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Ram temple and jobs

In the span of two days, I was at two conferences which were totally different from each other; in fact, they were a study in contrast. The first one was Connect 2006 where the top guns from the IT industry like Ramadorai of the TCS, Shiv Nadar of the HCL technologies, Kiran Karnik of NASSCOM, Anil Ambani of Ralinace Communications, Lakshmi Narayanan of Cognizant, etc were present. Dayanidhi Maran, the Union Minister for IT and Communications also was there in most of the sessions.

And, all one heard at the sessions were about the booming economy, success stories, and the lakhs of jobs the industry was going to produce in the next few years. One felt only positive vibrations and energy at Connect 2006. Dayanidhi Maran, the 38 year old minister was full of enthusiasm when he spoke of the 20 lakh jobs the industry was going to generate by 2011.

Two days later, I was at a hall to cover the 80th birthday celebrations of Ashok Singhal, the VHP leader. On the dais were the most celebrated religious leaders and a few political leaders.

What did they talk about? I heard only one slogan; build a temple to Lord Rama at Ayodhya. According to all of them, from Sudarshan of RSS to Murali Manohar Joshi of the BJP to Ashok Singhal of the VHP to all the religious leaders, the most pressing problem India faces, and the urgent work to perform is building a temple at Ayodhya. Some of them wanted temples not only at Ayodhya but at Kasi and Mathura too. According to them, India would get its identity back only if the temples were built. According to them, Hindus would be happy and united only if these temples are built.

I am a Hindu and I am proud to be one. But I don't care whether temples are built at Ayodhya or Kasi or Mathura. I don't see this as the most burning issue in India. I don't think I need a temple to prove my identity as a Hindu. When there are so many temples dedicated to Lord Rama, Shiva and Krishna, why should we waste time, energy, money and human lives to build more temples?

As I sat there listening to all of them shout for Ram temple, I thought of Connect 2006 where people spoke of lack of infrastructure, power and unemployment as the problems India faces now.

So, what exactly is the gravest problem India faces? Is it the absence of a temple at Ayodhya? Or, is it the lack of infrastructure or employment opportunities? What would the young Indians prefer, a temple at Ayodhya or a vibrant economy which can generate lakhs and lakhs of jobs, where there will not be any distinction between a Hindu or a Christian or a Muslim. The only thing that matters in those workplaces are your educational qualifications and your ability to perform. All the top CEOs whom I have interviewed on job reservation or job quota based on caste spoke very strongly against it. All of them said, nothing, neither religion nor caste matters to them; only merit.

That was when I noticed the age of those who spoke for the building of the temple; all were in their seventies and eighties. I wondered has age anything to do with their thinking? Are their priorities, the priorities of the young Indians? I am curious to know. I don't deny the fact that a job or making money is not the most important thing in life; our identity matters the most but what is our identity? What does it depend on?


Posted in Thoughts.

144 comments

By shobha warrier – September 19, 2006


Resentful Rohini, smiling Vatsalya


I am writing once again about Rohini because it is not possible for me not to. And, many readers of this blog wanted to know more about her too. Perhaps I am using it as an excuse to write about a sad and resentful little girl of seven. I wonder how she would have turned out if her parents had not chosen to abandon her. But then different people, rather children, react differently to situations. That is why I also want to write about one of the most pleasant and lively little girls I met recently at Udavum Karangal.

I was at Udavum Karangal to do a profile on Vidyakar as one of the heroes of free India for our new India@60 section.

It was after a long gap that I was meeting Rohini; she is seven years now, and has grown big. I was surprised to see her in school uniform; gone was the little girl who used to bang her head on the floor and cry. But I was saddened to see her tight lips and unsmiling face. Sreeram, our photographer had to really try hard to bring a faint smile on her face.

The girl who came there along with Rohini was Vatsalya, a little girl of seven with a beautiful shy smile on her face.

"Do you remember Vatsalya?" Vidyakar asked me. Unfortunately I couldn't recollect her first.

