(A series on childhood memories)
English literature was a passion for Ernakulam District Collector M. Beena, when she was growing up at Thiruvananthapuram
By Shevlin Sebastian
“One day, when I was three years old, I slipped and fell as I ran up the stairs in our house at Thampanoor, Thiruvananthapuram,” says Ernakulam District Collector Dr. M. Beena. Her face hit the jagged edge of the railing. “There was a lot of blood,” she says. “Since my mother was working, there was only the servant to look after me.”
The panic-stricken woman tried a desperate, natural remedy: she put coffee powder on the wound and managed to stop the bleeding. As soon as her mother came home, she took Beena to the hospital. “Two stitches were needed to close the wound,” she says, and points to a small mark near the corner of her right eye.
Beena seemed to be accident-prone when she was a child. Once, she stood between a chair and a table and pretended to drive a cycle. Inevitably, she lost her balance, fell face down and lost two teeth.
On another occasion, her finger got stuck in the jamb and a sudden breeze caused the door to shut and a nail was ripped off. “Here,” she says, pointing at the forefingers of both her hands. “One has a different shape from the other.”
Beena and her elder sister, Shailaja, who is a doctor, are the children of R. Mahadevan Pillai and the late Radhamani Ammal, who passed away in May at the age of 68. Both of them worked at the Accountant-General’s office.
“My mother had the biggest influence on me,” she says. "She pushed me because she had high expectations.” Radhamani Ammal tended to focus on the extra-curricular activities.
Beena remembers a fancy dress competition she took part in when she was in Class three. There were few parents present because it was a week day. But when Beena, who was dressed as Krishna, looked at the audience, she spotted her mother. “I remember how happy I felt,” she says. “My mother was always so supportive.”
Her mother also had a tremendous fighting spirit. “Once, when she took Shailaja for admission to the Holy Angels’ school the nun said no. “My mother said, ‘If you don’t accept my daughter, you will be losing an SSLC rank holder,’ says Beena. “Because she had the courage to speak like that, my sister gained admission.”
Beena saw her mother’s bravery at close quarters when, one night, when she was ten years old, she woke up to see the curtain on fire in her bedroom. Apparently, a mosquito coil had been placed on the window sill and, somehow, the curtain caught fire.
Just below the window, there were several books and it could have become a major blaze. “I shouted and alerted everybody,” says Beena. “My mother single-handedly pulled down the curtain and stamped out the fire with the help of a sheet.”
After Shailaja’s admission, it was easy for Beena to join Holy Angels’. And it turned out to be a good decision. “Whatever I am, it is because of my school,” she says.
She was a good student and was passionate about reading. “Whatever free time I had, I would read and read,” she says. “I have gone through the entire series of Enid Blyton books.”
By Class five, she had started reading the classics, which included novels by the Bronte sisters and Thomas Hardy’s ‘Far from the madding crowd’. “I loved English literature,” she says. “We used to live in a residential colony, Amba Nagar, and I would go to every house saying, ‘Do you have a book?’ The aunties would get exasperated and always gave me something.”
It was a happy childhood. She remembers going with her family for temple visits, for long walks on the beach, for films and eating out. They would frequent the Ashoka Bhavan and the Hotel Saurashtra, which was Beena’s favourite. “There was pucca Gujarati food there,” she says. “Even now, I enjoy that food the most.”
It was a middle class life, with no financial hardships. “However, we never squandered money,” she says. “Even to give an extra rupee for the auto-rickshaw fare, my mother would fight over it.”
Her mother was the fighter, but what about her father? “My father was a peaceful and gentle person,” says Beena. “I am like that.” What she remembers most about her father was when he had to sign the report cards. “He would go down the list of subjects with his fingers, asking, ‘Where is Mathematics?’” says Beena. “And when he would see the marks, he would say, ‘You should improve.’ Because my father was an accountant, he was very good at Mathematics.”
Beena smiles when she says this, but, suddenly, her face turns wistful, and she lapses into silence. Finally, this mother of two children, who is married to Malappuram DSP P. Vijayan, says, “I miss my mother a lot.”
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
A New INNings
The Bat and Ball Inn is steeped in cricket memorabilia and is a must-visit for any fan
By Shevlin Sebastian
One evening, cricketer S. Sreesanth dropped in at the Chennai house of former Kerala Ranji Trophy cricketer, J.K. Mahendra. Over the course of a meal, Mahendra asked Sreesanth whether he would be keen to invest in a cricket homestay called, 'The Bat and Ball Inn'.
"Sreesanth agreed, but when I started the work, Robin Uthappa also indicated an interest," says Mahendra.
The first Bat and Ball Inn, a 4000 sq. ft. homestay, was inaugurated in Bangalore on December 6, 2007. Then Mahendra felt that since Sreesanth is from Kerala and since "I owed so much to Kerala cricket, I decided we should open a similar homestay in Kochi."
When commentator Charu Sharma, a long-time acquaintance of Mahendra, heard about this venture, he decided to become a partner also. "I invested because of the connection with the game," says Sharma. "Even though there is not much of a memorabilia culture in the country, Mahendra has worked hard to set up a fine inn."
The Kochi Bat and Ball Inn, which began functioning a few weeks ago, is on Mills Lane, opposite the Kasavukada shop on Foreshore Road, Kochi.
And the first thing that catches the eye is a long green pole with arrows pointing in different directions. The Cricket Club of India is 1384 kms from the inn, while the Melbourne Cricket Ground is 8876 kms away; Lord's is 8500 kms away, while the Eden Gardens is at a distance of 2366 km.
Near the entrance, there are photographs of some of the greatest cricketers of Indian cricket: Polly Umrigar, Vinoo Mankad, Pankaj Gupte, Amar Singh, and Vijay Hazare.
Inside, there is a signed painting of Anil Kumble by Yusuf Arakkal and a painting of Donald Bradman with a cherubic Sachin Tendulkar. There are dramatic pictures of the 1983 World Cup win and the Nat West Trophy triumph in 2002.
On the ground floor, there is a restaurant, Cornucopia, which serves dishes from all over the world, including Continental, Spanish, Italian and Thai. "The food is top class," says film director Ranjit Thomas, a regular visitor.
In the souvenir shop, opposite the restaurant, there are caps, mugs, key-chains, T-shirts, bats, DVDs and books on cricket, as well as jewellery items on sale.
One pair of earrings has tiny gold cricket balls dangling from it. "One woman, who was mad about the game, bought it," says Mahendra. "I told her she could wear it when she goes to watch a match."
On the stairs, there are magnificent photographs of Ranjitsinghji, Duleepsinhji and a young Donald Bradman essaying a pull stroke. And taking pride of place across one wall is a signed poster of Wisden's Five Great Cricketers of the Century: Don Bradman, Gary Sobers, Shane Warne, Jack Hobbs and Vivian Richards.
Just next to it are autographed T-shirts by Sreesanth and Tinu Yohannan, Kerala's first Test cricketer, who has scrawled, in blue felt pen, across the front: 'To J.K. Sir who gave me my first big break' (Mahendra was once a National junior selector).
On the first floor, there are autographed bats by Sunil Gavaskar, Don Bradman, Gary Sobers and Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi.
"To get Pataudi to sign his bat, I sought an appointment, flew to Delhi and got it done," says Mahendra. On another wall, there is an amusing series of pictures of Australian fast bowler Dennis Lillee taking off the caps of Sunil Gavaskar, Geoff Boycott and Clive Lloyd with short-pitched balls.
The Homestay has five neat and classy suites, each in the name of a legend: Sunil Gavaskar, Richard Hadlee, Vivian Richards, Gary Sobers and Dennis Lillee.
On the first floor, there is The Village Shop, where South African Molly Pinto is checking out the home furnishing merchandise.
"This place is beautiful," she says. "I have never seen anything like this in South Africa. The amount of effort that has been taken to set this up must be tremendous."
Indeed, but will a concept like a homestay work in Kochi? "Homestays are becoming popular, because people are looking for personalised treatment," says Mahendra. "We are also providing a different kind of ambience. People who love cricket will like to come here."
Agrees Charu Sharma: "It's a nice place to hang around. The rooms are lovely, the décor is great and the inn is set in a nice old bungalow." Says Ranjit: "It is more like a cricketer's museum than a homestay. For me, instead of the museum, the rooms and the restaurant are value additions."
Cricket fans, when they visit the homestay, will feel that the entire Bat and Ball Inn is a value addition to the city.
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
One evening, cricketer S. Sreesanth dropped in at the Chennai house of former Kerala Ranji Trophy cricketer, J.K. Mahendra. Over the course of a meal, Mahendra asked Sreesanth whether he would be keen to invest in a cricket homestay called, 'The Bat and Ball Inn'.
"Sreesanth agreed, but when I started the work, Robin Uthappa also indicated an interest," says Mahendra.
The first Bat and Ball Inn, a 4000 sq. ft. homestay, was inaugurated in Bangalore on December 6, 2007. Then Mahendra felt that since Sreesanth is from Kerala and since "I owed so much to Kerala cricket, I decided we should open a similar homestay in Kochi."
When commentator Charu Sharma, a long-time acquaintance of Mahendra, heard about this venture, he decided to become a partner also. "I invested because of the connection with the game," says Sharma. "Even though there is not much of a memorabilia culture in the country, Mahendra has worked hard to set up a fine inn."
The Kochi Bat and Ball Inn, which began functioning a few weeks ago, is on Mills Lane, opposite the Kasavukada shop on Foreshore Road, Kochi.
And the first thing that catches the eye is a long green pole with arrows pointing in different directions. The Cricket Club of India is 1384 kms from the inn, while the Melbourne Cricket Ground is 8876 kms away; Lord's is 8500 kms away, while the Eden Gardens is at a distance of 2366 km.
Near the entrance, there are photographs of some of the greatest cricketers of Indian cricket: Polly Umrigar, Vinoo Mankad, Pankaj Gupte, Amar Singh, and Vijay Hazare.
Inside, there is a signed painting of Anil Kumble by Yusuf Arakkal and a painting of Donald Bradman with a cherubic Sachin Tendulkar. There are dramatic pictures of the 1983 World Cup win and the Nat West Trophy triumph in 2002.
On the ground floor, there is a restaurant, Cornucopia, which serves dishes from all over the world, including Continental, Spanish, Italian and Thai. "The food is top class," says film director Ranjit Thomas, a regular visitor.
In the souvenir shop, opposite the restaurant, there are caps, mugs, key-chains, T-shirts, bats, DVDs and books on cricket, as well as jewellery items on sale.
One pair of earrings has tiny gold cricket balls dangling from it. "One woman, who was mad about the game, bought it," says Mahendra. "I told her she could wear it when she goes to watch a match."
On the stairs, there are magnificent photographs of Ranjitsinghji, Duleepsinhji and a young Donald Bradman essaying a pull stroke. And taking pride of place across one wall is a signed poster of Wisden's Five Great Cricketers of the Century: Don Bradman, Gary Sobers, Shane Warne, Jack Hobbs and Vivian Richards.
Just next to it are autographed T-shirts by Sreesanth and Tinu Yohannan, Kerala's first Test cricketer, who has scrawled, in blue felt pen, across the front: 'To J.K. Sir who gave me my first big break' (Mahendra was once a National junior selector).
On the first floor, there are autographed bats by Sunil Gavaskar, Don Bradman, Gary Sobers and Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi.
"To get Pataudi to sign his bat, I sought an appointment, flew to Delhi and got it done," says Mahendra. On another wall, there is an amusing series of pictures of Australian fast bowler Dennis Lillee taking off the caps of Sunil Gavaskar, Geoff Boycott and Clive Lloyd with short-pitched balls.
The Homestay has five neat and classy suites, each in the name of a legend: Sunil Gavaskar, Richard Hadlee, Vivian Richards, Gary Sobers and Dennis Lillee.
On the first floor, there is The Village Shop, where South African Molly Pinto is checking out the home furnishing merchandise.
"This place is beautiful," she says. "I have never seen anything like this in South Africa. The amount of effort that has been taken to set this up must be tremendous."
Indeed, but will a concept like a homestay work in Kochi? "Homestays are becoming popular, because people are looking for personalised treatment," says Mahendra. "We are also providing a different kind of ambience. People who love cricket will like to come here."
Agrees Charu Sharma: "It's a nice place to hang around. The rooms are lovely, the décor is great and the inn is set in a nice old bungalow." Says Ranjit: "It is more like a cricketer's museum than a homestay. For me, instead of the museum, the rooms and the restaurant are value additions."
Cricket fans, when they visit the homestay, will feel that the entire Bat and Ball Inn is a value addition to the city.
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Sunday, July 06, 2008
'I remember I played Arjuna once'
(A series on childhood memories)
Kamakshi Balakrishna, the director of Chinmaya Vidyapeet, talks about a childhood which abounded in cultural activities
By Shevlin Sebastian
"My father owned a green Buick," says Kamakshi Balakrishna, the director of the Chinmaya Vidyapeet. "He bought it from the then Archbishop of Verapoly. This was one of the few cars in Ernakulam at that time."
The roads, she says, were not congested. There were plenty of buffalo carts, hand-pulled rickshaws, cycles and a few cars. "Some roads were tarred but, mostly, the roads were made of red soil," says Kamakshi. "It was very easy to travel on and the distances were not much. Even when we traveled to Thrissur, it was a comfortable journey."
