psakhis. “He tries to finish off a rival forever, but Anand kills only for the match and does not mind facing the rival again.”
But Psakhis says that Anand has recovered strongly from the defeat and is a respected world champion. “There are no arguments about Anand’s stature,” he says.
Gopal listens intently to Psakhis. Every day, this lanky college student comes from his home at Aluva and starts training with the coach at 10 a.m. For the past few days, they have been doing an in-depth analysis of well-known games. The hours pass in a blur. “Sometimes, we have lunch only at 3 p.m.,” says Gopal. “After a two-hour break, we work again for two hours.”
As a result of this intensive labour, Psakhis has been unable to see Kochi. “Nine hours with Gopal and before he comes, I prepare for three hours,” says Psakhis. “It is work, work, and more work.” However, Gopal says, “For Psakhis, chess is a passion.”
After this stint, Psakhis’ next assignment is in Kozhikode where he will coach the Indian team, which includes Gopal, for the Chess Olympiad that will be held in November in Dresden, Germany.
Asked why, apart from Anand, no Indian player has made much of an impact at the international level, the coach says, “It is because of a lack of exposure. The more you play against foreign players, the better you will become.”
He says the situation will improve because, thanks to the rising affluence, Indian players are taking part in many more international competitions.
At this moment, he says, apart from Anand, only three players have reached the international level: K. Sasikaran, P. Harikrishna, and Koneru Humpy.
And Gopal is hoping to be the next player. “My immediate goal is to reach 2,600 ELO points. At this moment, I have 2,562 points. And, of course, my long-term goal is to reach the Top 10.”
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express,Kochi)
Sunday, June 08, 2008
The heart of the matter
(A series on childhood memories)
Cardiac specialist, Jose Chacko Periappuram, talks about beatings in school and the death of a younger brother
By Shevlin Sebastian
At St. Paul’s school in Ettumanoor, Jose Chacko Periappuram sat on a jute dustbin by accident. The dustbin, as expected, was flattened. The teacher complained to the headmistress, a nun. The next day, in front of the assembly, Jose was asked to come on stage. The nun made a sign and a peon bought another dustbin.
Then she said, “Jose, do show the assembly how you sat on a dustbin.” As he was about to sit down, the nun gave a whack with the cane. Thereafter, she followed it with several strikes, as the students and teachers sniggered.
“It was cruel and degrading,” says Jose, 49, one of the leading heart specialists in the city. Later, the humiliation continued when he returned to class and his classmates took turns in making fun of him.
In his air-conditioned chamber at Lisie Hospital, in Kochi, where he is the chief cardiac surgeon, as nurses hovered around and several people waited patiently to talk to him, Jose travelled easily into the distant past.
Here is another memory: one day, during class, he began to draw an image of a boy with horns sticking out from his head. The first few drawings did not come up to expectations, so he carried on making more figures. Suddenly, the teacher said, “Jose, what are you doing?” Then, she looked at the drawings and said, “You have done 19 drawings of devils, and there are 19 teachers.”
The teacher took offence and even though Jose protested his innocence, she complained to the principal. He was hauled up in front of the assembly and given another beating. “Too much punishment has a negative effect,” he says.
But it was not all sadness and reprimands. During the summer holidays he would go and spend time at his grandfather’s farm in Piravom. There were pigs, ducks, hens and cows, apart from 100 acres under paddy cultivation.
And Jose, along with his cousins, tilled the fields, plucked tapioca, and collected chillies. “We would also go to the nearby hills to collect fruit,” he says. “But there was an ever-present danger of snake bites. People had died because of it.”
But the elders did not prevent the children from going. “Remember this was the time when there were no pagers or telephones or mobiles,” he says. “There were very few hospitals and public transport was rare. So, if you suffered a snake bite, there was a good chance you could die.” But the children went ahead and had a good time.
“At that time, the air was pure,” he says. “When we returned, we did not eat burgers but healthy food like rice and jackfruit.” He says that, nowadays, children are missing out on childhood. “They feel more at home with computers and laptops,” says this father of three boys. “They live future-oriented lives. To be honest, my childhood has been far better than those of my children.”
It was an enjoyable childhood, indeed, but it was marred by tragedy. His younger brother, Kuriachan, died of a skin infection when he was four years old. “At that time, infant mortality was high,” says Jose.
He remembers his late father, Prof. P.M. Chacko, a former principal of St. Thomas College, Pala, saying, “Our son has gone to heaven to bless and look after us.”
Thereafter, for many years, Jose prayed to Kuriachan when he was going through difficult times. And whenever he went anywhere, via Paravoor, he would pray at his brother’s grave at St. John’s church. “I always feel he is protecting me,” he says.
Jose, himself, escaped death by a whisker. One day his father and uncles – one of them was the famous Fr. Abel, the founder of Kala Bhawan -- had gone to swim in a nearby lake at Piravom.
They asked Jose, then six years old, to sit on the edge of the bank. When his father looked up after a while, Jose was missing. The uncles thought he had gone back home.
“But suddenly, my father saw my head bob in the water,” says Jose. He went down again and it was only when he had come up for the third time that his father was able to reach him.
“There is a belief that after coming up for the third time, the person usually drowns, but, by the grace of God, I was saved,” he says.
He was saved, he thought, to become a priest. That was his initial ambition. But, instead, he has become a celebrated cardiac surgeon, who performed Kerala’s first heart transplant surgery. “Just like a priest does spiritual healing, similarly, I do physical healing,” says the chairman of the Heartcare Foundation.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Cardiac specialist, Jose Chacko Periappuram, talks about beatings in school and the death of a younger brother
By Shevlin Sebastian
At St. Paul’s school in Ettumanoor, Jose Chacko Periappuram sat on a jute dustbin by accident. The dustbin, as expected, was flattened. The teacher complained to the headmistress, a nun. The next day, in front of the assembly, Jose was asked to come on stage. The nun made a sign and a peon bought another dustbin.
Then she said, “Jose, do show the assembly how you sat on a dustbin.” As he was about to sit down, the nun gave a whack with the cane. Thereafter, she followed it with several strikes, as the students and teachers sniggered.
“It was cruel and degrading,” says Jose, 49, one of the leading heart specialists in the city. Later, the humiliation continued when he returned to class and his classmates took turns in making fun of him.
In his air-conditioned chamber at Lisie Hospital, in Kochi, where he is the chief cardiac surgeon, as nurses hovered around and several people waited patiently to talk to him, Jose travelled easily into the distant past.
Here is another memory: one day, during class, he began to draw an image of a boy with horns sticking out from his head. The first few drawings did not come up to expectations, so he carried on making more figures. Suddenly, the teacher said, “Jose, what are you doing?” Then, she looked at the drawings and said, “You have done 19 drawings of devils, and there are 19 teachers.”
The teacher took offence and even though Jose protested his innocence, she complained to the principal. He was hauled up in front of the assembly and given another beating. “Too much punishment has a negative effect,” he says.
But it was not all sadness and reprimands. During the summer holidays he would go and spend time at his grandfather’s farm in Piravom. There were pigs, ducks, hens and cows, apart from 100 acres under paddy cultivation.
And Jose, along with his cousins, tilled the fields, plucked tapioca, and collected chillies. “We would also go to the nearby hills to collect fruit,” he says. “But there was an ever-present danger of snake bites. People had died because of it.”
But the elders did not prevent the children from going. “Remember this was the time when there were no pagers or telephones or mobiles,” he says. “There were very few hospitals and public transport was rare. So, if you suffered a snake bite, there was a good chance you could die.” But the children went ahead and had a good time.
“At that time, the air was pure,” he says. “When we returned, we did not eat burgers but healthy food like rice and jackfruit.” He says that, nowadays, children are missing out on childhood. “They feel more at home with computers and laptops,” says this father of three boys. “They live future-oriented lives. To be honest, my childhood has been far better than those of my children.”
It was an enjoyable childhood, indeed, but it was marred by tragedy. His younger brother, Kuriachan, died of a skin infection when he was four years old. “At that time, infant mortality was high,” says Jose.
He remembers his late father, Prof. P.M. Chacko, a former principal of St. Thomas College, Pala, saying, “Our son has gone to heaven to bless and look after us.”
Thereafter, for many years, Jose prayed to Kuriachan when he was going through difficult times. And whenever he went anywhere, via Paravoor, he would pray at his brother’s grave at St. John’s church. “I always feel he is protecting me,” he says.
Jose, himself, escaped death by a whisker. One day his father and uncles – one of them was the famous Fr. Abel, the founder of Kala Bhawan -- had gone to swim in a nearby lake at Piravom.
They asked Jose, then six years old, to sit on the edge of the bank. When his father looked up after a while, Jose was missing. The uncles thought he had gone back home.
“But suddenly, my father saw my head bob in the water,” says Jose. He went down again and it was only when he had come up for the third time that his father was able to reach him.
“There is a belief that after coming up for the third time, the person usually drowns, but, by the grace of God, I was saved,” he says.
