In Kerala, Rehabilitated Killer Nurtures Mentally Challenged

Photo of Albin Mathew by Melton Antony 
 
By Shevlin Sebastian 
 
Vasudeva Panicker, 61, is a mild-mannered watchman of a shelter for the mentally challenged at Punnapra, in Alappuzha district in southern Kerala. In his youth, Mr. Panicker was a soldier in the Indian Army. One day he returned home from his battalion to discover that his wife had run away with a lover. Enraged, Mr. Panicker stabbed his mother-in-law to death. He served 14 years in prison for the murder.

“I decided to hire him because he reminded me of myself,” said Albin Mathew, 62, the founder of the shelter Santhi Bhavan Sarvodaya. “I am a murderer as well.”

The shelter is located on a clearing by the railway tracks passing through Punnapra. In a large dormitory-style hall, a man lay on his face on the floor, his body twitching uncontrollably. Another man laughed suddenly. Many stared vacantly. A few had grizzled beards. A gray-haired woman cried. 

In a kitchen beside the hall, Mr. Mathew’s wife, Mary, who wore a blue sari, stirred rice in a large pot with a ladle. Outside, in a spacious courtyard, Mr. Matthew had built six huts with asbestos roofs and some bathrooms.

The shelter’s residents include Malayalis, but also men and women from other parts of India – Uttar Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, Maharashtra and Delhi. Their families had abandoned most of them because of their mental illness. Many were offloaded after being found traveling without a ticket on a train that stopped at the town of Alappuzha, a few kilometers from the shelter. “I bring them to Santhi Bhavan because it is a home for poor people,” said Mr. Mathew.

Isram, a resident of the shelter, used to live in New Delhi. One day, he slipped while crossing railway tracks and a train ran over his legs. His family threw him out. He began losing his mental equilibrium and climbed onto a train leaving Delhi. He ended up at Alappuzha. Mr. Mathew saw him at a bus stop and brought him to the shelter.

Over the years, some of the residents show signs of improvement. Mr. Matthew teaches the recovering men and women to make paper packets, which are sold to the nearby shops. The modest earnings support the shelter, as do donations from ordinary citizens.

“People give whatever they can spare,” Mr. Matthew said. “At times, it is old clothes. At times, it is food. “It is a miracle,” he added. “We have always been able to meet the daily expenses of 15,000 Rupees [$250].”

The expenditure includes food, medicines, electricity and water bills. Mr. Matthew remains thankful to the people of Alappuzha.


Alappuzha is a coastal town of lush paddy fields and coconut groves in southern Kerala, around 39 miles from the city of Kochi. Several canals and streams cross the town. Most people make a living farming and fishing. After several hours at the shelter, I walked with Mr. Mathew along a narrow road to a beach. 

On the shore, fishermen on a wooden boat sewed up holes in nets with long needles. They exchanged greetings with Mr. Mathew. We sat on the sand in a grove of eucalyptus trees, whose leaves moved in a soothing breeze.

Mr. Mathew recalled his long journey to becoming the man who managed the shelter for the mentally ill. In the early 1980s, Mr. Mathew worked as a muscleman for a political party, which he refused to name for the fear of retaliation. 

One evening in 1982, Mr. Mathew was drinking a glass of toddy, a local alcoholic drink, in a shop in Punnapra. He was gaining notoriety and influence as an enforcer for his party.

His rise rankled Kritav Podiyan, another enforcer of the party. Mr. Podiyan walked into the toddy shop to put Mr. Mathew in his place.

The two men had a heated exchange. Mr. Podiyan hit Mr. Mathew in his ribs with the wooden handle of a long, curved knife. Mr. Mathew took out his knife and drove it into Mr. Podiyan’s heart.

A crowd had gathered outside. Mr. Podiyan bled on the shop floor. A few men stepped forward to help the dying man.

“If anybody takes another step, I will kill him,” Mr. Mathew threatened. The crowd stepped back. Mr. Podiyan pleaded for water. Mr. Mathew placed a glass of toddy next to his mouth. “He took three sips of toddy before he died,” Mr. Mathew recalled. “He would have killed me if I hadn’t killed him.”

The murder of Mr. Podiyan cemented Mr. Mathew’s reputation for violence and established his authority as an enforcer in Punnapra. He deployed violence against anyone if he was paid a few thousand rupees by a rival.

“The party would ask me to get rid of people who were creating problems,” Mr. Mathew recalled. “Violence and threats seemed to be the way to settle disputes. The courts took years. People would lose patience and come to us.”

At a certain point, the villagers got tired of Mr. Mathew’s intimidation. One day, when Mr. Mathew was standing alone near a church, a mob encircled him. The villagers attacked him with iron rods, broke his hands, his legs, and smashed his face. They left him for dead.

The police arrived and took him to a hospital. He regained consciousness after three days and spat blood for weeks.

“It was a time of great turmoil. I felt that there was no point to live,” said Mr. Mathew. “I had become a beast.”

A month later, Mr. Mathew returned home from the hospital. His wife, Mary, had been working as a maid for their neighbors to support their three children. The Alapuzzha area has a strong Christian community with an active church. Mr. Mathew was battling depression. Two nuns came to visit him and consoled him.

“You are going to have a new life,” said one of the nuns. “You must confess your sins and go to the church.” Mr. Mathew felt the need for divine intervention. They called a priest.

Father Dhiraj, a priest from the Indian Mission Society church, arrived. Mr. Mathew confessed for an hour.

“I felt a tremendous sense of relief,” Mr. Mathew said. He wanted to live again. The priest advised him to pray for the people he had harmed.

