Shevlin Sebastian's Blog, page 96

The End Of Life

COLUMN: LOCATION DIARY
Director Shafi talks about his experiences in 'The Car', 'Two Countries' and ‘Marykkundoru Kunjaadu’ 
Photos: Director Shafi; the vehicle used in the film, "The Car'
By Shevlin Sebastian
The four friends were in a good mood. The post-production work of the film, ‘The Car’ (1997) at Chennai had just been completed. Now they were ready to take the final print back to Thiruvananthapuram. The group included associate directors Santhosh and Shafi, producer Ajit, and assistant director Sujith. They would be travelling back in the same red Maruti car that was used in the film.
But Shafi had a change of plan. Since he had to go to his hometown of Kochi, he did not want to go by car. “The thought of taking a bus or train from Thiruvananthapuram to Kochi made me opt out,” says Shafi. Since he had already bought a train ticket, his friends did not insist too much, although they did suggest that they could go via Kochi. In the end, Shafi bid his friends goodbye and went by train.
The next day when Shafi reached home he received a telephone call informing him that his colleagues had been involved in an accident at Madurai. A lorry had hit the car. “Santhosh [29] and Ajit [30] died on the spot,” says Shafi. “Sujith was in hospital.” In the end, he would take three months to recover.
Two months after the tragedy, Shafi went to Saritha theatre at Kochi to see the premiere show. “It was a difficult moment,” he says. “While the audience laughed at the many comic moments in the film, involving Jayaram and Janardhanan, I was crying inside.”
And he suffers from painful regrets ever since. “Maybe, if I went with them, we might have taken a different route, and come to Kochi,” says Shafi. “And no accident would have taken place. Or, it could be that I would have also died.”
For Shafi, there have been other distressing moments, too. During the shoot of his latest hit, ‘Two Countries’, Shafi again encountered death. One of the camera assistants, Sreejith was a young fellow with wildly growing hair, in the manner of Bollywood actor Makarand Deshpande. “All of us called him ‘Django’,” says Shafi. “But one day, he no longer came to the set.”
Later, Shafi came to know that he had committed suicide. In fact, just before Sreejith killed himself, he had posted messages on Whatsapp and Facebook stating that his life was coming to an end. “It seemed a love affair did not work out,” says Shafi. “All of us on the set felt very sad about what had happened.”
Apart from deaths, there have been accidents, too. During the shoot of ‘Marykkundoru Kunjaadu’ at Thodupuzha, in October, 2010, there is a scene where Biju Menon is abducted and taken in a van. In the van, there is a fight between him and the villain. While this is going on, the van is supposed to veer from left to right and back again. The shoot was done on a road beside a canal.
“It was a long shot,” says Shafi. However, when the van was steered to the right, the driver lost control. The van did two somersaults before it landed in the water. Thankfully, there were no major injuries.
When the film was released, many people called Shafi and asked him why he hd done such a realistic stunt using the van. “I said this was not planned,” says Shafi. “An actual accident had taken place. Many were shocked when they heard this.” 
(The New Indian Express, Kochi, Thiruvananthapuram and Kozhikode)