Then he said, "You have seen her. She was the one who was thrown from a train "

Yes, I did remember the baby, one of whose legs was crushed beyond repair. Vidyakar had told me then itself that doctors had advised amputation of that leg.

I do not know how someone can throw a few days old baby from a train, and how cruel people can be. They did it maybe because she was a girl; maybe because she was unwanted. Fortunately for the baby, she didn't die; she only lost a leg. She was rescued from the railway track and given life by Udavum Karangal.

Today, she has an artificial leg with which she not only walks and runs but dances too, and she said she "loved dancing Bharatanatyam." She told me flashing that wonderful smile of hers that she was a topper in her class, and wanted to be a teacher.

On the other hand, Rohini, the girl who was born without hands still cannot get over the anger and resentment she has of the world that abandoned her. As she sat down on the floor with a book and pencil to show me how well she wrote, Vatsalya also sat beside her to write a poem in Tamil. Rohini turned the pages with her leg and wrote the table of seven.

Unfortunately, she made mistakes, and when she found that Vatsalya had finished writing, the little girl said grudgingly, "she writes everything very fast. See I made a mistake. I don't know how she gets first rank all the time."

In reply, Vatsalya just smiled.

Later when I asked Vatsalya who her best friend was,she gave a name, and that was not Rohini. Rohini was angry again. "She (Vatsalya) is my best friend but she has another best friend." She then turned to Vatsalya and said, "I don't like you because you have another best friend." To that accusation also, Vatsalya has only reaction; a disarming smile.

Rohini talked a lot, and had a lot of questions to ask but Vatsalya only shyly smiled. Then, they started walking back to school, Vatsalya throwing an arm around her, like 'best' friends; Rohini who has no hands and Vatsalya who has no leg.

Posted in Opinion.

11 comments

By shobha warrier – August 20, 2006


Dying with AIDS

As I started writing an article on a preventive vaccine on HIV/AIDS, images of many AIDS patients I met in the last few years crossed my mind.

It is a traumatic experience writing about this dreaded disease and meeting those afflicted with this deadly virus. I meet and talk to people one day and the next time when I go there, they are not there. It is not one or two such instances but several that I encountered. The harsh truth about how transient life is hits you so hard when you encounter the reality. But somehow, I could not still forget some of those faces. They haunt me even today, after years.

My first view of HIV positive people was in 1997 when I visited a home run by Dr.Manorama for HIV positive children or AIDS orphans called CHES Ashram. Dr.Manorama started CHES Ashram in 1993 when she found two small children; four and a half year old Krishnaveni and two and a half year old Ravi, abandoned in a government hospital. They had nobody and no place to go because they were HIV positive. When I saw them in early 1997, they had become two lovely children, smiling all the time, with no external traces of the virus.

I kept meeting them and talking to them quite often.

At that time, it was believed that AIDS orphans would not live beyond 12 years but when Krishanveni turned 14, Dr.Manorama was ecstatic. She hoped that the girl would grow up, fall in love and lead a normal life. Krishnaveni also had started dreaming like any other teenager. She told me once that she loved dresses, especially pink ones. She loved reading Tamil literature and wanted to be a school teacher. She also said in a wistful voice, "I wish I had my parents. I wish I had a home. I wish I had a pond in my house. I wish I had lots of fish and lilies in the pond. I wish I had lots of books to read."

After a few months, when I called Dr. Manorama and asked for Krishnaveni, she said in a choked voice that Krishnaveni had died. She had quite an unlikely death for an HIV positive person. She was ill for only a week, and then she died.

The first AIDS patient (different from HIV positive people) I met was a young 20 year old girl named Vijaya in a home Udavum Karangal ran for HIV/AIDS patients in 1998. When I met Vijaya, she was wearing a pale green salwar kameez, and had applied a lot of talcum powder on her face which made her look even more pale. I also noticed that her lips were cracked. We stood outside in the open under a tree and spoke. She knew she had AIDS; she also knew her days were numbered. Once she started talking, there was no stopping her; she told me her entire life story standing under the tree. As I was about to leave, she caught hold of my hands and said, "I am only 20, akka, I want to live some more." I didn't know how to react. I stood there transfixed.
Later when I went there and asked for Vijaya, I was told she, who wanted to live some more, had died a few months ago.