He was saved, he thought, to become a priest. That was his initial ambition. But, instead, he has become a celebrated cardiac surgeon, who performed Kerala’s first heart transplant surgery. “Just like a priest does spiritual healing, similarly, I do physical healing,” says the chairman of the Heartcare Foundation.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Entering the Dragon’s land
A group of Rajagiri Public School students, along with a teacher, went on a fortnight-long trip to China
By Shevlin Sebastian
When Rajagiri Public School teacher, Cisily George, met Ming Ping, 13, at the Baoding Eastern Bilingual School in China, she asked her whether she would like to come to India. “My father told me to say no,” said Ming.
When Cisily asked why, the girl said, “In India, there are plenty of hungry people.”
After a few days, Ming gave a lollipop to Cisily. “Thereafter, she gave a lollipop every day,” says Cisily. “When we were leaving, she hugged me and cried and said she would surely come to India one day.”
Cisily and seven teenage students – four girls and three boys – went on a fortnight-long cultural exchange trip to one of the largest private schools in China. Baoding is situated in Hebei province, 120 kms from Beijing.
Nearly 80 per cent of the 2,100 students are boarders. There are also international students from Korea, Indonesia, Mongolia, Norway and Russia. Asked why foreign students come, Cisily gives the example of Bahadur, a 14-year old Russian boy, who wants to become a diplomat. “He says that since China is going to be the next superpower, it will be an advantage if he knows how to write and speak in Chinese,” says Cisily.
For the Rajagiri students, the trip is a revelation. “The classes start at 7.15 a.m.,” says Esther George. “At 11.30 a.m., there is a lunch break. Following that, the children go to their rooms and can rest or study till 2.15 p.m.”
The next session lasts till 4.30 p.m. Thereafter, there is a break, which includes dinner at 5 p.m., and lasts till 6.30 p.m. Then there are classes till 8.30 p.m. “It works out to about 13 hours with five hours of break in between,” says Esther. Vivek S.J. says that at night, the lights were switched on in all the school buildings. “It was an unusual sight,” he says.
And for the students, it is one long slog. Says Abjy P. Kurian: “They work from Monday to the Friday of the second week, which works out to 12 days.” On Friday, the students are allowed to go home, but have to return on Sunday afternoon.
It seems to be tough for the younger children. Cisily remembers a four-year old boy, who held her hand, and began crying. “I asked the teacher what was the problem?” she says. “She said the boy was feeling homesick.”
The Rajagiri students did not feel homesick. In fact, they enjoyed the spotlessly clean surroundings and the 15 degree centigrade temperature. Asked about the subjects being taught, Malavika Satheesh says it is the same, as in India, but with one difference.
“Everything is in Chinese, while English is taught only as a subject,” she says. The Rajagiri students had lessons in the Chinese language, paper cutting, calligraphy, dancing, painting, singing and wushu (a martial art).
On the weekends, the students, along with Cisily, would go to the nearby Jingxiu park, where groups of elderly Chinese would either play cards or music, or do exercises. “In Baoding, there are very few foreigners,” says Malavika. “Hence, we were treated like celebrities. In their culture, big eyes are a very attractive feature. So, they would stare wonderstruck at us.”
Most of them had seen Hindi films and were aware of Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai. “They felt that, because of our films, all Indians can sing and dance,” says Soha Abdul Shukoor. “So, we danced to Kuttanadan Punchayile from Kazhcha in the heart of China.”
Of course, the highlight of the trip was the visit to the Great Wall. “It is 6,400 kms long,” says Vivek. “When you see it from a distance, it is very beautiful. But, at close quarters, you realise that there are no carvings, it is just a wall.”
What amazed the group were the superb expressways. “Nobody blows the horn or cuts lanes in China,” says Abjy. “From far, you can see this straight line of cars.” A worried Cisily says: “The Chinese will get a heart attack when they come to Kochi and see the chaotic traffic, the dirt and the garbage lying all over the place.”
Meanwhile, Fr. Austin Mulerikal, the director of the school, is happy at the successful outcome. “This trip was a leap in the dark for us,” he says. “We were keen to send the children, because no school from Kerala has gone on a cultural exchange visit to China.” Says the principal, Susan Varghese Cherian: “Thanks to the efforts of the PTA, which handled the logistics of the trip, we were able to give our students a unique experience.”
The happy smiles on the students’ faces confirm that, indeed, it had been an unforgettable trip.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Expres, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
When Rajagiri Public School teacher, Cisily George, met Ming Ping, 13, at the Baoding Eastern Bilingual School in China, she asked her whether she would like to come to India. “My father told me to say no,” said Ming.
When Cisily asked why, the girl said, “In India, there are plenty of hungry people.”
After a few days, Ming gave a lollipop to Cisily. “Thereafter, she gave a lollipop every day,” says Cisily. “When we were leaving, she hugged me and cried and said she would surely come to India one day.”
Cisily and seven teenage students – four girls and three boys – went on a fortnight-long cultural exchange trip to one of the largest private schools in China. Baoding is situated in Hebei province, 120 kms from Beijing.
Nearly 80 per cent of the 2,100 students are boarders. There are also international students from Korea, Indonesia, Mongolia, Norway and Russia. Asked why foreign students come, Cisily gives the example of Bahadur, a 14-year old Russian boy, who wants to become a diplomat. “He says that since China is going to be the next superpower, it will be an advantage if he knows how to write and speak in Chinese,” says Cisily.
For the Rajagiri students, the trip is a revelation. “The classes start at 7.15 a.m.,” says Esther George. “At 11.30 a.m., there is a lunch break. Following that, the children go to their rooms and can rest or study till 2.15 p.m.”
The next session lasts till 4.30 p.m. Thereafter, there is a break, which includes dinner at 5 p.m., and lasts till 6.30 p.m. Then there are classes till 8.30 p.m. “It works out to about 13 hours with five hours of break in between,” says Esther. Vivek S.J. says that at night, the lights were switched on in all the school buildings. “It was an unusual sight,” he says.
And for the students, it is one long slog. Says Abjy P. Kurian: “They work from Monday to the Friday of the second week, which works out to 12 days.” On Friday, the students are allowed to go home, but have to return on Sunday afternoon.
It seems to be tough for the younger children. Cisily remembers a four-year old boy, who held her hand, and began crying. “I asked the teacher what was the problem?” she says. “She said the boy was feeling homesick.”
The Rajagiri students did not feel homesick. In fact, they enjoyed the spotlessly clean surroundings and the 15 degree centigrade temperature. Asked about the subjects being taught, Malavika Satheesh says it is the same, as in India, but with one difference.
“Everything is in Chinese, while English is taught only as a subject,” she says. The Rajagiri students had lessons in the Chinese language, paper cutting, calligraphy, dancing, painting, singing and wushu (a martial art).
On the weekends, the students, along with Cisily, would go to the nearby Jingxiu park, where groups of elderly Chinese would either play cards or music, or do exercises. “In Baoding, there are very few foreigners,” says Malavika. “Hence, we were treated like celebrities. In their culture, big eyes are a very attractive feature. So, they would stare wonderstruck at us.”
Most of them had seen Hindi films and were aware of Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai. “They felt that, because of our films, all Indians can sing and dance,” says Soha Abdul Shukoor. “So, we danced to Kuttanadan Punchayile from Kazhcha in the heart of China.”
Of course, the highlight of the trip was the visit to the Great Wall. “It is 6,400 kms long,” says Vivek. “When you see it from a distance, it is very beautiful. But, at close quarters, you realise that there are no carvings, it is just a wall.”
What amazed the group were the superb expressways. “Nobody blows the horn or cuts lanes in China,” says Abjy. “From far, you can see this straight line of cars.” A worried Cisily says: “The Chinese will get a heart attack when they come to Kochi and see the chaotic traffic, the dirt and the garbage lying all over the place.”
Meanwhile, Fr. Austin Mulerikal, the director of the school, is happy at the successful outcome. “This trip was a leap in the dark for us,” he says. “We were keen to send the children, because no school from Kerala has gone on a cultural exchange visit to China.” Says the principal, Susan Varghese Cherian: “Thanks to the efforts of the PTA, which handled the logistics of the trip, we were able to give our students a unique experience.”
The happy smiles on the students’ faces confirm that, indeed, it had been an unforgettable trip.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Expres, Kochi)
Friday, May 30, 2008
‘My father had a loving nature’
(A series on childhood memories)
Cardinal Varkey Vithayathil, on his 82nd birthday on May 29, talks about the events that made a mark on him
By Shevlin Sebastian
One day, when Cardinal Varkey Vithayathil was five years old, he could not be found in the house in North Parur, where he was staying with his parents and siblings. “My family, along with some neighbours, began searching for me,” he says.
They looked into every nook and corner, including the compound. Finally, with sorrow in their hearts, they headed towards the pond where the children used to swim, assuming that he had drowned. But they could not locate the body.
The family returned to the house and one of the Cardinal’s neighbours went into the bedroom and lifted the blanket. “And there I was, sleeping peacefully,” says Vithayathil. “I had covered myself completely with the blanket. Since I was small, they thought I was a pillow.”
