The wise rag picker....

Even before the sun can peep from the horizon, before it can make the dew drops on leaves vanish, Chellamma would start her journey from her small river side hut, towards the garden near the fish market. During the four kilometer stretch from the riverside to the garden, she would pass through the housing colonies, the public school, the local taxi stand, and my house, which was near the small Catholic Church. To the people all around in that locality, she was just a rag picker. For some of them she was a figure to be made fun of, and for some others, an excellent character to frighten their naughty children. The untidy figure, with dark wrinkled skin, hair style like that of a which in fairy tales, would convince anyone, why the children get frightened on seeing her. She would start her journey by picking up the empty plastic covers, used up batteries, fallen twigs from the wayside trees and garden, and would fill up her basket with it. Somehow she would earn her bread from those small things. When she would pass through the local taxi stand, the mischievous drivers would call her by her nickname. One can realize her vocabulary in slang at that time. Unfortunately the drivers always wanted to annoy her and hear the from her mouth. I used to wonder how could they amuse themselves by hearing the abuses from Chellammma’s mouth. Unbelievably, all these were the part of her routine. Very few people in the area knew her real name. Instead she was known by the name “Poodi”, the meaning or the origin of which, nobody knew. Everyone in my house knew her much better than anyone else in the area. That was because, she used to stop only in front of our house, on her way back from the garden, to have some rice soup, or dosa or lemon juice or even a matchbox. It was an amusing sight to see her lighting the beedi, which she would carefully take out from the small plastic bag tied to her waist.

I knew her since my childhood. She used to visit my grandmother every day during her return. My grandmother retired as the Jail warden in the city’s Central Jail. She would be sitting on the steps near the backside door of our house, reading the Bible in the morning, sometimes trying to tell me stories of Jesus, the saints, and the traps set by Satan. But by around 11.00 am she would be waiting for Chellamma to come. When she comes, she would sit on the gravely ground of the backyard, under the shadow of the thatched barn, to talk to my grand mother. She would smoke beedi, and tell some stories, sometimes do nothing but gossiping. The colloquial language she spoke was another amusement for the youngsters at home, including me. I would hide behind the door and peep at her, to see her smoking beedi and enjoying herself by looking at the smoke rings getting dissolved into thin air. My mother would give her something to eat and drink. As a gratitude for this, she would help my mother by buying fish from the fish market. She used to call my mother ‘Amma’ though she was much older to my mother.

She had a brother, who was a hunchback by birth . He would beg in the bus stands and if I can believe what others say, sometimes he used to do pick pocketing also. Whenever I see him, I used to think about the Hunchback of Nostradam Church. Chellamma also had a daughter and a grandson. But she was always independent and never she tried to intrude into the life of her daughter who was divorced by her husband, a thorough gambler. Chellamma knew that the income her daughter is generating from the riverside Mill was just enough to kill the fire burning inside two stomachs. She used to say “ as long as there is god, the trees will fell twigs for me, people will throw plastics bags for me, I will earn some coins with that….and above all..a glass of rice soup would be assured from amma….what else I need?”

Only on two or three days in a year she would put up with tidy cloths. One of those special days is Onam, the festival of Keralites. That day she would be in a dark red or dark green blouse, a silk bordered white dhothy and a white shall. On those days she wouldn’t forget to have two more things…a patch of sindoor on her forehead and jasmine flowers on her hair. My eldest brother would then, for the sake of fun, ask her whether it is her wedding anniversary or not. She would blush like anything, forgetting the fact that she is an old lady, with a smile showing the orange coloured teeth tainted with pan. It would be followed by the stories of her late husband, the memories of which she still cherishes and the silent listener would be my grandmother.

For us, the members of my family, she was not a mere rag picker. I never felt anything because, I was just a kid, still trying to get away from her frightening face. My mother never forgot to keep her share of food and drinks everyday. By chance if Chellamma do not turn up on a day, my mother and grandmother would ask my sister “ I don’t know why……Chellamma has not come for the soup”

When the time wheel turns, everyone has to move with it…. me too. From a kid I grew into young man. So many changes occurred to me. Procession of unforgettable incidents happened in front of me. But hardly any changes occurred to Chellamma. Her attire was exactly the same as that of the past years. Like the rivers and mountains witnessing the rising and setting of sun and moon, she witnessed the deaths and births in my family, along with us. She participated in the rituals, which followed the funerals of my aunt, my grandmother, my father and the baptism ceremony for the kids of my brother and sister. I still remember the curiosity with which she watched the newborn baby crying on my sister’s lap. Just like I used to get frightened on seeing her, my nephews and nieces also got the privilege to be afraid of her, just because of her appearance. In fact in the recent years, her appearance had become worst, partly because of old age and the loss of memory claiming the rest of the part.

