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Friday, April 17, 2026

The life and times of Leander Paes


 

Tennis star Leander Paes joined the BJP on March 31, 2026. Earlier, in 2021, he campaigned for the All Indian Trinamool Congress in Goa but did not contest the elections. This time, there is talk that he will be standing.
Not many people can have two successful careers.
One name that comes to mind is Shashi Tharoor, who after a successful stint at the United Nations, is now a four-term Member of Parliament.
Here's an old story about Leander.
COLUMN: Tunnel of Time
By Shevlin Sebastian
The interview with Leander Paes is fixed at 7 a.m. on a Wednesday in September.
Leander would be going to play golf at the Tollygunge club. Photographer Ashoke Chakraborty and I would tag along. While I interviewed him as he played golf, to get a mood piece, Ashok would take the pictures.
At 5.30 a.m., there is a strong shower. At about 6.30, the rain stops. I call up the Paes household. But I seem to have got a fax number. I couldn’t get through.
I stepped out of the house; I had to meet Ashoke Chakraborty outside Paes’ house on Bechhagan Row in Calcutta. The air is cool; the sides of the streets are waterlogged.
Ashoke lands up on time. We go up the steps to the first floor flat. I ring the bell. The maidservant, dark-skinned with gleaming black hair, opens the door. We ask to meet Leander. She says that he is asleep.
"What about Doc Paes?”
“He is also sleeping,” is the reply.
“Can you awaken them?”
“I cannot disturb anyone when they are sleeping.”
So we wait. I feel that now that it has rained, we could do the interview and take the pictures inside the house itself.
Around 45 minutes later, we rang the bell.
The maid opens the door and says, “They are still sleeping.”
We decided to go away.
It leaves a sour taste in the mouth; to be treated as if we are intruders. In fact, we had come because of an appointment.
During the day, I call up Doc Paes and tell him about our visit.
He says, “You should have told the maid to wake us up. No problem. Tomorrow, same time; please come. Leander will be going to play golf.”
The next morning, Ashoke and I arrive again on the dot of seven at the Paes’ door. We ring the bell. The maid comes to the door. We ask for Leander knowing that today, a bright cloudy day, he would be up. But the maid again says that everyone is sleeping; she is too scared to awaken anyone.
She closes the door.
Ashoke and I look at each other. We are stupefied.
There is a balcony in front of Leander’s door. We move towards it and stand there. We don’t know what to say. Instead, we look at the buildings on either side. Leander stays in a middle-class locality.
There is a kirana shop, a bakery and a hair saloon nearby. There’s also a well-known ‘Mithai’ shop at the end of the street. The garbage is piled up at one end.
Ashoke lights a cigarette.
We move away from the balcony and sit down on the stairs.
“What do we do now?” I ask Ashoke.
“We have to wait. There is no option,” Ashoke says, blowing whorls of white smoke.
Minutes pass. Ashoke begins to tell stories from his career. Interesting stuff. Time passes.
At 7.30 a.m., we ring the bell. The maid opens the door. She says that before we could ask anything, that they are sleeping.
We groan.
We sit on the steps.
At 7.50 a.m. an elderly woman dressed in a red saree and wearing thick-lensed spectacles comes up the stairs. She takes out a key from her bag and tries to open the door. The door has been locked from the other side.
“Solid security," Ashok murmurs.
We ask her if she could tell Leander that we have come.
We are from Sportsworld, we explain.
“Sports Worlds” she repeats and nods.
The maid opens the door.
The other maid goes in. The door quickly closes. We continue to sit on the stairs.
We gaze at the cloudy sky. At 8.15 a.m., the door opens. It’s Leander. He’s groggy-eyed, clad in a blue t-shirt and bermuda shorts, and on bare feet.
“Hi, come in, come in,” he says, rubbing his eyes.
We are led into the drawing room and finally sit down on cushion chairs. Leander moves to the phone. He dials a number. He fixes up with Enrico Piperno, for a round of golf.
He says, “Would you like something to drink?”
We opt for cold glasses of water.
“Just give me ten minutes to get ready.” He goes out of the room. I look around. It’s a simple drawing room: a middle-class drawing room, rather than the drawing room of a wealthy young man.
There is a cabinet at one side, which contains trophies won by both father and son. On the centre table, there are lots of magazines: ‘Tennis.’ ‘India Today.’ ‘Cosmopolitan.’ One issue of ‘Sportsworld’—The Sourav Ganguly cover story. There is a thick coffee table book about Kenya.
Our dreaded enemy, the maid, comes with glasses of water. Behind me, on the grilled balcony, I can see Leander’s tennis whites — the shorts, the t-shirts, the socks — drying on a metal clothes rack. There’s an AC in the window.
At one corner of the drawing room, there are two plastic bowls containing dog food. Two bones are lying on the carpet. They have a white Pomeranian.
Leander comes out. He's carrying his golf bag. He looks fresh and ready. A shower has invigorated him. He is dressed in a white t-shirt, jean shorts and sneakers. He has a cap on. He tucks a Nokia cellular phone into the golf bag.
We go down the stairs. An air conditioned car is waiting. We get in. Straightaway, I take out my dictaphone, switch it on and the interview starts, as we set out for Tollygunge Club.
ON LIFE ON THE ATP TOUR
Can you describe your normal life as a touring pro on the ATP circuit?
Today is Friday. I leave on Wednesday to Singapore. There I have two days to start hitting the ball and getting ready for the Heineken Open. But I am really using it as a warm-up for the latter part of the year.
When you go to Singapore, who arranges the hotel accommodation?
I booked the hotel from Cal. Each tournament has their specified hotels. One is where the main draw players stay; the other is where the qualifiers stay. As far as I am concerned, I stay at the tournament hotel. The tournament pays for my room.
Do they pay for food, laundry etc.?
No chance. I have to pay for my food, my laundry, and my telephone calls. They just pay for the room. They pay for the first five days. After the first five days, if I am still in the tournament, they continue to pay the room rent. But if I am out of the tournament, then I start paying for the room.
What about the airfare from here to Singapore? Who pays for that?
I have to pay for that. All airfares are paid for by me. Except for the Davis Cup and say, if I am going to the Olympics or the Asian Games, then it is paid by the federations.
Do even players of the Top Ten, like Pete Sampras, pay their own airfare?
Yes. The advantage that Sampras and the other players have is that they get guarantee money for just showing up. Like last year, in the Dubai Open, Sampras got a million dollars just to show up. He then lost in the first round to Curry Malami and went on to the Australian Open. That created a big ruckus. So the guarantee money that they are getting, they are using it for their airfare. Agassi uses it to pay the fees when he parks his plane in a particular airport.
To what ranking is guarantee money given?
It depends on whether you are a crowd puller and whether the tournament really needs you there.
The Top 15 players get guarantee money for the big tournaments. Like, for example, the Super Nine tournament, where everybody gets guarantee money. If you are a superstar in your own country, you get guarantee money when you play the local tournaments.
Do you think, after your bronze medal win, you could get some guarantee money for Asian level tournaments?
No way. It just helps me to get wild cards, that’s all.
If you were to lose in the first round in Singapore, how much prize money would you get?
$1500. Then you pay taxes on it. Since you are a resident of another country, you pay a higher tax.
How much is the percentage?
Each place is different. Some are a good 10-15%. Some places like the Middle East and Monte Carlo are completely tax free.
Suppose you were to lose in the first round, what do you do after that? Since the next tournament hasn't begun as yet.
I stay around for a couple of days, practising and training at that tournament. Because the guys who play at the next tournament, only leave by Thursday, Friday. (Most tournaments start on a Monday).
What time is a match fixed in a tournament?
It depends. Sometimes, the match could be the first one of the day, that is, at 9 a.m. Or there could be a match after that. Or maybe after the second match. You simply have to go and do some warm-ups and wait for your match to start. Or you could play an evening show match, which would start at about 7 p.m.