Cardinal Vithayathil, who turns 82 on May 29, has a far-away look in his eyes, as he recounts the events of his childhood. It is an interesting experience for the leader of the Catholic church in Kerala, who, during a private function recently, said, “I have 38 lakh children to look after.”
In Vithayathil’s family, it was his mother, Thresiamma, who was the strict disciplinarian. And she was not hesitant to use the cane. “I remember, one day, for some reason, I had disobeyed my father and, as my mother started hitting me with a cane, she said, ‘What is the fourth commandment of God?’
“I said, ‘Honour your father and mother.’”
“What do you mean by honouring your father and mother?’”
“I said, ‘If you ask how a pappadam looks like, we can say it is like a circle. But if you ask me what does a circle look like, who can answer that question? So, there is nothing more to say, except that we should honour our parents.’”
These witty retorts would enrage his mother and the beatings would continue. But later, when the Cardinal would go to sleep, she would come to his room and smother his face with kisses.
“At that time, I could not believe this was being done for my good,” he says. “Now, when I look back, the disciplining corrected many faults of mine.”
Vithayathil says he loved his mother intensely and also had a close relationship with his father. “My father had a loving nature and I never saw him in a bad mood,” he says. “He always enquired about our progress in school.”
Vithayathil was a good student, except for Sanskrit, which was his second language. In the first exam, he got 13 out of 100. “My mother got very upset,” he says. “Thereafter, it was decided that I would get tuition from the Sanskrit teacher.”
The coaching helped, because in the next exam, Vithayathil scored 78 and had no problems with Sanskrit thereafter.
The high point of his early education was when he stood first, along with a girl, in catechism during the Class four final examinations. “The girl later became a nun, Sr. Fabiana,” he says. “Sadly, she passed away sometime ago.”
Vithayathil also excelled on the playing field also. During an inter-class football final, when he was nine years old, he kicked the ball from the back and it went soaring over the heads of the players and into the opponent’s goal. “It was an unforgettable memory,” says Vithayathil. “However, we lost the match, 2-1.”
Another happy memory was when his father, Joseph Vithayathil, a leader of the Nivarthanam movement, stood for elections for the Parur and Kunnathunad Assembly seat in 1936.
“We received a telegram from my uncle, Abraham Vadakel,” says the cardinal. “It said, ‘Vithayathil successful, Tharakan second’. So, my father became a MLA for the first time and there was a great joy in the house. It was the turning point in his life and for the fortunes of our family.”
An occasion of great joy for the Cardinal took place recently when he went and saw the baptism register at St. Thomas church, Kottekavu, North Parur. “My name, my parents’ name and my godparents’ name – it was all so clear and legible, even though nearly 82 years have passed,” he says. “I wonder whether government registers can be kept in this pristine condition. I felt proud that the church documents had been preserved so well.”
And the Cardinal looks well preserved, too, despite the advancing years. In retrospect, he says, despite the intense disciplining, it was a happy childhood.
So, what does he think of today’s children? “Because most families have one or two children, they are pampered and get hurt easily,” he says. “When you get reprimands, you develop the inner strength to withstand the ups and downs of life.”
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Cardinal Varkey Vithayathil, on his 82nd birthday on May 29, talks about the events that made a mark on him
By Shevlin Sebastian
One day, when Cardinal Varkey Vithayathil was five years old, he could not be found in the house in North Parur, where he was staying with his parents and siblings. “My family, along with some neighbours, began searching for me,” he says.
They looked into every nook and corner, including the compound. Finally, with sorrow in their hearts, they headed towards the pond where the children used to swim, assuming that he had drowned. But they could not locate the body.
The family returned to the house and one of the Cardinal’s neighbours went into the bedroom and lifted the blanket. “And there I was, sleeping peacefully,” says Vithayathil. “I had covered myself completely with the blanket. Since I was small, they thought I was a pillow.”
Cardinal Vithayathil, who turns 82 on May 29, has a far-away look in his eyes, as he recounts the events of his childhood. It is an interesting experience for the leader of the Catholic church in Kerala, who, during a private function recently, said, “I have 38 lakh children to look after.”
In Vithayathil’s family, it was his mother, Thresiamma, who was the strict disciplinarian. And she was not hesitant to use the cane. “I remember, one day, for some reason, I had disobeyed my father and, as my mother started hitting me with a cane, she said, ‘What is the fourth commandment of God?’
“I said, ‘Honour your father and mother.’”
“What do you mean by honouring your father and mother?’”
“I said, ‘If you ask how a pappadam looks like, we can say it is like a circle. But if you ask me what does a circle look like, who can answer that question? So, there is nothing more to say, except that we should honour our parents.’”
These witty retorts would enrage his mother and the beatings would continue. But later, when the Cardinal would go to sleep, she would come to his room and smother his face with kisses.
“At that time, I could not believe this was being done for my good,” he says. “Now, when I look back, the disciplining corrected many faults of mine.”
Vithayathil says he loved his mother intensely and also had a close relationship with his father. “My father had a loving nature and I never saw him in a bad mood,” he says. “He always enquired about our progress in school.”
Vithayathil was a good student, except for Sanskrit, which was his second language. In the first exam, he got 13 out of 100. “My mother got very upset,” he says. “Thereafter, it was decided that I would get tuition from the Sanskrit teacher.”
The coaching helped, because in the next exam, Vithayathil scored 78 and had no problems with Sanskrit thereafter.
The high point of his early education was when he stood first, along with a girl, in catechism during the Class four final examinations. “The girl later became a nun, Sr. Fabiana,” he says. “Sadly, she passed away sometime ago.”
Vithayathil also excelled on the playing field also. During an inter-class football final, when he was nine years old, he kicked the ball from the back and it went soaring over the heads of the players and into the opponent’s goal. “It was an unforgettable memory,” says Vithayathil. “However, we lost the match, 2-1.”
Another happy memory was when his father, Joseph Vithayathil, a leader of the Nivarthanam movement, stood for elections for the Parur and Kunnathunad Assembly seat in 1936.
“We received a telegram from my uncle, Abraham Vadakel,” says the cardinal. “It said, ‘Vithayathil successful, Tharakan second’. So, my father became a MLA for the first time and there was a great joy in the house. It was the turning point in his life and for the fortunes of our family.”
An occasion of great joy for the Cardinal took place recently when he went and saw the baptism register at St. Thomas church, Kottekavu, North Parur. “My name, my parents’ name and my godparents’ name – it was all so clear and legible, even though nearly 82 years have passed,” he says. “I wonder whether government registers can be kept in this pristine condition. I felt proud that the church documents had been preserved so well.”
And the Cardinal looks well preserved, too, despite the advancing years. In retrospect, he says, despite the intense disciplining, it was a happy childhood.
So, what does he think of today’s children? “Because most families have one or two children, they are pampered and get hurt easily,” he says. “When you get reprimands, you develop the inner strength to withstand the ups and downs of life.”
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Monday, May 26, 2008
You can win!
Armed with that attitude, Shiv Khera has set up a thriving career as a motivational speaker
By Shevlin Sebastian
In 1976, when Shiv Khera was struggling to make headway in his life in Toronto, he came across an advertisement in the newspaper that motivational speaker Dr. Norman Vincent Peale (of ‘The Power of Positive Thinking’ fame) was in town. Khera attended the meeting and says, “Dr. Peale looked at the audience and said, ‘Do you have any problems?’”
“Everybody raised their hands.”
“How many people would like to solve their problems?”
“Everybody raised their hands.”
“Then he said, ‘On my way here to the meeting, there was a place where I saw some people who were relaxed and comfortable, and had no problems. How many people would like to be like those people?’”
“Again, everybody raised their hands,” says Khera.
“And then he said, ‘Two blocks from here, there is a cemetery and there are some people lying there, with no problems at all, at peace with the world. How many people would like to get rid of their problems like them?’”
“Everybody put their hands in the pocket,” says Khera, with a smile. “And then Dr Peale said, ‘Problems are a sign of life. As long as you are alive, you will have problems. The day you don’t have them, you are dead.’”
32 years later, Khera remembers the event as if it took place yesterday. “It was the turning point in my life,” he says.
Armed with a positive attitude, and clearly defined goals, Khera moved to New Jersey in America in 1978, set up a successful business in life insurance, and sold the company in 1995 for a large sum of money. During that time, he also began giving attitude and motivational courses.
But he made his mark when his 1998 book, ‘You can Win’ sold 1 million copies in eight languages. “I wrote the book to express my gratitude to Dr Peale who had changed my life and also to take the message to the next generation,” he says.
The manuscript, which was rejected by more than 100 publishers, was published by Prentice Hall in Singapore. Later, he wrote other best-sellers like ‘Living with Honour’ and ‘Freedom is not free’.
Just outside the hall at the Gokulam Park Inn Convention Centre, in Kochi, Khera’s books and CDs are on sale, while inside, the man himself, clad in a blue safari suit, with mike in hand, is talking to a group of 120 corporates about self-esteem, attitude, motivation, success and leadership in a three-day training programme organised by the Ekal Educational and Charitable Society.