A few months later, Mr. Mathew had recovered from his injuries. But the law of the land caught up with him. In April 1984, he was imprisoned for 12 years for the murder of Mr. Podiyan and other assaults.

“When I was convicted, my friends, my relatives and my party abandoned me,” Mr. Mathew recalled. “I was alone.”

In prison, Mr. Mathew renewed his allegiance to the church and became a devout Christian. The long prison years allowed him to examine his life. Mr. Mathew was just 11 years old when his father, a fisherman, was found murdered, having been killed by unknown people on a beach at Alappuzha. Ten years later, Mr. Mathew’s younger brother, Jacob Mathew, was killed by his in-laws. They accused the younger Mr. Mathew of beating up his pregnant wife.

“Jacob’s death made me furious,” said Mr. Mathew. “That was when I took to violence.” One day in prison, Mr. Mathew made a decision. “When I am released, I will be a boon to society instead of being a curse,” he vowed.

On the Indian Republic Day on Jan. 26, 1997, Mr. Mathew was one of 446 offenders in Kerala released from a prison in the capital, Thiruvananthapuram, after being pardoned by the then chief minister of the state, E.K. Nayanar. Mr. Mathew returned to Alappuzha. 

A few days after his return, he met a priest. 

The priest advised him to overcome his reputation as a violent man and a convicted murderer by changing the way the townsfolk saw him. He advised Mr. Mathew to wear the robes of a priest. He followed the priest’s advice and changed into a saffron kurta, a sarong, and wore a rosary around his neck. Mr. Mathew continues to wear the robes.

One morning in 1997, while Mr. Mathew was wandering about, he spotted a deranged man with unkempt hair, a thick beard and dirty clothes.

“I decided to look after him, and took a house on rent,” he recalled. “I shaved his face, cut his hair, gave him a bath, and got him some clothes.” As days passed, Mr. Mathew found other abandoned, mentally ill men and women. He brought them to his shelter.

Mr. Mathew lives on the shelter premises with his wife in a thatched hut. He still wears the robes. His violent past is a distant memory, a lesson. “Those who live by the sword will die by it. There are no gains through violence,” said Mr. Mathew. “There is no peace of mind when you kill a person or cut off his limbs.” 

(The India Ink Blog, The New York Times, America)

The One and Only

Single children talk about the pros and cons of being one

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photo: A three-member family; Chitra Mohan 

When Malini Menon was five years old, she accompanied her Delhi-based parents, along with a group of relatives, on her first visit to the Guruvayur temple in Kerala. She was the only child among all of them. It was very crowded. “In the melee, I was supposed to be holding on to my mom's saree, but, somehow, I ended up catching the pallu of another lady,” she says. “When I looked up, I realised that it was not my mum.”

Malini experienced a moment of sheer terror. There was nobody around whom she knew. She ran here and there searching for her family. Finally, her mother spotted her, caught her hand, and said, “If there had been another child, it would not have been such a big issue.”

A smiling Malini says, “My mother said this half in anger and half in jest, but it remained in my mind forever. I guess, when you are an only child, parents tend to become over-possessive.”

As a result, the child gets the undivided attention of the parents. “You get your way all the time,” says Malini. “You don't need to make an adjustment of any sort with anybody.”

The Bangalore-based B. Tech student Melvin Mathew agrees. “You receive the 100 per cent love and affection of your parents,” he says. “It never goes down. It is always there.”

Chitra Mohan, 27, also received a lot of care and affection from her parents. Since her mother was the eldest Chitra was the first child in the clan. Till her childhood ended, no relative had a boy or girl. 

“I got the full love of my grandparents on both sides,” she says. “Whatever I asked for, I got, although I did not ask for much. I was a pampered child. I still think I am pampered by my mother, even though I am married and have two children.”

Sanjana Iyer, 18, an upcoming tennis player, also had good experiences. “My parents are my best friends,” she says. “I can share all my thoughts with them.”

Despite the pluses, very few have been able to avoid the feeling of loneliness that beset them throughout their childhood. “When I was in school, I would see my friend's brother dropping her to school and think to myself, ‘I don't have anybody to drop me,’” says Chitra. “I told my mother I wanted a sibling, but she said she only wanted one child, so that she can give her full care to me.”

Chitra’s mother was working as a teacher in Christ Nagar school at Thiruvananthapuram, while her father lived in Kuwait and came home for two months every year.

Interestingly, outsiders could not notice Chitra’s distress. When cousins and friends came to know that she was an only child, they would say how lucky Chitra was, since she did not have to share anything with anybody. “But I felt the opposite,” says Chitra.

Malini also felt lonely. There were times when she would feel the absence of a brother or sister and would tell her parents that it would have been nice if there was somebody a little closer to her age. But her parents did not respond to her request. “Later they told me that they had the resources to bring up one child only,” says Malini. “In fact, when there are too many children and not enough money, then it is not all that great. I have seen many dysfunctional families.”

Like Malini, Sanjana also wanted a companion. Her father worked in Dubai and when she was at home her mother would be busy in the kitchen. “She would not have the time to talk to me,” says Sanjana. “I would be in front of the TV all the time.”

In fact, so keen was Sanjana for a sibling, that when she was eight years old, she had heard that if a woman had green mangoes, she would get pregnant. So she made her mother eat a lot of green mangoes. “How naïve I was,” she says, with a smile. 

In a rare exception, Melvin had no such problems. “My parents were my friends,” he says. “They were my brothers and sisters. That is why I never felt lonely. My father would play often with me, and my mother offered emotional support.”

But today, he has a mixed reaction. “When I see families with two children, and see them fight over small things, I think, ‘Thank God I am a single child, and did not need to fight over stuff,’” he says. “But when they did something for each other I have felt that I could have had a similar experience, if I had a sibling.”