Kamakshi's late father, Mannathazathu Appukuttan Menon, was a well-known lawyer and lived in a large house on Diwan's Road at Kochi.
"My father had a keen sense of discipline," she says. One example of her father's strictness was that all the children had to come back home by 6 p.m. every day and wait in front of the puja room. "Usually, the girls would be on time," Kamakshi says. "The boys would sometimes be late. Then they would have to wait outside."
After the prayers, the children – five sisters and two brothers -- would have to study. At that time, there was no electricity. So, they would sit near kerosene lamps and learn silently.
"My father would walk up and down and keep an eye on us," she says. Her father also insisted on the children going to the Ernakulam Siva temple every morning at 6 a.m. "We would come back, study for a while and go to school," she says.
Kamakshi studied at St. Teresa's school. "Both Mother Mary, who was the headmistress and Sr Lucina were very good teachers," she says. "I was an average student, but very hard-working and I enjoyed studying there."
Eventually, Kamakshi grew up to enjoy a stellar career at the Chinmaya Mission educational institutions. But she bemoans the lack of discipline today in most children.
"I don't suggest the use of the cane," she says. "Parents must discipline children with affection. You have to explain to them the pros and cons of every action that they do." She suggests that parents should praise their children as often as they can. "You must make them feel wanted," she says.
Like her mother, Parukutty Amma, who would make every member of the family feel important. "She was a very affectionate person and sacrificed a lot for the family," says Kamakshi. "Sometimes, my father would say suddenly, 'Four people will be coming for lunch' and my mother would never complain."
Kamakshi also has fond memories of her grandmother. "She would tell us a lot of stories from the Puranas," she says. "I felt very sad when she passed away. There was a void in our lives."
This close-knit family still lives together on Diwan's Road. "All the brothers and sisters have houses there," she says. Kamakshi was married to the late Brigadier V.K. Balakrishna and has two daughters, Maya and Rema.
When Kamakshi was young, the children were interested in the fine arts. A Young Folks Club was set up. The club would organise plays from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata in the house and the parents and elders would watch.
"I remember I played Arjuna once," she says. "I wore a white dhoti and carried a bow and arrow. It was a powerful role."
Apart from plays, Kamakshi would watch a lot of films with her sisters at the Menaka hall. "We would buy a book of tickets at the beginning of the month," she says. "Then whenever we wanted to see a film, we could tear off a ticket and go for the show. At that time, watching films was the only source of entertainment."
When she grew older, she enjoyed the films of Prem Nazir and Satyen. "Satyen had a personality and a dignity in his acting," she says. However, her hero in real life was her late elder brother Devidas. She says he was a disciplined and gentlemanly person who never used foul language. He was also very witty.
It was a house where prominent cultural figures would come for an evening get-together. The legendary poet, Vallathol, a friend of Kamakshi's father, was a regular visitor.
"Vallathol was a humble person," she says. "Whenever he was writing a poem, he would consult my father about its merits and demerits. We children would listen in another room."
As the conversation comes to an end, Kamakshi takes a while to return to the present. Then she says, with a smile, "I was lucky to have had such a wonderful childhood."
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Kamakshi Balakrishna, the director of Chinmaya Vidyapeet, talks about a childhood which abounded in cultural activities
By Shevlin Sebastian
"My father owned a green Buick," says Kamakshi Balakrishna, the director of the Chinmaya Vidyapeet. "He bought it from the then Archbishop of Verapoly. This was one of the few cars in Ernakulam at that time."
The roads, she says, were not congested. There were plenty of buffalo carts, hand-pulled rickshaws, cycles and a few cars. "Some roads were tarred but, mostly, the roads were made of red soil," says Kamakshi. "It was very easy to travel on and the distances were not much. Even when we traveled to Thrissur, it was a comfortable journey."
Kamakshi's late father, Mannathazathu Appukuttan Menon, was a well-known lawyer and lived in a large house on Diwan's Road at Kochi.
"My father had a keen sense of discipline," she says. One example of her father's strictness was that all the children had to come back home by 6 p.m. every day and wait in front of the puja room. "Usually, the girls would be on time," Kamakshi says. "The boys would sometimes be late. Then they would have to wait outside."
After the prayers, the children – five sisters and two brothers -- would have to study. At that time, there was no electricity. So, they would sit near kerosene lamps and learn silently.
"My father would walk up and down and keep an eye on us," she says. Her father also insisted on the children going to the Ernakulam Siva temple every morning at 6 a.m. "We would come back, study for a while and go to school," she says.
Kamakshi studied at St. Teresa's school. "Both Mother Mary, who was the headmistress and Sr Lucina were very good teachers," she says. "I was an average student, but very hard-working and I enjoyed studying there."
Eventually, Kamakshi grew up to enjoy a stellar career at the Chinmaya Mission educational institutions. But she bemoans the lack of discipline today in most children.
"I don't suggest the use of the cane," she says. "Parents must discipline children with affection. You have to explain to them the pros and cons of every action that they do." She suggests that parents should praise their children as often as they can. "You must make them feel wanted," she says.
Like her mother, Parukutty Amma, who would make every member of the family feel important. "She was a very affectionate person and sacrificed a lot for the family," says Kamakshi. "Sometimes, my father would say suddenly, 'Four people will be coming for lunch' and my mother would never complain."
Kamakshi also has fond memories of her grandmother. "She would tell us a lot of stories from the Puranas," she says. "I felt very sad when she passed away. There was a void in our lives."
This close-knit family still lives together on Diwan's Road. "All the brothers and sisters have houses there," she says. Kamakshi was married to the late Brigadier V.K. Balakrishna and has two daughters, Maya and Rema.
When Kamakshi was young, the children were interested in the fine arts. A Young Folks Club was set up. The club would organise plays from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata in the house and the parents and elders would watch.
"I remember I played Arjuna once," she says. "I wore a white dhoti and carried a bow and arrow. It was a powerful role."
Apart from plays, Kamakshi would watch a lot of films with her sisters at the Menaka hall. "We would buy a book of tickets at the beginning of the month," she says. "Then whenever we wanted to see a film, we could tear off a ticket and go for the show. At that time, watching films was the only source of entertainment."
When she grew older, she enjoyed the films of Prem Nazir and Satyen. "Satyen had a personality and a dignity in his acting," she says. However, her hero in real life was her late elder brother Devidas. She says he was a disciplined and gentlemanly person who never used foul language. He was also very witty.
It was a house where prominent cultural figures would come for an evening get-together. The legendary poet, Vallathol, a friend of Kamakshi's father, was a regular visitor.
"Vallathol was a humble person," she says. "Whenever he was writing a poem, he would consult my father about its merits and demerits. We children would listen in another room."
As the conversation comes to an end, Kamakshi takes a while to return to the present. Then she says, with a smile, "I was lucky to have had such a wonderful childhood."
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Saturday, July 05, 2008
The word surgeon
The Kochi-based Prof. M.T. Thomas checks for errors for two national news magazines and sends his feedback
By Shevlin Sebastian
Every Saturday afternoon, Prof. M.T. Thomas of Bharat Mata College goes to an agency near the South bridge. There, he collects the latest edition of 'India Today' and 'Outlook'. Later, he drops in at 'The Week' office and collects a copy. Thereafter, till Sunday night, he is perusing every page of the three national magazines looking for errors. He has been doing this for the past ten years.
It all began when he began highlighting mistakes in 'The Week' in a letter to the editor. After six months, the magazine asked him to do it regularly on a retainer basis. Later, 'India Today' got interested, hired him, and he also spots lapses in 'Outlook' for the 'India Today' editorial team.
So what are the misprints that are found in these magazines? "The most common is spelling mistakes," says Thomas. He gives the example of the word, 'dahlia'.
"Most of the time, sub-editors forget to put the h," he says. "Logically, there should not be an h. But the dahlia is named after the 18th-century Swedish botanist Anders Dahl."
Then there is the word, 'dysentery'. "It ends in ery," he says. "However, most people spell it as dysentry." 'Vacuum' is wrongly spelled, either with one u or two c's.
"The reason for these mistakes is that these are tricky words," he says. "Unless you check it in the dictionary, you are not going to get it right."
There are also grammatical inaccuracies, he says, like wrong tenses and prepositions, and nouns and verbs not being in agreement.
Then there are errors of usage. Take this sentence: 'He washed his hands of'.
"Usually, people use the word, 'off', instead of 'of'," he says.
He gives another example: 'To clean the Aegean stables'. "There is no such expression," he says. "It is the Augean stables, and many people make this mistake."
By Monday morning, he sends an email to 'India Today', pointing out the lapses, with paragraph and page number included. He was not sure about the reaction till he visited the magazine's editorial office in New Delhi a couple of years ago. An editor said, "We wait for your email in the same way we used to wait for our results: with a mix of excitement and nervousness."
So what is his advice to the editorial team? "Check the dictionary as often as possible, especially when you have a doubt," he says.
Apart from magazines, Thomas has also worked for publishers like Macmillan and Oxford University Press (OUP). It began when he was teaching a book of poems published by OUP and spotted numerous mistakes.
"I sent the corrections to OUP and the editors were appalled," he says. Soon, they started sending him books to proofread. "But the problem with working with such publishers is that the editors change regularly, so there is no continuity," he says. Hence, he stopped.
Thomas developed this interest when he worked on several English-Malayalam dictionaries in 1987. "It sparked my interest in words," he says. Also, a few years earlier, he worked for several months in The Daily, a Mumbai newspaper. "There, I was told to do a review of 'Indira Gandhi' by Swraj Paul," he says. "I spotted several misprints and wrote a letter to the author."
The London-based industrialist sent a letter of appreciation and promised to make the changes in the new edition. That sparked a lifelong passion for spotting errors.
Thomas has also spotted mistakes in international magazines like Time. Says Winston Hunter of the editorial office at New York: "Thomas has a remarkably keen eye for typographical and grammatical details. We were most impressed by his compilation of misprints – not to mention embarrassed by how many he found."
As a result of his meticulousness, people appreciate his work. When Thomas sent an email to author-cum-journalist Anita Pratap pointing out errors in an article written by her in 'Outlook' magazine, she replied, "I am amazed at the trouble you have taken. I have learnt a long time ago that it is pointless to worry about typographical mistakes. Your blood pressure just rises."
Dr. Jame Abraham, of West Virginia University, the editor of a book on clinical oncology that Thomas proofread, wrote, "I am glad there are sharp individuals like you around to make sure that what we write is accurate."
Tricky words
Assassination; bizarre; Caribbean; gramophone; Fahrenheit; hippopotamus, infarction; minuscule; pavilion; yacht
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
Every Saturday afternoon, Prof. M.T. Thomas of Bharat Mata College goes to an agency near the South bridge. There, he collects the latest edition of 'India Today' and 'Outlook'. Later, he drops in at 'The Week' office and collects a copy. Thereafter, till Sunday night, he is perusing every page of the three national magazines looking for errors. He has been doing this for the past ten years.
It all began when he began highlighting mistakes in 'The Week' in a letter to the editor. After six months, the magazine asked him to do it regularly on a retainer basis. Later, 'India Today' got interested, hired him, and he also spots lapses in 'Outlook' for the 'India Today' editorial team.
So what are the misprints that are found in these magazines? "The most common is spelling mistakes," says Thomas. He gives the example of the word, 'dahlia'.
"Most of the time, sub-editors forget to put the h," he says. "Logically, there should not be an h. But the dahlia is named after the 18th-century Swedish botanist Anders Dahl."
Then there is the word, 'dysentery'. "It ends in ery," he says. "However, most people spell it as dysentry." 'Vacuum' is wrongly spelled, either with one u or two c's.
"The reason for these mistakes is that these are tricky words," he says. "Unless you check it in the dictionary, you are not going to get it right."
There are also grammatical inaccuracies, he says, like wrong tenses and prepositions, and nouns and verbs not being in agreement.
Then there are errors of usage. Take this sentence: 'He washed his hands of'.
"Usually, people use the word, 'off', instead of 'of'," he says.
He gives another example: 'To clean the Aegean stables'. "There is no such expression," he says. "It is the Augean stables, and many people make this mistake."
By Monday morning, he sends an email to 'India Today', pointing out the lapses, with paragraph and page number included. He was not sure about the reaction till he visited the magazine's editorial office in New Delhi a couple of years ago. An editor said, "We wait for your email in the same way we used to wait for our results: with a mix of excitement and nervousness."
So what is his advice to the editorial team? "Check the dictionary as often as possible, especially when you have a doubt," he says.
Apart from magazines, Thomas has also worked for publishers like Macmillan and Oxford University Press (OUP). It began when he was teaching a book of poems published by OUP and spotted numerous mistakes.
"I sent the corrections to OUP and the editors were appalled," he says. Soon, they started sending him books to proofread. "But the problem with working with such publishers is that the editors change regularly, so there is no continuity," he says. Hence, he stopped.
Thomas developed this interest when he worked on several English-Malayalam dictionaries in 1987. "It sparked my interest in words," he says. Also, a few years earlier, he worked for several months in The Daily, a Mumbai newspaper. "There, I was told to do a review of 'Indira Gandhi' by Swraj Paul," he says. "I spotted several misprints and wrote a letter to the author."
The London-based industrialist sent a letter of appreciation and promised to make the changes in the new edition. That sparked a lifelong passion for spotting errors.