But the person who bowled me over with his exuberance, lovely smile and energy was Ashok Pillai, the man behind INP plus. Ashok Pillai was the first HIV positive person who posed for a poster and came out open about his status. No other man has done so much for the cause of AIDS than this young man. It was in the year 2000 that I first met him.

Only when his CD4 count reached an all-time low of 10, he went on antiretroviral drugs, that too only for a short period. His friends were ready to support him, but he declined their offer asking, “How could I take drugs to save myself when millions of fellow positive people do not have access to drugs?”

In 2002, Ashok Pillai, who loved singing old Hindi songs, who played the harmonica, worked out in the gym, and made people laugh, died. He was 33.

There are many more HIV/AIDS patients whom I have met, who have bid adieu to this world now. These days, I feel terrified to call on such people lest .


Posted in experience.

13 comments

By shobha warrier – August 7, 2006


On her last journey

She, a thin, frail old woman, was quietly standing in her pooja room looking all around as if she were trying to absorb every nuance of the room when I reached her house early at 9 in the morning. She moved from there to her bed room, stood there for a full minute with her eyes closed. She continued her unsteady walk to all the rooms in her house, and then sat on the canvas chair which had been hers ever since her husband died.

'Oh, you have come? Sorry I was looking at everything for one last time," she noticed me only then. "I am not taking his photos from here. I am sure he would not have liked to move from this house. After all, we lived in this house together for many decades. Yes, we had our fights; many of them, but when he was alive, I never thought that I would miss him so badly." She tried hard to hold back tears but they welled up in her cataract affected eyes.

Her well placed only son -only child- had flown in from abroad, taking a day off from his "important business meetings" to personally take her away from her abode. No, he was not planning to take the lonely old lady with him so that he could look after her in her old age. She was being taken to an old age home where many men and women like her are dumped. (Dumping! It is such a cruel word.) He was ordering the watchman to keep all her belongings- a couple of suitcases- in the car. He was worried that they would get delayed for the flight. Actually he was in a hurry; he had to admit her in the old age home and then catch an evening flight back. He had many important meetings to attend the next day; nothing could be postponed.

"Why are you sitting here? Shall we go? If we miss this flight, I will miss my evening flight too," he said in his low, sophisticated voice.

She didn't seem to hear him. Or, was she pretending?

"Will he be angry with me for abandoning him here in this house?" she was referring to her husband. "I don't think so. He knows how difficult it is for me to manage a house on my own. I am in my late seventies… an old woman!"

Why was she telling me all this? What was she to me? Other than staying in the same colony, we had nothing in common. Other than visiting her in the evenings after my evening walk, we had no relationship. It had come to such a stage that she would wait for me every evening, keeping her door open with a bottle of cold water and a glass near her for she knew I had a glass of cold water after the walk. She had reached such a lonely stage in her life that waiting for a stranger like me, a nobody who was in no way related to her, was something to look forward to in her life. Strange are relationships in life.

Her son was getting impatient with the time she was taking in looking at and touching each object in the house. I was reminded of a Malayalam film called "Thingalazhcha Nalla Divasam" (Monday, the good day) made by the late Padmarajan in the eighties. The film was about the loneliness an old mother felt despite having several children. They together decided to sell the old ancestral home and the day they chose to dump their mother in an old age home was a Monday. Hence the title, Monday, the Good day!. There is a scene in the film in which the old mother walks in the courtyard looking at the trees and the place where her husband was cremated.

Similarly, this old woman also kept on looking at every object in the drawing room. "This is where he used to sit all the time reading " she whispered and got up.

