Shevlin Sebastian's Blog, page 23

A Rajasthani in Kerala

Kerala State Chief Secretary Vishwas Mehta, who was born in Rajasthan, talks about his three-decade stay in God’s Own Country Pics: Vishwas Mehta; with wife Preeti By Shevlin SebastianOn July 22, when Vishwas Mehta, the chief secretary of the Kerala State Government, was returning home, after a hard day’s work at the Secretariat, in Thiruvananthapuram, he realised that it was the birthday of the playback singer Mukesh (1923-76). Vishwas had been an intense fan for many years. He remembers the day Mukesh died, on August 27, 1976, as if it had happened yesterday. The singer had been performing with Lata Mangeshkar at a concert in Detroit, USA when he collapsed with a heart attack. “I was 16 years old then,” says Vishwas. “His songs are so melancholy. I don’t know why I was attracted to them.” Vishwas was devastated when he heard the news. He stepped out of his home at Chandigarh, went to a nearby park and cried for a long time. Then Vishwas prayed to God, “Please give me the voice of Mukesh.” Vishwas also prayed to Mukesh with a similar plea. At his home in Thiruvananthapuram, Vishwas has a mike and a sound system. That night, in the presence of his wife Preeti, and a family friend, through karaoke, he sang ‘Kahin door jab din dhal jaye’ from the 1971 film, ‘Anand’ and other songs. Another version of him singing ‘Kahin door’ can be seen on YouTube. It would seem as if God has granted his wish. He sounds like Mukesh. And he has sung in many public concerts. In his official career, Vishwas has been steadily moving upwards — Sub Collector, District Collector, Secretary, Principal Secretary, and Additional Chief Secretary. On May 31, Vishwas became the Chief Secretary in place of the incumbent Tom Jose who had retired. And he has gone straight into the hurricane as COVID-19 is now spreading all over Kerala through community transmission.“These are busy and stressful days,” he says. “The most important task at hand is to find as many places to convert into first-line COVID treatment hospitals. Every day there is planning and coordination with the different departments so that things move forward smoothly.” What is interesting to know is that Vishwas is a Rajasthani who has now spent 34 years in Kerala. Asked his view about the state, Vishwas says, “Kerala is 15 years ahead of other states in terms of its health and education. It is on par with Europe.” And he has a clear idea of how this has happened. “There are Four ‘M’s’ behind Kerala’s success,” he says. The first M is missionaries. They came over a hundred years ago and set up schools and hospitals. The second M was the prevalence of the matriarchal society. It brought empowerment to women. They got educated and owned property. As a result, they developed independent thinking. The third M is the monarchs. The kings never fought a war with anybody, but they built many schools, colleges, hospitals and public infrastructure like the Secretariat. There was not much consolidation of wealth and power within the royal families. “In Rajasthan, the rulers were engaged in wars all the time,” says Vishwas. “They were fighting the Mughals or the British. So, they needed to make forts and castles to defend themselves. In Kerala, you will not find forts or castles, except maybe, the Bekal Fort.” The fourth M was the first Marxist Government in the world which came to power in Kerala in 1957 through the ballot box. Chief Minister EMS Namboodiripad started education and land reforms. There was a limit to the number of acres an individual could own. Excess land was distributed to the landless.  “This was missing in other parts of India where many people do not own land even now and have to work directly or indirectly for a landlord,” says Vishwas. “These four ‘M’s have brought about the transformation that we see today.” But it is not all perfect. “If the people had been aware of their duties also, instead of only their rights, Kerala could have become an island of prosperity,” he says. “There also would not have been this demand for labour from other states.” This now numbers five lakh. And despite having 22 lakh people in West Asia, there is hardly any manufacturing industry, nor do Keralites generate economic wealth. “All they do is make houses, buy cars and jewellery,” says Vishwas.  But it does not mean Vishwas does not enjoy himself. He had the best time of his career when he spent four-and-a-half years as Sub-Collector and Collector of Wayanad. He would travel to the most remote hamlet to meet the tribals, like the Panniyan, Kattuniakkan, and the Kurichyan, and try to address their problems. “They will say a road needs to be repaired, or a well needs to be dug deeper as there is no water, or the doctor does not come to the primary health centre or they are not getting their weekly rations,” says Vishwas.  He knew that a lot of officers and politicians who visited them had not resolved their problems. Vishwas wanted to restore their faith in the administration. “I tried to fulfill at least one or two of the demands immediately,” he says. “In the collectorate, I would chase the departments to ensure implementation.”  There were unusual moments, too. One day, 30 tribal women led by an elderly woman named Ponamma came to the Collectorate. They said they wanted to see the Collector and see the collectorate. So Vishwas led them around and showed them the different departments. For them, it was an eye-opener. At the end of the walk-around, he chatted with them as they sipped cups of tea. He asked the Bishops of the local churches to give him all the donations in kind, like clothes, oil, and rice grains. He would put the materials in the boot of his car and donate it directly to the villagers. He was aware if he gave it to the officials, many things might be pilfered away. After two years, when it was announced that he was being transferred, he was invited to Sulthan Bathery for a farewell. While there, in front of a church, over 500 tribals had assembled. Since he did not want a formal meeting, they surrounded the Collector and started talking to him. At the edge of the crowd, Vishwas noticed a 70-year-old tribal lady. She looked familiar, yet he was not sure. A few minutes later, he suddenly realised it was Ponamma. He said, “How come you are here?” She replied, “I just came to meet you. We are very sad that you are leaving.” When Vishwas was leaving, she caught hold of his hand and put something in it. As the car left, he opened his palm and saw that it was a chocolate eclair. “This was her gift, and it was from her heart,” he says. “It made me cry. It was one of the best gifts I received.”     Early Life Vishwas, who was born in Dungarpur in Rajasthan, is the son of a geology professor who taught in Punjab University. So, he grew up in Chandigarh. An exemplary student throughout his school years, he did his MSc in geology. After initial stints in geology research and as a management trainee at the Steel Authority of India Limited, Vishwas got a job as an executive officer at the Oil and Natural Gas Commission. But all along, his father urged him to sit for the civil services examination. To please his father he sat for the exams. In his first attempt he got a rank of 186 and was inducted into the Indian Police Service in 1985. His batch mates included Rishiraj Singh and Lokanath Behera. While Rishiraj is the Director-General of Prisons and Correctional Services, Kerala, Lokanath is the state’s Director General of Police. But Vishwas wanted to join the Indian Administrative Service. So he sat for the exams the next year and got the ninth rank. However, through random selection, he was inducted into the Kerala cadre.  Before he embarked to Kerala, all his colleagues sympathised with him. “Kerala is rock bottom in terms of facilities for government servants and the people do not give much respect,” says Vishwas. “Nobody wanted to come to the South.” In North India, the officers lived in palatial bungalows, with many servants at their beck and call. “You are treated like a demigod,” says Vishwas. “But that is not the case in Kerala.” In fact, Vishwas remembers a Class Four staffer telling him one day when he was posted to Mananthavady, “Sir, the only difference between you and me is that you sat for an exam and passed it. I did not have the resources nor the education to do so.” Vishwas was taken aback. “Lakhs of aspirants take the exam,” he says. “It is not easy to get through. But he was unwilling to show that respect.” Vishwas spent one year, from August 1987, in training at Kollam under the collector CV Ananda Bose. Like any first-timer, it was difficult for Vishwas to adjust to the rice-based diet (he preferred chapatis), people, culture and language. But within a year, he got married to Preeti, a homemaker, so his family life became settled soon. In the office, at Mananthavady, he had a clerk translate Malayalam words into English. “I realised that whether you speak right or wrong does not matter,” he says. “What matters is to keep speaking in Malayalam.” It took Vishwas about five years to gain some measure of fluency. “I am still learning,” he says. “People have shown their appreciation because they know I was from Rajasthan. They never made fun of me. That was very nice of Malayalis.” In his personal life, Vishwas has two married sons, Ekalavya (San Jose, USA) and Dhruv (Noida). Both are in the IT industry. Meanwhile, Vishwas remains focused on his work. “My aim is to do good for society and try to make a difference,” he says. “Only when you give back are you honoured and respected.” (Published in Mathrubhumi, English edition)