After becoming an earning member in the family, working in a far away place, the only source from where I got updated about the incidents in my small locality and whereabouts of the characteristic souls from there, was my sister’s letters. That time I didn’t have phone connection at home. The only means of communication was to be at the mercy of our postal department. My sister would write detailed letters, may be in seven or eight foolscap papers with each and every inch of that paper utilized. In that letter she would describe every individual I know, may be about someone getting married, may be someone passing away, or how the small township is progressing, how the country roads on which bullock carts plied, now bear the imprints of the wheels of the majestic vehicles like Maruti Esteem and Honda city, or construction of concrete mansions on either sides of my tiny thatched home, making it a black spot on a white paper and so on. Always while reading those letters I used to feel that I am there at my home, feeling the nearness of those individuals mentioned in the letter. Most of the time, there would be a line about Chellamama in those letters. It may be about her health or may be the new pranks my nephews and nieces are playing on her and her affectionate response to all those pranks. Once my sister had mentioned in the letter that instead of having daily visits, Chellamma’s visits have become once or twice in a week only, as she is unable to walk properly. She was not an exception to the vulnerability of old age. In one of those letters my sister had narrated an incident, which made me respect Chellamma as a wise human being, much above the status of a rag picker.

One of the residents of the locality, a lady, was admitted in the medical college hospital due to some sever illness. That lady was staying near the Catholic Church by the riverside. When she was discharged from the hospital, my mother and sister thought of visiting her. Unless some unavoidable circumstances arise my mother would never venture to go out of the house. That was primarily due to arthritis seizing her legs. If she had to walk, then it would be like a snail’s creep. On a relaxed afternoon, when the sun was not so hot, both my sister and mother started off to visit the lady. Her house was near the church, which was about a kilometer away from my house. On their way, while they were walking past the stationary shops in the local market area, they saw Chellamma coming from the opposite way. She had the empty basket over her head. Since old age had taken its toll on her, she used to start her journey in the afternoon only. Getting up early and picking up everything useful to her was a Herculean task for her in that old age. When she came closer, my sister and mother smiled at her and extended a warm wish as they used to do whenever Chellamama comes home. But to their surprise, Chellamma neither responded nor paid attention to them. Though it was in a clear and loud voice, they called her by name, she didn’t listen to them and walked away. My sister was surprised at that strange behavior in Chellamma. She decided to ask her about this next time when Chellamma comes to have soup. After a week, Chellamma, came to our house on her way back from the days work. After giving her the soup the first thing my sister asked was about her unusual behavior on the road. She thought Chellamma would say that she couldn’t hear or see them because of the day by day deteriorating hearing power and eyesight. But her reply was something different.

“My child……, I saw both of you from a distance. I heard you calling me and asking me about my health. But I deliberately avoided you. Didn’t you notice that you were talking to me in front of the local market area and the taxi stand. All those ill hearted mischievous people were watching everything. If a rag picker like me, talks to people like you, my child….the shame is on you. I have nothing to be ashamed of or to loose But the people around can think of you bitterly if you let them see you care for a rag picker like me. If I had responded to you by stopping there, I would have brought disgrace to you. Chellamma has not been to school to learn…but I have seen the life and know the people around me. I would be loyal to Amma for the food she gives to me..and moreover for the care she gives to me….so my child..never ever try to talk to me on the road. I will not give attention to you, if you try.”

My sister said she stood speechless for some time. She said she had never thought of those words from a lady like Chellamma. She proved that, to be a wise human being the schools or certificates are not necessary. On hearing that incident I also thought that Chellamma is better than many highly educated senseless creatures whom I know in the locality.

