Many friends asked me to write my autobiography.

I have
put some stories together in the order of places where I
spent parts of my life so that it has become a sort of
autobiography. The only criterion I have used is that they
be all readable and a bit funny. Otherwise what is the point?
Here are all kinds of pieces - memoirs, events, fantasies,
stories and a few self-images - a Variety Entertainment!
Sangatya Sahitya Bhandar, Nakre
You can download this book at SCRIBD: tv1943

VARIETY
ENTERTAINMENT

T. Vijayendra

SANGATYA

VARIETY ENTERTAINMENT
Author: T. Vijayendra
Editor : Karnika Palwa
First Print: 2016
Price: Priceless
Copies: 500
L Copy Left: All Rights Reversed
Publishers: Sangatya Sahitya Bhandar
Post Nakre,
Taluk Karkala, Dist. Udupi
Karnataka 576 117
Phone: 08258 205340
Email: t.vijayendra@gmail.com
Mobile: +91 94907 05634
SCRIBD : tv1943
For Copies
Manchi Pustakam
12-13-439, St. No. 1
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Email: info@manchipustakam.in
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Cover Illustration: Mario Miranda
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Phone : 27678411

Kuchh ishq kiya,

kuchh kaam kiya
Wo log bahut Khush-qismat the
Jo ishq ko kaam samajhte the
Ya kaam se aashiqii karte the
Hum jeete-jee masroof rahe
Kuchh ishq kiya, kuchh kaam kiya
Kaam ishq ke aaRe aata raha
Aur ishq se kaam ulajhta raha
Phir aaKhir tang aakar humne
Donon ko adhoora chhoR diya

Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1911-1984)

Loved a little
worked a little
Fortunate were those people
Who considered love to be their work
Or worked with the ardour of love
All my life I remained preoccupied,
Loved a little worked a little.
Work would come in the way of love
And love would get entangled with work.
Ultimately in exasperation
I abandoned both, incomplete.

Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1911-1984)

Preface
I spent my school years in Indore during the fifties.
In those days we had Ganesh Festival for ten days.
The first and the last day were reserved for the Puja.
The organisers had to plan for the remaining eight
days. Usually we had one day of Marathi theatre,
one day for magic show, one day for a band with
film songs and so on. It was difficult to fill all the
eight days. One day was kept for local talent. This
was of indifferent quality with occasional sparks of
quality. There was a large variety of items - song,
dance, monologue, mimics, and bird calls and so
on. For obvious reasons, it was called Variety
Entertainment.
Many friends asked me to write an autobiography.
They imagined that a half a century of activism must
be full of excitement and should be inspiring. I know
better. Like most lives, it was boring most of the times
and what may have kept me going in those days
may appear mundane upon narration. This is borne
5

out by many extremely boring political

autobiographies.
So I wondered why these friends got these
impressions. On reflection, it appeared to me that it
was a response to some of the anecdotes that I
narrated to them. Now, I am a story teller and if
there is an audience, I would often weave an
entertaining story. But what enthrals a listener; the
magic moment, can easily turn into a mundane
anecdote when it is written.
Nevertheless, I tried my hand at these pieces on
and off. One of my readers was Nyla Coelho, who
called them my left hand itch, during the times when
I got bored with writing the serious stuff. Often it
has been about some persons I knew but there has
also been a few incidents.
I have put these together in the order of places
where I spent parts of my life. Putting them in an
order from childhood onwards turned the work into
a sort of autobiography. The only criterion I have
used is that they be all readable and a bit funny.
Otherwise what is the point? Here are all kinds of
pieces - memoirs, events, fantasies, and stories - a
sort of Variety Entertainment! These form the first
section of the book, named as Places, People,
Anecdotes and Stories.
Autobiographies are all about self-images what
you think about yourself rather, how you want to
present yourself to others. The problem is that one
6

presents different self-images to different people. Guy

Debord in 1967 presented this beautifully in his book,
The Society of the Spectacles. His thesis was that in
the capitalist society, we are all fragmented and
atomised individuals. We are as many persons as
the people we meet. We present a different spectacle
of ourselves to each of them!
It is estimated that on an average a person knows
137 people well in his/her life. So there can be 137
autobiographies! Well I am not threatening the
readers with that. I have only put, in a section called
Self-Images, three accounts of myself, just to give a
sample of how I portray myself to different audiences!
Of course there will be some overlap between the
two sections. While all fiction may not be
autobiographical, I feel autobiography as a genre
should be treated as fiction.
To retain the magic of storytelling into the written
world is of course art. In fact this is how the short
story was born. The high priest of this art was Leskov
who wrote The Enchanted Wanderer. The role
model for the very short pieces for me has been James
Thurber, whose, My Life and Hard Times is one of
the shortest autobiographies I have come across.
I want to thank all my friends who listened to these
stories many times. I also want to thank all those
people about whom I have written. My main regret
is that there are many people who are very important
to me but I have not been able to write about them.
7

These include: Jogin Sengupta, Vir Bharat Talwar,

Ranjan Ghosh, Arvind Narayan Das, Madhu Sarin,
Rukimini Rao, Lindsay Barnes, Usha Rao, Usha
Sriram, Suresh Kosaraju, Sagar Dhara, Alka Saraogi
and many others.
Bhashwati, always reliable, helped me with the
poem by Faiz. She also translated it. A big thank
you!
A special thank you to Karnika Palwa who
actually wanted me to write this. She also edited the
book with great care and love.

Viju
(T. Vijayendra)
Hyderabad,
August 28, 2016

Contents
Places, People, Anecdotes and Stories
1. Indore:

My Hero
Anna: My father
Social Work
2. Calcutta:
Calcutta Vignettes
Follow Your Nose!
Aar Pachhina Go!
3. Jamshedpur: Sitaram Shastry
4. Patna:
Kiran
5. Delhi:
Vina
6. Chandigarh: The House in which
Mr. Mohan Biswas Lived
7. Bhopal:
Ramesh Billore
8. Bidar:
Pearls of Wisdom
9. Hyderabad: Oedipal Resolution...
Corner Space
10. Mysore:
Tigers Tail
11. Aliabad:
On not learning Telugu

13
19
25
28
34
37
41
46
51
55
58
62
66
71
73
76

12. Hyderabad:
13. Kakinada:
14. Belgaum:
15. Bangalore:
16. Nakre:

Ten Years of PACT

A Piece of Your Heart
Seven Years of FOLKS
Diabetes Mellitus
An Unhurried View of
Home Brew in India
Mishka
His Last Bow

Self Images
1. The Errand Boy
2. The Shitman
3. How I Became an Author

10

79
84
86
91
97
100
109

115
121
130

PLACES, PEOPLE,
ANECDOTES AND
STORIES

11

12

Indore
(1945-1961 and later first annually and then sporadically)

My Hero
I spent my childhood at no. 39, Harsiddhi South,
Indore. We, that is, my parents and five of us siblings,
lived on the first floor and we had a walled terrace
some 6 feet by 30 feet with a 4 foot wall at the front
of the house. We spent hours on the terrace playing,
lying down on all the mattresses that were piled on
an iron cot in a corner or just looking down on the
road.
Nothing much happened on the road. Street
vendors would pass selling vegetables, sprouted
grains or roasted millet flour. Sometimes some
beggars would come and sing funny songs to us when
13

the elders were not about. Like the one in which an

aunty makes a yellow soup with whey and gram flour
and to thicken it she would blow her nose into it!
Like any other group of children in any part of the
world, we found it very funny, laughed and stole a
roti from the kitchen and gave it to the beggar.
I read a lot and read some peoples autobiographies and biographies. Many of these were
about patriots like Subhash Chandra Bose, Bhagat
Singh and Chandra Shekhar Azad. Often there were
sentences that these heroes jumped into the fire of
the freedom struggle. In my childhood, the freedom
had arrived but the authors still lived in the freedom
struggle era. So I would imagine a huge procession
going down our street with flames leaping around
and me jumping into it from our terrace. Of course
the crowd would catch me and I would be a child
hero. But somehow the image did not carry
conviction. I had never seen crowds down our street.
We lived in a small residential area, away from the
main streets like M. G. Road, Khajuri Bazar or Ada
Bazar. Areas east of the railway line about two
kilometres away, the Residency area, Palasia and
other such places where the rich lived was foreign
land to us. Instead we explored the river bank behind
our house, across the river and searched for the
hidden opening of the palace where the king would
run away with his treasures when the enemy
surrounded the palace.
14

The only crowd that passed down our street was

during Ramzan when Muslim children dressed in
beautiful clothes carried plates covered with
embroidered cloth. We knew that the plates carried
food meant for the beggars near the mosque. All the
same our mouth watered seeing such lovely dishes.
The Muslim locality was to the South in Moti Tabela
whereas the mosque was at the Northern end of our
area. So they had to pass our street.
We moved in and out of the houses of all the
neighbours. During the day, the doors were always
open. We ate, helped out and played. One aunty
wanted us to walk on her back to relieve her back
pain. We ran errands like borrowing the ice cream
machine from the womens organisation for a
neighbour and we even helped to rotate the machine
to make the ice. We were of course rewarded with
some homemade ice cream.
*****
My hero, however, was not any of these great
freedom fighters, but my neighbour, a boy of my
own age, Arun Padhye. The Padhyes lived two
houses on the north side. It was a corner house and
they lived in one part. The building also had a
goldsmith shop and the corner shop sold paan (betel
leaf), cigarettes, tobacco, snuff, toffees and pain killers
like Anacin.
15

The Padhyes owned a tanga a horse cart, which

they gave to the tangawallah on rent. Every evening
I used to follow Arun to a place near the stables for
the tanga to return. Then we rode in it up to the
stable. Then followed the ritual of unhitching the
horse from the tanga and giving it a bucket of water.
The tangawallah gave Arun some money and we
went out to buy jaggery, salt and gram for the horse.
On return the tangawallah prepared the feed and
Arun and I stood on either side of the horse and
gave him a good scrub with an iron brush. We found
it thoroughly enjoyable and I think the horse too
liked this loving attention.
Diagonally across the paan shop, there was another
house with a bench as a part of the house. We would
sit on it waiting for some cigarette buyer to throw an
empty cigarette packet that we would rush to collect.
It was a lovely passing show and funnily enough most
of the packets we collected were of a brand called
Passing Show!
The height of the excitement came when a welldressed gentleman came to buy cigarettes. He would
take his time to ask for a match and light his cigarettes
and take a leisurely puff. We all waited for it. In
those days we all wore shorts with wide bottoms.
We would go the shop and start searching for the
packets. Arun will silently go near the gentleman
and after a few minutes on a signal from him we
would troop back to our seat trying hard not to burst
16

out laughing. Soon the gentleman would look down

and find his trousers wet and smelly. At this point
there will be a suppressed giggle from us and the
paanwallahs son, Ramu, will also try hard not smile.
What had happened was that Arun had silently peed
on the gentlemans trousers without wetting himself.
He was the only person that I have ever known who
could do it.
Arun never got caught because he was such an
expert that his legs and shorts would be dry. Also he
was careful to choose his victims. They were
invariably non-locals and did not know any of us or
our parents. But he did get almost caught once. He
made the mistake of repeating it on the same
gentleman. We had forgotten about him. So the
moment Arun turned the gentleman caught him by
his collar. Arun showed an injured surprise. The
gentleman showed his wet trousers and accused him
of peeing on it. Arun indignantly protested and
showed his dry shorts and legs. Suddenly Ramu, the
paanwallahs son, shouted, See! See!! A mouse just
came out of the gentlemans trousers and went down
to the gutter. I think the mouse got frightened and
peed! Everyone laughed and looked at the
gentleman. He was thoroughly abashed and quickly
put some money on the counter and ran away. We
laughed heartily and for days would burst out
laughing whenever we recalled his face.
Since then, over the years, many things have
17

happened in the world. Man has landed on the moon,

the ten second barrier for the 100 metres race has
been broken and two school children from Telangana
have climbed the Everest. But no one, yes no one,
has been able to repeat the performance of my hero!

18

Anna: My Father
T. BHEEMACHARYA (January 17, 1905-April 29, 1985)

My father was born in Tumminkatte, in the then

Dharwar district of North Karnataka. Today it is in
Haveri district. That is where the T comes in his
name though he never expanded to its full form in
writing his name. For a long time I thought, due to
my limited knowledge of Kannada, that it was
Tunginkatte, the banks of the river Tungabhadra. In
school, none of us children expanded it either. Later
when the state became more intrusive in our private
lives and insisted on knowing its full form, I made it
Tungabhadra, whereas my brother made it Tumkur!
In 1913, as a child, my father was adopted by a
rich childless family of Honnali. And so we always
treated Honnali as our home village/town. He did
not quite like to stay there and so went to a Gurukula,
where children were trained to become pontiffs of
the religion. Here they conversed in Sanskrit, using
Kannada only to talk to women and servants in the
19

tradition of plays by Kalidasa. He also appeared in

the matriculation (high school) examination of the
then Bombay Presidency and won the Shankar Sheth
scholarship in Sanskrit and promptly left the
Gurukula, whereas his cousin stayed back and
became a pontiff of the Uttardhi Matha. My mother
believed that my father left the Gurukula because he
wanted to eat onion pakoras, which he could not get
in the Gurukula.
At Dharwad, my father became part of the group
Geleyer Gumpu (a literary group) which had people
like D. R. Bendre (who became a famous poet), R.
R. Diwakar (who later became a Governor) and V.
K. Gokak (who became a famous academician). After
completing the intermediate (two years after high
school) level, he went to Mysore to persue a degree
in Sanskrit called the Sahitya Vidvan. Among his
classmates was S. Radhakrishnan, who later became
the President of India. My father got involved in the
agitation against the British, was shot in the leg and
had an arrest warrant against him. The then prime
minister of the Mysore State, Mirza Ismail, came to
the hostel in the evening and asked him to quit the
state immediately before he was forced to execute
the arrest warrant. My father reached Indore in 1922.
He had some musical talent and so he became a
disciple of the court musician, Devidas Petiwale. In
those days, Bhatkhande, the father of musicology of
Hindustani music, had just published his critical
20

