The Wayand Heritage Museum (BH:D234)

March 24, 2012

Located in an unassuming building at Ambalavayal by the side of the Sultanbathery highway, the Wayanad Heritage Museum is a must visit for anyone interested in history of South India. "Since you have come this far, you must take a look, " Subair insisted. 

The lady at the counter hesitantly asked if we would like to have a guide for the museum. Sure, Why not? A seemingly reticent middle aged woman dressed in a livery blue saree and a black scarf covering her head was the guide to be. I think she was pleasantly surprised to have visitors who didn't mind getting a tour. While we were inside, three other groups of tourists hurried through the musuem. That seems to be the general trend that we bucked. 

Right at the entrance welcoming visitors is a "Veerakallu", roughly translated as "Valiant Stone". This is the common title given to the numerous approximately 5ft by 5ft engraved stones from the mostly 10th to 14th century that have been recovered near Amabalavayal and Edakkal areas of Wayanad. They are remnants of the Hoysala and Vijayanagara empires that once stretched into Wayanad centuries before Hyderali and Tippu Sultan. Getting to Wayanad via Karanataka and Tamil Nadu is definitely easier than climbing up Thamarassery Churam. So the cultural influx and political allegiance of this land remained northwards for a very long time in history. Buddhism, Hinduism, Jainism, Islam, Hinduism again, Islam again and Christianity held predominant political sway over this land since the first few centuries before Christ.

A "Veerakallu" tells a story in three stages that are carved as three rows. The bottom row depicts a battle. This might be a duel, fight with an animal or a full fledged battle. The warriors are armed with swords or spears or bows and arrows. The stone engraving is dedicated to one particular hero featured in such a conflict. In the middle row, we realize that he is already dead but victorious. He is accompanied by nymphs, angels and other celestial beings here in his heavenly journey. At the top row, he is in the presence of god represented by a deity. It could be a shiva-linga or Krishna or some other god from the virtually infinite Hindu pantheon.

These stone engravings show the generous mixing of Jain, Buddhist and Hindu religions in the region while remaining fundamentally true to the war-like nature of the many aboriginal tribes who inhabit the jungles of Wayanad. 

Next we were led to hall that featured the bamboo and wooden utensils of the local tribes. Constructed from dried bamboo and palm leaves, cow dung and mud are used frequently as sealants. I had seen some of the kitchen utensils like coasters and tamarind urns of this type at grandmother's house. Achan was able to identify the purpose of most of them as well. At least when it comes to the kitchen, a common cultural thread runs throughout Kerala. There was an impressive 5 ft tall cylindrical vessel for storing grain. Cylindrical and conical fish trapping baskets that are used to catch fish from the local streams. Huge palm leaf winnow-like umbrellas. A cradle either meant for twins or one enormous baby! 

The museum showcases several granite statues that have come up in the archeological excavations. Granite seems to be the stone of choice since the Veerakallu are also carved from those. Couple of specimens had granite with heavy dose of infused quartzite that gave them a black and white color blend. The statues were elaborate in their exaggerations. The female figurines, some of whom were identified by the names Rema, Uma and Urvara, resembled the famous Daryaganj Yakshi in their pose. But instead of the unmistakable whisk of that Yakshi, here these women seemed to be frozen in stone holding lotus buds. The male statues invariably had facial hair. Few of them sported well maintained Bhagat Singh style mustaches. Both men and women sported long hair tied up in buns. Three statues of a writer with disproportionately large writing tool. These statues easily bring to mind popular representations of Thiruvalluvar and VedaVyasa. 

The statue of a travelling sage had distinctly Chinese features. Were Huang Tsang or Fahien ever in Wayanad? A playful male with a primitive catapult and another dancing with a pot on his head. Couple of men with what looked like circular jingle bells in their hands were identified as "Nattuvan"-the dancers. Our guide lady told us that most of the statues were recovered from private land and had already been in various stages of abuse and disuse. There was a large thick white granite slab with primitive Tamil writing on one side and Malayalam on the other. This was being used as a washing stone in a house nearby till the museum secured it! No wonder that many of the statues were disfigured.

In glass cases, the museum stores clay models, pots, figurines and polished stone butt axes from the neolithic period. Since Edakkal caves with their famous petroglyphs were my primary target for the Wayanad trip, I was excited to see the tool in the museum before the art they accomplished in the caves. The final section of the museum displays wooden and metallic weapons and musical instruments of the local tribes.