“There are either good or bad leaders,” says Khera. “Good leaders actively guide and bad leaders actively misguide. Good leaders create more leaders and bad leaders look to create followers, because they are insecure.”
The audience listens to him in rapt silence. One of them is S. Sankaran, the former chairperson (Kerala) of the Confederation of Indian Industry. “Unlike other programmes, we were able to understand what he said at once,” he says. “The good thing was that whatever he said was applicable both at home and at the workplace.”
Khera had to work hard to become successful. Born in Dhanbad, he was educated at Delhi, but in 1973, at 23, just a month after he had got married, the Central government nationalised the coal mines which his late father owned in Jharkhand and left Khera a pauper.
“We were on the streets overnight,” he says. Desperate, he tried his hand at several businesses, but it flopped. In the end, with the help of his sister, he emigrated to Canada on November 13, 1975.
Today, he travels across the country, and to Singapore and Mauritius and the US to give talks on personality development.
Asked why so many people lead unsuccessful lives, he says, “Most people have dreams, not goals. A goal is a dream with a deadline, clear direction and a plan of action.” He says a study by Yale University concluded that less three per cent of people in the world had goals.
“Goal-driven people put in 200 per cent,” he says. He gives the example of American swimmer Mark Spitz, who won seven gold medals at the 1972 Munich Olympics. “A reporter came to Spitz and said, ‘Must be a lucky day.’ Spitz replied, ‘What are you talking about? In the 1968 Mexico Olympics, I won three gold medals. I was happy, but I was also unhappy because I could have won more.’
So, between Mexico and Munich, in four years, Spitz swam 10,000 hours. That works out to 2,500 hours a year, which translates to eight hours a day, with no Sundays off. “Go sit in the water for eight hours a day for four years and your body will shrivel,” said Spitz. “So, did I get lucky?”
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian, Express, Chennai)
By Shevlin Sebastian
In 1976, when Shiv Khera was struggling to make headway in his life in Toronto, he came across an advertisement in the newspaper that motivational speaker Dr. Norman Vincent Peale (of ‘The Power of Positive Thinking’ fame) was in town. Khera attended the meeting and says, “Dr. Peale looked at the audience and said, ‘Do you have any problems?’”
“Everybody raised their hands.”
“How many people would like to solve their problems?”
“Everybody raised their hands.”
“Then he said, ‘On my way here to the meeting, there was a place where I saw some people who were relaxed and comfortable, and had no problems. How many people would like to be like those people?’”
“Again, everybody raised their hands,” says Khera.
“And then he said, ‘Two blocks from here, there is a cemetery and there are some people lying there, with no problems at all, at peace with the world. How many people would like to get rid of their problems like them?’”
“Everybody put their hands in the pocket,” says Khera, with a smile. “And then Dr Peale said, ‘Problems are a sign of life. As long as you are alive, you will have problems. The day you don’t have them, you are dead.’”
32 years later, Khera remembers the event as if it took place yesterday. “It was the turning point in my life,” he says.
Armed with a positive attitude, and clearly defined goals, Khera moved to New Jersey in America in 1978, set up a successful business in life insurance, and sold the company in 1995 for a large sum of money. During that time, he also began giving attitude and motivational courses.
But he made his mark when his 1998 book, ‘You can Win’ sold 1 million copies in eight languages. “I wrote the book to express my gratitude to Dr Peale who had changed my life and also to take the message to the next generation,” he says.
The manuscript, which was rejected by more than 100 publishers, was published by Prentice Hall in Singapore. Later, he wrote other best-sellers like ‘Living with Honour’ and ‘Freedom is not free’.
Just outside the hall at the Gokulam Park Inn Convention Centre, in Kochi, Khera’s books and CDs are on sale, while inside, the man himself, clad in a blue safari suit, with mike in hand, is talking to a group of 120 corporates about self-esteem, attitude, motivation, success and leadership in a three-day training programme organised by the Ekal Educational and Charitable Society.
“There are either good or bad leaders,” says Khera. “Good leaders actively guide and bad leaders actively misguide. Good leaders create more leaders and bad leaders look to create followers, because they are insecure.”
The audience listens to him in rapt silence. One of them is S. Sankaran, the former chairperson (Kerala) of the Confederation of Indian Industry. “Unlike other programmes, we were able to understand what he said at once,” he says. “The good thing was that whatever he said was applicable both at home and at the workplace.”
Khera had to work hard to become successful. Born in Dhanbad, he was educated at Delhi, but in 1973, at 23, just a month after he had got married, the Central government nationalised the coal mines which his late father owned in Jharkhand and left Khera a pauper.
“We were on the streets overnight,” he says. Desperate, he tried his hand at several businesses, but it flopped. In the end, with the help of his sister, he emigrated to Canada on November 13, 1975.
Today, he travels across the country, and to Singapore and Mauritius and the US to give talks on personality development.
Asked why so many people lead unsuccessful lives, he says, “Most people have dreams, not goals. A goal is a dream with a deadline, clear direction and a plan of action.” He says a study by Yale University concluded that less three per cent of people in the world had goals.
“Goal-driven people put in 200 per cent,” he says. He gives the example of American swimmer Mark Spitz, who won seven gold medals at the 1972 Munich Olympics. “A reporter came to Spitz and said, ‘Must be a lucky day.’ Spitz replied, ‘What are you talking about? In the 1968 Mexico Olympics, I won three gold medals. I was happy, but I was also unhappy because I could have won more.’
So, between Mexico and Munich, in four years, Spitz swam 10,000 hours. That works out to 2,500 hours a year, which translates to eight hours a day, with no Sundays off. “Go sit in the water for eight hours a day for four years and your body will shrivel,” said Spitz. “So, did I get lucky?”
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian, Express, Chennai)
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The king of bass
Jayen Varma, the fastest percussive bassist in the world, has big plans for his new band, Indian Epics
By Shevlin Sebastian
In 1981, there was an open-air rock show being held at the Rajendra Maidan in Kochi. Jayen Varma was standing near the stage and watching his friend, Antony Isaacs (a member of Usha Uthup’s troupe) perform.
During the interval, one of Jayen’s friends urged him to go and play on the drums. “I had never stepped on a stage before and so I was scared,” he says. But another friend pushed him forward.
“I saw this large crowd and thought I am about to faint now,” he says. “But when I sat down behind the drums, I immediately started playing. Soon, I began to relax.”
Jayen played for fifteen minutes and in a daze he saw the others come back to the stage, excluding the drummer, and the group launched into Bob Marley’s, ‘Buffalo Soldier’.
Jayen experienced an excitement and joy he had never felt before. Unlike most people, he came to music late. One day, when Jayen was 21, Antony was practicing on the rhythm guitar, while he sat on a nearby chair and knocked out drumbeats on his thighs with his fingers. “Jayen, you have a natural talent,” said Antony. “You should become a musician.”
At that moment, Jayen decided to take up music seriously and immediately passed up a chance to study for an engineering degree. “Two of my brothers were already engineers and my family was upset by my decision,” he says.
Jayen went to Goa and spent six months there playing with several bands. But feeling homesick, he returned home and started learning the guitar on his own and the mridangam under Parassala Ravi, who was the former principal of the Palakkad Music College. He trained for five years, but in 1986, Jayen secured a job with the Devaswom Board.
Thereafter, he became a part-time bass guitarist for the group, Firefly, which did gigs all over south India. “We played all types of music: rock and roll, funk, jazz rock and jazz,” he says.
In the meantime, 22 years passed, and because of numerous problems in his job, including court cases, Jayen finally quit the Devaswom Board in March. In April, he started a new band, Indian Epics, which comprises Ashwin Sivadas on the drums, Firefly colleague, Sumesh Parameshwar, on the lead guitar, himself on bass guitar, and guest vocalist, Karoline Greenacre.
She is a South African who lives in Spain, and has come to Kochi for a few months to work as a volunteer music teacher. “Indian Epics is a raga-funk-rock band,” says Jayen.
On a Wednesday morning, the group is rehearsing in Jayen’s family tharavadu at Tripunithara. There is Ashwin, who plays a thumping beat, Karoline taps her shoulders and arms and makes sounds with her mouth, as Sumesh conjures up some brilliant riffs, while Jayen provides low-key bass sounds. The music is rich, loud and elevating. In no time, the group has forgotten the presence of the visitor and has moved smoothly into a zone of their own.
Meanwhile, as the band makes its way – it played its first gig on April 17 for the Rotary Club – Jayen has set a world record. Today, he is known as the fastest percussive bassist in the world: he can play 36 notes per second.
This feat has been ratified by the Registry of Official World Records of the Record Holders Republic, U.K., and will soon be featured on ‘Believe The Unbelievable’ on AXN TV.
Asked how he set the record, Jayan says he practised for more than seven hours a day for six months. At that time, he was working as a liaison officer in the Devaswom Board at Thrissur and, every morning, he would travel on the Bokaro Express from Ernakulam. “Throughout the two-hour journey, I would hit the mobile phone with my fingers,” he says. “The speed increased and helped me in setting the record.”
