The RIC Triumvirate

The key points agreed upon at the meeting were-

• A joint effort to act firmly against international terrorism, adhering  to UN protocol
• Cooperation in the fields of chemicals, energy, pharmaceuticals, nanotechnology, curbing of global warming and international trade
• Evaluating recent international developments
• Holding further talks on catastrophe management, agriculture and health
• Welcoming the outcome of the G20 Nations’ at Pittsburgh
• Expressing a desire to hold future G20 meetings alternatively in developed and developing nations
• Ensuring an equal partnership for developed and developing nations while voting for international banking affairs
• Deciding to hold the next ‘RIC’ meeting in China and so on 

Phew! These three gentlemen, between them, have sorted out every burning issue that plagues the world today. I hope they got each other right, because Krishna speaks Hindi, Yang speaks Chinese (Cantonese, Manchurian or another?) and Sergie speaks Russian. English should have been the ideal common language and I am sure Krishna speaks its Delhi version, thanks to the free educational system in India. Russia and China have considered English to be a corruptive element that poisons its youth and have for decades banned it from schools and colleges. So the army of translators must have had a tough time and most probably may not have been on good terms with each other after the summit. 

Coming back to the meeting itself, the triumvirate has collectively discussed eight major topics, as listed above, may be more. Let us leave out the last seven and take a good look at the first issue, “collectively rooting out terrorism”. Here are a few points for your consideration. 

• China has accepted a tract of Pak occupied Kashmir as a gift for supplying arms and allowing free thoroughfare to Pak Jihadis along the disputed borders.
• China covertly funds and arms Maoist militants in Assam, Nepal, Meghalaya, Nagaland, Misoram, Nepal, Burma etc. The Chinese politburo continues to have dreams of Universal Communism and mass suppression.
• China continues to covertly support totalitarian regimes in North Korea and Burma. Poor Nepal is being worked on.
• Chinese military and secret police are indulging in acts of absolute Terrorism when it comes to democracy in Tibet and the inside the Chinese Republic itself. Remember Tiananmen Square on 4^th June 1989?
• China would be greatly pleased if some Maoist or Jihadi would assassinate the great Dalai Lama in India. They might already have handed out contracts.
• China has traditionally used Islamic and Maoist terrorists to gather intelligence in India, Pakistan and the Middle East.
• Russia still considers democracy as forbidden and as an act of terrorism within its borders. Remember the Russian bear mauling Georgia in 2008? Also Russia can not forget its bitter experence with Islamic fundamentalists from Uzbekistan during salad days of the Communist ‘Empire’. Most of these hardcore, heavily armed Jihadis are now in North West Pakistan.
• Though both are Communist countries, Russia has always mistrusted China and its brand of revolution. Russia’s friendship with India greatly stems from having a strategic partner on the southern Chinese border.
• Along with Israel, India is the first country to recognise and tackle Islamic terrorism right from 1948. But despite all its military might and infrastructure, India continues to shuffle its feet for fear of antagonising its 19% Muslim voters. 

With so many conflicting interests RIC members can not cooperate on fighting terrorism. Thus, dear reader, what happened in Bangalore is a first class sham. The Bear, the Panda and the Tiger do not and can not order their fare from the same menu. In the process, they ended up serving us all a lot of bull. Most probably the only worrying issue they might have discussed could have been the Pak army going on war against their first cousins, viz. Al Qaeda, Taliban and Lashkar-E-Taiba. The terrorists, suddenly facing the prospects of turning homeless, are having a go at everything in range. The icing on the cake was the explosion and murders in Iran itself, considered to be the modern spiritual homeland of Islamic fundamentalism. Consequently, the triumvirate in Bangalore would have deeply considered a spill over of fleeing terrorists from Afghanistan, Waziristan and Pakistan in general. All parties at RIC do have common borders with this terrorist belt. Of course, none of it would have been mentioned at the press conference, again for fear of rubbing India’s Moslem voters the wrong way. 

Coming back to Pakistan, they had it coming anyway. It is just an example for a riffraff pack of specially bred, illiterate extra vicious, home grown maniacs turning against their own masters. 

It would be nice to know what the Russian and Chinese media have to say about this ‘RIC’ garden party. They may not even be obliged to say anything at all to their long suffering public. The two Communist representatives themselves need not have been provided with a full picture by Moscow and Peking. Too busy to comment, Comrade Vladimir Putin is busy controlling the Russian Mafia and the Kremlin even as he leads the life of a semi retired prime minister cum macho man, fishing, hunting and generally having a great time, exactly as Chairman Mao did during his last years. Chinese politburo is known to even have supplied teenage virgins to the senile, toothless Chairman, three a day. 

If Democracy does indeed come to China one day, non-violent Buddhism will indeed play a pivotal role; all the more reason for Peking’s official terrorists to see off the magnificent Dalai Lama. 

It is all too much of a morbid joke.  I can’t stop crying and my keyboard is swamped.

Crowning Glory: If you look at the picture given above, it can be seen that the two Communists are crowned with toupees made of gold zari, clear symbols of erstwhile Indian aristocracy and feudalism. Clearly S M Krishna must have refused one for himself, because it may not fit his outrageous wig. Cheers.

