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?