Jayen says that he is also the first musician to play the mridangam on the guitar. Recently, he gave an online class to a Mexican musician. “It is becoming a new trend among bass guitarists,” he says.
Karoline confirms that she has never seen anyone play the guitar like that. “Jayen’s playing is different and sounds very exotic,” she says. Firefly founder, Sriram Iyer, says that Jayen is one of the best bass guitarists in India. “He creates a hypnotic sound when he plays the mridangam on the guitar,” he says.
Meanwhile, the future plans of the band include touring abroad. “We want to make a worldwide impact,” says Jeyan, 47, whose mother Thankamani, wife Kala and daughters, Athira, 20, and Ashwathi, 15, are the pillars of support in this new venture.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
In 1981, there was an open-air rock show being held at the Rajendra Maidan in Kochi. Jayen Varma was standing near the stage and watching his friend, Antony Isaacs (a member of Usha Uthup’s troupe) perform.
During the interval, one of Jayen’s friends urged him to go and play on the drums. “I had never stepped on a stage before and so I was scared,” he says. But another friend pushed him forward.
“I saw this large crowd and thought I am about to faint now,” he says. “But when I sat down behind the drums, I immediately started playing. Soon, I began to relax.”
Jayen played for fifteen minutes and in a daze he saw the others come back to the stage, excluding the drummer, and the group launched into Bob Marley’s, ‘Buffalo Soldier’.
Jayen experienced an excitement and joy he had never felt before. Unlike most people, he came to music late. One day, when Jayen was 21, Antony was practicing on the rhythm guitar, while he sat on a nearby chair and knocked out drumbeats on his thighs with his fingers. “Jayen, you have a natural talent,” said Antony. “You should become a musician.”
At that moment, Jayen decided to take up music seriously and immediately passed up a chance to study for an engineering degree. “Two of my brothers were already engineers and my family was upset by my decision,” he says.
Jayen went to Goa and spent six months there playing with several bands. But feeling homesick, he returned home and started learning the guitar on his own and the mridangam under Parassala Ravi, who was the former principal of the Palakkad Music College. He trained for five years, but in 1986, Jayen secured a job with the Devaswom Board.
Thereafter, he became a part-time bass guitarist for the group, Firefly, which did gigs all over south India. “We played all types of music: rock and roll, funk, jazz rock and jazz,” he says.
In the meantime, 22 years passed, and because of numerous problems in his job, including court cases, Jayen finally quit the Devaswom Board in March. In April, he started a new band, Indian Epics, which comprises Ashwin Sivadas on the drums, Firefly colleague, Sumesh Parameshwar, on the lead guitar, himself on bass guitar, and guest vocalist, Karoline Greenacre.
She is a South African who lives in Spain, and has come to Kochi for a few months to work as a volunteer music teacher. “Indian Epics is a raga-funk-rock band,” says Jayen.
On a Wednesday morning, the group is rehearsing in Jayen’s family tharavadu at Tripunithara. There is Ashwin, who plays a thumping beat, Karoline taps her shoulders and arms and makes sounds with her mouth, as Sumesh conjures up some brilliant riffs, while Jayen provides low-key bass sounds. The music is rich, loud and elevating. In no time, the group has forgotten the presence of the visitor and has moved smoothly into a zone of their own.
Meanwhile, as the band makes its way – it played its first gig on April 17 for the Rotary Club – Jayen has set a world record. Today, he is known as the fastest percussive bassist in the world: he can play 36 notes per second.
This feat has been ratified by the Registry of Official World Records of the Record Holders Republic, U.K., and will soon be featured on ‘Believe The Unbelievable’ on AXN TV.
Asked how he set the record, Jayan says he practised for more than seven hours a day for six months. At that time, he was working as a liaison officer in the Devaswom Board at Thrissur and, every morning, he would travel on the Bokaro Express from Ernakulam. “Throughout the two-hour journey, I would hit the mobile phone with my fingers,” he says. “The speed increased and helped me in setting the record.”
Jayen says that he is also the first musician to play the mridangam on the guitar. Recently, he gave an online class to a Mexican musician. “It is becoming a new trend among bass guitarists,” he says.
Karoline confirms that she has never seen anyone play the guitar like that. “Jayen’s playing is different and sounds very exotic,” she says. Firefly founder, Sriram Iyer, says that Jayen is one of the best bass guitarists in India. “He creates a hypnotic sound when he plays the mridangam on the guitar,” he says.
Meanwhile, the future plans of the band include touring abroad. “We want to make a worldwide impact,” says Jeyan, 47, whose mother Thankamani, wife Kala and daughters, Athira, 20, and Ashwathi, 15, are the pillars of support in this new venture.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Monday, May 19, 2008
Stepping back in time
At the Museum of Kerala History at Kochi, you see history at close quarters as well as the great art of East and West
By Shevlin Sebastian
Some years ago, a German couple, both professors in their fifties, had come to Kerala and wanted to see the Museum of Kerala History at Kochi. Apparently, one of their friends in Germany had termed it as a ‘must-see’.
They stayed in Fort Kochi, toured Ernakulam, and, one evening, they stopped to have tea at a roadside shop near Vytilla. They asked the show owner and, by coincidence, a Malayalam newspaper had carried an article on the museum on that same day. The shop-owner proudly showed the article to the couple, as he gave directions to the museum.
“Everybody knows about the museum,” says Prasanna Varma, assistant manager at the museum. “In the end, the couple said they had toured the whole of Asia and had not seen a museum like this.”
The Museum of Kerala History, set in granite, sits on 1.3 acres of land, in Edapally besides the National Highway 47. It was set up in 1987 by the late businessman, Madhavan Nayar, who was known as the ‘father of the seafood export industry in India’.
“He said that since society had given him so much, he wanted to give something in return,” says Army Captain V. Karunakaran (retd.), the manager.
The museum is divided into four parts: the museum of Kerala history, a gallery of paintings and sculptures, a Centre for Visual Arts and the Dolls Museum.
In the museum of Kerala History, there is a sound and light show, which shows thirty-seven scenes, highlighting the achievements of 90 historical figures, like Sankara and Swathi Thirunal, who shaped the history of Kerala. The costumes are authentic, and you get the feeling the figures will spring to life at any moment.
The show is an engrossing spectacle, accompanied by traditional music and commentary. Spotlights are switched on and off, falling on different eras, while the rest of the hall is in complete darkness. One moves in a circle to go through 2000 years of history.
“Through this show, I wanted to spark the interest of the visitor in the history of Kerala,” Madhavan Nayar had once said. Indeed, it is a journey back in time, into a forgotten world.
At the gallery of paintings and sculptures, you can see the traditional Kerala mural art, the patachitras from Orissa, where the paintings are done on palm leaves and cloth and the Tanjavur school of painting. This school has wooden boards decorated with gold leaf, semi-precious stones and mirror work.
And, of course, there is the superb ‘Reverie’ by Raja Ravi Varma and paintings by contemporary masters like Nandalal Bose, Jamini Roy, F.N. Souza, K.G. Subramanian and M.F. Hussain.
At the Centre for Visual Arts, there are reproductions of paintings by Paul Cezanne, Picasso, Vincent Van Gogh and other masters. “Usually, Madhavan Nayar would travel to museums in India and all over the world to buy prints and reproductions,” says Prasanna. “Sometimes, reproductions were given by foreign embassies and it has been put up for the benefit of the fine arts students.”
One day, an Austrian couple, Erwin Neumayer and Christine Schelberger, who were researching for a biography on Raja Ravi Varma, had come to see the maestro’s painting.
“In the end, they saw the entire museum and appreciated it,” says Prasanna. “They asked why there were no reproductions of the paintings of Leonardo Da Vinci and Michaelangelo and we said that we had tried but could not get it.”
Eventually, the couple left Kochi and went to Paris. From there, by sea mail, they sent the wonderful reproductions of Da Vinci, which hang at the centre today. “For the next three years, they came regularly and were happy to see that the reproductions had been mounted,” says Prasanna.
Just above the Centre of Visual Arts is the Dolls Museum, which has a rare collection of authentic dolls from various parts of the country and from USA, Canada, Germany, Japan, Thailand and the Philippines.
“This section is one of the most attractive of its kind in India,” says Capt. Karunakaran. Another section, which is also very attractive, is the Gallery of Miniatures, which contains reproductions of paintings of the court of the Mughal emperors and the ever-popular Radha-Krishna theme.
Asked about the type of visitors who come, Karunakaran says, “Students arrive from schools and colleges from all over Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. We have regular visitors from the J.J. School of Arts in Mumbai and several other art schools in Kerala. Families visit during the vacations. And foreigners come during the tourist season of August to March.” Incidentally, during the tourist season, the museum gets 15,000 visitors a month.
And the institution is keen to carry on its good work. “We want to acquire more world-class paintings,” says Karunakaran.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
Some years ago, a German couple, both professors in their fifties, had come to Kerala and wanted to see the Museum of Kerala History at Kochi. Apparently, one of their friends in Germany had termed it as a ‘must-see’.
