Photo by Chinku

Quiet Flows the Kaveri: A trip to Kodumudi

A dip in the river Kaveri on the first day of the Tamil month Ayppasi brings you blessings. Blessings or no blessing, the sight of the river and that too so early in the morning was too tempting. So we set out on the road to meet her at Kodumudi on a Sunday morning. Kodumudi is 40 KM away from Erode town. Believe me; we drove little more than 80 KM (both ways) in the morning just in order to have a bath in the Kaveri.

Well, it was a pleasant experience to drive along the Kaveri Delta. The cold morning breeze smelt a mix of paddy, sugar cane and turmeric plants. Coconut trees, plantains and lots of other trees made the whole stretch look like a green blanket. Small irrigation channels run through the fields making the soil rich and fertile. Early cows were eating their grass! This was a refreshing change-- from the irrational concrete jungle where we live to this green landscape full of human life. No wonder, civilizations began on the river banks.

Kaveri at Kodumudi flowed quietly. People were already there at the bathing ghat engrossed in pujas; it was also a day to remember the departed souls. Well, upon reaching there, I realised that taking bath in a river is an art and I do not know it so well. The women around there stared at me; I was getting into the water with my pyjamas and a long shirt. The water was pleasantly cold and I took one step at a time to avoid a sudden surge of the coldness. Once you are in the water, it is fun; time flies and you don’t want to come back to the banks.

However, under the water, at the bottom, there were residues of clothes that gave me an awful feeling: the only discomfort I want to forget. Well, it was not unexpected as we are famous for dirtying our natural spots. Many treat the historical monuments as a place for eternalising their love story by scribbling on the wall.

But I enjoyed the Kavery and the rising sun. Women changed their clothes, there on the banks itself. It surprised me. I was awestruck. That they went about changing their clothes, from the wet to new, in the open space with such poise. And that too into a saree, artistically rolling the five and half meters from a public place! They did not expose themselves even a bit. It was really a talent. They did all that, oblivious of their surroundings. In a moment, the women who bathed were in fresh clothes and bright red bindis on their foreheads. Me, too self conscious, had to pay to find a place for changing. Good learning! The way of life in a village is very different. I am not romanticising. They are less pretentious than us.

An ancient Shiva temple stood on the banks of Kaveri. After the dip in Kaveri you are supposed to be bodily pure and the visit to the temple makes you spiritually pure too. Inside the mammoth temple wall, there is a major structure devoted to the main deity - Lord Shiva and there are many small structures that accommodated other Gods and goddesses. Lord Brahma is also worshiped here: perhaps this is one of the few temples that have Brahma as a deity. Brahma prathishta is under an incredibly old tree (it is supposed to be 2000 years old). The pundit told us that this particular tree won’t blossom at all and Krishna says that we can claim the legacy of genetically modified plants from as early as some 2000 years ago.

You are supposed to take 7 rounds of the deity and the tree to get the blessings. Due to constraints of time, I decided to stop with only 3 rounds and am sure I will get my due. The pundit chanted the mantras mechanically reflecting the monotony of their work.

On our way back, we bought lots of bananas as it was cheap and fresh; straight from the farm on the banks of the Kaveri; just picked

Indeed, a holiday to remember!

Book Review Published in New Indian Express on December 13, 2009


Memories of a carnage unleashed

Justice delayed is justice denied. And 25 years is a long time for people waiting for justice. This is so with the victims of the 1984 anti-Sikh pogrom in Delhi and many other towns in northern India. There is a lot of talk, in recent times, of reconciliation and peace. But the simple point is that peace and reconciliation can be brought about only after justice is meted out.

On October 31, 1984, Indira Gandhi was assassinated by her own Sikh bodyguards. In the aftermath, Delhi and some other places in the country witnessed extensive violence that left over 3,000 Sikhs dead, their establishments looted and burnt down. Rajiv Gandhi, who took over as prime minister just hours before the carnage began, shamelessly approved of the pogrom. He said: "When a mighty tree falls, it is only natural that the Earth around it does shake a little". Evidently, the slaughter of more than 3,000 people seemed a natural course to him!

And if anyone argued that Rajiv Gandhis was an innocent statement in his hour of grief, evidence that it was not came soon after. The Congress leaders who organised the pogrom and orchestrated some of the mobs were rewarded with positions in Parliament and even in the Union Cabinet. All the while, the Sikhs were denied justice.

Jarnail Singh, an 11-year-old boy in November 1984, would not have thrown a shoe at Union home minister P Chidambaram in 2009 when he was 36, if justice had not been denied. For that matter, he would not have written this book, I Accuse. The writer is a journalist with Dainik Jagran who has reported extensively on Sikh politics and defence. The shoe incident made him (in) famous instantaneously.

While some felt he violated journalistic ethics that day, few others connected it to the plight of the Sikh yearning for justice.

The book is a detailed account of the 1984 violence and the brazen miscarriage of justice thereafter. The author interviewed some of the victims extensively and presents the carnage through their eyes. He narrates the brutal killing of an ex-army man in vivid detail: The mob was chanting; ˜kill these Sardars, traitors of the country". They first surrounded Mahan Singh and pulled off his pagri...

"He is an old army man, he has fought for the country", neighbours said.
"How does it matter¦ sardars are traitors"

Mahan Singh was murdered and his 11-year-old son Harkirat cut into three pieces.

This is only one of several stories. In many cases, all the men in a family were killed. Gurdwaras were ransacked and set on fire. The police were either passive onlookers or helped the mobs, the author says.

A number of the survivors have clearly identified the political leaders who led the mobs on their killing spree. H K L Bagat, Jagdish Tytler, Sajjan Kumar, Dharam Das Sastri are names that figured in the depositions by survivors before the enquiry commissions. There were many commissions and as many reports. The Nanavati Commission, which submitted its report in August 2005, recommended registering cases against Sajjan Kumar. But no action has been taken.

For the Sikh community justice is still far away. And you cannot talk about peace when justice is denied. It is their incredible endurance that has enabled them to get on with their lives.

Reading through Jarnail Singh's account is bound to horrify anyone and leave them revolted at the government's inertia. It should be prescribed as a textbook so that generations to come will learn from it not to repeat it. Those who refuse to learn from history are condemned to repeat it.

Who will bell the cat?
Book Review published in New Sunday Express

I love Fabindia clothes; but it is expensive…….

In nutshell, Making India Work by William Nanda Bissell is a vision about India and how to accomplish that vision through constitutional means. The author is better known as the Managing Director of the Fabindia chain that works with 40,000 craft people and rural artisans.

The author’s premise is that India is not a poor country but a “poorly managed country.” And accordingly, the administration contributes to the poverty and vulnerability further. Add to this, the ‘reckless consumption driven economy’ which he stresses is not a solution but a problem itself. This is where even the west had failed. Excluding environmental and social assets from the market system is destroying the world leaving billions in poverty. Hence, an outline for a new system — economically viable and environmentally sustainable — with appropriately scaled institutions is suggested by the author.

The ultimate aim is to guarantee to each citizen a basic quality of life where sustainable growth, environmental regeneration and alleviation of poverty work together. The author, who advocates a radical paradigm shift for sustainable development, explains that his ideas are not utopian but a practical guide. His concept of “Standard Authority” is very interesting. In the proposed system, this will play the important role of codifying assets such as ‘air quality, water purity and bio-diversity into measurable and therefore tradable products; these are hitherto un-tradable.