Thomas has also spotted mistakes in international magazines like Time. Says Winston Hunter of the editorial office at New York: "Thomas has a remarkably keen eye for typographical and grammatical details. We were most impressed by his compilation of misprints – not to mention embarrassed by how many he found."
As a result of his meticulousness, people appreciate his work. When Thomas sent an email to author-cum-journalist Anita Pratap pointing out errors in an article written by her in 'Outlook' magazine, she replied, "I am amazed at the trouble you have taken. I have learnt a long time ago that it is pointless to worry about typographical mistakes. Your blood pressure just rises."
Dr. Jame Abraham, of West Virginia University, the editor of a book on clinical oncology that Thomas proofread, wrote, "I am glad there are sharp individuals like you around to make sure that what we write is accurate."
Tricky words
Assassination; bizarre; Caribbean; gramophone; Fahrenheit; hippopotamus, infarction; minuscule; pavilion; yacht
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
To hell and back
Many HIV+ patients went through a harrowing time before they finally found their equilibrium
By Shevlin Sebastian
When you look at Sumathi, you cannot imagine she is sick in any way. Her face is glowing, she is dressed in a blue Kanjeevaram saree, with gold earrings and a necklace, and she speaks in a low but confident voice.
In 2001, her husband became HIV positive, and a year later, she also tested positive. By then, she had two children, although she was only 20 years old. And thus began the harrowing reaction from family and neighbours.
“Since there was only one bathroom in the house, there was a fear that my husband and I would pass the virus to the others,” she says. So the family, which comprised her in-laws, two brother-in-laws and a sister-in-law, constructed a makeshift toilet at the back of the house.
For six months, husband and wife stayed inside one room. Sumathi was not allowed to feed or touch the children. When she used a path which was also used by neighbours, they would put bleaching powder on it.
When her mother-in-law went to the nearby river at Palakkad to wash the clothes, if there were women having a bath downstream, they would move upstream, so that the water would not flow towards them.
“There was nobody to support us,” she says, as her eyes fill up. “The only good news then was that my children had tested negative.” Her husband passed away in 2003. Sumathi found a meaning in life when she started working as a peer counsellor at Prathyasha, the Care and Support Centre, which is supported by the Kerala State Aids Control Society.
Elango Ramchander, an ex-president of the Indian Network of People Living with HIV, tested positive in 1988. “At that time, it was regarded as a death sentence,” he says. What did not help was his doctor’s prognosis that he would die within three years.
“Every day I would see the sunrise and feel very happy,” he says. “Then, at night, I would see the moon and say to myself, ‘one day is over’” He says that when a person has the virus, the pain and the fever constitutes only 35 per cent of the suffering. “The emotional and psychological problems are 65 per cent,” he says.
At the end of three years, Elango assumed he would die soon, but that did not happen. “The information turned out to be wrong,” he says.
The tide changed for Elango when he joined the NGO, Samraksha. “It was only then that I got all the information, support and courage,” he says. “I realised I could survive.”
In 2000, Elango got married to a HIV positive woman, Asha, and has a son, Yatish Darshan, who is free of the virus.
Both Sumathi and Elango had come to Kochi to attend a seminar organised by the Council of People Living with HIV/AIDS in Kerala ((CPK+) in collaboration with the Centre for Advocacy and Research (CFAR).
At the seminar, the good news being announced was that attitudes towards HIV+ people are changing, albeit slowly. David Bodapati, of CFAR, says that, indeed, people are a lot more accepting these days. But there has to be a change of attitude in the rural areas.
In Kerala, he has been disappointed at the discrimination shown to HIV+ students in schools. In the case of Bency and Benson in Kollam and Sathyashi Jyothi in Kottayam, parents protested against the presence of these affected children.
“They were being vengeful,” says G. Anjana, president of CPK+. “Parents are aware the virus will not spread by children studying together.” She says she welcomes the government plan to introduce a rule that a school could lose its license if it removes a HIV positive child from the rolls.
“The school authorities should stand firm,” she says. “The majority of the parents do not have a problem, it is just a few who are resisting.”
Meanwhile, CFAR is advocating a closer tie-up with the media because it is only through it that the stigma can be removed completely.
“Our aim is to link NGOs with the media,” says David. Elango says they want to promote a lot of positive stories in the media. “I have been living with the HIV virus for the past 20 years,” he says. “I want to show that even if you are positive, you can lead a healthy life.”
Sumathi says she is also in good health and does not take any tablets at all. “My CD4 count is 1762.” (Normal CD4 counts in adults range from 500 to 1,500 cells per cubic millimetre of blood. The CD4 count goes down as the HIV disease progresses).
“A positive attitude makes a big difference,” she says.
HIV/ AIDS in Kerala • HIV Estimates : 24,831
• AIDS reported: 3547 (as on Feb 08)
• AIDS death toll: 1040
Features of the HIV epidemic in Kerala
• The first HIV infected case identified in 1987
• More than 90% of infections are acquired heterosexually
• The epidemic is predominantly related to migration
• 40% of households have one migrant
• Men are infected in cities outside the state by female sex workers
No significant rural-urban difference
• Skilled workers most commonly infected
• The median age for infected males 31 years
• Females 27 years
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
When you look at Sumathi, you cannot imagine she is sick in any way. Her face is glowing, she is dressed in a blue Kanjeevaram saree, with gold earrings and a necklace, and she speaks in a low but confident voice.
In 2001, her husband became HIV positive, and a year later, she also tested positive. By then, she had two children, although she was only 20 years old. And thus began the harrowing reaction from family and neighbours.
“Since there was only one bathroom in the house, there was a fear that my husband and I would pass the virus to the others,” she says. So the family, which comprised her in-laws, two brother-in-laws and a sister-in-law, constructed a makeshift toilet at the back of the house.
For six months, husband and wife stayed inside one room. Sumathi was not allowed to feed or touch the children. When she used a path which was also used by neighbours, they would put bleaching powder on it.
When her mother-in-law went to the nearby river at Palakkad to wash the clothes, if there were women having a bath downstream, they would move upstream, so that the water would not flow towards them.
“There was nobody to support us,” she says, as her eyes fill up. “The only good news then was that my children had tested negative.” Her husband passed away in 2003. Sumathi found a meaning in life when she started working as a peer counsellor at Prathyasha, the Care and Support Centre, which is supported by the Kerala State Aids Control Society.
Elango Ramchander, an ex-president of the Indian Network of People Living with HIV, tested positive in 1988. “At that time, it was regarded as a death sentence,” he says. What did not help was his doctor’s prognosis that he would die within three years.
“Every day I would see the sunrise and feel very happy,” he says. “Then, at night, I would see the moon and say to myself, ‘one day is over’” He says that when a person has the virus, the pain and the fever constitutes only 35 per cent of the suffering. “The emotional and psychological problems are 65 per cent,” he says.
At the end of three years, Elango assumed he would die soon, but that did not happen. “The information turned out to be wrong,” he says.
The tide changed for Elango when he joined the NGO, Samraksha. “It was only then that I got all the information, support and courage,” he says. “I realised I could survive.”
In 2000, Elango got married to a HIV positive woman, Asha, and has a son, Yatish Darshan, who is free of the virus.
Both Sumathi and Elango had come to Kochi to attend a seminar organised by the Council of People Living with HIV/AIDS in Kerala ((CPK+) in collaboration with the Centre for Advocacy and Research (CFAR).
At the seminar, the good news being announced was that attitudes towards HIV+ people are changing, albeit slowly. David Bodapati, of CFAR, says that, indeed, people are a lot more accepting these days. But there has to be a change of attitude in the rural areas.
In Kerala, he has been disappointed at the discrimination shown to HIV+ students in schools. In the case of Bency and Benson in Kollam and Sathyashi Jyothi in Kottayam, parents protested against the presence of these affected children.
“They were being vengeful,” says G. Anjana, president of CPK+. “Parents are aware the virus will not spread by children studying together.” She says she welcomes the government plan to introduce a rule that a school could lose its license if it removes a HIV positive child from the rolls.
“The school authorities should stand firm,” she says. “The majority of the parents do not have a problem, it is just a few who are resisting.”
Meanwhile, CFAR is advocating a closer tie-up with the media because it is only through it that the stigma can be removed completely.
“Our aim is to link NGOs with the media,” says David. Elango says they want to promote a lot of positive stories in the media. “I have been living with the HIV virus for the past 20 years,” he says. “I want to show that even if you are positive, you can lead a healthy life.”
Sumathi says she is also in good health and does not take any tablets at all. “My CD4 count is 1762.” (Normal CD4 counts in adults range from 500 to 1,500 cells per cubic millimetre of blood. The CD4 count goes down as the HIV disease progresses).
“A positive attitude makes a big difference,” she says.
HIV/ AIDS in Kerala • HIV Estimates : 24,831
• AIDS reported: 3547 (as on Feb 08)
• AIDS death toll: 1040
Features of the HIV epidemic in Kerala
• The first HIV infected case identified in 1987
• More than 90% of infections are acquired heterosexually
• The epidemic is predominantly related to migration
• 40% of households have one migrant
• Men are infected in cities outside the state by female sex workers
No significant rural-urban difference
• Skilled workers most commonly infected
• The median age for infected males 31 years
• Females 27 years
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Monday, June 30, 2008
Making the right choices
Physically-challenged people earn a new lease of life when they get married to each other.
By Shevlin Sebastian
"It was only when my mother gave me a sign saying the baby was okay that I heaved a sigh of relief," says Beena Varkey, 27, about the birth of her daughter a few months ago. She had reasons to be worried. She is deaf but can utter some unintelligible sounds. Her husband, Joy Varkey, 28, is deaf and dumb from birth. They have been married for a little over a year, and it was a tense period when Beena got pregnant.
"We were afraid that our child would also become deaf and dumb, like us, and, yet, we had to take the risk," says Beena. "After marriage, like everybody else, we were looking forward to having children."
But the baby is as normal as a ray of sunlight. Asked how they would hear the cries of the child at night, Joy says, "I put my hand across her body when she goes to sleep. So, the moment, she starts crying, her arms and legs move and I know she needs to be fed."
Beena says she presses herself against the baby's body and when the child kicks, she knows it is hungry. Beena's mother-in-law, Mary Amma, says that if they both miss the movements of the baby, she hears the cries and awakens Beena. (Joy and Beena communicate in sign language, while their neighbour and Joy's childhood friend, Regi Kumar does the translation).
For Joy and Beena, in ordinary circumstances, they would not have met, since they live more than 50 kms apart. But the Prathyasha Foundation placed an advertisement in several newspapers announcing a pre-marital meet for disabled people in May, 2006. Joy and Beena, with their respective families, took part. "I saw four girls, but I liked Beena immediately," he says. Beena says she also liked Joy and was thrilled when her mother and brother had the same sentiments.
Beena says her family wanted her to get married to a normal person but she was against the idea. "I felt that such a man would not be able to understand me," she says. "So I told my mother I would like to get married to a deaf and dumb person. I am very happy with Joy. He is a good man."
Joy had wanted to get married because all his friends had got married and he was leading a solitary life. "Marriage has been great for me," he says. "I have somebody beside me to face the problems of life. But most importantly, I have this gift from God." He points at his black-eyed daughter, Jocelyn, who, having just woken up, has a sleepy look.
The couple lives with Joy's aged parents in a brick house at Veliyanad, 38 kms from Kochi. Joy is a rubber tapper who earns Rs 180 per day, while Beena has been trained as a tailor. She has slowed down now that she has to look after the baby. It is a happy marriage and a happy family, with a crowning glory, a daughter.
But, for another couple, the absence of a child is causing heartbreak. Suresh Kumar, 35, has been blind from the age of 10. Again, like Joy, he wanted to get married and, thanks to a woman, Rachel, whom he met accidentally at the General Hospital, he was introduced to Priya, 31. She did not suffer from a disability, but came from a poor family. "My mother had no dowry to give," she says. "So, the chances of getting married were non-existent."
Rachel told Priya that Suresh may be blind, "but he is a good person." When Priya met Suresh, she did, indeed, like him and they decided to get married, under the aegis of the Prathyasha Foundation. Rachel had got them registered there. Later, the foundation gave her a sewing machine, so that Priya could earn a living as a tailor.
In their two-room house, at the back of a large house, at Kakkanad, a suburb of Kochi, the sewing machine is placed at the centre of a bare room.
"I barely earn Rs 1000 a month from tailoring, while Suresh is jobless,” she says. “The monthly rent is Rs 1000 and the electricity bill is Rs 150. I was in financial difficulties before my marriage and nothing has changed thereafter."
She says this without bitterness and confirms she has no regrets about marrying a blind man. "I always had an empathy for the physically disadvantaged," she says.
For Suresh, apart from the humiliation of being unemployed, he is going through another agony. So far, he has been unable to consummate the marriage.
"To be impotent is a very painful experience," he says. "I am taking tablets, but, so far, there have been no signs of improvement. I am so keen to become a father." Priya says that the lack of a sex life is a problem, but her bigger worry is that they have no place to call their own.
There are different worries for the Thahas who live in the Kochi suburb of Vennala. "I was extremely tense on the day of my son's marriage with Sajitha," says Shamshuddin Thaha. From childhood, his son, Anshaf, 29, was unable to control his urine and needed to go to the toilet all the time. Whenever he went outside, a tube would be attached to a plastic packet.
It was not that Shamsuddin had been deceptive. He had informed Sajitha's elder brother about the disability, but he had kept mum: he wanted the marriage to go ahead. Till then, no man had been willing to marry the polio-afflicted Sajitha.