Long-term impact

Rooma Sarika runs the ‘Rooma Permanent Cosmetics’ clinic at Kochi. She talks about the many beneficial treatments 

By Shevlin Sebastian 

The doorbell rang at the flat in Mumbai. Priya Sharma opened the door. It was her former boyfriend Deepak. He had a small plastic bottle with him. It was uncapped. He threw the liquid at her face. She moved sideways, but drops of liquid still fell on her face. She screamed. Deepak fled. Priya realised he had come to take revenge. A week ago, she had ended their two-year relationship. The 30-year-old went to the hospital. The treatment did not cure her. Her lips fell to one side. One eyebrow had gone. She had to keep using the eyeliner to make an eyebrow but it gave off an artificial look. One day, her Delhi-based aunt Mona, who runs a chain of nail studios, called her.  Priya told her about the problems with her face. “I have a solution,” Mona said. About a month earlier, Mona did a Google search to look for beauty therapists who did permanent make-up. And she came across the name of Rooma VS who runs a clinic, ‘Rooma Permanent Cosmetics’ in Kathrikadavu, Kochi. She called Rooma, fixed an appointment, flew down and got her eyebrows fixed and lip contouring. So Priya called Rooma, and came to Kochi.  When Rooma had a look, she saw that the acid had damaged the eyebrows and an area near the eyes. Her lips did not have a proper shape. “This affected her self-confidence,” she says. “But the other side of her face looked beautiful.” Rooma propagates a technique called microblading. It is a method by which, with the help of microblades, a pigment is placed in the upper layers of the skin. This results in eyebrows becoming full and it can be shaped in a way the client wants. This lasts for two years. Rooma imports healthy pigments from the PhiAcademy, USA.Rooma’s first celebrity client was a noted singer and popular Malayalam TV anchor. Rooma worked on the eyebrows and made it permanent. “I also made the eyeliner permanent,” she says. “So, before a shoot, she does not have to bother about her eyebrows and eyes at all.” Another Mollywood star is also a client. She wanted her eyebrows to be done. So Rooma used the microblading technique. So happy was the actress with the treatment, she appeared in an online advertisement for the beauty clinic. For celebrities, this treatment is a God-send. Because of the mobile phone, people are always taking photos. “So even if a guest comes to the house, they have to rush and put on make-up, because there is a high possibility of a selfie being taken with them,” says Rooma. “It will be uploaded on social media, and so they must look good all the time. That is why permanent eyebrows are an enormous help.” On being asked whether women come to beautify themselves, so that they can look good for their spouses, Rooma laughs and says, “No, it has got nothing to do with husbands. Women want to increase their confidence levels by looking good. Plus, it will help them in their careers like acting and in jobs where they have to interact with the public.” Rooma has a wide range of customers: from 25 to 72. But most of the clients are in the 30 to 40-year age group. Women with distinctive problems come to see Rooma. One woman told her that because of an illness she lost her eyebrows. So, she could never step out of her bedroom without using a pencil and making lines. Unfortunately, the eyebrows looked fake. “She had become self-conscious,” said Rooma. “So, she felt relieved when she could get permanent eyebrows.”  Some suffer from alopecia (spot baldness) and have lost their eyebrows. This also happens to women who have undergone chemotherapy. Apart from microblading, other services include permanent eyeliner and lip contouring. Sometimes, when women smoke too much, their lips can grow dark. Or it could be because of the daily use of lipstick, which has lead and mercury in it. To hide the dark patches, they increase the use of lipstick. “But this is like a slow poison,” says Rooma. In lip contouring, Roopa replaces the underlying melanin, a natural skin pigment with mineral pigments. “These are safe,” says Rooma. “It is only metallic pigments that have a side-effect because it gets oxidised. After the procedure, you need not use lipstick at all.”  Another procedure is the lifting of the eyelids through plasma treatment. After the age of 30, the collagen content in the skin goes down. When this happens, the skin tends to collapse. “By using a small needle, I try to create some breaks. This will allow the body to make collagen naturally, and the drooping will go away,” she says. Earlier, people used Botox, but it resulted in deposits under the skin. Rooma is also adept at hair extensions. The earlier way was to put clip-on extensions, but that damaged the roots of the hair. “You have to remove it often,” she says. “We use micro ring hair extensions. You don’t need glue, heat or braids.”  The strands, matching the original hair colour, are placed seamlessly into the hairline.  “You cannot spot the difference,” says Rooma. “The advantage of these types of extensions is that you can wash and comb your hair and nobody will notice the difference. These are also lightweight so that the wearer will not even feel there is extra hair.” It is clear while talking to Rooma that she has a passion for her job. And this love began very early. Early influences One of Rooma’s aunts ran a beauty boutique in Mumbai. During summer vacations, she would come to the ancestral house at Ambalapuzha, in Kochi, where Rooma lived with her maternal grandmother. (Rooma’s father, who worked in the Central Reserve Police Force, had a transferable job). As a child, Rooma idolized her aunt. “She was very beautiful and wore impeccable make-up, with lipstick and mascara,” says Rooma. “I got interested in cosmetics from that age.”  After her schooling at the St Mary’s School in Kayamkulam, she did her pre-degree at the Fatima Mata National College in Kollam. At that time, she came across a course for beauty therapists in the newspaper. They would conduct the theory classes through the post. And then she had to do some practical classes. She did not tell her family as nearly all of them are doctors and engineers. “They would not be interested in me doing this course,” says Rooma. “So, I did the course without telling my father. But I confided in my mother, and she gave me the money to do it.”    After her BA from the same college, Rooma moved to Kochi where she got a job in Naturals Cosmetics at their Kadavanthra branch. She gained plenty of experience by working there. Later, she became a trainer for other beauty therapists. In 2013, she got an opportunity to do a three-year degree in cosmetology at the Houston Community College in the USA. When she finished that, she took a 1000 sq. ft area, and opened a beauty centre at Houston.This location turned out to be lucky. Because right next to her centre, former Mollywood star Divya Unni was running the Sreepādam School of Arts. Rooma befriended Divya, and the latter sent many clients to her. “Divya gave a lot of support to me,” says Rooma. At that time, she got a chance to do a six-month course at the PhiAcademy on permanent cosmetics.  Soon, Rooma got the idea to start a clinic in Kochi. This came to fruition on September 10, 2018. “Ordinarily, I would have been just a cosmetologist and a beauty therapist,” says Rooma. “But the course at the PhiAcademy was a game-changer.” Today, she is the only one to offer permanent make-up in Kerala. And the clients are coming from all over India. The reviews have been good.S. Krishna Som, who did microblading and hair extensions, says, “I am very happy with the quality and efficiency of their services. Also, the products are of superior quality. Rooma and her team are dextrous and qualified.” Priya Anoopkumar says, “Rooma has added a new light in the life of people suffering from alopecia. This is the best service available in Kochi.” Annu Philip, who works in the airline industry, had suffered from thinning hair for many years. It affected her poise and self-confidence. “When I did my hair extensions, I felt so good,” she says. “A big thanks to Rooma.” (Published in Unique Times)