What would your day be like if you had an evening match?
I get up. I go for a jog. I have breakfast. Then I do stretching exercises. This takes more than an hour. The idea is to loosen out your limbs. You work yourself into the day. You wake your body up, you get it stretched out, you get it ready.
If you have slept badly, and your back is sore, you get that looked after. If you have a stiff neck, you have to look after that. You have to look after these small things, because eventually, it makes a difference to your match.
All this you are doing on your own?
Well, now I have a trainer travelling with me, so I am lucky. Before that, I used to do it all by myself.
ON THE LONELINESS ON THE TOUR
I’ve been reading some articles about you in our office library. In them, I came across several instances where you kept mentioning about the loneliness of the Tour? How come the Yanks and the Europeans don’t feel this loneliness?
The Yanks have a good 50-60 players on the Tour. At different levels. Hence, they all travel together. They make a group and go out together. They are all friends. Sometimes, they even come from the same hometown. They have grown up together. The Europeans, even though they come from different countries, hang out together. The Australians hang out together.
So, being from India and that too, being one of the only Indian players on the circuit, who can afford to travel, it gets much tougher. Then you have to hang out with the Aussie group; or you hang out with the Yanks. The guys are all friendly and fun, but when push comes to shove, you know you are an outsider.
They make that clear to you?
I mean, you know it. Although I make friends easily. So, I have a lot of friends. I know a lot of the guys. They respect me and I respect them mutually.
But it makes a difference if you have a teammate from your own country who speaks the same language, has the same taste in food. It makes a helluva difference.
That’s why it’s great to have Mahesh Bhupathy along with me. We have similar likes and dislikes. We like to go to the same places to eat. We like the same types of food. We like to hang out together and play different games.
Check out the same women?
(Paes pretends that he didn’t hear the question and goes on) We like to play scrabble, backgammon. We go to see the same movies. It’s fun; it’s enjoyable. Basically, it gives you a sense of camaraderie. You know that there’s somebody who is watching your back and he knows that I am watching his back and want the best for him.
When you are suffering from too much loneliness, how do you tackle it?
My phone bills are unbelievably huge. That’s one of my main vices: the phone.
You can’t bear the empty room?
Being the sort of person I am, I love to call home. I love to call Aneesha, my friends. It helps me to stay in touch with them. Not only is all my business work done on the phone, or on the fax, I spend a lot of time on the phone.
These phone bills? Is it paid immediately? Or do you have an international credit card?
No, it’s paid immediately.
ON TENNIS GROUPIES
Is there something known as tennis groupies?
Oh, for sure.
Women hanging out in the hotel lobby, etc.?
You will be amazed at what fan following there is, for tennis. In the last six months, there’s been such an increase of men, women, children, groupies, just hanging around at the tournaments, hanging around the lounges, the restaurants. They know where the tennis players eat and they go and eat at the same restaurants. They make calls to the hotel. It’s amazing what goes on.
You can pick them up and all that?
Well, I mean, I guess, it’s possible. At the same time, that’s not one of my wants. For me, as a professional, it will distract me from the next day’s game. As it is, it is hard enough to perform consistently each day. So, if you start getting distracted by women, alcohol, drugs, different things like that, it just gets even tougher.
Do the other players pick up the ‘groupies’?
Sure, you have guys on the tour who have their girlfriends or who pick up some groupies for the week. You have that going on. At the same time there are guys who are very professional in what they do.
What about drugs on the tour? Is it a serious thing or not?
Well, to be honest I haven’t seen a whole lot of it. I have seen people use some recreational drugs, but not a whole lot of it. Like guys go to the disco, sit down together and just toke up. It’s not that it’s happening all the time. You get one or two players who are doing certain things. And you know who they are.
I wouldn’t mention their names even but you know who they are. If you are into it, you hang out with them. Otherwise, you stay as far the hell away from them.
Do you think it damages their game?
That’s not for me to judge. As far as I am concerned, I know that it will affect me. Hence, I wouldn’t try it. Really, it’s not something that I would like to do.
ON THE BREAK-UP OF HIS PARENTS’ MARRIAGE
Can I ask you a personal question?
Go for it man.
How old were you when your parents’ marriage broke up?
I was 12 years old. I had left for Madras to join BAT (Britannia Amritraj Tennis). I was a week in training, that’s when my Dad called and told me that Mum and he were separating. They were staying in different houses now. Then he wrote me a long letter, explaining everything.
What was your feeling then?
I was sad. For a whole month or so, I cried every day. As a kid, you tend to feel that it’s your fault. Then, when you start maturing, you realise that they are two grown up people, two adults, and as far as my parents go, they are two very strong people. They are caring people but I think they did something that they both wanted.
It’s very unfortunate to see two special people like that separate. Because they are such nice individuals themselves. Being their kid, I will always love them with all my heart. They are my Mom and my Dad, so no matter what they do, I will always love them.
Your sister Maria gave an interview about the effect of being a child in a marriage that breaks up. She sounded very hurt and bitter. Is it because that since you were the youngest, you didn’t feel it as much as your sisters?
See, at that moment in time, they understood it a lot more than I did. In fact, they helped explain it a little bit to me. At that time, I did not totally understand what was happening. I was only 12.
Regarding Maria’s anger… well, my sisters have their views. They are also the girls of the family. So they are much more sensitive to it. But it’s something that happens in life. It’s something that is happening a little more in India nowadays. We have to understand that it’s our parents’ decision and has got nothing to do with us.
You can rationalise about all this when you are older. But at age 12, were you able to explain it all away like that?
Without getting too personal and too explanatory about it, for me, basically, it was to concentrate on my life. I respected and loved my parents very much but I knew that I had to stand on my own two feet.
Looking back in a way, it was a good thing. I matured faster because there was a separation in the family. There’s no doubting that. You do tend to take on a lot more responsibilities. You do understand life as a totality much faster.
Much faster than people who have ordinary childhoods?
I wouldn’t like to generalise, but it seems like that.
—-
I feel bad that I ask such intimate questions. He answers very calmly but at certain moments, there is a catch in his throat. It’s not easy to be asked such private questions by a mere acquaintance and that too, on such a painful subject. I tell him, as the car reaches Tolly Club, “I hope you don’t mind me asking these personal questions.”
We step out of the car. He goes to the front seat to collect his golf bag.
He turns around, looks at me and says, with a keen, direct gaze, “Listen buddy, you can ask me anything. I don’t get fazed out any more. But if you asked me this question, when I was 12, then I would have broken down.”
A group of club workers are standing nearby. One of them, a young man in his early thirties, dressed in a white dhoti and a white towel, with a week’s stubble on his face, approaches and says that his mother has expired. Leander commiserates with him.
He moves to the dressing room. Within minutes, he comes out, wearing golf boots, with spikes on it. When he walks on the hard cemented floor, it makes a sound like falling rain. We talk some more.
ON PHILOSOPHY
What is your understanding of life?
