Being In Close touch With The People

Basking in the success of the recent mass contact programme, Kerala Chief Minister Oommen Chandy talks about the many lessons he has learnt while interacting with the public over the years

Photo: The author with Kerala Chief Minister Oommen Chandy. Photo by Manu R. Mavelil

By Shevlin Sebastian

 

At 8 a.m., on Saturday, one day after the highly successful mass contact programme (Jana Samparka Paripadi) at the Central Stadium, at Thiruvananthapuram, Chief Minister Oommen Chandy’s body looks tired, but his face is beaming. “It was a huge success,” he says, at his office at Cliff House, the CM’s official residence. Amazingly, he had met petitioners for 14 hours non-stop. The tiny breaks he took were to drink buttermilk and a bowl of oats, which was sent by his wife Mariamma.

 

“In a mass contact programme, people think that those who get the benefits and the cash payments are the biggest beneficiaries,” he says. “But that is not true. I am the biggest beneficiary. I became aware of so many problems of the people which I did not know about earlier. This has been the biggest experience of my career. Earlier, I did this exercise in all the 14 districts of Kerala. The knowledge I got about life has been the equivalent of reading 100 books.”

 

At Cliff House, Chandy observes that most of the people had a particular kind of problem. “A large number had been involved in accidents and became paralysed,” says Chandy. “This time, the number is too large. A doctor told me that after a certain point, there is no treatment available in Kerala. Patients have to go to [ Christian Medical College Hospital ] Vellore . I do feel an urgent need to set up a hospital with advanced facilities to cater to these people.”

 

As for the oft-repeated charge by the Opposition that Chandy is doing the work of panchayat secretaries and village officers, he says, “That is correct. And the reason is because there are too many rules which have hamstrung their efficiency. And there is an urgent need to change them. So I cannot blame a panchayat secretary or a village officer. Sometimes, when the panchayat committee will take a decision to do something, the secretary is unable to act on it because of certain rules. As a result, the people get angry.”

 

But Chandy has always had a magic touch with people. Right from the beginning of his career more than four decades ago, Chandy has enjoyed interacting with the common man. “Their love and affection provides me with a tremendous amount of energy,” he says. “And I want to solve all the problems of people.”

Here's one which he resolved, to his satisfaction. Some time ago, he had gone to visit a friend in Kochi. An 18-year-old boy asked to meet the Chief Minister. When he met Chandy, he said that he had not received the death certificate of his mother, Sharada (name changed), although he had been trying for two years.

She had fallen sick while returning from Sabarimala. Sharada was then rushed by car to the Kottayam Medical Hospital, but had died along the way. “The boy does not know where exactly his mother died,” says Chandy. “The rule is that whereever a person dies, that particular panchayat has to be informed, and then they would issue the death certificate. So he was not able to get the certificate.”

So, at the next Cabinet meeting Chandy told his colleagues about this. “I said that this is an inhuman rule,” he says. “There must be many cases like this. The Cabinet then made a decision to change the rule.”

The new rule states that it does not matter where a person dies, but when the body is brought to a particular place for a burial or a cremation, that panchayat will issue the certificate. “I felt good that I was able to do something about this,” says Chandy.

The Chief Minister also reveals that he reads each and every letter that is addressed to him, the majority of which are written by ordinary people. “I learn a lot of things when I read the letters,” says Chandy. 

Once, during an inauguration, Chandy lit a lamp while holding the diya with one hand. A letter writer Ramesh Menon (name changed) said that it was a mistake. “It goes against the Indian ethos,” wrote Ramesh. “You are supposed to light a lamp with two hands. And in case, you use one hand, the left hand should be placed on the arm of the right.” A photo was attached showing the right way. Chandy was deeply affected. “Ramesh is right and, thereafter, I have always ensured that I have used two hands to light a lamp,” he says. “Every day I am learning something new.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)  

Providing Succour to Broken People

Chief Minister Oommen Chandy's mass contact programme provided relief to people who were in desperate need of it 

Photo: A  paralysed S. Pushparaj with Chief Minister Oommen Chandy. Pic by Manu R. Mavelil   

By Shevlin Sebastian

S.R. Lenin sticks a white flag, with the letters 'DYFI' (Democratic Youth Federation of India) in red, onto the police barricade, about half a kilometre from the Central Stadium at Thiruvananthapuram where the mass contact programme (Jana Samparka Paripadi) by Chief Minister Oommen Chandy is taking place.

His colleagues, who are wearing T-shirts and jeans, shout slogans against the Chief Minister. “Chandy is corrupt,” says S. Mahesh, a DYFI member. “He should resign. This mass contact programme is a gimmick. The people are standing in the sun for so long and they will get nothing.”   

“So what is your plan of action?” asks an onlooker.