For instance, a city dweller who cannot afford to keep the green space, will have to pay for the green space and biodiversity that is protected by the village community. This biosphere credit value will encourage the villagers to protect and enhance the natural resources further. The author also proposes a new tax system as the current one “penalises the productive activities” and hence arrest the growth. The individual professional taxes and taxes on productive activities must go for good in his scheme of things. The proposed tax system, on the contrary, relies on increased taxes on property, inheritance and tax on economic transactions. Large scale revenue can be generated through this and this, according to him, will result in multiplying the present revenue generation.

The introduction of Target Catalysts (TCs) will take care of the empowerment and mainstreaming of the poor. The author finds the existing system of poverty alleviation as “too expensive and ineffective” while public money evaporates in the name of development which is inimical to the interests of the poor. He discusses how the TCs work and facilitate the poor to access better services.

The author also outlines how to reach “power to the people” genuinely. The active participation and representation of the local community is imperative in order to avoid “over-centralised and over-extended” power. He advocates the downsizing of the Central government and refurbishing the administrative system with the citizen at the bottom; the community, area, region and national units must constitute the next hierarchical units in his vision.
Suggestions are also made about a ‘fast track and corruption free’ legal system as he feels the present legal system is ‘Byzantine’ and ‘riven with corruption, blindingly complex and excruciatingly slow.’ He stands for a uniform civil code and also advocates the reduction of the number of existing laws to avoid complexities which affect the productive activities. The book has all the details on how the new system would work.

The importance of the General Performance Parameters is emphasised to make the administration effective and efficient. Instead of cabinet, there will be POBs (Parliamentary Oversight Boards with 5 MPs each), to oversee the activities of various departments.

The book also talks about the corporations and civil society organisations and suggests a single structure and governing standards (to be known as associations) to these bodies with shareholders and stakeholders respectively. In the chapter ‘Sustainable Living’, the author recommends a series of reforms that will ‘transform the way we live.’ In the beginning, he takes three case studies to illustrate his ideas to reach India an ideal nation — Panchasheel, the city, Mussorie, the town, Sewari (Rajasthan), the village. And at the end of the book he picturises these three places where his hypothesis is proved right. He strongly believes that another India is possible. The book reads well and his blue print for reform is excellent. But one may not be able to share the optimism of Bissell particularly in the milieu in which we live and where corruption rules over every aspect of our life. The point is who will bell the cat?

Long Live our Democracy!!

Yesterday, the night security in our apartment informed us that he along with other few night watchmen in the area caught hold of a thief red handed while he was stealing some used clothes and shoes from a bachelor quarter. Promptly, they handed him over to the police. It is normal sport in this part of the country that the crowd thrashes the thief before the police formally arrests him and legally thrash him. They are ‘entitled’ to do so. It is not that every day you catch a thief! In case the thief dies in the process of ‘interrogation’, it is convenient for the police to put the blame on the public thrashing. However, the security told us that this guy wasn’t beaten up for a change. I felt sympathy surging in me for that bad guy, in the sense that it must have been real desperation that drove him to stealing used clothes and shoes.

Meanwhile, in a village in West Bengal, so far away from Chennai where I live, a 70-year-old widow was among the 14 tribal women arrested under serious charges ranging from attempt to murder to sedition and waging war against the state. They were in jail for over a month. They were arrested from their village Bansber on September 3, 2009. The Maoists negotiated their release in exchange for that of a police officer, Atindranath Dutta whom they had ``arrested’’ and held him in their ``custody’’. News paper reports said that the tribals, on release from judicial custody, did not even have the money to get back to their village and so much so the advocate had to pay their bus fare. I am yet to know when these poor illiterate tribal women become Maoists for the State. I am ashamed of myself that I am not able to do anything. Unlike these tribal women, I have many things to loose. A comfy home, a good pay package, the society I move around, etc. And I do not know what hunger means; I never experienced the pain of my land and my livelihood being taken away…..

Our honourable Supreme Court Collegium is still waiting for more and more evidence to decide on the land garb allegations against the Chief Justice of the Karnataka High Court, Justice Mr. P.D. Dinakaran. He bought one third of the village land and grabbed a good 200 acres of wet land and made it his own. These include the common water sources, path ways and grazing lands, etc. etc. This public land is supposed to go to the landless Dalits and backward people in the village. Well, I don’t want to talk about his possession of other properties since the list is so huge. The people of the village and the district collector, who is the head of the revenue administration, came up with ample evidence against the Judge. However, the Supreme Court wants more evidence. Well, my middle class sensibility is itching for an impeachment; though I know this will never take place. And the Hon’ble Justice Mr. P.D.Dinakaran is not an illiterate poor tribal to be dealt with by the state!

Meri Bharat Mahan

Here’s how the Indian TV news channel would report the Jack and Jill nursery rhyme. All names (except those of Jack and Jill), are fictitious.. Krishna forwarded this one to me....It is hilarious....

Prashant - TV Anchor
Two persons have been injured in a freak climbing accident. Jack and his companion Jill had gone up a hill to fetch a pail of water when Jack fell down and broke his crown. Jill came tumbling after. Live from the hill, our reporter, Amrita Shah, takes up the story.

Amrita Shah
Thank you Prashant. Well, as you say, two persons - Jack and Jill - had gone up a hill to fetch a pail of water. Suddenly, Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after. Prashant.

Prashant
Thank you Amrita. What do we know about the hill?

Amrita
Not too much. Jack was going up the hill to fetch a pail of water when he fell down and broke his crown. Jill came tumbling after.

[Headline appears at the foot of the TV screen: “hill breaks crown of pail-boy Jack”]

Prashant
What news of Jack and Jill?

Amrita
Prashant, it seems that Jack had gone up the hill to fetch a pail of water. We know nothing about the pail, or how heavy it was but it seems that Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after. I have here with me, an eyewitness to the accident, Mr Shahid Trivedi. Mr Shahid, tell us what you saw.

Shahid Trivedi
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after.

[Headline appears at the foot of the TV screen: “Boy and girl tumble down hill. Water spilled”]

Amrita
Jack and Jill. What do we know about them? Are they brother and sister? Are they married? Just what were they doing on the hill together?

Shahid Trivedi
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail a water.

Amrita
And what happened next?

Shahid Trivedi
Jack fell down and broke his crown

Amrita
Go on.

Shahid Trivedi
And Jill came tumbling after.

Amrita
Prashant, there you have it. Two people innocently going about their business to fetch a pail of water when one of them falls down, breaks his crown, and the other comes tumbling after. Back to you in the studio Prashant.

[Headline appears at the foot of the TV screen: “Water errand ends in tragedy”]

Prashant
I have with me in the studio now, Professor Chandrashekar Belagare from the Indian Institute of Applied Hill Sciences. Professor: a hill; Jack; Jill; a pail of water. A tragedy waiting to happen?

Professor
Well that depends on the hill, the two persons, the object they were carrying and the conditions underfoot. Let us look at the evidence so far.

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down
And broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling after.

Clearly, one would suspect that if Jack’s fall was severe enough to break his crown then the surface of the hill must have been slippery or unstable. But I think we’re overlooking something quite fundamental here. Who was carrying the pail? Jack fell down and broke his crown and – this is the key – Jill came tumbling after. If Jack and Jill had been carrying the pail together, would they not have fallen at the same time? The fact that Jill came tumbling after suggests that Jack lost his footing first and perhaps knocked Jill over as he slipped.

Prashant
Professor thank you very much. So there we have it, two persons – Jack and Jill – went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after. Later in the programme, Osama bin Laden captured in Afghanistan, President Bush says rent-boy menage-a-trois was "just a brief lapse of judgement", and Pakistan launches nuclear warheads against key Indian cities. But next up, join us after the break for a studio discussion about hills, boys and girls and whether water-fetching trips should be supervised. We’ll be right back...

Happy Diwali!