There was a notice about a 40 minute multimedia presentation on Wayanad heritage available on demand. But since we were aiming to cover half the district during the day, we skipped it. Though the centuries old statues and idols still retain most of the glory, the hardly a decade old museum walls were showing lightning type cracks all around bearing testimony to the deplorable degradation of Indian standards and ethics. Hopefully, the museum will be still standing when we get to plan another trip.

The Hotel, The Guide & A Dam (BH:D234)

March 24, 2012

Green Gates hotel at Kalpatta is owned and operated by two Dubai based businessmen, Jaleel and Hanif. Tastefully done with minimum damage to the green acreages all around, this hotel stands in stark contrast to the concrete monstrosity that stands a few meters up the road. A flux board announcing government plans for Wayanad development kept under the old peepal tree at the intersection that leads to the hotel says that a feasibility study for an airport is to be conducted. Wayanad has neither railways nor waterways nor a coast. But what it has is abundant jungles with so far not much disturbed tribal and wildlife. 

Airport plan is a phenomenal stupidity only meant to fatten the pockets of numerous politicians who own large estates in the area. Karipur airport at Kozhikode is only 2 hours away from Wayanad. I don't think any reasonable, responsible tourist, planter or businessman is ever going to insist on landing here at an airport created by destroying hectares of forest and its associated wildlife. But then who cares? We are prudently bringing up a generation who are blissfully content with virtual reality. As long as I can set a Nat Geo photo as my desktop and ipad wallpaper, should I really care if anything in Wayanad is presevered? 

Green Gates has a small section of standard hotel rooms and a restaurant named after Pazhassi Raja. I am not sure the valiant 18th century king appreciates a catering business named after him. The expensive part of the hotel are the cottages culminating in a bamboo tree house package. There is a fairly large open area surrounding the swimming pool that can be used for performances. I wonder if they organize native dance and music shows. Monkey families police and plunder the place of whatever they can get from the not so mindful guests. The bamboo signages and decorate art work of the hotel beautifully minimalistic. Food wasn't that great but then it is to be expected when there are plenty of cheaper, "home-made" style eateries all over the district.

Our guide for the weekend was Subair. He reported in his Indigo by the time we had freshened up at 10:30 am. Right from the word go, it was clear that Subair would be "Munnar's Murugan 2.0". Several times since the trip had been planned, we had discussed about getting someone like Murugan to show us around. Subair was all that we wished for. He hails from Meenangadi town. Meaning "fish market" in Malayalam, Meenangadi is famous for its dry fish business. Subair's father moved here 70 years ago. He and six of his elder brothers are all true sons of the Wayand soil.

"Everything has drastically changed in the last 8-10 years because of tourism," he said pointing towards a brand new Chevy showroom as we sped towards Karapuzha dam, our first destination. Wayand economy used to be entirely agrarian which led to a large number of farmer suicides last decade when prices collapsed. Fortunately or unfortunately, the booming IT business at Bangalore brought incredible tourist influx to the place. Software engineers found the utterly rural, beautiful Wayanad a great weekend getaway 4-5 hours away. 90% of the cars parked outside our hotel were the 'KA' Karnataka registration. There was a token single 'KL' Kerala registration among the ten. 

My uncle had been to Wayanad 22 years ago. He remembered that there was a single bus that plied within Wayanad at that time and a couple of buses that ran between Kozhikode and Wayanad. Now there is a bus every 5 minutes, not to mention the Mercedes and Toyotas that keep the roads fully occupied.

Karapuzha earth dam stands a naked wasted tourist opportunity. There is a beautiful island at the center of the reservoir. With collapsed edges that reveal the deep red inner soil, it would be ideal for setting up a small eco-friendly picnic spot. There were no signs of boating. Subair mentioned a resort coming up on the other side and of young men who do row up to the island to party during weekends. But they are hardly eco-friendly. 

A goat family and few lonely bovines grazed lazily in the rapidly heating up sun. One of the gigantic cast iron shutters of the dam was partly open. The spillway looked like it hadn't seen water since its construction. But Subair showed up impressively high watermarks on the banks that are breached once monsoons set in. Apparently, school exam season was the reason for the deserted look of the place. Otherwise a few hundred people visited daily.