Personal Journeys and Cultural Identities

American film-maker Norah Shapiro's documentary focuses on a beauty pageant in Tibet and its implicationsPhoto of Norah Shapiro is by Ratheesh Sundaram; The Miss Tibet contestants of 2011. Lobsang Wangyal is fourth while Tenzin Khecheo is fifth from left 
By Shevlin Sebastian
Director Norah Shapiro breaks out into a warm smile, when a bespectacled man comes up to her and says, “You made this film from your heart. The sincerity is evident.”   This is moments after the international premiere of the documentary, 'Miss Tibet – Beauty in Exile' at the All Lights India International Film Festival at Kochi in mid-November. She also got a similar response when it was screened at the Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival on December 12.   Indeed, 'Miss Tibet' is a moving tale. Shapiro follows a 19-year-old Tibetan girl by the name of Tenzin Khecheo, from Minneapolis to New York. There, she takes part and wins The Miss Tibet North American crown. The prize is a free trip to Dharamsala. She is one of six participants of the worldwide Miss Tibet beauty pageant. The others are from India, Switzerland and Australia.   “I know six is a small number, when compared to Indian and American beauty pageants, but in the Tibetan community, a contest, with a bikini round, is a huge step forward,” says Shapiro. “It continues to be controversial, because, for many Tibetans, women are supposed to be quiet and demure.”   The former Prime Minister of the Central Tibetan Administration, Samdhong Rinpoche, who is one of the foremost scholars of Tibetan Buddhism, is also opposed to the pageant. “He said that it is un-Tibetan,” says Norah. “However, the current Prime Minister Lobsang Sangay had no problems. He just did not like the bikini round.”     Meanwhile, Western scholars read a deeper meaning into the pageant. “While the film ostensibly is about a beauty pageant, truly, it is about so much more -- personal journeys, cultural identity, and the political struggle of a nation,” says Carole McGranahan, a Colorado-based cultural anthropologist, who specialises in contemporary Tibet.   The man behind this radical idea is a charismatic impresario by the name of Lobsang Wangyal, who identifies himself as ‘the Tibetan Donald Trump’ in the film. “He is larger than life,” says Shapiro. “Lobsang promotes film festivals, concerts and multiple beauty pageants. He is a journalist, as well as a forceful campaigner for the Tibetan cause.”   For the participants, it was a chance, in the week before the event, held in October, 2011, to learn a lot more about Tibetan history, politics, art and culture. “They also tried some calligraphy,” says a smiling Norah.   But the most moving moment in the 70-minute film was the girls' meeting with freedom activist Ama Adhe, who was imprisoned by the Chinese, and spent 27 years in labour camps. As Adhe held Khecheo's hand, tears rolled down the girl’s face. “I really understood the suffering that people went through in the early years,” says Khecheo, who moved to America from India at the age of seven.     As Norah films the several rounds of the pageant, where the participants sing, dance, and give speeches, in Western and traditional dresses, there is an unexpected twist at the climax. Not everybody is happy with the result.   Later, in her hotel room, Khecheo cries, even as she is hugged by her mother, and says, “It’s not fair.”  The next day, some of the participants confront Wangyal. He defends himself by saying that points are given based on the discretion of the judges. The group is not convinced. 
One of them, Ngodup Dolma, says, “You are a fraud.” 
Wangyal gives an enigmatic reply, “Maybe.” 
(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi) 

A Heartfelt Expression

Sheela, Mollywood's veteran actor, showcases her first love, painting, at an exhibition in Kochi 
Photo by Ratheesh Sundaram
By Shevlin Sebastian
One day, in January, 2015, actor Sheela was travelling from Chennai to Kanchipuram to buy a silk saree. At a village, she saw a large crowd standing around. Curious, she stopped the car to have a look. What was taking place was a cock fight. “The fighting was so intense, that the roosters were literally a blur of colours,” she says. “I was thinking, 'Are these cocks or just colours?'.”
Sheela felt inspired. When she returned to her home at night, the first thing she did was to draw a canvas of blurred colours.
This work is one of 66 paintings, a mix of oils, acrylic and watercolours, which were displayed at an exhibition at the Le Meridien, Kochi, in end-December. The man behind the show is Asif Ali Komu, of the Komusons Art Gallery. “When I came to know that Sheela is a visual artist, I felt that I should hold an exhibition,” he says.
The subjects include a farmer taking a large batch of hay to the market on a bullock cart, three spirited girls selling baskets of fish near a seashore, a woman washing utensils, a peacock, showing off its bright plumage, and two versions of Shakuntala: one happy and smiling, while the other is sad and morose-looking.
Asked about her inspirations, Sheela says, “It could be a thought or a feeling. Or when I read a good novel it triggers visuals in the mind. When I am travelling somewhere and see a scene, I get excited. I usually take several photographs, at first, before I recreate the image.”
But, sometimes, Sheela tries to be innovative. “When I decided to do a painting of the Last Supper, I thought to myself, 'How can I do something different?'” she says. “There is always Jesus Christ and his 12 disciples seated around a table, which has bowls and goblets. I have seen this image from my childhood. So I drew 12 bowls in a semi-circle, with one bowl in the middle, and a radiating light emerging from the centre.”
Interestingly, Sheela, who has acted in more than 500 Malayalam and Tamil films, including the classic 'Chemmeen', says that she prefers painting to acting.
“In acting, there are more than a hundred people on the set,” says Sheela. “Many may be staring at me while I am working. But, in painting, I am alone in a room. Nobody is there to disturb me. I can do what I want. It is a form of meditation.”
But Sheela says that many people are skeptical of her abilities. “When I directed my first film, 'Yakshagaanam', people said, 'Did you really direct this film? Somebody else must have done it. Or it must be Madhu [who acted in the film],” says Sheela. “There is a feeling that an actress is a good-for-nothing. Even now people ask me whether I have painted all these works.”
But, for Sheela, painting has always been a lifelong passion. When she was a child, she would always be drawing in her exercise books. “I would do this when I was supposed to do my homework,” says Sheela. “My teachers complained about me to my father. And he has beaten me for this.”
But this desire to draw continued. Whenever she had free time on the sets, she would draw something or the other. And, in between film shoots, she would do paintings at her home. When the number of canvases grew, she stored them in the garage of a flat she owned in Chennai, although she stayed at Ooty. However, two years later, when she went to her apartment to check on things, she got a shock.
“The entire garage was flooded and all the works had been spoiled,” says Sheela. “Apparently, water from a bathroom in an upper floor flat leaked through the ceiling into the garage. Everything was destroyed. I never cried so much. It was the saddest day of my life,” says Sheela. It would take another ten years before Sheela wielded the brush again.
But now, Sheela says, she will continue to do so till the end of her life. “Nothing else gives me as much pleasure,” she says. 