I don’t know it all. I don’t think that I will ever know it all. I have found in my travels that people all over the world are looking for the same things. They are looking for a sense of happiness, a sense of fulfilment, in their jobs, their professions, their family life, their relationships.
They are looking at a sense of achieving something with their lives. I think people all over the world, even if they vary in their lifestyles, are looking at the same things.
Do you feel that you are lucky you don’t have to be in a screwed-up 9-5 job like most people?
Yes, I am lucky that I am doing something that I like doing. For one, it is my hobby. It is something which is closest to my heart and I am getting paid for doing it. There is no lifestyle like this.
Is tennis a very lucrative profession?
Yes. Tennis is a very high paying profession. I am earning and dealing with a lot more money than most people have. Hence, I have to be a lot more careful with it. I have to be a lot more systematic about it. The bigger your bank balance, the bigger your risks. You have to be a little more careful about it.
At an early age, tennis has taught me how to handle money; it’s taught me to be responsible for all my actions. Because, at the end of the day, I have to bear the consequences.
Has it made you a very individualistic person?
Yes. It has made me stubborn and individualistic in my beliefs. In a society that is opening up but still is very conservative.
Repressed?
No, conservative… I still stand out. People still do not agree with my ways. People still think that I am doing the wrong thing.
You mean people don’t think it right that you are earning a living as a tennis player?
Yes, there are people like that.
In the meantime, Rico Piperno has landed up. We all moved to the golf course, accompanied by two caddies. Leander places the ball on a small plastic cup, with a pointed tip, which he has pressed into the ground.
He stands in a relaxed manner. He looks at the ball; then he looks up at the flag a few hundred yards away. It’s a quiet, cloudy and humid morning. He takes a neat swing. The ball soars up in the air.
“Great shot,” Rico says.
Indeed, it is a fine shot.
It is Rico’s turn to take a shot. He stands, bending a little forward. He looks at the ball. His legs shake a little as he grips the iron tightly. His tongue sticks out. It’s funny, but he clearly looks like an elderly version of Billy Bunter. He takes a hard swing.
Both the cup and the ball rise three feet up in the air accompanied by a thick clump of grass and mud. The ball goes in a straight line and lands in a bunch of thick grass three yards away. Rico mutters the expletive that denotes the discharge from the anal region. We walk towards the balls.
Leander takes another fine shot. Rico looks at me and says, “You will be surprised to know that Lee is a better golfer than a tennis player. He’s damn good.”
Leander marches ahead.
I ask Rico about Leander. “He’s matured a lot. I played with him in New Haven in the US. That’s the first thing I noticed. How much he had matured. He is now at that stage, where he has to make a charge.”
“How far do you think he can go?” I ask.
“If he makes it to the Top 50, that would be great,” Rico says. He wipes the perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. It’s extremely hot and humid.
“What’s happening to Calcutta? It’s getting worse day by day. I mean, I have come back from four comfortable months coaching in the United States and my kids fall sick. I have a cold. I can’t breathe at all.”
“It’s the pollution,” I say.
“Think about Lee,” he says. “Last year, he came back for a week and he ended up getting malaria. He can’t afford to get sick. What is all this talk of improving Calcutta?”
Rico shakes his head in disgust.
“It’s just talk,” I say.
Rico nods. Now he prepares to take a shot. I move up to talk with Leander.
ON FAME
Is it a good or a bad thing?
A mix of both.
What’s the good thing about it?
The good thing about it is you’re recognised. You have a lot of people congratulating you and appreciating your hard work and effort. A lot of doors open. I get to meet a lot of people because of my fame and profession.
You mean, you wouldn’t have met them in your normal life, if you weren’t famous?
Correct.
What’s the bad thing about fame?
I don’t have much of a private life. People are always intruding on my privacy. Every sportsman has a right to a private life, even though we are public figures.
I don’t think a sportsperson’s private life should be up for public discussion. Although, I really don’t mind what people say. I have learnt this the hard way. People will always talk. Especially when you are doing well. They want to put you down.
What do people talk about?
Simple things like starting rumours. Simple things like not appreciating the effort that I put into the game, just because of my private life.
They start talking about me not concentrating on my tennis, that I am goofing around, that since I have a girlfriend now, my efforts are channelised elsewhere. As far as I am concerned, as long as I am performing on the field, it doesn’t matter what I am doing in my private life.
ON THE FATHER-SON RELATIONSHIP
Your father has played a major role in your life. But in father-son relationships, there comes a time when sons feel that the fathers interfere too much.
As far as I am concerned, my dad has played a major role in my life. He has supported me in every little thing he could. He sacrificed a lot to support me because he saw the talent.
As far as the second part of your question goes, yes, there was a little uneasiness in the beginning because of the fact that I was spending a lot of time away and whenever we met, everything was business, business, business. I sometimes missed just the father being there.
Was there resentment of your father?
Well, it was a complicated relationship. We were having a father-son relationship and at the same time, there was a business relationship also. So, sometimes, it got really tough. There was a strain on the relationship, I have to admit that. There were arguments; there were differences of opinion.
At times, it must have gotten tough for him too. He was working on not only his own career as a doctor but at the same time, he was trying to organise my life. At the same time, he has to be a parent. He had to play many roles in one.
The relationship had also to be very carefully guarded. Because, there were so many people who were there to put a spoke in the wheel. That way, my father and myself have come through.
See, at the end of the day, I love my Dad. No matter what other people say about him, he has my best interests at heart. My dad’s a great guy, as far as I am concerned. I am very fond of him.
ON THE INDIAN PRESS
Do you think the Indian press has been very critical of you?
I think they have been very supportive of me. There's a mutual respect.
Has the attitude of the Indian press changed recently?
No, right throughout my career, the press has been supportive. I mean, sure, you are always going to get criticism but that is something you learn from. Some pressmen who write make sense. Basically, there are some you respect, and some you don’t.
Rico adds: People are always looking for scapegoats in our sportsmen. They jump to conclusions very easily.
What do you mean by that?
When you play professional sport, you do have your bad days. I have noticed that when a sportsman has a bad match, journalists tend to start writing him off. They say things like he’s not going to make it.
I have seen the same people who wrote Lee off, getting all excited about his bronze medal win at the Atlanta Olympics.
We have to be supportive, instead of being so critical?
Yes. You have to stand by him till his career comes to an end, and then you can judge him for what he is. Whether he put in the effort, whether he had the talent, whether he could have done better. After all, he is giving his best.
ON LOVE
What attracted you to Aneesha in the first place?
See, basically, we’ve grown up together. We’ve known each other from the age of five. She’s known me before I did well as a tennis player. So she treats me as Leander Paes the person and not Leander Paes the tennis player. That attracted me to her.
When did the sparks fly?
We’ve been going around for six years now. It’s been a fun relationship so far. She’s been through a lot during the relationship. She’s finished college in the States. I have been through a lot. Moved up the rankings. We’ve shared a lot of ups and downs. The main thing is that we respect each other and care a lot for each other.
Do you think childhood friendships are the most durable?
Relationships are really very strange. They might not work out for the best of people. They could work out for the worst of people, or vice versa. It’s something that you have to be basically lucky about.