Like Sajitha, Anshaf had been born with a problem in his spine. A botched operation resulted in his legs becoming partially paralysed.
Shamshuddin knew that on the first day after the marriage Sajitha would become aware of 'the problem'.
"It was a shock when I saw the tube," says Sajitha. "But I have accepted Anshaf's disability. Nowadays, it is I who boil the tube to keep it in a hygienic state.” The loyal Sajitha has not told her parents about Anshaf’s malady.
Sajitha had met and liked Anshaf at the pre-marital meet held by the Prathyasha Foundation. "The only issue was that I was a year older, but Anshaf's family did not have a problem with that," she says.
Anshaf's mother, Ishabeeby, a former headmistress in a government school, says, "Prophet Mohammed was 25 when he married the 40-year-old Khadija. So, this marriage would have been pleasing to God."
The couple looks happy in the two-storeyed house which they share with Anshaf's parents, an elder brother and a younger sister. Sajitha has a small tailoring shop nearby, while Anshaf works at Prathyasha.
"We are able to make ends meet," she says. Both are happy they are not alone. "It is when you are going through problems in life that you appreciate the presence of a companion," says Anshaf. Sajitha nods.
Anshaf says their only problem now, after two years of marriage, is that they don't have any children. As he says this, there is a sudden silence in the room.
Finally, Ishabeeby says, "God will provide."
(Some names have been changed)
A Norwegian excursion
Nina Anderson, 32, is doing a TV and film course at the Westerdals School of Communication at Oslo, Norway. Every year, the class would go on a field trip to different countries. This year, the students felt that India would be an interesting country to visit.
Since Nina and fellow student, Mari Dotseth, 24, had been working with the disabled in Norway, they decided to make a documentary on the subject. Both of them searched the Internet and came across the Prathyasha Foundation at Kochi. So, they got in touch and arrived in January for a month's stay, accompanied by cameraman, Lars Braatho Rangtveit, 23.
"We focused on the work of the Foundation," says Nina. They were also inspired by the life of founder Simon George and traced his career, how he faced his sudden disability at age 21 and the reasons behind the setting up of the Foundation. "We also interviewed the people who received help," says Nina.
What struck the team was how difficult it was for the disabled to function in India. "In Norway, the government helps the disabled financially," she says. "Most of the buildings, parks and public transport have been designed in such a way that the disabled are able to get an easy access," she says. "This is not the case in India. The disabled seem to be ignored by everybody."
Asked about the most interesting event during their trip, Nina mentioned the pre-marital meet which they attended. "It is a unique concept," she says. "There is nothing like this in Norway. When we showed the clips in our school, the students were amazed."
The Pratyasha Foundation
Doing good work
All three couples and a few others like them are grateful to the Prathyasha Foundation (www.prathyashafoundation.org).
The organisation was set up on June 25, 2004, by Simon George. At the age of 21, he had a mysterious illness and was paralysed from the waist downwards.
"Thanks to my disability, I realised I needed to do something for the physically challenged," he says. "In India, if you become physically challenged, you feel a sense of hopelessness. You are isolated from the family, society and from life itself."
George said that when he met up with disadvantaged people, they had two intense wishes. "One was the desire to get married and the other was to get a job," he says. "That was when I got the idea of starting a pre-marital meet where physically challenged men and women could come from all over Kerala and see whether they could find somebody suitable to marry."
In December, 2005, the first meet was held at Kochi and it became a huge success. Thereafter, seven meets have been held and more than 100 couples have tied the knot. George has plans to start a job fair and a rejuvenation centre.
Astonishingly, he says, the poor treat the physically challenged in a far humane manner than the middle and the affluent classes.
He tells a true story of two brothers in Calicut. "One is normal, while the other is physically challenged,” he says. “When the normal brother got married, he ensured that his brother did not tie the knot because that would mean the division of the property." Sometimes, he says, the normal brother tortures the other; the aim is to kill him off slowly.
Even parents are biased. "Physically disadvantaged children are not given an education, because parents feel there is no point in investing money on them," he says. "They are usually treated like servants, or hidden from view.”
Parents are also hesitant to say they have a physically challenged child. "In India, unlike in the West, the attitude towards the physically challenged is negative,” says George. “It is regarded as a curse. People are unwilling to ask for help, as they feel it will damage the image of the family."
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Chennai)
By Shevlin Sebastian
"It was only when my mother gave me a sign saying the baby was okay that I heaved a sigh of relief," says Beena Varkey, 27, about the birth of her daughter a few months ago. She had reasons to be worried. She is deaf but can utter some unintelligible sounds. Her husband, Joy Varkey, 28, is deaf and dumb from birth. They have been married for a little over a year, and it was a tense period when Beena got pregnant.
"We were afraid that our child would also become deaf and dumb, like us, and, yet, we had to take the risk," says Beena. "After marriage, like everybody else, we were looking forward to having children."
But the baby is as normal as a ray of sunlight. Asked how they would hear the cries of the child at night, Joy says, "I put my hand across her body when she goes to sleep. So, the moment, she starts crying, her arms and legs move and I know she needs to be fed."
Beena says she presses herself against the baby's body and when the child kicks, she knows it is hungry. Beena's mother-in-law, Mary Amma, says that if they both miss the movements of the baby, she hears the cries and awakens Beena. (Joy and Beena communicate in sign language, while their neighbour and Joy's childhood friend, Regi Kumar does the translation).
For Joy and Beena, in ordinary circumstances, they would not have met, since they live more than 50 kms apart. But the Prathyasha Foundation placed an advertisement in several newspapers announcing a pre-marital meet for disabled people in May, 2006. Joy and Beena, with their respective families, took part. "I saw four girls, but I liked Beena immediately," he says. Beena says she also liked Joy and was thrilled when her mother and brother had the same sentiments.
Beena says her family wanted her to get married to a normal person but she was against the idea. "I felt that such a man would not be able to understand me," she says. "So I told my mother I would like to get married to a deaf and dumb person. I am very happy with Joy. He is a good man."
Joy had wanted to get married because all his friends had got married and he was leading a solitary life. "Marriage has been great for me," he says. "I have somebody beside me to face the problems of life. But most importantly, I have this gift from God." He points at his black-eyed daughter, Jocelyn, who, having just woken up, has a sleepy look.
The couple lives with Joy's aged parents in a brick house at Veliyanad, 38 kms from Kochi. Joy is a rubber tapper who earns Rs 180 per day, while Beena has been trained as a tailor. She has slowed down now that she has to look after the baby. It is a happy marriage and a happy family, with a crowning glory, a daughter.
But, for another couple, the absence of a child is causing heartbreak. Suresh Kumar, 35, has been blind from the age of 10. Again, like Joy, he wanted to get married and, thanks to a woman, Rachel, whom he met accidentally at the General Hospital, he was introduced to Priya, 31. She did not suffer from a disability, but came from a poor family. "My mother had no dowry to give," she says. "So, the chances of getting married were non-existent."
Rachel told Priya that Suresh may be blind, "but he is a good person." When Priya met Suresh, she did, indeed, like him and they decided to get married, under the aegis of the Prathyasha Foundation. Rachel had got them registered there. Later, the foundation gave her a sewing machine, so that Priya could earn a living as a tailor.
In their two-room house, at the back of a large house, at Kakkanad, a suburb of Kochi, the sewing machine is placed at the centre of a bare room.
"I barely earn Rs 1000 a month from tailoring, while Suresh is jobless,” she says. “The monthly rent is Rs 1000 and the electricity bill is Rs 150. I was in financial difficulties before my marriage and nothing has changed thereafter."
She says this without bitterness and confirms she has no regrets about marrying a blind man. "I always had an empathy for the physically disadvantaged," she says.
For Suresh, apart from the humiliation of being unemployed, he is going through another agony. So far, he has been unable to consummate the marriage.
"To be impotent is a very painful experience," he says. "I am taking tablets, but, so far, there have been no signs of improvement. I am so keen to become a father." Priya says that the lack of a sex life is a problem, but her bigger worry is that they have no place to call their own.
There are different worries for the Thahas who live in the Kochi suburb of Vennala. "I was extremely tense on the day of my son's marriage with Sajitha," says Shamshuddin Thaha. From childhood, his son, Anshaf, 29, was unable to control his urine and needed to go to the toilet all the time. Whenever he went outside, a tube would be attached to a plastic packet.
It was not that Shamsuddin had been deceptive. He had informed Sajitha's elder brother about the disability, but he had kept mum: he wanted the marriage to go ahead. Till then, no man had been willing to marry the polio-afflicted Sajitha.
Like Sajitha, Anshaf had been born with a problem in his spine. A botched operation resulted in his legs becoming partially paralysed.
Shamshuddin knew that on the first day after the marriage Sajitha would become aware of 'the problem'.
"It was a shock when I saw the tube," says Sajitha. "But I have accepted Anshaf's disability. Nowadays, it is I who boil the tube to keep it in a hygienic state.” The loyal Sajitha has not told her parents about Anshaf’s malady.
Sajitha had met and liked Anshaf at the pre-marital meet held by the Prathyasha Foundation. "The only issue was that I was a year older, but Anshaf's family did not have a problem with that," she says.
Anshaf's mother, Ishabeeby, a former headmistress in a government school, says, "Prophet Mohammed was 25 when he married the 40-year-old Khadija. So, this marriage would have been pleasing to God."
The couple looks happy in the two-storeyed house which they share with Anshaf's parents, an elder brother and a younger sister. Sajitha has a small tailoring shop nearby, while Anshaf works at Prathyasha.
"We are able to make ends meet," she says. Both are happy they are not alone. "It is when you are going through problems in life that you appreciate the presence of a companion," says Anshaf. Sajitha nods.
Anshaf says their only problem now, after two years of marriage, is that they don't have any children. As he says this, there is a sudden silence in the room.
Finally, Ishabeeby says, "God will provide."
(Some names have been changed)
A Norwegian excursion
Nina Anderson, 32, is doing a TV and film course at the Westerdals School of Communication at Oslo, Norway. Every year, the class would go on a field trip to different countries. This year, the students felt that India would be an interesting country to visit.
Since Nina and fellow student, Mari Dotseth, 24, had been working with the disabled in Norway, they decided to make a documentary on the subject. Both of them searched the Internet and came across the Prathyasha Foundation at Kochi. So, they got in touch and arrived in January for a month's stay, accompanied by cameraman, Lars Braatho Rangtveit, 23.
"We focused on the work of the Foundation," says Nina. They were also inspired by the life of founder Simon George and traced his career, how he faced his sudden disability at age 21 and the reasons behind the setting up of the Foundation. "We also interviewed the people who received help," says Nina.
What struck the team was how difficult it was for the disabled to function in India. "In Norway, the government helps the disabled financially," she says. "Most of the buildings, parks and public transport have been designed in such a way that the disabled are able to get an easy access," she says. "This is not the case in India. The disabled seem to be ignored by everybody."
Asked about the most interesting event during their trip, Nina mentioned the pre-marital meet which they attended. "It is a unique concept," she says. "There is nothing like this in Norway. When we showed the clips in our school, the students were amazed."
The Pratyasha Foundation
Doing good work
All three couples and a few others like them are grateful to the Prathyasha Foundation (www.prathyashafoundation.org).
The organisation was set up on June 25, 2004, by Simon George. At the age of 21, he had a mysterious illness and was paralysed from the waist downwards.
"Thanks to my disability, I realised I needed to do something for the physically challenged," he says. "In India, if you become physically challenged, you feel a sense of hopelessness. You are isolated from the family, society and from life itself."
George said that when he met up with disadvantaged people, they had two intense wishes. "One was the desire to get married and the other was to get a job," he says. "That was when I got the idea of starting a pre-marital meet where physically challenged men and women could come from all over Kerala and see whether they could find somebody suitable to marry."
In December, 2005, the first meet was held at Kochi and it became a huge success. Thereafter, seven meets have been held and more than 100 couples have tied the knot. George has plans to start a job fair and a rejuvenation centre.
Astonishingly, he says, the poor treat the physically challenged in a far humane manner than the middle and the affluent classes.
He tells a true story of two brothers in Calicut. "One is normal, while the other is physically challenged,” he says. “When the normal brother got married, he ensured that his brother did not tie the knot because that would mean the division of the property." Sometimes, he says, the normal brother tortures the other; the aim is to kill him off slowly.
Even parents are biased. "Physically disadvantaged children are not given an education, because parents feel there is no point in investing money on them," he says. "They are usually treated like servants, or hidden from view.”
Parents are also hesitant to say they have a physically challenged child. "In India, unlike in the West, the attitude towards the physically challenged is negative,” says George. “It is regarded as a curse. People are unwilling to ask for help, as they feel it will damage the image of the family."
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Chennai)
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Doomsday 2050?
If present trends in global warming continue, there is a strong possibility that Kochi will be partially inundated in the coming decades
By Shevlin Sebastian
M.R. Vishnu Prasad, 27, P. Neena, 23, and C. Shanuga, 22, stand on M.G. Road in Kochi on a Tuesday morning wearing green jackets with the word, ‘Greenpeace’ written in white on them.
They have booklets and green-coloured petitions which contain an appeal to coastal MPs to raise the point of global warming in an upcoming session of Parliament. “If present warming trends continue, there is a strong possibility that Kochi will be partially inundated in 2050,” says Vishnu.