She herself locked the house. I could see her fingers trembling then. As she walked towards the car, she fumbled and when she was about to fall, it was the driver who jumped to hold her and not her son. The man who learnt to walk holding on to her fingers once did not even see her wavering steps. The man who learnt to speak listening to her could not sense the unspoken words that came from her

As the car slowly moved away, I saw her looking at her house one last time with tears in her eyes.

Is this what money, power and ambition do to people? Abandon your own parents?

Post script:
I have to write about another person whom I knew. When he came to know that his eighty year old mother was diagnosed of cancer, he resigned his well paid job in the US and came back home just to take good care of his mother during her final months. While his wife and children stayed back in the US, he remained here for two whole years, till his mother died.



Posted in Moments.

37 comments

By shobha warrier – July 24, 2006


Making of a terrorist

By a strange coincidence, I was reading the book, 'Who killed Daniel Pearl?' by Bernard-Henri Levy, (a Frenchman, who is a philosopher and a best selling author in Europe), when the Mumbai serial blast happened. The book is so chilling and thought provoking that I had been trying, for the last few days, rather unsuccessfully, to comprehend the mind of a terrorist.

Like many others in the world, I too have no answers to questions like, what drives a man to be a terrorist? What makes him kill innocents ruthlessly? What kind of pleasure does he derive from such gruesome acts?

Now, there is talk among politicians that if education and employment opportunities are given, there will not be any terrorists in India. According to them, it is poverty and unemployment that drive many youth to terrorism. If that is true, why do highly educated young men (mainly from Europe) turn to terrorism? History shows it is not only poverty and unemployment but something more, something very compelling that makes a man turn to terrorism.

Let's take the case of the man called Omar Sheikh, alleged to be the mastermind behind abducting and ruthlessly killing Daniel Pearl. Omar Sheikh was not born in a poor country or a poor family. He was not illiterate or unintelligent. He was born into a family that immigrated to London from Lahore in 1968.

Young Omar had his primary education in the Forest School in Snaresbrook, an elite private school. When Bernard Henri Levy, the author of the book visited the school to know more about the man who killed Daniel Pearl, he found the school Principal remembering Omar distinctly, as a "bright student with exceptional grades." The school has the tradition of exempting the exceptionally bright students from paying the fees of ten thousand pounds a year. And Omar was one of the select few who did not have to pay the fees though his family had the means. That brilliant he was in school.

After school, at the age of eighteen, he joined the prestigious London School of Economics in the Mathematics and Statistics department. His equally brilliant brother and sister studied at Cambridge and Oxford respectively.

In his spare time, he played chess and was an exceptionally good chess player who used to beat everyone in all the major London chess clubs. He was also exceptionally good at arm wrestling. Students used to assemble in the college cafeteria to watch Omar win arm wrestling matches one after another. All those who knew him remembered him as a sincere, caring and affectionate young man.

When did this young, intelligent, caring young man, a product of the best English education turn a terrorist? The author says, it started with the war in Bosnia. From then on, Omar restricted his reading to books only on the Balkans. And his favourite book, which he quoted all the time was, "The Clash of Civilisations and the Remaking of the World Order" by Samuel Huntington.

Then Omar, a British citizen, a student of the London School of Economics went to an alien land, Bosnia to fight the war for the locals. What might have made him identify with the needs of the Muslims there? What made him change his identity as a British? Why did he change his attire from the western to the traditional Pakistani pyjamas? Why did he start sporting a Mujahideen beard once he started identifying with the plight of the Bosnian Muslims?

His journey as a Mujahideen only started in Bosnia. From Bosnia, he moved on to Afghanistan, where another war was going on. From there, his trip was to India where he organised his first kidnapping - of three English tourists and an American - for the release of his guru and mentor Masood Azhar. But the kidnapping failed, and Omar landed in a jail in Uttar Pradesh and later in Delhi. He got freedom from the Indian jails on December 31, 1999 when an Indian Airlines flight was hijacked to Kandahar. He was freed in exchange of the hijacked passengers in the plane.