PERSONAL IMPRESSIONS: ATP TOUR PLAYERS
What’s your personal impression of the ATP players?
I know some of them decently well. Some of them, I’ve only recently come to know. You get all sorts of different people. You see different attitudes, different ways of thinking. I think that is the charm of international tennis. You see so many different personalities… what I would dearly love to see the ATP do is to market all the different personalities, not just the Top Five guys.
You think there are much more personalities than the Top Ten guys?
It’s amazing what different types of personalities there are on the circuit. I think that’s something that golf markets really well. What I am trying to say is that tennis should be marketed as a sport. Not Sampras or Agassi the individual.
Not market the rivalries?
No, market the rivalries. That’s great. There should be more marketing of tennis as a whole than just a few players.
What is the common quality among the Top Ten players?
They have a tremendous sense of self-belief. A sort of self pride that is enormous.
A feeling that ‘I can do it’?
Yes, I can do it. I am better than everyone else. Basically, the qualities that they have, they believe in it tremendously. I think each one shows it in their own way. That is something to be admired. Each one behaves differently off the court. Some are relaxed; some are uptight; some are quiet; some are outgoing.
Among all these players, is Becker different from the rest? Have you interacted with him in any way?
I know him pretty well, as on a first-name basis. We say hi, we chat with each other. We have practised together a few times.
What sort of guy is he, off the court?
Becker is one of my favourite guys on the circuit.
For what reason?
He’s very natural. There’s no fakery with him. He says exactly what he believes in. He believes in his word tremendously. I think that's something very special. In all this limelight, in all this glamour, a lot of people say things for the sake of saying it. That's because we have to be very careful of what we say.
We are in positions where people are listening and people get affected by what we say.
People blow out of proportion things that you say?
Exactly. So, we have to be very watchful of what we say. We have to be careful of what kind of example we are setting for the kids of our country. It’s part of our responsibility to do so.
So, you find it rare that in this sort of situation, to come across a straight talking guy like Becker?
Yes. I find a lot of sportstars are, I shouldn’t say artificial, but quite cautious. They hold back a lot of what they want to say.
What do you see in somebody like Steffi Graf?
“You mean waist downwards or waist upwards,” asks Rico.
“Or both?” adds Leander.
(Laughter.)
“That’s on tape by the way,” Leander tells Rico.
“Steffi is very single-minded. She knows exactly what she wants and she knows how to get it. That’s something to admire about her.”
Apart from tremendous self-belief, what other qualities do these players have?
They have a way of winning. No matter what sticky situation they are in, they just find a way of winning.
ON INDIA’S PERENNIALLY POOR PERFORMANCE INTERNATIONALLY
Why don’t Indians do well on the circuit?
There are so many obstacles to overcome. There is a lack of money; lack of right facilities. Hence, we have to go abroad and train.
What about our mental make-up?
I think Indians as a people are very intelligent. Any game that is mental in terms of strategy, in terms of thinking power, in terms of patience, we are very very good. The minute the sport gets physical, we start to lose out. Hockey is the prime example. When it was on grass, we were champions.
Once it changed to a physical sport, we began struggling. Our disadvantage is that we don’t keep up with the times. Our systems, our coaching methods, are outdated. We are a good five to six years behind the rest of the world.
Our coaches don’t upgrade themselves?
Not only our coaches. Our methods of training. We need to rapidly change and keep up with what the rest of the world is doing. For example: take something like a gym. How many full-fledged gyms do we have in Calcutta? State of the art equipment. Answer: none.
—-
A breakfast of omelettes, bread, jam and butter comes up. Leander takes out his Nokia cellular phone and calls up his girlfriend. He is told that she is sleeping. It is 11.30 a.m.
The other person asks where he is calling from.
“Amma, I am calling from the golf course. I have just finished nine rounds of golf.”
Leander smiles at the exclamation of amazement at the other end, and adds, “No, don’t wake her up. I’ll call later.” He switches off the phone.
“We went to the disco. Came back at three a.m.” Leander tells Rico. “Aneesha is still sleeping.”
Rico said, “My wife used to be like that. She used to sleep till 12. But now, my kids wake her up at six o’clock. She’s got no chance to sleep late.”
Rico laughs out aloud.
ON ZEESHAN ALI
What do you think happened to Zeeshan Ali?
I can’t comment on that. He is one of my friends; he is one of my colleagues. As far as I am concerned, he did the best that he could. He reached a ranking of 120. That’s a fabulous achievement at the time that he was playing.
At the same time, it’s tough. I can understand how tough it is. His father must have found it very difficult to find the funds to travel on the circuit, to find a coach to help him out.
It shows what is happening in Indian sport, where individuals work hard and then get disheartened after a while. Because you suddenly realise that there’s no way else to go.
You don’t have better coaching; you are worrying how to get funds. A few of us are lucky because we are getting support, because we are getting results in certain areas.
Is it because Akhtar Ali did not have the elaborate system that your dad made for you?
I am no one to comment.
Rico Piperno: What Leander has had is a system. That should go out to the people and the administrators. If you pursue a system, a systematic way of training, a systematic way of pursuing a career, then there are possibilities.
If you look at Leander’s graph of the past 11 years, he spent five years in BAT, then he came out, his father asked him to travel for a couple of years; then he went for training with Harry Hopman in the US; he’s always had a support system. It may not be as much as he would like to have but there’s always been some kind of system. He had a programme worked out all the time.
Leander: Yes, there is a system and that’s why, these results are coming in. It’s not like going for a coaching camp for two months, and stopping training. It’s not like playing for two months and not having any tournaments to play for the next six months.
It’s not like going out and working really hard and then taking the rest of the year off and going partying and having a good time. There’s always been a continuous system that I have been working at.
That has been the weakness of Indian sport: that we have no system, isn’t it?
Exactly. There’s just short-term goals.
Do you think the AITA has a system?
(A small silence): Then Rico says smoothly: Nobody has a system in India at present. We need an eight-year programme, a ten-year programme. It has to be a continuous thing.
PLANS FOR THE FUTURE
For one, I am still pursuing my goals. I want to be the best person I can be and the best player that I can be.
Three months have gone past since the interview. In the interim, Leander Paes has not really shone. He’s had first round exits in both singles and doubles in most of the tournaments that he has played. Piperno had mentioned that Leander had come to the critical stage in his career. Now was the time when he had to make the push and make it to the Top 100. So far, the results have been disappointing.
I got the feeling, just an intuition while talking to him, that maybe Leander is not going to push stupendously hard and play out his skin any more. The competition at the international level is getting stiffer and stiffer. Also, by now, he must have realised that after his bronze medal win, his position in Indian sport is permanently fixed like Milkha Singh’s. He’s not going to fade away at all.
Whenever we will write about Indian sport, we will have to mention Paes’ bronze medal win. But I hope that I am absolutely wrong in this analysis.
I hope that secretly Leander Paes is developing and getting better and better. That one day, he will make a splendid impact at the Grand Slam level.
It is only then that he will live up to the cliched ad-line: It Paes To Be Leander.
(Published in Sportsworld, December 18, 1996)