On my last vacation, while I was sitting in the kitchen, over the big wooden box for storing the food items and utensils, a place I liked since childhood, my sister was updating me about the incidents in the locality for the last one year. Chellamma’s demise was one among them. She was already going through a tough phase of physical uneasiness. Though it cannot be called a tragic death, it was in an unusual way she succumbed to death. She was on her way to pick the twigs and plastics and she was working near the railway track. She was walking through the unpaved road by the side of the railway track, two kilometers away from my home. She was picking up something from the edges of the metal lining of the track. She didn’t hear the train coming. She heard the whistle of the train only when it was very near. Though she was pretty far from the rails and the moving train, she was still closer to the track’s metal lining. She made a futile attempt to walk farther away, but the weak limbs didn’t allow her. Then the strange thing happened. The fast moving train made a rush of the air towards the sides and that was strong enough for Chellamma to loose her balance. She fell towards the side and hit her head on the heap of rocks by the side. Her frail body couldn’t survive that impact. The witnesses for her last moments were the people sitting in the teashop near the railway crossing. They informed her daughter immediately. Next day morning she was cremated. That marked the end of the long journey Chellamma had had……… not the picking of twigs and papers, but of struggles for her existence in the world, of being the puppet for amusement by the people, of being like a member of our family, seeing the flowers blooming and fading in it. Both my sister and my mother went to see her daughter after the funeral as they came to know about the incident only after the funeral. For the outside world, she went into oblivion as a rag picker only. For us, she was not a mere rag picker…… but a wise human being.

(wrote this sometime in 2002 0r 2003)

Last mail from Sakshi

My computer was getting slower and slower. So on a sunday, I thought of doing some system clean-up and repair. I updated the anti-virus software, defragmented the hard disk and cleaned up the data stored in it. While sorting the data, I saw the folder titled “Old mail box”. As I was looking for something for a time pass, peeping into the old mail box seemed like a perfect idea. As I opened the old mail box, I was taken back to the initial years of my career. All of a sudden, so many old faces, which were getting dusty in the cup boards of memory, became vivid in front of my eyes. Good old memories, fun filled, anxious and sad moments.. everything came like a procession. Within the old mailbox folder, there was a sub folder named as “resignations”. I opened that folder.

A few years after my career begun, I started feeling that I belong to somewhere else. I wanted to quit the job I was doing and find the place suited to me. The overdose of sales and marketing tasks in my job was making me uncomfortable. But somehow I didn’t have the guts to resign from the very first job I had. What if I fail to land in another job immediately? What if I have nowhere to go after I resign? That fear pulled me back from resigning, every time I thought of doing it. Whenever I heard a colleague or a friend resigning, I would admire them silently, for their bold decision.

Well.. my time also would come. I just have to be patient. I told myself. That time onwards, I started collecting all resignation e-mails sent by colleagues or friends. I thought, keeping many formats would help in framing an appropriate resignation e-mail, when I am ready to do so. I had a nice collection of resignation mails, coming from a plethora of people. I would like to put them in three categories. First..people who would send mail to every tom dick and harry in the world and write mails full of words which they never meant.

Second….who are very reserved, whose nature gets reflected in their mails…with few chosen words only.

And finally the third group… who are selective in the mail recipient list, but they write emotional mails, clearly stating what they really meant to say and how they feel while they leave.

Alfred D’Souza, the gigantic looking foreman who was (in)famous for his histrionics and innumerable verbal explosions with his peers and supervisors, sent a mail when he resigned. It was sent to everyone in the company. Though I never had any interaction with him and barely knew him, I also received a copy of his resignation mail. The only people who didn’t receive it were the house cleaning staff, as they were contract workers from a service provider and didn’t have email access. If they had, probably he wouldn’t have spared them too. Alfred belonged to the first category I mentioned. I read through the resignation mail he sent to all. It was indeed a big mail. The most interesting lines were as follows.

“….All those moments I spent with you will ever remain in my memories as the best moments of my life. I enjoyed working with all of you. I would like to thank each one of you for those good moments we have shared. Especially, I would like to thank Azhar and Sanjay for their support and guidance. Me and my loving wife Isabella are moving to Canada to join our relatives there. If you ever visit that part of the globe, we would be happy to be your host. To reach me anytime, my email id is

“Alphie-alphie@yahoo.com”

Kind regards

Alfred “

After I read the mail, I thought about what he wrote, in detail. Almost every word was a lie. No colleagues ever spoke good of him. He treated his subordinates like slaves. He never had good relations with his peers or superiors. His bosses, Azhar and Sanjay, had several issues with him. They found him a hard nut to crack. But he was excellent in his work and he delivered superior quality work. That only saved him for many years in spite of complaints from many others. At home also, he used to have fights with his wife Isabella. He used to verbally and physically abuse her. Things went on to the verge of a divorce. Somehow the marriage survived. No one, not even his few friends, liked to be his guest, while he was there.