His operations then moved to Pakistan, and it was here that he tricked the American journalist, Daniel Pearl and kidnapped him. Pearl was brutally murdered because Omar could not tolerate the way Arab prisoners were treated in Guantanamo Bay.

Bernard Henri quotes Omar's mother in the book, as saying, "Our son is a marvel; he will end up knighted by the queen of England, or become a banker in the city." He did not get knighted by the Queen, nor did he become a banker in London but he became one of the most dreaded terrorists in the world now. What a turnaround!

Stories of the suspects of the London bomb blasts, Mohammad Sidique Khan and especially that of Shehzad Tanweer, are no different; they were educated and till they became terrorists, lived a very normal and caring life.

So, it is not poverty and unemployment alone that drive these, compassionate, educated, intelligent, caring young men to terrorism. What is it, then? Who is responsible; certain countries, certain events or, certain men?

Posted in Thoughts.

68 comments

By shobha warrier – July 17, 2006


Women and Sabarimala

A few years ago, a women's magazine in Malayalam asked some of us- the so called feminist writers in Malayalam - to write on the ban on women going to Sabarimala. I wrote then that the ban neither hurt me nor did I want to defy the ban. My argument was that if such a tradition existed in a temple, why should I forcibly break the tradition and enter the temple? It doesn't give any pleasure to defy something for the sake of defying it especially when I know that it will hurt the sentiments of lakhs and lakhs of people who believe in those traditions.

I also wrote then that there were hundreds of Ayyappa temples in Kerala and also outside where I could go if I wanted to. And, I don't believe that I have to go to only Sabarimala to pray to Lord Ayyappa. When Sabarimala follows certain rules, why should I bother to fight to break it? What pleasure do I get from that? None.

But the fact is Sabarimala is not just another Ayyappa temple. It is not open throughout the year, and Sabarimala devotees do not just go there like they go to other temples. They take 41 days of rigorous vratham or vow during which period they abstain from sex, smoking, liquor and many other such things. Everyone knows that a female who has attained puberty cannot take 41 days of vratham. So, in effect it is not that women are banned from going to Sabarimala; only women between the age of 10 and 50- those who have monthly periods- are not allowed. My mother had gone there as a ten year old walking several kilometres, all the way from Pamba to Sabarimala.

What is being followed in Sabarimala is not untouchability like some people project now. Unlike other Hindu temples, Sabarimala is one temple where people belonging to all castes and religions can go and worship.

But what has disturbed me now is the kind of contempt the so called progressive, secular intellectuals have for the traditions that Sabarimlaa temple follows. The main anchor of a news channel asked sarcastically, 'This is the 21st century, and how can such temples which ban women from entering exist today?' My question is, what has tradition got to do with the 21st century? It is either you believe in traditions, or not. I may not believe in so many things others believe in, and I may not follow them in my private space but I will never do it at the cost of hurting somebody else's beliefs. If you don't believe in it, why should you bother about the believers?

That is why when I was asked to write that article for the women's magazine, I wrote that I had no intention to fight for the entry of women between menarche and menopause to Sabarimala. The nonplussed Editor, a feminist herself asked me then, 'how could you write like this?' Other fellow feminists also did not like my point of view. I feel it is not like fighting to get into a college or an institution. Even today, I will say, let it remain as it is, and let people who believe in the temple go there. Why should we be bothered about who should go there and who should not?


Posted in Opinion.

358 comments

By shobha warrier – June 29, 2006


Chennai, the kindest city

A survey conducted by Readers' Digest has found Mumbai the rudest city in the entire world. As I have not lived in Mumbai or in any of the cities mentioned in the news item, I cannot comment on the correctness of the survey. But from the places I have lived in my life; there are not many, of course (Trivandrum, Kozhikode, Kottayam, Munnar, Nashik, Coimbatore, Bangalore, Kochi and Chennai), I would describe Chennai as the kindest and Trivandrum, my own native place as the rudest.

I strongly feel that you just cannot judge a place by the reception you get at the railway station or airport. I have not in my life seen a single friendly railway station. You have to live in a city to get the real feel of it.