Lessons in the drizzle

By Shevlin Sebastian 
It’s drizzling
But it doesn’t matter.
I am running, 
Around the Jawaharlal Nehru stadium 
At Kochi.
The ground is wet,
There are water patches around.
So, I take careful steps.
As I go around, 
I see a young man,
In a hoodie, 
And track pants.
He is talking, 
On the mobile phone. 
Standing beneath an awning.
Must be to his girlfriend, 
Because he is smiling.
I think to myself, 
‘What a wastrel. Do some exercise. Get fit’.
But he is oblivious. 
During my next lap,
I see,
A friend has joined him. 
‘Two wastrels’, I think, 
As I start panting.
My middle-age lungs, 
Are aching.
But I like the suffering, 
Because it makes me feel good.
When I stop.
On my third round, 
They are peeling off their track pants.
I run on..
The drizzle has eased up, 
A cool breeze is blowing. 
My perspiration-drenched forehead 
Gets some relief.
Running triggers 
Something primitive in me. 
This is what man did, 
For thousands of years. 
Before the invention 
Of the wheel.
I can hear the thud of feet 
Hitting the ground
Behind me.
It sounds like heartbeats.
Then these two young men,
Whom I derided, 
Whizzed past me 
At high speed. 
Smooth electrifying movements 
Of hands and feet. 
‘What?’ I exclaim silently in my head
My perception was 
Oh so wrong. 
They are athletes, 
And they are swift.
And they splash, 
Through the puddles. 
Fearlessly. 
So I had simply 
Misunderstood them.
That’s what happens to all of us
We misunderstand 
People. 
Places. 
Communities. 
Religions.
Spouses. 
Children.
Parents. 
Relatives.
Is it any surprise, 
Society is so fractured.  
I feel like a fool 
Message to me: don’t jump to conclusions, 
Ever. 
(Published in Hello Poetry)