volumes on the North Indian classical music in

Sanskrit under the name of Chatur Pandit. My father
built an excellent library of the music literature that
had just began coming out for his blind guru, read
them and taught him all that was happening in the
world of music. I have seen a copy of a book in
Devnagari and Indian notations written by Maharshi
Devendranath Thakur (father of Rabindrnath
Tagore) published in the 1860s. He also learnt playing
the Been, the North Indian Veena, from Babu Khan,
the last exponent of the instrument. Babu Khan
would come, give a lesson for may be up to 15
minutes, tell my father that he (my father) was quick
in learning, collect his fee of one rupee and would
go and buy his bottle. Those were the days! He also
learnt Tabla from Zahangir Khan who lived very close
to our house.
He also became a tutor to the children of the
Bhandarkar family, teaching the daughter Sanskrit
and the son music. Later he became the vice principal
for both the Music College and the Sanskrit College
in Indore. He passed B. A. and B. T. (Bachelor in
Teaching) from Agra University and became a
teacher in the Sayongitaganj High School, Indore.
He wore Khadi but did not use a Khadi cap, and
dressed like Moti Lal Nehru. He kept in touch with
the politics of the country, read writings of Gandhi,
Nehru, Bernard Shaw and Bertrand Russell.
However, his heart was not in politics, but in music
21

and Sanskrit literature. In music, he became a

follower of Dilip Kumar Roy who approached God
through music.
After independence, he was persuaded to take a
government job and he worked for the department
of industries, in charge of village industries. In
summer, I sometimes went with him on tours and
became familiar with hand loom and silk industry
and managed to shake hands with Nehru at Mandu
where he (Nehru) was giving school dresses to the
tribal children.
He used to eat late at night and I used to serve
him. I managed to do every exercise in Wren and
Martin grammar book with him and learnt a lot of
things on various subjects. On Sundays, I also went
on morning walks with him, a habit he kept almost
till the end. He was active till the last day of his life.
He fell in the bathroom while having a bath, lost his
consciousness and died within a few hours without
waking up. I had met him a few months earlier and
we had discussed about preparing for death and he
had said that sudden death (aksmat mrityu) is the
best death. His last wish thus was fulfilled.
*****
I was a precocious child and my father took care
that I never thought too much of myself. He never
praised me and put me down the moment I acted
22

proud or showed myself off.

He had a killing sense of satire and he could and
often did cut me to pieces and put me in my place
whenever my arrogance showed up. He was capable
of using choice Kannada and Sanskrit phrases and
idioms for this. For example Day by day our horse
is turning into a donkey (Kannada: Barta barta nam
kudre katte ayatu) or he would look up towards sky
and pray to Saraswati, the goddess of learning Please,
let it not be my fate that I have to present my poems
to a person who has no sense of aesthetics (Sanskrit,
Kalidasa: Arasikeshu kavitva nivedanam, sirashu ma
likh! ma likh!! ma likh!!!). Then there were my friends
and comrades who visited him and told him how
much they learned from me about appreciating
Indian classical music or Hindu religion and its
philosophies. During my visits he will tell someone
with a wonder in his voice that Vijus friends and
comrades told him that they have learnt to appreciate
classical music and Hindu religion and its
philosophies from Viju!
About my musical leanings, the less said the better.
My father once told me never to try a career in music
as, in his opinion, I had no ear for music. He was
probably right in spite of current educationists belief
that every child has artistic sensibilities.
He was very good in his letters and always had a
subtext which required some thought to decipher.
When I was twenty five I wrote to him that I have
23

decided that my profession is revolution and my

philosophy is Marxism. He wrote back that it is good
that by twenty five one should have a profession
(sub text: be off my back) and as to philosophy one
may not understand it even in a life time. On another
occasion when he was seriously ill, I wrote that I was
sorry that I was not there when he needed me. He
wrote back, You are needed more by the people
you are working with. There are enough people
around me to look after me. Subtext: If you want
to give up revolution, dont use me as an excuse!

24

Social Work
Many people imagine that doing social work is
difficult, that one has to sacrifice a lot and that there
is no security in a career of social work. They have
images of Baba Amte, Anna Hazare, Aruna Roy
and others like them. Or they have images of NGOs
with foreign funding. Sometimes they think that you
have to be from a secure middle or upper middle
class back ground and have the security of having
gone to a prestigious college like Presidency, St.
Stephens, Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) or
Indian Institute of Management (IIM). In short it is
not for people like us. The following story will tell
them that it is not always so. All you need is a good
heart!
I met Shri Vasania when I was in college in Indore
during the early sixties. He used to come to our house
on Sundays to meet my father. He was a short man
with a round face. He always wore white pajamas
and a white shirt with western collars and a big pocket
25

in front. He came on a bicycle and he used to have

a clip on the right leg of his pajamas so that the pajama
wont get caught in the chain.
He worked as a clerk in a post office in Indore.
He worked at the Yeshwant Road Branch. At 5 in
the evening he would pack up his work and pick his
small cotton bag. While others went to Prashant Hotel
to have tea, pohe and chaat, Vasania picked up his
bicycle and headed for M. Y. Hospital some 3
kilometres away. Outside the hospital he too had a
cup of tea and pohe or a kachauri.
Then he parked his bicycle and went to the male
wards. The visiting hours had begun and anyone
could walk in. He entered the ward and surveyed
the whole ward from the door. Most people had
some visitors, but some had none. He went to the
first bed which did not have a visitor. He sat down
and enquired. It was an accident case. He was a
truck driver, Lahana Singh, from Punjab. The
hospital was located very near the NH3 - Bombay
Agra Road - and there was always some accident
case.
Vasania asked him, Do your people know about
your accident?
Lahana Singh: No. I want to tell them that it will
be a month before I can reach home.
Vasania (taking out a post card from his bag): You
speak and I will write the letter in Hindi. Someone
in the village will read it for your family.
26

Then Vasania would move over to another bed

which had no visitor. This time it was a child with a
bandaged leg. The child was happy to see Vasania.
He was meeting him every day. The child happily
prattled about the nurses, about other patients.
Vasania patiently listened smiling sweetly. Then he
moved on. On the next bed, he took out twenty five
rupees and the message card of a money order. The
family had sent the money through Shri Vasania. At
another bed he would take out a letter he received
for them. Like this he spent two hours every evening
at the hospital.
At our place, Vasania would tell some of these
stories. Both my father and I were impressed by the
simplicity and sincerity of the man and marvelled at
the simplicity of his work. It was so simple and yet
was so noble.

27

Calcutta
(Since 1961 several times a year, continuously 1967-68,
then twice a year)

Calcutta Vignettes
1. Multiplying with Zero
I met Subhas Ganguly after many years. Bharati, his
wife, told me that Subhas always told one story about
me to all his friends. According to her, once Subhas
asked me how long should one knead the flour for
making chapaatis. I had replied that till your hands
are clean. This apparently impressed him so much
that he followed this practice all his life and told his
friends about it.
On hearing this I told Subhas, I taught you so
many things and this is all you remember!
28

Subhas, who is a mathematician, replied, In my

childhood I had a Maths teacher. He once told me,
Khoka, jatoi bado sankhya hok na kyano, shunyo
theke gunile, shunyoi pabe! (Young man, howsoever
big a number may be, if you multiply it with a zero,
you will get only a zero!)

2. Wont Eat Gas

Maitreya Ghatak and I were taking a share auto
rickshaw ride from Ballygunj station. There was
already a passenger in it and he was smoking a
cigarette. I got in and politely requested him not to
smoke. He ignored me.
Maitreya who got in next to the driver in the front
turned round and said, Uni to thikee bolchhen (What
he says is right). At this the gentleman got out in a
huff and said, ami cigarette khabo, gas khabo na! (I
will smoke cigarette but wont eat your sermons!)

3. Profound Statement
Jogin and I used to walk a lot in Calcutta in the
seventies. He had a habit of turning left at any
crossing irrespective of where we were going. I
suppose that was the path of least resistance he did
not have to cross traffic. But we would have to come
back and waste a lot of time.
So one day after one of these exasperating
experiences I told him, Jogin, at every crossing you
must stop and think where you are going.
29

He stopped in his tracks, looked admiringly at

me and said, That was a very profound statement!

4. Wisdom from the Foot Board

A crowded bus in Calcutta. I got just barely in with
one foothold and was holding the side bars. I started
urging passengers in front to move up so that I could
put both the feet in.
There was another passenger, much older than
myself, to my left, holding onto one bar and one
foot hold. His other hand was holding a window bar
and one foot was dangling in the air, all of his body
being outside the bus. There was a look of calm
resignation on his face. My voice was getting shriller.
He said calmly, Dada, bheetarer log kokkhono bairer
loger kasht bujhate pare na. (Brother, people inside
can never understand the sufferings of the people
who are outside.)

5. Bosom Pillow
In those days in the early seventies, I lived in
Serpentine Lane a lane winding like a serpent near
Sealdah station. It was a fairly poor locality. We slept
on the foot path, covering ourselves all over to protect
ourselves from mosquitoes.
This is a story about a bosom pillow. What is a
bosom pillow? In Bengali it is called a paash baalish
(near or side pillow). It is a very soft pillow and
Bengalis sleep with it keeping it close to their bosoms
30

like many affluent children sleep with their teddy

bears. Why do they do it? As we all know Bengalis
generally marry late and some never marry. None
of the Chief Minsters before Jyoti Basu were married.
Hence this pillow is a bosom companion for many
Bengalis.
Coming back to the Serpentine lane. I had a young
friend; a very thin, fair and emaciated boy. He came
from a very poor family, like others in that area.
On his eighteenth birthday, his father called him
and spoke to him thus:
Son! Today you have grown up and have become
an adult. Congratulations! I know you smoke secretly.
Now on you dont have to do it. You can smoke
openly. Here is a bundle of beedis and a matchbox
as a part of my birthday present.
As you know we are very poor. I cannot help you
in your marriage. If you ever marry, it will have to
be with your own resources. All that I can offer you
is this Paash baalish. This is my last gift to you. I
wish you well!

6. Desher Katha or Talk of the Home Country

Patriotism is the memory of things eaten during your
childhood.
- Lin Yutang

This is a story of refugees from East Bengal (now

Bangladesh) in the seventies. The refugees were
31

scattered all around Calcutta and were living in small

towns like Dum Dum. They had built low cost mud
and bamboo huts and were learning to live in the
new country. Often people from the same village
would be scattered in different townships and
colonies. There were no phones and they were not
able to keep in touch. Sometimes they would
suddenly come across each other in the suburban
trains running from Sealdah station. This is a story
of one such encounter.
Khokhon: Arre! Master moshoi! Anek diner pore.
Kyamon aachhen? (Oh hello Sir! Long time. How
are you?)
Master Moshoi: Ke? Khokhon? Aami to chintei
parlam naa. Anek bodle gyachho. (Who? Khokhon?
I could not recognise you at all. You have changed
a lot.)
Khokhon: Hyan. Khub kashte cholachhe. (Yes
sir! Getting on with great difficulty.)
Then they exchanged news of their families and
slowly the talk moved to Desh (the home country).
Neighbours are recalled and the events in their life
are recounted. Some married. Some got kids. Some
died. Then the talk moves to food and their faces
change. Happy recollections start dancing in their
eyes and their cheeks are aglow. They talk of Poddar
ilish-(hilsa fish from the river Padma) and their eyes
shine and their cheeks look like polished ebony. And
finally they talk of pepe papaya.
32

Master Moshoi: Aar desher pepe! (And Papaya

from the home country!) Ahaha!! Ahaha!!
Khokhon: Ahaha! Ahaha!!
Their eyes shining, cheeks aglow.
Master Moshoi: Ratri peper tarkari khele (If you
eat curry made from raw papaya in the night)
Master Moshoi and Khokhon (together): Parer
din eto eto hoya. (Next day you get so much so
much output!)
And they burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Patriotism is the memory of things eaten in your home
country that gave you a good shit!

33

Follow your Nose!

There is a Hindi phrase, Naak ki seedh me chale
jao which can be roughly translated as, Go straight
in the direction of your nose or follow your nose.
I have a friend, Dilip Hota, who used to follow
this. He used to live in Calcutta in the seventies. He
would feel thirsty at say 10 in the night when all the
wine shops would be closed. But we used to get out
and following his nose, went through a maze of lanes
in some Calcutta slum where some Aunty would
produce a bottle. Often on the way back we used to
lose our way. Dilip explained, See! To find the way
towards this bottle, my auto was on, but there is
no guide for the way back!
Unfortunately I could not follow his example
because I suffer from congenital anosmia. If it is a
new word, here is the definition:
Anosmia is to smell, as blindness is to sight, or
deafness is to hearing. Anosmics cannot detect scents
of any kind. Congenital Anosmia: Someone is born
34

without a sense of smell. Commonly an isolated

finding. These patients often do not understand the
concept of an odour.
Now suffering in anosmia is bit funny. You dont
know you have anosmia. I did not know till I was a
teenager. This is how it happened.
I came back from school one day very hungry and
began to eat the dal and roti I found in the kitchen.
My sister walked in and reeled back looking very
frightened and she called the others. None entered
the kitchen and they asked me how the food tasted. I
said it felt as though some curd was added to sambhaar.
They asked, are you feeling alright? I said I did and
wiped out the pot with a piece of roti. I came out of
the kitchen and all backed out still staring at me with
fear. I asked what happened. They said the dal had
gone bad and smelled heavily. Couldnt you smell?
I said No, though it did taste a bit different. After
that, my family began to treat me with awe.
So, lack of ability to smell never bothered me.
When I checked up, this is the opinion of experts:
Veteran wild life biologist Ratan Lal Brahmachary
is a pioneer in tiger pheromone research. Pheromone
refers to chemical involved in smelling. His recent
book is Neurobiology of chemical communication.
In his opinion, I feel that in the distant ancestry of
human species, pheromones played a role but by
now only a vestige remains. I began to feel I am the
future man!
35

So as I said I could not feel Dilips way. I evolved

a simpler method. I used to wander aimlessly in
Calcutta in the evening as the buses used to be very
crowded. The streets also were crowded and so I
took to turning left at every crossing. Because then I
did not have to cross the street. This is how I became
a leftist!
And sure enough it worked. I used to work at the
Saha Institute of Nuclear Physics which was located
in the Science College Campus on the Upper Circular
Road. Now if you get out of the gate and take the
first left turn, you enter Kalidas Singh Road. If you
continue to turn left, you will end up at the gate of
No. 20 Kalidas Singh Road. You enter the door and
there is a staircase on the left and you climb it and
you are at the door of Sanjay Mitra. Now Sanjay
Mitra knew everyone on the far left or what came to
be known as Naxalites movement.
So I wandered out of Science College and
wandered through the Naxalite movement aimlessly
achieving nothing. I did not even get arrested! I
suppose my constant turning left saved me. From
Calcutta, I turned left and through Jharkhand and
Bihar and I landed up in Delhi. Turning further left,
I reached Hyderabad! So I worked out a philosophy:
When in doubt about to go or not to go, always
go. When in doubt about to turn left or right, always
turn left. As the Cheshire Cat said to Alice: youre
sure to get somewhere if only you walk long enough.
36

Aar Paachchina Go!