Friday, March 20, 2026

During my time in Sportsworld, I would take a news item and convert it into a satire or humorous take








News Item: Zico’s frustration apparently got the better of him 36 minutes into the second half of the game between his team, Kashima Antlers and Kawasaki Verdy in the J-league in Tokyo. This was when the referee awarded the latter team a penalty. As Verdy star Kazuyoshi Miura prepared to take the kick, Zico walked up and spat on the ball.

I AM Zico’s spit. I hit the headlines recently. During a league match, my boss sent me flying through the air. I thought that, as usual, I would land on the green turf. Imagine my surprise when I landed on my friend, Cosco the football.

He looked at me in a daze as I fell with a thud on his face.

“This is really bad manners,” Cosco said.

“I am very sorry, Cosco,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“You had the whole field in front of you and yet, you had to fall on me,” Cosco said in that hurt tone. “And that too, at such an important moment as a penalty. You know that I have to concentrate very hard, so that I can swerve, depending on which way the boot hits me.”

“My boss is going a little crazy in the head. I can’t imagine how he could have done this to you. After all, it is only through you that Zico has earned a decent livelihood for over 20 years. You have served him well. Both of you have developed such a wonderful rapport. And from being a boy in a poverty-stricken family, he is now a millionaire. I could not believe it when he sent me flying at you. It's shocking, to say the least.”

“Times change,” Cosco said in a philosophical manner. “People change. Zico has changed. He is no longer the soccer player he used to be. I remember what dazzling skills he displayed in the 1980s, especially during the ’82 World Cup. Now, as he reaches his forties, his skills are deserting him. He seems to be injured most of the time.”

“Yes,” I replied. “The other day when my boss got injured yet again, I had a talk with the shins and the knees. And they said that they could no longer stand the pressure of top class football. They told me that they had been doing the job for about twenty-five years now. They just can’t take it any more. After every match, they are bone-tired. They want to stop playing altogether. But Zico insists on pushing himself. I guess, like most people, he is doing it for the money.”

“The craving for more money creates so many problems in life,” Cosco the football said. “In my career, I have seen so many top-class football careers ruined by money. When money comes in, luxury comes in. Women come in. Drugs come in. And then the player loses his hunger and passion for the game. As time goes on, he thinks less about his game and more about how to make greater amounts of money. He is willing to sell himself to the highest bidder. 

“The rule is: never play for money. Instead, one should play for excellence. Excellence should be the aim in life. And if money comes in, as payment for excellence, it should be accepted with grace. But the moment money becomes an end in itself, the player's game gets corrupted. And your boss Zico seems to be going the same way.”

I suddenly felt sad about what Cosco was saying. He had been a top class football for twenty years and had seen a lot of life. So what he said was the deep, unvarnished truth: I was struck into silence.

“Watch him get mad,” Cosco said, as the referee showed Zico the red card. My boss’ eyes became red, like the card and then he shouted at the referee, “You are a cheat. You want Kawasaki Verdy to win, by hook or by crook. I shall complain about you.”

I rolled down Cosco’s face and moved some distance away.

“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Cosco said.

“The penalty is about to be taken,” I shouted, over the din of the spectators in the stadium. “Kazuyoshi Miura has gone to the top of his eight-step run. Cosco, it’s time to get back to work.”

Cosco immediately closed his eyes and frowned in deep concentration. The Japanese player came up and struck Cosco cleanly. The football rose up in the air and when it seemed that it was about to sail over the bar, it suddenly dipped and went into the net. Goal! The game was played for another five minutes and then the referee blew the final whistle.

I slowly began to walk away from the turf. It was the end of another day. But as I reached the players’ tunnel, Cosco, who was sitting on the referee’s arm, shouted at me, “Hey Zico’s spit, despite everything, I forgive your boss. Give my regards to him. After all, both he and I go back a long way.”

(Published in Sportsworld, February 9, 1994)

Friday, March 06, 2026

Shevlin Sebastian's journey through journalism and storytelling


 
Photo by Ratheesh Sundaram. In a Bangalore bookstore 

Many thanks to the creativebrandsmag for this write-up:

https://creativebrandsmag.com/from-kolkata-to-global-recognition-shevlin-sebastians-journey-through-journalism-and-storytelling/

Intro: Veteran journalist and author Shevlin Sebastian, with over three decades of experience and 4,500 published articles, has become a finalist in the UK-based Global Soup international short story competition. His career spans leading Indian publications, acclaimed investigative scoops, children’s novels, and crime writing, marking him as a versatile storyteller. 
 


Shevlin Sebastian’s name has long been familiar in Indian journalism, but his recent recognition as a finalist in the UK-based Global Soup international short story competition has brought his literary talent into sharper focus. For a man who has spent more than three decades chronicling the lives, struggles, and triumphs of others, this accolade is a reminder that his own story is equally compelling.

Born and raised in Kolkata, Sebastian’s early years were steeped in the cultural vibrancy of the city. His professional journey began with Sportsworld, part of the Ananda Bazar Patrika Group, where he honed his skills in sports journalism.

From there, his career took him across India, with stints at The Week in Kochi, Hindustan Times in Mumbai, and The New Indian Express in Kochi. He also briefly worked with DC Books in Kottayam, gaining exposure to the publishing industry.

Each stop added layers to his understanding of storytelling, sharpening his ability to capture both the immediacy of news and the timelessness of human experience.

Over the years, Sebastian has published an astonishing 4,500 articles, covering a spectrum of subjects that defy easy categorisation. His writing has explored films, crime, humour, art, psychology, literature, politics, sports, and human interest stories. This breadth reflects not only his versatility but also his curiosity about the world.

His blog, Shevlin’s World, has become a repository of his work, attracting over 24 lakh hits—a testament to the resonance of his voice with readers across geographies.

Sebastian’s career has not been confined to the newsroom. He has ventured into fiction, publishing four novels for children, and his short stories have found homes in diverse literary platforms.

Singapore-based journals like Kitaab and Borderless Journal, Toronto’s Scarlet Review, Pune’s Active Muse, Guwahati’s Twist and Twain, and India’s juggernaut.in have all carried his work.

These publications reveal a writer unafraid to cross borders, both literal and literary, in pursuit of narrative expression.

His recognition in the Global Soup competition is particularly significant. It situates him within an international community of writers, affirming that his storytelling transcends cultural and national boundaries.

For Sebastian, whose journalism has often been rooted in Indian contexts, this achievement underscores the universality of his themes and the adaptability of his craft.

Yet, to view Sebastian solely through the lens of literary accomplishment would be to overlook his formidable impact as a journalist. Among his many stories, one stands out as a landmark in Indian sports journalism.

In 1992, he reported swimmer Loraine Varghese’s allegations of sexual harassment by coaches in national camps. This was the first time such claims had been publicly made in post-Independence India, and the report reverberated through the corridors of power, prompting questions in Parliament.

It was a scoop that not only demonstrated Sebastian’s investigative acumen but also his courage in amplifying voices that challenged entrenched systems.

His career has also taken him to the frontlines of global sporting events. From the Asian Games in Beijing to the Cricket World Cup in Johannesburg and the Olympic Games in Athens, Sebastian has witnessed and reported on moments of athletic triumph and heartbreak.