Picture Credit: Kerala Kaumudi Daily, Online Edition

Hmmm… Whether you like it or not, India today launched her first indigenously built nuclear submarine, INS Arihant. For those who sneer at the Indians, the good news is that it will not be operational for another two years while it undergoes extensive tests in the Bay of Bengal off the port of Visakhapatnam, where the vessel was built. On the bleak side, there will be four more built in the near future, with no privileges received from the superpowers, thank you. With this achievement, India joins the ranks of USA, Russia, UK, France and China.

For the technically minded, it is reported that INS Arihant (meaning ‘Destroyer of Enemies’) displaces 6,000 tonnes, is 126m long and has an underwater cruise speed of 24 knots. Powered by an 85 megawatt nuclear reactor, it will have a crew of 95 men and will carry an array of torpedoes and missiles including a dozen nuclear warheads. The nukes are likely to be India’s own 350 km range Saagarika and the 5200 km Agni-III. A 700 km K-15 missile with a nuclear warhead is also getting ready. Arihant also incorporates the VLF (Very Low Frequency) Technology for communication.

Arihant was built at a cost of $2.9 billion at the naval dockyard in Visakhapatnam. Code named Advance Technology Vessel (AVT), work on the project began in the 1980s. With India’s well publicised and sincere policy of “no first use of nuclear weapons”, there is little need for any raised eyebrows, except from Pakistan’s own secret police ISI (Inter Services Intelligence) and their Taliban blood brothers. May be, it is not a coincidence that INS Arihant was launched today, on the tenth anniversary of India’s victory at Kargil over Pakistani army and their Jihadi allies.

As I surfed through some international news channels, it was seen that news portals have chosen given credit to the Russians for the launch of INS Arihant. It is true that India has leased Russian nuclear subs in the past, but INS Arihant is India’s own baby. Not a single Russian scientist, admiral or politician was present at the launch in Visakhapatnam.

I now recall a joke, too near the truth for comfort. A few years ago India set off a peaceful nuclear explosion somewhere in the Rajasthan desert. Two days later, Pakistan retaliated by exploding its own devices. President Musharaf was furious. He called his best General back to Islamabad from Kabul, where he was overseeing an Opium harvest with the Taliban and demanded why it took two days to set off the Islamic crackers. The General, glass eyed with too much sampling, replied that it was ready to go off in minutes, but sadly, the instructions were in Korean. Cheers.

Notes:

1. About thirty years ago, my friend Michael Moraes accepted a commission with the Indian Navy and chose to work with the submarines wing, which must have been in the formative stages during those times. I have not seen him since, but my other pals tell me that he is top brass now. He must indeed be proud. Congrats, Mike.

2. The technical figures in this piece are taken from various news sources on the net and I found some significant discrepancies. Please write in with corrections if I am seriously wrong.

In full cry

Non-resident Keralites, at least in UK, do not have much of a choice when watching Malayalam TV channels. They are usually at the mercy of local dish TV operators that do their own scheduling and editing, showing scant respect for the subscribers. They even truncate serious interviews and documentaries to show old Prem Nazir-Jayabharathi film songs. It seems that the channel bosses back home have little control over their agents here. Asianet and Asianet News are two locally available Malayalam channels and subscription for both together costs about £160 a year. It was the insensitive local editing and programme scheduling that prompted me to look up Asianet.

Asianet is reputed to be the biggest Malayalam TV broadcasting house, which airs multiple channels. Yet, if you Google for Asianet, the results can be quite confusing. A search for Asianet landed me Asianet Communications, Asianet Global, Asianet Satellite Communications, Asianet Data Line and Asianet Digital TV among other things. Finally I had to call my journalist friend back in Trivandrum to solve the mystery.

I am told that, now Asianet is more than one company. A big chunk of the original firm has been acquired by none other than media mogul Rupert Murdoch. The remaining three of its channels, Asianet, Asianet News and Asianet Plus, are controlled by Rajiv Chandrasekhar, technocrat and former CEO of BPL Mobile. He holds majority shares, through Jupiter Entertainment Ventures, his Bangalore based company. Other prominent share holders are Reji Menon, the original promoter of Asianet, T V Madhavan and K Madhavan, the current Asianet MD. Two brothers of Reji Menon and K P Mohanan, the current Chief News Editor also hold a few shares.

Besides owning FM Radio ‘Indigo’, Rajiv Chandrasekhar’s future media ambitions include Asianet channels and FM Radio channels in Kannada, Tamil and Telungu, the other three major south Indian languages. He is also a Rajya Sabha MP representing Bangalore. The sitting Director of Karnataka Power Corporation and also a former advisor to Government of India on Information Technology, Chandra Sekhar indeed is an admirably smart cookie with many more colourful feathers in his cap. Currently Asianet is reputed to have a 35% share in the 250 Crore Kerala advertisement market.

The write-up about Chandrasekhar was just to impress upon the reader that Asianet is controlled by a very capable chap. Now let us come to the real subject of this little piece here.

Every Saturday, K P Mohanan, the News Editor of Asianet, presents a programme called ‘Kanvettom’, in which he is the star-in-chief. He usually analyses and comments on political or social issues that are of recent media interest. The Asianet website claims that ‘Kanvettom’ is a very unique editorial programme, ‘the first of its kind in the history of Indian news television’. Being the news editor, it seems that Mohanan has created his own war medals and is wearing them in public like some quaint general from a banana republic. The site also introduces Mr Mohanan as a veteran journalist and editor, who has worked with major media organizations in different parts of the world and also as a permanent member of the World Press Institute, Minneapolis, USA. He also claims to have interviewed a dozen Prime Ministers and Presidents, including Margaret Thatcher and Jimmy Carter.