And so they approach pedestrians with a mix of caution and bravado. Most say they don’t want to hear the spiel. Some point at their watches and say they are in a hurry, but Vishnu finally gets two young men, N. Nishant and Sebastian James, both 21, to stop and listen.
With enlarged eyes and forceful gesticulations, Vishnu explains the dangers of global warming and the problems that will befell Kochi. Eventually, the two young men sign the petitions that Vishnu proffers.
Later, Sebastian says, “I agree global warming is doing some damage to the earth, but it is difficult to believe Kochi will go under water.”
Nishant feels the people should take steps to prevent global warming. “But most of the citizens are selfish and not socially involved,” he says.
For the past few weeks, the international NGO, Greenpeace, has launched a campaign in Kochi called Blue Alert. Activists have put up blue hazard signs on Marine Drive, Vasco Da Gama Square in Fort Kochi and on Jews Street in Mattancherry with the words, 'Climate Change Zone Ahead'. On the signs are drawings of people drowning and of cars and buildings being submerged.
Activists also pasted 'Eviction 2050' notices on buildings on Marine Drive. “This is to warn the residents that these buildings will not survive in the year 2050, as the surging sea waters will inundate them,” says Greenpeace city coordinator, Shiju Raj.
Shiju says that more than 200 people participated in the Blue Solidarity March, organised by Greenpeace, on April 12 demanding action. “People responded because they understand that the state of the climate is a personal issue,” he says. “It is about their homes, and their children’s future.”
In fact, MPs like Dr K.S. Manoj and Francis K. George have promised to take up the issue in Parliament. Says George: “We have to show vision and leadership, since the future of our country and the people are at stake.”
At the present rate of global warming, there will be a rise of 4 to 5 degrees centigrade in world temperatures in the next few decades.
“This will lead to the breaking-up of glaciers and ice sheets in Greenland and Antarctica and will contribute to the rise in sea levels,” says Somnath Narayan, Climate and Energy campaigner of Greenpeace-India.
According to Sudhir Chella Ranjan of the Indian Institute of Technology in Chennai, a one metre rise in sea level will result in 6000 sq. km in India being flooded.
At the current rate of global warming, there is a strong possibility of a rise of 3 to 5 metres in sea levels in the next 40 years. “All coastal cities like Kochi, Kolkata and Mumbai are at risk of being inundated by 2050,” he says. “More than 125 million people will be rendered homeless.”
This will result in mass movements of entire villages, towns and cities away from the coast.
“It is likely that large inland cities like Delhi, Bangalore, Ahmedabad, Pune and Hyderabad will have to be prepared to accommodate enormous numbers of migrants from the coast,” says Sudhir. “Also, coastal cities like Kochi would have lost trillions of dollars in terms of their existing physical and social capital.”
Somnath says that it is not just an environmental, but a humanitarian and an economic crisis, as well.
“Our monsoons are going to be unpredictable, our agriculture will be hit, wheat production could go down by 20 per cent,” he says. “The Himalayan glaciers that feed our river systems in the north are rapidly receding and this could mean that the Ganges could become a seasonal river in the coming decades!”
So, is global warning irreversible? “Yes, it is,” says Somnath. “But we have a window of less than eight years in which to drastically reduce carbon emissions. Sadly, the awareness of the climate crisis is at its infancy in India.”
So, what is the way out? Sudhir says a manageable rise of 2 degrees in centigrade will only lead to the displacement of 5 million people. “However, there has to be a commitment, not only at the State and the national level, but from all countries, industralised and developing, to cut down on their emissions.”
So, is the world listening or will we go blindly into Doomsday 2050?
Only time will tell.
What we can do
Change a bulb: Replace one regular incandescent bulb with a CFL. This can save 70 kgs of carbon dioxide (CO2) a year
Drive less: Walk, cycle, car pool or take public transport. You save 3 kg of CO2 for every kilometre you don’t drive.
Recycle more: You can save a huge amount of CO2 by recycling material.
Check your tyres: Keep your tyres inflated properly. This can improve mileage by more than 3 per cent. Every litre of petrol saved keeps 3 kg of CO2 out of the atmosphere.
Turn off electronic devices: Simply turning off your TV, stereo, DVD player and computer will save thousands of kgs of CO2 every year.
Stop cutting trees and plant more of them: A single tree absorbs over 1 tonne of CO2 over its lifetime.
Source: www.greenpeaceindia.org
Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi
By Shevlin Sebastian
M.R. Vishnu Prasad, 27, P. Neena, 23, and C. Shanuga, 22, stand on M.G. Road in Kochi on a Tuesday morning wearing green jackets with the word, ‘Greenpeace’ written in white on them.
They have booklets and green-coloured petitions which contain an appeal to coastal MPs to raise the point of global warming in an upcoming session of Parliament. “If present warming trends continue, there is a strong possibility that Kochi will be partially inundated in 2050,” says Vishnu.
And so they approach pedestrians with a mix of caution and bravado. Most say they don’t want to hear the spiel. Some point at their watches and say they are in a hurry, but Vishnu finally gets two young men, N. Nishant and Sebastian James, both 21, to stop and listen.
With enlarged eyes and forceful gesticulations, Vishnu explains the dangers of global warming and the problems that will befell Kochi. Eventually, the two young men sign the petitions that Vishnu proffers.
Later, Sebastian says, “I agree global warming is doing some damage to the earth, but it is difficult to believe Kochi will go under water.”
Nishant feels the people should take steps to prevent global warming. “But most of the citizens are selfish and not socially involved,” he says.
For the past few weeks, the international NGO, Greenpeace, has launched a campaign in Kochi called Blue Alert. Activists have put up blue hazard signs on Marine Drive, Vasco Da Gama Square in Fort Kochi and on Jews Street in Mattancherry with the words, 'Climate Change Zone Ahead'. On the signs are drawings of people drowning and of cars and buildings being submerged.
Activists also pasted 'Eviction 2050' notices on buildings on Marine Drive. “This is to warn the residents that these buildings will not survive in the year 2050, as the surging sea waters will inundate them,” says Greenpeace city coordinator, Shiju Raj.
Shiju says that more than 200 people participated in the Blue Solidarity March, organised by Greenpeace, on April 12 demanding action. “People responded because they understand that the state of the climate is a personal issue,” he says. “It is about their homes, and their children’s future.”
In fact, MPs like Dr K.S. Manoj and Francis K. George have promised to take up the issue in Parliament. Says George: “We have to show vision and leadership, since the future of our country and the people are at stake.”
At the present rate of global warming, there will be a rise of 4 to 5 degrees centigrade in world temperatures in the next few decades.
“This will lead to the breaking-up of glaciers and ice sheets in Greenland and Antarctica and will contribute to the rise in sea levels,” says Somnath Narayan, Climate and Energy campaigner of Greenpeace-India.
According to Sudhir Chella Ranjan of the Indian Institute of Technology in Chennai, a one metre rise in sea level will result in 6000 sq. km in India being flooded.
At the current rate of global warming, there is a strong possibility of a rise of 3 to 5 metres in sea levels in the next 40 years. “All coastal cities like Kochi, Kolkata and Mumbai are at risk of being inundated by 2050,” he says. “More than 125 million people will be rendered homeless.”
This will result in mass movements of entire villages, towns and cities away from the coast.
“It is likely that large inland cities like Delhi, Bangalore, Ahmedabad, Pune and Hyderabad will have to be prepared to accommodate enormous numbers of migrants from the coast,” says Sudhir. “Also, coastal cities like Kochi would have lost trillions of dollars in terms of their existing physical and social capital.”
Somnath says that it is not just an environmental, but a humanitarian and an economic crisis, as well.
“Our monsoons are going to be unpredictable, our agriculture will be hit, wheat production could go down by 20 per cent,” he says. “The Himalayan glaciers that feed our river systems in the north are rapidly receding and this could mean that the Ganges could become a seasonal river in the coming decades!”
So, is global warning irreversible? “Yes, it is,” says Somnath. “But we have a window of less than eight years in which to drastically reduce carbon emissions. Sadly, the awareness of the climate crisis is at its infancy in India.”
So, what is the way out? Sudhir says a manageable rise of 2 degrees in centigrade will only lead to the displacement of 5 million people. “However, there has to be a commitment, not only at the State and the national level, but from all countries, industralised and developing, to cut down on their emissions.”
So, is the world listening or will we go blindly into Doomsday 2050?
Only time will tell.
What we can do
Change a bulb: Replace one regular incandescent bulb with a CFL. This can save 70 kgs of carbon dioxide (CO2) a year
Drive less: Walk, cycle, car pool or take public transport. You save 3 kg of CO2 for every kilometre you don’t drive.
Recycle more: You can save a huge amount of CO2 by recycling material.
Check your tyres: Keep your tyres inflated properly. This can improve mileage by more than 3 per cent. Every litre of petrol saved keeps 3 kg of CO2 out of the atmosphere.
Turn off electronic devices: Simply turning off your TV, stereo, DVD player and computer will save thousands of kgs of CO2 every year.
Stop cutting trees and plant more of them: A single tree absorbs over 1 tonne of CO2 over its lifetime.
Source: www.greenpeaceindia.org
Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi
Those were the days
(A series on childhood memories)
Veteran journalist Leela Menon says the best part of her life was her childhood
By Shevlin Sebastian
“One day, there was no milk in the house,” says veteran journalist Leela Menon. So, her mother, Janaki Amma, told her to go to her aunt’s house to get some milk. When Leela was returning through the paddy fields, she stumbled and half the milk spilled out. Fearing a scolding from Janaki Amma, Leela filled the container with water from the paddy field. “When I gave it to her, my mother said, ‘Why is the colour of the milk like this?’”
“I replied, ‘Nowadays, the cows are giving milk like this.’”
“She said, ‘Who told you this?’”
“‘Aunty,’ I replied.”
Janaki Amma went outside, pulled out a branch from the coffee tree and gave her a thrashing. “Don’t tell lies,” she said.
Leela smiles as she remembers the incident which took place so many decades ago. Her apartment at Kadavanthra is elegantly furnished: large paintings on a wall, brass mementoes against another wall, and a stunning black and white photograph of her in her younger days. In the balcony, there are several potted plants.
Here is another memory: One night, in her village of Vengola (7 kms from Perumbavoor), a group of people were returning from the temple. While the elders were walking behind, holding up burning coconut fronds, Leela and the other children ran on ahead. Suddenly, a large, yellow snake bit her on the leg. “I immediately started crying and shouted, ‘A snake has bitten me.’”
Leela was rushed home. At that time the nearest hospital was six kilometres away. “My neighbour and classmate, Kunhikrishnan, was sent to call for the visha vaidiyan (snake doctor),” she says.
As soon as the doctor saw the boy, he immediately guessed the type of snake and told Kunhikrishnan it was not as poisonous as the cobra. Apart from anti-venom medicine, the doctor gave instructions that Leela should not eat or sleep.
“The poison tends to move around in the body if you go to sleep,” says Leela. Hence, it was a sleepless night for Leela, but the next day she was okay.
However, Leela’s father, Neelakantan Kartha, was not okay. When she was two, he was struck by paralysis and remained bed-ridden for the rest of his life. Thereafter, the house revolved around Janaki Amma, who looked after the three children -- one boy and two girls -- and the six-acre property.
“My mother was a lovely person,” says Leela. “In the nights, she would hug me and go to sleep. Whenever there was lightning, she would hold me tight. She lavished attention on me, because I was the youngest.”
Leela also revelled in the attention and company of numerous cousins and friends who lived nearby. “We would wander around, plucking mangoes,” she says. “We used to run around and play on the swings which were set up on the trees.”
Thanks to the presence of several cows and goats, Leela developed a love for animals. “Some of the goats were my pets,” she says. “I used to call them Ramani, Sudha and, Bindu. When Bindu died, I cried a lot.”
Death was never far away in the life of the villagers. One day in 1939, she had gone to play at her aunt’s place when word was sent that her father was dying. “So my aunt brought me back,” she says. “The house was full of people.”
Leela, who was six at that time, could not understand what had happened. “In the afternoon, I saw wooden logs in the compound,” she says. Much later, at dusk, when all the people had left, Leela saw her mother standing at the door of the kitchen and staring at the dying embers of the funeral pyre.
“There was a look of utter desolation on her face,” says Leela. “I went and hugged her. She cried for a long time.” Her mother was only 36 years old when her father died at 52.
Seeing tragedy at such close quarters gave Leela the inner strength to surmount several physical and mental setbacks in her own life, including the death of her husband, Major M. Bhaskara Menon in 1996.
Today, as the first woman journalist in Kerala, she is a trail blazer. So, did she have this writing ambition when she was young?
“One day, a cousin, Sreedharan Chettan asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up and I replied that I just wanted a job, but I had no idea of the profession,” she says. When he asked how much salary Leela wanted, she replied, “Rs 120.” At that time it was the highest salary.
Amazingly, when Leela got her first job as a clerk at the Hyderabad General Post Office in 1949, her salary was Rs 120.
What you wish, that you get.
Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi
Veteran journalist Leela Menon says the best part of her life was her childhood
By Shevlin Sebastian
“One day, there was no milk in the house,” says veteran journalist Leela Menon. So, her mother, Janaki Amma, told her to go to her aunt’s house to get some milk. When Leela was returning through the paddy fields, she stumbled and half the milk spilled out. Fearing a scolding from Janaki Amma, Leela filled the container with water from the paddy field. “When I gave it to her, my mother said, ‘Why is the colour of the milk like this?’”