(Cant take any more, dear!)
First, a little background. Early seventies in Calcutta
it was still Calcutta then and not Kolkata. I was
supposed to be an activist, which meant basically
footloose. I had made the National Library my office,
imitating Marx who had made the British Museum
his office. I was supposed to help the journal
Bikkhon with some articles on Famine and Railways.
It was the year of the Great Railway strike and the
Bengal famine (1974), the year which inspired the
film In search of a Famine (Akaler Shondhaney) by
Mrinal Sen. It was also the year when Sisters of
Charity of Mother Teresa was born. Everybody loves
a good famine!
I used to leave in the morning and stay till the
library closed and like other Bengali scholars I used
to go out every hour to the extra cheap canteen for
chai. Since I was supposed to be an activist, most of
the time these scholars sponsored my chai. The
37

scholars found it very rewarding that they got such

an interested listener. I was no scholar in fact I was
practically illiterate having just a B. Tech. from IIT
Kharagpur in Electronics. As most IITians will
recognise, all we learn is some language of our subject
and enormous confidence. But I was also from a
small town, Indore, so I had some curiosity and
innocence left, which made me very attractive to these
scholars. Life was easy and fun.
I was fairly fluent in Bengali by then and as an
activist I had acquired various aunts mashimas and
kakimas. Since I was a non-Bengali (I am a
Kannadiga a person from Karnataka), these aunts
had special warmth for me. Baddo maya laage (Feel
a lot of affection) as they used to say. They had no
idea where Indore was or what is Kannada language.
They said, Look at this fellow, coming from such a
faraway land, away from his mother and to do
revolution in our country! So on some days when I
used to get bored at the National Library, I used to
land up at one of these aunts to have a decent lunch.
I was always welcome and was fed well, since they
thought I was starving. Also they used to feel good by
feeding. Khaiye aaraam paaya, as they used to say.
*****
On one of these days, I landed at a fairly old aunts
place. What follows is a verbatim dialogue which to
38

this day I cannot forget.

Me: Kyamon aachhen mashima? (How are you
auntie?)
Mashima: Ekdom Kharab! (Absolutely bad!)
Me: Kyano? Ki Hoyachhe? (Why? What
happened?)
Mashima: Ki hoyni? Sab jayagaya byatha. (What
hasnt? Pain everywhere.)
Me: Kothay byatha hoi? (Where do you get pain?)
Mashima: Sab jayagaya. Komare, ghade, hantute sab jayagaya. (Everywhere. In the back, in the neck,
knees everywhere). (Pulling up her sari and showing
her knee), Dyakho! Ki rakom suju gyachhe! (See! How
it has swollen!)
Me: Ektu aushudh karun, sab thik hoijabe. (Have
some medicine. Everything will be alright)
Mashima: (not listening) Ki kashto! Koto byatha!
Aar pachhinago! Hareee! Aamake tule nao! (What
suffering! How much pain! Cant take any more, dear!
Oh! Dear God! Please take me up!)
Me: E rokam bolbena Mashima! (Dont talk like
that auntie!)
Mashima: (Getting a little exasperated) Kyano bolbo
na? Tumi ki kore bujhbe, budo boyashe kirokam kasht
hoye. Ratri ghum hoyna, diner bela sab samay ghum
ghum mone hoi. Khete pari na, hante pari na. Kichhui
bhalo laage na. More geleya ye kashta the mukti pabo.
(Why will I not say? How will you understand, how
one suffers in old age. Dont get sleep in the night,
39

feel always sleepy during the day. Cant eat, cant

walk. Dont feel good at all. Only death will bring
release from this suffering).
*****
I quickly managed to leave the place. She did not
insist on asking me to stay a bit longer. But the words,
Ki kashto! Koto byatha! Aar pachhinago! Hareee!
Aamake tule nao!(What suffering! How much pain!
Cant take any more, dear! Oh! Dear God! Please
take me up!), kept ringing in my ears for years.
Today, far away on a farm in a village in Udupi
district in Karnataka, at seventy, I feel in my bones
every word that Mashima spoke rings true. I suppose
younger people who read this will feel the same way
I felt in 1974.

40

Jamshedpur
(Since 1961 every year, spent a lot of time during 1969-70)

Sitaram Shastry
Sitaram Shastry died on Oct. 24, 2012, when he
walked into a running train between Adityapur and
Gamaria stations near Jamshedpur. The incident
occurred at a point where the train crosses a bridge
over a river thirty feet below. His body was thrown
off the bridge, and lay on the banks of the calmly
flowing river. He was about 72 years old.
A week earlier, he had been diagnosed as having
throat cancer. His daughter Kanti Prabha (Chinu)
and her husband had come down to Jamshedpur
from Delhi in order to take him back to Delhi for
41

treatment. On the day they were supposed to fly

out, he left home early in the morning and did not
return. When contacted on his mobile phone, he
replied that he would not return and that they should
not search for him. Then he switched off his phone.
From 1968 onwards, till the day of his death,
Sitaram was a full-time revolutionary/social activist.
Till 1968 he had worked for the LIC in Jamshedpur
and was a union leader. That year, like many other
places in India, a lot of young people turned towards
the path of social revolution. In Jamshedpur, quite a
few TELCO workers resigned, collected their PF,
and joined the revolutionary movement. Those were
heady times.
From the very beginning, some of Sitarams special
qualities were visible. The first and foremost quality
was that he was extraordinarily courageous. He never
feared anyone, never feared having a different
opinion and lived his life on his own terms. He had
great mobility both in space and across society,
connecting with a wide cross-section of people. He
also had a great understanding of the region
Jharkhand which only improved with his wide
travels to every nook and corner of the region and
his interaction with every section of the Jharkhand
movement. Sitaram worked tirelessly for the
Jharkhand movement, knew every Jharkhand leader
and was respected by all of them. He brought them
together again and again for the common cause.
42

Being a communist, he had a great understanding

of the working classes of the region. He later
developed a similar understanding of the
Chhattisgarh region when he worked with Comrade
Shankar Guha Neogi. But prior to that, he worked
in Dhanbad district with A. K. Roy of BCKU (Bihar
Colliery Kamgar Union). He helped organise the
election campaign of A. K. Roy and later, he edited
the BCKU journal, Hirawal (Vanguard) for the
working class. Everywhere he had a tough time,
because while money was forthcoming for trade
union work and for the lawyers, there was no money
for the journal or for his upkeep.
The Emergency was a tough period for all political
workers and he moved to Bombay to help edit Blitz
Hindi. He had a fantastic command over Hindi he
wrote the best simple Hindi for the working classes,
and in later years, translations became a steady source
for his maintenance. He wrote a brilliant booklet
entitled Mehnatkashon ko Kitaben Chhahiye (The
working class wants books).
In the early eighties, he edited Mitan for Comrade
Neogi in Chhattisgarh. Everywhere he went he made
good contacts with all the activists of the region, be
they workers, peasants or, as happened in
Chhattisgarh, with doctors, engineers and lawyers
too.
Very often, Sitaram came across as a difficult
person. I think the main reason was that he was
43

impatient and unhappy with us for not being active

enough, not understanding the need to align with
other movements like the Jharkhand movement or
with the youth coming out of the JP movement, and
lastly not understanding the need to support each
other, not living in communes. However, he was
respected and loved by a very large number of
people. Hundreds of comrades and friends received
his (and Nalinis, his wife) hospitality, help and advice.
He will be missed by a large number of people.
Here we must also touch upon Nalinis role in his
life - she held him whole through all the noise and
turmoil of his life, despite all their jhagras (domestic
quarrels). She was also extremely generous under
all kinds of stress that went inevitably with being
married to Sitaram.
Many of us feel saddened that he had to commit
suicide. Those who saw his mutilated body near the
river will carry the haunting image with them for a
long time to come. Many of us ask, why did it have
to be like this?
Given the situation he was faced with, that was
probably the only valid option. Despite his protests,
his family had persuaded him to go to Delhi for
treatment. Weak and vulnerable as he was, he could
not argue out his case for not going. But he was not
prepared to face a situation where he was dependent
on others, a life of hospitalisation and the painful
reality of throat cancer. On the other hand the family
44

also feels weak and vulnerable in such a situation,

and it is difficult for any family where such choices
are not openly discussed to be able to accept such
choices of no treatment.
So he took the courageous decision of walking
out of this world. It was characteristic of him and his
decision fitted his personality. The sad thing is that
he had to be alone in his last moments. It is a sad
commentary on our progressive movement that it
has not supported the movement for legalising
euthanasia, that we are not prepared to deal with
situations like these, and were not available to help
him for an honourable and dignified end.
Now we can only support the family to cope with
this traumatic experience. We convey our heartfelt
condolences to Nalini (wife) and to Chinu (daughter).

45

Patna
(1973-74 and 1976-79)

Kiran

The Girl who knew no Fear

Kiran grew in Patna in a Marwari family. When she
passed high school her father said Alright. You have
studied enough. No more studies and we will get
you married. This was sometime in the early
seventies. Kiran stole money from her fathers pocket
and got herself admitted to the womens college.
When she came back from college in the evening,
she was scolded and beaten up. Next day, she went
to college again. She again got the same treatment
in the evening. This went on for a week after which
the family gave up and put forward a condition that
46

she must return home before sunset. Kiran had

nowhere to go and so far had always returned straight
from college but this condition enraged her.
That evening she came back from the college but
did not enter the house. Instead she sat in front of
the family shop. At first no one noticed her. But as it
began to get dark, the news spread in the market
that M familys daughter is not entering the house.
The family was scared but they could not drag her
in full public view.
Night fell. The market closed and Kiran still sat
there. There was an eerie silence in the market. In
the final analysis, every family in the market was
scared.
Around eleven, when Kirans rage quietened
down and she began to feel hungry, she entered the
house. The door was kept open but no one was
around. She went to the kitchen. There was a covered
plate with food for her. She ate and went to sleep.
Next day, nobody spoke to her. But it was clear that
Kiran could do what she felt like. No more scolding,
beating, no conditions no nothing. But no talking
either. She could also take any money she needed
the Munshi (senior clerk of the family business) told
her.
This went on for some weeks. But Kiran got fed
up of the house and she wanted to leave it. She went
to the womens hostel of Patna University and asked
for a seat. The hostel superintendent looked down
47

at her derisively. Kiran was diminutive, wore simple

college girl clothes with her hair tied in a single braid.
She was not, as she put it, hi-fi that is, she did not
appear wealthy or coming from a family with power.
So the superintendent said to her, Listen my dear
girl! Here, people who get admission come with six
MLAs recommendations. If you bring seven MLAs
recommendations, then you might get a seat.
Kiran saw red. She got up, took a rickshaw and
went straight to the Education Ministers chamber.
She doesnt remember how she went past the gate
keeper who always demanded bribe, or the ministers
secretary. Her friends say that when she is like that,
no one dares to stop her.
Kiran stormed in the chamber and started
speaking. She told the whole story breathlessly. There
were many visitors sitting around the table, some of
them even from the opposition party. The minster
listened quietly but did not reply. When the visitors
left, he asked what he can do. She asked him to
write a letter of recommendation for a seat in the
hostel for her. He asked her to write an application
and that he would forward. She said, No, I want a
letter of recommendation and nothing else. And she
sat down immovably. The minister tried to continue
to work. Evening came and people began to leave
the office. Kiran sat. The minister finally called his
secretary, and asked him to prepare a letter of
recommendation and to get details from Kiran. The
48

letter came; two copies, the minister signed and the

secretary gave her a copy and got her signature on
the office copy.
Kiran came back to the hostel and went straight
to the superintendents office and triumphantly
flourished her the letter. The superintendent paled
and quickly admitted her.
*****
The news quickly spread and all the girls looked up
to Kiran with awe and respect. She became a leader
overnight. On any issue, the girls will consult her
and take her along with them.
Kiran continued studying and passed an M.A. in
Hindi literature. Along with, she got radicalised in
left-wing politics and feminism. Early seventies were
heady years in Patna. Maoists were active in Bhojpur
and the emergency and JP movement put Patna in
the centre of the storm. No one could remain
unaffected, least of all a person like Kiran who reacted
strongly against any injustice. She took part in
everything and on women issues, she was at the
forefront. Her rage was well known and no one could
face her. It was said that many police officers were
scared of her and would avoid confronting her.
*****

49

After her M. A., some of her left-wing comrades

persuaded her to open a printing press to publish
progressive literature. Kiran got a loan from a bank
and started her press. She soon realised that printing
was only a part of publishing. Getting the manuscript
ready, typesetting (in those days it was a letter press
with manual typesetting), proof reading - all are time
consuming. And then one has to budget for the paper
as well. Meanwhile she had to pay her workers and
the bank interest was mounting. She found that
printing cinema tickets was a daily market and paid
regularly. So while it took care of her expenses she
was not doing anything she wanted to do.
Then she bought an existing weekly which was
registered for advertisement with the government.
Though the name of the weekly did not signify
anything she turned it into a feminist journal and
she again became active in the feminist movement.
The advertisements paid the salaries and her loans.
But by the eighties, Patna had petered out for her.
So she sold her press for a profit and she went to
Delhi with the money, bought a flat and a car and
got immersed in national feminist and radical
movements and became a journalist.
Kiran exhibited great courage both in her personal
and in her public or political life. It is on such courage
that the foundations of our progressive and feminist
movement are built.