Now, about World Press Institute, any journalist can apply for a membership if they have the following.

1) At least five years of full-time news experience 2) Fluency in all aspects of English 3) Several written essays 4) Three letters of recommendation 5) At least three work samples.

There must be at least a thousand south Indian journalists who meet those requirements. WPI seems to be some sort of a charity school that instils American values of journalism in budding journalists from third world countries. They also arrange tours across America and hold interviews with available celebrities and politicians. Most probably, Mr Mohan must have interviewed his celebrities as part of his internship at the said World Press Institute. To know more, please do visit: http://www.worldpressinstitute.org

It is common knowledge that being a print media journalist and an electronic media man are poles apart. The traditional journalist most probably did his work the previous night in his pyjamas with a bottle of rum as witness. Whatever one came across the next morning was an erudite one man show, with no supporting crew. The electronic media man, unless someone else scripts his show, needs all that a bit more. He requires an unobtrusive presence that sets aside the centre stage for the subject that he discusses or the person he interviews.

Here, I am not belittling the unseen print media professional. I have personally known some of the greatest, like K Balakrishanan and P C Sukumaran Nair. (Strangely, both of them would have made fantastic electronic media personalities, just because they knew what they were writing about and never deviated from their subjects). Two modern equivalents (almost) would be Gouridasan Nair and T N Gopakumar, who by virtue of being alive in the present times have the good fortune to prove themselves more than adequate in both the versions.

Now let me come back to the news editor at Asianet. First of all, Mr Mohan dresses up and grooms himself too much for the part. (Do we have a male Oprah Winfrey doing a soliloquy?) Secondly, in every episode, HE IS THE SUBJECT. His voice modulation, emphasis, gestures, facial expression and everything else is a NO-NO lesson for any aspiring TV/Radio journalist. Finally whatever he says comes out as a biased personal opinion and a not as an impartial evaluation. The rather disturbing on-screen presence of the News Editor goes on to highlight the brilliance of other very professional Asianet newscasters and anchors like T N Gopakumar, Prasanth Raghuvamsom, Manjush Gopal and a dozen others. All of them set a great example for Kerla’s electronic media journalism, prudently stepping aside to leave the centre stage solely for the subject at hand.

Here I have a couple of questions for the brilliant Rajiv Chandrasekhar. Despite you being a very smart businessman, why is the news editor at Asianet allowed to blatantly project himself, hogging the centre stage and paying scant respect to journalistic sensibilities? Has anyone bothered to rate ‘Kanvettom’ for its journalistic values? Why is Mr Mohan let loose, throwing to wind the concepts of a sane and sober media presence? Why do we, the paying viewers deserve him? I am sure that the issue of minor shareholding has nothing to do with it. Rajivji, it is time for some quick cut and paste at your desk.

However, Kanvettom is the not the most tasteless programme we have seen on Asianet. That trophy goes to supporting actor Jagadeesh, who with his appalling English and brassy costumes, talent searched future comedians and mimicry artists. When he cold-heartedly murdered those haunting Mukesh melodies, the spirit of the great man was seen restlessly pacing the Royal Albert Hall, where he did one of his greatest performances.

As always, at all times, may better sense prevail.

NOTES: (1) The visual used in this article is courtesy, Asianet website. (2) If there are any errors, please do correct me. (3) This piece is authored by my right as a paying Asianet subscriber. (4) It is not the blogger’s aim to personally offend or insult anyone.

KNOW THE KERALITES

Kathakali Artist

Keralites, the Malayalam speaking natives of Kerala, India, are unique as expatriates go. You can find one almost anywhere in the world where skilled or unskilled manpower is hired. Coming from the best educated state in India, Malayalis, as known to their countrymen, are trained to work as doctors, nurses, engineers, accountants, teachers, bankers, clerks, cooks, plumbers, electricians; the list is virtually endless. Kerala being a very secular state, a Mallu, as he is known to netizens, can be a Hindu, Christian or Moslem. Christianity and Islam reached Kerala and were well rooted long before they became prevalent in many current strongholds.

One will find thousands of Keralites working as doctors or nurses in UK, Ireland, US, Australia or Canada. If all of them, from any imaginable trade, went home one fine morning from Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Oman or any states in the UAE, these countries would grind to an administrative and functional standstill. You find Malayalis sailing the seven seas as captains, engineers, first mates and able bodied seamen. Third or fourth generation Keralites can be found well established in Malaysia and Singapore. The top scientists who recently landed India’s unmanned vehicle on Moon were almost entirely from Kerala.

Unlike the regular immigrant or the transplanted asylum seeker, a Keralite never really loses his roots. He sticks on to his language and customs many generations down the line. His heart is ever close to his festivals, harvests and monsoons back home. Seldom cutting his ties with old pals and relatives, if possible, he will always retain a small home somewhere in his homeland and visit often.

To have an idea of the expatriate Keralite’s contribution to his state’s economy, do note that 1.85 million non-resident Keralites sent home remittances to the tune of over 6150 million US dollars during 2007.

ENTERTAINING THE EXPATRIATE KERALITE

While he is living and working away from home, a Keralite yearns for his home, food, songs, dances and festivals. So if there are half a dozen Keralite families living abroad within fifty square miles, there is sure to be a Malayali Association with its get-togethers and cultural functions.