I am looking forward for a calm and quiet Diwali …
Far from the maddening crackers …
With lots and lots of lights
But I know, I can’t help it
People have already started bursting crackers on their terrace, on the roads and wherever they found a little space
And I wish a happy and safe diwali to all my friends, foes and to the neutral ones

Barack Obama, the US President, celebrated Diwali, the festival of lights by lighting the ceremonial lamp at the White House.

Now why don’t we honour him with a Bharat Ratna, the highest civilian award of India?

The astrologers predicted an award/Nobel season for him!

Media meddling and Actors’ annoyance

Well, press freedom is very important. Even if they represent and promote the ‘popular’ culture; or for manufacturing consent; even in the case of embedded journalism. Freedom of this rustic pillar has to be protected. The recent protest by the journalists, holding up traffic on the busy Kamarajar Salai in Chennai (down the Marina Beach for those who know Chennai that way) against the arrest of Mr. Lenin (charged under sections of the Prevention of Women Harassment Act was a case in point.

The story goes like this. Ms Bhuvaneswari, a small time actress was arrested by the police on charges of prostitution. It was reported that she was running a brothel in one of the prestigious localities in Chennai. She not only confessed to the crime, but also gave a list of actors who, according to her, are involved in the world’s oldest profession. Dinamalar, a Tamil daily, published the news and that provoked the film fraternity. They in turn barged into the city police commissioner’s office to register their protest. Apparently, some of the actors, whose names were mentioned in the report, are happily married and obviously, the allegations made them very upset. It seems that some of them were in tears (of course, without having to pour glycerine).

In Tamil Nadu, films and governance, always, coexisted. Our Chief Minister, ex Chief Minister, few ministers and MPs are actively connected to the film industry. Hence the complainants went to the court of the CM and that ultimately led to the arrest of the news editor of the daily. When the State wants something; it will happen. In Gujarat the police was silent spectators when men and children were killed and women raped and killed by thugs in February-March 2002; and in the Meerut violence witnessed in 1981, the police were the perpetrators. The political masters, in those places, wanted it that way at that time.

“Emotions ran high” and mind it, 250 journalists met up to “chalk out the future course of action” and declared it as “black day”. They demonstrated in the busy road leading to the State Secretariat from the Press Club (wherethey assembled that morning) and demanded the arrest of few actors who were involved in the maligning the media professionals. They denounced the police action as undemocratic and unjustified and asked for the release of the fellow journalist immediately.

There are two sides to this story. To begin with, the media sensitivity to the police atrocities- A few months ago, when the police entered the high court premises and lathi charged many lawyers, litigants and even a judge and destroyed property, most of the media justified the police action. Whether the lawyers are straight forward or crooks is a different question. How do you justify such an action? In what way was it different from police entering a new paper office and arresting somebody without a proper warning? In fact, the police entering someone’s premises is sanctioned for in the law whereas the force that was used in the High Court premises was without a legitimate authority.

Another aspect is that some of the Tamil news papers are notorious for publishing the pictures of the sex workers who are “caught in the police” net, invariably with a disgusting title ‘prostitute beauties’ (vibhachara azhagigal). These are the small time sex workers who fix their business on the busy streets of T Nagar or Parrys or elsewhere for a paltry Rs.50 to 100. I was part of a study team, commissioned by NHRC, on the trafficking of women and children sometimes ago and had interviewed many sex workers. They used to tell us that the policemen arrested them even when they went to leave their children at the school; just to fill their quota of arrests for that particular month. They also said that some policemen demanded free sex. They had no choice but to oblige. Once arrested, these dailies published their photographs, though there is a law preventing that. It is obvious that they get the photographs from the police only. A clear case of Police Press nexus!

And about the film stars’ protest and their grievance: Aren’t they aware of the fate of the many young girls, in the age group of 15 to 20 years, who are trafficked to the film industry and pushed into prostitution? Many in the industry demand sexual favours from these young girls to get them some work to get going. I am sure the so called leaders of the film industry are not so naïve not to know about these happenings. But hardly any intervention on the matter. Of course, STARS are different from ‘extras’ as far as the human rights are concerned.

Well, I did not want to mix so many things; but these are so interrelated – so I couldn’t help it

Oops! Why do we insist that Judges should declare their asset?

The Judiciary has always carried an aura of purity and integrity. But now people know that it is no way different from the other pillars of the democracy. The wealth amassed by some of the judges is no longer a secret. Though only a few have made it to the headlines. Nothing surprising! Why should we expect the judiciary to be different or independent from the popular culture? It does represent the ruling culture of the day and the system. No wonder, why judges are soooooooooooo hesitant to declare their assets in public. Some of them have more than half of a village in their possession. More skeletons are waiting for their turn to tumble out of the cupboards. One can have a good laugh, if one’s sense of humour is still intact.

When the media mediates In the name of neutrality…

Before I venture into writing about the death of the Pricol HR manager at the hands of workers of the same firm, let me qualify that I am against any kind of violence- unorganised or organised; orchestrated by the state or by individuals. I condemn violence. However, when I read the reports of the incident in the various newspapers, I got the feeling that the ‘lumpen proletariat’ killed an innocent person without any provocation. More than the company, the newspapers painstakingly explained the gory incident and that it happened without any provocation; the slain Roy George was too good; understood the workers and interacted with them individually about their problems. Even if he was not, the murder was not justified.

This is the second incident in India, in recent times. The first one happened in an Italy based MNC located in Noida almost a year back.

Well. If you dig a little bit further, the other side of the story will also appear. It seems that the company Pricol was not very worker-friendly. Apart from transferring many workers to Uttarakhand, it has also laid off many workers; some of them had worked for more than 20 years in the company; and at least half that number of years left before they retired. They were agitating for the last 2 years against the company hiring contract labour.

Thanks to the liberalisation and globalisation, many workers have either lost their job or are having to work as contract labourers; the principle of hire and fire at will has been made easy.

While my sympathies are with the bereaved family, my thoughts are with the workers who were arbitrarily laid off. To find another job immediately is a grim probability as the job market is messy. What will happen to their families? Will they be able to meet with their basic needs? What will happen to the education of their children, perhaps the first generation learners in those families?

I know the case of a worker whose case is being fought by Krishna in the labour court. He was thrown out of his job in 1989; 20 years ago and still fighting against the management and his case is being shunted from one court to another all these years. All these to get his job or legitimate compensation. The case is still on; from the labour court to the Madras High Court and now back to the labour court. God only knows as to how long it will take for him to get his money. Hopefully, he may get it in his own life time. I felt the trauma of the worker.

Let us look in to the other side of the story too. A negotiation, on equal footing with the workers, not victimisation, is the solution. How much I wish the media is neutral than taking the side of the rich. Memories of how the media focussed so much on the Taj Hotel and the Oberoi Towers and so little or even nothing was said about those who perished at the Mumbai Central station are fresh in my mind even now.