“The first step is to bring down this barricade,” says Mahesh,

Standing at some distance away is a complacent-looking N. Radhakrishnan, Assistant Sub Inspector, who says, “Everything is under control. We expect no 

trouble.”

And that turns out to be true. The Left Democratic Front protest against the Chief Minister fizzles out by noon.

Inside the stadium, a large shamiama has been put up and people wait patiently on red plastic chairs. On the stage sits Chief Minister Oommen Chandy, along with ministerial colleagues, KC Joseph, Thiruvanchoor Radhakrishnan, K. Babu, and V S Sivakumar. In a nice touch, there is a row of marigolds and sunflowers placed on the edge of the stage.

“Please come, please come,” the Chief Minister says, beckoning to a line of petitioners. Immediately, B. Lalkumar, a grey-haired man, is carried forward by two men, on a plastic chair. “I used to work as a labourer,” he tells the chief minister. “Five years ago, I fell from a tree, while plucking pepper, and became paralysed from the waist down. Please help me.”

Chandy asks a few questions, nods silently, writes Rs 50,000 on the petition, and signs his name with a flourish. Away from the stage, Lalkumar smiles, and says, “This is a great programme for poor people like me. We get an immediate relief.” Yes, indeed, when Lalkumar's relatives go to a counter manned by the Collector's staff, they are handed over a cheque.

Soon, the crowd gasps when a stretcher – its four ends held by Kerala Police constables – is brought and placed on the table in front of Chandy. On it lies S. Pushparaj, 38, in a striped black and white shirt and white dhoti. Like Lalkumar, he has been paralysed following a fall from a coconut tree. His three sons, Sujith, 11, Ajit, 10, and Prajith, 8, stand next to their father. 

“We have no income,” says Pushparaj's wife Geeta. “We depend on relatives and neighbours to survive.” This time, Chandy is clearly moved. He writes Rs 1 lakh on the sheet, and a transfer of the ration card from Above to Below Poverty Line.

And so it goes, victim after victim, coming in front of a chief minister, who clearly has his heart in the right place, and immediate relief is granted to those whose lives have been blighted by misfortune, bad luck, and senseless tragedy.

Even the hardened police are moved. “I am shocked to see so many people face financial problems, and thus have an inability to avail of medical facilities,” says a woman sub-inspector, who does not wish to be identified. “There are so many poor people in Kerala. I feel sad at their plight, but this is a wonderful programme.”

So how does the system work? This particular programme is only for the people of Thiruvanthapuram district. “By early July, 14,957 petitions were received online,” says S. Gopakumar, Group Head (Technology), of the Centre for Development of Imaging Technology, which is handling the software. 

“Following recommendations from the taluk and district level, the most meritorious cases have been whittled down to about 500. Since Collectors can only clear a maximum of Rs 10,000, for financial assistance from the CM's Distress Relief Fund, and since these people need more help, they were recommended to meet the Chief Minister to get funds, ranging from Rs 50,000 to Rs 1 lakh. In total, Rs 1.53 crore has been disbursed today.”

A day later, at 8 a.m., on Saturday, at Cliff House, the Chief Minister's official residence, a beaming Oommen Chandy says, “Yesterday's programme was a grand success. In a mass contact programme, people think that those who get the benefits and the cash payments are the biggest beneficiaries. But that is not true. I am the biggest beneficiary. I became aware of so many problems of the people which I did not know about earlier. This has been the biggest experience of my career. Earlier, I did this exercise in all the 14 districts of Kerala. The knowledge I got about life has been the equivalent of reading 100 books.”

And Chandy is even more happy that the programme was a revelation to his fellow ministers. “Many of them told me that they did not know that so many people faced so many problems,” he says. “It is clear that this programme has to continue.” 

(The Sunday Standard, New Delhi)  

Lessons for Life

The play, 'Tuesdays With Morrie', is the story of Morrie Schwartz, a former sociology professor, who, even as he is dying of a degenerative disease, displays sparkling wit and wisdom

Photos: A scene from the play; the real-life Morrie Schwartz (centre) with Mitch Albom and his wife Janine

By Shevlin Sebastian

One morning, in 1995, famed American television anchor Ted Koppel read an article about death by Morrie Schwartz, a former sociology professor of Brandeis University, USA, in a newspaper. Morrie was dying of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), which causes muscle weakness and wasting away of the body Touched and impressed, Ted got in touch with Morrie and decided to do an interview for his popular show, 'Nightline'.

One man who saw the programme, while channel surfing, was Morrie's old student, Mitch Albom, a sportswriter. He had promised to remain in touch, following his graduation. “But I did not,” he says. “I proceeded to break that promise every day, every week and every month for 16 years.”