So…if every word is a lie.. why take pain to write such meaningless mail. That too, copying to everyone, who doesn’t even may know who is Alfred. To me, it seemed like a mockery exercise. But that was Alfred. And in my career, I have received mails from several mellowed down versions of Alfred.

The second category was epitomized by Ranjan Panday, the electrical engineer. He was a nice but extremely reserved guy as per his colleagues. He wrote the shortest resignation letter I ever saw. It read like this

“Dear All

Today is my last day in office. I am moving out to Delhi. It was a pleasure working with all of you.

Thanks and Regards

Ranjan. “

I must say, I had received few mails only, which truly belonged to this category.

Many of my friends belonged to the third category. Ishan, Loui, John, Arpana, Lekshmy, Surjith, Andy and many others. They sent their bye-bye letters to only selected people. Why to clutter the mail box of others? I read some of them, which I had kept in my inbox. I was quickly reminded of the warmth of their friendships and the time I spent with them. Some of those events flashed in front of my eyes as if from a movie flash back. Gossiping at the cafeteria, friday hangouts for movies and dinner in McDonalds. It was then I saw the mail from Sakshi.. the most disturbing resignation letter I ever received. Before I read that mail here, I should tell something more about Sakshi.

‘Sakshi Rawat’ …that was her name. She joined as a recruitment manager in the HR department. Rajat Thakkur, the HR head of India operations, knew her very well. He only brought her into his team. She was young and dynamic. As usual, there were many people who disliked her for being in that position and also being close to Rajat. That’s the professional politics. It is universal. One can never fully escape from it clutches.

The technical division where I worked was on the 6^th floor. As the office was facing an acute space shortage, the departments were not arranged in a specific functional order. We worked on temporary spatial arrangements while the maintenance works were carried out. Finance and engineering divisions were put together on the first floor. Technical and HR divisions were together on the 6^th floor. Just because of that reason, Sakshi happened to be my distant neighbour. Her cubicle was three seats away from mine. There was a glass partition in between.

Unlike scores of other girls in the office, she had a peculiar personality. She had an ‘average look ‘(a statement of self-description by her only). She always wore full sleeve shirts, with sleeves rolled up to her elbows and trousers, resembling boyish attire. She had an elegant smile mostly on her face. She spoke with an American accent. I guess that was because of her US upbringing during her early school days. Some people who didn’t even have good English speaking skills, thought hard every day to comment on her American accent. ..again a common syndrome in professional politics. More than anything, what made those people frown were, her cigarette smoking habit and good rapport with Rajat. Sakshi always tried to keep a distance form those guys. (She referred to them as MCPs..male chauvinist pigs …Uhh..what a terminology. It was a term new to my vocabulary)

She would take a break from work almost twice daily. One in the morning and then one post lunch. She would then go to the front yard on the ground floor and smoke cigarettes. Many eyes would be scanning her from the windows around. She became the talk of the gossip monger’s club.

Rajat was a strict HR manager. Though there were people, wanting his fall from grace, he was too good at his work. He knew how to handle such guys. The ugly side of the professional politics had no effect on him. Sakshi also had a good professional relationship with Rajat. She would take freedom to go his room to discuss official matters without any fear or hesitation, while many others would pause for a moment before knocking on the door, or making slight noises to catch his attention and let him know that they are waiting outside his room. People commented on her for that ‘freedom’. As there were many ‘creative people ‘there was no dearth of spicy stories connecting Rajat and Sakshi. (another part of office politics syndrome). These stories were discussed by them in cafeteria during lunch.

I didn’t befriend Sakshi initially. We just exchanged smiles and causal ‘hi’, and ‘how are you? ‘sentences only, while walking past each other. Though I used to go and talk to my friend Archana, the payroll supervisor who was seated next to Sakshi, I dint dare to start a friendly talk with her. Don’t know why?

But I should confess. I admired her. Admiration for what? Don’t know clearly. May be for her unique personality, her boldness, her professional excellency. Or may be that sweet smile I liked?. I have no idea to express it exactly. I admired her. That’s it.