They stayed in Fort Kochi, toured Ernakulam, and, one evening, they stopped to have tea at a roadside shop near Vytilla. They asked the show owner and, by coincidence, a Malayalam newspaper had carried an article on the museum on that same day. The shop-owner proudly showed the article to the couple, as he gave directions to the museum.
“Everybody knows about the museum,” says Prasanna Varma, assistant manager at the museum. “In the end, the couple said they had toured the whole of Asia and had not seen a museum like this.”
The Museum of Kerala History, set in granite, sits on 1.3 acres of land, in Edapally besides the National Highway 47. It was set up in 1987 by the late businessman, Madhavan Nayar, who was known as the ‘father of the seafood export industry in India’.
“He said that since society had given him so much, he wanted to give something in return,” says Army Captain V. Karunakaran (retd.), the manager.
The museum is divided into four parts: the museum of Kerala history, a gallery of paintings and sculptures, a Centre for Visual Arts and the Dolls Museum.
In the museum of Kerala History, there is a sound and light show, which shows thirty-seven scenes, highlighting the achievements of 90 historical figures, like Sankara and Swathi Thirunal, who shaped the history of Kerala. The costumes are authentic, and you get the feeling the figures will spring to life at any moment.
The show is an engrossing spectacle, accompanied by traditional music and commentary. Spotlights are switched on and off, falling on different eras, while the rest of the hall is in complete darkness. One moves in a circle to go through 2000 years of history.
“Through this show, I wanted to spark the interest of the visitor in the history of Kerala,” Madhavan Nayar had once said. Indeed, it is a journey back in time, into a forgotten world.
At the gallery of paintings and sculptures, you can see the traditional Kerala mural art, the patachitras from Orissa, where the paintings are done on palm leaves and cloth and the Tanjavur school of painting. This school has wooden boards decorated with gold leaf, semi-precious stones and mirror work.
And, of course, there is the superb ‘Reverie’ by Raja Ravi Varma and paintings by contemporary masters like Nandalal Bose, Jamini Roy, F.N. Souza, K.G. Subramanian and M.F. Hussain.
At the Centre for Visual Arts, there are reproductions of paintings by Paul Cezanne, Picasso, Vincent Van Gogh and other masters. “Usually, Madhavan Nayar would travel to museums in India and all over the world to buy prints and reproductions,” says Prasanna. “Sometimes, reproductions were given by foreign embassies and it has been put up for the benefit of the fine arts students.”
One day, an Austrian couple, Erwin Neumayer and Christine Schelberger, who were researching for a biography on Raja Ravi Varma, had come to see the maestro’s painting.
“In the end, they saw the entire museum and appreciated it,” says Prasanna. “They asked why there were no reproductions of the paintings of Leonardo Da Vinci and Michaelangelo and we said that we had tried but could not get it.”
Eventually, the couple left Kochi and went to Paris. From there, by sea mail, they sent the wonderful reproductions of Da Vinci, which hang at the centre today. “For the next three years, they came regularly and were happy to see that the reproductions had been mounted,” says Prasanna.
Just above the Centre of Visual Arts is the Dolls Museum, which has a rare collection of authentic dolls from various parts of the country and from USA, Canada, Germany, Japan, Thailand and the Philippines.
“This section is one of the most attractive of its kind in India,” says Capt. Karunakaran. Another section, which is also very attractive, is the Gallery of Miniatures, which contains reproductions of paintings of the court of the Mughal emperors and the ever-popular Radha-Krishna theme.
Asked about the type of visitors who come, Karunakaran says, “Students arrive from schools and colleges from all over Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. We have regular visitors from the J.J. School of Arts in Mumbai and several other art schools in Kerala. Families visit during the vacations. And foreigners come during the tourist season of August to March.” Incidentally, during the tourist season, the museum gets 15,000 visitors a month.
And the institution is keen to carry on its good work. “We want to acquire more world-class paintings,” says Karunakaran.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Teaching to speak English quickly
Jacob Nettikkatt says students know to read and write the language, but are unable to speak it
By Shevlin Sebastian
One day, in 1984, when Jacob Nettikkatt was reading a newspaper in Kolkata, where he had been working for many years, he saw an advertisement for a personality development course by well-known motivational speaker Aparesh Acharya.
Jacob rushed to take part. “Within one and a half hours of listening to Aparesh, my imagination took wing,” he says. “Aparesh spoke about the consequences of having the right and wrong attitude.”
Soon after this course, Jacob, who worked as an export manager, says he got a divine call to be a teacher. He decided to teach an export-import management course. Once he began, he came across many students who could not communicate in English and so he decided to start an English-speaking course. Thereafter, teaching English became his passion.
In 1992, Jacob returned to Kochi and began teaching this course at the Renewal Centre at Kaloor. He did it for 15 years, and in 2006, he brought out the four-volume, ‘Easy Way to Learn English’.
In 2007, he established the Xavier Institute of Management (www.xavierinstitute.com) on Azad Road, teaching English to students.
“There is something wrong with our educational system, where students know how to read and write English, but are unable to speak it,” he says.
Jacob has developed several techniques to enable students to pick up a fluency in the language.
He has divided a sentence into three parts: Action/Action taken/Receiver. Jacob teaches his students on how to fill these columns with the appropriate words.
He agrees that it is similar to subject, verb and object, but “in schools and colleges, they don’t teach you how to fill up the columns. So, the student cannot construct his own sentence.”
Jacob also realised that students can gain fluency in spoken English quicker if they know how to develop the powers of the mind. So, he has written a book on the ‘Mind and its functions’, which was released last month.
“More than 90 per cent of the students are unaware of how the mind works,” he says. “So, their functioning as human beings is in a state of disarray. A student should learn to develop the different powers of the mind as explained in the book.”
For example, if a student has a tendency to forget, he suggests that he or she should visualise a TV screen. Then the student can write something on that screen by using the imagination.
“There is no need for any paper and pen,” he says. “Try to read the written matter from the mental screen, with the inner eye.”
Jacob says that if you are able to do it, then you can write messages or even speeches on the mental screen and read it back when required. “You will not need to write down anything ever again,” he says. He calls this the power of visualisation.
He has other suggestions: in order to have harmonious relationships, people should always look at life from the other person’s perspective.
“Most of the time, people only see things from their own viewpoint, so it becomes a one-sided thinking,” he says. “When we look from the other person’s angle, we are able to avoid saying hurtful words.”
Meanwhile, Dr. G.P.C. Nayar, the chairman of the SCMS Group of Educational Institutions, who wrote the foreword, says, “What I like about the book is that Jacob has based it on his own observations. Usually, when a person writes a book on the mind, they refer to so many books, but he has avoided that. This book is based on a lifetime observation of human behaviour.”
Jacob’s understanding of human nature has come through his own suffering. His eldest son contracted meningitis when he was seven years old and the treatment lasted for 14 years. “He has also become mentally challenged,” he says. But his second son is an engineer and works for a German multinational company in Dubai.
Jacob’s future plans include writing more books and spreading his methodology of teaching English in various parts of India.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
One day, in 1984, when Jacob Nettikkatt was reading a newspaper in Kolkata, where he had been working for many years, he saw an advertisement for a personality development course by well-known motivational speaker Aparesh Acharya.
Jacob rushed to take part. “Within one and a half hours of listening to Aparesh, my imagination took wing,” he says. “Aparesh spoke about the consequences of having the right and wrong attitude.”
Soon after this course, Jacob, who worked as an export manager, says he got a divine call to be a teacher. He decided to teach an export-import management course. Once he began, he came across many students who could not communicate in English and so he decided to start an English-speaking course. Thereafter, teaching English became his passion.
In 1992, Jacob returned to Kochi and began teaching this course at the Renewal Centre at Kaloor. He did it for 15 years, and in 2006, he brought out the four-volume, ‘Easy Way to Learn English’.
In 2007, he established the Xavier Institute of Management (www.xavierinstitute.com) on Azad Road, teaching English to students.
“There is something wrong with our educational system, where students know how to read and write English, but are unable to speak it,” he says.
Jacob has developed several techniques to enable students to pick up a fluency in the language.
He has divided a sentence into three parts: Action/Action taken/Receiver. Jacob teaches his students on how to fill these columns with the appropriate words.
He agrees that it is similar to subject, verb and object, but “in schools and colleges, they don’t teach you how to fill up the columns. So, the student cannot construct his own sentence.”
Jacob also realised that students can gain fluency in spoken English quicker if they know how to develop the powers of the mind. So, he has written a book on the ‘Mind and its functions’, which was released last month.
“More than 90 per cent of the students are unaware of how the mind works,” he says. “So, their functioning as human beings is in a state of disarray. A student should learn to develop the different powers of the mind as explained in the book.”
For example, if a student has a tendency to forget, he suggests that he or she should visualise a TV screen. Then the student can write something on that screen by using the imagination.
“There is no need for any paper and pen,” he says. “Try to read the written matter from the mental screen, with the inner eye.”
Jacob says that if you are able to do it, then you can write messages or even speeches on the mental screen and read it back when required. “You will not need to write down anything ever again,” he says. He calls this the power of visualisation.
He has other suggestions: in order to have harmonious relationships, people should always look at life from the other person’s perspective.