When quicker travel and information technology made the world smaller, the tour companies and the entertainment industry in India saw the opportunities in catering to the great Malayali nostalgia, by taking the Keralite culture abroad. It began with reputed artists and organisers staging high quality events at decent venues. Almost always these programmes were held to keen audiences, thanks to the Malayali’s homesickness.

I have personally known some honest, genuine organisers of Keralite cultural events. Whenever a purely aesthetic evening is held, with classical dancers and musicians, they just about break even or run at a loss. These losses are often covered at a later stage by subscriptions from generous members. The high cost of venues, payments for top artists, stage equipments, transport, food and boarding leave little towards profits.

Now comes the entertainment circus that makes a neat pile of money. The worst case scenario involves shipping a hastily assembled assortment of available singers, dancers, comedians and out of work movie stars to a stage in Dubai, California, Melbourne, Vancouver or any of the dozens of similar venues. A programme chief, (back home, he may be a third assistant to a B grade movie director) will knock together about three hours of skits, stand-up comedy, mimicry, light music and the modern obscenity called cinematic dance. Impressive venues will be booked and high priced tickets will be sold well in advance. The programmes presented subsequently on stage would have had no more than a couple of quick rehearsals to back them. The skits and jokes would be stale. The same out of work actresses will feature in classical dance, burlesque and folkdance. To add to the misery, these ‘Grand Gala Events’ are digitally recorded to be shown later on TV channels as fillers and to be sold cheap to the lower end market back home.

A large entourage of hangers-on usually accompany such teams. Many will have little to do with the show itself. Political henchmen, wheeler-dealers and movie extras attach themselves to these monkey troops. You can expect to find specialists for fixing export-import licences, arranging education abroad, visa trading and discreet prostitution. Hustle is the name of the game. Most clips of the Paris Hilton variety featuring both budding and washed out female Malloo artists that are currently doing their rounds on the internet owe their origins to these freak shows. The exploits of these camp following hookers have earned hard working and respectable Kerala girls a bad name abroad, giving out the idea that Malayali women are ‘easy’.

On the plus side, if you were ever trapped into sitting through one such show, you have seen them all. On the minus side, the Great Malayali Nostalgia ensures that these charlatans will put up their tents year after year around the world, degrading true Keralite culture and traditions. The average expatriate Malayali will pay a week’s wages to have anything that even vaguely resembles home, however unfortunate the results may be.

FOR A CLUE

If it is features the likes of K J Yesudas, K S Chithra and a troupe from Kerala Kalamandalam with Mohiniyattom, Kathakali and Panchavadyam it would be a memorable evening. Stay clear, if it is a mimicry team from Kochi with half a dozen slapstick comedians, cinematic dancers and B Grade movie artists ready for ‘anything’.

Notes: (1) I apologise to the genuine organisations and artists from Kerala who sometimes succeed in staging an authentic cultural event abroad without the help of the barely legal hustlers. None of the comments here concern the dedicated artists. (2) A Keralite and a Malayali are one and the same. Kerala is the name of the small, green, south Indian state and Malayalam is the region’s spoken language. There is a new trend set by non-Indian writers and tourists to term a Malayali or anything from Kerala as ‘Keralan’, which is resented by the native. It would be as improper and offensive as calling an Englishman ‘Englandian’ or an Italian ‘Italish’. I hope you get the point. (3) Kathakali Artist- Picture courtesy rediff.com

Come Kali, Klum Heidi

Come Kali, Klum Heidi

It was a little after five o’clock, Monday morning, on the third of November, 2008. London was cold and a sharp autumn wind was blowing. I was waiting for an early train with a paper cup of coffee and a free Metro Newspaper picked up from the kiosk. Balancing the coffee mug on a handrail, I was trying to flip through the paper with the wind trying to snatch it away from me. A photo with a brief note on page 12 caught my attention.

The picture showed a woman dressed up as the Hindu goddess Kali, complete with wild hair, blue body paint, costume jewellery, an oriental crown, plastic skulls tied around the waist and to top it all, wearing golden stilettos. She was shown as carrying the traditional weapons and also the customary severed head in one of her eight hands. The write-up next to the picture informed me that there was a Halloween party in New York and that the person dressed up as Kali is the German supermodel Heidi Klum.

On Heidi Klum: The web info on Heidi Klum says that she is tall, blond and all of thirty five years old. She married twice, once to hair dresser Ric Pipino and currently to the Nigerian soul singer Sealhenry Olusegun Kwassi Olumide Adelo Samuel, better known as Seal. Other than appearing on the covers of magazines like ELLE and Vogue, Heidi has modelled for Jordache, Volkswagen and the sexy lingerie brand Victoria’s Secrets. Though not known for her acting skills, she has appeared in quite a few TV shows and also done some cameos in movies. Rather than the content between her ears her vital statistics has earned her a comfortable living. To have a better idea of her priorities, she once famousely told Oprah Winfrey that she was first attracted to her second husband after seeing the impressive bulge in his bicycle shorts (Oprah Winfrey Show, 25^th October, 2007). 

About Metro, Britain’s Urban Newspaper: Metro calls itself a publishing phenomenon. First published in 1999, Metro greets 1.3 million commuters every morning across the UK in cities like Bath, Birmingham, Brighton, Bristol, Cardiff, Derby, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Leeds, Leicester, Liverpool, London, Manchester, Nottingham, Newcastle and Sheffield. Because of its immense exposure, Metro must be capable of demanding good advertising revenue and hence, its copies are distributed free. If literate and visually unimpaired, there is no way a commuter can avoid the Metro each morning. So it would be safe to say that about a million people saw the blonde bimbo dressed as Goddess Kali. I confess that I am a Metro addict myself and even make it a point to get the issues that I miss on my off days.