(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi) 

Flying Through The Air

COLUMN: LOCATION DIARY
Jagadish talks about his stunt experiences in 'Vandanam' and 'Godfather'
Photos: Jagadish; Mukesh and Jagadish in a scene from 'Godfather' 
By Shevlin Sini Sebastian​
In the film, ‘Vandanam’, Jagadish, who plays a police inspector, is shown pedalling hard on a cycle through the streets of Chennai. He is chasing a lungi-clad Mohanlal, who is also an inspector.
Jagadish avoids cars by a hair’s breadth, and goes up the incline of a cart. He is sent flying through the air, crashes through a Bata shoe hoarding and lands on the cycle again, which had continued to move forward.
“An iron rope which was placed around my body, broke, when I went across the hoarding,” says Jagadish. “But, thankfully, when I fell, I did not get hurt.” The advantage of using an iron rope is that, in the final print, it can be erased. On the screen, it would seem as if Jagadish is, indeed, flying through the air.
The actor also rode his luck in a comic sequence in the film, ‘Godfather’ (1991). Ramabhadran (Mukesh) goes to see their classmate Malu (Kanaka) at her home late at night and is accompanied by his friend Mayin Kutty (Jagadish). There is an enmity between Ramabhadran’s and Malu’s family.
Seeing an Alsatian dog, Jagadish hurriedly climbs up a mango tree at the location shoot in Kozhikode. Thereafter, he steps on a branch, which breaks, and falls straight down.
“Like in ‘Vandanam’, the iron rope broke,” says Jagadish. “But, thankfully, it happened when I was midway. Nevertheless, I hit the ground, which was a mix of mud and stones, with great force. For about twenty seconds, I was unconscious. When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by all the people on the set. They thought I was seriously injured. But, by the grace of God, nothing happened to me.”
Even though the directors Siddique-Lal offered to stop the shoot, Jagadish said that he was ready to carry on.
When the fight master complained to the Tamilian who was handling the ropes that it was of poor quality, the latter said, “How can you say that, Sir? These ropes have been used since the time of MGR [superstar MG Ramachandran].”
Looking back, Jagadish says that he has also made foolish mistakes. In the film, ‘Kunukkitta Kozhi’, in which he plays the hero, during a fight sequence, in a saw mill, three villains push his head perilously close to a circular saw blade, which was turning at high speed.
“I realise now it was a big mistake to risk my life like that,” he says. “One wrong push and my neck would have been cut. This is what I tell youngsters nowadays: don’t take too many risks. Always remember that cinema is make-believe. There is no need to attempt dangerous stunts on your own. The actor Bharatraj broke his spine because of a stunt sequence and never acted again.”
And no Malayali movie fan can forget the tragic death of Jayan. While shooting a stunt sequence for ‘Kolilakkam’ (1980), the helicopter he was travelling on crashed.
“In James Bond films, there are so many stunning action scenes, but it is always done safely,” says Jagadish. “However, the good news is that we are importing a lot of safety equipment. So, it is much safer these days than it was during the 1980 and 90’s.” 
(The New Indian Express, Kochi, Kozhikode and Thiruvananthapuram) 