“Most of the time, people only see things from their own viewpoint, so it becomes a one-sided thinking,” he says. “When we look from the other person’s angle, we are able to avoid saying hurtful words.”
Meanwhile, Dr. G.P.C. Nayar, the chairman of the SCMS Group of Educational Institutions, who wrote the foreword, says, “What I like about the book is that Jacob has based it on his own observations. Usually, when a person writes a book on the mind, they refer to so many books, but he has avoided that. This book is based on a lifetime observation of human behaviour.”
Jacob’s understanding of human nature has come through his own suffering. His eldest son contracted meningitis when he was seven years old and the treatment lasted for 14 years. “He has also become mentally challenged,” he says. But his second son is an engineer and works for a German multinational company in Dubai.
Jacob’s future plans include writing more books and spreading his methodology of teaching English in various parts of India.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Shooting at high speed
In his 20-year career, George Francis has photographed more than 1100 motorsport rallies in every part of the country
By Shevlin Sebastian
During the last stage of the Himalayan Car rally in 2004, it started snowing heavily. The rally got cancelled and photographer George Francis was at Pang, 28,000 feet above sea level. With driver, Manvinder Singh, George set out for Manali in a Toyota Qualis.
“The road was blanketed with snow,” says George. “At 11 a.m., it was dark and the visibility was poor. I was scared. Manvinder kept tapping the Qualis against the mountain, so that it would not go to the other side.”
The other side had a drop of 15,000 ft. and instantaneous death. “Throughout that journey, Manvinder would say, ‘Are you scared?’” says George. “I would reply, ‘I am not scared because you are driving.’” After several hours of traveling at 10 km/h, they finally made it to safety.
This is one of the many memorable experiences that George, originally from Pulincunnu, near Changanacherry, has experienced in his 20-year career as a Chennai-based photographer of car and bike rallies. He has covered more than 1100 rallies, races, motocross, autocross and dirt track events in every nook and corner of the country.
So, what is it about motorsport that has made him focus on it for so long? “I love speed and I like the excitement of seeing new places,” he says. “You are working for several hours at a stretch, but all the time you are in a place where the scenery is spectacular.”
As to the techniques needed to cover a rally, he says the most important aspect is to develop the right timing to shoot, since the vehicles are traveling so fast.
“This comes from experience,” he says. “I keenly observe the style of the driver. For a particular turn, some drivers will do it stylishly, while others will slide across.”
Expectedly, in trying to get these high quality photographs, George, 47, had several close shaves. He remembers once, in 1994, when he was shooting during a rally near Chennai, the Gypsy car, driven by Asian Rally champion Hari Singh, seemed exceptionally close when he looked through the lens. When he looked up, he saw the car go over his head.
But he has not suffered any major injuries. So, it was an irony that when he was vacationing at Mulavukad island, Kochi, recently, one night, while traveling with his brother-in-law, Sabu Xavier, an auto-rickshaw suddenly appeared in the path of the car. Sabu swerved, the car hit a tree and George received a deep gash on his face.
“That’s life,” he says, with a laugh, as he points at the stitches on his face.
George, who graduated with a literature degree from Loyola College, Chennai, worked briefly as a journalist before he started his own agency, Scorp News on September 1, 1985. “Since I belong to the star sign, Scorpio, I decided to give it the name, Scorp,” he says. Today, he is regarded as the doyen among photographers in the motorsport fraternity.
Says Hormazd Sorabjee, editor, Autocar India: “George always gets the right shot. There is no one else who will get the picture we wanted. He is the only major photographer in motorsport.”
Rally driver Lohit Urs, ranked No 2 in India, says, “George takes fantastic photographs. It is difficult to take good shots because the cars are moving at such high speed, but he has the skill. Whatever photographs I have in my collection, they have all been taken by him.”
George says his success has been in creating a market for motorsport pictures. “I was the first to take photographs of rallies in an organised manner,” he says.
Earlier, during the time of analog cameras, he would shoot around 250 pictures for a rally. But now, thanks to the digital revolution and a team of 3 photographers, around 4000 photographs are taken of a single rally.
“People have realised that motorsport has a good market,” he says. At present, there are more than a dozen automobile magazines in India.
Asked how long he would carry on in this physically demanding profession, George says, “Till I die. This is a passion for me.”
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
During the last stage of the Himalayan Car rally in 2004, it started snowing heavily. The rally got cancelled and photographer George Francis was at Pang, 28,000 feet above sea level. With driver, Manvinder Singh, George set out for Manali in a Toyota Qualis.
“The road was blanketed with snow,” says George. “At 11 a.m., it was dark and the visibility was poor. I was scared. Manvinder kept tapping the Qualis against the mountain, so that it would not go to the other side.”
The other side had a drop of 15,000 ft. and instantaneous death. “Throughout that journey, Manvinder would say, ‘Are you scared?’” says George. “I would reply, ‘I am not scared because you are driving.’” After several hours of traveling at 10 km/h, they finally made it to safety.
This is one of the many memorable experiences that George, originally from Pulincunnu, near Changanacherry, has experienced in his 20-year career as a Chennai-based photographer of car and bike rallies. He has covered more than 1100 rallies, races, motocross, autocross and dirt track events in every nook and corner of the country.
So, what is it about motorsport that has made him focus on it for so long? “I love speed and I like the excitement of seeing new places,” he says. “You are working for several hours at a stretch, but all the time you are in a place where the scenery is spectacular.”
As to the techniques needed to cover a rally, he says the most important aspect is to develop the right timing to shoot, since the vehicles are traveling so fast.
“This comes from experience,” he says. “I keenly observe the style of the driver. For a particular turn, some drivers will do it stylishly, while others will slide across.”
Expectedly, in trying to get these high quality photographs, George, 47, had several close shaves. He remembers once, in 1994, when he was shooting during a rally near Chennai, the Gypsy car, driven by Asian Rally champion Hari Singh, seemed exceptionally close when he looked through the lens. When he looked up, he saw the car go over his head.
But he has not suffered any major injuries. So, it was an irony that when he was vacationing at Mulavukad island, Kochi, recently, one night, while traveling with his brother-in-law, Sabu Xavier, an auto-rickshaw suddenly appeared in the path of the car. Sabu swerved, the car hit a tree and George received a deep gash on his face.
“That’s life,” he says, with a laugh, as he points at the stitches on his face.
George, who graduated with a literature degree from Loyola College, Chennai, worked briefly as a journalist before he started his own agency, Scorp News on September 1, 1985. “Since I belong to the star sign, Scorpio, I decided to give it the name, Scorp,” he says. Today, he is regarded as the doyen among photographers in the motorsport fraternity.
Says Hormazd Sorabjee, editor, Autocar India: “George always gets the right shot. There is no one else who will get the picture we wanted. He is the only major photographer in motorsport.”
Rally driver Lohit Urs, ranked No 2 in India, says, “George takes fantastic photographs. It is difficult to take good shots because the cars are moving at such high speed, but he has the skill. Whatever photographs I have in my collection, they have all been taken by him.”
George says his success has been in creating a market for motorsport pictures. “I was the first to take photographs of rallies in an organised manner,” he says.
Earlier, during the time of analog cameras, he would shoot around 250 pictures for a rally. But now, thanks to the digital revolution and a team of 3 photographers, around 4000 photographs are taken of a single rally.
“People have realised that motorsport has a good market,” he says. At present, there are more than a dozen automobile magazines in India.
Asked how long he would carry on in this physically demanding profession, George says, “Till I die. This is a passion for me.”
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
‘Beena takes decisions quickly’
M. Beena, the former collector of Thrissur, was recently appointed collector of Ernakulam. Her husband, P. Vijayan, the SP of Malappuram district, talks about his wife and their life together
By Shevlin Sebastian
When did you get married to Beena?
We got married on November 6, 2000.
How difficult is it to have a marriage where both of you have hectic careers and are physically apart most of the time?
It is not a difficult thing for Beena and me, but it is difficult for our children, Vishnupriya and Vignesh. But whenever we meet, the primary focus is our children and we try to enjoy each other’s company in a much deeper way. We have to schedule our meetings in advance, but we try to meet as often as possible.
Is it easy for the children?
Of course, they are not in the presence of the father or the mother all the time. Compared to many other children, those whose fathers are working in the Middle East or the Army, they are better off. When I was commissioner of police at Ernakulam, I would, sometimes, take the children to the office and they would play at one corner. I did this so that they could always be in the presence of the father.
What are the qualities that you admire in Beena?
I like her simplicity and she is a very good mother. As an administrator, she makes decisions quickly and ensures that it is implemented. She is also good at negotiations and has the ability to take the team along with her. Lastly, she is very sensitive to the problems faced by the downtrodden.
How difficult is this Ernakulam assignment, as compared to Thrissur? I don’t think it is going to be difficult at all. She has lots of experience. Generally, when somebody is posted at Ernakulam, it is a first-time experience. But Beena has already been a collector of Thrissur, and has handled various responsibilities in other districts. Whereever she has gone, she has done wonders.
Is there any advice you would give her?