50

Delhi
(1979-1989, Sporadically since then)

Vina
When Vina turned five, she told her mother that she
wanted to go to school. Her mother said Good.
But her mother used to go at 8 in the morning to
work in a factory that put golden colours on crockery.
Vinas father was a gatekeeper on a railway crossing
51

quite far away from home. Moreover he was an

alcoholic and never cared for the family.
So one day, Vina went to the local school and
met the Head Mistress and told her that she wanted
to join the school. The Head Mistress was pleased
that a child had come to school on her own to get
herself admitted. She enquired about her and her
family, filled up a form and asked her to get it signed
by her mother.
Vinas grandfather had taught her to write the
names of everyone in the family. Vina went out, wrote
her mothers name, came back to the school and
handed over the form. She was then told to deposit
one rupee as fees. Now Vina was scared. If she told
the truth that her mother was not at home, she will
be caught at signing in her mothers name!
She went to the shop opposite the school, where
the genial old Sikh shopkeeper beamed at her
through thick lenses. He was her neighbour and Vina
told him about her problem. He gave her a packet
of toffees to sell at the school gate and bring back
the money. In no time Vina sold everything and came
back clutching a lot of coins in her hand. Singhji
smiled at her, took the money and gave her a rupee.
Vina happily went back to the school, deposited her
fees and got enrolled.
Since then, Vina never took any money from her
mother during all her educational life. After that day,
Vina came every morning a little early to the school
52

and earned her rupee. In the evening also, she helped

the shopkeeper in various small ways. During the
summer vacations, Singhji helped her set up a
footpath shop selling various small things which he
gave her on credit. Vina saved her money and bought
all her necessities the school needs and personal
needs. Singhji probably kept her mother informed
about all this.
Vina had two siblings a younger brother and a
younger sister. She took care of them, got them
enrolled into the school as well and during the summer,
all of them sold rubber chappals on the footpath. Her
father was a refugee from Pakistan and they had got a
plot of land in West Delhi. The children literally built
their house on this plot brick by brick.
*****
After finishing school, Vina began to look for a job.
She wanted to join a good college - Miranda House
or Jesus and Mary College. This was very ambitious
for a girl from her background. Her English was poor.
She got a job as a sales girl in a bookshop called
Chayan in Mandi House in New Delhi. Mandi
House is the art centre of Delhi. Here there is Sahitya
Akademi, Academy of Music and Fine Arts, National
School of Drama, Doordarshan, Sriram Centre and
so on. All the Delhis art circle, actors, authors and
art lovers come there.
53

The owner of Chayan at the time was also the

owner of Radhakrishna Publishing House and a very
progressive person. He helped Vina in every way,
starting from teaching her how to use a dictionary.
He had published six volumes of Brechts works.
Vina, with the help of a Hindi author, translated
Brechts poems into Hindi. Vina got admission in
The Jesus and Mary College and completed her B.
A. from the college. Meanwhile, the shop Chayan
changed hands as the contract got renewed. Vina
was used to selling on footpaths, so she acquired a
table, got some Chayan stock and set up a shop in
Mandi House. She knew everyone and was known
as the Kitabon wali ladki (The girl with books). Vina
passed her M. A. and M. Phil from Delhi University.
She even went to China on a youth programme.
By now, Vina was well established as a bookseller.
She called her shop Sahitya Chayan and supplied
books to small organisations to set up libraries. She
also ventured into publishing. She published many
books on education and brought out two rare books
- Elmhursts book on Tagore, Pioneer in Education
and Mulk Raj Anands On Education. She sold
her books through a post card campaign and could
sell a thousand copies of any book. Once she
published a book that the National Book Trust had
also published. When asked on how she would
compete with NBT, she replied, my market is my
market. They cannot enter my market!
54

Chandigarh
(Often during 1981 -1989 and spent a year also in between)

The House in which

Mr. Mohan Biswas
Lived
He lived at 708, Sector 8, Chandigarh in the early
eighties. In those days he was (and still is) Mohan
Mani. He married Nilanjana Biswas later. We call
him Mohan Biswas because we want to show off
that we have read Naipaul.
55

Mohan was a man of few words and a lot of money.

We used to have a jingle Money Money Mohan
Mani! Like all hoarders, he believed in the
philosophy of, Sell more and buy less and therefore
he lived a simple life and presumably had high
thinking.
His house was bare. The living room had six 3x3
cushions which could be put together to make 3 beds.
Period. There was a cupboard but he did not put his
money in it. There was a bare kitchen coffee and
breakfast. The barest of all was the bath room. It
was twice as big as the kitchen. It had no buckets,
no mugs. Just a screw driver!
For food, he normally foraged. Otherwise there
was a tandoor on the footpath near his house where
we had tandoori paratha and maa ki daal.
So he bought little. What did he sell? As he was a
man of few words, he sold informed silence. The
actual work on his job was between 5.40 pm and
6.50 pm with the CEO of the company for which he
worked. It was the hour of doubt for the CEO. The
employees had left and it was too early to start
thinking of a drink when all doubts vanish!
During the hour, the CEO would speak and
Mohan would lend his profoundly informed ear.
Mohans contribution to the conversation would be
mainly the word Ya! spoken in 23 different shades
of meaning. When pressed for an answer it would
be, Ya! I suppose so.
56

Mohan played cricket on Sundays. He bowled at

the body. He nearly bowled his bosss eye out. It
earned him an awed admiration. In general all his
friends admired him except the irreverent
Manmohan Sharma who said, Arre! Wo tho boss ka
keep hai!

57

Bhopal
(1985-86 and later sporadically)

Ramesh Billore
Ramesh Billore is a living legend. I have not met
anyone who knows him and does not have a story to
tell.
Ramesh has a Ph. D. in history from Calcutta
University but I have never heard or seen him having
a job. He is forever on the move with his back pack.
He is a very good walker and can walk quite a few
miles with his back pack. He has been all over the
country and has visited or lived with a large number
of peoples organisations.
In his own community (Narmadeya Brahmins from
the Narmada valley), he is considered a bit cracked.
58

Certainly his behaviour does arouse comments. He

would arrive at a place, take off his back pack, his
shoes, socks and his dress and put on a lungi and
take a towel. Then he would systematically talk to
his entire belongings one by one and tell them that
he is going for a bath and that he would be back
soon. His friends argue that it was his way of
remembering things, that lonely travellers do develop
such mannerisms as they cannot afford to leave
anything behind.
Ramesh has written a large number of poems but
I have not seen any of them published. Many of his
friends know them by heart. Probably the most
famous is, Alsi Bano (Become Lazy). The poem
says that lazy people are harmless; they do not make
bombs and start war. They do not run industries
and exploit labour or run banks and loot people.
Amongst a large number of stories I have heard
about him, the following one is my favourite.
Ramesh was travelling from Hoshangabad to
Bhopal a journey of about two hours. He had
bought his ticket and was comfortably chatting with
his fellow passengers. The Ticket Checker (T. C.)
came and looked at Rameshs ticket. He said, This
is a superfast train. You have not bought the superfast
surcharge ticket of Rupees two, you will have to pay
a fine of Rupees 50.
Ramesh looked at him and asked him to sit down.
When the T. C. hesitated Ramesh raised his voice
59

and said, Sit down please.

Then Ramesh said, Do you know who I am? I
am Dr. Ramesh Billore, Ph. D. in history from
Calcutta University. I was born on August 9, 1942,
the day when the Indian people responded to the
call of Quit India, and threw the British out of this
country. It is more than sixty years now but you are
still behaving like the railway officials of the British
days. Dont you feel ashamed?
The TC tried to protest. Ramesh raised his hand
and said, Be quiet and listen. You are learning an
important lesson in the history of India.
By this time a small crowd had gathered to listen
in. Ramesh continued, Do you know what kind of
government we have in India according to the
Constitution of India. It is a Republic. Do you know
what a republic is? The word is from Latin, Res Public,
which means Rule of the People. Do you know what
Indian Railway is? It is a public enterprise. Do you
know who you are? You are a public servant. Do
you know who we are? We are the public. How dare
you try to fine us? Punish us? Arent you ashamed
of yourself?
The T. C. was considerably shaken. He said in a
small voice, Sir I have to follow the rules.
Ramesh: Yes I know. But you have to be polite
to the public. You should be ashamed of your
behaviour.
T. C. Yes sir. I wont bother you anymore. I will
60

go and do my duty.
Ramesh: No! You will stay here. You will only
harass other passengers. And at Bhopal you will signal
your colleague and they will harass me at the gate.
T. C.: O. K. Sir. I will accompany you till you go
out of the gate of the station.
The public tittered and the T. C. buried his face
in his papers and kept on polishing his spectacles.
At Bhopal station, Ramesh triumphantly climbed
down the carriage, with the T. C. meekly behind
him. A small procession of the fellow travellers
followed them up to the gate. Outside the gate the
T. C. bowed and said, May I go now sir?
Ramesh: Good. But tell me honestly, dont you
feel ashamed of yourself?

61

Bidar
(1990-1995 and later sporadically)

Pearls of Wisdom
In the early nineties, I lived in Bidar for a few years.
Bidar is one of the smallest districts in Karnataka
and is 120 kilometers from Hyderabad. It is full of
monuments from 14th -15th century. In Bidar all
monuments are used by people as public places and
are kept clean by local people the best way to
maintain a heritage. On any afternoon, one can see
old people resting, children doing their homework
or just reading books at the monuments.
There used to live a tailor near our house and I
used to chat with him sometimes. He had a cousin
62

who lived and worked as a school teacher in a

neighbouring village. The cousin was an unusually
sensitive teacher. He once told me that children who
need us most are the poor children and it is them we
have no time for. They stay after school hours to get
help from us.
One day I met him in the city near Mahmud
Gawan Library. It is not a living library, but a
beautiful 15th century monument which used to be a
library and a theological school.
He said: I am glad I met you. I need your help. I
have got this letter from Bangalore and I dont know
how to reply.
We went inside the library and found one shady
corner and sat down. He brought out a letter folded
several times over. I read it and was very puzzled. I
am quoting from memory, but this is what it said:
Dear Sir,
We have read in the National Geographic about
the unusually large pearls you grow in your village.
We want our people to be trained by you. How many
days will it take and what will be your fees? Kindly
reply this letter at your earliest convenience. Yours
etc.
The address was that of a big jewellery store in
Bangalore.
I asked: What is all this? Do you actually grow
pearls?
He said: Yes, at the river in our village. I have
created a small pearl growing area.
63

Me: I still dont understand. How do you grow

them? Where did you learn?
He: They are artificial or cultured pearls, which
are grown by inoculating oysters.
Me: Where did you learn all this?
He: At the National Centre in Bhubaneshwar.
Me: But how did you come to know about it, sitting
in a village near Bidar? I have never heard about
them.
He: Every summer, I go for a trek to Kulu-Manali
with the Youth Hostel Association of India. I have
made many friends there. One of them is from
Bhubaneshwar and on his suggestion, I returned via
Bhubaneshwar, after one of the treks. At
Bhubaneshwar, he took me to a centre where he
worked and explained this cultured pearl growing
technique. I spent a whole day there. I am a biology
teacher and I thought I should experiment this
technique in our village river. In a couple of years, I
grew some very large pearls and showed it to my
cousin from Hyderabad. One day, he came with
somebody with a camera, who asked me about my
pearls. I explained to them the technique and showed
samples of some of my large pearls. They took some
photographs. That is all.
I was quite amazed and humbled. I have done
science and engineering from a so-called prestigious
institute but where am I in comparison to this teacher?
Somehow we managed to write a reply, saying that
64

they can learn the technique at Bhubaneshwar, but

growing large pearls is a matter of environment,
patience and luck.
I have forgotten his name and sometimes I feel I
have dreamt the whole episode. But then where did
I get such a fertile imagination? It is better to believe
that a genius can occur anywhere in the world.

65

Hyderabad
(1995 to date with large breaks of a few years)

Oedipal Resolution of
the Existential Angst
of a Colonial
Intellectual
Normally an unpublished Ph. D. thesis is not
reviewed. However, on one hand, this is an interesting
thesis and therefore it should be brought to the notice
of discerning scholars, and on the other, it is too hot
and sizzling to be published, particularly in India.
As the name suggests, it is interdisciplinary in
nature. It combines psychology, popular culture,
66

male studies and orientalism. Finally it is based on

an autobiographical account and has a co-guide from
the literature department, a scholar in male dilemma
and gay studies. All the same the main discipline is
sociology.
The author, Dr. J. Vadiraja, a professor of
Sociology in the Central University, is an extremely
pleasant person with a sense of humour, popular
amongst colleagues and students and, no prizes for
guessing, particularly amongst women students.
Fluent in Telugu, Marathi, Kannada, Tamil, Dakhni
and English, he is a great mimic and can sing
hundreds of songs, putting in words of his own in
between, to the great amusement of his friends.
However, with the pen, he is cruelly honest about
himself, his parents, his ex-wife, his rival and he spares
none. As the bibliography suggests, he is widely read
and can handle different disciplines with ease.
The story in its bare essentials is this. Vadiraja,
son of a lower-middle class Brahmin clerk studied in
an English-medium school and ended as a professor
of Sociology in a central university. In his youth, he
was a civil rights and trade union activist and his first
Ph. D. thesis is, in fact, on trade unions. Along the
way, he also married and divorced a feminist. Today
he is back with his parents, happily married to a
lower-middle class, small town, and vernacular
educated person and has two children. Evidently,
his childhood, his education, his first marriage and
67

his career as a teacher colours the narrative.

As the references show (I have quoted only a
handful from the 477 references in the thesis) different
aspects of the problem, like, oedipal resolution, angst
of colonial intellectual, teaching in English to the
students whose access to English is marginal, have
been paid attention to by the scholars. What Vadiraja
has done is to weave all these strands in an
intellectually exciting tapestry, tinged with the colours
of personal experience.
The thesis has alternate chapters of autobiography
and theory. The former is written in a fictional and
racy style with generous doses of Indian English
whereas the latter is in chaste academic prose
illuminating the former. Many readers may want to
stick to the autobiography with its titillating erotic
episodes. They are in the style of classics of South
Asian humorous erotica where the hero goes into
loops to reach The Ultimate Goal only to fail
because of La belle dame sans merci (the beautiful
woman without mercy) or in this case, La Femme
fatale feministe (The dangerous femnist woman). But
the theoretical chapters are no less entertaining. He
uses Focaults discourse as deployment idea to show
how intellectual women use the feminist discourse
as deployment to bring down the sensitive male at
their feet very effectively with a wry humour. The
moral of the story is that the intellectual feminist wants
and deserves mcps (male chauvinist pigs) or as one
68

honest feminist put it she wants to be a kept feminist!