Similarly initial reaction to a place will change with due course of time too. My first reaction to Chennai was that of grave disappointment. When we started driving from Ernakulam to Chennai on a summer day, it was raining very heavily there but when we reached Chennai, it was painfully hot. One could easily bear the climate but to my horror, I found that there was no water in the taps. It was for the first time in my life that I was facing water scarcity. Moving to a flat after living in independent houses with wonderful gardens to attend to, also can be a traumatic experience; it was indeed one for me. All the potted plants I had lovingly carried with me withered away as I had no water to give them. When we couldn't get enough water to drink and wash, how could I water them? Those initial days were extremely painful for me.

As months went by, I started seeing the good side of this city; the loving and the kind side. I was travelling by the state transport corporation bus one afternoon. The bus was almost empty. At one of the stops, a very old lady with a huge basket half full of vegetables tried to get in. With great difficulty, she kept the basket on the footboard, and then she tried to step in. The step was too high for her to climb easily. Seeing this, a young man jumped from his seat shouting, nillu Paatti. Naan help punnarein. (Wait Grandma, I will help you). He then hauled the basket inside the bus and literally pulled the lady onto the bus. Romba nandri thambi. She said with gratitude and love in her eyes. He sat back as if he had not done anything great.

This reminded me of a similar scene I had witnessed in Trivandrum sometime back. As the steps of the buses are too high, it is just impossible for very old people to get inside the bus unhelped. On seeing an old lady taking too much time to get in, the conductor of the bus shouted from his seat, "Old woman! If you can't walk, can't you sit at home? Trying to waste our time! Come on, get in fast. Don't irritate us.' I still remember the way he cursed that lady. When the young man in Chennai called a vegetable vendor Paatti (grandma), to this young conductor, an old lady is Kelavi, that is, literally an old woman and derogatory too!

This is the difference between Trivandrum and Chennai; in fact, Chennai and many other cities. I have seen many, many such incidents to prove my point that Chennai is the kindest city I have seen.

Let me narrate one more instance. Once again, I was travelling in a bus, and sitting near the window. A young college girl got in at a stop and took a seat in front of me. When the bus came to a halt at the next stop, a young man riding a bicycle came to a screeching halt near the bus. He was panting and sweating; perhaps trying to keep pace with the bus. He waved a CD and asked, 'I saw this falling from a girl's bag who got into this bus. Whose is this?' Suddenly the college girl looked at the CD and exclaimed in an embarrassed tone, 'Sorry, it's mine. I didn't know it had fallen. Thanks a lot.' 'Its ok. I cycled behind the bus thinking it may be of importance to someone.' He gave the CD to her and cycled back. I was dumbfounded to see someone doing such an unselfish act.

I have been living in this city for a little more than ten years- the longest I have ever lived in one place- and I feel like living here for a few more years.


Posted in Incident.

502 comments

By shobha warrier – June 22, 2006


Rohini loses her smile

After Vidyakar wiped Rohini's tears, after she knew she was firmly seated in his arms, she looked at us for a whole minute and then a bright smile appeared on her face. A child's innocent smile is one of the most beautiful sights in the world, and we kissed her on her lovely cheeks.

Rohini had lovely curly hair, bright eyes and a lovely complexion. How could a mother throw away such a sweet baby? Perhaps, she had no other go. I told myself.

Then Vidyakar told me the bitter truth, the cruellest news I have ever heard in my life. No, she was not a mistake; she was not the result of someone's uncontrollable passions. Yes, she was abandoned and she was unwanted. Her parents were educated, well educated; they were both doctors, and the very woman who carried that baby for ten months, and the very man who was responsible for her birth chose to abandon her in the hospital she was delivered. Do you know why? Because she was deformed, because she had no arms. They did not throw her in a dustbin. Instead, just connived with the hospital, and arranged to send her to Udavum Karangal. They could do all that because they had money and power.

