Meet Regi M. George (1975 ISC).

By now, his work has been celebrated in India’s mainstream media: in Reader’s Digest (2001), in Outlook (2006), in Open (2009), and in Mint (2010). This week, India Today portrayed him as an “Action Hero”, one of the 50 applauded for being “citizens who can and do” usher in change.

The Loyolite doctor and his wife have been serving adivasi villages in Tamil Nadu for the past 17 years. Let us hope that the school and the alumni movement, at least now, will wake up and see them.

Any fool (and school) will merely invite the couple, hand over an award, bask in reflected glory, and move on. It will be much more meaningful if we — students, old boys, teachers, parents — use this as an entry point to learn and think about taking science to tribal villages, routes to social change, career choices, values, etc. By doing so, all of us will benefit, and the school will be closer to realising its own mission of educating society.

Learn about the work done by Regi and Lalitha…

The Druids of a Lost Tribe – Outlook magazine

Doctors on Call – Open magazine

Providing Low-cost Healthcare – Mint newspaper

Website of the Tribal Health Initiative – run by Regi and Lalitha

Hat tip: Joy Elamon (1978)

Here’s a quick update on celebrity Loyolites I’ve interviewed for this blog. The thing about celebrities is that they are repeatedly in the news. Still, in case you missed…

VIVEK KARUNAKARAN
Three years ago, I interviewed fashion designer Vivek Karunakaran (1998). Then, he was in the news for being selected to the GenNext round of Lakme India Fashion Week. In 2008, he was back at LIFW, and Westside had contracted to sell his designer line. By 2009, he was on Day 1 at LIFW. And now, with Asal (2010), a Tamil movie starrring Ajith Kumar, Vivek has become a costume designer in filmdom. Vidya Balan, on the cover of Verve magazine (February 2010), wears a Vivek design. Vivek has also styled for Vikram.

SANTOSH SIVAN
Santosh Sivan (1976) was interviewed on this blog just ahead of the release of Before the Rains, an American production set in colonial Kerala. His next film Tahaan (2008), set in Kashmir, was shown at various international film festivals. Like his earlier children’s films, this one too picked up a couple of awards. This year, Santosh Sivan will mark his debut as actor. He has played the lead role, of painter Raja Ravi Varma, in Lenin Rajendran’s film Makaramanju.

JISHNU DASGUPTA
Last month, Jishnu Dasgupta’s (1996) Swarathma won the Best Band of the Year award at the JD Rock Awards 2010. Their debut album “Swarathma” has sold 4,200 copies, and they recently composed songs for Suvarna News TV channel. They tour the country quite a bit and so, if you live in one of India’s metros, you can catch them easily.

Hat tip: Deepak Madhusoodanan (1996)

• setting up a nature/spices club
• donating virtualization software
• sponsoring means-cum-merit scholarships
• holding mentor sessions for students
• organising medical camps, and health lectures
• gifting cash to non-teaching staff of Loyola

On contacting an organiser, I learnt that the batch gifted Rs 20,000 to each of the non-teaching staff of its time; that the scholarship fund is of Rs 5 lakh, and future contributions will be added to the corpus; and that a medical camp was held on 4 August. In the last week of July, the 1984 batch had a wonderful reunion (25th anniversary of their leaving school), which included an audio-video show, ottam thullal, bharatnatyam, and skit. Teachers were honoured and their blessings sought in the traditional way.

It is nice to hear that Loyola old boys are braving opposition within their own batch and collaborating across continents to do things in school and society. The big challenge for Batch 1984 will be to sustain their interest beyond two years. Most voluntary, alumni activities by batches and individuals begin with a bang, and die out soon. While trying to organise activities, Batch 1984 will learn a few lessons the hard way. But that cannot be an excuse for doing nothing. Best wishes to 1984 on taking a step in the right direction. Hope more batches follow suit.

Idea-wise, most of these are unimaginative, though, and other batches should think harder. In its salad days, LOBA undertook many of these activities — cash to staff, medical camps, career talks, etc. Old students have been ever ready to finance scholarships, but few know that the LOBA Scholarship Fund often remained unused — teachers strained themselves to find a deserving candidate. In the 1980s, the school’s scholarship scheme worked (the school itself had one before LOBA entered the scene, if I recall rightly), probably because there were a few not-so-affluent students. The school, in those days, ran the scheme silently — typically, you would not know that your chum was receiving financial help from the school. If Loyola today has few poor students on its rolls, alumni desiring to finance the education of needy children, can establish scholarships for students in government and private schools in Sreekariyam.

When we decide to do things for the school, we rarely bother to first identify the school’s problem areas, or need areas. Quite naturally, we tend to think from our angle — our skills, our memories and expectations of the school, and our resources. Consequently, we end up with solutions in search of problems. This happens because there is no regular channel to communicate the school’s needs, or alumni’s expectations. There is no forum to exchange views freely, and arrive at a programme of constructive action. Meaningful interventions will result only after a series of interactions, and dialogue. From the school’s side, the lack of an Alumni Relations Office indicates a disinterest in tapping alumni on a long-term basis; from the old boys’ side, LOBA has reduced alumni meetings to food fests (porotta and beef curry parties).

Notably, unlike the 1977 batch which associates with LOBA, the 1984 batch is implementing its ideas directly. It is a bold move, and if you ask me, a wise one; resident sceptics of LOBA’s executive committee would have formed a sub-committee to kill such wide-ranging proposals. Interestingly, the school too backed 1984′s efforts. Is this is a signal for other batches to deal directly with the school? Or a signal to LOBA to pull up its socks?

Discuss: What are your thoughts on giving back to the school? How can you contribute? What prevents you from chipping in?

Inputs: Thomas Vaidhyan (1984)

Excerpts from an e-mail interview with Jishnu

How musical was your childhood?
Quite a lot. My father is a classically trained singer who loves Rabindra Sangeet and old Hindi film music, and our home was always filled with strains of one or the other. Though my father tried to instill in me an appreciation for the above, it remains my regret that I was too much of a ‘teenager’ to listen to him at that time.

After Loyola, you did your B.Tech from NIT-Allahabad, worked in TCS, studied at XLRI… What were your encounters with music during those years?
In Loyola I participated in ‘solo song’ in the Youth Festival in Std IX. I came fourth. There were four participants. Needless to say, I was quite low on musical confidence. Something changed after I went to NIT –- I was in two bands, we got featured in RSJ (then India’s only rock magazine) and played inter-college events. That’s also when I started to play the guitar (the guys from the North east made it look cool and easy!)

I played with a few colleagues while at TCS, not serious bands, but mostly guys looking to have a little fun on weekends. XLRI was a rich musical experience. I met Abhishek, Satadru, Bharat and Poornima who would later become the members of bodhiTree (of the class of 2006) the band that composed, recorded and released on the internet songs like ‘GMD’ and ‘Sabke Katega’. They went on to become cult hits and found their way, with no mass media at all, into every cell phone and iPod in India (and even abroad). I remember being quite taken aback by the response. Though no one in bodhiTree wanted to take music as a career at that time, the experience remains one to be cherished.

I joined ITC after that and was posted in Bhopal and Indore, not particularly known for live music. But I don’t know how, but we started Indore’s only rock band called Square One with some college kids I happened to meet in a Barista. We did about 4 or 5 shows. What fun!

How did Swarathma come together? Did you search for like-minded souls, or did you bump into them, or…?
Swarathma had been an active band for about a couple of years before I met Montry (who played guest drums on a bodhiTree gig in Bangalore). When I moved to Bangalore while with ITC, I gave him a buzz. It so happened Swarathma was looking for a bass player at that time. I met up with the guys, really loved the music, got along with the guys and voila!

Writing and composing songs — are these group activities in your band? What happens when differences crop up amongst creative people? How do you resolve them?
In the scenario of a collaborative songwriting process, conflicts are not only inescapable they are invaluable. It is only with conflict (resolved constructively) that our music becomes better.