Three or four autorickshaws converted into ice-cream trucks were trying to get some business at either end of the slowly arching nearly half a kilometer long dam. "Ice cream venno?" (Do you want Ice cream?) a 5-6yr old boy manning one of the stalls asked me. "Ippo venda" (Not now) I said having tucked in the hotel's complimentary breakfast. "Thirichu varumbo vangikumo" (Will you buy when you come back?) he persisted. "Nokkam" (We'll see) I told him. Since we headed towards Amabalavayal from the other end of the dam, I never saw this little Icecream Ambani of Karapuzha again.

From Venad to Wayanad (BH:D233-234)

March 23, 2012

The Mangalore Express left Thiruvananthapuram Central Station platform number 1 as scheduled at 8:40pm on Friday. We three, Achan, my yougest uncle and I were in coach B1 A/C three tier.

The seat positions were the ones euphemistically referred to as "bath attached" in the railways parlance. Luckily, in the a/c coaches there is a door that separates the perpetually stinking Indian train toilets from the seating area. Sharing our coupe were couple of businessmen from Vadakara, a laconic gentleman who alighted next early morning at Shornur and the ticket examiner. 

The air conditioning took its sweet time to get going. The senior member of the Vadakara business team protested. "They think we don't know science. The a/c runs from train battery which must always be fully charged. It gets recharged when the train moves through dynamo effect. But that doesn't mean a/c can't work till train gathers speed." None of this science helped. It took a couple of hours before the compartment cooled. But as if to make up for the delayed start, it felt like Antarctica by midnight!

The man from Vadakara used to work for the government public works department. He still has that job and will rejoin a couple of months before retiring so that he will get the retirement benefits. Till then he is busy running own construction business in Thiruvananthapuram, Vadakara and Doha. "I married off my two daughters, now I should enjoy life!" We didn't ask about his wife. 

Though we switched off the lights and tried to sleep by 9:30, the upper berth experience I revisited after 12 years was more than disturbing. I kept waking up startled by the train noises. Images of possible accidents flashed by in dreams. It was like being rocked to sleep by a terrible giant. The squealing, roaring, rhythmically beating locomotion was far from conducive. Add to that plenty of movement in the coach as people got in and got out at Kottayam, Kochi and Thrissur. I wondered how I used to sleep peacefully during the long train journeys from Mumbai back home.

Gave up all attempts to find sleep by 3:30 am. The expected arrival time at Kozhikode was 6 am. After Shornur, the train goes through towns by the side of Bharathapuzha. Since everyone else was still sleeping, I sought refuge in the ticket examiner's seat after he got down at Shornur. A lady headed to Pattambi had also woken up and shared that seat. She was reading Wilbur Smith's "Those in Peril". Since tales of attacks on women in trains have been on the rise in Kerala, I braced to defend her just in case any potential attacker showed up. Not that it looked like she needed any assistance. She could easily take on a couple of villains. We were certainly entering the territories of the old "Vadakkan paattu" (northern songs)of north Malabar that feature women well versed in martial arts. 

Me standing at the door wearing double folded "lungi" and shoes provided enough entertainment for the early morning passengers waiting at Pattambi station. The pre-dawn sky was gorgeous. Unobstructed view of the black dome studded with infinite stars. My thoughts turned to the "passage of infinity" and the Kerala school of mathematics. Thrithala, Koodallur, Kuttipurram...we were passing through the shores of Bharathapuzha were ancient wisdom and sciences flourished in Kerala. The growth of mathematics through the astronomical need to approximate. If only ordinary languages insisted on explicitly announcing their approximate nature just as honestly as mathematics does...

After Thirur comes Feroke. Once Farookhabad, the Malabar capital of Tipu Sultan, the Brits shrunk the name to Feroke. A young man who recently broke his hand in a motorbike accident thanks to the wonderful condition of Kerala roads needed assistance in getting his bags down to the station. By this time Achan and uncle were up and had joined me at the door. The businessman from Vadakara had brushed and started his morning Muslim namaz on the foldable bed meant for the train technician near the door. I don't know how one determines the direction towards Mecca in a morning train. As far as I could see, right in front of him was the backside of the young man with the broken hand. I guess prayers have deep penetrating capacity!

Kozhikode railway station promptly at 6 am. The station is on the way to becoming a national model station thanks to E. Ahmad who represents Kozhikode in the Lok Sabha. Gigantic hoardings of Manorama and Mathrubhumi newspapers welcome visitors to "the capital of Malabar" as they step out of the railway station. 