After the telecast, Mitch felt guilty. So, one day, he flew 1200 kms, from Detroit to Newton, Massachusetts, to meet up with Morrie. And in that first meeting, Morrie spoke about the first signs of ALS. “It started with little things,” he says. “I would feel exhausted for no reason. Then I began to stumble. One night on the dance floor, I fell. And I have never fallen while dancing. So I did a lot of tests, but the answers were inconclusive. Finally, I went to see a neurologist.”

And it was this neurologist who confirmed to Morrie that he had ALS, with a limited time to live.

And then Morrie described his feeling when he came out of the hospital. “It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, the children were laughing,” he says. “And I wanted the world to stop. Inside my head, I wanted to scream, 'Make the sun die, make the sky black. I am dying'. But the sun stayed there, the kids continued to laugh. The world did not change because it does not cater to me. I asked myself, 'Am I going to withdraw from the world as many people do?' No. I decided I am going to live for as long as I can and embrace the world.”

All these dramatic dialogues were spoken in a play, 'Tuesdays With Morrie', at the JT Pac, Kochi, recently. Produced by the Mumbai-based National Centre for the Performing Arts, in association with Akvarious Productions, the actors included Adhar Khurana (Mitch), Akash Khurana (Morrie) and Lucky Vakharia (Nurse Connie and Mitch's wife Janine).

And what can one say about the veteran Akash as Morrie? He was simply brilliant. Starting the play, wearing a cap, and a suit, with a red tie, and then showing the gradual disintegration of Morrie -- the loss of mobility, trembling hands, back pain, sudden crying -- and in the end, dressed in a brown sweater and pyjamas, seated in a wheelchair. It was irresistible.

In one scene, Morrie tries to water a plant on a window sill, holding a glass in his shaking hands and then it slips and falls to the floor. The tinkle of the breaking glass echoed through the hall.

And Akash as Morrie had so much of wisdom, with a dialogue delivery that was clear and fluent at all times. It was a voice that went on and on, refusing to give up on life, even as his body did. For the audience, it was a journey into that most terrifying event that awaits all of us at the end: our deaths.

“Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live,” says Morrie. “I wish I had been more aware of death every day of my life. [The poet] Auden said, 'We must love one another or die'. I have got news for you, Mitch, my friend. You are dying too. Just a lot slower. ”

For Morrie, his most painful memory was the death of his sick mother when he was a child. “One morning, my father calls my brother and I for breakfast,” he says. “Just as we sit down, this telegram arrives announcing her death. I was eight years old. I wanted my mother back. I wanted her to hold me, to sing me the songs she would sing, but she was gone.”

And this crying need for love increases at the end. “When you are an infant coming into the world, you are held and caressed,” says Morrie. “When you are leaving the world, you need the same thing. The mystery is that in between the coming and the going we pretend we don't need it.”

However, even as the play was gripping, young Adhar as Mitch clearly needs some time to develop as an actor. His dialogue delivery sounded flat and emotionless at times, and he could not inhabit his character the way his real-life father did with Morrie. But these are early days for Adhar in his career. 

Meanwhile, as is well known, Mitch Albom visisted Morrie over several Tuesdays, till he died on November 4, 1995. Thereafter, Mitch wrote a book, 'Tuesdays With Morrie', that became a mega bestseller. Thanks to the book and the Nightline broadcast, Morrie lives on.

Or, as Mitch said, “If you lead your life like the way Morrie did, making people your priority, then when you die, you are not really gone. You live inside the hearts of everyone you touched.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

An Unflinching Look at Communal Carnage

Sudipto Das, the author of the best-selling 'The Ekkos Clan', talks about the sufferings of people on the Bangladesh side during the 1947 Partition of India.

 

By Shevlin Sebastian

 

Bhrigu fell at her feet. “Ma, don’t go,” he pleaded, crying softly. “Let us all die together. I don’t want to survive like this. Let them kill all of us. Don’t go.” Khubha raised Bhrigu and held him to her. “Remember the river? He never stops, he never gets lost. He has to flow, and he should flow. If there are mountains in the way, he goes around them. He jumps and leaps and makes waterfalls. Do whatever you like, but never die. Anything is better than death. Let me go now.” Kubha closed the door. Bhrigu heard the door of the other room slam shut. Soon, he heard hushed cries of pain.”

This is an extract from Sudipto Das’s remarkable novel, ‘The Ekkos Clan’, where, for the first time, the experience of Hindus in East Bengal (now Bangladesh) is meticulously described. These includes riots, rapes, stabbings, and communal carnage. 

“There was an equally horrific experience on the Bangladesh side, just as it was on the Punjab-Pakistan side,” says Sudipto, while on a brief reading visit to Kochi. “But not many people know about it. Even in Bengali literature, there is hardly any exploration of what had happened.”