At 20, Melvin has many experiences that he cannot tell his parents. “There are events that I cannot even share with my friends, but could have done so with a brother or sister,” he says. “Now I have to keep it within myself.”

Meanwhile, there is an oft-repeated belief that single children tend to be self-centred and selfish. Agrees Melvin: “I have a tendency to think about myself more than the others. I don't have a sharing attitude. That is one of the drawbacks of being a single child. I did not learn how to share.”

Chitra also accepts that single children do become selfish. “After marriage, if my mother showed more support to my husband, Ajith, than to me, I would immediately feel bad about it,” she says. “I felt she should always support me, because, for so long, I have been the centre of attention. It indicates a lack of maturity on my part.”

Sanjana is also self-obsessed. “I don't know how to share things, since I was alone most of the time,” she says. “If I am playing computer games, my neighbour, a girl, might come and want to play. But I might not allow her to do so. I won't say no directly. I will say, 'A little later, a little later', till the girl leaves.”

On the other hand, Malini is not entirely certain about single children being selfish. “It all depends on the upbringing,” she says. “There are plenty of people on earth who have siblings and yet they are self-centred and selfish.”

And so life goes on for the single children. Some, like Chitra, are ensuring that the next generation does not go through the same problems. “Soon after my marriage, I told my husband that I wanted two children,” says Chitra. “I don't want my children to go through my experiences.” Her sons – Aditya Mohan, 9, and Aarush, 7 – are closer in age, so they can be companions to each other.

Melvin wants to be more active. “I am making an effort to be friendly with people,” he says. “But it does not come naturally. I have to push myself to become social.”

(Some names have been changed) 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

“I Like Her Personality”

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn 


Cinematographer Sujith Vaassudev talks about life with the actress Manju Pillai

By Shevlin Sebastian

Cinematographer Sujith Vaassudev saw the actress Manju Pillai on the sets of a television serial, 'Chila Kudumba Chithrangal', in Thiruvananthapuram in 1997, and felt a sense of attraction. They started talking to each other. Soon, they became friends. “I liked her beauty and personality,” says Sujith. “Manju always stated her opinions frankly. I also respected her because she was the granddaughter of the great actor SP Pillai.”

The friendship continued. Sujith discussed the possibility of marriage with his friends. “They told me that marriage would be a weight which would be difficult to lift,” says Sujith. “And Manju is an actress while I am a technician.” So Sujith told Manju it would not work out; it was better to remain friends.

But one day in December, 2000, while staying in Thiruvananthapuram, Sujith had a change of mind. He called Manju and said, “I want to get married to you.” She accepted his proposal. He borrowed a friend's car, collected Manju from outside her home, and set off to his parents' house in Palakkad. On the way he called Manju's parents and said, “Please don't worry, your daughter is safe with me.”

The next day, the couple, along with Sujith's parents and brother, went to the Guruvayur temple where they were married. The date: December 23, 2000.

On the return journey, Sujith remembered his meeting with an astrologer, at Karunagapally, a few years ago. The man told Sujith, “You will marry from the entertainment industry when you are 29, and your wife will be a divorcee.” Immediately Sujith told the man he should try another line of work. But, in retrospect, the astrologer turned out to be right.

At their apartment, near Vytilla, Kochi, Sujith and Manju have an easy camaraderie. Both are between assignments. The TV set is on, and Sujith looks casual and relaxed in his T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, while Manju is busy in the kitchen.

“Manju may be very busy, as a TV actress, but she always ensures the smooth running of the house,” says Sujith. “While on a shoot, she will call and remind me about paying a telephone bill. If I am gone for two months on an assignment,  Manju will never bother me about problems at home. She tackles it all on her own, including overseeing our 11-year-old daughter Daya's studies. Manju is also an excellent cook. She can make Continental, Indian and Kerala dishes.”

But Manju has a major negative. She likes to sleep a lot. “Manju and sleep are in love with each other,” says Sujith. “After our daughter goes to school at 7.30 a.m., till 3.30 p.m., when she returns, half the period goes for cooking and other activities. But the rest of the time, she is sleeping. It is her biggest joy.”

And then Sujith breaks into a smile and says, “The other day, Daya returned from school and lay on the bed. Then she sat up and said, 'I am exactly like Amma. I feel like sleeping all the time. I don't know what to do about it.'”

All this is said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. In fact, for Sujith, it is fun to be with Manju, except when they go out in public, to malls like the Lulu or Oberon.

“Manju will have no time to be with us,” says Sujith. “She will be answering questions non-stop from fans about her role, her co-actors and her future plans. The people will compliment her on her acting. This response is great and wonderful. There is no doubt that it is the people who make an actor successful. But for us, as a family, the loss of privacy is painful.”

Once, the couple had gone to the Guruvayur temple. Inside, Manju had closed her eyes and was praying fervently. Suddenly, a woman came up and whispered in her ears, ‘Manju, your acting is very good.  Keep it up.'” 

Manju's acting is good, and she is a hit as a bubbly, lively woman in the television serial, 'Thattiyum Muttiyum'. So, is she like that at home? “She is very low-key at home and does not talk much,” says Sujith. “Mammukoya is also like this. Actors show another side on the screen. They have the ability to throw themselves into any character.”

Meanwhile, when asked to give tips on marriage, Sujith says, “I have a theory called the second thought. Suppose you are going to say something angry. Just have a second opinion within your mind of whether the action you are going to do is right or not. If you have a second thought, you will be able to avoid a lot of bad events.”