An interview with poet Salma --a Malayalam version of this was published in Janashakthi (And thanks Cheri for the quick translation; it saved my time)

You have said that your childhood experiences inspired you to write poetry. What were those?
I was born into an orthodox Muslim family in Thuvarankurichi in Trichy district, facing the restrictions imposed on a girl with such an upbringing. I could study only till the ninth standard. The circumstances under which I had to leave school hurt me a lot; I had to pay a heavy price for a small incident at an age when I was unaware of the discrimination between boys and girls. As a child, I was crazy about movies. Three of my girl friends and I once bunked classes and went to a small theatre near my house, without knowing which film was being screened. We found ourselves the only girls in the theatre which was playing the Malayalam movie "avalude ravukal(Her nights)". My brother too was there amongst the audience. Despite ourselves, my friends and I managed to remain in the theatre till the end of the movie. But by this time, the news had travelled home and I was beaten when I returned. More than the physical pain, it was a blow to my heart. No one even scolded my brother. When I protested, I was told: YOU ARE A GIRL, HE IS A BOY.
With that, my studies were discontinued.
When did you begin writing poems?
After my studies ended, I was in a kind of house arrest for some ten years. I was not allowed to talk to boys and rarely ventured outside. Reading was the only means I had to escape this loneliness. I would read whatever I could. I grovelled before my brother for him to bring me books from the village library. I used to be a regular at that library in the days before I left school. It was in these lonely years that Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky entered my life. Reading broadened my intellectual horizons and my imagination. That is how, at the age of 16, I began writing poems. My poems, under my own name-Rajathi, were published in magazines like Kalachuvadu.
What were the repercussions of you being published?
In the little hamlet that I lived in, the poems kicked up a storm. How a Muslim girl could dare to write such things, people asked. My marriage had been fixed at a very young age, but with these problems, my engagement was almost broken off. After much debate and discussions, the elders decided: she is not to write after her marriage. With my marriage, the restrictions on me increased manifold, do not write, do not read, it went to that extent. No one understood me in that house. This was how Salma was born. I wrote surreptitiously, using the name Salma. No one in my house or my village knew of it. I would not even put my address when I sent my poems for publication.
Who encouraged you to write?
Senior writers like Sundara Ramaswami, who received my poems for journals like Kalachuvadu, encouraged me.
When did the world next hear of Salma?
The panchayat elections in Thuvarankurichi paved the way for that. The president's post was reserved for women. My family decided to put me up as a candidate as a proxy for my husband. Selfishly, they thought they would control the post through me. But when I won the election, I began taking an active interest in panchayat affairs. I had to travel a lot for work, and had to meet officials like the collector. This made me shed my insecurities and my fear of the outside world. Thus the world began to know of Rajati, of Salma. In the beginning, my husband had problems with me. But since I was in the habit of discussing panchayat affairs with my husband, we solved our issues.
Why do you continue to write, even at times you are engaged otherwise?
As I said, it was the pain and loneliness of my teenage years that got me writing. When I freely write what is on my mind, it is as if I am sharing my sorrows and pain with someone. That was what made me a writer. My emotional state must have been too intense to share with someone else. So writing is the only potion
What do you think is the strength of your writing?
It is for readers to decide on the strength of my writing and where it lies. For me, it is in the restrictions imposed on me as a girl, more so on a girl from an orthodox Muslim family. I have a feminist perspective. My pain and my problems are not unique; they are universally experience by most women.
How do you view Malayalam literature?
Malayalam has a lot of good writers, many of whom I have read in Tamil translations. My favourite Malayalam writer is Vaikom Muhammad Basheer. It may be that I relate to his works more than others', being a Muslim woman. I enjoy Kamala Das' poems very much; her poems reflect a woman's strength. I also like Zachariah.
How do you carry along your busy public life along with your writing?
I have been neglecting my writing for some time now, it is true, but I enjoy my work as the chairperson of the social welfare board. I can help many suffering people, especially women and children, and I am confident this experience with enrich my writing.

The 99999 Campaign

IT was Exnora’s campaign -99999 (09-09-09-9PM-9 minutes) for switching off lights at 9PM; for 9 minutes. To show that we do care for the environment and we would like to contribute to prevent global warning. Indeed it was a good idea in times of the threat of global warming hanging over our heads; like the proverbial Damocles sword. The media had publicized this campaign quite a bit. And we participated in that campaign religiously. Sharp nine, we switched off all the lights; including the wet grinder which was running. From the terrace we looked towards the city to see the magic. How many environmentally conscious middle class and upper middle class people were there doing the same? To our dismay, we found lights on everywhere in our neighbourhood. The homes everywhere were brightly lit up with light peeping out through the windows of those airconditioned rooms! Of course, there were few people who switched off their lights; and the flat complex where the faculty and staff of the Institute of Mathematical Sciences reside were dark during that nine minutes. Thank God! There are still some people who care for the environment. And the day after, we were out at 5 AM; we were driving to the central station to pick up Appa and Amma and the Satyamurti Bhawan, the Tamil Nadu Congress Committee’s headquarters off Mount Road was illuminated with hundreds of bulbs. The occasion was that of the visit by the charming prince Rahul Gandhi to some parts of Tamil Nadu; mind you not in Chennai). So they had decided to light up the whole building. Besides this, hundreds of flexi boards were on display- the young Gandhi, sister Gandhi and mother Gandhi and the at the bottom, the photo of the chotta local leader at the feet of THE family. I am not totally disheartened – What do you expect of the politicians and political parties otherwise. I still prefer to believe that we and others who switched off the lights for nine minutes made a small difference. And I shall continue to do it where it matters. We don’t have to wait for a catastrophe to happen to amend ourselves. Do we?

Newspapers carried the photo of the Ripon building which is housing the Chennai corporation without lights and I appreciate their move.

YS RAJASEKHARA REDDY and others

Our politicians are benevolent kings. History will definitely write about them. Like we learnt by rote that how emperor Ashoka built roads and planted trees etc, or how Akbar built Fatheh pur Sikri and so on in our school days, the generations to come will end up reading by rote (thanks to our education system) how 21st century kings built flyovers, smart cities, SEZs and their children followed suit. When YS Rajasekhara Reddy, the chief minister of Andhra Pradesh and the major money spinner of the Congress died in a helicopter crash (while he was on his way to visit his subjects in a village), no wonder, it made headlines for a few days and newspapers taking the role of investigation agencies (a new trend in journalism) and looking into the crash from all ‘angles’. They did give expert opinion on the weather conditions, condition of the chopper; compared it with the other choppers and more importantly giving a chronology of deaths in air crashes. Well. My television is not connected to any cable now and hence lost out on the theatrics.

We, Indians are the most courteous people in the planet so we do not talk about the dark sides of a person after his death. So there were condolence messages about what the nation lost with his death- a vibrant, pro poor politician, etc, etc, they conspicuously buried his detrimental relationship with mining mafia in the state and many such things. One of those days, the news papers also carried a four line report that 6 more farmers committed suicide in the Vidarbha region. They added to the statistics of 136 suicides in the last one year due to the debt trap. Of course it does not have a news value; hence it would not make news. After all they do not belong to the ruling class; they are the subjects. And the fact that the peasants happen to be the people who feed and clothe the nation would not make any difference. Nor are they celebrities.

WOW! NATO did it again!

NATO admitted that its air strike in the northern province of Kunduz killed and injured many civilians. It was ‘just’ a mistake as they thought there were no civilians in that area. The strike was reportedly ordered by a German commander after Taliban militant hijacked two fuel trucks on a NATO supply route from Tajikistan. Of course, German chancellor Angela Merkel ‘deeply regretted’ the loss of civilians in the attack. I am sure God may take pity on Angela’s deep regret and give back lives to those innocent victims. This International Security Assistant Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan think that they are doing a great service to the nation as well for the humanity as they are saving the planet from Islamic terrorism. They had had their share of cleaning up in Iraq and in the process we have also come to know what some of the soldiers were doing. You act as a world police man and enter anybody’s b ack yard and fcuk up sovereign nations in the name of democracy. Life is precious everywhere – whether the lives of the people who got killed on 11 September or the lives of the people doomed in the Hiroshima & Nagasaki or the people perished in Vietnam or Palestine or the civil war victims in Sri lanka or the innocent civilians killed in the indiscriminate bombing in Afghanistan. Explosives burn you skin irrespective of its colour. That gives the worst memories to the one who has to live with the injuries and agonies about the beloved ones who died. The famous bible quote “for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword". This is relevant to the good terrorists and bad terrorists.