Autorickshaw to the bus stand. The ride took us through the Kozhikode market which was already bustling with activity. A traffic jam at 6:10 am! Fruits and spices shops aplenty. Mini mountains of pineapple piled up at the store fronts. A dental hospital on the upper floor. A shop with "Burma" in its title reminding us of the centuries old shipping and trade heritage of Kozhikode market. 

6:15 bus stand. Rs. 19.50 on the rickshaw meter. The driver asked for that amount, not the extra 10 bucks approximation that drivers in Thiruvananthapuram demand. 6:30 Kerala State Road Transport Corporation's bus to Mananthavadi via Kalpatta, our destination.

Unlike the busy market, rest of Kozhikode city was still sleeping. The bus sped through Mavoor road towards Kunnamangalam which now has an Indian Institute of Management. The journey moves north instead of east from here and passes through Madavoor on the way to Thamarassery.

"Thamarassery Churam", those words have forever been scorched in the memory of hundreds of thousands of Malayalam cinema lovers by the immortal comedian Pappu. The pass that starts from Thamarassery is the original route up to Wayanad, the high table land, from the plains of Kozhikode. Though there is no official toll anymore, there is a place nearby still called Thamarassery Chungam (tax). 

The steep, twisting ascend of the road begins at a place rightly called Adivaram (valley bottom). From here, it is 13 kilometers to Lakkidi. We climb couple of thousand feet through 9 hairpin curves. These aren't sissy hairpins but hardcore ones which can be negotiated by buses only by going to the wrong side of the road. 

Breathtaking views. Dense forests on either side. Thick, twisted vines. Innumerable leaf patterns. The bus engine pants and puffs at every turn. The road is a brilliant bituminous black and thankfully very well maintained. Petty shops at the hairpin bends. Billboards that seem a little strange in their placement location. Why would anyone think about doing a computer course while ascending a mountain pass?! A few adventurous motorcyclists insist on speeding. A private bus driver showed off by overtaking our bus in this narrow, tough route.

At Lakkidi, the pass officially ends and the roads instantly turn back to Indian standard of pothole damage. We have reached Wayanad, the least populated district of Kerala where the density of population is nearly one third of the state average. 

The 13 kilometer climb took a full 45 minutes for our bus, so the driver sped up again to Vythiri. The road condition drastically improves. Vythiri is home to a resort now made famous by its youtube videos. I was surprised to find a Cafe Coffee Day here. A huge hotel management institute towers as an eye sore among the lovely hills that surround the region.

Our final destination was the Green Gates hotel. We had been instructed to get down at Kalpatta civil station. Civil stations are the administrative headquarters of the district government. Wayanad which saw a very high rate of farmer suicide few years back has managed to bring those numbers down by some aggressive government intervention. 36% of the population here are tribals. Waves of immigration of Jains (10-13th century), Hindus (14th century), Muslims (17th century) and Christians (1950s) populated the pristine hills of Wayanad. After Srirangapattanam truce, Tipu Sultan handed over the control of the region to the British who brought heavy cash crop farming just like they did in Idukki.

The bus conductor, who was wiry and energetic enough to have married Rajnikanth's daughter had he been born in Tamil Nadu, was a bit displeased with our slowness in getting down. We were directed to an old peepal tree from where Green Gates was 50 meters. 8:45am waiting at the reception!

Riding in the rain (BH:D232)

March 22, 2012

Took a slightly long trip to Adoor in Pathanamthitta district around 90 km from Thiruvananthapuram this hot and humid afternoon with Saiju and Vidhu. We halted at a construction site near Vattappara where 22 villas and a few apartments are being planned. At a depression towards a side of the huge plot, a small disorderly pile forms the cemetery of the coconut tree roots that have lost their ground as part of the plan. The panoramic view from the villas will feature the green tops of coconut groves and rubber estates. Since the location is hardly 4km from Technopark, half of the villas have already been sold though they exist at this point only in the blue ink of the architect's imagination and anticipated numbers of engineering and economic precision.

There is something nostalgic about car journeys with friends swapping stories and jokes from the past. Malayalam language has the endearing capacity of providing unexpected, unintentional double meaning possibilities with machine gun rapidity. The currently well maintained highway goes over numerous small streams and rivers. The speed breakers are obnoxious in their placement and hernia-inducing in their structure. 

Our destination at Adoor was a hotel that reportedly rakes in the second highest daily revenue among hotels in Kerala. A typical small town movie theater is in business right behind the hotel. Arjun starer "Maasi" was running there. Judging from the posters, it is a typical Arjun movie. Formulaic story in which the good cop/detective/collector eradicates some goons in two hours interspersed by a couple of songs. 