 

And in his research Sudipto came across an interesting phenomenon. “The atrocities were not done by the local Muslims, but by the Bihari Muslims who came across the border and did mayhem,” he says. “In fact, the Bangla Muslims saved many Hindu families.”

 

Sudipto, himself, is of East Bengal origin. Like the two youngsters in the novel, his uncle, then 14, and father, only seven, made a daring escape, at the insistence of their mother, and made their way to Kolkata.

 

Many relatives followed suit. But despite living in Kolkata for fifty-odd years, home still meant Bangladesh. “They talked about Bangladesh all the time,” says Sudipto. “They always remembered their village and the people who lived there. The language we speak at home – Bangaal – is that which is spoken in Bangladesh. Their exile is a wound which has never healed. And it had impacted me even though I had a comfortable upbringing in Kolkata. That was one of the reasons I wrote on this subject.”

 

Not surprisingly, Khubha, the mother, is the most powerful character in the novel. A widow, she is strong, as well as practical. Khubha has an affair with her brother-in-law. “She is not a goddess, nor is she a vamp,” says Sudipto. “She is just a normal human being who succumbed to her desires.” And even as riots raged in East Bengal, and Hindus are being killed by Muslims, Khubha falls in love with a Muslim man.

 

But ‘The Ekkos Clan’ is not only about the 1947 Partition. The scene moves to present-day Stanford, in the USA, and to a place called Arkaim in Russia. It is a novel steeped in intellectual subjects: so there is linguistic paleontology, astrology, archaeology, music, maths, ancient history…the list goes on. And yet, all these subjects are dealt with, in an easy and simple style, so that the reader is never put off. And all these topics are pursued to understand the meaning of the stories that Khubha told her children when they were growing up.

 

Interestingly, Sudipto’s motivation to write his first book was unusual. “I am doing well in my profession,” says this Vice President of an electronic design services company in Bangalore. Sudipto is also an engineering graduate from the Indian Institute of Technology, Kharagpur. “But I also felt that I was not doing anything unique. Whatever I was doing, anybody else could do.”

 

So he decided to write a novel. “This book is mine alone,” he says. “And nobody else can lay claim to it.”

 

But it was not an easy task. He began work every day after 10 p.m., and wrote till 2 a.m. But he would have to get up at 7 a.m., to get ready to go to work. On weekends, he carried on working on the book. “For the past five-and-a-half years, I have screwed up my personal life,” says Sudipto, who is married, and has a 10-year-old son. “Every six months I would fall sick because of lack of sleep, stress, and office pressures.”

 

And then when the book was complete, it was not easy to find a publisher. “The literary world is a closed group and does not entertain outsiders,” says Sudipto. “They have their own shell. They don't like engineers or IT guys writing books. They look down on Chetan Bhagat, even though he has superb sales.”

 

But Sudipto had a stroke of luck when the Delhi-based Niyogi Books accepted his manuscript. And ever since the book was published in July, it has steadily climbed up the literature and fiction best-seller list on Flipkart and is perched at No. 19 now.

 

“I want more and more people to read it,” he says. “So I am going around the country holding book readings.”

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram) 

A Son Confronts his Abandonment

In the play, 'Kunti-Karna', Karna and his mother Kunti have a complicated relationship, just as the warrior has ambivalent feelings for Krishna and Arjuna

By Shevlin Sebastian 

Photo by Mithun Vinod  

Karna approaches the stage from the aisle of the JT Pac hall in Kochi. He is bare-bodied and wears flared trousers. As Karna steps on stage, a haunting Kathakali song is heard on the soundtrack. Soon, he makes movements, resembling Kalaripayattu, the ancient Kerala martial art form. There is an absolute silence for several minutes.

Karna groans, “Mother, aah, aah.” He falls into a tank of water, placed at one side of the stage, to indicate his abandonment as a baby by his mother Kunti.

He keeps dreaming of his mother. “As the darkness sucks me in and I find it difficult to sleep, a woman appears before me again and again,” says Karna. “I beseech her with tears. Mother, remove your veil. Let me see your face.”

And then Kunti appears in front of him standing on a small trolley pushed by a younger version of Karna, her face and body covered by a red shawl. Karna rises, and says, “O mother,” but Kunti keeps pushing him back into the water. This falling down, the splash, and the rising-up makes for a riveting sequence.

“The water, for Karna, is a symbol of being in the womb of his mother,” says Koumarane Valavane, the director of the play 'Kunti Karna'. “The image of water is also in his memory because he had been abandoned on the Ganges river.”

The story, as related in the Mahabharata, goes like this: Through the sun God Surya, Kunti has a child called Karna. In order to preserve her honour, before her marriage to Pandu, she goes to the Ganges river and, with the help of her maid, Dhatri, places her new-born son in a basket and sets him adrift.