Even though we may disagree, we have immense respect for each other’s musical tastes and abilities – we also love each other as dear friends. The combination causes most conflicts to be resolved and helps the music come into its own.

What’s your typical work+music day like?
We’re quite contrary to the image of a band. We rehearse thrice a week from 6.30 am to breakfast. The rest of the day is devoted to individual practice, jams and other things. Afternoon onwards we usually are involved with non-music stuff.

Do you see yourself turning a full-time musician? What’s your advice to those who wish to pursue a career in music? Should music be combined with work, or can we in India think of becoming full-time rock musicians?
As of January 2009, I consider myself a full-time musician. I’ve made (tough) career choices that allow me the freedom to play and create music.

As for advice, I’m most unqualified to dish out any. But what I did was to follow my heart, for I have one life to live. It is hard, with a career, with responsibilities, but if you really really want to do something, you will find a way.

Which other Indipop bands would you recommend to your fans? Who are the other cool kids on the block?
There are some bands we really like -– Faridkot (finalists in the Channel [V] launchpad as well as in Radio City Live (the contest we won).

As a student, you have endured the music classes at Loyola. If you are the school’s music teacher now, how would you teach music?
I have really no idea. None of the music I play has ever been learnt in any class. To my mind, we need to resist the temptation of regimentalizing and taking the fun out of music.

Maybe it can be taught in a way that makes music classes memorable… maybe that’s too much to ask!

Becoming a successful band today is not just about musical creativity, it’s about how you market yourself. As a manager-cum-musician, what’s your advice to music groups struggling on the marketing front?
Believe in the music you are playing 100%. Everything follows from there.

Use the internet. Constantly generate content that engages your listener. Bring him or her closer to your band with it. Social networks, websites etc.

Play more gigs, work the crowd -– be known for something that it truly you.

Listen to Swarathma

Jishnu on BBC (hat tip: Sandeep K (1994 ISC))

In the 1980s, when school reopened after summer vacation, class leaders and assistant class leaders were elected (or in some classes, selected by the teacher). A week later, students chose the school’s leaders. If the first was a class election, the second was a caste election.

Any student from the 10th could stand for School Leader, and anyone from the 9th could stand for the Assistant School Leader. All high-school students (8th to 10th) voted for both positions; representing 5th to 7th standard students, their class leaders and assistant class leaders voted.

The visible event was the school assembly, 50% of which formed the electorate. There were no campaign issues, and no student organisations; the candidates did not have to form opinions, or rally the audience’s support for any cause. Hence candidates’ “election speeches” were banal utterances on leaders and leadership, and vague, neta-like promises to “strive to the best of my ability”. Speakers relied on verbal pyrotechnics to spark applause, and tell tales “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Long before Abdul Nasser Maudny, Loyolites knew to hold the audience’s attention by acting breathless, and screaming and spitting into the microphone.

Once every few years, a candidate would come up with a gem quote. Like Suraj Jacob in 1988, who concluded with one from Abraham Lincoln: “I want you to vote for me if you will; but if not, then vote for my opponent, for he is a fine man.” (For an interesting anecdote, read the context in which Lincoln praised his opponent.)

The chief election commissioner was the school’s politico: V.C. Jacob. He led the candidates into each classroom, made them stand near the teacher’s platform, and asked the students to exercise their franchise. A candidate voted when the entourage was in his class.

The ballot paper did not have the candidates names printed on it; the school seal was stamped on it to prevent rigging.

Once the high school classes had voted, the election caravan wound its way down the stairs to the gents’ staff room. There, the class leaders and assistant class leaders of standards 5, 6 and 7 were called in to cast their votes.

V.C. Jacob explained the value of each vote. A vote from Std 10 fetched 3 points for the school leader candidate, and 2 points for the assistant school leader candidate (see Table). He then began counting the votes, in the presence of the candidates.

After a class’s votes were done, he took a sheet of paper and — in his neat, firm and legible hand — jotted down the number of votes, and the values. Once all the votes were counted, the losing candidate congratulated the winner, and all walked back to their respective classes. The following week, the school leader and his assistant were sworn in, along with the general captain and house captains, who were selected (I assume) by the management as advised by C. T. Varkey, the physical education teacher.

Here, I’ve documented the election for only one reason: such school leader elections are no longer held in Loyola.

Since the mid-1990s, the school’s leaders have been elected in different ways, from different classes. Briefly, the present-day arrangement is as follows: There is one school leader (from the 12th), and two assistant school leaders (one each from the 10th and 9th). Only the 12th standard students vote for the school leader, and only the 10th and 9th standard students vote for the assistant school leader from their respective years. The teachers vote for all positions. The counting of votes is done in-camera (by the Principal or Vice-principal, it is believed), and the winner’s name is put up on the notice-board a few days later. There is no investiture ceremony even though the school diary carries a date for the imaginary event.

An amusing feature of elections in Loyola in the 1980s was the undercurrent of caste politics. I refer to the ICSE vs SSLC “war” of those days as caste politics because it was a battle over group identities based on which division you belonged to. As the ICSE was a tougher course in high school, the SSLC students were perceived as lower castes; on this blog and elsewhere, I have been told by recent ISC students that the discrimination turned more open in the 2000s. No wonder that the ISC vs HSC war continues in Loyola at the time of elections.

The only difference I see is the role of the teachers and the management — they did not play caste politics in the elections of the 1980s because they did not interfere with the electoral process. Now, with the election becoming less transparent, and less democratic (from the students’ angle), the teachers and the management too seem to be playing caste politics during elections. In the past, if their golden boy did not win the election, they gave him the Best Loyolite award later in the year. In contrast, these days, they have their way in electing the school leader too. It got exposed in the 2007 election. That year, for the school leader post, there were seven candidates from 12th ISC, and the caste’s votes got split, while the lone candidate from 12th HSC mopped up the votes in his vote bank. When the result was announced, students were surprised: an ISC student had been declared elected. For a moment, it seemed that caste — ISC or HSC — no longer mattered. On second thoughts, it showed that numbers did not matter, caste probably did.

Though the school leader election has thus lost its credibility as an exercise in student democracy, there have been a few positive developments.

One, the school leader nowadays has more responsibilities (not merely giving speeches and saying “Classes, Attention” in school assemblies). Hence election speeches are a bit more substantial, with the odd promise thrown in. Elected leaders try to fulfill their promise, even if they don’t succeed always. So, there seems to be greater authority for the school leader, even though he lacks legitimacy.

Two, there are more elections in Loyola. The general captain and the house captains are now elected, and in these elections, only the students vote (the teachers don’t).

The Principal and the teachers need to do one thing: they should stop interfering in the school leader election, and make the election as transparent as it was in the distant past. Giving the school leader more responsibilities has been a positive step. But to give more powers to one (the school leader) by taking away the powers of the many (the student electorate) can hardly be justified. The student leader derives his legitimacy from being elected by students. He is a leader; he should not look like a lackey.

Hat tip: Arun Sudarsan (2009)

Unlike LSE, Loyola has few high-achievers among its alumni. (For a desperate catalogue, see the Wikipedia entry on notable alumni.) And the school itself isn’t ultra-savvy at riding the alumni horse. Probably the school doesn’t believe in the sport. But it is partly also because the school doesn’t have an institutionalised, well-oiled old boys’ network system to spot an alumnus doing interesting work, or one who is in the news. The school is out of touch with many old boys who studied in the 1970s and 1980s, and left Trivandrum. A few individuals, like Fr Manipadam and Joseph Uncle, are more enterprising, smarter and hence more up-to-date than the LOBA database.