A little about Kali herself: She takes her name from the Sanskrit root word Kaal, meaning ‘time’, which takes away ego from all living souls. She is the goddess that brings death to man’s empty ego, prompting him to think of his being as something that is well beyond his mortal body. Despite her fearsome form, she is also the most compassionate of the different forms of the Mother Goddess. A slayer of demons, both real and spiritual, she is also known as ‘Bhayam-kari’, or the one who causes fear (to the evil). She is perceived as the daughter of Lord Siva, created from his immense righteous anger. Millions and millions of Hindus around the world worship her as their Mother Goddess.

Klum and Kali: It is no surprise that the flippant Fraulein Klum saw Kali as prime scary material for her Halloween dress-up. Her mind might still have been working at the same levels of reasoning that she used in finding her second husband. The Hindus of UK and Europe being generally a peaceful lot, they must have let the matter ride. Had Kali been an icon of one of the less tolerant religions, Fraulein Klum would indeed have looked very blue, without help from the paintwork.

All said and nothing done, I would advise her to tread with a level of caution, the next time she chances to visit the vast sub-continent. It is quite surprising that firebrand Hindu organisations like Bajrang Dal and Shiv Sena have not noticed her antics yet. She may end up getting more scared than her Halloween guests. To begin with, Heidi could come out with a simple apology, though the damage has been done for good.

Note: Recently, Dilip Singh Rana, the giant Indian wrestler was in the news. Over seven feet tall, this former labourer, policeman and power lifter is now signed on by WWE, a show wrestling organisation. Interestingly, this man fights under the name “The Great Khali”. ‘Khali’, in Hindi and most related languages means ‘finish, close, terminate, empty’ etc. So, his ring name can be roughly translated as ‘The Great Finisher or perhaps Terminator’. Of late, his publicity desk hinted that his name derives from Goddess Kali, for her destructive powers. I doubt if the brave Singh is willing to tell that to an audience in India. It might indeed be ‘Khali’ for the big Punjabi.

It is the second day of October again. The newspapers doggedly carry the same old monochrome pictures of Mahatma Gandhi and his trusted lieutenants. We see them conferring, marching with and speaking to the Indian Public. Carrying these pictures is an annual ritual rather reluctantly observed by the newspapers, losing a fortune in column centimetres of advertisement space. For the majority of Indian public, the ‘half naked fakir’, as Winston Churchill once famously called him, is usually brought to mind in the morning and forgotten before the day is done.

In the Indian state of Kerala there is one group of people, who solemnly remember Gandhi on the first of October itself, one day before his birth anniversary. They are the town drunks, for on the day of the great man’s birth anniversary, all booze outlets are closed. They have to find the hard cash and stock up on the previous day itself. By the evening of the dry day, the cheapest paint remover will be prized like premium single malt.

A LITTLE HISTORY

Growing up in middle class Kerala during the sixties and seventies was a rather sedate experience. Children were brought up in families where fathers were home by sunset. The kids would have reached a couple of hours earlier from school. After a bit of running around with neighbourhood friends, we had the compulsory evening wash and settled down to study and to do homework. Mothers seldom held jobs and were fulltime housewives. There were no single parent children born to unwed girls. Nor were unsuspecting kids made to live with same sex parents. To a great extent, thankfully, paternity too was a certainty. I am not suggesting that it was an age of saints, but values were indeed valued.

Grandparents were very much around and commanded respect. Old age homes were unheard of and these senior citizens had considerable influence on us and our own parents. I consider myself lucky that both my dad’s and mom’s fathers were educated and world wise. Dad’s father was one of the first Chartered Accountants in our state, during the fifties and sixties. I remember him as a quiet and peaceful man who had immense patience.

During his youth my mom’s father found himself looking after the family’s farmlands in a sleepy little village called Neyyattinkara, south of Trivandrum. He soon tired of it all and joined the British army sometime in the mid 1920s. During the Second World War he served in North Africa, enjoying the rank of a Company Quarter Master Sergeant*. During the early forties, he saw action in Tripoli and Tobruk under General Sir Archibald Wavell. He suffered severe shrapnel injuries from a shell fired by Erwin Rommel’s advancing German forces and was sent home in 1942 after a long spell in a military hospital.

BACK TO GANDHI

In pre-independence India, no one considered Gandhi to be a politician, except may be the British. He was a saint, a father figure, who had a sharp mind and clear vision. He had the great fortune of having a band of fine followers who seldom questioned him. To rephrase that, let us say that he was not really disagreed with, till Subhash Chandra Bose went on to join the Japanese in his armed fight against the British and later, when Mohammed Ali Jinnah wanted a separate nation for the Moslems.

During these times in the early forties, my grandfather must have been a very confused man. He had just returned from North Africa after fighting Rommel. Back home, he found fellow Indians busy with the Freedom Movement trying to overthrow British rule, albeit peacefully. He had great admiration for Gandhi, but he was also drawing a British pension. He wore hand spun clothes, but never joined the Congress Party. A very devout Hindu and a vegetarian, everyday he lit a lamp before a picture of Lord Krishna and stood in silent prayer. On his writing table, he had two framed photographs. One showed Gandhi sitting before a spinning wheel, his eyes closed in meditation. The second one was the iconic photo of General Bernard Montgomery, binoculars in hand, atop a British battle tank. He must have been a very troubled man indeed. All the same, he was loyal to the Crown till he died a free Indian in 1960. Though he greatly respected Mahatma Gandhi, he missed his British masters till the very end.