Many times I would look at her while she speaks over phone. It was nice hearing her stylish accent. I do not know if she ever noticed me looking at her or not. Once I joined Archana and her friend on the lunch table in our canteen. In the mid-way of the meal, Sakshi also joined us. That was the first and only time we spoke anything other than the usual greetings. She spoke about her previous company, her career aspirations, office politics which concerns her etc. Though she looked boyish in her attire, that talk with her revealed the feminine side, not explicitly expressed usually. Though she appeared to be stylish with her accent, cigarette smoking habit and dressing style, there was a simple girl in her, who believed firmly in Indian culture and family values, who had ambitions, likings and dislikings just like any other normal girl. Though many people disliked her, I admired her very much.

Tough days awaited her after Rajat got a promotion transfer. His successor unfortunately belonged to the MCP group Sakshi mentioned to me earlier. Rishab Gupta, who took over from Rajat, was never fair to Sakshi. In the following one year, unrealistic targets and heavily biased appraisals with critically negative feedbacks followed. Though her position was not a high profile one, there many people who were united against her. They conspired on a disgraceful exit for her. Finally, after six months of fight for survival and dignity, she succumbed to the bitterness of dirty office politics. MCPs won the game. She was asked to resign. Management sited incompetency and unprofessional behaviour as the main reasons. Sakshi, her detractors and the office walls only knew the exact reasons.

One fine day morning, I saw Sakshi’s resignation mail in my inbox. I looked at her seat while reading that mail. The seat was empty. While I read that last mail from Sakshi, an unexplainable sadness engulfed me. A colleague, whom I admired, is being asked to leave in an unfair way. That mail was addressed to a handful of people only.. not to every living soul in the company. Perhaps, only those people, whom she thought, would be concerned about her well-being. I felt happy for a moment, that she considered me in that list. The mail was emotionally charged. The words in it spoke of its own. It was like this..

“Dear friends

I hope, by now you are all aware that I am asked to leave.. I loved the job I was doing. I was proud to be a part of this company. I did my best to be a true professional in all aspects related to the job I was assigned. But it pains when I realize that I can’t be here tomorrow onwards. I have resigned today. In fact I was told that my services are no longer needed here. Though I know from the bottom of my heart, that I am competent enough to do the job I am qualified to do, with full passion, enthusiasm and sincerity, there were concerns raised about my competency and professional behaviour. I take it as an opportunity to get rid of those short comings (though I really do not what they are). Hopefully someday someone will realize my worth as an HR professional.

While thanking each one of you for being my friend and a supportive colleague, I should also acknowledge my apologies. If I hurt some of you knowingly or unknowingly, please forgive me. Apologies if my behaviour at any time damaged the office decorum.

I would miss this office life. I would miss your company. It hurts. When I say…I mean it.

If you would like to be in touch with me, my personal mail is

‘ Sakshi_rawat@hotmail.com’

Kind regards

S.S.S.S

(Sad Sad Sad Sakshi)

PS: Hopefully the front yard corridors won’t have to complaint against the cigarette smoke from a female lip anymore.

I read that mail many times that day. I felt like shooting all the MCP’s in point blank. That was the culmination of one of the dirtiest office politics I have ever seen in my career. Three months later I saw Sakshi one more time in the office. She came to collect her dues from the company. We talked for a while, standing in the corridor. She was not successful in finding a job till that time. That was the last time I saw her. After that, neither of us contacted each other. We were sucked into the whirlpools of our own lives and career issues.

Finally my turn came to send out a resignation letter. After eight years of service in the first company I worked with, I gathered all courage to put up my papers and explore a new career I loved to pursue. While writing my resignation letter I considered few things.

That …I would send a formal mail with carefully measured words, to my superiors informing them about my decision.. my official resignation mail.

That …I would send my emotionally charged bye-bye mail to only those people whom I considered as my friends or well-wishers… my personal resignation mail.

That .. I would not write any hollow and meaningless words. I would only write what I really mean in my heart. …like Sakshi did.

And.. that’s what I did. I sent my official mail to my boss and his boss. My personal mail was sent to some thirty odd people, who all wished me good luck, for a new career. I had a small farewell party. Among beer glasses, delicious dishes and background music, my friends bid adieu to me. Few lips shivered, few eye lids became wet. Mine too.

Will I write more resignation letters? No idea (Future is not for us to see …ke serra serra … the beautiful melody reminds me). But I have been receiving many many resignation letters from colleagues, belonging to all categories I mentioned. But to be frank, few of them fall in the third category.. and almost none of them so far had the emotional intensity as Sakshis’ mail.