But guys, take heart. Just because we are bad at marketing our alumni doesn’t mean that we are bad at everything. We are as good as LSE or Harvard, when it comes to alumni who are in the news for the wrong reasons. Our silence is so deafening that nobody can hear whether the celebrity studied at Loyola or not. I am referring to the curious case of Himaval Maheswari Bhadrananda, who was in the news last year for brandishing a gun in a police station in Kerala, after he was alleged to be a “fake swami”. Mathrubhumi newspaper reported that he studied in Loyola, but my efforts to find classmates who could confirm it failed. Maybe he studied, maybe he didn’t.

One of the dilemmas in running this blog is whether I should write about a notorious person, and add to his misery. Is it not better to focus on the honey in my ARChive, instead of stinging like a bee? So, I shall end with an anecdote that will instead sting the majority. About Loyola and Loyolites, it tells us more than Himaval Bhadrananda.

I do not recall the venue, date or time of this incident. And for obvious reasons, I am not mentioning the names of people involved (even though I remember who said what). A few years ago, at a LOBA session ahead of that year’s annual general body meeting, a discussion emerged on whether old boy Mr A should be informed. Mr B, a heavyweight in the alumni Association, insisted that Mr A shouldn’t be sent the notification or invited because Mr A had been implicated in a case of financial fraud once.

A few old boys asked: Was Mr A implicated or only accused? If he has finished serving his punishment, why should we punish him further by ostracising him? In any case, how does all this affect whether he should be informed of the meeting? Doesn’t every member have a right to be informed?

Mr B stood his ground and carried the day by saying, “The old boys’ meet is a social occasion where we participate with our families. In Trivandrum society, we have a certain standing. If crooks like him attend, we cannot come with our families. It will also reflect badly on the Association.”

[Himaval news clip -- Hat tip: Sandeep K (1994)]

In June 1983, the school’s new building (the Silver Jubilee Block) was inaugurated by Bishop Acharuparambil. According to the accounts presented in the souvenir released on the occasion, the building was constructed at a cost of Rs 15,53,116.55, and further works worth Rs 1,50,000 were expected at that time. The money for the building came from loans (more than Rs 9 lakh), from the school (Rs 3.15 lakh), building fund fees (around Rs 1.95 lakh), donations (about Rs 1.29 lakh), the souvenir itself (Rs 1,09,959.17), and interest. To publish these accounts immediately after the Principal’s Preface, and before Page 1 of the souvenir, suggests an ethic of transparency that was extraordinary. Interestingly, the same publication also carried the fuzzy presentation of results of a Jesuit evaluation of the school.

The most historic happening of 1983-84, when I look back, is the change of guard at Loyola. Readers will quickly and rightly guess that Fr CP Varkey left that year. True, after fourteen years at Loyola, Fr Varkey left in September 1983, and Fr Varghese Anikuzhy became Principal. But in retrospect, an equally important change of guard had happened four months before Fr Varkey’s departure. For when school reopened in May 1983, two priests returned after several years to Loyola: Fr John Manipadam (as Rector), and Fr Mathew Pulickal (as teacher of English and History in high school). Together and separately, they were to influence a generation of Loyolites, and build Loyola’s alumni network.

The School Magazine dated 1984 had quite a few pages on Fr Varkey — including the Malayalam poem written by Loyola’s bard Mr PK Sebastian (which was presented as a “mangalapatram” from the staff during Fr Varkey’s farewell function), and an article on Fr Varkey by the other Sebastian in the staff room — Mr BO Sebastian. But here, I will present extracts of only two of the many brief notes by students:

The boys of my class told me how Fr Varkey used to thrash the boys (V to X). I was frightened. But during that time he experienced a change….From then on he started using a new phrase “Golden Heart!” Once when some money and books were stolen, he became very angry. In the Assembly he gave us a verbal beating. In the end he overcame his anger, urged us to kindly return the money to the owner. After a few days the owner got back his money and the boy had apologised to Fr Varkey.
- C Prem IX B

Though one could not call him perfect, one had to admit that his good qualities far outweighed all the others. We boarders were a group to which he had always been attached.”
- Cherian Abraham IX B

In his annual report on School Day, the Principal Fr Anikuzhy said, “From 1st Sept 1983 we arranged for a special bus-trip from the school at 4.45 pm to encourage games to build up teams.” (sic) That year Loyola won the Junior Championship in the District Sports Meet, the athletes also shone in the YMCA Meet, and our cricketers and mini basketballers were runners-up in the District. The “second trip” was an innovation that extended opportunities to day scholars to develop their sporting abilities.

I didn’t know that Loyola had student postmen. But the the school magazine says that the Postal Squad debuted in 1983-84. “With the introduction of this Squad many problems regarding the mail have now been solved,” said the squad member’s report. This squad perhaps served the hostelers. I request the beneficiaries of that era to enlighten us on what problems you faced — mails missing? mails opened before delivery?

As in the previous year, there were various squads which went about their work routinely. But three bits struck me:

I’ll end with an excerpt from one of my favourite articles in that school mag. Abhilash Mohan’s “Mahabali 33, 83″ probably owes it intriguing title to a savvy teacher who decided the topic of the school youth festival’s Malayalam essay/story competition. And this VIII B student rose to the occasion. The article begins directly but poetically “1933-le ponnin chingam. Paadangal thelinju. Pathaayangal niranju.” Two paragraphs later, we zoom fifty years to “1983-le thiruvonappulari. Maveli airbus-il vannirangi.” And a few sentences later,

Nattucha. Nadakkaan vayya. Auto-yum taxi-yum city service-um onnum kaanaanilla.
‘Mooppinnay, enthaa eri veyilu kollunnathu. Valla nerchayumundoe?’, oru cheruppakkaaran chothichu.
Maveli: Oru Auto kittiyaal kollaam.
Cheruppakaaran: Thaan eviduthukaaranaa? Innu bandh alle?

In simple sentences, the 13-year-old Abhilash not only wove in the lingo of the times, but also captured a timeless aspect of the political culture of modern Kerala.

Cherry Mathew (1995 ICSE) is walking from the northern-most district of Kerala to the southern-most.

He is a member of Freedom Walk, a project led by Anoop John, who along with Cherry co-founded Zyxware Technologies, an infotech company in Thiruvananthapuram. The project website says, “Freedom walk is a project aimed at spreading the message of ‘Freedom in Society’, ‘Freedom from Environmental Issues’, and ‘Freedom in Software’ and to promote activism around these freedoms.”

The Walk began from Kasargod on Gandhi Jayanti, and is scheduled to end next week at Thiruvananthapuram on Children’s Day.

When I met the walkers last month in Kozhikode, much of our talk revolved around the third freedom — freedom in software, by which they mean the use of open-source software. In Kerala’s government schools, children are taught open-source software. Similarly organisations like the Kerala Police and KSEB use systems that run on open-source software. (The Freedom Walk has been supported in quite a few places by KSEB officials.) And yet, the walkers sensed “inertia” among people to migrate from Windows to Linux. From the other side of the table, a government administrator who uses open-source systems at his workplace, voiced the concern that technical support, after installation, was inadequate.

Whether inertia or lack of technical support, the way our discussion was framed, I felt “freedom in software” was a business issue that could be tackled by entrepreneurship, however paradoxical the solution might appear to the anti-capitalism brigade that’s backing the walk. And on that canvas, Freedom Walk can be read as a marketing tool to spread awareness in the market. A fun-walk by a bunch of geeks, cynics would add.

But that’s not the real agenda, I think.

Let us not dismiss the effort because of its multi-coloured umbrellas, its tricolour t-shirts, and its let’s-go-to-the-beach appearance. Unlike the science walk in the 1970s organised by the Kerala Sastra Sahitya Parishad (which roped in hundreds), the Freedom Walk has had only three people walking in all districts, and they have been attracting mostly a few tens of people. The size of the dog in the fight is small, but not so the size of the fight in the dog.