In subsequent scenes, Karna carries on crying for his missing mother. Later, he has a confrontation with his half-brother Arjuna, who taunts Karna by saying, “You don't know your father's name. This place is not for you. Out!”

A defiant Karna says, “Arjuna, today for lack of an identity, you have rejected me. But someday, our strengths alone will matter. We will fight and I will kill you.”

It was martial arts that saved Karna from the feeling of being abandoned. “He is deeply involved in it,” says Koumarane. “Otherwise, Karna would have become useless or an alcoholic.”

Meanwhile, Arjuna goes to the Himalayas to get the Pashupatastra weapon from Lord Shiva. While there he has a fight with Lord Shiva, and is defeated. This scene is shown in dramatic style in the play. Arjuna climbs up two long strips of white cloth hanging from rods from the ceiling and does fight sequences by twisting and turning, going up and down, forward and backwards, deftly using his hands and feet, and, finally, when he is defeated, he slides, head first, straight to the floor.

Thereafter, there are dramatic fighting scenes between Arjuna and Karna, with the latter having animated conversations with Krishna and Parasurama and, at the climax, Karna is killed.

It is a gripping play, with intense and tight acting by the performers, all members of the Indianostrum Theatre in Pondicherry. They include Vasant Selvam (Karna), Sravanthi Vakkalanka (Kunti), Parasurama (Kourmarane) and Naveen Kumar J (Krishna), among others.

Unusually, there are long periods of silence, when nothing happens, except for soundless Kalaripayattu movements. This seems to be a risky ploy to use in these impatient times. “I wanted to avoid the noise and talk that is present in every play,” says Koumarane. “Because I believe that silence has more power than words.”

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

Blowing up the Indian Prime Minister

Tinu Menachery, who plays a suicide bomber in the film, 'Madras Cafe', talks about her experiences

 

By Shevlin Sebastian

 

On the first day of her shoot in the Hindi film, ‘Madras Café’, in the Vypeen Islands, off Kochi, Tinu Menachery felt scared. She had a touch of hydrophobia. And she had to be on a boat, which was supposed to be coming from Jaffna to the coast of India. When Tinu expressed her apprehension, the assistant director Arjun said, “Don't worry, it will be a long shot so your face will not be seen.”

 

However once the shot was done, the director Shoojit Sircar asked Tinu whether she was afraid of water. Tinu nodded. “Fear was written all over your face,” he said. “Let us do it again.”

 

This time, Tinu thought about pleasant subjects like her college life. As a result, she looked relaxed and natural. “What I really liked about Shoojit Sir was that even though it was a small scene, he was very particular that the right expressions were shown,” says Tinu.

 

The dusky actress – a Malayali who grew up in Mumbai – was playing a suicide bomber of the Liberation of Tamils Front who blows up the Indian Prime Minister in the last scene. As for the type of person the bomber is, Tinu says, “She is introverted and shy, while I am an outgoing and jovial person. So I had to contain all my energy and not be myself, while depending on Shoojit Sir to guide me.”

 

One unusual aspect was that Tinu looked plain and devoid of make-up in the film. “People were shocked to see my face,” says Tinu. “But it was not a hard decision to be unglamorous since I looked upon the role as a great opportunity.”

 

What made Tinu feel good was when the director praised her. “Shoojit Sir told me that I have expressive eyes and even if I don't say much in a scene, my eyes talk a lot,” she says. “My postures are good. The moment he says, 'Action', I do have visible changes in my body.”

 

Tinu is also having visible changes in her life now. And it all began rather accidentally. A friend suggested that she send her CV for the Glad Rags model competition in 2008 in Mumbai. She did so, and was selected. “And when I walked the ramp I found a happiness that I had never experienced before,” says Tinu.

 

Thanks to her 5’8” height, she got several modelling jobs – Ritu Kumar, Levis, Lee, Amprapali Jewellery, among many others.

 

From there, she gravitated to television where she got a role in a serial on Star Plus. Thereafter, she acted in a Malayalam film, ‘Kaash’. And soon, she heard that there were auditions for ‘Madras Café’. “They were looking for a particular type of person,” says Tinu. “After the screen test, I was selected.”

Not surprisingly, her best moment occurred was when she met the hero, John Abraham on the set. “I looked stupid because I was so much in awe of him,” says Tinu. “He is extremely good-looking and a nice person to talk to. I thought John would have starry airs, but he was humble. One day, John was having a chat with another person and I was sitting right behind them. And I was listening to the conversation and thinking, ‘Oh my God, do they still make these type of guys nowadays?’” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

​

A Palette of Different Colours

 

COLUMN: Spouse's Turn

Chameli, of Chinese origin, talks about life with the noted artist, A Ramachandran, a Padma Bhushan winner 

Photo by Ravi Choudhary

By Shevlin Sebastian

During the introductory meeting of art students at Shantiniketan, West Bengal, in 1957, two people stood out. One was Chameli Tan Yuan, who was of Chinese origin. The other was the tallest person in the room, the Malayali artist A. Ramachandran, 6’2”, who was dressed in white shirt and trousers. Their eyes met.