A few days after her birth, the baby was brought to Udavum Karangal and Vidyakar insisted on hearing the truth from those who brought her there. That day was the star of Rohini, and the nameless, armless baby got a name the day she became an inmate of Udavum Karangal. She was named Rohini by Vidyakar.

I just stared at the baby who was smiling at me. How could a mother, how could a father abandon their baby, one who needed parents most? Should they not be feeding her because she cannot eat on her own? Should they not be combing her hair and dressing her because she cannot? Should they not be wiping her tears because she cannot wipe her own tears? When her parents should have been her arms, they threw her away. How can anyone be so cruel? I don't know, I really do not know.

When I met Rohini after a year and a half, she had changed completely. She no longer smiled. Her lips were firmly placed as if she didn't want to say anything to anyone, as if she was very angry. There was no brightness in her eyes; only pain, anger and frustration. That was the first time in my life that I saw anger and frustration in the eyes of a two and a half year old.

"She now knows she is different. She can't play with the other kids, and she can't do most of the things the others do. But we are training her to use her legs. She is picking up," Vidyakar told me.


Posted in Incident.

34 comments

By shobha warrier – June 16, 2006


Udavum Karangal

It has been a long time since I wrote anything on my blog. Subsequent to the state elections, a death in the family and a (well deserved) break took me away from Chennai for quite some time. What awaited me when I came back was a mailbox flooded with mails, (mostly junk, of course) but one among them brought back a lot of memories.

It was a mail from Udavum Karangal, an organisation started by a man called Vidyakar for the unwanted in the society. The mail was about sponsoring the education of the children of Udavum Karangal; children who have no father or mother, children who have no families, children whose home is Udavum Karanagl, children whose only family is Papa Vidyakar.

I still cannot forget my first visit to Udavum Karangal, especially to some parts of the home. One was a huge hall, neat, clean and devoid of any furniture. That was the home of the babies between the age of one and a half to two and a half.

Through the glass doors, I could see lots of babies in the room, all seated on the floor. Some were lying on the floor looking at the ceiling, some sitting gloomy faced and some playing with toys. The kind of noise and enthusiasm associated with babies of that age group were missing in that room. Even at that age, their faces showed pain, melancholy and sadness. Though I knew the answer, I asked myself, how could small babies sit so quietly? They were not ordinary small babies who were carried, hugged, kissed and loved by their parents. The three women in the room had to take care of all the babies and it was not right to expect them to give personal attention to all the babies all the time. But they tried their best to make the babies happy.

With me was photographer Sreeram. We opened the door and stepped inside the room. What happened next was a scene I still cannot forget. All the babies who were sitting so quietly jumped to their feet and ran towards us, the room was filled with their childlike laughter. It was heart wrenching to see so many babies surrounding you with their hands raised. All of them wanted to be lifted.

We took them one by one. When I carried one baby, the others would tug at my dress and call me with their hands raised. They caught hold of us so tight that we could not keep them down. They just clung to us. They wanted to be hugged and kissed. They were yearning for physical touch and love. When we carried the babies, those who were standing down would hold our legs tightly.

It was then that their Papa Vidyakar entered the room. The moment they saw him, all of them ran towards him. He carried two of them in his hands while others clung to his legs. He sat on the floor so that all of them could climb on to him.

After an hour when we were about to leave the room, they hung on to us not letting us leave the room. As we walked away from the room, I turned back. Outstretched tiny hands were still on the glass door as if pleading us to take them. Those eyes; there was only sadness and disappointment in them.

From there, Vidyakar took us to another room where babies below the age of one lived. If the slightly older babies ran to us, most of these babies crawled on all fours to us, mostly to their Papa Vidyakar and some who had already learnt to walk, walked unsteadily. Vidyakar sat on the floor and the babies crowded on him.

Suddenly we noticed a baby sitting at the far end of the room, sulking. He waved her to come to him but she just sat there looking at him with no smile on her face, and then she fell back with her head banging on the floor. He then got up and walked towards her. "She's very sensitive and obstinate."