Sakshi.. wherever you are, I sincerely wish you to be bestowed with the best career options you can think of. Hope someone has already found you a worthy HR professional. God bless you.

Jose

Bangalore

5^th Feb, 2011

The bounced Cheques...

Sanjay is crazy about movies. Mostly he liked comedies, adventure and sentimental movies. Perhaps this craze is purely an inherited one. His father used to take him to the cinema theaters and show him old classical movies. Those adventure filled movies always dominated the world of fantasies in Sanjay’s childhood. Even when he grew up, that craze got bigger and bigger. He used to admire many film stars. He liked to collect the advertisements featuring those stars, from newspapers and magazines. The room in his house had all those pictures adorning the walls. Fantasizing about himself as a movie star, was one of the favorite past time hobby for Sanjay. In those dreams, Sanjay would be flying over the jungles and mountains, or doing scuba diving to the depths of the sea, to retrieve treasures hidden by the sea floor.

When he passed the teen age and became an employee of a big multinational company in Mumbai, earning his own money, he didn’t forget to spare a share of his monthly earnings for watching and buying good movies. When he got opportunities to get hold of the best films from all over the world, be it Spanish, or Japanese or Mexican or Hollywood or the best of Indian cinemas, he didn’t waste those chances. He watched them, fully involving into the themes portrayed in those films. His first preference was always the films from his native language- Malayalam. For him, the most thought provoking and sentimentally appealing films were indeed coming from his native language. He had clear preferences about the actors from Malayalam film industry. Some of those preferences were carried over from the childhood itself. He used to participate in polls for selecting best actors and actresses, whenever he gets access to those processes, especially through internet. Never could Sanjay imagine that, one such polling sessions, would turn out to be an event, which would be etched forever in his memory.

It was a Friday evening in January. Friday is the most interesting day of the week for Sanjay. After a week’s tiresome schedules in the office, he gets time to relax for two full days. That’s when he devotes himself to the world of movies. As usual, throwing his shoulder bag to the bed, Sanjay switched on the television. Relaxing on the sofa, he started surfing through the channels. Friday evening, the television channels were occupied by reality shows and mega serials, neither of which captured Sanjay’s interest. He went to the kitchen and grabbed some snacks and drinks. When he came back to the seat, the Malayalam channel was showing some advertisements which he liked very much. After a few more advertisements, there came an announcement, for viewers to poll, for selecting the best actor and actresses in the Malayalam film industry. It also mentioned that viewers can participate in the poll by logging into the channel’s website. Sanjay was an internet savvy guy. Not having internet connection, even for few minutes, could upset him very much. He immediately noted down the website address and opened his laptop.

There were various sections in that website. Carefully analyzing the options available, he voted for the best actor, best actresses, best comedian, and many other categories where he wanted to express his opinion. After he participated in the poll, when he closed the website, another website popped up with a catchy title.

“Golden Raspberry awards in Malayalam.”

Golden Raspberry award or Razzies award is a parallel award system prevailing in Hollywood, where the worst performances of the year are acknowledged. Usually the awards are announced a day before the real Oscar awards declaration. Sanjay could not stop his curiosity. He clicked on the links to that website. It opened another website with lot of funny things inside.

“Golden opportunity to select the worst actor, worst actresses and worst film in Malayalam film industry for this year. Win attractive prizes by expressing your opinion. Once the awards are announced, the first five persons who have sent the correct nominations in each category, would be given very attractive prizes”

Sanjay got interested in the way the website offered selections for various categories. There were video clippings for different categories. He viewed many of the video clippings for worst actors, worst actresses, worst screenplays, worst films etc. After half an hour, he finished his polling and closed the laptop. It was ten in the night. He took a quick dinner, and switched on the television. Star movies was playing a Hollywood blockbuster James bond movie, “Die another day”. He set up auto-off in the television. Lying on the sofa, he watched the movie, which eventually took him to deep sleep.

Couple of days later, when he came back from office and surfed the channels as usual, he was thrilled to listen to the Malayalam film awards announcements . To his delight, the best actor and the best films were as per his polling. Since the channel mentioned that details of the film awards can be obtained from their official website, he opened his laptop and started surfing.