Standing on the second floor landing of the outer staircase of the hotel, "Maasi" soundtrack defusing from the theater with the closed door providing a deep bass effect took me back to my childhood. Our ancestral home in Thiruvananthapuram stands right behind the twin theaters, Dhanya & Ramya. In my primary school days, I have stood several afternoons in the narrow lane of the this house listening to the movie sound coming from the theaters. It was fun separating the unclear soundtracks of two movies in real time. These were the 80s when Prem Nazir and Jayan were still fighting, Mohanlal was still raping and getting beaten up and Mammootty was perpetually crying about his wife's death that has left him a single dad. As enjoyable as listening to these sounds was the cold spray from the grand old two-storeys tall air-conditioning units of the theater and surprised unsuspecting passers-by every few minutes.

I spent around 15 minutes on the stairwell watching a crow that was ignoring me from a branch right next to its nest at the top of a beautiful 'badaam' tree outside the theater and listented to the action packed climax of Maasi with music bits generously borrowed from Hollywood blockbusters. All the while, a wiry man, probably in his 40s but whom hard labor had aged at least an extra decade, was carrying hollow concrete bricks one by one from the stack on the ground to the second floor of the building. It has been several decades since mankind has invented machines to do this job. Yet in India, perhaps man still remains cheaper than those machines. At one point,when I had moved up a flight of stairs to the higher landing to get more of the Maasi soundtrack, this laborer unnecessarily climbed that extra flight of stairs for he had placed my position as a marker for the point of turn to deliver the bricks.

20-25 men, mostly in the 20-40 age ground came out of the theater, once the show ended abruptly as soon as the final credits rolled in with a heroic song in the background. This audience was a sample of the still strong Tamilian presence in Kerala. It is especially strong in Pathanamthitta district, home of the Sabarimala temple. 

But there was enough evidence of the growing north Indian immigrant presence inside the building where reconstruction was in progress. A handwritten notice stuck on a wall requested its readers in Malayalam not to urinate there. Above the Malayalam part of the poster, written in red sketch pen was: "Yahan peshaab karna mana hai. Agar kiya to pachaas ru dena ho ga - Aji annan". A certain Aji 'annan', probably the construction site caretaker, had put a price of Rs. 50 for any untoward fluid expulsion by Hindi speaking immigrant laborers in that location. 

If it was the Tamilians who populated the movie theater, the ground floor bar of the hotel itself was religiously packed by Malayalees, invariably men from the lower economic strata. It was hardly 5pm. Since the mugginess of the weather had intensified, we sought refugee in a nearby fruit juice stall. After having ordered the famous "Sharjah" shake, we realized that we didn't know what the ingredients of the shake were. A moment of shame! There was general consensus that this milk shake had banana. But wasn't there a hint of custard apple? Back home later in the night, I learnt that it has banana, cardamom, frozen milk and chocolate powder though innumerable improvisations are allowed.

The heat and the dark skies of the afternoon culminated in a massive, half an hour long thunderstorm soon after 5pm. Drenched in the rain, Adoor suddenly resembled a high-range small town of north Kerala. The drenched drunkards who had just walked out of bars cursed the downpour for ruining their high.

Intermittent heavy rains throughout the route slowed the return journey considerably. On our way to Adoor, we had stopped at a missionary run central school that had a strikingly large number of stray dog and one dog chained to a pillar near the main office. I guess that dog is supposed to feel privileged. On the way back, the stop was at a nunnery and its associated working women's hostel. From the secrecy of the tinted windows of the car, it was interesting to observe the swiftly changing expressions of the senior nun. While she flashed a quick and lasting smile while talking to someone, as soon as they turned away a deep brooding consumed her face. I won't call it sinister. But heaven apparently isn't all that it is made out to be, I suppose! I wonder how many 'hail mary's would amend having noticed that a nun possessed exquisite calves as she gathered up her habit to cross the mud pools the rain had left behind.

My first coffee at the Indian Coffee House after coming back to India. Compared to the 50 rupee coffees of Cafe Coffee Day, the 8 rupee coffee of ICH is most welcome. The 'masala' of the masala dosas of ICH uses beetroot and tomatoes, so it is more red and tastier compared to the yellow mush that usually comes hidden inside the dosas everyplace else.