In the media, the Freedom Walk has mostly been painted as a walk for freedom in software. The walkers blogged recently, “We were disappointed that the media had stripped out the soul of our message, and reduced it merely to Free Software. The underlying philosophy of ‘being the change you wish to see in the world’ had been glaringly missed out on.”

I think Anoop John’s real goal is to connect with Keralam — to know their aspirations, their problems, their strengths — so that he can do meaningful work in society. That’s why the Freedom Walk, despite its awkward clubbing of socio-political freedoms with technical issues, might find a place in history.

When the walkers halt for the night, in a church or a PWD Guest House, I hope they ask themselves everyday: Can those of us from upper class families connect with those unlike us? Can Kerala connect with Keralam?

That night, around quarter past ten, The Policeman walked in, smiled at us, kept his two mobile phones on the teapoy, and pulled his favourite chair. He then did something unusual — he placed the wireless handset on his lap, and before joining our conversation, switched it on.

For about a week, threats of bomb blasts had been piercing our city, via SMSes, e-mails and phone calls, and some of these had turned out to be hoax alerts. Tonight, voices spat from the police radio and The Policeman was listening in.

He is less than 30 years old but as chief policeman of the city, he is the one we look up to for our security. At the end of a long working day, when I turn the lights down, and pull up the blanket, I do not stop to ask whether the Police Commissioner sleeps. I assume that he does, when I bid him goodbye every other evening.

But that night would be different — I would not sleep peacefully.

Because at some point in our chat, The Policeman moved forward, as if to get up. I looked at the clock; it said two past twelve. I recalled how, a few weeks earlier at his house, at the stroke of twelve, The Policeman had politely thrown my friend and me out. I told myself, “This guy is disciplined and here comes the farewell line, as usual.”

Whence The Policeman said, “Come, let’s go out and have coffee.”

The hostess shrieked. “Are you insane? Do you know what time it is?” Her husband turned to us and said, “You guys go ahead.” And that’s how, in a small city on the western coast of southern India, at half-past-twelve one Saturday night, I ended up with the city’s chief policeman in my Maruti WagonR.

Every good South Indian knows that coffee isn’t the first item on the menu. Barely had the car moved a few metres, when The Policeman switched off the wireless set and said, “We’ve set up checkpoints in the city. Let’s see how they are working.”

As we approached the first checkpoint, the car in front of mine was being searched, and I slowed down. A police constable walked towards us, while his colleague got excited by my car’s numberplate — DL9, out-of-town car, and that too from Delhi (for some reason, many south Indians believe that north Indians are criminals unless proved innocent.) I expected the car’s Delhi registration to spice up the proceedings. The first constable saw my co-passenger, and snapped a salute. My companion said, “Go ahead. Search the car. You stopped it, right?”

Frankly, I didn’t expect this. I had thought that I was part of the hunting party. It struck me late that I was the bait.

After The Policeman reviewed the register of vehicles checked that night, he rolled up the window-glass, and we resumed our journey. Less than a minute later, he switched on his wireless set. Had the news of the “inspection” already been relayed on the network? No, it seemed.

At the next checkpoint, guess what…there was no checkpoint. There was no “Stop and Proceed” barrier, and the two constables on the spot allowed my alien car to cruise.

For a brief while, we stopped at the police headquarters in the heart of the town. When we resumed our journey, we crossed an intersection twice, but none of the policemen standing there flagged us down. Perhaps my DL9 had got a “stealth” shield thanks to my co-passenger.

About a hundred metres past the intersection, I stopped the car and The Policeman got out irritated. He walked back to the intersection, stood a few metres behind the constables, only to discover that mine was not the only car going un-searched. After five minutes of “non-stop” entertainment The Policeman had had enough. He phoned the officers in charge. Two police jeeps with flashing lights appeared on the scene, and The Policeman explained the scene he had been watching. The officers passed on lessons to the constables. A few constables came towards my car to inquire what I was doing there, and on their way back, woke up a guy who was drunk and sleeping on the nearby pavement.

The Policeman and I moved on, towards the railway station. Seeing policemen a few metres away, I swerved to the left, as if to evade them. Two constables rushed in waving their hands, indicating that I should pull over. This time, the policemen were on my side of the car, and hence did not see my co-passenger. They peered through the window and upon finding the backseat empty, asked me to open the boot. The search over, one constable’s eyes fell on my co-passenger, and out came the salute. The Policeman reviewed the register. As we moved on, we crossed the previous intersection — the inspectors were still giving lessons to the constables.

Time for a break. Burger, french fries, and coffee (finally!). We talked about policing, people and the personal, and hit the road again at 3 am.

This time, we drove towards a distant checkpoint. “That’s a good team,” my friend said and it was being manned well. We turned back towards the town, and about a kilometre from the checkpoint, noticed an injured man lying by the roadside. He had fallen off his motorcycle, and lay there vomiting blood. His friend, attending to him, seemed relieved to see us. The Policeman took the wireless set and radioed. A “flying squad” of policemen raced in and took the injured man to the hospital.

A few kilometres later, from a bend in the road, we verified whether the first checkpoint was still working well. It was. So, we decided to head home.

When I stopped the car at The Policeman’s house, he said, “Sorry to have ruined your sleep. We’ll meet for brunch at some nice place.” I was overcome with emotion, for I felt that I had contributed my mite to keeping the city secure ahead of Independence Day. So I replied, “No, no. Not at all. I don’t mind losing sleep for something like this.” And then I added, “After all, such inspections are unusual. They happen only once in a while, on special occasions.” The Policeman opened the car door, looked at me, and said, “Ashok, I do this every other week.”

* * *

I know that the Indian police force is far from perfect. But as I drove home, in the wee hours of just-another-Sunday, I prayed that Anup Kuruvilla John (1997) would retain such zeal throughout his career in the Indian Police Service. And I mentally saluted the policemen of this country who lose a good night’s sleep so that we may have ours.

As class-teacher of final-year students, Ms Deepa Pillai used to invite old boys to interact with her class. In 2003, when she invited me to Loyola, she hoped that it would get her students to think positively about careers other than engineering and medicine. Nobody (including me) knew what I was — an economist? a political scientist? a journalist? — but I was clearly neither an engineer nor a doctor, and my pedigree hinted that the guys would be excited. As it turned out, they were not just excited, they were agitated. I barked at people and things the class held dear, and they complained that old boys like me should not be given the platform thereafter.

It was there for the first time I heard Loyola students express their career preferences. Engineering was an overwhelming favourite. Law was on the radar — a few old boys had recently joined the National Law School. Only one said that he wanted to be an economist at the World Bank. I came away concluding that students were opting for occupations they knew little about. They desired the fast lane, or to emulate somebody who had been praised in family or society. It was more about things and others, not about work or themselves.

Here, at this Loyola blog, many readers have commented on the engineering-medicine tunnel that Loyolites find themselves in. On his blog, Jiby (1998) recently wrote about his life crisis. I suspect that the roots lie in what Geo wrote in response to Jiby:

After LKG, it was always UKG. After 3rd standard, it was always 4th standard…Till about 10th or 12th we all had well laid out paths in front of us to traverse. We knew our goals and benchmarks.

The way I see the career confusion is: “Loyola-CET” is the default setting in a final-year Loyolite’s operating system. And few know how to change it.

I thought of a few conventional ways for students to reboot their system:

1. Get information on what exactly your parents, relatives, family friends, and well-wishers do in their jobs. Talk to them. Don’t just harbour a wish to be an IAS officer; find out what that guy does from 9.30am to 5.30pm. Gather specific information (micro-actions), not general and vague ones like “administering a district”. This is an essential step for all who believe that they want to be engineers.

2. Read biographies and autobiographies, or profiles in magazines. They tend to glamourise people and jobs, but hey, you need inspiration after hearing your mad-hat cousin in advertising, who’s fed up with his job.