These experiences enriched his perspective, allowing him to weave narratives that combined the thrill of competition with the human stories behind the medals.

In recent years, Sebastian has turned his attention to long-form crime writing. His first true-crime book, 'The Stolen Necklace', published by HarperCollins in 2023, delved into a crime in North Kerala, blending journalistic rigour with narrative flair.

The book marked his entry into a genre that demands both meticulous research and compelling storytelling. He is currently working on his second crime book, further cementing his reputation as a writer capable of navigating the complexities of human behaviour and societal structures.

What makes Sebastian’s journey remarkable is not just the diversity of his output but the consistency of his commitment to storytelling. Whether through a newspaper article, a blog post, a children’s novel, or a crime book, he has sought to illuminate aspects of life that might otherwise remain in shadow. His work reflects a belief in the power of words to inform, challenge, and inspire.

The recognition from Global Soup is, in many ways, a culmination of this lifelong dedication. It acknowledges not only his skill as a writer but also his ability to connect with readers across cultures.

For Sebastian, who has spent much of his career documenting the achievements of others, the spotlight is now on him. It is a moment of validation, but also an invitation to continue exploring the possibilities of narrative.

As he completes his second crime book and continues to publish stories in international journals, Sebastian’s trajectory suggests that his best work may still lie ahead.

His career is a reminder that journalism and literature are not mutually exclusive but can enrich each other.

The precision of reporting can sharpen the imagination of fiction, while the empathy of storytelling can deepen the impact of journalism.

In an era where the lines between media, literature, and digital platforms are increasingly blurred, Sebastian embodies the adaptability required of contemporary writers.

His blog, with its millions of hits, demonstrates his ability to engage with digital audiences, while his print publications affirm his relevance in traditional formats.

His international recognition signals that his voice resonates beyond national boundaries, offering insights into the human condition that are universally relatable.

For readers, Sebastian’s journey offers inspiration. It shows that persistence, curiosity, and a willingness to explore diverse forms of writing can lead to both professional success and personal fulfilment.

For aspiring journalists and writers, his career is a case study in how to balance breadth with depth, versatility with focus.

Ultimately, Shevlin Sebastian’s story is one of dedication to craft. From the bustling newsrooms of Kolkata and Mumbai to the literary journals of Singapore and Toronto, from the stadiums of Beijing and Athens to the crime scenes of Kerala, he has pursued narratives with passion and precision.

His recognition as a finalist in the Global Soup competition is not just a personal milestone but a celebration of a career that has consistently sought to illuminate the world through words.

And as he continues to write—whether about crime, sport, or the intricacies of human relationships—one thing is certain: Shevlin Sebastian’s world will remain a place where stories matter, and where the act of storytelling is both a profession and a calling.


Sunday, January 18, 2026

Art That Changes You from Within (A Journey Through the 6th Kochi-Muziris Biennale)


 



Photos: Curator Nikhil Chopra; the theme of the Biennale; Assamese artist Dhiraj Rabha with his work; Kerala artist KB Shajith's 'WipingOut'; ‘The Parliament of Ghosts’ by Ibrahim Mahama of Ghana

By Shevlin Sebastian
On a recent sunny Monday morning, you would expect a sparse crowd at the 6th edition of the Kochi Muziris Biennale, since it was a working day. Instead, a sizeable number of people – young, middle-aged and elderly – were milling around.
Near the entrance, on the left, against the wall, was the curator’s note by Nikhil Chopra.
Here’s an excerpt:
‘In an era where we are increasingly detached from our physical selves, we invite you to think with your bodies and feel with your minds. This is an invitation to engage in a radical sensory transposition: to smell with your eyes, touch with your ears, and taste with your fingertips.’
The theme is ‘For the Time Being’.
As you enter the nearest hall, the work of Assamese artist, Dhiraj Rabha, catches one’s attention. In a darkened space, petals and stems seem to be lit up by neon lights.
But a closer examination reveals historical materials and videos with former United Liberation Front of Assam members which detail the history of insurgency in Assam. You can also hear news broadcasts from the 1990s that seem to emanate from the flowers.
Another work that catches the eye is the massive 50-foot painting, ‘Wiping Out’ by Kerala artist RB Shajith. Shajith has focused on the forests of the Malabar region.
He has used oil, watercolour and acrylic and painted over wooden boards as well as canvas. He attached the brush to a long stick. This comes as no surprise because of the height of the work. But this also results in rough exteriors.
Shajith's message: these beautiful landscapes of ‘God’s Own Country’ are being wiped out in the name of development.
A silver-black-haired lady is looking at the works with a rare intensity. She is Nandita Jaishankar, who works with the Serendipity Arts Festival in Goa.
“The works are impressive,” she said. “This edition has focused on the body and the practices around movement, while putting artist-led initiatives at the forefront. It's an interesting concept that Nikhil [Chopra] and HH Arts Spaces are working with. I know their work well since they are based in Goa.”
She added, “I'm familiar with some of these artists' works because we've overlapped in our festival over the years” She was impressed by the works of the Panjeri Artists' Collective Union of Bengal, a collective of 14 artists, across the visual arts, music, cinema literature, and music.
The main installation is a work about the elders of Habra, West Bengal. All of them are over the age of 75.
“Because of migration, in their lifetimes, they have sung four different versions of the national anthem,” she said.
These include: British India (God Save the King); East Pakistan (Qaumi Taranah); Bangladesh (Amar Shonar Bangla) and today’s India (Jana Gana Mana).
Nandita also liked Dhiraj’s work. "It is a striking examination of power dynamics between state and community," she said.
Nandita has – no surprises here – come for all the six editions of the Biennale.
A true art aficionado.
Another visitor is Nico Kaden, a German, who lives in Paris and works in technology. He is a frequent visitor to art exhibitions in Paris. On a holiday in South India, he heard about the Biennale. So, he flew to Kochi to have a look. “I’m glad I did. This is the first time I am seeing the works of so many South Asian artists at one location,” he said. “They are very impressive.”
Nico visits art exhibitions to enrich his soul. “Tech is soulless,” he said with a smile.
The ground area of this year’s Aspinwall House is a little more than one-third of what it was in previous editions. There is a demarcating wall. The remaining portion is owned by the realtor DLF.
“The acquisition of that section is under consideration by the Kerala state government,” said Dr Venu V, Chairman of the Kochi Biennale Foundation.
If it happens, the government will then convert Aspinwall House into a permanent cultural venue. Nevertheless, it retains its familiar charm.
The cafe is on one side facing the backwaters. The sea breeze blows constantly. People have a far-away look as they gaze at the waters.
It’s illuminating art on the water’s edge.
At the nearby Pepper House, one is immediately taken aback by the blue installation, ‘Yantra/Bloom 32°N’ by New-York based Assamese artist Utsa Hazarika. It is placed on the lawn and reimagines New Delhi’s Jantar Mantar, which is an area of protest and solidarity.
There is a sundial which is at an angle of 32°N; this is oriented toward Palestine. The structure has been made using steel and mirrors.
In an inner hall, there are audio recordings of journalist Ravish Kumar speaking about the Shaheen Bagh protests in 2020, and student activists like the jailed Umar Khalid.
There is an audio in Oriya where people from indigenous communities talk about how they are being displaced because of bauxite mining. You can hear them speaking by wearing headphones.
Here is an excerpt:
“When they came to the village, they said we should leave this village.
This isn’t your village, this isn’t your forest, this isn’t your land. This isn’t your Niyamgiri.
This is the government's Niyamgiri. The government’s forest. The government’s land. The government’s village.
They beat us with a gun, and said they will detonate a bomb. They beat everyone from our village.
He told them, “Why should I leave? I am not going to leave. This is our village; we have our rights here. We have rights to our forest. We have rights to our hills. Why should we leave? We have not done something wrong or unjust. Why are you telling us to leave?”
One of the most astonishing works is ‘The Parliament of Ghosts’ by Ibrahim Mahama installed at the Anand Warehouse. The huge walls are covered with stitched jute bags. Sourced locally, it has the marks of bearing spices and grains.
Then there were numerous chairs, many of them which had been discarded earlier. Mahama said that these jute bags and chairs make us confront the colonial labour that built today’s economy.
Incidentally, these bags have a link to his country, Ghana.
They are the leading producer of cocoa, and jute sacks were used to transport cocoa from plantations to ports. During the Biennale talks and performances have taken place in this setting, living up to its name of being a parliament.
Finally, the Island Warehouse on Willingdon Island is a must-see. You can take an air-conditioned Water Metro from Mattancherry Island and the first stop is Willingdon. The 20,00 sq. ft. warehouse has several extraordinary works.
At one end, there is Serbian artist Marina Abramović's ‘Waterfall’. It is a multi-channel installation featuring the faces of 108 Tibetan Buddhist monks and nuns chanting non-stop. The effect is that of a spiritual waterfall.
This is a most impressive Biennale exerting a powerful emotional pull on viewers. It needs a minimum of three days to do justice to this event. And for those who have not seen it, this is a beautiful and immersive experience that will change you as a person.
Don’t miss it.
(Published in O Heraldo, Goa)