We never give advice to each other. We discuss matters in a constructive way. And then we make suggestions to each other.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
When did you get married to Beena?
We got married on November 6, 2000.
How difficult is it to have a marriage where both of you have hectic careers and are physically apart most of the time?
It is not a difficult thing for Beena and me, but it is difficult for our children, Vishnupriya and Vignesh. But whenever we meet, the primary focus is our children and we try to enjoy each other’s company in a much deeper way. We have to schedule our meetings in advance, but we try to meet as often as possible.
Is it easy for the children?
Of course, they are not in the presence of the father or the mother all the time. Compared to many other children, those whose fathers are working in the Middle East or the Army, they are better off. When I was commissioner of police at Ernakulam, I would, sometimes, take the children to the office and they would play at one corner. I did this so that they could always be in the presence of the father.
What are the qualities that you admire in Beena?
I like her simplicity and she is a very good mother. As an administrator, she makes decisions quickly and ensures that it is implemented. She is also good at negotiations and has the ability to take the team along with her. Lastly, she is very sensitive to the problems faced by the downtrodden.
How difficult is this Ernakulam assignment, as compared to Thrissur? I don’t think it is going to be difficult at all. She has lots of experience. Generally, when somebody is posted at Ernakulam, it is a first-time experience. But Beena has already been a collector of Thrissur, and has handled various responsibilities in other districts. Whereever she has gone, she has done wonders.
Is there any advice you would give her?
We never give advice to each other. We discuss matters in a constructive way. And then we make suggestions to each other.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Old is gold!
Veteran athlete, Rajam Gopi, winner of 80 national medals, wants to get better, while she goes about her job as a sweeper in Kochi
By Shevlin Sebastian
On an April evening, as the rain falls in torrents, accompanied by gusts of wind and flashes of lightning, M.N. Rajam Gopi, 50, stares wistfully at the puddles forming on the synthetic track at the Maharaja’s College ground at Kochi.
“I feel restless if I don’t do my daily runs,” she says. Standing next to her is training partner, T.C. Sasi, 50, a 1500m runner. Both are wearing tracksuits and sneakers.
In the gallery filled with noisy teenagers who are kicking a plastic bottle cap to each other, and chattering youths in orange and black football jerseys, none of them is aware that Rajam is a champion veteran athlete.
So far, Rajam has won 80 medals -- 40 gold, 25 silver and 15 bronze medals in various national and international meets. At the recent Guwahati National championships, she won the gold in the 5 km walk, the 5000m and the 300m hurdles.
A 100 and 200m sprinter, she can also do cross-country running and marathons -- she came first in the women’s section in the recent Metlife Marathon at Kochi.
Rajam had excelled in athletics right from her school days. “I would always come first in the sprint races,” she says. However, her teachers in the government school would cast her aside and name the wealthier girls as the winner. “It hurt me a lot,” she says.
Rajam stopped studying in Class 9 and by fifteen, she was married. In the course of the next twenty years, she had two children, Anil Kumar, 33, an auto-rickshaw driver, and Deepa, 28, who is married and has a child.
“During those years, I had a great desire to return to athletics, but I never got a chance,” she says. Her husband, Gopi, who is a porter at the state transport bus stand, had no idea about sports. “But one day I insisted that he should accompany me so that I could take part in my first veterans’ meet in Kottayam,” she says.
This was 15 years ago and she performed well: she won gold medals in the 100m, 200m, and the walking event in the 35-39 age group.
Thereafter, there has been no stopping her. Apart from national championships medals, she has won gold at the Asian Championships in Bangalore in 2000 and 2006.“Rajam, who is extremely hard-working and dedicated, can easily shine at the international level,” says her Thrissur-based coach, A. Ramachandran.
But Rajam’s biggest problem is the lack of funds. “I was selected to take part in eight Asian Games, but I had no money or sponsors” she says.
But in September, 2007, luck initially smiled on her when she managed to collect Rs 1.5 lakh as sponsorship money to take part in the World Masters Athletics Championships at Riccione, Italy.
Some of her sponsors included management mentor Madhav Menon and the then city Collector Mohammed Hanish, who chipped in with Rs 20,000.
However, a rebel national association submitted a letter to the Italian embassy stating that there was a case going on in the Karnataka High Court against the national association, and hence, the visas should not be issued.
“So, we did not get the visas,” says Dr Sabu P. Samuel, the secretary of the Kerala State Veterans Athletic Association. Says Rajam: “It was a big disappointment.”
But she is undeterred. Every morning, she trains for half an hour at the college ground, then from 8.30 a.m. to 1 p.m., she works as a sweeper in two travel agencies, and by 3 p.m., she starts work in a lab. She works till 5 p.m., comes to Maharaja’s College ground and trains for two hours.
So why is she working so hard? “When you run, all the problems in the world vanish and you feel so happy,” she says.
What also makes her happy is the camaraderie. “When I go for national meets with the other team members, we feel so joyful,” she says. More than 100 veteran athletes from Kerala traveled together to take part in the national championships. “We had to change three trains to reach Guwahati, but it was fun,” she says.
Meanwhile, her immediate focus is a cross-country race in Mysore in May. But she has to pay from her own pocket for travel and other expenses. “Unfortunately, the Veterans’ Association does not have any money,” says Samuel. Rajam has applied for funds from the state government, but has not received a response.
But when an activity becomes a passion, you do it, irrespective of all the obstacles.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
On an April evening, as the rain falls in torrents, accompanied by gusts of wind and flashes of lightning, M.N. Rajam Gopi, 50, stares wistfully at the puddles forming on the synthetic track at the Maharaja’s College ground at Kochi.
“I feel restless if I don’t do my daily runs,” she says. Standing next to her is training partner, T.C. Sasi, 50, a 1500m runner. Both are wearing tracksuits and sneakers.
In the gallery filled with noisy teenagers who are kicking a plastic bottle cap to each other, and chattering youths in orange and black football jerseys, none of them is aware that Rajam is a champion veteran athlete.
So far, Rajam has won 80 medals -- 40 gold, 25 silver and 15 bronze medals in various national and international meets. At the recent Guwahati National championships, she won the gold in the 5 km walk, the 5000m and the 300m hurdles.
A 100 and 200m sprinter, she can also do cross-country running and marathons -- she came first in the women’s section in the recent Metlife Marathon at Kochi.
Rajam had excelled in athletics right from her school days. “I would always come first in the sprint races,” she says. However, her teachers in the government school would cast her aside and name the wealthier girls as the winner. “It hurt me a lot,” she says.
Rajam stopped studying in Class 9 and by fifteen, she was married. In the course of the next twenty years, she had two children, Anil Kumar, 33, an auto-rickshaw driver, and Deepa, 28, who is married and has a child.
“During those years, I had a great desire to return to athletics, but I never got a chance,” she says. Her husband, Gopi, who is a porter at the state transport bus stand, had no idea about sports. “But one day I insisted that he should accompany me so that I could take part in my first veterans’ meet in Kottayam,” she says.
This was 15 years ago and she performed well: she won gold medals in the 100m, 200m, and the walking event in the 35-39 age group.
Thereafter, there has been no stopping her. Apart from national championships medals, she has won gold at the Asian Championships in Bangalore in 2000 and 2006.“Rajam, who is extremely hard-working and dedicated, can easily shine at the international level,” says her Thrissur-based coach, A. Ramachandran.
But Rajam’s biggest problem is the lack of funds. “I was selected to take part in eight Asian Games, but I had no money or sponsors” she says.
But in September, 2007, luck initially smiled on her when she managed to collect Rs 1.5 lakh as sponsorship money to take part in the World Masters Athletics Championships at Riccione, Italy.
Some of her sponsors included management mentor Madhav Menon and the then city Collector Mohammed Hanish, who chipped in with Rs 20,000.
However, a rebel national association submitted a letter to the Italian embassy stating that there was a case going on in the Karnataka High Court against the national association, and hence, the visas should not be issued.
“So, we did not get the visas,” says Dr Sabu P. Samuel, the secretary of the Kerala State Veterans Athletic Association. Says Rajam: “It was a big disappointment.”
But she is undeterred. Every morning, she trains for half an hour at the college ground, then from 8.30 a.m. to 1 p.m., she works as a sweeper in two travel agencies, and by 3 p.m., she starts work in a lab. She works till 5 p.m., comes to Maharaja’s College ground and trains for two hours.
So why is she working so hard? “When you run, all the problems in the world vanish and you feel so happy,” she says.
What also makes her happy is the camaraderie. “When I go for national meets with the other team members, we feel so joyful,” she says. More than 100 veteran athletes from Kerala traveled together to take part in the national championships. “We had to change three trains to reach Guwahati, but it was fun,” she says.
Meanwhile, her immediate focus is a cross-country race in Mysore in May. But she has to pay from her own pocket for travel and other expenses. “Unfortunately, the Veterans’ Association does not have any money,” says Samuel. Rajam has applied for funds from the state government, but has not received a response.
But when an activity becomes a passion, you do it, irrespective of all the obstacles.
(Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from The New Indian Express, Kochi)
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