Male awareness does not come from feminists but
from experience with other males, particularly from
gays. Finally, sensitive males can have very good
relationship with ordinary, simple women. It is best
that they keep away from the intellectual feminists!
Vadiraja is currently the editor of The Journal of
Male Studies in the Third World (JMSTW). Founded
in 1977 by V. T. Bhadra, in the wake of strident
feminists, it gave voice to the sensitive males, who
were not gays. Ironically the journal has been used
by these very feminists to produce Ph.D.s. Vadiraja
has recently reviewed these works in, She came,
she screwed and went away with a Ph.D. (2009,
Spring, JMSTW). Vadiraja also co-ordinates MAN
(Male Awareness Network) and counsels sensitive
males in a feminist world.
We cant wish away our history. We cant wish
away our parents and their background, our spouses
and their background, feminism, colonial education
and the English language. We can only come to grips
with it - the only way we as intellectuals can do it to
attain some relief and peace. Dr. Vadiraja has done
it for himself and has shown us how to go about it if
we were honest. It is our story. That is the tribute a
great work often receives.

References
1.

Bhadra, V. T., 2002, If youth knew, if age could:

Diary of a dirty old man, Hyderabad, Deep Pink.
69

Bhadra, V. T., 2008, Vegans are violent. Violence

and deprivation of animal protein, in You are
what you eat. Hyderabad, Deep Pink.
3. Jayamanne, Laleen, 1982, Oedipal resolution of
the angry young man in Bollywood cinema. Ph. D.
thesis, Sydney University.
4. Mohan Das, G. K., 1947, Auto sexuality and
gratification, Navajeevan.
5. Oberoi, J. B. S., 1979, Teaching in the margins
of the university: Teaching sociology in English in
an Indian University. Lecture.
6. Rozario, Shanti, 1982, Women on the margin Ph.
D. thesis. Based on an autobiographical account
of a Christian dalit woman in Bangla Desh.
Macquarie University, Sydney.
7. Sudhir, K. 2005, Is it my child? Castration
(male performance) anxiety among Indian male
intellectuals, JMSTW, Summer.
8. Tom, S., 1999, She knows that I am having dirty
thoughts about her and she is going to report to the
authorities, sexual fantasy and persecution
mania. Unpublished mss.
9. Vadiraja, J., 1995, If she could fuck her father
she would not have married me Divorce and back
to the parents; experiences of a beleaguered Indian
male intellectual, in JMSTW, Autumn.
10. Vadiraja, J. 2002, You fucking bastard, Oedipal
desire and anger against father, in JMSTW,
Spring.

2.

70

A Day in the Life of

Corner Space was created by Bhashwati and Priti for
women to visit and do what they feel like without the
worry of home and family. A typical visitora typical
day
Little big Jill Horner
Sat in a corner
Chewing her pencil
Thinking what to write.
She dozed off
Sat up with a start
And said What am I karo- ing?
She went up to the workstation
She on ed the computer
Played Freecell mindlessly
The machine said
Sorry! You lose!
71

No more legal moves left.

Same game again?
She wandered to the Green Pony Tails
Same old books!
Wandered to the kitchen
Made a cuppa
Sat down in her corner.
Took a sip - No sugar!
With a sigh she got up
Added sugar
And went to sit out.
Back to the kitchen
Wash, wash
Wipe, wipe
Scrub, scrub, scrub
Thinking, thinking, thinking.
Hey! Presto!
Got the idea!
I will begin with
Volume I
Of my
Collected Works!

72

Mysore
(I was born here in 1943 - several visits during 1995-2010)

73

Tigers Tail
I first met Manu K. in the mid-90s along with other
members of Mysore Amateur Naturalists. Manus
work with the Pelicans in Kokkarebellur village near
Bangalore is well known. There is a good film about
it called, Pelican Man, made by a UK documentary
film-maker, Sara Jolly.
Manu is the only real good naturalist I have ever
met. He seemed to know everything. Trained as an
electronic engineer, he is a self-taught naturalist. He
has many skills - he can sketch the birds fast and
accurately, he can conduct minor surgeries, he is
very good in conducting nature camps for children,
he speaks good Kannada and is fairly well read in
Kannada literature. His library of books and films
on nature is fabulous. In his house, you always run
into young naturalists who are doing some field work
in forests and have come to meet Manu.
One day I thought I will boast a little bit by telling
him that I also know something. So I told him how I
knew the great wildlife biologist, Ratan Lal
74

Brahmachary, a physicist turned biologist working

under J. B. S. Haldane at the Indian Statistical
Institute. I told him about a paper by Brahmachary
on tiger pheromones in which he studies the
pheromones contained in tigers urine. Tigers leave
samples of their urine as Marking Fluids on trees
which contain smelly messages for other tigers. Then
I wondered how Brahmachary collected samples of
tiger urine - particularly samples from the upper and
lower streams of tiger urine. Manu patiently (and I
thought respectfully) listened to all this and said
quietly, I collected the samples for him.

75

Aliabad
(2001-2005)

On not Learning
Telugu
When I first came to Hyderabad in 1990, I was asked
to conduct a training programme for rural youths at
Shankarapalli. A senior member of the organisation
however said, How can you do it? You dont know
any Telugu.
I never thought it as a problem because I was
multilingual, knew 5 languages which included
Marathi and Kannada, the neighbouring languages.
Yet he was right. I did not know any Telugu.
As it turned out, I spoke in Hindi. I had an
excellent translator and it was one of my best training
76

programmes. The organisers were also extremely

happy about it. What I discovered was that during
the time of translation I had a lot of time to observe
individual trainees and non-verbal communication
played an important part when they responded.
Now I knew something about languages and
communications and I decided to experiment in not
learning a language. Now this was not easy for me
and I had to take considerable effort to switch off
my mind when surrounded by Telugu speaking
persons. And to date, that is 22 years later; I have
been successful in not learning the language! And
this was quite a learning experience! I learnt to
observe so many things in my surroundings. I also
became a bird watcher and developed a lot of
sensitivity towards nature and animals.
It had a lot of amusing consequences also. My
educated Telugu friends felt insulted or were angry
with me for not learning the language. There were
others who simply ignored or tolerated this and some
responses were very interesting.
In a rural childrens camp, a child (about 12 years
old) started talking to me. It turned out that she had
a lot to say and I listened without comprehending.
When she realised that I did not know Telugu she
was so angry that she slapped me! One of my woman
friends said she wished she could do it!
I lived on a farm in a village for many years. I
used to go to the village every day for a walk and
77

meet a lot of children and used to play with them. I

learnt quite a few games that did not require
language. Yet the children were puzzled that I did
not know Telugu. For them knowing Telugu was as
natural as walking and they treated me as a physically
handicapped person and had a lot of sympathy for
me.
There was one child about 6 years old and she
had a younger sister who was about 2 years or so.
She was teaching her sister to speak. She decided to
teach me as well. She made me sit down next to her
on the steps. Then she said, Say da. I said, da.
Then she said say di. I said, di. Then she said,
Say Daddy!

78

Hyderabad
(2005 2008, then divided time between Hyderabad and a
farm in Udupi district Karnataka)

Ten Years of the

PACT
The PACT or the Palwa Animal Care Trust was
founded on June 16 th 2011, on the 10th birth
anniversary of the family dog, Naughty. While
celebrating it, everyone was aware that Naughty was
getting old. Jyoti (Karnikas mother) was prepared
to take care of Naughty till his dying days. Karnika
felt that the dog must not suffer unnecessarily and
that they must put him to sleep when he was old. At
the same time everyone was so attached to the dog
that it was decided to stuff him after his death.
The discussion went on to so many abandoned
cats, dogs, cows, donkeys and horses and their
79

sufferings, road accidents and so on. Karnika argued

that humanity had entered a pact thousands of years
ago with the wild ancestors of these domesticated
animals that they will take care of them in return for
specific services and a relationship was born. Today
when in some cases this pact is broken, these animals
cannot survive on their own. When they are forced
to become feral that is, to go back to conditions of
wild they suffer miserably. We are obliged to honour
this pact. At this point the idea of starting an
organization to take care of these abandoned animals
was born. The acronym PACT was approved by
everyone and there it was and has been so for the
last ten years.
Karnika had been toying with an idea of dedicating
her life to animal care. But she was an engineer, had
no background in zoology and found no openings
in any university course. She had been interacting
with Blue Cross Hyderabad and Cerana Foundation
Hyderabad and slowly formulating her ideas. The
idea of stuffing Naughty made her take a course in
taxidermy the art and science of stuffing animals.
Both she and her mother Jyoti had been dabbling
with various art forms for years and had a sense of
artistic creativity. Today Naughty is embalmed,
looking very much alive and as naughty as ever, in a
glass case in the waiting hall of The Last Resort The Palwa Old Age Home for Domestic Animals,
Haveli, Badnagar.
80

But I am getting ahead of the story. The Trust

was started with all the close family members, that
is, Mr. and Mrs. Palwa, Divya, Karnika, Divyas
husband, Anshuman and Karnikas fianc, Sankalp.
All the earning members put one lakh rupees as the
corpus fund for the trust. So it was started with four
lakhs. They began by adopting stray animals,
primarily dogs and cats for the Blue Cross while
Karnika was training herself at the Blue Cross and
taking the taxidermy course.
In about two years she learned enough to start
her own home for stray animals and her father was
also ready to retire and to go back to Indore and
Badnagar in M. P. where he and his wife spent their
early years. At Indore, they had a plot of land and
they built a small house with a large garden. Cats
and dogs kept on arriving because they were always
ready to take them.
Soon the place became too small. At that point
the idea of moving to the family home at Badnagar
came. They had a large haveli and some 30 acres of
land. It was enough to grow food and fodder for the
animals and leave some grazing land also. It took
three years for the set up to become functional. They
grew food for themselves organically. Plenty of
farmyard manure was available because of all the
animals and they were running a regular compost
factory. For the animals they grew various grains.
Cotton was grown as a commercial crop but the
81

cotton seed was an important animal feed. They ran

a taxidermy workshop and a training course in
taxidermy. There was no dearth of animals because
many old animals either died or were put to sleep to
put an end to their sufferings. Only small animals
were stuffed and the larger animals were sold to the
local leather workers.
There was always a steady stream of visitors and
volunteers and the haveli had enough rooms to
accommodate everyone. Some visitors brought their
pets or animals for the old age home. Many of them
donated money for the services although the Trust
was prepared to take any domestic animal without
any money. Almost all of them bought a small stuffed
animal cats, dogs, squirrels, hares, white mice, cocks
and hens etc. They also bought books from the small
book store the Trust ran. It had books by Konrad
Lorenz, Durrell and many childrens books on
animals. They also had a DVD store which sold the
best animal films in the world.
The Trust had a small library on animals - both
fiction and non-fiction. It also had a section in Hindi
and apart from the books on animals it housed most
of the books produced by authors in Malwa.
The haveli also housed AASMAN The Amateur
Astronomical Society of Malwa. (The N in AASMAN
is silent as in psychology). It was started with a semiprofessional telescope that came as a gift to Karnika
from an unknown admirer (You are so starry eyed,
82

always walking with your head in the clouds said

the gift card). It combined Karnikas interest in
physics and the beauty of the nights of Malwa Shabe
Malwa. Badnagar lies on the tropic of cancer, free
from air pollution and the sky is always clear and
therefore is an ideal place for an observatory. The
telescope was mounted on the terrace of the haveli
and during the summer vacations, amateur
astronomers (and some professionals too) used to
troop in. In time, the Department of Science and
Technology gave a grant for an observatory and
today it is the best amateur astronomical observatory
in the country and has a few original discoveries to
its credit.

83

A Piece of your Heart

For Soujanya
While you were here
You always left something behind
And we preserved it.
Some time it was your jacket
And some time it was your racket
And very often it was your packet.
This time when you left for Bangalore
You left behind something very precious
It was a bit of your heart!
84

It was not your fault

It got entangled with mine
And when you pulled at it
A bit of it got left behind.
This time
We will preserve it
But we wont return it.
But dont worry
It is the law of the heart
The more you leave behind
The bigger it grows.
May you meet
A lot of nice people in your life
And may your heart
Grow bigger and bigger!

85

Kakinada
(One week visit during 2013)

Seven Years of Folks

What does FOLKS stand for?
Friends of Koringa Sanctuary.
But what about L?
L is silent as in psychology.
Hmm But in psychology L is not silent!
That is the point.
Oh, I see.
ErBut what is the point?
86

On board Princess of Koringa, July 28,

2018, evening 9 p.m.
Chetana with a champagne glass in hand is speaking,
The point however is, as Marx said, to change the
world! The party burst out in loud cheering. They
were celebrating the completion of seven years of
FOLKS. All the founder members were present:
Chetana, Dr. Kalpana, Dr. Krupa, Bhaskar the boat
man, Prof. Lakshmi and Mrs. Surya Prabha. The
only person sadly missed was Viju, who died on
October 8, 2013. There were another 50 odd friends
from Hyderabad and Kakinada who were steady
friends of FOLKS. The food served was fabulous
and included Tiger prawns and the famous Khaja
from Kakinada.
Chetana continued, it all began exactly seven
years ago when four of us made our first trip to
Koringa and met Krupa and Bhaskar at Koringa.
But that is just a way of saying. It may have begun in
1998 when I first slept with a cat and woke up next
morning with a bout of sneezing that made the cat
jump with fright and startled the family and the
neighbourhood (laughter).
Princess of Koringa was a 100 foot luxury
houseboat which Chetana bought with her
consultancy work in software. Chetana lives in it,
does most of her work which is now mainly studying
and monitoring marine ecology in Koringa estuary.
Sometime back they have jointly published a
87

monogram on the marine ecology in the Bay of

Bengal. For this project, Princess of Koringa made
trips up and down the East coast all the way from
the Sunderbans to Pondicherry. It has even made a
trip to the Andaman and Nicobar islands. Powered
by a 10,000 solar cells it has assured power through
the year.
Immediately after the first trip to Koringa, Chetana
went back to Hyderabad to continue her job and
think things out about FOLKS. Viju gave her back
issues of the Hornbill magazine and helped her to
become a member of BNHS. He also gave his
precious binoculars and Salim Alis Book of Indian
Birds to her. Chetana began to collect books on
marine ecology. She also decided to take a break of
6 months from October to March (which was the
season to visit the sanctuary) to spend it at Kakinada
and at the sanctuary.
The six months proved to be hectic and decisive.
She went to the sanctuary 2-3 times a week and after
each visit, she confirmed her observations with the
help of her books. She learnt to identify all the species
of mangroves and managed to have a personal bird
list of 60 species. She also began to get a feel of the
amphibian and insect world.
She collected all the plastic waste on each of her
visit and put the amount in kilograms collected by
her on the notice board. It had a dramatic effect and
amount of the waste decreased drastically after a few
88

weeks. Today there is zero plastic or nonbiodegradable waste in the sanctuary.