There were detailed reports and photographs. He watched the clippings from the interviews of his favorite stars and directors. On the right hand side of the web page, there were links to many other film related sites. His eyes searched for Golden raspberry awards in Malayalam and it was right there at the bottom. He clicked on the link. The site came up with a catchy heading as before.

“Nothing can be worst than this” ..

Along with that report, was the photograph of the veteran actor Rajendran. Incidentally, Sanjay had also voted for Rajendran for his worst performances in some Malayalam films. Sanjay realized that, his judgment about films and actors is not that bad as shown by the various award results. The website also featured the responses from celebrities coming from various faces of the society, about the raspberry award in Malayalam. Some criticized it as an attempt by western oriented pessimists, to degrade the morale of people in the film industry. But, some argued that it is a part of the entertainment industry, which should be seen with sportsman spirit. Sanjay spent good time reading through all these, before closing the laptop.

Time passed away. Every year presented itself with various emotions to Sanjay. Promotions in job, arrival and departures of friends and relatives, deaths, marriages and birthdays of people near and dear… everything followed at regular intervals. Sanjay’s interests and priorities changed. But his craze with movies didn’t change. His collection of movies increased every year. He was regular in internet polling for film awards. Without missing even one, he regularly voted online for film awards in Malayalam and Hindi film industry. Only on the fourth internet poll results of the Golden Raspberry in Malayalam, he noticed an interesting trend. The website of the award organizers showed that year’s result as

“Rajendran consistently grabs the worst actor award for the fourth time”.

That year also, just like the previous years, Sanjay had voted for Rajendran in the worst actor category. He felt proud about the consistency of his analysis of the film talents. While surfing through the various reports in that web page, Sanjay wondered, how come a professional actor perform abysmally, four years successively, in spite of the humiliating worst actor award for four times. After going through some of the video clippings of Rajendran, he said to himself

“if I am a producer or director, I will never ever risk my career by including this guy in my films”

Three more years passed. In the month of May, Sanjay took a long vacation. He had plans to visit a friend of him staying in Palghat, the northern district of Kerala, on his way to Trivandrum, his hometown. First he reached palghat on a Friday evening and spent couple of days with his friend and his family. He had a nice time enjoying the picturesque country side of Palghat. After the tour there was over, he went to the Palghat railway station to board the train to Trivandrum. The express train in which he had reservation, was scheduled to depart at 11.30 in the night. He reached the station half an hour early. His friend accompanied him to the station. Train arrived on time. Since he was already tired of travelling, he found his berth, put his luggage securely and went to sleep immediately. He was in the upper berth. The rhythmic movement of the train played a lullaby for him. He had to wake up in between when the ticket examiner came to check the passengers who boarded the train from palghat.

The sudden jerk of the train when it reached Ernakulum woke him from sleep. He looked at the watch. It was 10.00AM. The train was running late. He was in so deep sleep that he didn’t realize that it was already morning and the fellow passengers on the lower and middle berths are not sleeping anymore. He climbed down and sat on the side seat which was empty. There was a thirty minutes halt at Ernakulum. Only few people were there in the compartment. May be it was not a weekend and hence the train was not that crowded . Sanjay freshened himself and came back to the seat. He bought a hot coffee and vada from a vendor who sold snacks inside the train. Exactly after thirty minutes the train whistled and started crushing the rails in rhythmic pattern. Sitting on the side seat, Sanjay started enjoying the greenery outside. Train journey was always interesting for him. As the train rushed through the rails cut across the heartlands of Kerala… as it passed through rivers, paddy fields and country side roads….he got elevated into a state of unexplainable happiness. Usually, it is at that time he is taken into his own world of imaginations. Just like every time, he was about to sail into his world of fantasies. But a new passenger who came to sit in that compartment, which was barely occupied, stole his attention. It was an old man. His face was filled with tiredness. He had a thin and frail body which bore the marks of invading old age. He was wearing a white shirt and a white dhothi. He carried a leather bag in his left hand. The unshaven face and the lack of shine in his eyes were an indication of the man’s struggle in life. Some books Sanjay read, on psychological analysis of people based on their attire, indicated something similar to that.

The man sat on the window seat in the compartment. He took out a small book and started reading. When he turned his face towards Sanjay’s side casually, Sanjay looked at him. Somewhere something was striking...the face looked very familiar. Sanjay tried hard to remember. It didn’t take much time for him to know who it was. It was the veteran Malayalam actor..Rajendran..who was elected as worst actor for many years. Sanjay looked again and again ..just to confirm that it is Rajendran only. The face looked same..may be the tiredness accompanying the old age has made him a shadow of his better times. A curiosity started growing in Sanjay. He thought of starting a conversation with Rajendran. Though he hesitated first, he thought of going ahead.