Once night fell, negotiating the competing curves of the slick road that was frequently made invisible by the utterly imbecile drivers who had never heard of dimming their headlights, became quite arduous. On top of that was the worry about the fuel indicator needle stuck at its breaking point past empty. There is a disturbingly long stretch between Kottarakkara and Valakom where there are no gas stations. 

Refueling past Valakom. In the relief, discussion turned to the heroines currently hot in the Malayalam film market. Rain was lashing the car and the squeaky windscreen wipers kept reminding me of the incredible trailer of Jean-Pierre Jeunet's Delicatessen! As the name Ramya Nambeesan was mentioned in the list of actresses, I noticed something come crashing down on the highway around 25 meters ahead of us. "Thengu...thengu" I shouted warning about the collapsed coconut tree. Quick negotiating around the heavy tree trunk. The tree that stood tall a few seconds ago now formed a barrier across half of the highway. Had it fallen a few seconds later, it would have crushed the car. Names of movie actresses would have made a really sad set of infamous last words! Nitya Menen, Shweta Menon, Ramya Nambeesan....death by coconut tree!

Back inside Thiruvananthapuram city, quick stop to buy fresh fish. Three women sell fish late into the night in the road that leads to Nalanda from Plamoodu. Of the three, only one attracts all the fishophiles who are on the prowl at that late hour. She deftly cuts up two small tuna for us. Reasonable pricing. We take a couple of snaps of the fishy arrangement flanked by thick flamed smoking oil lamps. "Naale pathrathil koduthittu chaakara aanenu paranjekkane" (Put the photograph on newspaper tomorrow and write that it is 'chaakara'), she tells us. Chaakara is the phenomenon of huge swarms of fish and shrimp coming to the coast of Kerala due to mudbank formation during monsoons. 

The heavy rain relieving the mounting heat wave of the past days was great. But it certainly wasn't the monsoons. Chaakara will have to wait!

Swimmingly (BH:D231)

March 21, 2012

A swimmer from Kerala, Muralidharan, who used to work as a pool cleaner in Mumbai has managed to swim across Palk Strait that lies between Sri Lanka and Tamil Nadu. He started the expedition right after 1 am in the night from Sri Lanka and covered the 31 kilometers to reach Dhanushkodi in Tamil Nadu in under 15 hours. He couldn't break the fastest strait crossing record because of some technical difficulties and slight direction change that happened enroute. 

Things haven't been going swimmingly between India and Lanka since the time of the epics. I am sure the ocean has tried to create enhanced separation in the couple of thousand years that passed since Rama and his south Indian monkeys built an epic bridge to get to the island. If it was monkeys then, it had been tigers raising hell in the island recently. And now though a military victory has been declared by the state in the island, looks like India will support an upcoming UN resolution against the Lankan government. The tension continues, as it supposed to perpetually, between all neighbors!

Long time ago, in an introductory telephone conversation with a chartered accountant in College Station, a grand old septuagenarian, I had used the word "swimmingly". He laughed heartily. "I haven't heard that word in a long time," he said, "do you use it frequently in India?" I told him no and proceeded to brief him about India's whimsical relation with swimming pools and holy dips since the time of Indus Valley's Great Bath. It was a free chat, he wouldn't start charging a retainer till next time, so I could afford to ramble. "Mark Twain used to love that word!" I remember him telling me. I continue to remain impressed by the man who remembered the affinity his favorite author had towards particular word.

Bibliophilia is the theme of latest Mathrubhumi weekly and they have dedicated two articles on P. G. Govinda Pillai, veteran communist party leader whose personal library has over 25,000 books on all subjects ranging from Christianity to nanotechnology. EMS Namboothirippadu, himself a voracious reader, had once remarked that if he had read half as many books as P.G. he would have taken over the world. Gone are the days when the communist party was packed with such self-taught scholars and selfless teachers. Today, even as in the heartland of capitalism, couple of dozen books on Marx make it to the NY Times best seller list in a span of two years, here in Kerala the communist party has been reduced to a clamouring bunch of empty pots.

Swimmingly isn't how I would term most of today as I was stuck negotiating a business contract. In India, contracts are still amorphous entities. Frequently people get offended when asked to put things in black and white. Discussion of numbers leads to the whole gamut of human emotions from shyness to outright depression. Clarifications sought transform into daggers driven deep into the flawless but delicate characters that some men seem to have been nurturing for decades! 