3. You’ve seen teachers and you’ve seen the school gardener. Now, pick up the Essential Guide to Careers in India to know what other mainstream careers exist.

Once you know what you want, and (more importantly) why you want it, find out how to get there. And click “Restart”.

What I’ve written will help to change the default setting of your system.

But, but, but … you’ll still be running the same operating system.

How about chucking Windows of ready-made opportunities and choosing another system? Let’s learn from a fashion-designer in Chennai, a cinematographer in Bombay, and a cricket-writer from West Indies.

School-mate Vivek Karunakaran (1998), the young fashion-designer who continues to make waves, told us a year ago:

I have always been interested in art, craft, design, music, dance, etc.. I always looked forward to the Youth Festival [at Loyola]; loved the interhouse competition and all the fun that came with it.

Film-maker Santosh Sivan (1976) blogged about watching clouds and predicting rain as a kid:

But unconsciously what it did was, while watching these clouds build up or disappear I also started seeing different shades of green and blue, and how this plant looked against this kind of blue, or against this kind of cloud that green is beautiful. I started seeing magical moments in it.

And look what C.L.R. James recalls from his school days, in his much-admired book Beyond a Boundary:

When we moved into Port of Spain, the capital, I read two daily papers and on Sundays the green “Sporting Chronicle” and the red “Sporting Opinion”. I made clippings and filed them. It served no purpose whatever, I had never seen nor heard of anyone doing the like. I spoke to no one about it and no one spoke to me.

Each seems to be telling us: Yes, I do well, thank you. I enjoyed doing this, even as a kid.

Gently, they are reminding us of the young fashion-designer, the photographer and the cricket-writer in them, long before they pursued their passion. Please note that they are not drawing our attention to examination marks or their favourite subject in class. Instead, they are pulling us out of the classroom and showing us what they did in their spare time.

Recalling a hobby in which you immersed yourself for hours, and plumping for it as a career, is akin to pursuing a sign.

I call it a different operating system because it’s not user-friendly and is intimidating — you might start with a low income, and waltz with unknowns. No wonder most of us stick to traditional windows.

But see it differently, if you can. “One has to follow one’s passion — it shows in your work output,” says Deepu John (1986), Principal at venture capital firm iSherpa Capital, and a former Best Loyolite. With the passion you bring to the job, you will most probably excel in that field and rise to the top. In all professions, there’s a lot of money at the top, at least a lot more than you really need.

Our heroes probably did not realise all this in their youth. I certainly didn’t in mine.

As a teenager, when I published a neighbourhood magazine or a family newsletter, I didn’t imagine I would be an editor or writer. I did all that for fun. While studying for BA and MA, I would always find time to publish newsletters and articles. Still, I did not take up wordsmithy. A few twists and turns later, I now write and edit for a living. I am no genius and nowhere near the summit. But I often catch myself saying: “Yes, I do well, thank you. I enjoyed doing this, even as a kid.”

Did I go about writing or did writing come to me? I do not know. But there were signs in my garden. What about yours?

For thirteen months, I’ve managed to run this blog without writing about Santosh Sivan (1976), the most famous Loyola old boy. When he won an award for an ad film or earned praise for a new short film on AIDS, I pretended that I hadn’t heard. Because I believed that my mission was to write about less-known Loyolites who did interesting things or performed well in their fields, away from the glamour of filmdom. But look what Santosh Sivan has gone and done now. He makes history such that no self-respecting Loyola history blogger can skip the moment. Folks, I give up.

Because Santosh Sivan is taking Loyola to Hollywood. On 9 May, Before the Rains, his first Hollywood movie — an English language film, an American production — will hit the screens of New York and Los Angeles. I haven’t heard of any Hollywood movie set in colonial Kerala, or with Malayalam dialogues. In that sense, Santosh Sivan is probably taking Kerala (not just Loyola) to Hollywood.

This is the time for renewed debates on “How would Padmarajan have fared in Hollywood?” or “What if Mohanlal had rubbed shoulders with Al Pacino?”, or “Is Santosh Sivan that great (even if Hollywood sees potential in the man)?” But more likely, Indians will rush to occupy the high ground and yell “What Hollywood? What is so historic in this? Bowing before the white man!” Yes, please brace yourself for yet another sms poll.

I am an ordinary guy and so I asked the man-of-the-moment a few ordinary questions. Excerpts from the interview with Santosh Sivan.

Q. In their youth, many Indians desire to become cinematographers or directors. What’s your advice to such people in their teens and twenties?
A. You have only one life. Do whatever you want to. Time is the most valuable commodity, so don’t waste it. If you have a dream, just go for it. The rest follows.

Q. On the screen, when people see a picturesque landscape, they exclaim “Nice cinematography.” Beyond that, what should viewers be really looking out for in the movies, with regard to cinematography? What is good cinematography from a cinematographer’s point of view? When does a cinematographer say, “Ah! I’ve done well.”?
A. Difficult question, it needs a debate actually. Cinematography should be like music…explore the scales for melody and respect silence. Cinematography can be imitative, though one appreciates it when it is innovative. Innovation often happens when you actually try and draw from your experiences and the visual culture that influenced you — the place where you grew up is what makes you have a certain sensibility. And you want to create your own worlds. You tend to imitate more when you are recreating works which have influenced you.

Q. You see the dance of light in a way that most people don’t. Do you see comedy in light? Can we expect a comedy movie from Santosh Sivan?
A. Ha. Humour, yes. Comedy movie, not yet. I enjoy them, though.

Q. Like M.T. Vasudevan Nair, you raise the standard (and win awards) in whatever you do — ad films, films, children’s films, documentaries, short films. Have you thought of giving us a world-class TV series in Malayalam?
A. NO. I love being “hungry” always and exploring new avenues and ideas. It was a dream to release a Malayalam/English film in the US. So Before the Rains is a first of its kind, presented by Merchant-Ivory. When we were to make it, the folks at Hollywood asked me, “Why Malayalam? Our research says, Hindi and Punjabi are better options, since Malayalis don’t see films and only buy pirated VCDs”!

Q. Asoka was partly inspired by your history teacher in Loyola, and Malli was an adaptation of a story you studied in school. Is there a Loyola connection to Before the Rains?
A. Though the story is from the Hollywood producers, it deals with a colonial background, where there are always cultures clashing. For instance, it’s perfectly normal for us to sit in front of computers and crack our head on logic, and equally normal to sit and do religious rituals and break coconuts. I was always fascinated with the roads that wind up into the Wayanad hills, and the efforts to build them. Sort of clashing of nature and man. A road is always a leftover of the clash. And becomes timeless. So many landmarks are British. So these images trigger off. Imagining about them and their life in Kerala and our forefathers, and their relationship. The movie is about such people. Rahul Bose, who is caught in-between and the choices he has to make. So with Linus Roache, Jennifer Ehle, and Nandita [Das] who all have to make choices. It resonates today too where all have to make choices. The film explores the grey areas. No one is stereotyped black or white.

* * *

Is the movie then a world away from Loyola, about which Santosh Sivan once said “Everything from blackboard to the priest’s dress to the school uniform to the pencil to the pen… everything has a black and white quality to it”? Or is there a Loyolite beneath Rahul Bose’s character, who reportedly “has the mentality of an Indian but also wants to be an Englishman”?