In the spotlight for six decades

Tamil writer Vaasanthi writes about the life and times of five-time Chief Minister MK KarunanidhiPics: The cover; Author VaasanthiBy Shevlin Sebastian  Karunanidhi’s father Muthuvelar was playing the instrument called the nadaswaram. The ten-year-old listened as the raga Sankarabharnam filled the room of their home in Tamil Nadu. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. When Muthuvelar opened the door, a man said, “Pannaiyar (landowner) wants you to come and see him.” As Muthuvelar set out, Karunanidhi also followed. When his father approached the landlord who was sitting on a swing, Muthuvelar bent his torso and spoke in a deferential tone. After a brief conversation, they returned. But it upset Karunanidhi that his father had to be deferential. Muthuvelar was a farmer who could read and write in Tamil and Sanskrit, and a poet who could recite the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. This incident sparked an aversion in the boy towards the caste hierarchy. “Karunanidhi felt that there was too much of discrimination,” says Tamil writer Vaasanthi, who has just penned the book, ‘Karunanidhi: The Definitive Biography’, which has been published by Juggernaut. “It left a deep mark on Karunanidhi and it lasted till his death in 2018 at 94. It shaped his policies. He felt he had to be just to the underprivileged.” The idea to write the book came at the suggestion of Kannan Sundaram, the editor of Tamil literary magazine Kalachuvadu. Vaasanthi had written a biography of Jayalalithaa earlier, and the first edition became a best-seller. So, she agreed to write on Karunanidhi. When Juggernaut Publishing came to know that she was writing on Karunanidhi they asked her whether she would do an English version. And Vaasanthi concurred. Another reason why she wanted to write the book was that Karunanidhi was a multi-faceted individual: apart from politics, he was a talented scriptwriter, editor, writer and orator. “People outside Tamil Nadu knew little about Karunanidhi as compared to Jayalalithaa,” she says. Jayalalithaa was a Brahmin who belonged to an affluent family. She had an English education. Later, she became a film star and a close friend of superstar MG Ramachandran (MGR), the founder of the All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam, who became the Chief Minister. “MGR made her the propaganda secretary of the party, so she had an easy entry into politics,” says Vaasanthi. As for Karunanidhi, he belonged to the backward community. As to how Karunanidhi could reach the top in a caste-conscious society, Vaasanthi says that when he was growing up, it was a time of great ferment. The freedom movement was taking place. At the same time, Tamil pride was resurgent.British missionary Reverend Robert Caldwell said that Tamil was an independent language and had no links to Sanskrit, unlike other languages. That had a big impact on the Tamil psyche. In the 1930s, E.V Ramasamy Naicker, who later came to be known as Periyar (The Elder), came up with his anti-Brahmin stance and caused a stir. “This appealed to the young Karunanidhi, as he remembered the humiliation of his father,” says Vaasanthi. “So he was in the right place at the right time. Karunanidhi was also intelligent, hard-working and ambitious.”  For her research, Vaasanthi met up with politicians belonging to different parties. K S Radhakrishnan, a member of Karunanidhi’s party, the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK), gave her access to a vast library at his home. “It was astounding,” says Vaasanthi. “There were articles, photographs, history of the Dravidian movement, the journals of the founder Periyar, film scripts and copies of the daily letters that Karunanidhi wrote to the workers in ‘Murasoli’, the party organ.” These were neatly bound in several volumes. The entire first floor has been dedicated to this archive.  As the editor of the Tamil edition of India Today for ten years during the 1990s, Vaasanthi gained a deep knowledge of the leaders of the two Dravidian parties and their functioning, and that helped in writing the book. She did not read any biography on Karunanidhi written in Tamil or English before writing the book. However, during her research she came across Sandhya Ravishankar’s book on Karunanidhi in English.  As a journalist, Vaasanthi had interacted with Karunanidhi’s children, MK Stalin, MK Alagiri and Kanimozhi, but did not speak to them specifically when she was writing the book. She did, however, speak to Shanmuganathan, Karunanidhi’s long-standing personal assistant, and Durai Murugan, a prominent leader of the DMK and a close friend of Karunanidhi. Apart from that, Vaasanthi had many personal interactions with Karunanidhi and developed a close rapport.   She also read the six-volume autobiography titled ‘Nenjukku Needhi’ (Justice of the Heart). “There was sparse information about the childhood of Karunanidhi,” she says. “So the first volume was invaluable for me.” Vaasanthi knew that the five-time Chief Minister had the state of Tamil Nadu foremost in his heart. “The North, for a long time, believed he was a secessionist, but Karunanidhi always stressed on the concept of federalism,” she says. “He strived for greater autonomy for the states within a strong, federal structure at the Centre.” However, if Karunanidhi had been alive now, he would have been upset at the way the Centre is squeezing the states’ decision-making abilities and financial freedom. “The Centre is doing this because it has an absolute majority in Parliament,” says Vaasanthi. “The Opposition is weak. But he would have never shirked from raising his voice. Instead, he would have galvanised the opposition.” But Karunanidhi had his flaws, too. He misjudged the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) of Sri Lanka. “It shocked him when the LTTE carried out the assassination of [Indian Prime Minister] Rajiv Gandhi in 1991 at Sriperumbudur,” says Vaasanthi. “He had wanted to help his fellow Tamils across the Palk Strait. But the problem was that Karunanidhi did not understand the mindset of LTTE supremo V. Prabhakaran.” On being asked whether she learned anything new about Jayalalithaa and Karunanidhi, Vaasanthi says, “Even though both were powerful leaders, with a mass base, they were very vulnerable. They could be fooled into thinking somebody is honest or a loyal friend. And because of the isolation that supreme power brings, both were very lonely.” But as an administrator, Vaasanathi had no doubts that Karunanidhi was far better. “He would have efficiently handled the current pandemic,” says Vaasanthi. “His advantage was that the bureaucrats revered him and implemented all his orders at once.”The quality that Vasaanthi admired the most about Karunanidhi was his power of conviction. “You have to believe in what you do or say,” says Vaasanthi. “He was such a powerful Dravidian leader. He played his cards very well about being secular and protecting the rights of the states.”   But like most human beings, there was a marked decline at the end. His health broke down and it pained him that his beloved daughter Kanimozhi had to spend six months at Tihar Jail in 2011 because she was an accused in the 2G telecom scam.“By then he became silent because doctors had inserted a tracheostomy tube in his throat to help him breathe,” says Vaasanthi.  All these details and many more are crammed into the 259-page narrative. The book is an enjoyable read. Vaasanthi is a seasoned writer. She has published 40 novels and six short story collections. So, she knows how to write in a gripping style. There is an intensity of tone that seems to ensure a reader will follow her to the very end, despite the never-ending distractions of Whatsapp and social media. (Published in HuffPost India)