Telephone numbers of auto rickshaw drivers in
the village Chollangi (1.5 Km. away from the
sanctuary on the main road) were also displayed and
some of the drivers began to take interest in becoming
guides. She began to include them on the river trip
free of charge if they stayed on without charging the
passengers for waiting. Many of them learnt the little
talk and identifying the important species of flora
and fauna.
In April, she went back to Hyderabad and took
up a part time job which also allowed flexi time. She
registered on an online course in tropical marine
ecosystem and its restoration from The Central
Institute of Marine Biology at Kolkata.
All this is history now. Today the sanctuary is well
known amongst naturalists and visitors have increased
tenfold. Its education centre is manned by FOLKS
and runs regular programmes for bus-loads of
children who come. It has two boats of its own to
take the visitors around. The FOLKS website is the
best introduction to marine ecology and its restoration
for amateurs.
FOLKS also owns a small prawn pond and makes
money out of it. At Chollangi, it runs a nice restaurant
called Good Folks which serves Tiger prawns, beer,
and white wine, and Khaja. Chetana has cats on
board who are fed on fish and keep the boat free
89

from mice. And of course she has an amateur radio

station, broadband internet connection, Bose
speakers and a vast collection of naturalist and animal
films. She stays near the sanctuary between October
to March. Rest of the time she travels on her boat,
doing part time consulting online. When asked how
she feels about her decision to become what she has
become she said, Super!

90

Belgaum
(2009-10)

Diabetes Mellitus
Nora came to meet Viju. At once Viju exclaimed:
Hey! You have lost a lot of weight.
Nora: Isnt it good?
Viju: No, sudden loss of weight is not good. Have
you been doing a lot of exercises, dieting?
N: No, it just happened.
V: Then you must at once get checked for
diabetes. If that is not the answer, the doctor may
prescribe some more test.
91

N: Viju, you are a bore, getting old. Instead of

complimenting me on my slim looks, you talk of
diabetes. Kya zamaana aa gaya hai! (What has the
world come to!) With friends like this...
*****
Nora phoned Viju the following week.
Nora: Vijuuuuu! I have got diabetes. My sugar
levels exceed 400!
Viju: Oh dear! My worst fears have come true. I
am really sorry to hear. It is serious but not fatal. It
will take time for you to learn to live with it and not
suffer. Essentially you will have to go through the
standard DABDA.
N: Now what is that?
V: It stands for Denial, Anger, Bargaining,
Depression and finally Acceptance. It is a normal
response to sudden negative news death of a near
and dear one, news of being diagnosed for cancer,
diabetes and so on. At a societal and historical level,
response to Peak Oil is also similar.
N: Thanks. Very reassuring. What am I to do?
V: Your doctor must have explained it to you.
First, you have to go through medication/injections
to get your symptoms back to normal. Then you
have to make drastic lifestyle changes. Physical fitness
and diet are the key long term requirements.
N: Yes, the doctor told me all that. I am going
92

through Google Search for diabetic diet recipes. Oh

dear, it is such a bore. I dont want to do it. I think I
will try Naturopathy.
V: You are going through the Denial phase.
N: Just shut up you Mr. know all!
*****
After a week...
Nora: Vijuuu! I am sorry I got angry with you. I
suppose you would just say it is the second phase of
DABDA!
Viju: OK. I am listening. Now what is happening?
N: Nothing is working. I am tired of going round
and round in the local park and seeing all these obese
people! I never thought that I will be with them or
even envy them they dont have diabetes!
V: Go climb a tree.
N: Viju, dont be like that. I need help.
V: I meant to help. Meaningless exercises sooner
or later peter out. Your exercises should be
meaningful. Climbing a tree is a good exercise. You
can harvest fruits, bring down the toddy pot or just
enjoy the view. Each tree is different and so climbing
trees can be exciting.
N: You are pulling my leg. At my age how can I
start all over again? As a child I have climbed every
possible tree in Bilgram Reserve Forest and even
during my wolf watch period, I have done some
93

climbing. But now?

V: It will come back slowly. Start going to the
forest morning and evening. The atmosphere will
be soothing and climbing trees will become enjoyable
after a few days. Try to eat some forest fruits as you
used to do as a child.
N: OK. I will give it a shot.
*****
After a month...
Nora: Viju, you are a dear. It is working. I am
feeling much better. I also met some of my old
friends, including a childhood friend who now has a
fish shop on the road near the Chinnaprabha Petrol
Pump. Also I met some toddy tappers. They are
very nice and very fit. You have to be, to be able to
climb those trees. I wish I could climb those trees
but it scares me a bit.
Viju: Go to Sangatya farm. In Udupi district, the
government runs a course for a week in climbing
coconut trees. They even give some scholarships.
They use a very scientific harness to climb the trees
and at the end of the course you get one harness as
a gift!
*****
After another month...
Nora: Viju! I am very excited. I can climb any
94

tree now. I have been climbing coconut, Palmyra

and date palm trees. I also helped to bring a toddy
pot down.
Viju: Great! Have you tried out the combination
of fish and toddy?
N: Yes of course! I am having a breakfast of fish
and toddy every morning!
V: Now go to Pune for a week and spend a week
with Holistic Health Centre and a take a course in
Wellness. They will teach you all about diabetic diets.
*****
After several months...
Nora: Vijuuu! I went to Pune and I got the
diploma. I am now Nora D.W. Diploma in Wellness!
And I have started a Dhaba* D. M. Dhaba
Diabetes Mellitus (DM) Dhaba, Proprietor: Nora D.W.
Viju: Great! What do you serve?
N: Fried fish, fish curry with greens and lots of
vegetables. I also serve things that grow underground
like yam/potato/sweet potato/carrot. Also some wild
fruits - mainly seasonal and toddy. This is what I
learned in Pune.
V: How is the Dhaba doing?
N: We are doing well. Comrade Diwakar of
Bilgram Times had come for the inauguration. He
gave a big splash with picture of me climbing a palm
tree, toddy and fish being served in leaf cups and
95

plates. Deccan Herald picked up the story and they

sent a local reporter.
One Krishna Kumar Biswas from Indian Institute
of Management, Bangalore had come for a case study
and a Shishir Bardhan from Bombay came to record
a video. He gave me a copy of some nice footage
and promised me to send the edited version.
Lot of local people and lot of traffic on the road
stops at this ethnic looking place.
V: Anything else?
Nora: All is well. Only many people dont
understand Diabetes Mellitus (DM) so they call it
Daru* Machhali* Dhaba!
V: I see. And how about Nora D. W.?
N: (Chuckles), Nora Daru Wali* of course. Isnt
that the whole point of this story?
*****
*Glossary
Dhaba A food place normally on highways
Daru Alcoholic beverage
Machhali Fish
Daru Wali A woman trader in alcoholic beverages.

96

Bangalore
(1966-67 and thereafter occasional visits)

An Unhurried View of
Home Brew in India
The Hitch Hikers Guide to Home Brew in India By
Sajai Jose, Bangalore, Bottoms Up Publications, 2012
The CPM stalwarts at the plenum admitted in no
uncertain terms that factionalism and alcoholism were
two main vices threatening the Party.
- The 3 day state Plenum of CPM at Palakkad,
Kerala.
97

Why should anti-imperialism be so stark and without

fun?
- Sajai Jose
Sajai gives the answer eloquently in his underground
publication The Hitch Hikers Guide to Home Brew
in India. Fight capitalism and imperialism by
boycotting the capitalist brew. Abolish capitalist brew
Let home brew flourish is the slogan Sajai
recommends to all communists, patriots, localists,
greens, ecologists, Peak Oil wallahs and what have
you.
It had to happen and quite appropriately by a
Kerala Christian who is normally half communist
and half alcoholic. The book went viral in the under
ground. The people below have been expecting it
for a long time or ever since the web site www.
homebrewindia.in has been around. There are
innumerable editions in various formats - .odt, .rtf,
Pdf, html, epub, mobi, print on demand and so on.
People have published from full versions of it to only
local versions.
The book is the first comprehensive account of
home brew in India. Home brew of course includes
local brew. The book divides India into 65 ecological
regions, each having a special flavour! The book is
strongest in covering Kerala and South India and
weakest in covering North-East India. The NE is a
whole sub-continent in itself each valley having a
98

special brew following the law - the larger the

biodiversity, the larger the variety of brew.
The book gives at least one address in each of the
600 odd districts in India where one can locate a
home/local brew source. There are apprentice
courses available in select place where one can learn
the art in three months.
Home brew is highly seasonal but India is a large
sub-continent and one can hitch hike throughout
ones life learning and absorbing the local culture
and brew in good healthy weather. In hot summers,
one can lie in a shade full of rice beer or on a winter
night be wrapped in warm clothes full of hot toddy.
Inquilab Zindabad! Long Live Bewda India!

99

Nakre
(2008-Present)

Mishka
Mishka is our cat at the Sangatya Farm. When
Karnika was here last August, Mishka was just six
months old. Karnika said, If I were to draw this
house, I will put 20 Mishkas all over - at the door, at
the window, on the well, near the washing stone,
near the toilet - everywhere!
Mishka is like that. Wherever you look, she is there.
During the day you can be doing anything - going to
the toilet, having bath, cooking, eating, talking on
100

the mobile, cutting wood - anything; but Mishka is

always there watching. Even in the middle of the
night when I am filling my water bottle, she is there,
watching. I feel like singing:
Jahan jata hun wahan chali aati ho,
chori chori mere dil me samaati ho.
Yeh to bataao ki tum
meri kaun ho?
Wherever I go, you follow me there,
Stealthily, stealthily, you enter my heart.
But tell me,
Who are you of mine?
I kept thinking that the late Konrad Lorentz would
have something to say about such feline behaviour.
He was an Austrian ethologist (study of animal
behaviour) whose work in the field won him a Nobel
Prize in Physiology or Medicine. His books, King
Solomons Ring, Man meets the Dog, and Ten Household
Pests are all-time favourites of most naturalists.
Unfortunately, he later became unpopular in the
English speaking world due to his connection with
the Nazis. His theory of the origin of the dog as a
mix between jackal and wolf was proven wrong later
by a genetic research, which proved that all dogs
are a single species and originate from the Grey Wolf.
Nevertheless, he remains one of the greatest
101

ethologists of all time and wrote some delightful reads.

I decided to find out, and wrote to the curator of
the Konrad Lorentz Museum in Austria. This is what
I wrote:
Dear Sir,
I live in India, on the foothills of the Western Ghats,
on a forest farm. The forest begins within a few feet
from our house.
I am a lifetime admirer of Konrad Lorentz and
have read three of his books available in English. I
am aware that in the English speaking world, he is
out of favour due to his Nazi connections. Also the
fact that his theory of the origin of dog proved
incorrect, added to his unpopularity. But, the attacks
like, Nazi wolf and Jewish jackal are totally uncalled
for, unfair, in bad taste and are products of the Cold
War mentality.
All this has not reduced my admiration for him.
After all, the genetic studies came later and his theory
adequately explained the known facts and thus met
the very definition of science: a theory which is a
close fit explanation of the known facts. If Lorentz
were to be condemned for his association with the
Nazis, can Einstein escape his responsibility for being
instrumental in starting the Manhattan project which
created the atomic bomb, which killed thousands of
people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki? After all,
scientists, even the great ones, are human beings,
products of their time and environment and can be
102

politically naive, foolish and even cowards. None of

this can be used to belittle their contribution to human
knowledge.
However, this letter is about cats. We have a cat,
Mishka, whose behaviour is a little uncanny. She is
now about 10 months old. What is strange is her
ability to be everywhere. She seems to read your
thoughts and is already there. It can be anything going to the toilet, eating, having tea or coffee,
washing clothes at the well, reading in a corner anywhere you go, she is already there. If we are
chatting, she is sitting close by and opens her eyes to
a slit every now and then. The moment somebody
moves, she has already vanished and is there when
the person arrives.
I have read Lorentz on the origin of cats
association with man, which essentially says that the
cat found it easy to catch one mouse per day (which
is all it needs) near the granaries which abounded in
mice. I have read quite a lot of books on cats - mainly
by adoring humans, but none of them adequately
explains the cats behaviour. I wonder if Lorentz has
more to say, which may be in German and which
we do not have access to.
I will be grateful if you can throw some light on
the matter.
I am also sending by separate post, my book of
stories An Intelligent Birds Guide to the Birdwatcher.
Yours Sincerely,
103

I received a reply after a couple of weeks.