“I replied, ‘Nowadays, the cows are giving milk like this.’”
“She said, ‘Who told you this?’”
“‘Aunty,’ I replied.”
Janaki Amma went outside, pulled out a branch from the coffee tree and gave her a thrashing. “Don’t tell lies,” she said.
Leela smiles as she remembers the incident which took place so many decades ago. Her apartment at Kadavanthra is elegantly furnished: large paintings on a wall, brass mementoes against another wall, and a stunning black and white photograph of her in her younger days. In the balcony, there are several potted plants.
Here is another memory: One night, in her village of Vengola (7 kms from Perumbavoor), a group of people were returning from the temple. While the elders were walking behind, holding up burning coconut fronds, Leela and the other children ran on ahead. Suddenly, a large, yellow snake bit her on the leg. “I immediately started crying and shouted, ‘A snake has bitten me.’”
Leela was rushed home. At that time the nearest hospital was six kilometres away. “My neighbour and classmate, Kunhikrishnan, was sent to call for the visha vaidiyan (snake doctor),” she says.
As soon as the doctor saw the boy, he immediately guessed the type of snake and told Kunhikrishnan it was not as poisonous as the cobra. Apart from anti-venom medicine, the doctor gave instructions that Leela should not eat or sleep.
“The poison tends to move around in the body if you go to sleep,” says Leela. Hence, it was a sleepless night for Leela, but the next day she was okay.
However, Leela’s father, Neelakantan Kartha, was not okay. When she was two, he was struck by paralysis and remained bed-ridden for the rest of his life. Thereafter, the house revolved around Janaki Amma, who looked after the three children -- one boy and two girls -- and the six-acre property.
“My mother was a lovely person,” says Leela. “In the nights, she would hug me and go to sleep. Whenever there was lightning, she would hold me tight. She lavished attention on me, because I was the youngest.”
Leela also revelled in the attention and company of numerous cousins and friends who lived nearby. “We would wander around, plucking mangoes,” she says. “We used to run around and play on the swings which were set up on the trees.”
Thanks to the presence of several cows and goats, Leela developed a love for animals. “Some of the goats were my pets,” she says. “I used to call them Ramani, Sudha and, Bindu. When Bindu died, I cried a lot.”
Death was never far away in the life of the villagers. One day in 1939, she had gone to play at her aunt’s place when word was sent that her father was dying. “So my aunt brought me back,” she says. “The house was full of people.”
Leela, who was six at that time, could not understand what had happened. “In the afternoon, I saw wooden logs in the compound,” she says. Much later, at dusk, when all the people had left, Leela saw her mother standing at the door of the kitchen and staring at the dying embers of the funeral pyre.
“There was a look of utter desolation on her face,” says Leela. “I went and hugged her. She cried for a long time.” Her mother was only 36 years old when her father died at 52.
Seeing tragedy at such close quarters gave Leela the inner strength to surmount several physical and mental setbacks in her own life, including the death of her husband, Major M. Bhaskara Menon in 1996.
Today, as the first woman journalist in Kerala, she is a trail blazer. So, did she have this writing ambition when she was young?
“One day, a cousin, Sreedharan Chettan asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up and I replied that I just wanted a job, but I had no idea of the profession,” she says. When he asked how much salary Leela wanted, she replied, “Rs 120.” At that time it was the highest salary.
Amazingly, when Leela got her first job as a clerk at the Hyderabad General Post Office in 1949, her salary was Rs 120.
What you wish, that you get.
Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Creating a small niche
Publisher, Niche of Truth, tries to dispel the many misconceptions of Islam through books, cassettes and pamphlets
By Shevlin Sebastian
On May 24, 2001, M. M. Akbar, the executive director of publisher Niche of Truth, had a debate about Islam and Hinduism with the then President of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (Kerala unit), Dr. Puthezhath Ramachandran at Perunalmannal, Malappuram. About 10,000 people were in attendance.
Following the debate, Ramachandran told Akbar that the several misconceptions he had about Islam were cleared. “Imagine, the president of the VHP was telling me this,” says Akbar, 42. “So, that meant he did not know the real picture, even though he was fighting against Islam.” Ramachandran says, “It was an enlightening experience for me.”
Akbar says that in Kerala people live along segregated lines, and are ignorant about the beliefs of others. “Hence, there are so many misinterpretations, which lead to a clash between communities.”
To counter this, Niche of Truth was set up in 1990 in Malappuram. Subsequently, its headquarters has now been shifted to Kochi.
The aim, says Akbar, is to spread the message of Islam and remove apprehensions that the religion propagates terrorism and that jihad means the killing of non-Muslims. He says the message is propagated through books, CDs and pamphlets.
“We encourage people to ask questions about Islam and we give our responses,” he says. “We are aware that terrorist activities are taking place in the name of Islam and we are fighting against that.”
Ramchandran says that a few terrorists are creating the impression that every Muslim is a fanatic. “In fact, more than 90 per cent of the Muslims are peace-loving,” he says.
Niche of Truth publishes books which advocate the relevance of the Quran in modern life, the necessity of religion in the era of science, and the authenticity of the Holy Book.
However, at the book fair at ‘Salvation-the international exhibition of Islam’ at the JN International Stadium at Kochi a few weeks ago, it was interesting to see that there were as many CDs as books.
“People are reading less these days,” says Akbar, with a smile. “The CDs sells more than the books. People do not want to strive to get knowledge. It seems to me they are just lazy.”
But Akbar is not lazy. In fact, he is keen to change the negative perception of Islam, which, he feels, is being propagated by the mainstream media.
“The media in India is a product of globalisation,” he says. “In globalisation, Islam is enemy No. 1. The Western bias is being followed by the Indian media. We are doing our best to clear the falsehoods, but the negativity continues.”
The Niche of Truth office is on the third floor of the Salafi Cultural Complex, near Vytilla. Inside, on shelves, books and CDs are on sale. On one side, there is the office of Snehasamvadan, a monthly magazine.
On the opposite side, is the Creative Media section where the CDs and the documentaries are made, a research unit, a recording studio, an administrative section, as well as a library.
“We have Muslim and non-Muslim visitors who come to the library,” says Nabeel Mohammed V, who works at Niche.
Apart from publishing original works, Niche also does several translations. Says Shameem K. Hashim: “We usually translate world-famous Islamic books into Malayalam. The last book I translated is called, ‘From my sisters’ lips’ by Na’ima B. Robert.”
Born in Britain, Nai’ma, a black of South African descent, embraced Islam and, as the synopsis in Amazon.com says, the book ‘recounts the compelling story of her conversion, and also offers first-hand accounts of some of the extraordinary Muslim women she has come to know in recent years - women like herself who have chosen to live behind the veil.’
However, the best-selling book for Niche is ‘The authenticity of Quran’ written by Akbar himself. “Around 10,000 copies have been sold,” he says. “In the book, I answer many criticisms against Islam and the Quran.”
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
On May 24, 2001, M. M. Akbar, the executive director of publisher Niche of Truth, had a debate about Islam and Hinduism with the then President of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (Kerala unit), Dr. Puthezhath Ramachandran at Perunalmannal, Malappuram. About 10,000 people were in attendance.
Following the debate, Ramachandran told Akbar that the several misconceptions he had about Islam were cleared. “Imagine, the president of the VHP was telling me this,” says Akbar, 42. “So, that meant he did not know the real picture, even though he was fighting against Islam.” Ramachandran says, “It was an enlightening experience for me.”
Akbar says that in Kerala people live along segregated lines, and are ignorant about the beliefs of others. “Hence, there are so many misinterpretations, which lead to a clash between communities.”
To counter this, Niche of Truth was set up in 1990 in Malappuram. Subsequently, its headquarters has now been shifted to Kochi.
The aim, says Akbar, is to spread the message of Islam and remove apprehensions that the religion propagates terrorism and that jihad means the killing of non-Muslims. He says the message is propagated through books, CDs and pamphlets.
“We encourage people to ask questions about Islam and we give our responses,” he says. “We are aware that terrorist activities are taking place in the name of Islam and we are fighting against that.”
Ramchandran says that a few terrorists are creating the impression that every Muslim is a fanatic. “In fact, more than 90 per cent of the Muslims are peace-loving,” he says.
Niche of Truth publishes books which advocate the relevance of the Quran in modern life, the necessity of religion in the era of science, and the authenticity of the Holy Book.
However, at the book fair at ‘Salvation-the international exhibition of Islam’ at the JN International Stadium at Kochi a few weeks ago, it was interesting to see that there were as many CDs as books.
“People are reading less these days,” says Akbar, with a smile. “The CDs sells more than the books. People do not want to strive to get knowledge. It seems to me they are just lazy.”
But Akbar is not lazy. In fact, he is keen to change the negative perception of Islam, which, he feels, is being propagated by the mainstream media.
“The media in India is a product of globalisation,” he says. “In globalisation, Islam is enemy No. 1. The Western bias is being followed by the Indian media. We are doing our best to clear the falsehoods, but the negativity continues.”
The Niche of Truth office is on the third floor of the Salafi Cultural Complex, near Vytilla. Inside, on shelves, books and CDs are on sale. On one side, there is the office of Snehasamvadan, a monthly magazine.
On the opposite side, is the Creative Media section where the CDs and the documentaries are made, a research unit, a recording studio, an administrative section, as well as a library.
“We have Muslim and non-Muslim visitors who come to the library,” says Nabeel Mohammed V, who works at Niche.
Apart from publishing original works, Niche also does several translations. Says Shameem K. Hashim: “We usually translate world-famous Islamic books into Malayalam. The last book I translated is called, ‘From my sisters’ lips’ by Na’ima B. Robert.”
Born in Britain, Nai’ma, a black of South African descent, embraced Islam and, as the synopsis in Amazon.com says, the book ‘recounts the compelling story of her conversion, and also offers first-hand accounts of some of the extraordinary Muslim women she has come to know in recent years - women like herself who have chosen to live behind the veil.’
However, the best-selling book for Niche is ‘The authenticity of Quran’ written by Akbar himself. “Around 10,000 copies have been sold,” he says. “In the book, I answer many criticisms against Islam and the Quran.”
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Write Stuff
Author Shinie Antony makes a mark with her latest collection of short stories, ‘Séance on a Sunday Afternoon’
By Shevlin Sebastian
The story, ‘The Sofa’, in Shinie Antony’s latest book, ‘Séance on a Sunday Afternoon’, starts off with an old man peeling off what he thinks is his socks, but it is actually his skin.
“That image came from nowhere,” says Shinie, 42. “The old man remained in my mind for a long time till I had to question as to what he was doing and what had happened to him.” She says that these characters are phantoms who “want their stories to be told. They badger me inside my head.”
Shinie listens to the badgering and puts down what they have to say. The end result: Séance, her third short story collection, 22 tales in all, published by Rupa, is intriguing and gripping. “Writing is very painful for me,” she says. “It is like torturing yourself. A short story is squeezed out of me.”
When she says this, there is a palpable sense of relief that the book is over as she sits in a coffee shop at Kochi and sips a Café Nirvana. The Bangalore-based author is in town with her family (husband Dean Mathew, daughters Nimisha, 13, and Mihika, 8) for a weekend stay with her parents.
Despite the stress, Shinie has been writing steadily. Her first book of short stories, ‘Barefoot and Pregnant’, published by Rupa in 2002, contained the story, ‘A Dog’s Death’ which won a Highly Commended Award in the Commonwealth Broadcasting Association short story competition of 2001. The next year, she won the Asian Award in the same competition for the story, ‘Somewhere in Gujarat’.
Her next books were both released in 2005. One, a novel, ‘Kardamom’s Kisses’, was published by Rupa, while ‘Planet Polygamous’, 36 short stories about infidelity, was published by Indialog.
So, is infidelity a widespread phenomenon in urban India? “Yes it is,” says Shinie, who has been happily married to Dean for 14 years. “I know a lot of women who have had affairs and, at any given opportunity they are full of complaints about the spouse, unaware that they themselves are not putting in 100 per cent in the relationship.”
She says most of the stories in the book are based on true incidents. “I had a couple confide in me, simultaneously, that they were having affairs,” she says. “But the marriage survived.”
As to the reasons for infidelity, Shinie says the consumerist culture is having its effect on relationships. “People want to put the card into the ATM machine and want cash, loyalty and fun, but everything has to come from the other side,” she says. “They are not looking at how much they have to put into it.”
Shinie, on the other hand, is committed to her relationships and her writing. The daughter of a Navy officer, she grew up in Mumbai, Delhi, Lakshwadeep and Kochi, where she spent five years and graduated in literature from St. Teresa’s College.
It was, as expected, God’s Own Country which has had the most impact on her psyche. “The sense of belonging I feel in Kerala, I can’t get that anywhere else,” she says. “I can take the backwaters, as well as the lecherousness. The men in Kerala have a Ph.d in staring.”
Shinie remembers the time when she had gone for a film with a few of her college friends. When they came out, they saw a wall of grinning men standing in front waiting to go in for the next show. “There was no way we could get through without being pawed,” she says.
Shinie had an unexpected reaction: she sat down on the ground and began weeping. Immediately, the guards and a lone policeman cleared a path, so that the girls could go out. “You begin to see sexuality as something creepy,” she says. “The male libido in Kerala is like a can of kerosene. It only needs a match.”