Facing the abyss

Stakeholders in Fort Kochi and Jew Town, including Kashmiri shop owners, restaurant owners, travel agents, businessmen and homestay owners are struggling, but hope is not lostPhotos: Jew Town; Sajid Husain Khatai; Junaid Sulaiman; Sajid Saj with foreign guests 
By Shevlin Sebastian 
On most mornings, Sajid Hussain Khatai goes to his shop in Jew Town, on the road leading to the Jewish Synagogue. He switches on the fans and lights. He is aware no customers are going to come. But Sajid is doing this, to prevent fungus attacking his carpets, shawls and cotton textiles. He keeps it open till 2 p.m. Then he returns home. But now, with rising rates of coronavirus victims, Fort Kochi is in lockdown. Sajid stays three kilometres from his shop. And he has been unable to open the shop. But the situation in the shop is not alarming. However, Sajid is wondering about the state of the goods in his friends’ shops. These have been closed for three months. “Most of the carpets will be spoiled,” he says. Sajid is from Srinagar. He came to Jew Town in 1998. He is one of the first Kashmiris to settle in Fort Kochi. Like most Kashmiris, he runs a handicrafts shop. He has another shop, near the Mattancherry boat jetty. Kashmiris have about 110 shops in the area. A total of 450 Kashmiris stay in Jew Town and Fort Kochi. But about 440 people have gone back. Sajid has stayed back because his wife works in the MG Road branch of The Jammu & Kashmir Bank. His two daughters study in Choice School. Now they are attending online classes. “The economic damage is huge,” he says. “Our business depends on tourists. Now, there is nobody. We have been suffering for the past few months. The reason many Kashmiris left was to avoid paying the home rent.” Interestingly, many of those who have gone back to Srinagar have started other businesses. One person has started a wholesale business in garments; another has become a transporter; a third one has become a distributor. “If they succeed, they might not return,” he says. Sajid feels that nothing will happen in the upcoming tourist season which starts from October and ends in March next year. “The only way foreigners will come is if a vaccine is found,” he says. “Otherwise, nobody will take the risk of travelling. I believe this will be the case with domestic tourists, too.” He has spoken to travel agents and they expect that things will return to normal only by August 2021. The problem is that since economies have gone into a tailspin all over the world very few people will have the money to travel. “They will be more interested in clearing their debts,” says Sajid. “Bread and butter issues will be paramount. So, the last thing on their minds will be travel.” It is a cloudy morning. Junaid Sulaiman is standing in front of a building which he owns, just next to the Synagogue. “It looks like a full-fledged hartal,” he says, as he points at the empty street and the shuttered shops. “In the months of November to February, because of the presence of so many foreign tourists, I would feel I am in a European country. But now all that is gone.” As for the Synagogue it has been closed for the first time in 452 years. Junaid runs the Mocha Art Cafe. His patrons have included the famed Hollywood director Steven Spielberg and the Vietnamese photographer Nick Ut who shot the Pulitzer Prize-winning photo of children fleeing a bombed-out village in Vietnam. He closed the cafe on March 14, when he heard that some foreigners in Munnar had been afflicted with coronavirus. He felt he could open on April 1. But his plans went haywire. “We never imagined it would last for so long,” says Junaid. Out of ten staffers, three have gone back home. At the cafe, there is a manager, an executive chef, two baristas (coffee experts), one sous chef, and a sweeper. Junaid continues to pay their salaries. One day, Junaid got a call from Aneesh Sharafudeen, the Kerala state head of garment company FabIndia asking for a cut in the rent. The company has a showroom in Junaid’s building. He replied he would think about it. Junaid, who owns the most number of buildings in Jew Town, consulted with the other owners. In the end, they waived off the rent from March 15 to May 31. From June 1 to September 30, 50 per cent have been waived. Junaid has his heart in the right place. One day the Kashmiris approached him for help to get a train from Kochi to Kashmir. So, Junaid met the Collector S Suhas and Agriculture Minister Sunil Kumar. Sunil, a member of the Communist Party of India, is in charge of Ernakulam. Five days later, the Nodal Officer for Kashmir RS Shibu called Junaid from Thiruvananthapuram. A train was arranged on May 20. About 400 Kashmiris got in at Ernakulam and another 400 from Thiruvananthapuram. Around 16 students from Mangalore also boarded the train. The last stop was Udaipur. Thereafter, they took buses to reach Srinagar, 1400 km away. Junaid has another business of distribution of Fast Moving Consumer Goods. These include butter, ghee, flour, wheat, biscuits, jams, edible oils, and cornflakes. However, he has not been able to deliver outside the containment zones. Other distributors are in a similar predicament. “People will suffer,” says Junaid. Apart from the people the economy is suffering. Says Sunny L Malayil, the president of the Indian Chamber of Commerce and Industry: “There is a severe economic impact in Fort Kochi. We had a flourishing tourism-related industry. But now, there is a huge dip in income. At this moment, there are no foreigners or domestic travellers.” The Chamber estimates there has been a loss of income to the tune of Rs 100 crore in the past few months. He says that around 20 percent of the businesses will close down permanently. Those who were handling the Holy Land trips to Israel and Palestine have also suffered a blow to their business. However, he says that if the Kochi Muziris Biennale takes place in December, there might be a revival, of sorts. Sunny says that last year the Chamber had conducted a seminar to analyse the economic impact of the art festival on homestays, hotels, restaurants, and the transportation sector. In the previous Biennale, there were six lakh visitors. Out of that, around 60,000 were outsiders. Many of them stayed in premium rooms, of which there are 700 in Fort Kochi and Willingdon Island. The general sales tax for each premium room is Rs 2000 per day. “For the last Biennale, the state government invested Rs 7 crore, but the returns, through tax, was about Rs 200 crore,” says Sunny.Everybody gained, including the handicrafts shops, homestays, restaurants, auto-rickshaw and taxi drivers. “But now, the opposite is happening,” he says. “It is a loss all around. Those who have taken loans and are paying interest, their debt is growing day by day. They will find it very difficult to manage.” The 2020 season is gone. “We are hoping by next year, there will be a semblance of normality,” he says. Eldose Baby, who is a staffer of the Kochi branch of International Trade Links Tours and Travels Pvt. Ltd., confirms that no domestic tourists have gone anywhere for the past few months. Earlier, they would send people to Europe, the USA, China and Russia. “There are no group departures,” he says. “But since I work for a multinational company, we were offering support to passengers who were returning from other countries in evacuation flights from Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. The situation remains grim.” It’s the same for Sajhome Homestay owner Sadiq Saj. His last guest was Darren and his wife, from the UK, who left on March 18, just before the lockdown. And Darren left a sweet review on Trip Advisor: ‘We couldn't thank Saj and his family enough for looking after us during our stay, organising our trips for us and recommending places to eat and enjoy the sunset. Fantastic breakfast, clean rooms and great service.’ Sajhome has won the Trip Advisor Traveller’s Choice Award for seven consecutive years. When Sadiq closed down his homestay, he had 30 bookings. But once international travel was banned, the guests had no option but to cancel. Sadiq has been running his homestay for the past 12 years. There are five rooms on the first and second floor, while he stays on the ground floor with his wife and two daughters. It is located opposite the office of the Biennale. “I have zero customers,” says Sadiq, who had worked in the Hyatt Regency in Dubai for 13 years. His guests usually come from Britain, USA, Australia, Canada and many countries in Europe. He believes that things will change only when international flights are restarted all over the world. Thereafter, the World Health Organisation has to give the green signal. Then only will he think of opening his homestay. And so the town, which is heading for a curfew, because of a rise in coronavirus cases, is lying comatose. But the residents are hopeful that after the dark times, the dawn will come. 
(Published in Mathrubhumi (English edition)

Why are you afraid?

This poem won 'Honorable Mention' in the New Poets competition at Allpoetry.com

By Shevlin Sebastian

Why is the powerful Leader

So afraid of the creative people —

the poets, painters, and writers.

These guys have nothing

Except the tools of their arts.

Brushes, paints, easels and canvases,

Words, sentences, paragraphs.

So why is the Leader

Who has the Army, Navy and the Air Force

At his command,

Who has the intelligence bureau,

And the shadow police

Monitoring the population

24/7

Why is he so afraid of the

artists?

Why is he so scared of criticism and protests?

None of these artists or protests can dethrone the leader

So why?

The answer is simple.

The leader lies

All the time

When you lie

For some unknown reason, you feel afraid

Of the Truth

Because the utterance of

Truth

Can shatter the edifice of lies.

Hence, the severe response

To the truth-teller

The leader fears

that his rule can collapse.

And as history shows,

it does.

To build something enduring

Truth and love have always been the cement

While lies and hatred are the sand

Porous and weak.

So, dear leader

Tell the truth

And you will not be afraid

Of anybody

Always remember

What the Nobel Prize laureate

Alexander Solzhenitsyn said,

“One word of truth,

Can outweigh the whole world.”

When my daughter made a bowl with newspapers

By Shevlin Sebastian

When I was in Class 4 at the St. Xavier’s school in Kolkata, the class teacher Miss Peterson said that the students should make a chart of the city of Mumbai, along with photos of iconic monuments and the history of the city. It filled me with dread. I was poor at artwork — cutting pictures from magazines and writing text using a felt pen.  

Seeing the panic on my face, my mother helped me out. However, when the charts were put up on the wall, I got a shock. Miss Peterson selected mine as the best. I had no option but to blurt out, “Miss, my mother helped me.” 