A Love Across Cultures

Veteran director Lenin Rajendran focuses on a Tibetan theme in his upcoming ‘Edavapathi’ 
Photos: Uthara Unni; (from left): Siddharth Lama, Manisha Koirala and Uthara Unni
By Shevlin Sebastian
Five years ago, veteran director Lenin Rajendran went to the Tibetan settlement of Bylakuppe in Karnataka. He stayed there for three days. While there he interacted with the monks and the people, and got an idea of their daily life.
But Rajendran also had a revelation. “I realized that, although they have been living in India for 57 years, their hearts are in Tibet and, more specifically, in the capital, Lhasa,” says Rajendran. “This feeling was there even among those who have never been to Tibet.”
There were many reasons for their alienation. “The Tibetans have no passport,” says Rajendran. “They cannot own property in India, or, for that matter, anywhere in the world. They cannot get jobs in the government. They are treated as foreigners. They are a people without a country.”
Another reason for their alienation is because the local people resent the presence of the Tibetans. “They feel that it is their lands which the Tibetans have occupied,” says Rajendran. “In contrast, the many Malayalis who have settled down there get along very well with them.”
Incidentally, Bylakuppe is a beautiful place. When the Tibetans first occupied the land, there was nothing there. “But they made it a wonderful  area,” says Rejendran. “They do a lot of farming and earn money through the sale of their crops.”
All these varying strands became the inspiration for Rajendran to write the script for the film, ‘Edavapathi’ (Map of Tears and Blood), which is releasing in mid-January.
The priest is played by Siddharth Lama, who Malayalis remember as the cute young Nepali lad Rimpoche or ‘Unnikuttan’ in the 1992 film, ‘Yodha’, in which Mohanlal played the hero.  “Yes, in a way I have taken a risk by casting Siddharth, and not a regular Mollywood actor, as the lead,” says Rajendran.
However, star power has been provided by Bollywood actor Manisha Koirala, who plays the wife of an absconding estate manager of a coffee estate, and looks after their daughter. “This daughter, played by Uthara Unni, falls in love with the priest,” says Rajendran.
Along with the main theme, there is a parallel story of the poem about Vasavadatta by legendary Malayali poet Kumara Asan. In the film, Vasvadatta, a renowned dancer, is portrayed as having a great love for wealth and sexuality. But, in her innermost self, she pines for the love of the poor monk Upagupta.
“Manisha plays the mother of Vasavadatta (again acted by Uthara Unni),” says Rajendran.  
Shooting took place at Bylakuppe, Hampi, Munnar and the Rohtang Pass in Himachal Pradesh. “In fact, last month, the authorities had closed the roads because of heavy snow in the pass, but, just for us, they allowed us to shoot for one more day,” says Rajendran. “They told us to be very careful, as a single mis-step could cause us to fall 5000 ft. But thankfully everything went off smoothly.”
And Rajendran is grateful to the Tibetans as well as those in Himachal Pradesh. “They were so supportive and helpful,” he says. “And I hope the audience will enjoy the film.” 
(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

The State Of Being Stateless

The first female Tibetan poet in English, Tsering Wangmo Dhompa, reflects on life in Tibet and outside 