Much relief in the evening with an hour long walk around the Maharaja's gold. The current king of Travancore turned 90 couple of days ago. When he turned had turned 80, nobody cared. But then the $22 billion dollar treasure was discovered. So for his 90th birthday, people and organizations have been falling over each other to felicitate him. He looks amused in most of the recent photographs. A businessman gifted him a Rs. 3 crore worth Rolls Royce which he promptly refused. I am really looking forward to the Wayanad trip this weekend.

The Others (BH:D230)

March 20, 2012

Praveen Swami has written an op-ed in today's Hindu newspaper titled 'Afghanistan: the lost cause'. He points out that the growing rhetoric about Afghanistan being 'intrinsically intractably' disposed against modern democratic set up and Western values is nothing but racism. "The idea that liberal democracy is alien to the country, now being used to legitimise early western withdrawal, is racist libel," he writes. If the few nutjobs who fight under the Taliban banner are taken to be representative of the entire Afghan culture, Swami asks if the similar conclusion can be drawn about the USA based on KKK!

I tend to agree with him but I am at a loss when I search for evidence against this propaganda. Praveen Swami's article presents a few scant examples. The tragedy is that historical narrative is almost always hijacked by those who then sit in judgement. For all the criticism of the Westernized point of view of history, anyone who looks for an "Eastern" alternative stares into long, arduous, much needed research. Neither the media, nor the textbooks readily present a contrasting view. 

History, as it is made daily, is being presented as a consensus truth by the different media outlets in India. There is hardly a dissenting voice. Investigative journalism seems to have become an undesirable job. Obviously it pays much less than sponsored news. Forget investigative journalism, even logical journalism seems to have become too much to ask for! 

In the recent terrorist attack on Israel embassy in Delhi, for all the major national newspapers the version of the police was the truth. There was no attempt whatsoever to even find if there were disagreeing voices. A man who has been a journalist for 25 years has been arrested as a "terrorist". Newspapers didn't accord him the basic courtsey of independent investigation that local newspapers extend to even petty thieves. The version of the state, the version of the powerful, the version of the 1% is the new gospel. Media is their mouthpiece. Naturally, this trend plays out in the international level as well.

Malayalam writer Sethu has been serializing his recent travel diary from Canada in Madhyamam weekly. In the recent edition, he discusses the Komagata Maru incident. In 1914, Gurdit Singh of Singapore organized a "continous journey" of 376 immigrants to Canada on a Japanese ship called Komagata Maru. Canada in an attempt to prevent 'non-white' immigration had come up with a clause called "continuous journey". To qualify as an immigrant to the country, the person should have made a continous journey to Canada without any change of ships enroute. Clearly, this was meant to deter Asian immigration especially the Sikhs while working in favor of those moving from America and Europe. 

Gurdit Singh wanted to upset this government plan, so he put together one continuous journey from Singapore. But the ship was stopped half a mile from the coast and new excuses and delayed paperwork was used to prevent the passengers from disembarking. Most of the immigrants were veterans of the British Indian army. The stand off lasted an appalling two months in which the passengers were driven to thirst and starvation. Towards the final days, people were licking the water that had spilled on the ship's floor from the cups of the Japanese crew whose supplies were replenished by the Canandian authorities. Finally, provisions were allowed to the ship after it agreed to sail back. An armed confrontation was averted. But the incident became a black spot in Canadian history that exposed the British empire's claims of justice and fairplay. 

The article carried photos of a newspaper front page from those days with the headline that read: "Hindu invaders arriving at the shore". The covert and overt xenophobic rhetoric hasn't changed over the ages. I was an immigrant in Texas for over a decade. Baring couple of stray incidents at the bars, I rarely felt any discrimination. It might have been because I was in a university town, but the prevailing sentiment was one of "xenophilia"! The respect and love with which Texan friends continue to treat me has been humbling. Unfortunately it is not the sane, prudent voice of this majority but the insane, divisive war cries of the minority that get amplified.

Since the time Homo Sapiens walked out of Africa and came to India along the coast, this land has been settled by waves and waves of immigrants. Every single modern Indian has traces of immigrant blood be it central Asian, Persian, Middle Eastern, Mongolian, Chinese, African, Assyrian, Greek, Roman, Portuguese, French or British. Each one of us is also the other! The more we forget this, the less the future of our children!

Happy Persian New Year and World Sparrow Day!