“I think he got attracted to me instantly,” says Chameli. “But, later, when I saw his work, I was bowled over. I realised he was a genius.”

Chameli still remembers one particular work that affected her deeply: it was of a mynah in a tempera medium. “It was simple, beautiful, and impressive,” she says.

The couple would meet occasionally. Ramachandran would show Chameli his ongoing compositions. Slowly, they became friends. “We used to go for walks in the evening and talk about art, culture, and Malayalam literature. He used to talk about what a great writer [Vaikom Mohammad] Basheer was.”

Incidentally, Chameli was born in Shantiniketan because her father Tan Yun-Shan, a scholar from Hunan Province in China came to India in 1928 to teach Chinese at Shantiniketan, at the invitation of Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore. Eventually, her father lived in Shantiniketan all his life, and died at the age of 85 in 1983 at Bodh Gaya. As for Chameli, she was born as Tan Yuan, but it was Tagore who gave her the Indian name.

Meanwhile, Ramachandran and Chameli carried on their courtship which lasted for 10 years. “It was not easy for us to marry because we came from such different backgrounds,” she says. “He was also a struggling artist.”

But, eventually, they had a registered marriage on June 2, 1967. And right from the beginning, Ramachandran's mother, Bhargavi Amma, accepted her whole-heartedly. “Amma was an extraordinary woman, and so different from other Malayali women,” says Chameli. “She never treated me badly even though I was not a Nair or Malayali. Instead, Amma gave me so much of love that I can never forget her.”

After 46 years of marriage, Chameli can also never forget Ramachandran. “He is a great artist,” she says. “I am not saying this because he is my husband. Ramachandran is a gifted person and his involvement in art is total.”

She also admires his honesty and straight-forwardness. But there is a drawback to this. “Ramachandran will say whatever he feels straight to your face,” says Chameli. “He is too blunt. Many people have misunderstood him and felt upset and angry. Some have called him rude and arrogant. I used to feel upset about this. Sometimes, I would go into shock. Because we Chinese have been taught to be polite at all times. We follow the Confucius way of thinking.”

But Chameli gradually got used to it. “Ramachandran told me that it is his nature,” she says.

Soon, the couple had two children, Sujatha and Rahul. But life was tough. “In those days, there was no art market,” she says. “For many years, we had a difficult time. The market opened up only recently. But his passion for art never diminished. Ramachandran would teach art at Jamia Islamia Milia during the day and work in the evenings and night on his art.”

Despite the difficulties, there was not much stress between the spouses. “We have always been friends,” says Chameli. “And we are professional artists who worked together writing and illustrating children's books. Because of our love of art, we were able to live harmoniously. It has been a strange, yet beautiful relationship.”

As for the Delhi-based Ramachandran, all the hard work has paid off. Today, he is a much-respected artist and was conferred with the Padma Bhushan in 2005. And when he goes around, people recognise him.

One day the couple went to see an ophthalmologist. In the waiting room, there was a mother and daughter. “I could hear the daughter say, 'That is Mr Ramachandran and his wife,'” says Chameli. “Then the mother said, 'Shall I ask him for a work?' But the daughter said no.”

Not surprisingly, there are people who come to the studio to see his compositions. “But Ramachandran does not like to entertain too many people as he would like to work,” says Chameli. “He prefers them to go to the gallery.”

On any given day, Ramachandran gets up at 8 a.m. Thereafter, he has a cup of tea and reads newspapers for two hours. After a bath and breakfast, he will go up to the studio on the first floor and start work. He will come down briefly for lunch at 2 p.m. Then he continues to work till 9 p.m. After a bath and dinner, the couple watches TV. “When we were younger, we would go out,” says Chameli who is 73, while her husband is 78. Both the children have flown the nest. While Sujatha lives in Toronto, Rahul is in Alabama, USA.

Asked for tips on a successful marriage, Chameli says, “A harmonious marriage does not happen just like that. Both spouses have to work at it. We were lucky we had similar likes and dislikes. Conflicts happen only because of disharmony. Find the common interests between the two and focus on that.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

The Planet is In Peril

A two-day conference on climate change, at Delhi, conducted by the Centre for Science and Environment, was an eye opener

By Shevlin Sebastian 

“Climate change is for real,” says Sunita Narain, the Director-General of the New Delhi-based Centre for Science and Environment (CSE). “The world needs to cut emissions drastically. South Asia is the most vulnerable. The poorest, who are not responsible for climate change, are the worst affected.”