Photo of Tsering Wangmo Dhompa is by Albin Mathew
By Shevlin Sebastian
In 1994, Tsering Wangmo Dhompa went from Kathmandu to Nangchen in East Tibet, to meet her aunt Parchen, as well as her cousins. Her aunt had recently been freed after being imprisoned for 20 years. Her husband had been a part of the resistance movement against the Chinese. He was killed and Parchen was jailed, for being his wife.
And very often, they would do physical labour. One day, the Chinese authorities made the prisoners dig a part of a hillside. As Parchen was doing so, she saw several dogs running around. And she thought, 'How lucky the dogs are.'
“It was a moving moment for me,” says Tsering, who is the first female Tibetan poet in English. “Parchen did not feel bitter. She would laugh and sometimes cry when she recounted her experiences.”
Later, when Tsering went to the capital, Lhasa, she was taken aback by the presence of a large number of policemen and the near-total surveillance. “That feeling of always being watched is a terrifying experience,” says Tsering. “Tibet is under occupation. It remains a burning issue.”
In Lhasa, today, the Chinese now outnumber the Tibetans. The younger Tibetans have no option, but to study at Chinese universities. “Unfortunately, they feel marginalised, because they are not treated as equals,” says Tsering, whose parents fled to India in 1959. “But such experiences has helped them to develop a sense of identity.”
Later, Tsering made three more trips to Tibet, with the last one taking place in 2009. Her journeys laid the seeds for her well-received non-fiction book, 'A Home In Tibet', which was published by Penguin India in 2013. “When I was growing up, I read books on Tibet, but they were by Westerners,” she says. “I wanted to read a book by a Tibetan who lived outside, but could also be on the inside. So I thought I would write such a book targeted towards young Tibetans who are in exile.”
Here is an extract which reflects the pain of exile: ‘The flowers in Tibet were always taller, more fragrant and vivid. My mother's descriptions, imprecise but unchanging, from year to year, had led me to an inevitable acceptance that her past was unequalled by our present lives.
'She would tell me of the knee-deep fields of purple, red and white, that over time served to create an idea of her fatherland, as a riotous garden.'
Tsering had recently come to Kochi, at the invitation of the Kochi chapter of Friends of Tibet, to interact with literature students at the St. Albert's and Union Christian Colleges. She read a few of her poems, and gave them an idea of life in Tibet. “The students asked many questions, because it was so far outside their experience,” she says.
One experience which all of them did not have is to live without a country. “To be stateless is painful,” says Tsering. “Initially, when I wanted to travel to the US, I had to apply for an identity certificate.” This is not a passport, but is recognised internationally. However, an explanation has to be given to every immigration officer about it. In India, Tsering had a refugee card which is issued by the central government. “It is like an identity card,” she says.
But Tsering has no problems living in India. “I was treated very well,” she says. “In my school [Wynberg Allen school at Mussoorie], and college [Lady Shri Ram at Delhi], I have never experienced any discrimination. But the sense of not being at home is an inner feeling. This happens, regardless of where you live.”
Today, Tsering is a naturalised US citizen and stays in San Francisco. She is a doctoral candidate at the University of California, Santa Cruz. And her subject is Tibetan nationalism and identity. 
Thus far, Tsering has published three books of poetry: 'Rules of the House', (a finalist for the Asian Literary Awards in 2003), 'My Rice Tastes Like the Lake', and 'In the Absent Everyday'.
“In my poetry I have always returned to the idea of place, memory and story-telling,” she says. “Stories help people, who are stateless, to experience a sense of place.” 

(Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)

Capturing Wildlife in All its Glory

Shefiq Basheer Ahmmed, the winner of the 2015 Kerala State Wildlife Photography Award, talks about his experiences
Photos: Shefiq Basheer Ahmmed by Ratheesh Sundaram; a bear having a salmon at the Kronotsky State Natural Biosphere Reserve, in the Kamchatka Peninsula, Russia. 
By Shevlin Sebastian
Photographer Shefiq Basheer Ahmmed, 44, was shivering. This was a surprise, because he was wearing four layers of thermal clothing, a sweater, thigh-high gum boots and a knit cap. The sky was a crystal blue on a late September morning, although the temperature was minus three degrees centigrade below zero.
Shefiq was at the Kronotsky State Natural Biosphere Reserve, in the Kamchatka Peninsula, Russia. But soon, Shefiq forgot the cold as he watched thousands of salmon fish swim into the Kurilskoye lake. “It was a stunning sight,” says Shefiq, a Kochi native, who was in the news recently for winning the 2015 Kerala State Wildlife Photography award for the second year in succession.
These fish had come for spawning all the way from the Pacific Ocean. Under the strain of laying the eggs, between 3000 to 5000, the silver-coloured fish becomes reddish and purple. Later, they all die. “The salmon is one of the few extreme cases where they put everything into reproducing just once, and then they die almost immediately,” says scientist Steve Steve Lindley, a director of the US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.
They die in another way, too. Around a thousand bears come from the surrounding wilderness for this annual event. They eat around 150 fishes a day.
And capturing all these events is Shefiq with his Canon EOS-1D X with a 500 mm lens. Shefiqwas the official photographer of a 14-member team from the Bangalore-based Wildlife Conservation Society of India, but his trip was sponsored by a Dubai-based company, Desco.
He has travelled to other places, too. They include Tanzania, Kenya, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Malaysia and all over India. Apart from photographing 500 varieties of birds, he has shot leopards, elephants, wild dogs, deer, the lion-tailed macaque, brown bears, squirrels and tigers.
For Shefiq, the tiger is the most impressive. “Unlike a lion, a tiger can kill a 1500 kg wild bull on his own,” says Shefiq. “The tiger has courage, speed and power. It is the only animal who can change direction in mid-jump in order to nab a prey.”
In more than 15 years of shooting wildlife, Shefiq has never fallen prey to the animals. One reason is because he wears a green camouflage shirt, trousers and cap. He also covers his equipment with the same cloth.
And there are other reasons, too. “Whenever an animal, be it a tiger, an elephant or a leopard sees me, I always stand still,” he says. “We will exchange looks for a minute or so. I don't flinch even for a moment. In the end, they will walk away. All animals are scared of human beings. This may be a fear instilled by nature.”
Nevertheless, in the photos, the animals look relaxed, stunning and eye-catching. Many are unaware that they are being photographed. And Shefiq follows a simple method to get good images. “Whenever I go into the forest, I always show reverence to the birds and the animals,” he says. “And I have learned to be patient.”
To get a shot of a Great Hornbill bird in a forest in Kerala, he sat without moving from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. Unfortunately, it was an area infested with leeches. “By the evening, my arms and legs were full of bloody scars,” he says. “But I managed to get a good photo.”
When he is not in the jungle, on most mornings, from 7 a.m. onwards, Shefiq can be seen at the open ground, near the Motor Vehicles department, at Kakkanad, a Kochi suburb. He is an inspector, who monitors driving tests for those who want licenses. But after two weeks, the urge to go to a forest arises. So, he will take one added day to his weekly leave and heads off.
“Inside a forest, there is so much of fresh oxygen that you feel refreshed,” he says. “You can walk 15 kilometres without getting tired. Whereas in the city, because of work stress and depleted levels of oxygen, you get tired a lot more easily.”
Asked about his future plans, he says, “I want to take images of the snow leopard in the Himalayas, as well as the humming bird, of which there are 51 types in Costa Rica.”