When Hariharan Sang along with the sound of waves at the Elliot’s Beach!

One could not have asked for more! An evening at the Elliot’s Beach- Cool and breezy! An enclosure, lit up for the occasion; and decorated with flowers. The temporary podium stood against the relentless waves and Hariharian was there to enthrall the crowd with his Gazals. The ambience was just right. Of course, I have a different view about the audience. I think, Chennai is yet to get into the nuance of the Gazals.

Hariharan began with a few numbers from his album ‘Kaash’- ‘Kaash aisa koi’, Maikade bandh’….. The first half was good. And there was a break. During the break, someone who claimed to be a singer and an ardent follower of ‘Hariharanji,’ tried miserably to sing a Gazal. The rendition could be easily voted as the disaster of the evening. No wonder, someone from the audience was heard commenting that this girl is either from the sponsor’s family or from the times of India family (with all due respects to the ToI for gifting such a magnificent evening to Chennaites).

The break saw many people leaving; disappointment was writ large on some people’s face: That Hariharan did not sing those filmi numbers from Roja or the likes. Well. I do like Hariharan’s filmi numbers but would not have enjoyed them as much in what was billed to be an evening of gazals with that maestro. In any case, half the chairs in that enclosure were empty when Hariharan decided to take a short break. He deserved that after rendering one of his difficult numbers like Patta patta, butta butta'.

The first half, certainly, was good; but the second half was excellent. The one Gazal which was dedicated to his wife in raag Darbari left our eyes damp; the pain of separation was conveyed in the lyrics as well as his rendition. Even my husband, who refused to get a packet of popcorn for his wife, had moistened eyes!

Hariharan did play to the gallery once or twice: May be it was meant for the gen-next. A section of the audience did relish that and also enjoyed Hariharan mixing gazals and quawalis (Mere hi naam aaya hai yeh jam mehfil mein). They were seen clapping and whistling cheerily. That was all fine. But then, there was a silly girl who kept nagging; unfortunately we were sitting in the row ahead of her. She was irritated with the Gazals and wondering aloud; “ivaru eppo tamil pattu pada poraru” at the end of every gazal. After a point, she decided to register her protest, she was talking on the cell phone, loud enough, to disturb us and others who did not belong to her league. And much later, she did a wiser thing: just walked out of there to our relief!

And all the while, three boys, in their teens (who were hired for that purpose) were seen carrying the vacant chairs and gathering them in one place even while we were engrossed in the Gazals, the sound of the waves and the blowing wind. The boys were indifferent to all these because they were engaged only to clear the place in the night itself; before they went home for dinner and before they slept at the mid night after the work. Hariharan who? The only entertainment they had was blasting balloons that were flying into the enclosure from the rest of the beaches.

The memorable evening ended at 10 PM; Hariharan made it known that he should stop singing at the stroke of ten and the police would stop him otherwise!

This book review appeared in The New Sunday Express, August 23, 2009

"FOOL'S GOLD" - Gillian Tett
Trapped in a vast, opaque spider’s web
E K Santha

The global downturn, the worst since the Great Depression of the 1930s, has affected Europe and the United States; and Asia, Africa and Latin America as well. With investors pulling back globally, the unemployment rate swelling across Europe and the US, steep GDP contractions and large numbers of people filing for bankruptcy, governments in Europe and USA are desperately cooking up economic stimulus plans to fire up the economy. Some economists predict a deepening of the recession, including a further fall in the GDP in the euro zone.

Fool’s Gold by Gillian Tett, a Financial Times journalist who followed the innovations in the investment banking sector since the 1990s, is an enquiry into the economic catastrophe caused by these innovations. Tett’s work unravels what went wrong, why and who was responsible.

In a narrower sense, it is an account of JP Morgan Bank and a young, super-savvy group of employees who were responsible for the new derivatives. Indeed, they became the model for other banks. The story begins at a private beach in Boca Raton, Florida, where they met to have fun and also gather ideas on CDs in 1994. Despite the stock market crash in 1987, when the banks lost fortunes in derivatives, they went ahead. Their ideas changed the derivatives worlds of America and Europe. There was no dearth of regulations — national and international — or regulatory bodies in the commercial banking sector to see that banks maintained a reserve equivalent to 8 per cent of the value of their assets to be adjusted against risk. Indeed, the colossal growth of derivatives so rapidly invited the attention of regulators; they insisted on the extension of rules for investment banking, especially on CDSs (Credit Default Swaps) and like products.

JP Morgan, along with the banks involved in large-scale credit derivatives, formed the International Swaps and Derivatives Association. ISDA furiously lobbied, in the UK and the US, for a self control mechanism rather than regulations. The regulatory bodies succumbed. All the four anti-derivatives bills were shelved in the US. Tett brings this out clearly to show where the fault lies.

Some of these regulations would have averted disaster. The Congressional Watchdog Government Accountability Office conducted a study on the derivative world and had commented in 1994 on the weakness in risk management that might create wider systemic risk. But it did not find any takers, as “market derivatives had grown overnight from a cottage industry into a bazaar where tens of billions of dollars of risk was changing hands.” Insurance giants like the American International Group galloped in to insure the risks.

The one thing the inventors of the derivatives had never imagined was the scale of disaster that their brainchild would unleash. It not only devastated Wall Street but shook the world as well.

Investors, who relied on the rating agencies, were riding for a fall because the agencies had no idea how to assess or assign risk for the CDOs (Collateralised Debt Obligations). Even bankers had a tough time understanding these complex instruments, but the ratings agencies nevertheless gave triple ‘A’s to many of these instruments.

Investment banking grew manifold in these magical years, the large banks by 14 per cent in fiscal 2003-04, earning a profit of $61 billion. Most of this came from the frenetic appetite for sub-prime loans repackaged into CDOs. Soon, the bubbles began to pop all over the place. Repeated shocks, such as the collapse of the Asian market, Enron Corporation, the Internet bust, the fallout of 9/11 and the collapse of some huge hedge funds exposed the system. By early 2007, “most of the Western policy makers were convinced that the credit cycle had been so extreme that it would inevitably turn soon” says Tett.

The inevitable did happen; prices of houses (yet another huge mortgage sector) started sliding and many banks suffered huge losses on the mortgages. In April 2008, total mortgages lost were approximately $400 billion. Big banks and brokers were collapsing and governments were trying desperately for bailouts. JP Morgan was forced to buy Bear Stearns, which was on the verge of collapse. AIG was sold to JP Morgan. Lehman and Washington Mutual Fund collapsed. Bradford and Bingley (UK) was nationalised.

“The CDs market had turned in to a vast, opaque spider’s web; linking together banks shadow banks and brokers alike with unfath­omable trades and fear”. And Tett’s book conveys to us, that as in the case of Mackenna’s Gold,that Hollywood classic, the rush for riches in this case was Fool’s Gold.

This is a must-read book for the simple and catchy narrative of a complex credit derivative world and about how unrestrained greed corrupted a dream, shattered global markets and unleashed a catastrophe.

Long Live Sree Kerala Varma College (SKVC)!

It is rather coincident that this post too is about my alma matter; not JNU this time. It is about Sree Kerala Varma College, Trichur where I spent 7 years before landing in JNU. Well. Unlike JNU, from where I obtained just an MPhil and a PhD (incomplete), I did take my Pre-Degree, BA and MA from the campus in Trichur!

We recently had the Kerala Varma College alumni get together; for the first time in the last 22 years. It was exciting!! The excitement began the moment Jayakrishnan (Pattande) called me up, after a gap of 22 years, to inform me about the get together. Apart from the elaborate travel plans (since I had to travel from Chennai to Trichur), I made several phone calls to connect with old comrades even before the D day. I was, somewhat, nervous for no reason.