Sujith knows of a woman who divorced her husband because he did not bring back a bottle of saffron after a trip to Kashmir. “If they had a second thought they could have saved the marriage,” he says. “You have to decide which is bigger: life or saffron.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

The Beauty of Hand-Drawn Letters

Thoufeek Zakriya is the only Muslim Hebrew calligrapher in South Asia. The Malayali talks about the art form 

Photo by TP Sooraj  

By Shevlin Sebastian

One day, Thoufeek Zakriya fixed a meeting with his friend, Srinath, at Fort Kochi. Srinath lived in Kannur, 295 kms from Kochi. Since Thoufeek had told Srinath about his interest in calligraphy and Jewish history, he brought his works along, among which was the Birkat Ha Bayit, the Jewish blessing for the home.

The words went like this:

Let no sadness come through this gate.
Let no trouble come to this dwelling.
Let no fear come through this door.
Let no conflict be in this place.
Let this home be filled with the blessing of joy and peace.

When Srinath saw it, he was much impressed. Thereafter, the friends went sightseeing and landed up in Jew Town. While there, the duo saw an old woman sitting outside her house and stitching a kippah (a cap). At the insistence of Srinath, Thoufeek showed the Hebrew calligraphy to her. “When she saw it, she became very excited,” says Thoufeek. “That was Sarah Cohen. She asked me how I had learnt the art. I said I was self-taught.”

Thereafter, Sarah invited Thoufeek and Srinath into her house. She gave them pastries and coffee. “Our friendship began and I would visit her whenever I come to Kochi,” says Thoufeek, who is now a management trainee at a Taj hotel in Bangalore. “She is like a grandmother to me.”

Apart from Hebrew, Toufeek is an expert in calligraphy in Samarian, Syrian, English, Sanskrit, Hindi and Aramic, the language used by Jesus Christ.

“The printing of an alphabet has evolved from the calligraphic script,” says Thoufeek. But to do the art well, you need to have an idea of the language. “Since Arabic is the base for all the Semitic languages, it was easy to learn, since I know a little bit of Arabic,” says Thoufeek. The Semitic languages start from right to left. The first alphabet for all the languages is the Aleph.

The Syrian language is one of his favourites. A few years ago, Thoufeek went to the office of a Syrian Christian spice merchant. While there, he saw a picture of a cross placed against a floral background with a Syrian script underneath. “The merchant did not know how to read the language,” says Thoufeek.

Thereafter, Thoufeek, who was intrigued by the Syrian calligraphy, designed a similar one, based on the first verse in the Bible: ‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth’.

Incidentally, the equipment to make these eye-catching words is simple: a bamboo reed, to be used as a stylus, a Lamy calligraphic pen, which costs Rs 1500, and Indian ink.

Meanwhile, the reserved but excited Jews of Fort Kochi embraced Thoufeek to their hearts. “One day, Sarah took my parents, sisters and me for a visit to the Jewish synagogue on the festival day of Simchat Torah [a celebration marking the conclusion of the cycle of public readings of the Torah],” says Thoufeek. “This is a rare honour for a Muslim family.”

Along the way, Thoufeek has also gained international attention. “Thoufeek has made many calligraphic representations of the Torah by using the ancient Kufic Arabic script,” says Paul Rockover in an article in the popular Huffington Post. “Such work is a rarity in the calligraphic world, and his innovation has brought Thoufeek accolades from all over the world.” In fact, Thoufeek has been commissioned by Jews from as far away as Ukraine and the United States to create works that combine Arabic calligraphy with Jewish prayers. “Some people saw the different exhibits on my blog, got interested, and contacted me,” says Thoufeek.

Today, Thoufeek is regarded as the only Muslim Hebrew calligrapher in South Asia. “His work reminds us of the shared cultural and religious heritage of Jews and Muslims,” says Dr. Navras Jaat Aafreedi, Assistant Professor, Department of History and Civilisation, at Gautam Buddha University, Noida, who has done extensive research on Indian Jews. “It will help overcome the disputes, conflicts and differences between the two groups.” In fact, while presenting a paper at a conference at the University of Sydney in February, Aafreedi spoke at length on Thoufeek's calligraphy.

The youngster accidentally discovered the art form. When he was a teenager, he brought a pen on which there were symbols in English done in the calligraphic style. “I decided to copy them and that was how my interest in calligraphy began,” he says. Brought up on the island of Mattancherry, near Kochi, he spent hours doing calligraphy. “It has become a passion and an obsession,” says Thoufeek. 

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

The Feminine Mystique

Despite having acted in only 20 films, the last of which was released in 1999, Manju Warrier exerts a fascinating hold on the public imagination

By Shevlin Sebastian

The crew of 'Sallapam' (1996) were waiting patiently in the noonday sun, at a distance from the Shoranur railway station. Soon, they could see the train to Chennai pick up speed. Manju Warrier was playing Radha, a woman who wanted to commit suicide because her lover had rejected her. As Radha's cousin, actor Manoj K. Jayan was supposed to save her.

“As the train came close, at a speed of 100 kms per hour, Manju was so involved with being Radha that she threw herself with full force towards the track,” says Manoj. “An actor should always be in control whenever he or she does a role. But it seemed to me as if she had lost control. There was one terrifying moment when I felt that she would slip out of my hands.”

But he held on, the train whizzed past, and the four-minute sequence was shot perfectly. As soon as the shoot was complete, everybody clapped, except for Manju who burst into tears, because she was still in character. “That is Manju for you,” says Manoj. “Even, during this first film, as a heroine, she displayed the talent and poise of somebody who has acted in more than a hundred films. There is no doubt that she is one of our greatest actresses.”