Keeping an Eye on the Game

Blind football referee Elias Mastoras from Greece talks about the qualities needed to be a good professional
Photos: Elias Mastoras; members of the Indian blind football team. Pics by Ratheesh Sundaram
By Shevlin Sebastian
It was a sunny afternoon on September 17, 2008, at the Olympic Green Hockey Field during the Paralympic Games at Beijing. But the Chinese spectators were tense. In the blind football five-a-side final between China and Brazil, the score was tied 1-1. Elias Mastoras from Greece was the referee.
Suddenly, just 40 seconds from the end of the match, the Brazilians got a penalty. Marcos Felipe stepped forward, took the shot, and beat a diving goalkeeper Xia Zheng. “The goal broke Chinese hearts,” says Mastoras. Later, there was jubiliation because just three years ago, Mastoras had gone to China to introduce the game.
“Within such a short time, they were able to reach the final,” says Mastoras. “It gave a big impetus to the sport in Asia.”
Mastoras recounted this anecdote during his recent visit to Kochi, where he had come to conduct a referee and instructors seminar. Around 20 players, instructors and referees from Delhi, Rajasthan, West Bengal and Kerala took part.
“The aim was to explain the blind football rules and strategies,” says Mastoras. The course was organised by the Society for the Rehabilitation of the Visually Challenged (SRVC).
“We asked Mastoras to come because he has been the referees' official at the past few Paralympics and is also coordinating the Referee and officials selection for the Rio Paralympics in August, 2016,” says Sunil J Mathew, Secretary, SRVC, and Head Coach, Indian Blind Football Team.
Adds MC Roy, Project Head, SRVC and Indian team manager: “The idea is to build a strong referee unit in the country to strengthen the game at the grassroots.”
Apart from talks, multi-media presentations, and question-and-answer sessions, there were demonstration games held at the football ground of the Regional Sports Centre. “This gave referees the chance to officiate games, so that Mastoras could point out their mistakes,” says Roy.
The rules are simple: When a defender approaches a player, who has the ball, he has to keep shouting the Spanish word, 'Voy' (I am here). Mastoras says that most players forget to do this, “The players will tell me that they said 'voy', but nobody could hear it,” says Mastoras. “So they have to learn to say it out loudly.”To be a good referee in blind football, you need to have experience. “In regular football, even if a referee is 10 metres away, he can control the game,” says Mastoras. “But in blind football, he has to be very close to the players, so that he can hear the 'voy'.”
The reaction to the seminar has been positive. “It was an eye-opener for us,” says National Referee K. Gokulan. “We have been introduced to a different level of sporting skills that the differently-abled possess and will look to improve their game further.”
Incidentally, the SRVC was instrumental in setting up the Indian team in 2013. Today, the country is ranked 28th in the world.
"We have been working closely with the Paralympic Committee of India and the Indian Blind Sports Association to promote the game as much as possible," says Roy. 
(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)