I had left the campus in 1986; but then, I had made it a habit to visit the campus at least once in a year; every time I visited home, a few hours at the college was a routine. I met my teachers. In a sense, I have observed them over the years; those who were young men and women when I was a student had begun to gray and some are now retired from work. And during my brief visits, the all shared their own perception of the changes in the campus. Invariably, RG sir or KuttiKrishnan sir got me Sharbath and vadas from the shop located, round the corner outside the college gate. Sometimes Krishna and Chinku too joined me in this ``pilgrimage’’. Well. I also happened to teach in the same college for a few months; I had filled up a leave vacancy. The fact is that at no point of time did I feel like an alien in the campus.

This time it was different. I was so much excited about meeting my old comrades; it was with them that I inculcated the concept of ‘study and struggle’ in my life. Along with the old royal buildings, suppotta trees and Ooty, the campus was and is very much a part of my life. Kerala Varma’s Ooty deserves a special mention; this is the most beautiful part of our campus; a large tract of thickly vegetated land with water bodies. In fact, one of the ponds marks the boundary between Ooty and the ladies hostel. Beyond this are the paddy fields; in the summer months, I used to walk through the fields to the college from home. Ooty was also the most romantic and serene place in the campus. For the same reason, the entry to Ooty was eternally banned to the students by the not -- so -romantic administration.

Well. Couples managed to break the rules to attain the solace of Ooty; to be reprimanded later.

This was the campus I entered there for my pre-University course when I was still in my teens. I must thank my father for that; he defied disapproval from many of my relatives; Kerala Varma College, after all, was co-educational and hence! There were other colleges in town known for their disciplinarian methods and meant only for girls. And it was in Sree Kerala Varma College that I joined the SFI. And it was in this very campus that I received my first love letter; that one was mixed with poetry and prose. I said no to him. I was, at that time, a sincere comrade and thought that love affairs were part of the bourgeois culture.

In this very campus, we had long study classes, discussion and poetry workshops. Those were times when every second person wrote poems or stories; I too was one among them. RG sir’s classes were wonderful as he connected the Malayalam poetry with those from Latin America; and we learnt to love Pablo Neruda –
“And it was at that age...
Poetry arrived in search of me.
I don't know, I don't know where it came from,
from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices,
they were not words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face”

We had long sessions at the canteen with vadas and chai. Those days money was scarce; hence less number of sponsors for tea and snacks. Many a time our teachers fished us out of the debt trap!. And the SFI taught us to be political, lead a simple and socially committed life; urged us to decide “our politics because politics decided our future”. We all happily led a Spartan life, much to the ire of our parents and relatives. We, girls refused to wear gold; not even ear rings; the three Geethas, Jaya, Arya, Beena and many more.

There were demonstrations and processions; we sang revolutionary songs – “it is the time for struggle comrades”….Martyrs are the greatest and they show us the right path”….

We organized the best cultural events; from folk arts to showing of great films like Satyajit Ray’s pather panchali and made hand bills and posters in the evening.

Those days had its share of turmoil also. I lost my younger brother for ever; to the intolerant and brutal politics of the ABVP-RSS. He had just joined the college then. We were very close as siblings as well as comrades. The same ideology held us together. We just began to understand each other in a different light as members of the same organization. Then not even six months together in the campus; they killed him for nothing. There was no history of fight with them, no record of having provoked them. Nothing. Just like that they had decided to finish off somebody that particular night and this boy was an easy prey. He had his last supper at home and had a good laugh over something and left to watch the local festival; never to comeback. They were waiting in the dark. Just three deep stabs. A 17 year old life and his dreams ended there.

It took long; several months for me to come to terms with his death. A deep sorrow settled in the place of tears. My comrades were there to support me throughout the traumatic period.

And I met them after 22 years, around 200 of them. Some of them were very close to me; others were just known to me. Now we live in different parts of the country; some even abroad. Matured with gray hairs and several kilos heavier than they were! I must admit that I could not recognize some of them. I too realized that some people will never grow up in their life; even if they appear older.

But then, many others have grown older and wiser too. Soopan (Suresh) is now a bulky guy; I remember him as a lean and thin boy. And he is also wiser now. Prabha (our kalari payattu hero and hence called Chekavar by us) looked the same. He was a composed person then and continues to be one now too. Beena looked sadder and I thought of those vibrant days of struggle where Beena played a major role.

Politically, most of us are still left leaning; but some of us are not with any particular party. Comrades like Radhakrishnan (now the Speaker of the Kerala Assembly) and U.P.Joseph are still with the CPI(M). There are some others like them too.

But we felt the warmth of the being together and sharing a comradeship of the 1980’s. And it was also fun to have a lone KSU (I) guy at the get together. He jelled well with us.

Of course, SKVC looks better! Lot more trees now and hence greener. The old supotta trees defy their age and live there for ever, the buildings have been painted many times and there is a new auditorium. The old one, facing the beautiful Ooty is still there!

Thank you His Highness Sree Kerala Varma! Long live Kerala Varma College!!

Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU)and Ragging?????

I was shocked reading newspaper reports that some students from the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) were expelled from the hostel on charges of ragging. It seems that they were caught red-handed by the anti-ragging committee. (Again a surprise: when did they begin to form an anti-ragging committee? Is it mandatory these days?). This is for the first time that I am hearing something of this sort about JNU; a campus known for a culture where the seniors take care of the freshers. For that matter, not only the freshers but also the young job seekers from the various small towns are taken care of in JNU! Such people are ``accommodated’’ in the various hostels, albeit illegally by the students. In the past, when stories of ragging were in the news, we were proud that ours is a ragging free campus.

I recall my early days in JNU nostalgically. I arrived there one morning in June. Summer was still scorching and I was tired after a long journey. I was depressed too. Hostile weather, alien language and food that I was not used to; an array of discomforts! In June, we Malayalis are used to the magical spell of the monsoon. And we are notorious for using coconut and its oil in any edible stuff. And as far the language, I struggled with my English and always answered in monosyllables. And my Hindi was equally bad!

But the most amazing thing was the way the JNU seniors welcomed you. I had to prepare for the interview for my M.Phil admission in Chinese studies. Please note the fact that I was not a student yet! I did not have any deep understanding on China though I had cleared my written test. Yamuna, was in JNU already. I did not know her until that day I arrived. But then, she let me stay with her till I got through my admission. A senior of mine at my Centre- Vikramsimha Rao -- whom I met for the first time in my life -- offered all help. He spent hours with me and discussed about the possible questions and prepared me for the interview. Though a perfect stranger to me, he had made me comfortable about the campus, and helped me to overcome my fears and worries.

Well. TK was there to steer me in the initial days despite his busy work with the Students Union. He acclimatized me with the way of life in the campus; sometimes even chided me for not going to the library. I have sweet memories of my seniors- helping me with the assignments, inviting me to the film club, photographic club, a dinner at Udippi or a trek to the Qutab Minar and so on. And in just a year’s time, I was a senior and I too reached out to the freshers:– Keeping the tradition on.

No wonder that the report of ragging in JNU (by few MCA students) disturbed me so much. It was so inimical to our glorious past and tradition, where everything coexisted - Jhelum lawns, Ganga Dhaba, library canteen, us and so many other things….. I would like to take it as a bizarre incident which would not be repeated….for I am planning to send my child to JNU… And I do not want him to come back and counter me saying…Mom, your much heard stories do not match with my experience.

On Child Rights!!