Dear Mr. Vijayendra,
My name is Konrad Lorentz but I am not a ghost.
I am the grandson of the famous Konrad Lorentz
and the curator of the Museum. It is a family property
and we are maintaining it on our own.
Thank you very much for your kind words about
my grandfather. You are correct, he is unnecessarily
vilified.
I enjoyed reading your stories. They are very much
in the spirit of my grandfather.
You will be surprised to know that grandfather
also wrote stories, though he never published them.
And there is one story which precisely addresses the
issue of cat behaviour that you have written about
your cat. I have translated it for you and that is why
it took two weeks to reply to your letter.
With best wishes,
Yours Sincerely,
*****
CAT COMES TO MAN
The cat is never completely domesticated.
- Anon.
The annual general body meeting of the forest
animals went on uproariously. As usual the Owl
presided over it with an iron hand. And the Crow
104

kept records. Finally, the issue of Man came up. And

like every year, someone suggested a war on Man.
Someone even quoted a film called Avatar in which
Earth Man has to fight a war with the natives of
another planet only to lose, in spite of his superiority
in weapons.
However, like every year the proposal got rejected
because of the Golden Rule of the Animal Kingdom:
Never kill unless you are hungry! Secondly who
wants to eat Man? Even the vultures, in spite of the
fact that most of them are being destroyed by Man
due to Declofan a medicine given to cattle, rejected
Man. Even earthworms, who normally handle large
quantities of food, rejected Man. They said that they
couldnt handle such large quantities of the same
dish. They liked variety.
At this point, the Wolf spoke up, proclaiming that
something must be done to minimise the damage
done by Man to us and to all life on earth including
Man himself. We must have up-to-date information
of his plans. The Owl weighed in and said we should
form a sub-committee to deal with this because it is
a security issue and decisions cant be taken on a
public forum.
Next day the sub-committee comprising the Owl,
the Crow and the Wolf met.
Owl: Since, you proposed, Wolf, you start the
discussion.
Wolf: I propose we have a spy among men who
105

will report to us regularly about their thinking and

their plans.
Owl: Shall we select the Crow, he is the most
intelligent among us and has easy access to Man
and no one will suspect him.
Crow: No, for several reasons. Man knows how
intelligent I am. There is a saying that If Man grew
wings and learned to fly, it doesnt mean that he
would become as intelligent as the Crow. Secondly,
Man knows that I observe them. Mark Twain wrote,
I was sitting in the balcony and a murder of crows
were discussing me in very rude terms. I shooed
them and they went a little distance away and were
still discussing me with even ruder terms! Yes, they
call a group of us murder. Thirdly, while in India,
some people consider sighting me as good omen,
they will not allow me to enter their house.
Wolf: That is because they consider you dirty,
since you are an opportunist feeder you eat
everything.
Owl: O.K. Crow is out. How about the Sparrow?
It can enter peoples houses.
Crow: But it goes to sleep at sundown. Also, in
the last few decades its numbers are decreasing in
urban areas and its access to human homes is greatly
reduced.
Owl: Wolf, how about your cousin, Dog?
Wolf: (Contemptuously) I am ashamed to call him
my cousin. He has been completely spoiled by Man.
106

Over the years, dogs have lost a lot of skills that we

wolves have. They have become perpetual juveniles,
always begging for food like our cubs. Some have
even become vegetarians! They are bad parents
because they themselves are immature and cant
teach hunting skills to their pups the way our cubs
learn. They have just become friends and
companions of Man. They are idiots!
Owl: Do you have any suggestion Crow?
Crow: I suggest we send the Cat as our spy. She
can go anywhere, is awake at nights, has good night
vision and she is smart. Of course, we will have to
give her some important instructions.
Owl: What are they?
Crow: Never become completely dependent on
Man for food like the dog. Remain a hunter, hunt
mice, lizards etc. so that Man will come to regard
her as an asset. On the other hand, please the Man
by showing affection from time to time - say by
rubbing against his legs. But dont be under his beck
and call like the dog. Be difficult to his overtures. In
this, she can learn something from the human female.
Vanish from time to time so that Man will get used
to it. Use some of these periods to report to the Owl
in the night. Finally, after a year or so, leave him
completely without a trace.
Owl: Fine. That is settled now. Any doubts,
comments?
Wolf: There will be some failures. Some cats will
107

get spoiled like the dog. Particularly, those who stay

longer with one Man. But, on the whole, the idea is
excellent. For one thing, the cat can never become
completely vegetarian. Its basic carnivorous habits
cant change. Man will come to love the Cat.

- Konrad Lorentz

108

His Last Bow

We received this document, purportedly from V. T.
Bhadra, founder-editor of our journal (Journal of Male
Studies in the Third World, JMSTW) on December 23
by e-mail with instructions to publish it in the Summer
Issue of the journal. (Editors.)
December 15, 2015.
From: jhansi.femmefatale@gmail.com
To: vt.bhadra@gmail.com
Dear Mr. Bhadra,
Let me come straight to the point. I would like to
be known as Bhadras widow.
You would want to know why.
I am in 40s going on to 50, look like a house wife
(mature and voluptuous), mother of two children.
Yes, I am divorced; the children are grown up and
are with their father. So, here I am, free, forty, free
of pimples and freckles, frolicsome and yes,
reasonably rich.
I do part-time research for an organisation, which,
is hired by a womens organisation to assassinate
109

some select men. I do a preliminary research on these

men.
Yes, you have guessed it right. You were on the
hit list. The brief was, Bhadra has consistently been
writing against feminism since early 80s. He has got
a niche audience; the well to do sensitive males. This
class is our gravy train and so Bhadra is doing
immense harm to our organisations and to our
members. Although he is retired, his assassination
will be simpler and will send a signal to the
successors.
There was no address or any details of the man.
Evidently Bhadra is an assumed and well-kept secret
name. The only clue was the photocopies of the 32
volumes of the journal! I quickly located the starting
point (I am trained!), the only woman contributor to
the journal. It was only a matter of time to get the
true identity of the man and locate him. In fact I
even made a trip to the foothills of the Western Ghats
to have a look at you.
Here are the salient points of the dossier I prepared
on you. On the basis of this dossier the organisation
refused the contract and I fell for you!
Bhadra in real life is a gentleman, courteous and
gallant, and is always helpful to the damsels in distress.
He is extremely well read on a variety of subjects,
including feminist and gay literature.
He has helped a large number of males in distress
also. This, he was able to do due to his humanity
110

coupled with the insights he gained by reading and

by helping a lot of people, to repeat, both men and
women.
He lives a frugal life, has no property and has
never carried arms. In fact he is a very peaceful
person.
His articles in the volumes of JMSTW are full of
humanity and genuine concern for his fellow male
human beings who are sensitive but not gays and
who because of their sensitivity suffered heavily at
the hands of some feminists. The anti-feminism in
the articles is specific and not general and they are
also written in a humorous vein. Frankly speaking, I
have thoroughly enjoyed reading them.
In my researches, I have of course found much
more about you. To put it simply, I have got your
study ready in my home. It has a table top elegant
Mac on a simple office table with three drawers on
the right. The first drawer has pens, pencils, etc. The
next has writing material, envelops and stamps. And
the last drawer has ready cash of rupees one thousand
only.
There is a working chair and an easy chair for
reading. The shelves have complete works of Rex
Stout and Per Wahloo and Maj Sjowell. There is
also a copy of Alice, Three Men in a Boat, The Good
Soldier Schweik, To Kill a Mocking Bird and
Walden, all in paperbacks, easy to hold and read.
Then there is a mini fridge with bottles of
111

Kingfisher Premium beer and the shelf has some plain

sev (Indian savoury snack). I cook fish regularly.
Come to my parlour, said the spider to the fly.
Knowing you, I know, this is what will occur to you
immediately. But on the other hand this letter may
be in good faith. How can you resolve this? Here is
a chance for the adventurer in you. Meet me at the
Sunset point at Agumbe on Christmas Eve at Sunset.
We can split a bottle of champagne together.
We have not heard from Bhadra since then. Is he
sipping beer in the study mentioned in the letter or are
his bones resting somewhere down the Agumbe hill? Ed.

112

SELF IMAGES

113

114

The Errand Boy

As long as I can remember I have always been an
errand boy and probably still am.
It began in my childhood. We were poor and never
could afford ice cream except for the ice candy. But
once a year in summer we used to make ice cream at
home. As usual, my elder sister Usha was in charge.
My eldest brother was too remote. And my second
elder sister, Saroj, as Amma used to say, Why would
she ever do any work? She reads books! So it was left
to Sharada and me, the youngest ones, to do all the
work. I had to run errands outside and Sharada did
the home grind. First I had to go to the Mahila Samiti
and pay quarter of a rupee to hire the ice cream
115

machine. Then I had to go to the market to buy the

ice, rock salt and all the ingredients of the ice cream.
Then Sharada and I took turns in turning the ice
machine, being supervised and scolded by Usha.
We used to get tempted to open the lid to see if the
ice cream was forming and promptly got scolded.
Back to the galleys. It would take so long before the
ice cream would be finally ready. Usha gave us a
generous first helping and then the rest of the family
joined. We of course waited for the scrapings.
*****
I continued running errands - groceries, vegetables
and made friends with the vegetable shops owners
son, Madan and the washermans son, Kanaihya and
wandered all over. Meanwhile I began to read a lot.
When I was a child, a friend of my father gifted me
101 books - 16 pages each and the whole set costing
the princely sum of rupees 25. I kept them in the
Tanpura box. Later I got more books - Hindi
encyclopaedia volumes called Gyan Bharati. I also
read up my sister Sarojs books on political science
and Hindi literature. With so much reading, school
books were no problem. Later I read Tagore on
education in which he says that the child should be
surrounded with books so that school books are just
a variation instead of becoming a burden.
I went to a Montessori school. One of the guiding
116

principles was No competition. We had no grades

and we just went school and were promoted year
after year. Only after class 9 we were given grades
so that we passed the public examination. This left
me with no ambition. I was happy to be busy with
whatever came along. Many years later when I
became an amateur bird watcher, a friend remarked,
You can be happy so easily!
So I carried along, passing my examination with
good grades, joining a prestigious engineering college
(IIT, Kharagpur), and working for a prestigious
research institute (Saha Institute of Nuclear Physics)
and still feeling that I was not doing anything
important. Sure, I met some very bright people and
I was happy to listen to them, admire them, but they
did not arouse any ambition in me.
When 1968 broke in Calcutta, I easily moved into
the so-called far-left political movement. Not that I
did anything revolutionary. I just ran errands. Printing
pamphlets, writing on the wall (I learnt to read Bengali
because of this), taking a house on rent and running
it as a shelter and so on. Most of it was easy and did
not require any skills and I read everything available
and discovered that I was better than average wellread Marxist. I used to help the leaders, in their
polemical debates, with choice quotations from the
Masters - Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Che,
Ho Chi Minh, Gramsci and some other important
theoreticians like Plekhanov. I also read up most of
117

Gorky and Lu Hsun. Errand boys have all the time

in the world.
*****
Somehow I became a bibliophile, scanning
bookshops and second hand bookshops. I started in
Calcutta which has fantastic second hand bookshops
and later I developed the habit to look for them in
every city I lived. I built libraries wherever I lived
in working class districts, unions, slums - everywhere.
Later I learnt to run a bookshop - with just getting a
rubber stamp done, buying books for friends,
organisations and getting a little commission. When
I moved to Bidar, and with Ushas (Rao) help, we
ran a regular bookshop and a childrens library and
developed all the little details of ordering, paying
etc. So much so that Usha ended up writing a book
on how to run a hobby bookshop and a hobby library
in Hindi. She put my and Shailajas name as coauthors. The book has been translated into Telugu
and Manchi Pustakam has made good use of it.
*****
In these wanderings and running errands, I ended
up helping Lorry Benjamin to set up an organisation
called Sir Albert Howard Memorial Trust. She had
bought some land at Kesla, near Itarasi, in Madhya
118

Pradesh and was doing organic farming. In buying

books, and running the organisation - mainly bank,
audit etc., I began to get a ring side seat on the
Organic Farming scene. In 2001, at the age of 58, I
decided to retire (From what? friends derisively
asked) and moved to an organic farm outside
Hyderabad. I did not do much, phoned my friend
every morning about the farm, bought medicines
for the farm workers, cooked on the solar cooker
and watched birds. As my friend said, You are not
necessary for the farm, but you are useful. That is, I
was a good errand boy. But I read a lot about organic
farming and watched and listened to Pradeep,
Venkat, and Suresh and later to Usha and everyone
thought I was an organic farmer.
Around these years, I also became a bird watcher,
a film buff, became a life member of several nature
societies and film clubs.
*****
I had so much time at the farm that I began to write
and publish in the Frontier from Kolkata. I seem to
have been a rolling stone which did gather some
moss as well. Over the years, I have ended up writing
one book on resource constraints, three books of
essays, two books of short stories, a novella and this
autobiographical book!
*****
119

And now I am supposed to be organising

programmes for ecological consciousness for urban
people on organic farms called Ecologise. Again,
running errands basically!
*****
The moral of the story seems to be, if you dont
have any aim or ambition in life and are just useful
to people around you, you can end up doing a lot of
things. Provided - and this is important - you also
practice voluntary simplicity - keep your expenses
low. What is more, you can do it in a relaxed manner,
because you dont have any responsibility - you are
just running errands!

120

The
Human Nutrient
Cycle

The Shit Man

My Road to Ecological Consciousness
If you ask me how much time I took to write this
piece, my answer would be, One day and a lifetime.
One does not become conscious of ecology in a given
period. It takes a lifetime and yet one is somewhere
on the road. However, this article can only cover a
few high spots along the way; otherwise it will become
a book. The idea is to illustrate that there are many
paths to become ecologically conscious and that each
person is different.

So what has been my road?

It may have begun when as a child I used to wander
around the beds of the Khan River in Indore in search
of an opening of the tunnel through which the royal
family of Holkars were said to have escaped from
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the Manik Bag Palace when surrounded by the

enemy forces. Or, it was when I used to put blobs of
cow dung on the stems of the rose plant for my sister.
Or the summer months I spent at the government
silk farm in Badarakha outside Indore on the banks
of the Gambhir River one of the most beautiful
small rivers.