Sometimes, these experiences do light up the match of creativity in her. So, how much of her fiction is autobiographical?
“No writer sets out to write anything personal,” she says. “You take great pains to separate your life from the fiction you are writing, although there are certain nuances and reactions that are unmistakably you.”
Thanks to an original voice and a lucid style, Shinie, a former journalist, who is now a full-time writer has a rising national reputation.
Says Trisha Bora, her editor at Rupa: “Shinie has the ability to flesh out her characters very well. Most of her stories deal with life in a city and, hence, urban readers feel connected to it.”
At the launch of Séance, a few weeks ago, painter Anjali Ela Menon described it as a 21st century book. “Shinie belongs to a bold and courageous generation,” she says. “Séance is unputdownable.”
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
The story, ‘The Sofa’, in Shinie Antony’s latest book, ‘Séance on a Sunday Afternoon’, starts off with an old man peeling off what he thinks is his socks, but it is actually his skin.
“That image came from nowhere,” says Shinie, 42. “The old man remained in my mind for a long time till I had to question as to what he was doing and what had happened to him.” She says that these characters are phantoms who “want their stories to be told. They badger me inside my head.”
Shinie listens to the badgering and puts down what they have to say. The end result: Séance, her third short story collection, 22 tales in all, published by Rupa, is intriguing and gripping. “Writing is very painful for me,” she says. “It is like torturing yourself. A short story is squeezed out of me.”
When she says this, there is a palpable sense of relief that the book is over as she sits in a coffee shop at Kochi and sips a Café Nirvana. The Bangalore-based author is in town with her family (husband Dean Mathew, daughters Nimisha, 13, and Mihika, 8) for a weekend stay with her parents.
Despite the stress, Shinie has been writing steadily. Her first book of short stories, ‘Barefoot and Pregnant’, published by Rupa in 2002, contained the story, ‘A Dog’s Death’ which won a Highly Commended Award in the Commonwealth Broadcasting Association short story competition of 2001. The next year, she won the Asian Award in the same competition for the story, ‘Somewhere in Gujarat’.
Her next books were both released in 2005. One, a novel, ‘Kardamom’s Kisses’, was published by Rupa, while ‘Planet Polygamous’, 36 short stories about infidelity, was published by Indialog.
So, is infidelity a widespread phenomenon in urban India? “Yes it is,” says Shinie, who has been happily married to Dean for 14 years. “I know a lot of women who have had affairs and, at any given opportunity they are full of complaints about the spouse, unaware that they themselves are not putting in 100 per cent in the relationship.”
She says most of the stories in the book are based on true incidents. “I had a couple confide in me, simultaneously, that they were having affairs,” she says. “But the marriage survived.”
As to the reasons for infidelity, Shinie says the consumerist culture is having its effect on relationships. “People want to put the card into the ATM machine and want cash, loyalty and fun, but everything has to come from the other side,” she says. “They are not looking at how much they have to put into it.”
Shinie, on the other hand, is committed to her relationships and her writing. The daughter of a Navy officer, she grew up in Mumbai, Delhi, Lakshwadeep and Kochi, where she spent five years and graduated in literature from St. Teresa’s College.
It was, as expected, God’s Own Country which has had the most impact on her psyche. “The sense of belonging I feel in Kerala, I can’t get that anywhere else,” she says. “I can take the backwaters, as well as the lecherousness. The men in Kerala have a Ph.d in staring.”
Shinie remembers the time when she had gone for a film with a few of her college friends. When they came out, they saw a wall of grinning men standing in front waiting to go in for the next show. “There was no way we could get through without being pawed,” she says.
Shinie had an unexpected reaction: she sat down on the ground and began weeping. Immediately, the guards and a lone policeman cleared a path, so that the girls could go out. “You begin to see sexuality as something creepy,” she says. “The male libido in Kerala is like a can of kerosene. It only needs a match.”
Sometimes, these experiences do light up the match of creativity in her. So, how much of her fiction is autobiographical?
“No writer sets out to write anything personal,” she says. “You take great pains to separate your life from the fiction you are writing, although there are certain nuances and reactions that are unmistakably you.”
Thanks to an original voice and a lucid style, Shinie, a former journalist, who is now a full-time writer has a rising national reputation.
Says Trisha Bora, her editor at Rupa: “Shinie has the ability to flesh out her characters very well. Most of her stories deal with life in a city and, hence, urban readers feel connected to it.”
At the launch of Séance, a few weeks ago, painter Anjali Ela Menon described it as a 21st century book. “Shinie belongs to a bold and courageous generation,” she says. “Séance is unputdownable.”
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Hail Helvetica!
It’s the font that became the most widely used typeface in the 20th century. A film on it was screened in Kochi recently
By Shevlin Sebastian
In 1957, Eduard Hoffmann, a director of the Haas Type Foundry in Münchenstein, Switzerland, asked Max Miedinger, a former employee and freelance designer, to design a new font. Hoffmann wanted a sans-serif typeface that could compete with the popular Akzidenz Grotesk typeface. After a year of effort, with frequent inputs from Hoffmann, Miedinger came up with Helvetica.
The word, Helvetica, is a derivative of Helvetia, the Latin name for Switzerland. Within a matter of years, Helvetica became the most widely used sans serif typeface of the 20th century.
In 2006, filmmaker Gary Hustwit decided to make a film on the typeface. On the web site (www.helveticafilm.com), he gives the reasons why: “Since millions of people see and use Helvetica every day, I wondered, how a typeface drawn by a little-known Swiss designer become one of the most popular ways for us to communicate our words fifty years later?”
Helvetica is a gripping 80-minute film on the powerful impact of the font worldwide. Shot in New York, Amsterdam, Berlin, Zurich and London, it contains interviews with noted graphic designers like Erik Spiekermann, Wim Crouwel and Massimo Vignelli.
Italian designer Vignelli says, “Helvetica the king of all fonts.” While designer Michael Bierut says, “Helvetica is everywhere. It’s like air. You can’t help breathing it in.”
The film has been screened in 150 cities and last week it was shown in Kochi by Design and People and Open Eyed Dreams, an art promotion house. Sethu Dass, of Design and People, says that even though Helvetica is Europe’s contribution to typeface, it has been controversial.
“Thanks to its clean and neutral look, many companies, like Coke, which supported the Vietnam War, used this font, to give a good impression of itself,” he says. Designer Paula Scher says, “Helvetica is the font of the Vietnam War.”
Apart from Coke, some of the other companies, which adopted Helvetica, include Nestle, Intel, American Airlines, Lufthansa, Toyota, Microsoft and Panasonic.
In Kochi, there is a mixed crowd of graphic designers, architects, web designers and human rights activists who have come to watch the film.
Mathewkutty J. Mattam, who runs a graphic design shop, Blackboard, says he had heard about Helvetica during his college days. “But I really understood its impact only when I saw this film,” he says.
Mathewkutty uses Helvetica often because it is a neutral font. That means it can go along with any text or visual. “For example, if you put the word ‘love’ in Helvetica, and when you look at it, you can experience that emotion,” he says. “That is one of its strengths. It is a legible font: easy to read from close and from afar. It is good for logos and signboards.”
Vinod Laxman, a lecturer in applied art at the RLV College of Music and Fine Arts, says that Helvetica is the most readable font in the world.
“Fonts are the visual elements of any language,” he says. “I always tell my students that whatever they write should be clear and Helvetica fits the bill perfectly.”
Architect Raj Menon says the interesting part about the film was how it showed that Helvetica was accepted whole-heartedly in the sixties and seventies, but “later, there was a negative reaction to it. Then, in the nineties, people sort of began coming back to the spirit of Helvetica."
Menon also liked the way the history of the font was traced out. "It was quite mind-boggling how something as simple as a font became such a strong character in the film and in life,” he says.
The audience reaction has been strongly positive across the world and, as expected, the most intense reaction came from Switzerland.
Journalist Sukhdev Sandhu in London’s Daily Telegraph quotes director Gary Hustwit: "There were 800 people at the after-screening party at Zurich which went on till 6 a.m. They had a giant mirrored 'H' that was spinning above the dance floor with laser lights pointed at it. It was bizarre."
Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi
By Shevlin Sebastian
In 1957, Eduard Hoffmann, a director of the Haas Type Foundry in Münchenstein, Switzerland, asked Max Miedinger, a former employee and freelance designer, to design a new font. Hoffmann wanted a sans-serif typeface that could compete with the popular Akzidenz Grotesk typeface. After a year of effort, with frequent inputs from Hoffmann, Miedinger came up with Helvetica.
The word, Helvetica, is a derivative of Helvetia, the Latin name for Switzerland. Within a matter of years, Helvetica became the most widely used sans serif typeface of the 20th century.
In 2006, filmmaker Gary Hustwit decided to make a film on the typeface. On the web site (www.helveticafilm.com), he gives the reasons why: “Since millions of people see and use Helvetica every day, I wondered, how a typeface drawn by a little-known Swiss designer become one of the most popular ways for us to communicate our words fifty years later?”
Helvetica is a gripping 80-minute film on the powerful impact of the font worldwide. Shot in New York, Amsterdam, Berlin, Zurich and London, it contains interviews with noted graphic designers like Erik Spiekermann, Wim Crouwel and Massimo Vignelli.
Italian designer Vignelli says, “Helvetica the king of all fonts.” While designer Michael Bierut says, “Helvetica is everywhere. It’s like air. You can’t help breathing it in.”
The film has been screened in 150 cities and last week it was shown in Kochi by Design and People and Open Eyed Dreams, an art promotion house. Sethu Dass, of Design and People, says that even though Helvetica is Europe’s contribution to typeface, it has been controversial.
“Thanks to its clean and neutral look, many companies, like Coke, which supported the Vietnam War, used this font, to give a good impression of itself,” he says. Designer Paula Scher says, “Helvetica is the font of the Vietnam War.”
Apart from Coke, some of the other companies, which adopted Helvetica, include Nestle, Intel, American Airlines, Lufthansa, Toyota, Microsoft and Panasonic.
In Kochi, there is a mixed crowd of graphic designers, architects, web designers and human rights activists who have come to watch the film.
Mathewkutty J. Mattam, who runs a graphic design shop, Blackboard, says he had heard about Helvetica during his college days. “But I really understood its impact only when I saw this film,” he says.
Mathewkutty uses Helvetica often because it is a neutral font. That means it can go along with any text or visual. “For example, if you put the word ‘love’ in Helvetica, and when you look at it, you can experience that emotion,” he says. “That is one of its strengths. It is a legible font: easy to read from close and from afar. It is good for logos and signboards.”
Vinod Laxman, a lecturer in applied art at the RLV College of Music and Fine Arts, says that Helvetica is the most readable font in the world.
“Fonts are the visual elements of any language,” he says. “I always tell my students that whatever they write should be clear and Helvetica fits the bill perfectly.”
Architect Raj Menon says the interesting part about the film was how it showed that Helvetica was accepted whole-heartedly in the sixties and seventies, but “later, there was a negative reaction to it. Then, in the nineties, people sort of began coming back to the spirit of Helvetica."
Menon also liked the way the history of the font was traced out. "It was quite mind-boggling how something as simple as a font became such a strong character in the film and in life,” he says.
The audience reaction has been strongly positive across the world and, as expected, the most intense reaction came from Switzerland.
Journalist Sukhdev Sandhu in London’s Daily Telegraph quotes director Gary Hustwit: "There were 800 people at the after-screening party at Zurich which went on till 6 a.m. They had a giant mirrored 'H' that was spinning above the dance floor with laser lights pointed at it. It was bizarre."
Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Braveheart!
(A series on childhood memories)
Mohamed Ali, the chairman of Mfar Group of Companies at Kochi, exhibited fearlessness throughout his childhood
By Shevlin Sebastian
One day, when Mohamed Ali was returning home from school, he saw a gold chain lying on the ground. “I picked it up and started playing with it,” he says. “A neighbour’s wife saw this, realized the value, and immediately took the necklace to my grandmother, Umhani.”
Umhani passed the information to the owner of the village grocery shop, where everybody congregated for evening shopping. He pasted a notice stating that a necklace had been found.
It turned out that a woman had borrowed the necklace to wear it for a wedding and it had slipped from her neck. “She was on the verge of committing suicide, because she could not bear the loss of the necklace,” says Ali.
The chairman of the Mfar Group of Companies gives an impression of quiet confidence, as he sits in his spacious office at the Le Meridien Hotel at Kochi. Through his wall-length glass-paned window you can see manicured lawns and a cool blue swimming pool. This environment is a far cry from Ali’s beginnings in the remote village of Talikulam in Thrissur district.
“Our family was better off than the other villagers in terms of land holdings,” he says. “So, there were plenty of mango, coconut and cashew trees.”
His father was a farmer, and the main source of income was coconuts. But the drawback was that there was not much of liquidity. “Sometimes, when we needed money desperately, it was not there,” he says. “Those were hard times. But my needs were limited. So, I never asked for money.”
There was not much scope to spend it. Interestingly, at that time, family members, especially children, were discouraged from eating from outside. “There was a certain taboo attached to it,” he says.
But that did not mean Ali did not have fun. Groups of children – neighbours, friends and classmates – would wander around, plucking mangoes, climbing trees, going for swims and playing all sorts of games like kolu kalli.
“I was always the winner,” he says. “I was brave and fearless and unafraid to take up challenges.”
Ali says his father was like this. “So, maybe, I have inherited these traits,” he says.