Wednesday, January 14, 2026

Many thanks to South First for their coverage of the Thajudheen case


 

A stolen necklace, a wrongful arrest, and Kerala’s landmark public law remedy. The real accused, a habitual offender was arrested only later, after his own wife revealed the truth to a police officer she trusted.
Sreelakshmi Soman
Synopsis: VK Thajudheen’s wrongful arrest in Kerala led to 77 days of imprisonment, torture, and public humiliation before the real culprit was found. The High Court awarded Thajudheen ₹14 lakh compensation, affirming violations of Article 21 and stressing constitutional accountability. His ordeal, documented in the book ‘The Stolen Necklace’, highlights systemic police failures and the enduring need for public law remedies.
"The first day in jail, I couldn’t even stand. I just went and sat in a corner.”
VK Thajudheen pauses before finishing the sentence. Celebration is still happening around him, after all, the Kerala High Court has finally acknowledged what he and his family lived through for years. But memory does not wait for verdicts.
For a man who had never stepped inside a police station, never seen the inside of a courtroom, and came home from Qatar only to conduct his daughter’s wedding, the journey from a white scooter on CCTV footage to a High Court judgment was brutal, humiliating, and irreversible in parts.
Recently, the Kerala HC awarded ₹14 lakh in compensation to Thajudheen and his family for a wrongful arrest, custodial torture, public humiliation, and prolonged incarceration — not merely as damages, but as a constitutional remedy under public law.
The court also left it open for the State to recover the amount from the erring police officers. It was not just a judgment. It was a warning.
When suspicion replaced probe
On a July night in 2018, Thajudheen’s car was stopped near his home in Kadirur. What began as a routine interaction quickly turned ominous. Police officers insisted he step out, photographed him in the dead of night, and openly declared to his family, ”He is a thief.”
Within hours, Thajudheen was accused of a chain-snatching incident that had occurred six days earlier, kilometres away from where he lived. The police showed CCTV visuals of a bearded man on a white scooter and demanded a confession.
There was no recovery of gold, neither the scooter or verification of tower location data, nor serious attempt to rule out mistaken identity.
Instead, Thajudheen was stripped, tortured, and paraded through public roads, jewellery shops, and relatives homes- a public trial before any court could speak. His family watched as neighbours stared, whispered, and judged.
Except for his close family, everyone murmured, ”There’s no smoke without fire.”
He spent 54 days in judicial custody in Kerala. When he finally returned to Qatar, overstaying due to the case, he was jailed for another 23 days and lost his job.
77 days of imprisonment for a crime he never committed.
The real accused, a habitual offender was arrested only later, after his own wife revealed the truth to a police officer she trusted.
Courtroom that spoke the language of Constitution
The writ petition – WP(C) No. 9494 of 2019 – was not just about money, but about dignity. Justice PM Manoj, in a detailed judgment held that the case involved a clear violation of Article 21, the right to life and personal liberty.
Drawing from landmark Supreme Court rulings such as Nilabati Behera, Rudul Sah, and Nambi Narayanan, the court reaffirmed a critical constitutional principle-
“When the State violates fundamental rights, compensation is not charity — it is a public law remedy.”
The bench made it clear that sovereign immunity has no place when police excesses trample constitutional guarantees. This compensation was awarded not as civil damages claim, but as constitutional accountability, leaving the door open for further civil and criminal proceedings.
Importantly, the court also stated that the government may recover the compensation from the officers involved — a quiet but powerful message to the police establishment.
‘Not an ordinary arrest’
Senior journalist Shevlin Sebastian, whose book The Stolen Necklace played a key role in bringing national attention to the case, says the judgment validates something that numbers can never capture.
”People don’t understand the psychological toll” he told South First.
”His youngest child was humiliated in school. His career collapsed. His family was shattered. You cannot quantify that pain.”
The Stolen Necklace documented the human cost behind procedural abuse. The book was even submitted before the Court to underline that this was not a routine error — it was a systemic failure with human consequences.
Sebastian believes the judgment sends a message the police cannot ignore anymore-
”You cannot arrest on suspicion. You must be 110 percent sure before putting handcuffs on someone.” he said.
Public law remedy; Real legacy of case
Advocate T Asaf Ali, Thajudheen’s counsel and former Director General of Prosecutions, calls it one of the rarest of rare cases in Kerala jurisprudence, not because of the facts alone, but because of what the court chose to emphasise.
Speaking to South First he told that ”Most people, even police officers are unaware of public law remedies. This case has a larger perspective. It teaches that police misconduct does not end with suspension. There are constitutional consequences.”
Public law remedies, rooted in Articles 32 and 226 of the Constitution, allow courts to directly intervene when the State violates fundamental rights — through writs, declarations, injunctions, and crucially, compensation.
”This judgment should be a benchmark. It must be popularised. People must know that they have this right.” Ali says.
He also speaks of the pressure faced during the case – attempts at mediation, influence, even offers to settle.
”I did not bend. This judgment will be cited again and again.”
‘This is only an interval’
For Thajudheen, the verdict brought relief, not closure. ”They even offered lakhs to withdraw the case” he says quietly. ”But this was never about money. It was about the insult and injustice.”
Inside jail, he survived using the only skill he had — communication.
”There is a custom. New inmates get punished. I was terrified. I spoke to everyone, built rapport. That saved me.” he told South First.
Now, he plans to move civil court for further action. ”This is not the end. It’s only an interval.”
Ironically, his home is now visited by filmmakers, producers, storytellers — all wanting to adapt his ordeal for the screen. A cinema lover himself, Thajudheen says he is waiting, cautiously for the right creators. Because some stories are not meant for spectacle. They are meant for accountability.
In a system where wrongful arrests often dissolve into silence, this case speaks loudly-
A necklace can be stolen.
Dignity cannot be.
And when the State forgets, Constitution remembers.
(Edited by Amit Vasudev)

Sunday, January 11, 2026

A book, 'The Stolen Necklace', that played a role in a landmark court judgement


 


Caption: V. K Thajudheen (left) and Shevlin Sebastian 

On Thursday, January 8, 2026, Asaf Ali, former Director General of Prosecution and counsel for VK. Thajudheen sent me a court judgement.