• For a school that has made a mark on the national quizzing scene in recent years, the most significant development of 1982-83 was probably the setting up of a quiz and debate squad — “the brainchild of Mr B.O. Sebastian” and guided by Mrs. Santha Nair. Mitu Gulati (1983) wrote “The Squad started its work with house-wise quiz programmes for different standards. In the second term, a debate for Std IX and X was conducted on the topic ’20th Century Man: Better Off than his Predecessors’.”
• 105 students were involved in service squads, whose number rose from twelve to nineteen in 1982-83. (It is not clear as to which ones were introduced that year). There were service squads for maintenance, auditorium, wall diary, buses, safety, picture display, weather chart, indoor games, inter-school competitions, morning study, and LENS. Sankar Krishnan (1983) wrote about LENS, “Loyola English Newspaper Service aims at reaching all the item of news in the school to the students through their weekly publications. Some special issues regarding the School Day, St. Ignatius Day, the Loyola Basketball Tournament and indoor games have also come out. We carried out a few interviews and also conducated an indepth survey of Cheruvickal School to find out exactly to what extent it profits from Loyola’s helping hand.”
• The School had children from four religions — Hinduism, Christianity, Islam and Sikhism. Prayer services or special assemblies were held before major festivals, and programmes included singing of devotional songs by the school choir, reading of extracts from sacred books or of well-known writers, and an explanation of the festival’s theme by the Principal.
• “Every Saturday our blue bus rolls by / Every Saturday we Loyolites in blue get on” to go to school for NCC parade, wrote Rajiv Narayanan (1985), then in Std VIII. Rajiv’s poem reveals that aeromodeling was taken seriously, and so was shooting. “When they whistle after theory class / We Loyolites jump up from the grass” suggests that the class was held outdoors. I counted about 70 cadets in a photograph. And yes, the Troop Commander was Mr C.T. Varkey.
• It was the year of the Asian Games in Delhi and the sports fever was quite high in Sreekariyam. In school sports, there was a Loyolite in the state hockey team, one in the state athletic team and two in the state cricket team, not to speak of several in the district teams, including eight in the Trivandrum district basketball team. Loyola were the district champions in basketball.
• But Loyola was runner-up in the school’s own basketball tournament, losing to St Thomas 63-85 in the final. Varghese Varghese (1983) in his analysis of the ninth Loyola basketball tournament wrote

[t]he St. Thomas team are older in age and experience, and are taller too. We Loyolites, as an average are of medium height and in basketball, height has a great advantage. lacking this we should patch this up with accurate shooting, for which we have not yet got the knack. Quick and short passes with drive-ins can often change the tide of the game and the St. Thomas players dominated in all these fields. But in outside shots, we Loyolites are far superior…. Coaching is another factor which decides the fate of the game. This coaching given by Mr P C Thomas though very useful was really very brief and short. The lack of dedication and interest taken by the players is responsible for this. We have yet to master the art of man to man defence.

• Students of Std VII went on a half-day study tour to the neighbouring Central Tuber Crops Research Institute.
• The School Day was held in November, as in the previous year. This was probably a hangover from the past, when the academic year (till 1979) was from January to December. “About 350 students, i.e. 1/3 of the whole school” appeared on the stage. Earlier, “about 85%” of the students had taken part in the school’s own youth festival, according to the Principal’s annual report.
• Loyola organised an inter-school youth festival for neighbouring schools. “About 150 students from five neighbouring U.P. and L.P. schools participated,” said the Principal.
• On the social work front, the school was active. The Principal’s report says, “Students donated Rs 1,000 to Sisters of the Poor, Rs 3,000 for the rehabilitation of the blind and Rs 10,000 to the Cheshire Homes. They donated text books and uniforms worth Rs 6,000 to poor children studying in neighbouring schools.” A later publication put the figure at Rs 5,000. The school offered full or half fee concessions to 61 students.
• The construction of the silver jubilee block (building) was in progress. It probably began in 1982-83. If so, some of you may see this as the biggest contribution of 1982-83 to Loyola history.
• Principal Fr Varkey conducted a day-long seminar for parents, on child psychology. Dr Manoranjan Rao, a scientist at VSSC wrote “Topics like Motivation, Responsibility, Jealousy, Sex education etc. were also dealt with. Also certain case studies were analyzed by the participants who were divided into ‘groups’ for this purpose. The ‘group discussions’ were carefully ‘guided’ by the Principal…” Fr Varkey’s ‘human relations approach’ seminars were popular in not just Trivandrum, but far away Bombay too, revealed one letter from a parent in the metro.
• Old boys outside Trivandrum wrote letters to the school. Rajiv Vijayan (1980) wrote from IIT Madras “Dear Fr Varkey, I reached IIT on 12th July. Our classes began on 19th July. I am staying in Mandakini Hostel….Here I have met four ex-Loyolites–Lagichan, Joseph Mathew, Roy Mathew and Vani Prasad.”
• The School Magazine of the previous year did not have students on the editorial board. In 1982-83, five student editors appeared: Paul Augustine, Sajit N., Anand M., Sankar Krishnan and Sanjay Kumar (all 1983). Though the editorial board did not mention his name, the statutory declaration said that Fr C.P. Varkey was the Editor.
• I have not confirmed this, but it looks like the medal for the school topper in the SSLC exam was named after Renji Mathew in 1982-83. The previous year’s school magazine mentions it as “Loyola Medal”.

* * *

What are your recollections of 1982-83?

How different is Loyola today (or the Loyola you studied in)?

Post your comment

Those who remember Anand — thin as thin can be — will be amused to hear that he is running a marathon this year. To us of the 1991/1993 batch, it is no surprise to see him stretch himself for supporting education projects in India.

At Loyola, Anand was known for his academic brilliance and quizzing. What followed was predictable: 49th rank in the IIT entrance exam, B.Tech from IIT Madras, MS from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and then to Berkeley for PhD. But life was not all engineering, electronics and academics for this lanky Iyer from Perunthanni. At IIT, under the spell of a few Professors, Anand had imbibed a degree of social consciousness that was wide and deep. We caught glimpses of it early on in our batch’s e-group, where Anand sounded like Arundhati Roy — green, anti-nuke, anti-Hindutva, anti-capitalism…in short, that guy who asks us uncomfortable questions. (Is it a co-incidence that their initials match?)

But it was not all jaw-jaw. At Illinois, Anand became a volunteer of Asha, the highly respected organisation that raises funds for promoting education in India. Now, eight years later, Anand is President of Asha, heading 66 chapters worldwide and 1,000+ volunteers.

As one would expect, the job is challenging. “Unlike the typical nonprofit, the coordination team in Asha has to work as a facilitating body and take decisions based on the majority decision among chapters. So it is crucial to be able to implement decisions that you might personally disagree with,” Anand said in an e-mail interview. “In a completely volunteer-driven organization, being able to motivate people to deliver tasks they volunteer for is another challenge that volunteers at every level in the organization face. Trying to see the larger purpose of the organization’s mission and objectives even in the middle of handling several unrelated emails, phone calls, paperwork, meetings and discussions is something that is important as well.”

Anand plans to run the Silcon Valley marathon on 4 November 2007 and raise funds for Asha Darshan — a project in Nalbari district of Assam, which runs primary and pre-primary schools in an area affected by insurgency. Last year, for various projects, Asha raised about $650,000 from about 350 runners in the US through the TeamAsha marathon training programme. Anand’s personal target for this year’s marathon? $2,400.

He explained, “The idea is to contact friends, family, coworkers and anyone else and tell them that you are training to run a marathon (something that is fairly difficult and requires a lot of commitment in terms of time, fitness and resources) towards the cause of education, and ask them for their support to meet your fundraising goal. It is amazing how folks step up to contribute, especially when they see your commitment towards the cause, and to running. After a long training run, having a limp while walking into work also helps .”

I see very few Loyolites persevering in such activities for years. Most of us pursue careers and personal life goals, and have little energy left for voluntary work. Out of curiosity, I therefore asked Anand whether there was anything from Loyola that drove him towards charity work.

“More than charity work, I view the role of organizations like Asha as empowering people,” Anand replied. “Not just the people who receive the funds that we raise, but all the people who come in contact with the organization. I, for one, have got a lot more out of the organization in terms of awareness of issues around education and empowerment, than what I have given back in terms of time.