Coming back to the Mahatma, for us children Gandhi was an inescapable presence. In school, the teachers spoke of him all the time. There were pictures of him in homes, classrooms and government offices. In the back room of my paternal grandfather’s office, where the junior accountants, advocate’s clerks and typists worked, there was a picture of him with Jawaharlal Nehru, Vinoba Bhave and Abdul Ghaffar Khan. In the teachers’ room in Model High School where I studied, Gandhi was shown seated with Madan Mohan Malavya, Acharya Kripalani and Maulana AbdulKalam Azad. Other pictures elsewhere showed Gandhi with great souls like Mahadev Desai, Chakraborti Rajagopalachari, Rajendra Prasad, Sushila Nayar, Morarji Desai, Manibehn Patel, Jeevraj Mehta, Pyarelal Nayar, Subhash Chandra Bose, Dr. S. Radhakrishnan and Muhammed Ali Jinnah. It is quite clear that Gandhi was surrounded by people of character, calibre and promise. For many of these stalwarts, Gandhi was a friend, philosopher and guru. He showed them the correct path and urged them to bring out their best.

After the Mahatma was assassinated in 1948, many of these dignitaries were around and they saw India through the difficult initial years of freedom. Other than Freedom itself, these illustrious leaders were some of Gandhi’s greatest gifts to India. The services of these magnificent men and women were available for another twenty years, right up to Lal Bahadur Shastri.

A RATHER ABRUPT CONCLUSION

We have seen that the Mahatma was quite comfortable in the company of talent and promise. Let us bring ourselves to the present times. Take a good look at the pictures of current leaders with their next in line. What we see is an endless sea of scurrying and furrowing animals, craning their necks to be in the frame. With rare exceptions, we see con artists, switchblade experts, smugglers, muggers, common thieves and simple idiots. We see this line up with almost every political party in the fray.

Sixty five years ago, when Indian population was less than half of what it is today, we had an endless supply of good men and women to lead us. No, people of such mettle are not extinct in India. The simple reason for their absence is that current leaders see anyone with any capability as a threat to their own long term survival. If you have a moron with you, you can control him. If you have a criminal, you can blackmail him. If you have someone with no scruples, he will do your dirty work. The reason for the current miserable state of Indian politics is very simple. It is a clear case of small minds in high positions bringing in even pettier creations that are happy to exist on leftovers and handouts.

Samuel Johnson once famously said that “(false) Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel”. It is best rephrased as “Politics is the best refuge of a scoundrel”.

*Note: An Indian soldier who held the same rank as a white man was paid much less, though he marched the same, fought the same and died the same. The present day controversy of treating Ghurkhas lesser than British born soldiers is nothing new. After he was wounded and retired, Mr. Krishna Pillai, my grandfather, was paid a life long pension of thirty two rupees a month, the equivalent of about forty five pence in today’s currency. Thanks to the status of a regional landlord back in India, he did not starve.

It is a wet and dismal Sunday morning and the newspaper itself came in a bit damp and limp. On an inside page, there is a tightly framed snap of English boxing hero Amir Khan sprawled out on the canvas. An unknown black Colombian boxer stands over him, gloved fists raised in triumph.

For the British public, another bells and whistles pin-up idol has lost its shine. Pub landlords too are unhappy, not selling too many pints during the 54 seconds that the Great Khan lasted, live telecast and all. Some blame the coach and some the choice of the opponent. That is hilarious. If Amir could have chosen his adversary at the 2004 Olympics, he would have won gold, instead of running in to 34 year old Mario César Kindelán Mesa and settling for silver.

The biggest villain in this sham does not get a mention anywhere. Whenever there is promise of talent in the UK, it is only a matter of time before the media nails it between the eyes. Even an average chap, after a couple of flashes in the pan, is elevated to the status of an Ed Moses, Don Bradman or a Sergey Bubka. From there on, he is constantly followed, ambushed, photographed, centre staged, exaggerated and finally made to believe that he is a lot better than what he really is. The money flows in, nights are too short for the parties and training is such a bore. Bed mates come on a conveyor belt, there is a different sports car every weekend and all strict managers are fired. (Not to deviate from the topic, I now speak nothing of the Winehouses, Allens and Doherties)

Let us take the current idols such as Flintoff, Harmison and others. None of them are true world class, like say, Botham or Snow. Frankly, they are quite over the hill to reach anywhere serious. Kevin Pietersen has not done half the stuff that Viv Richards or Tendulkar did at the ripe old age of twenty eight. They are all on a wobbly podium erected by the hustlers. If the sensational media, both print and electronic, stopped brainwashing young athletes, the truly great ones might still emerge and survive naturally. I hate to think what will happen to Theo Walcott, Andy Murray and Lewis Hamilton if things go at this rate.

Talking about Amir Khan, definitely he is no Theophilo Stevenson, Jake LaMotta, Sugar Ray Robinson or Marvin Hagler. At least, not yet. Amir till now was taken on a carefully guided tour of an easy assortment of glass jaws. Now Breidis Prescott, not even a top ten man, has exposed Amir for what he can be. Let the boy go home, brood over it and stay away from the sycophants, sponges, fast cars and angry judges. He could also send a note of apology to Oliver Harrison, his previous trainer who quit after voicing his concern over Amir’s lack of discipline and loose social life.