As he carried her, she was still sobbing in pain, and tears rolled down her cheeks. It was then that I noticed the shocking truth; she didn't have arms. Her name was Rohini, named after the star of the day she was brought to Udavum Karangal.

More about Rohini in my next blog.


Posted in Thoughts.

20 comments

By shobha warrier – June 10, 2006


The waiting game

It was while I waited for nearly two hours for Hindi cinema's heartthrob, Hrithik Roshan and his father Rakesh Rohsan to arrive for a press conference that I indulged in a journey of self pity. That was because I felt that half my life was spent waiting for people!

Usually what I do while I wait is entertain myself by observing those around me and weaving stories on them. It is interesting to watch people and their idiosyncrasies without them knowing that your eyes are on them. But if I am alone in a place and still waiting for people, I have no other go but immerse myself in an Archie Comic or a magazine. If I am alone and if I have no Archie comic to entertain myself, I survey the nooks and corners of the room I am in. By the time the person arrives, the room will be as familiar to me as my own. I also day dream, and mind you, it is a great feeling to day dream in somebody else's office. There are instances of me dozing off too!

But that day, as I waited for Hrithik Roshan to arrive, I decided to go on a silly flashback in which I saw where I had waited the most, the kind of people I had encountered as I waited, those who made me wait the most and of course, the most punctual too. It was an interesting flashback, at least for me!

Of the people I have interviewed, I categorised them into three; politicians, film stars and businessmen. I did not include sportsmen as it is a very small list.

First the businessmen. I have found that business houses are well organised, and giving an interview is like doing business for them. The moment you enter the lobby for the appointment, the receptionist would ask you, are you so and so? After ascertaining your identity, most of the times, she would take you to a quieter room and would ask whether you need a glass of water. They are hospitable and professional. Usually, the interviewee arrives on time but there are also times when you had to wait for hours. Waiting inside the cosy air-conditioned comforts of a room is better than waiting outside.

Political party offices are always crowded with lots of hangers on. I do not know how but they can sense a journalist a mile away. They are polite and respectful but more often than not, they would like to know more about your newspaper, and if possible have your visiting card too. They would also offer you a seat and ask, Madam, do you need a glass of water? You won't encounter more courteous people in any other office. Still, you have to wait.


But meeting film personalities has always been a painful experience. They are not punctual at all and have no qualms in making you wait eternally. They don't apologise for being late and their offices are discourteous and rude. Twiddling the thumb, trying to concentrate on Archie comics, counting the tiles on the floor, making a list of the number of cracks on the wall nothing works when you wait for a film personality.

Meeting film people in their offices can be quite hilarious too (that is, when you have a flashback). The first thing you face is the question, enna venam? Means, what do you want? Most of the times, I would say, 'I don't want anything. I have an appointment with so and so'. But the so and so, whether he is a director or an actor or a music composer, would not come out of his room immediately or call you inside. So, you wait. As nobody would offer you a seat, you stand, and when your legs ache, you shift from one leg to the other. As the fan would always be directed only at those who are sitting, you stand and sweat.

I should not be unkind; some offices do offer you a seat but you should be ready to answer the question enna venam? at least five times. The torture of waiting can go on anywhere between an hour and two and a half hours- that is the maximum I had waited for a person to arrive. Generally, I walk out in exasperation if the waiting period exceeds an hour

But the man who stumped me with his punctuality was Tamil super star Vikram. We were to meet at a coffee shop at six one evening. I was there at the lobby ten minutes before the appointed time, and was ready with books and other materials to entertain myself. But to my shock, exactly at 6, strode in Vikram. It took me some time to come out of the shock! Film stars like Vikram are exceptions to prove the rule!

By now, Hrithik Roshan and his father entered the hall for the press conference, and there ended my flashback. Though I started the flashback as a journey of self pity, in the end, it turned out to be a rather entertaining flashback, at least for me.


Posted in Incident.

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By shobha warrier – May 21, 2006