“Empowering people basically requires an egalitarian, democratic setup where no one is considered too big or too small, where there is freedom of expression and where there is commitment towards getting things done from everyone, so you motivate each other towards one goal. I think that several of our teachers and classmates at Loyola have been role models in this sense of empowering us as students, and more than anything else, I think that is what I took away from those years as a valuable lesson for the future.”

What can Loyolites do to instil in their children a spirit of charity? “I think the notion of seeing such work as charity has to change. The perspective has to be more about empowering people so they can ask for what is legitimately theirs. A nation that is in the headlines for being a superpower in the making cannot afford to have two-thirds of its population making under Rs. 20 a day, or 50% of its children under five malnourished. Just the sheer magnitude of these stats should remind us of what we need to do to help every citizen of India. Never get complacent with what you see around yourself everyday.”

He then added, “I wish that the social sciences got more importance in every higher education curriculum. Even though people like Fr. Pulickal gave us an incredible grounding while in school, science and engineering curricula pay lip service to social sciences and if anything, we need informed and educated human beings as much as we need great doctors and engineers, and this is an imbalance we need to correct outside of school through regular reading.”

Anand’s page on the Asha website quotes Sahir Ludhianavi

It is true, we did not turn this world into a garden
But atleast we removed some thorns from the paths we travelled

Know more about Anand’s run

Note: The views expressed here by Anand are his personal views.

A Long, Long Lunch Break
There was an age in Loyola when juniors greatly respected seniors: ran small errands for them during the youth festival, the sports day, the school day and the LA Fest; held seats for them in buses; hung around seniors and listened admiringly to their adolescent stories; and tried to imitate them in every field possible. I don’t know if all this continues.

In our 12th we came across a handful of juniors in one class who were seen as an aberration of a great tradition that continued right from the awe-inspiring batches of the ’80s. These boys went for an inter-state athletic meet at a school in Trivandrum, where they had no reason to go, got into some frivolous disagreement and created some damage on the premises. In the evening, a few friends of ours from that school told us of the incident and all we could do was hang our heads in shame.

The next morning, we went up to Fr. Edassery, the vice-principal, (who too had heard of the incident) and vented our anger. He asked us, “What should I do?” We told him, “Give us a long lunch break and please don’t come up, whatever happens.” He readily agreed. At sharp 12:20 PM we pulled up the offending students from their class and took them into Std 12. I won’t go into details on the methods used or what happened next but they left our classroom humbled, teary-eyed and apologetic. In the evening, Sara Madam who heard of what we did, came over and congratulated us. That must have been the only lunch break that got extended in Loyola School history at the request of a class.

Loyolites Hate to Lose
We were a batch that stood incredibly united. But we forgot that unity for a few days in the academic calendar — during the youth festival and the sports day.

It was our final year. AP had gone down fighting SS in the youth festival, and AP and GG were fighting neck-to-neck for sports day supremacy. The final event of the sports day arrived with whoever winning the 4 x 100 metre relay would take home the first place for sports day and the Overall Best House Championship given at the year end. C.T. Varkey, our PT Sir had conducted years and years of successful sports days and this one too looked set to end in that fashion. He gave the get-set-go whistle/gun/shout (I forget which!) and everyone took off…except Vince of GG House. Apparently another Sir, who just joined that year had shouted out, “False Start” and Vincekuttan expected the other sprinters to return to their blocks. They never bothered and we had to egg Vince to start off, albeit late. In the end GG rallied back finely, but ended up losing to AP tantalizingly. The trouble started then.

We of GG cried foul and asked for a restart. AP knowing that they stood no chance if a re-run was ordered, stood their ground. Our class split into three–one backing GG, the other AP, and the third begging for sanity…the danger of coming to blows was real. In the meantime, a parallel fight broke out among the teachers with CT giving grief to the new Sir who had messed up inadvertently. AP finally yielded to a re-race and though they lost both the race and the sports day trophy, they won everyone’s hearts with their sportsmanship and sacrifice.

All of us went home bitter, wondering if our batch would ever come together after the acrimony of the day. The next morning, as I came walking in through the Loyola College gate, I saw my band of brothers huddled together, joking and laughing, as though yesterday had never happened.

I first heard of him four years ago when Rajiv Varghese (1977) told me of a Delhi-based batchmate who maintained a huge collection of books and comics. In July 2007, I contacted Vineeth for this blogpost and he suggested that we meet at Daryaganj.

“I am a great western fan and have currently got a collection of 3,700 odd westerns, almost 90% of them purchased from Daryaganj,” Vineeth wrote in an e-group four years ago. His other envious collection is of comics, which includes the first Indrajal comic: The Phantom’s Belt, published in 1964.

In January 2002, when Vineeth was invited to contribute to Outlook magazine’s Special Issue for Schools, he wrote an article ‘Thought Balloons’, where he described how comics grew on him:

It was Phantom who pulled me into the world of comics when I was seven. But it was only at the age of 15, when I read the Asterix books by Goscinny and Uderzo, that I began noticing new facets of comic books. They now had more complex characterisation and narratives. The old good-against-evil storyline had changed now and the whiter than white hero had begun to acquire shades of grey. Batman now began to show psychotic traits. The Incredible Spiderman was a super hero all right, but he also was an insecure, nervous and even neurotic teenager who I could totally identify with…Comic creators like Walt Kelly in Pogo and Garry Trudeau in Doonesbury were producing scathing satirical evaluation of political climate of the day.

At Daryaganj, as Vineeth moves from one bookseller to the next, it is clear that he is known in these parts. “Yes, when they get a ‘new’ old comic, they inform me on the phone,” Vineeth says. There are buyers and there are buyers.

Today, he has picked up two June and School Friend comics, a 1968 edition of The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley, seven westerns, and four other books. For just Rs 107.

Not all the booty is for his collection; some of it is for book-loving friends he has met in e-groups. Vineeth is active in international e-groups and bulletin boards on comics and westerns, where fans converge to share story summaries, upload cover scans, clarify one another’s queries, and occasionally bump into the artists and creators of the comics. When members ask for books and information, Vineeth procures them to the best of his ability. “Without Vineeth’s help this whole web site would not exist and the joys of Indian comics would not be open to us all!,” writes Terry Hooper-Scharf of indopakbangcomic. Elsewhere on the web, Vineeth is thanked for his “amazing efforts” in preparing a publishing history in India of the Phantom, or for helping to compile a list of Indrajal’s Mandrakes.

Seeing is believing. So, we head for his flat in west Delhi.

Cartons of comics and shelves of books touch the ceiling. I wish to see the first Indrajal comic and he fishes it out for me in less than five minutes. In the process, out come a few others–Sherlock Holmes comics, Art Spiegelman’s Maus (which won the Pulitzer), the Pogo collection We Have Met the Enemy, and He is Us (a famous quotation picked up by environmentalists), and Ompa-pa (who makes cameo appearances in Asterix but has a series of his own by creators Goscinny and Uderzo).

In Maus, Spiegelman depicted Jews as mice and Nazis as cats. In the world of comics, which character does Vineeth think is closest to a Loyolite? He replies, “Phantom.” What??? I know that Vineeth is a big ‘phan’ (that’s how Phantom fans call themselves), and that he lurks among the phans as Patrolman (his chosen avatar in the e-club), but I can’t hide my surprise. So Vineeth explains.

“Phantom is for the whole family to read. When he shoots, it is invariably to knock off a pistol or scare somebody, not to kill. Honour, truth, goody-goody. He is not a superhero, but an ordinary man who has developed his abilities fully. He has a treasure house in a jungle but uses it for the community, not for personal gain.” After I’ve taken down all this, Vineeth adds, “Not a realistic character, too good to be true.”

Even as Vineeth preserves the older comics in plastic covers, new comics keep arriving. The white packet on the table has just come from a collector in Australia, who has sent him the 1,500th issue of Frew Comics’ Phantom. It starts with a reprint of the first-ever Phantom comic, The Singh Brotherhood (1936).