Oh Shit!
But I think the idea as to where the shit goes has
been at the centre of my concerns about ecology. In
1966, my father was in charge of Gandhi Bhawan in
Bangalore and he built the two pit composting latrine
in our family home in Honnali in Karnataka. In 1967,
I was at the Saha Institute of Nuclear Physics and
was going through the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists.
And believe me, there was actually an article in it
about how civilisation took a wrong turn when they
designed the urban centralised sewage disposal
system!
I vividly remember the picture of a toilet seat with
a plant growing out of it in the article. Incidentally,
the magazine also taught me that the nuclear energy
programme was a fraud and was actually a civilian
front for the military programme to make the nuclear
bomb. This eventually helped me to get out of the
mainstream science or a career in it.
I was a trade union activist in the early seventies
in Bokaro, in todays Jharkhand. As part of my
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activities, I would often have to travel in the forest

areas. During these travels, I was forced to use large
leaves to clean my bottom whenever needed. At such
times, my thoughts often went to how the other
animals were so bindaas (carefree) about shitting and
how they were more ecologically correct than we
are.
Around that time, the now famous steel plant was
being built in Bokaro. Majority of the workers at the
construction site lived in mud huts, built for Rs.100/
- by the local Santal adivasis. There were no toilets
and nearly a hundred thousand of us used the open
field for defecation. Hundreds of pigs wandered
around, sometimes nudging us to hurry up as they
were getting late for their breakfast.
To my mind, ecologically, this was a better method
of disposing human excreta than any other practised
by municipalities in India. And there was an
interesting political/class angle to it to boot. The pigs
were bought by the Ranchi Bacon Factory every
Thursday, and before coming to buy the pigs, the
factory delivered bacon to the Russian Club where
the Russian engineers used to eat (Bokaro Steel Plant
was built with Russian help). So we had the vicarious
satisfaction that the rich Russian engineers were eating
our shit!
In 1977, I was at the A.N. Sinha Institute of Social
Studies, Patna. Bindeshwar Pathak had launched his
Sulabh Shouchalaya a programme of safe excreta
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disposal at a local level or as they say as near to the

point of production and as soon as possible. K.B.
Saxena, an IAS officer, asked me to interview him
and evaluate his programme. I was much impressed
by Pathaks work. His organisation has now become
the well-known Sulabh International and has done
by far the greatest amount of work in this field.
In 1979, Madhu Sarin of the Punjab Institute of
Public Administration had organised a workshop on
municipal waste management. The World Bank was
trying to give a loan to Punjab municipalities to install
the centralised human excreta disposal or sewage
system. It involved a loan of huge money, water,
digging up the town and setting up a treatment plant.
Madhu had invited me and Bindewshwar Pathak to
present an alternative picture. I reproduced the
Bulletin of Atomic Scientists article for the workshop.
After the workshop I wrote an article on the subject
my first conscious step on the road to ecologise. I
published my article in Health for the Millions
published by Voluntary Health Association of India
in 1979. (1)

Bhopal
However it was the Bhopal Gas accident in 1984
that proved a decisive turning point in my life, as it
did for many others in India. Bhopal brought together
all my concerns at one point capitalism,
imperialism, irresponsible and toxic industrialisation,
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trade unions, civil society response and ecological

degradation.
It also brought activists who had engaged with
other such momentous events in modern history
Hiroshima and Nagasaki; activists concerned about
industrial mercury poisoning at Minamata Bay, Japan;
Three Miles Island (Nuclear accident in the USA in
1979) and many others - to Bhopal. I spent a year in
the city and it was a great learning experience. If I
describe all the lovely people I met and all that I
learnt from them, it will make a book on its own.
After Bhopal, I worked at Kishore Bharati where
I met Suresh Kosaraju for the first time. I also revived
my friendship with Lorry whom I had first met in
Pune. She was at Friends Rural Centre, Rasulia (a
Quaker Centre) and she was printing an Indian
edition of Fukuokas One Straw Revolution.
In one of my trips to Indore, I had picked up a
copy of Albert Howards An Agricultural Testament.
As you may know, the central concern of Howard
was to maintain the fertility of the soil and his chief
project was on the Indore method of composting.
His ideas revolved around returning the waste
products to the soil - what he called the manurial
rights of the soil.
So in 1986, when Lorry bought some land near
Kesla for organic farming and wanted to set up an
organisation, we called it Sir Albert Howard
Memorial Trust. Lorry, Suresh Kosaraju and I were
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the first trustees along with some other people. For

the last 30 years, we have maintained close relations
and worked on many projects together, particularly
with Suresh on publishing and selling green books.

South India
Around 1990, I moved to South and lived in Bidar
for a few years. Among other things, I had a ring
side seat on the organic farming scene, particularly
with books because we also ran a bookshop. Suresh
also moved to Hyderabad and started Manchi
Pustakam, which also has an English imprint called
Permanent Green.
In 1995 I moved to Hyderabad and got involved
with the naturalists in town. I became a life member
of several organisations - Birdwatchers Society of
Andhra Pradesh, Society to Save the Rocks, Bombay
Natural History Society, Hyderabad Film Club and
many others. I designed the tenth anniversary of the
Save the Rocks Society in 2005 and brought together
almost all naturalist and environmentalist groups in
Hyderabad including Save the Tigers, The Snake
Club and many others. Recently, I created the
Hyderabad Green Directory.
In 2001, when I was 58, I decided to move to live
on a farm. The next few years, I lived on Dr. Pradeep
Patalays farm, some 30 km outside Hyderabad. I
also met Venkat, the father figure of permaculture
in India and who had helped Pradeep in the design
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of his farm. Pradeep, Venkat, Suresh and I met

regularly and planned many things, some of which
have borne fruit. Another friend, Usha Rao, also
moved to South and started an organic farm near
Zaheerabad. Usha also took advice from Venkat.
In a book exhibition in Hyderabad in the late
90s, I came across the book Humanure by Jenkins. I
quickly popularised it amongst my friends, made
photocopies and distributed them. Usha Rao built a
Humanure toilet on her farm and I too used these
principles on Pradeeps farm. An Indian edition of
the book is available now.
From 2008, I have been dividing my time between
Sangatya farm near Udupi and Cerana Foundation
at Hyderabad. At Cerana, we had many interns and
while interacting with them, I ended up writing many
short stories for them, two of which, no prizes for
guessing, were about shit! They are Humanure at
Bilgram and The Nitrogen Footprint Calculator.
Later I included them in my collection of short stories
published by Sangatya (2 & 3).

Value System: Voluntary Simplicity

Given my background, I should/could have ended
up as a shit (sic) consultant to WHO or UNICEF,
built a palatial house in Gurgaon, grown fat and by
now would have been suffering from lifestyle related
diseases! Instead today, at 72, I am living out of a
bag with no assets or a big bank balance. In fact I
127

live on a pension of Rs. 5000/ - per month donated

by my friends. How did it come about?
It is due to the relatively humble origin of my
parents. My mother had studied only up to class 2
and socialised with household help. Being the
youngest, I followed her everywhere and thus have
been comfortable with the poor, never visualising
the poor as them. My fathers Gandhian background
and interest in rural technology, my Montessorian
school were the other formative influences.
In my activist life, the simplicity of communist
cadres in the field, the simple but ecologically
harmonious life of indigenous people of Jharkhand all helped. Once on the road, I met many people
from middle-class background who also practised
voluntary simplicity. Among them, Usha Rao, Venkat
and Shreekumar deserve a special mention. I am
grateful to all these people for what I am - for where
I am on the road to ecological consciousness.

End Note
After reading this, someone asked, So, what does
ecology and ecologise mean to you personally? Well,
all of you can look up the word ecology in the
dictionary. To me it means that man is part of living
nature and not outside it. Ecologise (or to sensitise
about ecology) means to be aware of this relationship
and respect it. Specifically, in the industrial age of
last two hundred years, man got a philosophy that
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he is above all living things and nature is there for

him to conquer and exploit it. This resulted in an
unprecedented degradation of ecology and it has
endangered all life on earth including man himself.
So, for me, ecological restoration is the principal
agenda for mankind today. Each one of us is different
and we grapple different aspects of this agenda
according to our personal history, aptitude and
capabilities. For me, as the above narrative shows,
returning the waste product back to nature has been
the principal aspect. For others it could be tree
planting, restoring water bodies, restoring grasslands,
wet lands and forest; protecting the endangered
species of flora and fauna and so on. And one young
friend, Chetana Kallakuri, maintained changing the
attitude of people towards animals as her agenda of
changing the world!

References
1.

2.

3.

Latrines for the Urban Poor, by T. Vijayendra,

New Delhi: Health for the Millions, December,
1979.
Humanure at Bilgram, a short story in the book
An intelligent birds guide to the birdwatcher
and other stories by T. Vijayendra, Sangatya,
Nakre, 2013, 2014.
The Nitrogen Footprint Calculator a short story
in the book, After all it is only him and other
stories by T. Vijayendra, Sangatya, Nakre, 2015.
129

How I Became
an Author
Samar Sen, Frontier and Filhaal
I did not know Samar Sen well. In fact I met him
only once and it was just a visit to the Frontier office.
But indirectly he had a profound influence on me.
I was in Calcutta, at the Saha Institute of Nuclear
Physics from April 1967 to March 1968. The Institute
was located in the Calcutta Universitys Science
College campus on A. P. C. Road. As such it was
130

influenced by anything that happened in the

University. As we all know, that was the year when
the Naxalbari incident occurred and the University
was in turmoil. I was swept by it and became part of
the movement ever since.
I was an outsider, non-Bengali and as such English
and Hindi were my main languages, though I learnt
Bengali also. Coming from a small town, Indore, I
had no background in the communist movement.
For people like me Frontier was very important. I
got my first lessons in Marxism through a series of
articles which were published in the early issues of
the magazine. It was also a source of news of the
movement for us.
Because of my language, I mainly worked in the
Jharkhand regions of Bihar. In 1972, our group
decided to publish a Hindi journal called Filhaal
from Patna. The editor was Vir Bharat Talwar. We
were very influenced by Frontier and Filhaal looked
like a Hindi edition of Frontier.
At first, I was at Bokaro and formed workers
writing group and we sent reports to Filhaal in a
series of articles with a title, Bokaro: A show case of
government socialism. At that time I also read
Gramsci and was very influenced by his ideas of left
wing journalism: the working class has a right to know
the critic of every aspect of the bourgeois society
and we should provide it.
I moved to Patna to help Talwar to run Filhaal,
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so that he could travel and report directly from the

field. I began with proof reading and imperceptibly,
I began to write also. It began with rewriting some
contributions so that the typesetters made fewer
mistakes. Later, I had to do fillers and I began to
write small pieces. We used to get Frontier and I am
sure we translated pieces from it. I learnt to translate
from English and Bengali at dictation speed. So I
became a left wing journalist.
Like Frontier, we covered the news of the
movement and the working class struggles. We also
covered news of the atrocities committed against
dalits in rural India all over the country. We covered
the famous coke oven strike at Durgapur, trade union
movement in Dhanbad coalfields, and rural struggles.
We also carried articles on the theoretical debates
going on in the communist movement.
Unlike Frontier, however, we also published poetry
translated from Telugu and Punjabi and with some
poems in Hindi too. I remember we published poems
of Paash translated from Punjabi by Chaman Lal,
several Telugu poets of Viplavi Rachayita Sangham
(Revolutionary Writers Association) and the famous
Hindi lyricist Shailendras -Netaon ko Nyota (an
invitation to the leaders from a working class
settlement in Bombay). We published articles on
Buddhism, Arya Samaj and excerpts from Kosambis
books.
In the nineties, I moved to South India.
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Circumstances led me to work in the field of health,

education and environment. It also meant a shift from
a Marxist position to an Anarchist position. Today I
work in the area of ecology, resource depletion and
alternatives for a fossil fuel free future. I have also
been spending a lot of time on organic farms and I
have been writing for Frontier continuously since
1995. I have contributed nearly 40 articles and more
than ten of which have been for the Annual Number.
Timir Basu, the present editor of Frontier, has been
very supportive in all this. By now I have published
two books consisting of articles published in Frontier.
I have become an author! Since then I have also
written a book on resource depletion and some fiction
two slim volumes of short stories and a novella. All
my writings are copy left and are freely available.
Today my own brief for myself is:
1. Following Marx: Criticise all aspects of our
society.
2. Following Gramsci: The entire critic should be
available to the working class and layman.
3. Following Mao and Lu Hsun: Write small pieces
in simple language.
Following this brief, I have managed to cover a
huge range of topics in my articles for Frontier: Bihar,
coal fields, Naxalites, Santhali script, Buddhism,
Dakhni language, language and bio-geography,
environment, critic of vegetarianism, old age,
Sanskrit, Hinduism, Bhimsen Joshi, Education
133

Manifesto, Euthanasia, Small States, Population,

Cities, Peak Oil, the Politics of Non-Violence and so
on. There are also two small articles dealing with the
Passion (Christs suffering at the Cross) and the
concept of Liberation.
I am not claiming big success in any of these fields.
I have tried as they say, to the best of my abilities.
But it has helped me to live in peace with myself in
the very distressing times that we live in. To a large
extent, I owe all this to Frontier and to Samar Sen.

134

About the Author

T. Vijayendra (1943- ) was born in Mysore, grew in
Indore and went to IIT Kharagpur to get a B. Tech.
in Electronics (1966). After a years stint at the Saha
Institute of Nuclear Physics, Kolkata, he got drawn
into the whirlwind times of the late 60s. Since then,
he has always been some kind of political-social
activist. Vijayendra has immense mobility linguistic,
regional, social classes and across disciplines. He
covers politics, culture, socio-linguistics, health,
education, environment and technology with equal
ease. His brief for himself is the education of Leftwing cadres and so he almost exclusively publishes
in the Left-wing journal Frontier, published from
Kolkata. For the last seven years, he has been active
in the field of Peak Oil and is a founder-member of
Peak Oil India. In 2015, he has been involved in
Ecologise! Camps and in 2016 he has been organising
workshops for Ecologise Hyderabad. He divides his
time between an organic farm at the foothills of
Western Ghats, watching birds, writing fiction and
135

Hyderabad. He has published a book dealing with

resource constraints, three books of essays, two
collections of short stories and a novella. This is his
first (and hopefully last) autobiography.

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Many friends asked me to write my autobiography. I have

put some stories together in the order of places where I
spent parts of my life so that it has become a sort of
autobiography. The only criterion I have used is that they
be all readable and a bit funny. Otherwise what is the point?
Here are all kinds of pieces - memoirs, events, fantasies,
stories and a few self-images - a Variety Entertainment!
Sangatya Sahitya Bhandar, Nakre
You can download this book at SCRIBD: tv1943