Music composer Berny says that Manju is also a good singer. A few years ago, he, along with his elder brother, Ignatius, were making an album of festival songs by celebrities like Mammooty, Mohanlal and Manju. 

“She learnt the song quickly and sang it like any professional singer,” says Berny. “Manju has a natural gift for singing. In fact, she has a wide-ranging talent: she can act, sing and dance also.”

Berny also likes Manju the person. “At any public function, if she sees me, or Ignatius, she will come up and say a few words,” he says. “Manju has always been genuine, friendly, and down-to-earth.”

But what has been surprising is how the public has remained fascinated by Manju even though she has acted in only 20 films and her last film was released in 1999.

“Manju's films are always shown on TV,” says Berny. “And so the people are constantly reminded of what a great talent she is.”

Artist Radha Gomaty has another explanation. “Manju has a tremendous charisma,” says Radha. “She is beautiful in an unusual kind of way. It is not about glamour, but a certain grace combined with strength and an extraordinary flexibility.”

Collins Leophils, a designer, most notably of film posters, remembers seeing Manju at a photo shoot for the film ‘Mayamohini’, in which her husband Dileep played the hero. “The family had come to the studio,” says Collins. “Manju was wearing a saree and looked striking.”

Another reason for her impact was because she gave so much to her characters. “Even in a light-hearted film like 'Summer in Bethlehem', she brought an edge to her role as a tomboy who hides a sensitive heart,” says Radha. “In 'Aaraam Thampuram' she plays an insecure, temperamental but lovable rural woman. In 'Kannezhuthi Pottum Thotte', as the fiery Bhadra, she literally sets the screen aflame. Who else can carry it all off so well but Manju?” 

One who agrees is director B. Unnikrishnan. “Manju has acted in a way that was never seen before in Malayalam cinema,” he says. “She was such a young girl, and yet she was able to show so much of feminine power. She is the female equivalent of Mohan Lal.”

The good news is the persistent rumour that Manju will be making a comeback. However, the worry is that, after a gap of 14 years, her talent might have become rusted. “Can a talent ever get rusted?” says Unnikrishnan, with a smile. “Art is a mystery and magic.” 

A practical Manoj says, “There are a lot of people who admire Manju, so I am sure if she comes back now, she will be able to make an impact. Having said that, the industry, today, is at a different level, but she has the talent to be at the top.”

Radha is also sure Manju will do well. “Till now, there has been no script based on women characters in their mid-thirties and forties as raw and powerful as KG George's ‘Adaminte Vaariyelle,’” she says. “But now with new directors who are able to think out of the box, Manju's talent stands a chance to be utilised to the fullest.”

Jazeer Mohammed, an advertising film-maker, knows of many directors and producers who are waiting for Manju to restart her career. “She will get a lot of opportunities,” says Jazeer. “I don't think there is a problem that she has been away for so long.” Radha feels that she might take one or two films to get her groove back. “I am sure, one day, Manju will be back at her best,” she says. 

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

Married To A Comic

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn 

Santha Kumari talks about life with the comedian Indrans

 

By Shevlin Sebastian 

Photo by Kaviyoor Santosh

When her parents told her about the proposal, Santha Kumari was not sure whether she wanted to marry somebody from the film industry, but she kept quiet. In February, 1985, Indrans came to see Shanta. “I was so scared that I did not even look at him,” she says. “Later, my father told me that Indrans was earning enough and would be able to look after me.”

During that time, Indrans was getting bit roles here and there, and had worked as a costume designer in the industry for many years. But gradually he established himself as a comedian with his own unique style. Today, he has acted in over 200 films.

The marriage took place on February 23, 1985. “We had no honeymoon,” says Shanta. “There was no concept like that in those days.”

And, like in his films, Indrans, at home, is a man of good nature. “He is lively and cracks a lot of jokes,” says Shanta. “When he is around, I feel that there are a lot of people at home.”

But at the same time, he has serious moods. “Indrans likes to read a lot,” says Shanta. “Mostly, it is novels. Whenever he goes for a shoot, he will take a couple of books along so that he can read when he is alone in his room. Otherwise, he enjoys watching the news channels.”

His negative quality is that he has a short temper, but calms down quickly. “Indrans will lose his cool over the smallest of matters, and remain calm when something big takes place,” says Shanta. “So, his mood changes are unpredictable. In the initial years, I would get scared. But now I have got used to it, although Indrans has mellowed quite a bit.”

When Indrans is at home, his favourite occupation is that of a gardener. “He will water the plants, and plant new ones,” says Shanta. “He is in the garden in the morning, as well as the evening.” He grows orchids, sunflowers and leafy plants.

At night, sometimes, he will see the comedy shows on TV. “If there is a scene in which he is acting, he will keenly watch it and spot out errors in his acting,” says Shanta.

Since Indrans loves to see films, sometimes, husband and wife will go and see a noon show in one of the halls in Thiruvananthapuram. And Indrans is quickly recognised. “The people will come up and talk to him,” says Shanta. “They will ask about his latest film. Some will want to know the story and the names of the other actors. Sometimes, they will take photos on their mobile phone. If there are three friends, they will take a single shot one after the other, standing next to him. It makes me feel good to see him get a good response from the fans.”

Meanwhile, after the show, Shanta will give a response to her husband’s acting. “If I like his role, I will say that,” she says. “But if there are drawbacks I will point it out to him. My children also do that.”

The couple have two children, Mahitha, 27, and Mahendran, 26. While Mahitha is married and is the mother of a child, Mahendran is doing his MBA in Nooril Islam University in Thuckalay, Tamil Nadu.

“As a father, Indrans was more like a friend,” says Shanta. “He always used to play games with the children. I was the strict parent, because most of the time, they were with me, since my husband would be away on a shoot.”