Vineeth pulls out Phantom comics from different publishers (Goldkey, Charlton, Moonstone, Indrajal, Budget) to show me how the same story appears differently when published across time and space. Vineeth does not buy every comic that comes his way — the year of publication, and the artist matter. Sometimes, you judge a book by its cover.

Vineeth grew up on the reprints of foreign comics, which he says are more sophisticated in art and content than the Amar Chitra Kathas that came later. That’s why, despite having a decent collection of ACKs, he is not a fan as much as his juniors might expect him to be.

Cliched, but I have to ask. Favourite author? P.G. Wodehouse. “In the sixth standard, I was reading some pulp book in the Loyola library, when vice-principal Fr C.P. Varkey came by. He asked, ‘Isn’t this your games period? What are you doing here?’. I told him that I liked to read and I was not the only one not playing.” Fr Varkey picked a book from the shelf, handed it to Vineeth and said, “Read this, if you must.” That book, Right Ho, Jeeves, introduced him to Wodehouse. More than thirty years later, Vineeth tells me, “Anything that Wodehouse writes will have takers. Even his laundry list.”

Not surprisingly, Vineeth is a mine of information on comics: Dhenkali in Phantom comics was Bengali in the original foreign editions; in the Indian version of Spiderman, you will meet Pavitr Prabhakar (Peter Parker) and Meera Jain (Mary Jane); one comic in Vineeth’s collection is going for Rs 1,500 on the web…

Ah! Any plans to sell? His collection would be worth a few thousands of dollars, right? “No, not for sale. I never bought any comic or book with that in mind. I kept on buying because I liked reading, that’s all.” Vineeth’s wife Fisal says,”In Irinjalakuda [his hometown near Thrissur], he has stocked the almirah with books, instead of clothes.”

And is there an old school magazine in the Irinjalakuda racks? “Yes,” says Vineeth, “there is a copy of the 1972 magazine, the year in which I joined Loyola.”

This 44-year old desk officer in the central government is different from most Loyolites I know. He has built expertise over decades with dedication, focus and fun. While many of us, I suspect, do this in our professional area, excel at work and earn the respect of peers, Vineeth has done it outside the cubicle. With a hobby from his school days, Vineeth Abraham has created a world of joy outside the workplace.

The holy grail is Donald Duck Finds Pirate Gold, Dell comic, issued 1942. “Once I get it, I’ll probably retire on that.” It’s for sale on the web. A blog reader might gift it, I tell him. Vineeth smiles and says, “It’s selling for $10,000.”

Vineeth will pick it up from Daryaganj one day. For Rs 10.

Acknowledgement: Fred Gomez (1977) helped me get in touch with Vineeth. Joshua Newton clicked the second photo in the opening panel.

Update: A modified version of this blogpost was published in the Business Standard newspaper (subscriber login required).

Vyasan called me four hours ago to break the news of this year’s all-India civil services exam result.

4th rank – Prasanth N. (1995 SSLC)
6th rank – Vyasan R. (1996 ISC)
7th rank – Anish Rajan (1997 ISC)

Wow! About 150,000 candidates appear for an exam, and three Loyolites make it to the top 10. They join a handful of Loyolites who are in the elite civil services.

• Paul Antony (1974) – IAS 1984 – Kerala
• Jitendra Srivastava (1990) – IAS 2000 – Bihar
• Sreejesh K.V. (1990) – IPS 2000 – Tripura
• Babu A. (1993) – IAS 2003 – Andhra Pradesh
• Anup Kuruvilla John (1997) – IPS 2004 – Kerala

Getting into the civil services takes hours of hard work, months of effort and years of patience. And perhaps, moments of luck. It’s a marathon exam that spans a year, from the day of the preliminary examination (May) through the Main written examination (October) and interview (April) to the declaration of result (next May). And worse, you might have to go through this exam cycle more than once to get a coveted service. Ask Prasanth. Ask Vyasan. Ask Anish.

Great companionship, long-winded sessions at Indian Coffee House and the joy of learning — these keep the candidates going as they chase the dream. For their parents, though, it is a nightmare all the way. Anxiety levels and frustration rise by the year as bright sons offer their best days at the altar of the mother of all UPSC exams. The CAT may be tougher, and the GRE may offer a better future, but neither stretches middle-class Indian parents to breaking point. The Indian civil services exam is a test for parents, as much as it is of a young Indian’s ability to recollect, and write concisely and accurately.

As we celebrate the success of Prasanth, Vyasan and Anish, let us say three cheers to their families who supported them, year after year.

I had never seen “fashion” in the Loyola lexicon, and here was somebody who was defining it. So, despite the publicity by now, within minutes of Jiby’s tip off, I got in touch with Vivek, who runs viia in Chennai.

Excerpts from an e-mail interview:

Fashion is not the typical Loyolite’s post-Loyola route. Who or what carried you to the National Institute of Fashion Technology, Chennai?

I guess the creative streak in my gene pool comes from mom. I have always been interested in art, craft, design, music, dance, etc.. I always looked forward to the Youth Festival; loved the interhouse competition and all the fun that came with it. Yes, I was made to write all the possible engineering entrance exams. But I had clearly decided at that point what I wanted. I was fortunate to meet a few people who were design students at NIFT and NID [National Institute of Design]. Meeting them further strengthened my interest towards the career I wanted to pursue.

In Trivandrum, at that point of time, the only form of exposure to Fashion, was in the form of fashion shows organised at intercollegiate festivals, and big events organised by the corporates or the government. So whenever I had a chance to pitch in, I would make the most of it. I got so involved that I decided to organise a show around where I used to live — bringing in sponsors and celebrities together, and raising some money for charity. It was quite an experience. A good learning and overall fun.

When you recall Loyola now, who do you think was the best-dressed teacher?

In those years, I was quite fascinated by Mrs Merl Murray’s sense of style in her sleeveless blouse and printed chiffon sarees. Fr Varkey, Fr Philip Thayyil, late Fr Pulickal, Fr Edassery — all had a sense of style within the crisp robes they used to wear. I think most of the male teachers were still working on their style at that point

Given a choice to re-design the Loyola school uniform, what would be your suggestion(s)?

Black and white, still my all-time favourite. Could possibly look at stylising the same — a bit. Tweaking it to add interesting details. More than everything, a sense of style needs to be inculcated within each student to help them understand “dressing well” and “dressing right.”

In a Rediff interview Ajayan had said, “My high school (Loyola School, Trivandrum) made a strong impact on me and made me realize that learning is the most exciting thing one can ever befriend.”

When Deepak (1996 ISC) drew my attention to this interview, I contacted Ajayan and requested him to elaborate.

“Loyola was a very professional place with a deep interest in seeing its students succeed. In addition there were lots of opportunities to develop personality, think about things other than just studies and think broadly,” he replied. “Father C.P. Varkey was certainly a strong influence in developing this thought process.”

Ajayan did his early studies in a government school in Kodungallur, and moved to Loyola in standard seven. His stay in the Loyola hostel “helped a lot” as he found himself among students who shared a similar, broad outlook. He is disappointed that the school discontinued the hostel.

“Teachers like M.M. George had a strong influence in my taking up science for my career. The whole teacher community at Loyola when I was there was just excellent. I don’t think I have ever had such a dedicated and loving teacher community after my Loyola experience,” Ajayan wrote to me.

“If I think about influences in my life that had an impact of changing my life, I would say Loyola comes first.” This, from an influential person himself. A few years ago, when ScienceWatch analysed articles on nanotechnology written between 1992 and 2002, Ajayan was the seventh most-cited author in the world.

More on Ajayan and his work, in the Wikipedia

Update: I expanded this blogpost and published an article on Ajayan in The Hindu BusinessLine.