His fearlessness was well known in the family. So, whenever there was a need to call the midwife in the middle of the night and even though he would have to cross two graveyards to reach her house, it was Ali who set out.
“During those times, there was a lot of talk about ghosts and demons,” he says. “So, nobody dared to walk through a graveyard at night, but I had no fear.” In fact, he never even carried a light, and would find his way with the help of the moonlight.
Like the previous personalities who have appeared in ‘Rare View’, Ali also feels he has had a better childhood than his children. “We were in direct touch with nature and experienced life in the raw,” he says. “We walked barefoot to school and got wet in the rain. Our parents did not get upset, like they do today.”
In contrast, Ali’s children grew up in Muscat. “In a city, you have a house and a compound and the children have to wander about there,” he says. “We did not have the gadgets that children have today, but I think we experienced more enjoyment.”
What was also a source of joy were the rare occasions when he got a chance to travel in the only car in the village: a black Chevrolet owned by a man whom everyone called ‘Uncle’.
“We would hire this car whenever we would have to go for a wedding,” he says. “I remember that at least thirteen people would fit inside the car.”
Like the top-quality Chevrolet, Ali was always in the top five in the class. Asked who had been the biggest influence on him during his childhood, Ali says, “My grandmother. She had tremendous leadership qualities and had the final say on many occasions, especially during emergencies.”
Sadly, she died when Ali was only seven years old. But he says, he is not a forceful leader like her. “I am softer,” he says. His grandfather and his father were kind people, and he says he is more like them.
His brother-in-law M.M. Abdul Basheer confirms this: “Ali treats everyone – whether rich or poor – with the same degree of respect. He also has a sharp and analytical mind, and a powerful memory.”
All these traits, which made its first appearance in his childhood, have combined to make Mohammed Ali, 59, the successful businessman he is today.
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Mohamed Ali, the chairman of Mfar Group of Companies at Kochi, exhibited fearlessness throughout his childhood
By Shevlin Sebastian
One day, when Mohamed Ali was returning home from school, he saw a gold chain lying on the ground. “I picked it up and started playing with it,” he says. “A neighbour’s wife saw this, realized the value, and immediately took the necklace to my grandmother, Umhani.”
Umhani passed the information to the owner of the village grocery shop, where everybody congregated for evening shopping. He pasted a notice stating that a necklace had been found.
It turned out that a woman had borrowed the necklace to wear it for a wedding and it had slipped from her neck. “She was on the verge of committing suicide, because she could not bear the loss of the necklace,” says Ali.
The chairman of the Mfar Group of Companies gives an impression of quiet confidence, as he sits in his spacious office at the Le Meridien Hotel at Kochi. Through his wall-length glass-paned window you can see manicured lawns and a cool blue swimming pool. This environment is a far cry from Ali’s beginnings in the remote village of Talikulam in Thrissur district.
“Our family was better off than the other villagers in terms of land holdings,” he says. “So, there were plenty of mango, coconut and cashew trees.”
His father was a farmer, and the main source of income was coconuts. But the drawback was that there was not much of liquidity. “Sometimes, when we needed money desperately, it was not there,” he says. “Those were hard times. But my needs were limited. So, I never asked for money.”
There was not much scope to spend it. Interestingly, at that time, family members, especially children, were discouraged from eating from outside. “There was a certain taboo attached to it,” he says.
But that did not mean Ali did not have fun. Groups of children – neighbours, friends and classmates – would wander around, plucking mangoes, climbing trees, going for swims and playing all sorts of games like kolu kalli.
“I was always the winner,” he says. “I was brave and fearless and unafraid to take up challenges.”
Ali says his father was like this. “So, maybe, I have inherited these traits,” he says.
His fearlessness was well known in the family. So, whenever there was a need to call the midwife in the middle of the night and even though he would have to cross two graveyards to reach her house, it was Ali who set out.
“During those times, there was a lot of talk about ghosts and demons,” he says. “So, nobody dared to walk through a graveyard at night, but I had no fear.” In fact, he never even carried a light, and would find his way with the help of the moonlight.
Like the previous personalities who have appeared in ‘Rare View’, Ali also feels he has had a better childhood than his children. “We were in direct touch with nature and experienced life in the raw,” he says. “We walked barefoot to school and got wet in the rain. Our parents did not get upset, like they do today.”
In contrast, Ali’s children grew up in Muscat. “In a city, you have a house and a compound and the children have to wander about there,” he says. “We did not have the gadgets that children have today, but I think we experienced more enjoyment.”
What was also a source of joy were the rare occasions when he got a chance to travel in the only car in the village: a black Chevrolet owned by a man whom everyone called ‘Uncle’.
“We would hire this car whenever we would have to go for a wedding,” he says. “I remember that at least thirteen people would fit inside the car.”
Like the top-quality Chevrolet, Ali was always in the top five in the class. Asked who had been the biggest influence on him during his childhood, Ali says, “My grandmother. She had tremendous leadership qualities and had the final say on many occasions, especially during emergencies.”
Sadly, she died when Ali was only seven years old. But he says, he is not a forceful leader like her. “I am softer,” he says. His grandfather and his father were kind people, and he says he is more like them.
His brother-in-law M.M. Abdul Basheer confirms this: “Ali treats everyone – whether rich or poor – with the same degree of respect. He also has a sharp and analytical mind, and a powerful memory.”
All these traits, which made its first appearance in his childhood, have combined to make Mohammed Ali, 59, the successful businessman he is today.
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
It's a dog's world
The four-member dog squad at the Cochin International Airport is on high alert for explosives and other such devices
By Shevlin Sebastian
One morning, a few months ago, dog handler Solomon Raja gets a call from the Air Traffic Control (ATC) at the Cochin International airport. There is a beeping sound in a luggage hold of the economy class of a Jet Airways flight coming from Mumbai.
When the aircraft lands, it is taken to the isolation wing and the passengers are evacuated. Then Solomon enters the aircraft with Paro, a four-year-old Black Labrador.
"Paro sniffs around the cabin, and indicates to me that there are no explosives, but the beep continues," says Solomon. Later, the bomb disposal squad opens the luggage hold and finds a toy.
"Apparently, it starts beeping when the battery is low," says dog consultant Col. Rajasekharan Nair. "The stewards did not want to question anybody about the sound, as it could create a panic situation.” Hence, only the captain is informed and he promptly relays the message to the ATC at Kochi.
The dog squad, under the supervision of Col. Nair, was established in September, 2007. "In order to have a foolproof security system, explosive detection is an inevitable part of the work," says airport director A.C.K. Nair. "Using dogs is the most effective method."
A more mundane reason is that the airport depends on the Tripunithara-based dog squad of the Kerala Police. "If there is a bomb scare, it takes two hours to get the dogs to the airport," says Muralidharan Nair, senior manager, security. "Nowadays, we are having VIP movements daily. Hence, there is a need to sanitise different areas all the time."
The air-conditioned dog kennel is one side of the airport. There are four dogs – two Black Labradors, Paro and Rambhi, and two Golden Labradors, Charlie and Ivy. Their individual handlers – Solomon Raja, S.S. Bhagat, Baiju Varghese and P.S. Sumesh – work for the Central Industrial Security Force.
Asked why the Labrador breed was chosen, Col. Nair says, "It is intelligent, easy to train and has a calm temperament."
Of the four dogs, Paro and Rambhi were bought, fully trained, from the Army Dog Training School at Meerut at a price of Rs. 1, 26,000 each. The other two were bought as puppies at Rs 15,000 each from Coimbatore and were flown, with its handlers, to the training facility of the Indo-Tibetan Border Police at Chandigarh.
Asked about the work profile, Col. Nair says, "The dogs are trained to detect various types of conventional explosives: RDX, TNT, PETN, plastic explosives, cordite and gun powder.” However, the handlers have to keep making the dogs smell the various types of explosives, because they tend to forget, like human beings.
In the mornings and evenings, the dogs are taken, two at a time, to the airport to sniff at various pieces of luggage. Interestingly, the dogs can only work for 45 minutes at a stretch.
"They get tired because sniffing is a very intense job,” says dog handler Baiju Varghese. “That is why we are building up its stamina." So, in the off-duty hours, the dogs have to walk and jog and run through an obstacle course.
Col. Nair says dogs seldom make mistakes. But sometimes, as it happened during the failed terrorist attack at London’s Heathrow airport last year, you could get past a dog check if you use a new material, like glycerine. "Certain shampoos are now being used by terrorists," he says. "So, we have to train the dogs to identify the new smells."
Asked what advantage dogs have over human beings, in terms of smell, Col. Nair says, "Human beings have 5 million receptor cells in their noses, while dogs have 225million."
In the kennel building, each dog stays in a long, narrow room. It is bare, clean, sound-proofed and the air-conditioner is humming at 23 degrees centigrade.
"Air-conditioning is needed as temperature variations, moisture and dust has to be avoided,” says director Nair. “If it gets too hot, or if the dog hears the sound of airplanes, it gets stressed out and will not be able to work at an optimal level."
But Col. Nair says the dogs are doing a good job. And at first glance, it is clear there is a bond between the handlers and the dogs. "Dogs are almost human in their emotions,” says Sumesh. “If a dog is happy with its handler, it will remain cheerful and work well.”
Asked whether they prefer the company of cheerful dogs to human beings, they all nod and Col. Nair quotes playwright George Bernard Shaw: "A dog is superior to a man in that it has a fair share of man's intelligence, but none of his meanness."
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
By Shevlin Sebastian
One morning, a few months ago, dog handler Solomon Raja gets a call from the Air Traffic Control (ATC) at the Cochin International airport. There is a beeping sound in a luggage hold of the economy class of a Jet Airways flight coming from Mumbai.
When the aircraft lands, it is taken to the isolation wing and the passengers are evacuated. Then Solomon enters the aircraft with Paro, a four-year-old Black Labrador.
"Paro sniffs around the cabin, and indicates to me that there are no explosives, but the beep continues," says Solomon. Later, the bomb disposal squad opens the luggage hold and finds a toy.
"Apparently, it starts beeping when the battery is low," says dog consultant Col. Rajasekharan Nair. "The stewards did not want to question anybody about the sound, as it could create a panic situation.” Hence, only the captain is informed and he promptly relays the message to the ATC at Kochi.
The dog squad, under the supervision of Col. Nair, was established in September, 2007. "In order to have a foolproof security system, explosive detection is an inevitable part of the work," says airport director A.C.K. Nair. "Using dogs is the most effective method."
A more mundane reason is that the airport depends on the Tripunithara-based dog squad of the Kerala Police. "If there is a bomb scare, it takes two hours to get the dogs to the airport," says Muralidharan Nair, senior manager, security. "Nowadays, we are having VIP movements daily. Hence, there is a need to sanitise different areas all the time."
The air-conditioned dog kennel is one side of the airport. There are four dogs – two Black Labradors, Paro and Rambhi, and two Golden Labradors, Charlie and Ivy. Their individual handlers – Solomon Raja, S.S. Bhagat, Baiju Varghese and P.S. Sumesh – work for the Central Industrial Security Force.
Asked why the Labrador breed was chosen, Col. Nair says, "It is intelligent, easy to train and has a calm temperament."
Of the four dogs, Paro and Rambhi were bought, fully trained, from the Army Dog Training School at Meerut at a price of Rs. 1, 26,000 each. The other two were bought as puppies at Rs 15,000 each from Coimbatore and were flown, with its handlers, to the training facility of the Indo-Tibetan Border Police at Chandigarh.
Asked about the work profile, Col. Nair says, "The dogs are trained to detect various types of conventional explosives: RDX, TNT, PETN, plastic explosives, cordite and gun powder.” However, the handlers have to keep making the dogs smell the various types of explosives, because they tend to forget, like human beings.
In the mornings and evenings, the dogs are taken, two at a time, to the airport to sniff at various pieces of luggage. Interestingly, the dogs can only work for 45 minutes at a stretch.
"They get tired because sniffing is a very intense job,” says dog handler Baiju Varghese. “That is why we are building up its stamina." So, in the off-duty hours, the dogs have to walk and jog and run through an obstacle course.
Col. Nair says dogs seldom make mistakes. But sometimes, as it happened during the failed terrorist attack at London’s Heathrow airport last year, you could get past a dog check if you use a new material, like glycerine. "Certain shampoos are now being used by terrorists," he says. "So, we have to train the dogs to identify the new smells."
Asked what advantage dogs have over human beings, in terms of smell, Col. Nair says, "Human beings have 5 million receptor cells in their noses, while dogs have 225million."
In the kennel building, each dog stays in a long, narrow room. It is bare, clean, sound-proofed and the air-conditioner is humming at 23 degrees centigrade.
"Air-conditioning is needed as temperature variations, moisture and dust has to be avoided,” says director Nair. “If it gets too hot, or if the dog hears the sound of airplanes, it gets stressed out and will not be able to work at an optimal level."
But Col. Nair says the dogs are doing a good job. And at first glance, it is clear there is a bond between the handlers and the dogs. "Dogs are almost human in their emotions,” says Sumesh. “If a dog is happy with its handler, it will remain cheerful and work well.”
Asked whether they prefer the company of cheerful dogs to human beings, they all nod and Col. Nair quotes playwright George Bernard Shaw: "A dog is superior to a man in that it has a fair share of man's intelligence, but none of his meanness."
(Copyright: The New Indian Express, Kochi)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)