Both Indrans and Shanta came from difficult financial backgrounds, so it was no surprise that Shanta's happiest moment occurred when she boarded an aeroplane for the first time a few years ago. “We spent ten days in Dubai, and had a good time,” she says.

Another blissful moment took place when their daughter got married in 2011. “A lot of people came, especially from the film industry, and we felt very happy about that,” says Shanta.

Asked whether she felt tense that in the uncertain world of the film industry, the next role might or might not come, Shanta says, “I believe that what we have to get, God will give.”

And this veteran of a 28-year marriage has clear tips to give to the younger generation. “Do not make small issues into big ones,” says Shanta. “You must discuss your problems. Being silent is a mistake. You must observe when the spouse is in a good mood and gently tell him about the tensions you are facing. Most of the time, you will be able to solves the issues amicably.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

Bringing Light to Dark Places

Twins Amy Kuruvilla and Lydia Muirhead work to alleviate sexual slavery among women through their Ruby Road Project

Photo by T.P. Sooraj

By Shevlin Sebastian

Tulasi was 17 years old when she became pregnant. The brothel owner in Bengaluru panicked. He forced her to have a medicine that killed the baby. She felt bereft and suicidal. Tulasi doused herself with kerosene, and was about to use a matchstick, when her friends intervened and saved her. She had been a prostitute for a few years. But one day, during a police raid Tulasi was rescued and brought to Ooty by the NGO, 'Freedom Firm'.

Meanwhile, the Melbourne-based Amy Kuruvilla and her twin sister, Lydia, had arrived in Ooty. They had come on a nostalgic visit. For many years, they had lived there, the children of a Malayali, Kuruvilla George, and an Englishwoman, Margaret, before the family migrated to Australia in 1995.

When Amy and Lydia saw Tulasi and other rescued women, they were deeply moved. They decided to go back and create awareness about sexual slavery.

So, they set up the Ruby Road Project. And they had particular reasons for choosing the word Ruby. “A ruby is red in colour,” says Lydia. “It signifies a red light district and also a jewel. We believe that everyone, be it a man, woman, or child is valuable. Most of the time, people don't see a person's worth.”

Which, of course, is true. There are 27 million slaves worldwide, which includes many women who have been pushed into sexual slavery. According to a 2011 United States State Department report, there are also 2 million children who have been forced into prostitution. A 2009 United Nations Report on ‘Trafficking in Persons’, based on data from 155 countries, stated that sexual trafficking generates $27.8 billion annually. 

“Sex trafficking is the ugliest man-made disaster on the globe today,” says Gary Haugen, President of the Washington-based International Justice Mission.

Amy and Lydia have a two-fold mission: to increase awareness of the worldwide sexual slavery of girls, and to put up fund-raising events so that they can give the money to small organisations who are doing the work of rescuing girls.

To aid their work, they decided to screen a documentary called ‘Nefarious – Merchant of Souls (Behind the Veil of the Sex Industry)' made by the US-based writer and director Benjamin Nolot. He travelled to 19 countries, including Cambodia, Thailand, Moldovia, Holland and Las Vegas, USA, to document the trafficking.

A Kochi screening was organised by Amy and Lydia, with the help of a NGO, ‘Raising Our Voices’.

In the 80-minute film, traffickers are shown luring young gullible girls with false promises of jobs as waitresses, models, or dancers. Soon, they are captured and brought to ‘breaking ground’ houses where the women are beaten horribly and subjected to torture. “Their bodies and spirits are broken,” says Amy. “Eventually, they become subservient to the pimps.”

‘Nefarious’ also traces how, because of a collapsing economy in Moldovia, about 10 per cent of the population was trafficked. In places like the US, women become hookers for the easy money, while in Thailand and Cambodia, it is considered okay by parents if their children partake in sexual activities with paedophiles.

In Cambodia, Amy and Lydia met the American Don Brewster and his wife, Bridget, who have set up an organisation called 'Agape International Missions', in Svay Pak village, which is near Phnom Penh. 

“In 2007, 97 per cent of the children in this area were used for prostitution,” says Amy. “It is a place where paedophiles from all over the world come to have sex with a child.” But now, thanks to Don’s efforts, it is down to 70 per cent. He has set up a prevention centre, where he provides education to the children. 

Meanwhile, in Kochi, Amy and Lydia were glad to see that the film had an impact. “Most of the people who came to the event were not aware of the extent of sex trafficking across the globe, so it was an eye-opening experience for them,” says Lydia. “We hope that this wave of awareness will spread all over the country.”

Monolita Chatterjee, a member of 'Raising Our Voices', agreed that it was an eye-opener. “It was also a hard-hitting film,” she says. Homemaker Anood Abdul Jaleel felt the documentary was shocking and enlightening at the same time. “It was a warning to us parents that we should take good care of our children,” she says. “I felt a desire to contribute to organisations which are helping these rescued girls.” 

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

A Visible Darkness

Mahesh Dattani's play, '30 Days in September', focuses on the lifelong damage of child sex abuse

By Shevlin Sebastian

Eminent playwright Mahesh Dattani's play, '30 Days in September', at the JT Pac, Kochi, begins with 26-year-old Mala Khatri, (played by Ira Dubey) staring at an empty chair, where, presumably, her counsellor would be sitting. “Today is February 29, 2004," she says. "And my name is Mala Khatri. Why not? Why shouldn't I use my real name? I want people to know. It is he who should be changing his name, not me. It is he who should be hiding. It is he who should be ashamed to show his face anywhere on this planet. I know I can only make it happen if I use my real name.”