I am all for child rights! I still regret the fact that I had beaten up my child on 3 or 4 occasions in the last 17 years; he says he hardly remembers as those were not even a proper thrashing. But I do remember those occasions, I lost my temper and behaved irrationally and I cannot forgive me for that. A number of reasons were there on my side but that cannot justify the act. As a rule, I always give him enough time to reflect on the mistakes he had committed and ask him to find a solution by himself. There are times that I had given stern warnings. That’s it!

I am pained when I read reports of corporal punishment (though it is banned) meted out by those children who study in the corporation and government schools. I get a shock when I read some of the extreme cases where the punishment ends in the death of the child.

But what about the methods of punishment that are in vogue in the so called “elitist public” schools? How does it feel when an adolescent boy is called a liar repeatedly before a class on an issue of a submission of a note-book? ‘Stupid, idiot, good for nothing fellow and no brain” are the other common phrases used by the teacher, often in the class room. What about the self esteem of the boy? What will happen to his self confidence?

I do not have to put myself into my son’s shoes to know the pain and humiliation that he is having to suffer. I did study in a convent school for sometimes where my maths teacher told me, “you fatty, you will never learn maths in your life. Other children laughed at the joke. I couldn’t do anything but stare at her with tears -blurring my sight and it was interpreted as my arrogance. I fought back my tears to cry under the lonely mango tree later. At times I was described as blacky or ugly. It is true that I never learnt maths in life, even though in later stages, I had wonderful maths teachers. The marks of beatings on my legs are faded and gone. But the pain and humiliation, I can feel it even today.

Of course, in a huge joint family, my mother did not have the time or inclination to understand the pain of this ugly duckling. But my son is lucky as we both are there for him to ventilate his pain and trauma - to accompany him for a long walk in the beach, some peppy talk and a kulfi. However, we are helpless; in the sense that we are not able to go to the school to have a talk with the teacher since my son is also bothered about the repercussions. He says he has six more months to go…

I wish I had I known about the school earlier….

And at night, I whispered into his ears: “don’t worry, one day I will borrow a burqua from Balkis aunty and follow your teacher into a market place and will call her stupid and useless and vanish”. Both of us know that I am not going to do that but he smiled at the thought of me doing that.

Good night dear!!

Children Learn What They Live

If children live with hostility,
they learn to fight.

If children live with ridicule,
they learn to be shy.

If children live with tolerance,
they learn to be patient.

If children live with encouragement,
they learn confidence.

If children live with praise,
they learn to appreciate.

If children live with fairness,
they learn justice.

If children live with security,
they learn faith.

If children live with approval,
they learn to like themselves.

If children live with acceptance, and friendship,
they learn to find love in the world.
Dorothy Law Nolte

Idinthakarai Tsunami Habitat-(in) humanitarian Rehabilitation!!

The story about the illegal land developments taking place in the sterile area of the Kalpakam nuclear plant by realtors (New Indian Express, August1, 2009) was indeed shocking. It may also sound a bit unbelievable on the face of it. But then, the truth is that such callousness is not restricted to Kalpakkam.

Here is another story of this kind. The difference, however, is that it is about a plant that is coming up and the violators are not just the greedy realtors. It involves the Government and the NGOs. The common thread is about violation of national and international norms of reactor guidelines and building up a human settlement within the sterile Zone and all this being done with the support of the district administration. It is incredible but true.

Idinthakarai, a fishing village, situated in Radapuram block of Tirunelveli district (located on the coastal road connecting Tiruchendur and Kanyakumari) was swept away by the killer waves that hit the coast on December 24, 2004. The tsunami hit the village badly destroying most houses and killing two.

Humanitarian assistance poured in. And also a plan for rehabilitation of the victims in a safe area, away from the shore. A national NGO, otherwise known for their development and humanitarian work, pitched in to rehabilitate 2000 people. It offered to construct 450 permanent houses. The NGO tied up for financial grant, from the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA), Presbyterian United (from USA) and Mennonite (from USA) with a view to complete the project.

The arrangement was that while the construction cost of the dwelling units were to be borne by the NGO (along with its international partners), the land for the rehabilitation project was to come from the Government.

The construction cost for each house – measuring up to 435 square feet on a piece of land extending to three cents, was estimated at Rs. 2.05 lakh. Approximately Rs.9.22 crore was spent over the construction. The district administration allocated 23.50 acres for this project. All that was fine! Except that the land happened to be incredibly close – just 2 KM - to the Koodiankulam Nuclear Reactor plant.

In other words, a cluster of 450 houses, inhabited by poor fisher-folk whose homes were washed away by the Tsunami in December 2004 being rehabilitated within a 2 kilometre distance from what would be India's largest nuclear-power centre when it goes critical.

This is clearly in violation of the norms set by the Department of Atomic Energy (DAE) and the Atomic Energy Regulatory Board. The specific guidelines, insofar as inhabitation around a nuclear plant is that: A 1.6-km radius zone around a nuclear power station must have no habitation; the next 5-km radius area must be a “sterile zone” where “the density of population should be small so that rehabilitation will be easier.” And a third ring, outside the 5 km radius and upto 16-km from the plant where “the population should not exceed 10,000”.

The district administration could not have glossed over these. The Koodankulam plant, after all, was coming up and construction activities had been taking place when the Tsunami struck in December 2004. And yet, months after the tragedy, the administration allocated this land for constructing houses to the affected, violating the DAE norms. And even sunk a lot of money laying roads to the area and constructing electricity and drainage facilities, water taps and a community hall to this hamlet; an overhead tank with capacity to hold 60,000 litres too was built spending Rs. 8.80 lakh. Ironically a multi-purpose disaster shelter also has been constructed here along with the houses

The inauguration of this rehabilitation site took place in 22 November 2006 with the representatives of the funding agencies, the district administration and the NGO, praising each other for the amazing pace at which the construction activities were completed. 430 out of 450 houses are allotted to the “beneficiaries”. The media, incidentally, reported the event but for some reasons did not point to the fact that when the giant reactor, which stood in the vicinity of the new housing colony, when commissioned will warrant displacement of all these families once again.

For some strange reasons, the development agencies that conducted this rehabilitation programme did not find anything remiss in this site. Ironically the funding agencies spend a handsome amount on conducting campaigns and training programmes as well as building infrastructural facilities for disaster preparedness.

The tragic aspect is that these people are bound to be displaced from where they are now located as and when the Koodankulam plant goes critical. It will be difficult, may inhuman, to argue then that they shall not be displaced. For it will be exposing them to radiation and other issues. A little thought, when these houses were constructed, would have saved them of another displacement. But the authorities who failed to do this will, in any case, not be affected.

Now, who will take the responsibility for this catastrophe; the NGO, the District administration, the funding agencies or the poor people who did not have any choice on this?

Nandigram and Orwell’s Animal Farm


Reading through reports, day after day in the past week about the violence and the atrocities against women in Nandigram brought back in me some memories of the mass rape of women in Thankamani, a village in the Idukki district in Kerala way back in 1986. I was then a student, doing my graduation. And belonged to a group and the bond among us was that we all were members of the SFI; we were, hence, closely associated with the activities of DYFI and the CPI (M).

We were enthusiastic about the need to do our bit to make the world a better place and there were many occasions when our enthusiasm was a bit too much. We were all oriented in the theory of Marxism from the study classes that we would attend thanks to our association with the party. There were important lessons to be learnt. Otherwise, we would have gone astray.

But we were free from any dogma and ended up raising uncomfortable questions on the party’s stand over the women’s question, the movement for democracy in Prague (Spring of 1968), the cultural revolution in China and ended up debating these day after day without necessarily finding a definite answer. In any case, the debates were not really meant to find the absolute answer. I recall that there was a lot of space available for discussions in the group. Intolerance has not crawled into the party structure like it is now. The culture represented by the infamous I-am-the-state attitude of Louis XIV had not yet set in then. These classes also ensured that our men comrades respected and supported the women and their struggle for rights.