Sunita was speaking at a two-day South Asia media briefing on climate change at Delhi where nearly 100 journalists, from all states in India, and from the neighbouring countries of Sri Lanka, Bhutan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Pakistan, Maldives and Myanmar took part.

One reason for the worsening weather is that countries all over the world are emitting carbon dioxide and other gases relentlessly. The cumulative carbon dioxide that was emitted from 1890 to 2007 was a mind-boggling 1202 gigatonnes (gt). Out of this, 700gt were by developed countries, with the United States of America contributing 333gt, while the developing countries share was 501gt. In Asia, China had 104gt, while India emitted 31gt.

Here is another set of statistics. In 2005, the carbon dioxide concentration (CO2) was 383 parts per million (ppm). If the emissions continue, by 2050, the emissions will reach 550 ppm. If that happens, the global temperature will increase by 3 to 5 degrees. “This will have catastrophic consequences,” says Sunita. “The target has to be 450 ppm, to keep the temperature rise under 2 degrees. At this moment, we are at 350 ppm. In short, the world has to drastically cut emissions, by 85 per cent, to meet the objective.”

The only way forward is for rich countries to reduce their emissions. “15% of the world population accounts for 45% of CO2 emissions,” says Sunita. In other words, one American emits as much as 107 Bangladeshis or 269 Nepalese.

What is most alarming is that some gases remain in the atmosphere for hundreds of years. For example, a tonne of carbon dioxide emitted in 1850 can remain in the atmosphere till 3050. Other gases like methane can last for 12 years, while haloforms, like HFC 23, can remain for 270 years.

“The best option is to move from fossil to non-fossil energy,” says Sunita.

The good news is that some countries, like Germany, are already doing that. “In 2012, about 23 per cent of electricity in Germany came from renewable sources like wind and solar power,” says Chandra Bhushan, the Deputy Director-General of the CSE. “Interestingly, half the capacity is in the hands of citizens, not big companies. The country has the ambitious aim of getting 80% through renewable energy by 2050. There is a strong likelihood they will achieve their goal.”

Meanwhile, India needs to get its act together. “Nearly two-thirds of the population remains without clean cooking facilities,” says Bhushan. They use wood or dung for cooking. But that has consequences. Says Dr. Kirk R. Smith, Professor of Global Environmental Health at the University of California, Berkeley: “If you cook a meal, using wood, in the kitchen, it has the same impact as a thousand cigarettes burning. If children are in this kitchen it can damage their health.”

Using these wood fuels also heats up the atmosphere. According to a United Nations Environment Programme report, open burning contributes about 24 percent of the black carbon emissions from India.

However, the gratifying aspect is that some organisations are spearheading a change. Prasanta Biswal, the Bihar head of the Solar Electric Light Company India (SELCO) says that they are setting up household-based solar home-lighting systems for people who are below the poverty line. So, SELCO has put up solar lighting in migrant camps, in the houses of the poor, for roadside vendors, in remote areas, where people have no access to electricity, and even for the Siddis, a tribe of African origin, who live in Karnataka.

“In a place like Bihar, huge numbers of people still use kerosene,” says Prasanta. “The population pollutes because it does not have a choice. So, we are offering the cheap solution of solar energy.”

One group, which has benefited, substantially, are rose pickers in a village near Bangalore. In the pre-dawn, they would hold a lamp in one hand and pluck roses with the other. But SELCO provided solar powered headlamps and now with their hands free, their productivity has gone up considerably, as well as their income.

So far, SELCO has installed solar systems in 1.25 lakh houses. And their work has gained international recognition. In 2005 and 2007, they were awarded the Ashden Awards (which is regarded as the Green Oscars).

Moving on to another vital area, for India, Aditi Mukherji, the Theme Leader, Water and Air, of the Kathmandu-based International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development confirmed that, because of global warming, the Himalayas are prone to disasters. “On an average, there are 78 disaster events every year,” she says. “Around 36,000 people are killed and 178 million people are affected.” About one-third of these events are floods and it affects all the countries in the region: Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, China, India, Myanmar, Nepal, and Pakistan.

“All of us should worry about what is happening in the Hindukush Himalayan (HHK) region,” says Aditi. “It is the source of ten major river basins. While 210 million people live in the HKH area, there are 1.3 billion people downstream who are dependent on the rivers.

Unfortunately, the snow cover of the Himalayas, as well as the glaciers, has been decreasing. When glaciers retreat, they leave behind glacial lakes. Later, this could lead to devastating floods because of Glacial Lake Outburst Floods.