The tone is set. This is a play about child sex abuse and the terrible lifelong damage it inflicts on those who are victims.

Thereafter, a single spotlight is fixed on a small doll placed on a chair. It has a black cap, blonde hair, a black dress and tiny shoes. And a voiceover, in Mala's tone, says, “I know it is my fault. It must have been. I must have asked for it. Maybe, I was born that way. Maybe this is what I am meant for. Sometimes, I wish that my mother had just done something.”

Shanta, Mala's mother, played by Lillette Dubey, has been abandoned by her husband years ago. So, she turns to Lord Krishna for solace and mental peace. But Mala has a seething rage towards her mother, for not doing anything about the abuse she suffered at the hands of her uncle, which is reflected in several angry scenes between the two.
 
“I am talking about all those times that he would do things to me,” says Mala. “First when I was seven, then eight, then nine. You would always be busy with your puja or the kitchen. I would go to daddy crying, and before I could tell him why I was crying he would send me to you. And without saying anything you would say I should just eat and sleep and all the pain would go away. And it did go away. But it comes back. It keeps coming back. It never goes away.”

To overcome the pain, Mala becomes promiscuous and has affairs. And she marks it on the calendar because every relationship has to end within 30 days. After that she has to move on. “They are usually older men,” says Mala. “I like it when they use me.”

Her latest boyfriend, Deepak (Joy Sengupta) is determined to hang on. He talks to Mala's counsellor, has a chat with the mother and suspects that there is something wrong with Mala. Despite that, he loves and wants to marry her.

In one stunning scene Deepak is trying to coax Mala to forget her past, while her uncle stands behind them and mouths the thoughts that are residing in Mala's subconscious mind. “Did you feel that?” says the uncle. “That means I love you. Your Mamu loves you. Don't cry. You are ready for your present for your seventh birthday. Now lie down. This is our secret. Pull your frock up over your face. Sssh... don't cry. Don't tell Mummy and Daddy. Don't stop until I tell you. You are fit only for this.”

Later, at the invitation of Shanta, the uncle stays at their house, while on an official visit to Delhi. There is a confrontation between Mala, Deepak, Shanta and the uncle. And, once more, in a heart-stopping climax, Shanta's horrific childhood abuse is revealed, done by her own brother, the uncle in Mala's life.
And a despairing Shanta shouts, “I am the one to blame. Because my tongue was cut off years ago. How could I save her, when I could not save myself? Have you seen the pain in my eyes? Nobody saw anything, not my cousins, not my brothers, not my parents.”

'30 Days in September' is a bleak but riveting play, and all the actors were up to the mark, but Lillette and Darshan Jariwala, who played the uncle, were a few notches above the youngsters. And for a lot of people in the audience, they could see, artistically and visibly, the impact of child sex abuse.

Says businesswoman Anita Goyal: “This is one play I just could not stop thinking about since the day I watched it. There is so much food for thought. So much to ponder on. So much to debate about. Although the main subject was child sex abuse, there was also the complicated relationship between mother and daughter. And the psychological help extended by the boyfriend towards his partner's woes was intertwined in the most harmonious way.”

Meanwhile, there was one amusing moment at Kochi. During one period, lightning and rain could be heard on the soundtrack. But to Lillette's visible surprise – she kept looking upwards – the rain did not stop on cue. Instead, it continued for several minutes. But it was not the sound technician's fault. It was actually raining outside: Kerala's monsoon was making its presence felt. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

“He is Cute”

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn

Says Shahina about her husband, the stage artist and actor Nadir Shah

By Shevlin Sebastian

A few years ago, the stage show artiste and actor Nadir Shah and his wife Shahina were in Chennai. They were on their way to Kuala Lumpur because Nadir had a stage show. The others in the group included Kalabhavan Mani and his wife, actress Suchitra, comedian Kottayam Nazir, dancers, musicians, and support staff.

On the flight Shahina wore a white shirt with red stripes, and a red pant with a red belt, and red shoes. It was eye-catching. As they were walking through the duty-free section of the airport, suddenly, through a shop window, the group saw the same clothes that Shahina was dressed in. The only problem was that a chimpanzee was wearing it.

“For a few seconds everybody was frozen by the sight,” says Shahina. “Then Kalabhavan stepped forward to check whether it was the same material.”

And it was. The group burst out laughing. As for Kalabhavan, he laughed so much that he fell to the ground. “Even today I get teased about it by all those who were there,” says Shahina, with a smile.

Shahina is chirpy, vivacious and lively. And it is this quality that attracted Nadir Shah when he first went to meet her at her home in Kochi in February, 1998. “I did not come from a good financial background,” says Shahina. “And I told this openly to him. I did not want him to think that I was well off. I wanted to tell the truth. I said, ‘If you are willing to accept this, then I am willing to marry. Otherwise, we can drop it on the spot.’ This statement of mine impressed him a lot.”

Shahina also was physically attracted to Nadir Shah. “He looked cute, and had a smooth face,” she says.

Nadir Shah also liked her and the marriage took place on April 12, 1998. A week later they went to Dubai where Nadir Shah had a programme. It was also their honeymoon.

When they reached the hotel room, Shahina discovered, to her horror, that she had, absent-mindedly, given the keys of the luggage to her mother-in-law when they were leaving Kochi. When Nadir Shah realised this he immediately lost his temper. “He shouted and yelled at me,” says Shahina, with a smile. “That was when I realised that he has a quick temper.” Anyway, eventually, he broke open the locks himself.

One reason why Nadir Shah is quick to get angry is because he is a perfectionist. “It is his search for perfection that makes him lose his cool,” says Shahina. “During a stage show, there will be thousands of people in the audience and each person has his own mind. You need to keep them entertained for three hours. So, a small glitch can spoil the entire performance.”