She smiled, nodded and said nothing. I believe my honesty saved me that day. Throughout my school years, I always had this problem with practical projects. 

God knew when I had children, and they came to me for help with projects, my old helplessness would come to the fore. So, He gave me a break. 

Both my children, a boy and a girl, right from childhood were adept at doing projects on their own. They could do drawings, cut pictures, and paste them on chart paper. They suffered none of the nervousness which I went through. And they did not need any help. 

It was a relief.

And my daughter Sneha, throughout her childhood, amazed us with the original things she could make. I remember a coir bag, a man with a thick walrus moustache painted on the back of a coconut shell and a beautiful large chart, with paintings and photographs, which celebrated her grandmother’s birthday. 

Then a few days ago, in the afternoon, at our home in Kochi, I saw her take a sheet of a newspaper, cut it, then fold it, and using glue, she made a vertical frame, like a circular fort. Within the frame, at the bottom, she placed a round cardboard. Then Sneha interlinked paper sideways into the vertical frame, and soon the bowl gave the impression as if she had woven it. It was painted black on the outside. Then, using craft paper, which she cut deftly, Sneha made multi-coloured flowers and leaves and pinned it on a green sponge she had kept inside the bowl. Overall, the impact was stunning. 

And Sneha did all this, with songs by John Legend, Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, Dean Lewis, James Arthur and Taylor Swift’s haunting new single, ‘Invisible Strings’, playing loudly on YouTube through the TV. 

So, amidst the raging pandemic, we enjoyed moments of joy.  

It also made me think about creativity. How some people have it and most don’t.

How things come so easily to the ones who have it.

Talented people, especially in the arts, are markedly different from normal people. They have an original thought process. They don’t follow a path laid down by others. They are keen to find their way. They listen to their intuition a lot. They don’t care what people think about them. They break the rules of morality and don’t feel any guilt.

In my career of interviewing a wide variety of people, artists have been the most interesting, whether it be in art, film, music or theatre. Journalists are not far behind. When you talk to these people, time stands still. The exceptional artists have magnetism and charisma. 

I believe in the proverb, many are called, but few are chosen.

Talent is a gift from God. But not all talent is popular. Again, a minority is given the talent that cuts through the hearts of a majority of people. Musicians like AR Rahman or RD Burman, singers like Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar, bands like Abba or the Bee Gees, or authors like Charles Dickens or Victor Hugo have it. There may be greater artists, but the majority cannot understand their work. 

This was confirmed by Rahman’s sister AR Raihanah, whom I met when she came to Kochi in 2015. And this is what she said, “My brother has been blessed with a God-given talent. Many music directors are geniuses. But nobody knows them outside Tamil Nadu. This mass appeal is a divine gift.”

So, for young people, the biggest question is: what do I have the talent for?  

Malayalam writer and public intellectual Mohana Varma told me recently that when he was sixteen, he was good at table tennis. But somewhere along the way, he felt that he did not have a genuine talent for it. So he stopped playing. He did not want to waste his time.

He also told me that his teenage grandson expressed an interest in painting. So Mohana arranged for an art teacher to teach him the techniques. But after three months, the grandson said, “I cannot paint images from my mind, but I am good at copying. I don’t think I have the talent.” 

Many people make mistakes in identifying the talent they have. There is an initial promise, and they think it is a genuine talent. But then it fades away. It could take a decade for this to happen. By then, it is difficult to start afresh. And one’s destiny is missed.  

To ensure a right decision is made, consulting your intuition seems to be the best way. For that to happen, you have to develop it. To develop it, you have to be reflective. And have the ability to go inside oneself. It’s not easy. 

But I believe that is the only way one can make the right decision. However, Mohana told me 90 percent of the people get this extraordinarily important decision wrong. 

But if you are lucky enough to be in the 10 percent, you will experience heaven every day.