Sweet Deal (BH:D229)

March 19, 2012

Swiss premium chocolate maker Stella, a business as old as independent India, now buys all the cocoa produced by the Indian Organic Farmers Producer Company Limited (IOFPCL) of Wayanad in Kerala. The company has had an exemplary relationship with the cocoa farmers of south India. The company stuck with these farmers even after the produce repeatedly failed to meet the high quality standards set by the firm. They conducted training for the farmers here and they invited them for training to Switzerland. All the commitment and dedication, so rare in today's business world, is finally paying off. And following some coverage in the Business Standard and a few other publications, awareness is spreading.

I got the opportunity today to speak to Chackochan, the chairman of IOFPCL. He is one of those few good men who make this land wonderful despite all the corrupt clutter that characterises it. He was born in Wayanad into a family that had migrated from Kottayam in 1948. After receiving his degree in Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics from University of Mysore in the late 80s, he took over the family farm. 

In 1989, he set up a non-profit consortium of medicinal plants farmers because he saw that medicinal plants that grew wild aplenty in Wayanad in his childhood were fast disappearing and the medicinal farms that were operating in the area followed a thoroughly unsustainable model. 

"People said I was mad to try organic farming at that time," he recalled, "but now, 20 years later, they insist on buying from us because they realize our plants make effective medicine. Organic farming is expensive but you are never going to see any effect from medicines that hit the market with a heft marketing budget!" His work with organic farm drew the attention of M.S. Swaminathan Foundation. After a brief stint with the foundation when he helped other farming consortiums, he returned to full time farming. This time cocoa was his choice crop. 

Indian cocoa didnot have a reputation in the international market. He was determined to change it. But it wasn't going to be a chocolaty journey! From 2004 to 2008, the IOFPCL racked up losses of 25 lakhs. State Bank of India gave a loan to save the company. Chackochan pledged his home and property to get that loan. "I was fully committed to the project. I knew we could create top quality crop. It was only a matter of time and effort. So I didn't mind standing security for that loan."

That was when Swiss company Stella took an interest in their crops. But for three seasons, despite repeated training, the Indian produce still contained a lot more undesirable moisture content. A small team of farmers were invited to Switzerland for training. "Stella's corporate values matched ours perfectly. And their values were not just on paper or for sloganeering. They were committed to the welfare of their farmers as well as their end users." 

I asked him what else was memorable about his first Europe trip. He had no hesitation in admitting that he had prejudices. "I had thought Europeans were arrogant. I was so wrong. The CEO of that global giant received us himself at the airport. He gave us a personal tour of the factory. Imagine that! We were just simple farmers. Which company in India will treat you like that. The CEO gave a dinner in our honor at a hotel in an island. Next time, the other managers told us that they had never been to that hotel because it was not affordable. We were blown away. I think in India our "Athithi devo bhava" is mostly on paper!" 

In 2009, finally, the produce from Kerala met Stella's standards and there has been no looking back since then. Now IOFPCL ships coffee to Finland and Germany and coconut oil and ginger to Canada. A first consignment of high grade organic pepper is getting ready for Canada in April first week. The packaging is also now done in Kerala itself. 

But Chacko Sir worries that "organic" is rapidly being reduced to just a label. As expected, it is easy to get anything certified as organic from India as long as you know the right people and have the right kind of money. Plenty of such produce is going abroad. "The tragedy is that even buyers are playing along with sheer short term profit in mind. Such farming is absolutely unsustainable!" he laments sincerely. 

His wife and two girls who are in college help him in all the farm activities. "My day begins at 5am. I am already at work by 7. Work continues till 6-7pm. Later in the night, I get busy with the good old medicinal farm activities. This work keeps me engaged and relaxed. I hardly know any sports nor have time for arts. I must have seen around 15 movies in my whole life. And who wants to waste time on TV that shows you multiple versions of apparently the same news!"

I told him that it was the Business Standard article that caught my attention. Have there been other media interest? "Yes, a French TV channel was here. Articles came in CityStyle that publishes from Delhi and another Kannada magazine." Has there been any interest from business schools, Indian or abroad, about such an outstanding collaborative effort and exemplary business model? "No!"

Somewhere during the half an hour conversation, when his calm, patient voice had me reduced to an eager student, Chacko Sir said, "Honest, genuine effort will never fail. But it takes time. We have to be patient, that's all!" I wonder if the world madly chasing the quickest buck and the latest fad will hear his message!

Stella launched its extra dark chocolate, Noir India Origines Intenses, in a campaign called "Incredible India". Chackochan is truly an incredible Indian!