Nevertheless, Shahina is a big fan of her husband. “From the age of 16, Nadir Shah has been looking after his large family,” says Shahina. “His father told him on his deathbed that it was his duty to look after everybody. And till today, as the eldest, he has continued to do so.”

Nadir Shah is also a man who encourages people all the time. “If he sees somebody who has a little bit of talent, he will go out of his way to provide opportunities,” says Shahina. “For most of us, our role models are our parents, but I have learnt a lot from Nadir Shah: How we should not think about ourselves all the time. How we should help others and be generous and kind.”

And he is good at fulfilling his duties in his own family. “The way he looks after us, I have never seen anybody else do it with the same intensity,” says Shahina. “I feel safe in his hands. This is not a love marriage. Yet, somehow, we are deeply in love. It is our destiny to be together. Praise God for that.”

Of course, one of the drawbacks is that Nadir Shah is away from home for weeks at a time. “Our children [Aysha, 12, and Khadeeja, 8] miss him a lot,” says Shahina. “There have been times when Aysha has gone to a corner and wept silently. Khadeeja shows her feelings through her eyes. I also miss him, like any wife anywhere in the world.”

But Shahina says that the moment he returns, all the sadness is quickly forgotten. “We enjoy being in his company,” says Shahina. “We love the togetherness.” And in order to make her husband happy, she cooks his favourite karimeen curry. In fact, she makes it the night before, so that there is the right taste.

Asked for tips for youngsters who are about to tie the knot, Shahina says, “Don't interfere too much. Space is important between husband and wife. Most husbands don't like nagging wives. You should have patience and tolerance of the negative side of a person. You should also love with all your heart and show your genuine self all the time.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

The Search for The Real India

Akram Feroze has been travelling by cycle through the states of Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Kerala for the past one-and-a-half years

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photo by Manu R. Mavelil

On March 22, 2012, Akram Feroze, 24, was cycling in a hilly area, near Diglipur, in the Andaman Islands. He rode fast, so that he could get the momentum downhill to go uphill in the next section. However, suddenly, he came across a sharp bend. “I saw it very late,” he says. Akram went straight ahead, and hit a bank of dry leaves. Unfortunately, behind it was a slope, and he went down 20 feet. “I was lucky not to be seriously injured, but the cycle was permanently damaged,” he says.

A quick-thinking Akram called up journalist Zubair Ahmed, the editor of the 'Light of Andaman' newspaper in Port Blair, 290 kms away, for help. Zubair put up a post on Facebook. D J Venkatesh, who runs a travel agency, in the area, saw the message and immediately sent a vehicle to rescue Akram.

He was taken to the nearby Community Health Centre, but was released, after receiving first aid. Realising that his cycle was beyond repair Akram posted a message on his Facebook site, 'The Cycle Natak', that his cycle was damaged. “There are many people who are following my page,” says Akram. Soon contributions came in. Some donated Rs 100, while others went as high as Rs 5,000. In the end he got Rs 25,000 and bought a brand-new GT Transeo cycle.

One-and-a-half years ago, Akram set out on an all-India tour. “I wanted to see first-hand what is there beyond the borders of my town,” says the youth, who grew up in the small town of Jagtial in Karim Nagar district in Andhra Pradesh. Not surprisingly, it took Akram two months to persuade his father, MA Shukoor, a building contractor, and his mother, Shiraz Sultana, a principal in a government school, to give permission.

And thus Akram set out, with only Rs 300 in his pocket. He has no fixed plans. When he reaches a village, he will go to the tea shop. There he will befriend the locals. “They will check out the cycle and ask me a lot of questions,” says Akram. “They want to ensure that I am not a dangerous person.”

Once he is accepted, the villagers invite him to stay. Most of the time, he goes to the houses of the poor. He remembers living with Manickam, 60, a manual scavenger, near Trichy. There was just one plastic chair in the room. “It took me an hour to convince him that he was elder to me and needed to sit on the chair, while I should sit on the floor,” says Akram.

Sadly, Akram confirms that the caste system is still going strong. “I have not seen the upper castes treating the Dalits with dignity anywhere in Tamil Nadu or Andhra Pradesh,” he says. “But in Kerala, the situation is much better.”

Interestingly, when people realise that Akram is on an all-India journey they will give him Rs 30 or Rs 50 and say that in case he is going to the Hazrat Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti Dargah at Ajmer or the Tirupati temple, he should give a donation and pray for them.

“People are quite religious,” says Akram. “In every house that I visited, there were religious symbols – pictures or idols of gods and goddesses – no matter how shattered the structure was. People live on hope, even though their lives are very difficult. Praying to God provides mental relief.”

In some villages, Akram would stay for a couple of days and then set out for the next village. He travels light: three T-shirts and a couple of tracksuits. “I have to tell you frankly that I stink most of the time,” he says. “I wash my clothes in streams and ponds, so you can imagine how clean it can be.”

Sometimes, he gets gifts out of the blue. The GoGreen GoCycling organisation saw Akram's Facebook page and couriered a T-shirt for him at Madurai with a message, 'This is a token of appreciation from us'.

As Akram travels around, he is getting a deeper understanding of India . “Poverty still exists,” he says. “The upper classes are improving rapidly, but the process is much slower for the lower castes. There are too many dropouts at the primary school level. It is going to be a huge problem for the country.”

As of now, Akram has no problems and plans to carry on, with no time limit, till his wanderlust is satiated. “I have no idea when I am going to stop,” he says, while on a brief stop-over in Kochi , on his way to the Lakshadweep islands. “I am enjoying myself enormously.” 

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