Into the Darkness

The award-winning Marathi film, ‘The Silence’, which was shown in Kochi recently, focuses on the damage wrought by child sex abuse 
Photos: Ashwini Sidwani; a scene from the film
By Shevlin Sebastian Manda lives in Mumbai and works as an extra in Hindi films. Their mother had died at Chini’s birth. When Chini has her first periods, her father does not know what to do. He secures the help of his brother-in-law who agrees to take Chini to live with his wife in a nearby town. Sadly, the unexpected happens. The uncle, a grain merchant, as well as a womaniser, rapes Chini.
Thereafter, things go out of control, scarring the lives of several people.
‘The Silence’ is a deeply moving Marathi film, with an enormous intensity and sincerity invested in each scene. Made by award-winning director Gajendra Ahire, it stars Raghubir Yadav as Chini’s dad and Nagraj Manjule as the uncle. The story is told in flashback, with the voice-over belonging to Chini’s aunt.
The 92-minute feature film was screened in mid-November at the All Lights India International Film Festival at Kochi. Just before that, 'The Silence' became the first-ever Indian film to be shown at the Brasilia International Film Festival. In July, Ahire had won the 'German Star of India 2015, Director’s Vision' award at the Indian Film Festival in Stuttgart, Germany.
At Kochi, sitting on a low sofa at the VIP Lounge of the Cinepolis, and sipping a cup of tea, is Ashwini Sidwani, the writer of the story. She belongs to SMR Productions, which makes television serials for Doordarshan. “There was a project I was researching, with a NGO called Majlis, which is run by [activist] Flavia Agnes,” says Ashwini. “We wanted to do one-hour stories of domestic violence. It was while doing this that I came across a true story of child abuse.”
So she wrote the screenplay. But when she narrated it in the office, her colleagues suggested that it would be better to make a film, rather than a television serial, which comes and goes. So she told the story to Gajendra who said yes immediately.
In the actual story, the child, who lives in Kolhapur, mentioned the abuse to her elder sister when she came on a visit from Mumbai two months later. They filed a police complaint. “But since it was done so late, the police were unable to gather any evidence,” says Ashwini. “The uncle vanished. Whenever anything happens, you have to lodge a complaint within 24 hours or before the victim has had a bath.”
To ensure that happens, parents should keep a sharp eye on their children. “If they sense something is wrong, they should question the child,” says Ashwini. “Often, they are too young to understand what is happening.”
(The New Indian Express, Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram)  

A Christmas Story

By Shevlin Sebastian

A couple of days ago, while standing near the St. Francis Church in Kakkanad, Kochi, at 7 p.m., while my daughter had gone for singing practice, I noticed a group of men milling around in front of the church. It was clear from their looks that they were from North India. They began talking among themselves. Then they looked at the church again. Finally, they walked towards three men standing around in a semi-circle and talking. They asked them something. The men nodded their heads, in typical Kerala style.

Then they took off their sandals, slippers and shoes and walked towards the entrance.

Suddenly, one man came back and took off his socks.

Then they entered the church.

I also followed them silently and stood at the entrance.

They went and sat on one of the benches.

The church was in darkness except for the light over the altar.

Like in all places of worship, where people come and say chants or prayers over a long period of time, there exists a certain spirituality.

I feel this deeply when I go to any place of worship, be it church, mosque or temple.

You will feel this when you go to the heart of the Meenakshi Temple in Madurai.

I am sure everybody feels it.

I then stepped away and stood outside.

After a while, the men came out and put on their footwear.

I resisted the urge to talk to them.

Why be a journalist all the time?

But curiosity dies hard.

The need to know gripped me.

I approached them.

I asked where they were from?

“From Meerut,” said Sachin.

So, it is the heart of Uttar Pradesh.

They had come for three months to do some repair on the main Doordarshan tower.

They had never been inside a church.

So they were curious.

So what was the experience like?

“It was nice,” said Sachin. “Can we come again?”

“Indeed, you can. Any time and all the time,” I said. “God is the same everywhere.”

They smiled.

We shook hands.

And once again, a small brick was added to the centuries-old edifice of syncretism in Kerala, and hopefully, for India also.