Tailpiece: Not all Olympic medal winning boxers have gone on to become world champs. The reason, in most cases, is that the better guys are already slugging it out in the professional circuits without taking the Olympic route. Also, let us not forget that Britain has a score of genuine heroes who recently raided the gold chest at Peking Olympics. Please note that none of them were created by the tabloids. It was really all old fashioned OBE, Own Bloody Effort.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/othersports/boxingandmma/2697219/Amir-Khan-knocked-out-in-under-a-minute-in-first-professional-defeat.html

Mr Sreenath with the King Cobra he captured on 07 March '09 from Aralam Farm, Kannur, Kerala

 

PART-1

With due apologies to the likes of Romulus Whitaker, Brady Barr, Jeff Corwin and Steve Irwin, snakes were never too popular with the average person. Yet, there is a universal fascination for these creatures, albeit cloaked in loathing and dread, the reason why the aforesaid gentlemen succeed in popping up on primetime TV. It also needs to be said with great respect that these herpetologists have done a great job in bringing environment related issues to the layman’s living room.

My home state of Kerala in South India has more that a fair share of the lethal ones. The spectacled cobra, Russell’s viper, saw scaled viper and the deadly banded krait lead the pack. Some parts of the rainforest are home to the elusive king cobra, the largest venomous snake in the world, one live specimen measuring almost eighteen feet, as its keeper told me at the Trivandrum zoo in the 1980s. He could as well have claimed it to be thirty feet long, since no one would step in with a measuring tape. Such was its fearsome deep hiss, hood raised tall enough to look me in the eye from behind the glass partition.

In the seventies, our household had a live-in cook named Ammu. At the age of fifty, she had no living relatives and had chosen to be a spinster. She was indeed a very good cook if she put her mind to it. When she went on leave, she visited temples, oracles and shamans and came back with all sorts of strange stories, amulets and magic powders. She lovingly placed the charms in hemispheric coconut shells and buried them at various strategic points around the garden and especially outside the window of her ground floor bedroom. She firmly believed that this would save us all from evil eyes and bad spirits. It was generally agreed by the grownups that all of Ammu’s troubles came from her long spinsterhood. My dads’ elderly driver Khan Sahib was of the secret opinion that Ammu was still looking for her man and warned Chandran, the office boy not to step over any of her buried stuff.

Ammu was the daughter of migrant farmers who had settled on forest lands in the foothills of Western Ghat Mountains in the 1930s. Theirs is a blood and sweat story of wrestling with fertile yet wild land, fighting off beasts and suffering long stints of strange forest illnesses. Ammu had a large repertory of highland and woodland stories. There were also detailed reports on various temple festivals and pilgrimages. We children were forbidden to listen to her tales, generally classified by my parents as hocus-pocus.  This taboo prompted us to sneak around the house to the small lean-to outside the kitchen during their afternoon siestas. Ammu would seat herself on a large jute grain bag and carefully prepare her betel nuts, leaf and lime paste for a good afternoon chew. We kids sat at a safe distance, not to be splattered by the red juice when Ammu’s stories reached their tempo.

Ammu had stories about logging stations, killer elephants, mahouts, floods, man-eating leopards, truck drivers, boat people, tea plantations, hunters armed with single barrel muzzleloaders and everything else that touched the lives of highland farmers. She told us of thunderstorms that lasted days, floods, disease and death. She also had a few country songs, more like ballads. One described men riding huge logs down swollen rivers during the monsoon. Another went on to tell the legend of Mallan Pillai, who tamed wild tuskers and was finally killed by one. It was all from another world and time and we listened, entirely captivated.

One of Ammu’s stories came from her own experience. She had an uncle named Balaraman who collected wild honey from the forest with his young nephews. Wild honey was always collected in sawn-off bamboo stems and sealed by a waxed wooden plug. During one such expedition, he was bitten on his scalp by a tree cobra. He lived barely long enough to climb down the huge tree and died on his favourite nephew’s lap. Ammu always cried when she told this story.

PART-2

Having never heard of a tree cobra, we often asked Ammu to describe it. Again and again, she insisted that it was not a big snake, not thicker than a woman’s finger, with a thin hood and lighter coloured bands. She insisted that it was known by the local names of ‘illi moorkhan’ and ‘komberi’. Later in life, I asked many snake charmers about the cobra that lived in the trees. Most said that there was indeed a ‘komberi’, but few had seen it. Those who claimed a sighting always gave contradicting descriptions. It was differently described as huge, green coloured, with the comb of a cockerel and so on. One confidently said that the ‘komberi’ was so vengeful and sure of its kill that it left the area only after seeing the smoke from the funeral pyre of its victim. It was indeed frightening and ghoulish.

Irulas are a famous snake catching tribe from Thiruvallur district in Tamilnadu. On a hot May morning in 1980, I came to know that a group of Irulas were catching snakes in the sprawling University Campus at Karyavattom, Trivandrum. It was only a thirty minute ride and I set out immediately on my friend’s old Jawa bike. It was a late Sunday afternoon during the summer holidays and the campus was deserted. I finally located a group of small dark men dressed in khaki shorts and tucked up lungis. They were relaxing under the low spreading branches of a cashew tree. There was a smell of burnt hair and a fair sized bandicoot rat (Bandicota bengalensis) was roasting over a fire. Irulas were expert rat catchers too, greatly valued by farmers of the rice paddies. It was a good working arrangement, with the Irulas keeping all the rats they caught and also the paddy recovered from the rat holes. Any snakes caught during the process were a bonus and would be later sold to snake charmers. No money was ever exchanged for their services.