We used to discuss women’s issues and would strongly react to incidents of eve teasing in public places. Sometimes we went about painting tar on vulgar posters in the city. It was at that time, one day in October 1986, that Thankamani happened. It all began with the villagers protesting against the refusal by authorities to extending the services of a transport bus to that village. The protest turned ``violent’’ when stones were thrown and the police resorted to lathi charge. However, things did not stop there. The cops returned to the village that night, raided the homes and raped many women.

We were disturbed. The news made us angry.Although we had not visited the village any time or met any of the victims, we took the hurt and distress of the women in Thankamani as ours and a small group of us demonstrated through the Trichur city; shouting slogans against the police as well as the then Congress government. Thankamani soon became a concern across the State and even contributed in a way to the the CPI(M)’s victory in the assembly elections in February 1987.

Now, I read the reports of the violence perpetrated on the women in Nandigram and also that this was done by the members of the CPM. It was not the police or the army who indulged in such atrocities on the women in West Bengal. In the bad times that we live, our senses are somewhat numbed by the frequency at which we hear stories of such atrocities that are committed by the armed forces in Kashmir and the North East. The Nndigram story, however, belongs to another genre. The long list of violence committed by CPM cadres (goons), include women, some of them pregnant (Manjura Biwi at Satangabari for instance) being beaten up and children and infants attacked brutally and raped.

It was so much excruciating to read the story of 40 years old Akhreja Biwi of Satangabari, who had been ganged raped on November 7, 2007. Her trauma does not end there. Her two daughters, in their teens were also sexually assaulted. And they are still missing. Story after story of such violence on women, men and children are pouring out of that place and people, including intellectuals and artists, who were the best show pieces of the party in cultural front, are now marching on the streets of Kolkotta protesting against this mindless violence.

Except those CPM leaders in power for many decades and the “disciplined and institutionalized cadres” every human being is pained.

I stare with disbelief. How could women leaders in the party like Brinda Karat, with whom some of us have joined to fight against the injustice against women (including on the controversial birth control pills) and who spoke against the token representation of women in the party’s Polit Bureau, now stand up and justify all the violence in Nandigram?

I realise, with lots of pain, that it is not the same old party, whose office was my second home when I was young. It is not the same party where I did a bit of my apprentice in the late Eighties organising the workers in Delhi’s Okhla industrial estate on a week-long strike demanding better living conditions. And sharing the slices of bread, gone cold and hard (packed from our hostel in JNU) for lunch with comrades on the dusty pavements in Okhla. Something is seriously remiss..

If you want to know how ghastly the comrades can be, you go to Singur and Nandigram. I am happy that I am no longer in the party and hence I am able to stand up for the victims in Nandigram and Singur.And I resolved to read George Orwell’s Animal Farm, once again. And I will, probably read it now from another angle and in the light of all that happened in Nandigram.

Article published in New Sunday Express (November 29, 2007)

Tiananmen Square and Jawaharlal Nehru University

The press brought out the reminiscences of the Tiananmen Square massacre of 4 June 1989; the incident was ‘a conspiracy of the western powers to derail socialist china’, according to the Chinese government. ‘A well planned attempt to crush a democratic protest, the western counterparts cried out. It is a fact that the Tiananmen - Gate of Heavenly Peace -Square has been the central point for several major historical protests. And in 1989, demonstrators, mainly students, had occupied the square for seven weeks, refusing to move until their demands for democratic reforms were met. The social chaos had to be arrested. However, there were many other ways to clamp down on a protest when China had such a massive ‘people’s army’, the protestors could have been physically removed or caught, arrested and penalized.

However, the incident, which happened 20 years back, stirred the hornets nest in Jawaharlal Nehru University. The SFI (in its prime days) lost the elections to the srtudents union that year: thanks to the Tiananmen Square massacre. The comrades were treated like the carnivorous and they were confronted in the mess, library and canteen and everywhere; except when they took there after dinner stroll with their girl friends. Some sensitive comrades (who still adhered with the bourgeois human rights values), unabashedly supported the action of the Chinese government in public while denouncing it in private conversation. The real vanguards endorsed the views of the central committee, located some 15 or 20 KM away from the campus. Comrade Yechury came to the campus to dish out the conspiracy theory and faced insult from the “anti Chinese” .

Though I was a comrade (not in arms) then and even now, I was moulded in a “reactionary framework” as I opposed any kind of violence. Keyvan Sultani Felokori (Our Iranian refugee comrade) described me as confused and tried to instill sense in me on the inevitability of a bloody revolution. Let Ahura Mazda save his soul!

The saddest part of this story lies elsewhere. We used to have an elderly (not very old but compared to us, she was old) Chinese lady who was admitted to the Hindi language centre. A quiet and warm lady! We used to tease her with the way she said Namaste with folded hands and with her “shudh hindi”, in her absence. I distinctly remember that after the massacre at the Tiananmen Square, this lady ran through the corridor, from the bathroom, almost naked. And nobody seemed to understand what had happened to her. As days passed by the story came out. She had a son who was studying in Beijing University at that time and she was not getting any news about him. She feared that something happened to him and hence broke down. We all felt sorry for her.

Soon she went back to China….. till today I do not know what happened to her or her son. But I felt that pain (even though I had not even thought of becoming a mother, those days) and it stained my otherwise jolly university days.

Since then any mention of Tiananmen Square incident, brings the picture of that helpless mother. To me, it became face of the bloody incident.

Of course, everyone forgot the incident and the very next year, the SFI alliance captured the students Union.

Rahul Gandhi and kinley water

Today’s the Hindu shows the pictures of few political leaders quenching their thirst in the midst of the surging election heat and as expected Rahul Gandhi was there wearing a bright red turban and drinking kinely water. You have too much of Rahul Gandhi these days in the print and visual media as he is one of the indispensable ingredients in the election masala- young, energetic and ‘charismatic’. As he claimed in 2004; “ I am here as a sensible, responsible Indian, because I want to help people get on track”. Unlike Sanjay Dutt, he does not offer “Jadoo ki jhappi and pappi”. These days, even we are unable to locate his Columbian or (Spanish?) girl friend. The confusion/debate over his studies has got clarified, when his university came out and said that they have awarded an M. Phil to him in Development Economics. (One may recall that his mother was also got into a controversy on her academic qualifications) His only thought is about how to reinvent India. For that, he spends a night at Dalit household; holds talks with Shivkumari Kori of Simara (Sultanpur), about her life as a Dalit widow. He can learn a bit more from his Grandma who even dared to travel on an elephant back to reach an inaccessible village. It will not be a long wait for us to see him as the prime minister of the country. His ‘smarter than him’ sister is discreetly pushing that idea ahead while disappointing many not so young PM aspirants of the oldest party.

What invoked my curiosity was that Rahul drinking a bottle of kinley water. If he so much pro poor how come he is not aware of the plight of the poor tribal villagers of Plachimada in Palghat who is putting up an unequal fight with the Coke company since many years now. During the last few years, the company dried up the water sources in the village and left the villagers to mend themselves without drinking water. They have to walk 3 kilometers for fetching water. This shows the hypocrisy of our leaders in the name of development. We are so much used to tokenism; hence talking about one Shivkumari in the parliament is good enough to make you a pro poor leader.

Then why talk about Rahul drinking kinley, most of our so called civil society organisations do the same thing. Even in the workshops against water privatization, it is a common sight that the water served is invariably from these giant companies. Interestingly, I used to have a boss who really chokes when she talks about the street children and whenever she talked about these deprived children she needed a bottle of pepsi to overcome her choking!!