Adventures of a freelance journalist

The Kochi-based Ramesh Menon, founder of Save The Loom, talks about his varied experiences
Pics: Ramesh Menon; Sushmita Sen (centre) with the 1994 Miss India title. Aishwarya Rai, first runner-up is on the left; Ramesh Menon (second from left) with a friend (extreme left) and Sushmita Sen (extreme right) with her then boyfriend Rajat Tare in Mumbai
By Shevlin Sebastian 
When freelance journalist Ramesh Menon was a child, his elder brother Suresh used to write in the ‘letters to the editor’ column of the local newspaper. Ramesh found it fascinating to see his brother’s byline. At that time he lived in Chandigarh where his father worked in the ACC cement company. 
Ramesh was a student of the DAV School. He first contributed to the school magazine with an essay called ‘My trip to Cape Comorin’. He was ten years old when he got his first byline. “It was a big thrill,” he says. He also started writing letters to the sports page of ‘The Tribune’. He kept doing it. 
As he grew older, he also wrote in magazines like ‘Sportsweek’, ‘Sportsworld’, ‘India Today’ and ‘Illustrated Weekly’. By the time Ramesh reached Class 10, he had 3000 published letters. 
So, it was no surprise Ramesh moved smoothly into a freelancing career. Thanks to that, for the next ten years, he had a series of unforgettable adventures...
Once, as a teenager, when Ramesh came to Kochi for his holidays with his parents, he read in the newspaper about a function being held in honour of Mollywood legend Prem Nazir at the TDM Hall. So, Ramesh went for it. He got access by saying he was from the press. He met Prem Nazir and Mohanlal. Ramesh asked Mohanlal for an interview. 
Mohanlal said he was shooting for a film in Ambalamugal. And Ramesh could come there the next day.
The next day, Ramesh went to the location and got in touch with Mohanlal’s assistant manager Rajan. 
After waiting for three hours, Mohanlal gave the interview. Ramesh says, “Not for one moment did he behave with me as if I was not a professional. He was polite, kind and warm. He talked to me nicely even though he was a superstar.” 
Even before he turned 18, Ramesh went to cover the 1990 Beijing Asian Games as a freelancer. In China, he was the youngest, out of 5438 journalists. A medal was presented to him. Ramesh was given an Indian jacket and became part of the delegation that took part in the march past. 
One highlight of the Games for him was when he went to the Great Wall of China with Indian athletic stars PT Usha, Shiny Wilson and Ashwini Nachappa. 
But Ramesh felt nervous. Before the start of the games, Ramesh and freelance photographer Pankaj Sharma had gone to the national camp which was held at the Sports Authority of India in Bangalore. 
Usha was training, under the guidance of her coach OM Nambiar. A senior New-Delhi-based woman journalist named Ritu Sarin had come to interview Usha. Ramesh was standing nearby. The athlete spoke in Malayalam and Nambiar did the translation. When Ritu asked a particular question, Usha said, “These press people will even kill me to get their headlines.”
Naturally, Nambiar didn’t translate it. “But I heard it,” said Ramesh. He sent a story to the Kolkata-based Sportsworld magazine with this quote. This became the headline of the cover story. 
So, Ramesh was scared to face Usha. 
At the Great Wall, Usha said, “You are the one who created so many problems for me.” 
Ramesh defended himself by saying, “You said it.” 
Usha smiled. 
In February 1991, the World Cup hockey championship was taking place in Lahore. Ramesh planned to cover it for the ‘Punjab Kesari’ newspaper. From Delhi, he took a bus to the Wagah border. When he entered the Pakistan immigration centre, they checked his luggage. Ramesh had a few film magazines. They set it aside. 
Then they called a senior officer and showed him the magazines. 
The officer said. “We do not allow this.” 
Ramesh said he is a journalist, so some magazines will always be with him. 
“Sorry, we cannot allow it,” said the officer. 
Ramesh did not protest when they confiscated the magazines. 
He took a taxi and went to Lahore 30 km away. 
But later, he came to know the reason for this. “There was a huge black market for Indian film magazines,” he says. “Most probably, they would have sold it and made a tidy profit.” 
When Miss India Madhu Sapre went to take part in the Miss Universe pageant at the Queen Sirikit National Convention Centre in Bangkok, in 1992, Ramesh was the only Indian journalist present. 
Against all expectations, Madhu won the second runners-up title. Ramesh got an exclusive interview. He also flew with Madhu when they returned to Mumbai. 
At the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport, Mumbai, Madhu held up the gold-plated trophy. But she was stopped at Customs. Madhu said, “I won this trophy at the Miss Universe competition.” 
The officer said, “People give many excuses. But too much gold smuggling is taking place these days.” 
So, she had to show all the brochures and photos before they were convinced. 
Ramesh went along with her to her home at Andheri (East). There was a pooja. He took some exclusive photos. After Ramesh wrote the story, he sold the story, as well as the photos, including the history of the pageant to 47 publications all over the country, including Femina, the official organisers of the pageant and in multiple languages. 
The 1994 Miss India contest, conducted by the Times of India group, was coming up. But the word was that Bollywood, as well as the fashion industry wanted Aishwarya Rai to win.
“Most ambitious girls dropped out thinking there was no chance,” says Ramesh. “The gorgeous-looking Aishwarya had made a name as a model.” 
In a nightclub in Delhi, a few days before the event, Ramesh met Ranjan Bakshi who was the regional marketing head of Times of India. In front of Ramesh, Ranjan told a few local models to apply, but they refused. However, one lanky model said she would take part. Her name was Sushmita Sen. 
Ramesh had already met Sushmita. He was sitting with fashion photographer Suvo Das at his studio in Delhi when a girl walked in asking that a portfolio be done. It was Sushmita. Ramesh and Sushmita bonded because of their mutual love for writing. 
Sushmita told Ramesh the reason behind her participation. Her mother had told her, “Beta, there is something called upsets. Life is all about that. It can happen to the best.”

Sushmita had no money. So, she went to Janpath and bought some clothes. 
In the contest, after several rounds, they announced the Top Five. Backstage, the make-up and dress designers fussed over Aishwarya. Sushmita got angry and said, “Why do you favour one person? We have all struggled and come. All five should be treated equally.” 
In the last round, Ramesh says, when you see the footage, Sushmita is coming up to the stage crying. That round went into a tie for the first time in the 42-year history of Miss India. They had to call Aishwarya and Sushmita back and answer a question once more. 
Designer Ritu Kumar asked Sushmita, “What do you know about the textile heritage of your country? How old has it been and what do you prefer to wear personally?”
Sushmita said, “Maam, I will answer it section by section.” 
Then she paused and said, “I think it all started with Mahatma Gandhi’s khadi. It has gone a long way since then, but the basics of Indian textile heritage lie in there. To answer the second part, I wouldn’t say it's khadi, but I like ethnic clothes, traditional Indian outfits because I personally feel I can carry them off very well, but otherwise I have a lot of western outfits as well.” 
When the marks of the judges were tallied, as Sushmita’s mom predicted, an upset had taken place. Sushmita scored 9.4 to Aishwarya’s 9.39 on a scale of 10. 
“It was as close as PT Usha losing her bronze medal in the 400m hurdles at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympic Games,” says Ramesh with a smile. 
Sushmita returned to Delhi. 
A few later, Ramesh met her and did an interview. 
Three weeks later, on February 12, Ramesh flew to Mumbai to cover the Filmfare awards. While there, he went to the Midday office and met the editor of the Sunday magazine, Carlos Monteiro. Ramesh gave him the transcript and the tapes of the interview with Sushmita. 
The next Sunday, the magazine headline said, “Aishwarya doesn’t deserve to win what she won,” says Sushmita Sen. 
The publisher of the Times of India, which conducts the Miss India show, called Sushmita and shouted, “Who the hell told you to give that interview? I will take your crown back.” 
Sushmita did not know what had happened. 
She started crying. 
She called Ramesh and said, “You messed it up for me.” 
Sushmita, Ramesh and her then-boyfriend Rajat Tare met at a cafe. There, Sushmita composed a hand-written letter in which she wrote, ‘My apologies. Ramesh is a dear friend, Whatever we spoke was in a personal capacity. It was also misconstrued.’ This was faxed to the publisher. 
The publisher called Ramesh and said, “You give me a statement stating that ‘Midday’ twisted your words. I will allow you to write for ‘Times of India’.” 
Ramesh said, “I am a small journalist. I am not working with anybody. I cannot deny a tape which I had surrendered to ‘Mid-Day’. It’s unfair to my reputation. My hands are tied. So I’ll suffer not writing for ‘Times of India’ and stand by my story.”
It’s not only beauty queens that Ramesh met, but bandit queens also. Once when he went to do a story at New Delhi’s Tihar Jail, in 1994, he got a tip that dreaded dacoit Phoolan Devi was going to be released the next day, after an 11-year jail term. Using his jail contacts, Ramesh came to know that Phoolan would be going to her uncle’s house at Kingsway Camp. So the next afternoon, Ramesh and photographer Pankaj Sharma went directly to the house. Phoolan was at home. She was sitting cross-legged on a coir cot in a saree. 
“She had a pleasant smile on her face,” says Ramesh. 
It was difficult for Ramesh to reconcile this simple woman sitting in front of him, looking so harmless, as being the dreaded leader of a dacoit gang which had killed 22 men during a massacre at Behmai village in Uttar Pradesh on February 14, 1981. “She looked like any woman from the rural areas,” he says. “If she walked past you on the road, you would not look at her twice.” 
When Ramesh asked what freedom meant to her Phoolan said, “I am starting anew. It is going to be a new life.” 
For Ramesh, this meeting with Phoolan was a scoop. “No other media was present,” he says. “All of them came to know a day later.” 
Later, Phoolan entered politics and became a two-time Member of Parliament from Mirzapur as a member of the Samajwadi Party. 
However, tragedy struck, when, on July 26, 2001, Phoolan was shot dead by three masked assailants. One of the killers Sher Singh Rana was sentenced to life imprisonment in 2014. 
As for Ramesh, these days, he has moved in a new direction. He runs the non-profit community group, ‘Save The Loom’, which aims to revive the handloom industry in India.
(Published in Mathrubhumi -- English edition)

What's your name?