The leader of the team was a wrinkled old man called Maari. Though he was a bit reluctant to talk in the beginning, he relaxed when he realised that I was not a policeman. In my best Tamil, I told him that I wanted information about snakes and that no one would know them like he did. I handed over my pack of Charminar cigarettes and was rewarded by a huge smile. A young boy was despatched to find a bottle of arrack, which I sponsored, and it was party time. Maari showed me half a dozen round plastic pots, mouths fastened by sack clothing and string, the day’s catch. There were half a dozen Russel’s vipers and an equal number of spectacled cobras. The prize catch was a black cobra, almost seven feet long, though Maari insisted that it was just an ordinary one, with just a change of colour. There was also a non-venomous sand boa with a rounded thick tail, making it look like having two heads. To my surprise, Maari informed me that they no more sold their snakes to charmers. Instead, they were bought for a good price by venom collectors. He also admitted that many of these venom dealers were private businessmen who had no licences from government bodies.

Maari handled the agitated, freshly caught snakes quite casually as he returned them to the pots. The Irulas never carried any antivenin and relied on their own herbal medicine which seemed to work, at least for them, despite the scepticism of allopathic doctors. Irulas getting killed by snakebite was almost unheard of. They were often seen hawking their medicines and charms at village fairs and temple festivals. Also, there were no tales of farmers being saved by Irula medicine.

An hour or so later, politely declining a choice piece of roasted bandicoot, I asked my pet question. Is there a ‘komberi’, and has he ever seen one? His eyes lit up. Relaxed by the potent arrack, he nodded slowly. Yes, once he caught one from the bamboo forests in Kodaikanal foothills. It had died before he could sell it. I asked him how it looked like and to my great excitement, his description matched Ammu’s, word for word. And yes, he had indeed caught it from a tree. When I rode away that evening, something made me trust him, though no zoologist or herpetologist had ever written anything authentic about a tree dwelling cobra.

PART-3

Another two years went by and along with three other friends, I was camping rough in the pine woods of Kodaikanal, the famous hill resort in Tamilnadu. We were befriended by a colourful character called Horseman Velu. Aged about sixty or more, he was the ‘daddy’ of all horsemen who operated around the Kodai lake. He could out drink most men and had great affinity for cannabis which seemed to have no effect on him. Velu appointed himself as our guide and we took an immediate liking to the old rascal.

For the next five days, Velu took us for the trek of our life. From Kodaikanal, we trekked to the villages of Kukkal, Manjampetti and Poompara. Trekking through Mathikettan Shola National Park, we met tribal chieftains who ruled forest lands as if the Indian Republic never existed. Churuli Chami Pillai was the chief of Poompara village and he had his own bodyguard complete with an antique Purdy twelve bore double barrel. We were the honoured guests of Kona Kotta Chami, the chief of Kaattu Kona tribe.  Almost a week later, we came out of the wild, following the Pambar River, which flowed with a roar through deep narrow ravines cut steep into the rocks. We had walked right along the borders of Eravikulam National Park, home to Nilgiri Tahr, the endangered mountain goat. During  the week we had been chased by wild bison, and stalked by packs of wild dogs. We finally ended up dirty, blistered and raw skinned on the highway to Munnar, where we flagged down a truck and bummed a ride to the extremely polluted Munnar town.

It was in the Mathikettan Shola National Park that I had my first clue about the ‘komberi’. The Shola forests have extensive bamboo clusters, home to the snake eating King Cobra (Ophiophagus hannah). It was Velu who opened my eyes. The king cobra is the only snake that builds a nest and stands guard over the eggs. After a period of incubation, the eggs hatch almost simultaneously and the young ones have to fend for themselves. These hatchlings are about half a meter long, complete with a potent venom and tiny hood. To fit a few last pieces to the jigsaw, these baby kings are indeed banded and take to the trees soon after hatching to escape from all sorts of predators including their own kin. They stay in the trees till they are sufficiently large enough to hunt their traditional prey, meaning other snakes. While living in the trees, the baby kings definitely have enough venom to kill an adult male, as explained by Romulus Whitaker, the foremost authority on king cobras.

Gentlemen, Holmes has the honour of telling you that he has solved the longstanding mystery of the ‘komberi’ and the death of Ammu’s beloved uncle Balaraman, while collecting wild honey in typical king cobra country. Yes, he was definitely bitten by a baby king hiding in the branches of a tall forest tree. 

Concluding Notes:

a. If anyone knows better, please write to me. I shall be happy to stand corrected.

b. In 1973, Ammu went away on one of her pilgrimages and was never seen again. May be she found her man.

c. A friend from Kodai tells me that in 1985, Horseman Velu was shot dead in the Kukkal woods by forest guards while resisting arrest on a poaching charge. Knowing him, it would have been easy for poachers to befriend Velu. He was a fine old man, right out of a Clint Eastwood movie or a Kazantzakis novel.

d. To the best of my knowledge, there have been no deaths attributed to the tree dwelling cobra during the last fifty years or so in South Kerala. Any breeding areas of king cobras in this region are also not reported.