These are some of the conclusions:

The court ordered the State Government to pay a total of 14 lakh in compensation.

  • 10 lakh for V.K. Thajudheen for his illegal arrest, loss of job, and mental agony.
  • 1 lakh each for his wife and three children (total 4 lakh) for the defamation and harassment they endured.

The court explicitly stated that the state is free to recover this compensation amount from the specific police officers responsible (SI P. Biju and ASIs Yogesh and T. Unnikrishnan).

The court noted that this award does not prevent Thajudheen from pursuing further civil lawsuits against the officers for larger damages.

On May 2023, my book, in collaboration with Thajudheen, called ‘The Stolen Necklace’ was published by HarperCollins detailing the trauma that he and his family went through.  

Asaf Ali told me recently that he had submitted the book to the judge among many other materials.

He feels the book played a role in this judgement. So, I am happy I was able to play a role.

Here’s what chief sub editor and senior reporter Ronnie Kuriakose wrote in The New Indian Express:

A 2023 book, The Stolen Necklace by former TNIE staffer Shevlin Sebastian, depicting the travails of Thajudheen, played its part in the case. “The book was submitted in court to make the point that the incident was no ordinary arrest, but one that gained national media attention.

It presented the telltale circumstances of the incident. And from my understanding, the court did appreciate what it conveyed,” Asaf Ali said.

On this, Thajudheen said, "I’m glad that the book, which tells my story, has helped." He also recalled sitting down with Shevlin to write. “We met every day for six months. He used to come with a flask of hot tea, and we’d sit for hours poring over the notes in discussions. Recalling some memories even brought tears to my eyes,” Thajudheen said.

Later, in 2022, the book was pitched to publishers and received positive responses. “It did well, but I did not imagine it would make its way to my defence in court as well,” he added.

The book, in addition to narrating the incident, also charts Thajudheen life, his aspirations, and how it was all derailed because of a single day. “It’s my life story. My past, present, and a robbed future,” Thajudheen concluded.

Speaking to TNIE on the development, the writer Shevlin said, “I’m so happy. Thajudheen’s whole life had come to a juddering halt because of the incident. This verdict is the first ray of light in his life after so long. I also think it will be a deterrent to police offices and put a stop to their excesses. I’m happy the book played a small role.”

May thanks to the Kerala media for extensive coverage of this ruling in print, online, radio and TV.

 

Wednesday, January 07, 2026

From the Centre to the Margins (Life in an Upscale Retirement Home)


By Shevlin Sebastian

“She’s only 60 but she slipped into dementia,” said a woman, as she pointed at a closed door.

“60 is so young,” said the shocked visitor.

“Yes, but she couldn't handle her husband’s sudden death.”

At the upscale retirement home I visited recently, in Kochi, each door represents a life story. Some never expected to be here. Others opted for it. But with monthly rents of five and six figures, they are all well-to-do.

Many had lived abroad and had been successful doctors, engineers, architects, professors, and entrepreneurs. For long they had been in the centre of their universe. But everybody had to succumb to tempus fugit (‘time flies’ in Latin).

From the centre they have been gently pushed to the margins. Because of old age, and mostly, physical frailty. A plaque for long years of service. Handshakes and hugs. Cakes and wine. Loud laughter. And then silence. Which stretches into decades.

You can see some being pushed on wheelchairs. Others lean on walking sticks. An attender held the hand of a stiff-backed person taking tentative steps.

One couple is from California. “I wouldn’t say my husband is happy, but it’s better than being there. We had nobody to talk to. The problem in America is isolation.”

To combat loneliness, numerous activities are planned during the day. Card games. Knitting. Yoga. Music. Brain Gym. Physical gym. Swimming pool. Men and women gather. They talk with each other. They smile. But there are a few who remain isolated.

Deaths create havoc steadily. The husband might die; the wife now lives alone. Or the wife might die. “It’s very difficult for a man to live alone,” said a resident.

And when visitors visit the seriously elderly, in their nineties, the question is the same: do you know who I am?

The bedridden man or woman will stare at the visitor.

Sometimes, he blurts out the right name. There is wonder all around. How great was that?

One woman said, “My husband cannot tolerate any medicines.”

“You can put it in the food,” said a resident.

“I tried, but the moment he senses a change in the taste he spits the food out.”

People are left wondering about a possible solution.

I move around.

Another woman said, “Before I left for the US, I was docile and submissive. But when I went there, I was able to develop my talents. I became confident and outgoing. My husband just could not accept the new me.”

These are people of an older generation. Divorce was not an option. So, they chugged on. It probably makes sense.

One resident said, “When we are young, we feel we can live without our spouse. Divorce seems easy then. But at this stage, we cling to each other. There is nobody else.”

Another woman said, “Mothers today should teach their sons to cook, clean, and respect boundaries. Otherwise, there will be too many divorces. Young women are so evolved now.”

The women easily exchange notes about their life with each other. They get mental and psychological relief. But the men remain silent.

One resident worries about her daughter who is going to give birth in a few weeks. “Oh, how I wish I could be there. But I cannot leave my husband alone.” She said she had asked her daughter-in-law whether she could be there for a few days after the birth. But she has got a promotion and is finding it difficult to get leave.

Another woman remarked, “I saw her photo on Instagram. She’s got a big stomach.”

“Yes,” the mother said, with a glowing smile.

One resident said, “I take part in a group prayer on Zoom. Once a week, I have to give a commentary. I prepare but the speech I give is an inspired one. A spirit enters me and I speak. It’s magical.”

Her eyes are suffused with wonder.

The listener thinks, “This could be divine energy, or the unconscious mind.”

Several live in the past – dwelling on achievements, career highs, their busyness. In all this, the children are missing. Many are abroad, busy building careers the way their parents did. They have children, a mortgage, and career ambitions. The arc will remain the same. One day, they will also reach the retirement home and their children will carry on the cycle of life.

It’s an immaculate place. The floors are swept often. The washrooms are scented. The lawns are mowed. The tiled pathways have been cleared of falling leaves. There are large trees all around. The sky is blue. The leaves rustle in an afternoon breeze. The food is tasty. The staff move with a smile on their faces.

But most residents have a look in their eyes which states, “Too many years have passed. We are closer to the exit.”

For younger visitors, it’s an unsettling preview of what lies ahead. But to live like this, it may be better to have a chest full of currency. Preferably dollars or euros. Otherwise, it’s going to be an agonising time.