This is my first attempt at poetry after decades.I have been inspired by MV Fabiyas, a poet who lives in a village in North Kerala, but publishes poems all over the world.Here's the link to my write-up about him:https://shevlinsebastian.blogspot.com/…/the-village-poet.ht…And here's my poem:
What’s your name?
By Shevlin Sebastian
I am so happyMy mother gave me an unusual first nameFor somebody who lives in India.When I utter itPeople squint their eyesTheir eyebrows shoot upSometimes, they open their mouthsTrying to figure outWhether I am Hindu, Muslim,Christian, Jain, Parsi, Sikh or JewThey want desperatelyTo pigeonhole meAnd once pigeonholedThey can let their prejudices rise upLike a nuclear submarineComing up to the surfaceBut with this first nameThey can’t do thatNo other name, they ask?No, I lie.Let them stewIn their frustrationsSuch awful peopleThese racists,These bigots,These fascists.Thank you, Mother!
(Published in AllPoetry.com)https://allpoetry.com/Shevlin_Sebastian

Making money off the body

Benyamin’s engaging novel, ‘Body and Blood’ explores the interstice between organ donation and a religious groupBy Shevlin Sebastian One morning, in June, 2016, award-winning Malayali author Benyamin was reading the newspaper at his home in Pandalam, Kerala. When he came across a particular news item, he held his breath. Several leading surgeons in Delhi had been part of an international kidney transplant racket. One Dr Deepak Shukla, the CEO of the Pushpawati Singhania Research Institute, along with a few others had been arrested. “Organ donation is an important concept,” says Benyamin. “Many people can get a new life because of this. These are vital parts of the human body. It was difficult for me to imagine that people could do a trade in this.” It sparked an interest in him to write a novel. After doing research, it took about two-and-a-half years to write the book. It was originally published in Malayalam with the title, ‘Sareera Shastram’ in 2017. The story starts simply enough. A character named Midhun has a bike accident in Delhi. The injuries are minor but a day after he is admitted to a hospital he takes a turn for the worse and passes away. Subsequently, his organs are donated to six people. Midhun’s friends Ragesh, Sandhya and Rithu, who work in multinational companies are part of a Christian fellowship group run by Pastor Sam Philips. “The story is about how pastors draw people into their religion and how the priests are also connected with organ trafficking,” says Benyamin. “Accidents are deliberately staged so that people are injured, taken to a hospital, put into a coma, and their organs are harvested.”  The trio feels suspicious and starts their investigations. The middle of the book has the tautness of a mystery novel. One character Aunty Jovana explains, with simplicity, the reasons behind the racket: “What is important to everyone is money. Belief is just a cover. It is sad that my Xavier also fell into the net.” It is a smooth read. Sentences are lucid and crisp thanks to an excellent translation by brand consultant Swarup BR. Many chapters are only two or three pages long. The story is not confined to Delhi but moves to Goa, Kasol (Himachal Pradesh), Bhopal, Chennai and Pune, where some characters have their hometowns. Along the way, Benyamin throws off lines that make you pause and ponder: a) Life is a football game between dreams and fate. b) Who am I? Why am I? How am I? How long has man been asking this to himself and God? It is unbearable that every generation ends up asking the same question. It’s time God gave up his silence. c) This is the age of tele-evangelists who travel the world in their private jets, charging crores for a one-hour session on TV. What business does that poor carpenter from Nazareth have here?d) Every question has two answers. The right one and the polite one. The person who asks must decide which answer is required. e) There is no point in knowing the secrets of powerful people. Even if we try to know them, it will be in vain — they will remain secrets forever. It is a well-produced book. The 229-page novel, priced at Rs 499, and published by HarperCollins, seems to be the size of a Kindle reader. And the cover illustration, by the UK-based Joy Gosney, is simple and vivid. A young man, drawn chin downwards and in black, lies on an operation table. There are slashes on his stomach, a drop of blood, and scalpels and other instruments at the side. His left arm is attached to a tube, while his spread fingers seem to show terror or helplessness. The title is in the colour of blood. Interestingly, some readers have seen red. They have told Benyamin that the book seems to be an inspiration for the Mollywood film, ‘Trance’, which was released on February 20. In the film, actor Fahadh Fasil plays the role of a Christian pastor called Joshua Carlton who performs hoax miracles. “Many scenes seem to be lifted straight from the novel,” says Benyamin. “However, the link to organ trafficking is not there.” Confined to his home because of the coronavirus pandemic, Benyamin is not worried his book has been released in its midst.“I believe people are reading more these days because they are stuck at home,” he says. “They are buying books through the digital format since it can be accessed so easily.” But he admits that the stamina to read large novels is going down. “This is more true among youngsters,” says Benyamin. “They do not want to read a book beyond 250 pages.”  Times have changed. Benyamin remembers reading the novels of Booker Prize winner Salman Rushdie. “The plot starts only after 50 pages,” he says. “Rushdie talks about a lot of things before he reaches the story. I don’t think that type of writing will be accepted now. People want the story to move forward quickly. They have been influenced a lot by the visual media.”The winner of the inaugural 2018 JCB Prize for Literature pauses and adds, “The era of literary gimmicks is over. We have to attract a reader within the first five pages, otherwise, we will lose him or her forever.”To work harder on his prose, Benyamin has become that rare species: the full-time writer. In 2014, he returned from Bahrain after working there for 20 years, and settled down in his hometown.  Asked about his current life, Benyamin says, “It is much more pleasant being a full-time writer. For one I can devote more time to literature. Secondly, it has become easy for me to travel, as I am not working for anybody. I can attend a lot of literary meets in Kerala, and abroad.”For example, last year, he attended the Berlin International Literature Festival. “The drawback is that there are a lot of literary meets which take place, and it is difficult to say no,” he says. “But the writer should always be at his desk writing.”Not surprisingly, his next novel is about travel. “I am collecting material on it,” he says, with a smile. (Published in scroll.in)