And so it went. Other speakers spoke about extreme weather patterns, dealing with challenges of climate change, apart from suggestions for timely solutions. All in all, the conference was an eye-opener to the dangers faced by the planet, thanks to relentless global warming. The future looks decidedly dangerous, unless prompt action is taken by all the countries, in a spirit of co-operation. “If we don’t do that, we will force upon future generations an atmosphere that will take centuries to repair,” says, M.R. Ramesh Kumar, Chief Scientist of the National Institute of Oceanography, Goa. 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi)   

Scaling The Heights of Love

Megha Pillai talks about life with the World Dwarf sports champion Joby Mathew

Photo by Mithun Vinod 

By Shevlin Sebastian

In June, 2006, Megha Pillai went to take part in a seminar on social work at Kochi. When she was about to sign the attendance register, she saw that somebody had already signed in her column. “When I enquired from the organisers, they said that it resembled the signature of a person called Joby Mathew,” says Megha. Sometime later, Megha saw Joby and was surprised to note that he was only 3' 5” inch tall. They got talking and he said that he had been in a hurry, and that was how the mistake happened.

Thereafter, they went their separate ways. Then in October, when Megha was doing some shopping near Bank Junction in Aluva, (she lived in the town of Chengamanad, 10 kms away), she saw Joby on his three-wheeler scooter. Megha hailed him and said, “Are you not Joby Mathew?”

They conversed a bit. Megha told him she was a dancer. Joby then gave her his visiting card. “He told me that if there are any dance programmes, he should be informed,” she says.

Six months went past. Then, in March, 2007, at Kalady University, where Megha was doing her M. Phil on comparative literature, she was selected to do a Mohinyettam dance for the participants of a national seminar. So she invited Joby. And he came. After the show, Joby complimented her on her performance. Again, they went their separate ways.

Then in June, Joby was involved in an accident when a jeep hit his scooter. Joby’s arm was injured and he was hospitalised. “A friend called and told me that Joby was in a hospital in Aluva,” says Megha. “She had seen a report in the newspaper.”  

So Megha went and met him. In August, Megha got caught up in campus violence. Somebody poked a branch of a tree in her face. “I got injured below the left eye,” she says. She was taken to the Little Flower Hospital in Angamaly, where 12 stitches were put. “People thought that I would lose my eye,” she says. “But, by the grace of God, it became alright.”

Joby read the news item and went and saw her in the hospital. By this time, he had begun to develop feelings for Megha.  

On September 10, Joby called Megha up and said he liked her. “I want to marry you,” he said. Megha was agreeable. When asked whether, at 5' 5”, she had a hesitation of marrying somebody so short, Megha says, with a smile, “I had no problems that he is physically challenged. I liked him as a person and wanted to marry him. To me, Joby has always been 6' tall.”

Since it was an inter-caste love, her father, who owns a clothes shop at Chengamanad, said no. But everything changed when Joby met the family. The winner of five gold medals at the recent World Dwarf Games impressed with his confidence and positive nature. He also insisted that there was no need for Megha to convert to Christianity. 

“From the beginning, I received a lot of support from my mother,” says Megha. “She accepted Joby at once.” And later, Megha's father also agreed to the marriage.

The wedding took place on November 16, 2008 at the chapel of the Rajagiri College of Social Sciences in Kalamassery, where Joby, who has a MA and a law degree, was employed as a public relations manager. Today, he is working in the legal wing of the Bharat Petroleum Corporation Limited.

And, over the years, Megha got a better understanding of Joby's character. “He is a happy person,” says Megha. “Joby is always smiling. He makes his decisions after a lot of thought. If there is a problem, Joby will always say that there is a solution to it. And after thinking carefully, Joby does come up with a good way to solve the issue.”

Joby, who has won 16 international medals, is a former world arm wrestling champion, as well as a gold medallist in events like shot put, javelin, discus, and badminton. When asked about his qualities as an athlete, Megha says, “Joby is focused and disciplined. Once he set a goal, he works hard to achieve it.”

Perhaps his only drawback is that he is a perfectionist. “At home, if a thing is not at a particular place where he has kept it, Joby gets angry,” says Megha.

Interestingly, when the couple steps out in public, even in places like Bangalore, they are immediately recognised. That is because Joby had taken part in Sony TV's Entertainment Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega, where the vibrant sportsman did arm wrestling with Bollywood stars Ranbir Kapoor and Priyanka Chopra as well as director Farah Khan.

“When people meet me, they are amazed to know that when Joby asked to marry me I said yes immediately,” says Megha. “Then they will inquire whether I married out of sympathy. But Joby is a person who does not need any sympathy. He is a champion in sports as well as life.” Incidentally, the couple has a four-year old son, Jyothis.

As for tips for a successful marriage, Megha says, “If you marry a person from a different caste or religion, you have to ensure your spouse will accept and support your religious beliefs. And when you have children, he should agree that they will follow both religions. Otherwise, it will lead to a clash. And in case you face any problems, just pray to God. He is the same for everybody.” 

(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)