“Excuse me? Are you Mr. Rajendran, Malayalam film actor?

The man, lifted his face from the book he was reading. Taking his reading glass out of his eyes, he looked at Sanjay for few seconds.

“Yes I am. Do you know me? The man asked in a soft voice.

“Yes of course..though I am not residing in Kerala, I do watch all Malayalam films. I have seen many of your films. I like your performance. Gad to meet you”!!

Rajendran looked straight into Sanjay’s eyes for some time. Then said

“Did you say that from your heart. Or you are one among the many, who felicitated me with the worst actor award ?

There was a smile on his face, when he asked this question. It had all the essential flavors of sarcasm, pain, struggle, anger and helplessness. Sanjay could not answer him immediately. He never expected such a question. Few moments later he said

“Oh no..please don’t think so. A good artist gets people’s recognition by his or her hardwork only..not through awards. I know you are a good artist. You don’t have you bother about those awards..you shouldn’t be”!!

That started a friendly conversation between Rajendran and Sanjay. Sanjay told about his interests in films and how closely he watches the incidents in the film industry. Few minutes later, Rajendran opened his mind. May be he was waiting for someone to listen to his story. Wiping his spectacles with the tip of his dhotthi, Rajendran started his narration.

“Have you seen the movie called “Rain Drops of April”. It was released eight years back”.

“No ..I haven’t”. said Sanjay.

“Not a surprise. Like you, many in Kerala must not have seen that movie. Very few of them must have at least heard of the movie. It was my fiftieth film. Before that I acted in all comedy films and all of them were roaring success. I didn’t have difficulty in getting roles those days..they kept on coming..but they were the same stereotype roles. I gave life to many comedy characters, which made people laugh like anything. I really had good times. But no director dared to cast me in a different role. Everyone portrayed me as a laughing machine. I had requested many directors to give me villain roles or some serious roles in their films. They all said, the viewers may not like to see me in a different role. For them, casting me in a different role was like risking their money.

He opened his bag and took out a photograph. It was an old looking black and white photograph, with its edges torn and colour fainted. It was a college photograph..perhaps taken during some college festival.

“see this picture. This is me. I am getting the university gold medal for the best drama actor from our vice chancellor. I still keep this picture as a treasure. I don’t think I ever got any prize, precious than this one, from anywhere. In spite of the fact that I won the award in college for serious roles, I got my initial roles in films as a comedian. I did that job very well. ..Which lead to my fortune and eventually to my ruins. I had to wait till my fiftieth’ film, for taking up a serious role. A good friend of mine, decided to cast me in his debutant directorial venture, as a serious supporting actor. I still feel, that was one of my best films. I put my blood and soul while acting in that film. It was named “Rain drops of April”- a beautiful film captured in a romantic background. Everyone, including me, gave their best performance in that film. But somehow, it didn’t run even for a week. In fact that was a point where my career started taking a nose dive.

Couple of years later, five of my films, all in the same old comedy roles, became box office flops. The so called film critics started crying for my blood. Some even categorized me as an actor of old genre. In their view, actors like me where mis- fits in the culturally progressing film industry. That was the time when I smelt trouble…the onset of financial turmoil. When I had good times, I never bothered to make savings. I lived my life royally. Partying, roaming around with friends, watching all films, sometimes watching one film even five to six times. Any way..no regrets on the bygone days. All I know is that when bad time comes, it just pours down the miseries on you. It was not different in my case. It didn’t surprise me.

In all the subsequent films, the producers talked to me about my falling market rates, with a polished smile on their face. It was a clear indication from their part that beggars cannot be choosers. I was supposed to act with whatever they decide as my fee. I was slowly realizing that the ground beneath my feet was sinking. Well..I had no other choice then. It was a time when so many popular mimicry artists got into the comedy films roles. Even today they command supremacy in comedy roles. So goes their rates. During that time, I became concerned about my bank account, which was abysmally small. There was absolutely nothing much left in my bank account. In the spending spree through a lavish life style, I forgot the basics lessons of life.

Rajendran opened his leather bag and took out a bank passbook. There were many cheque leaves inside that passbook. Many of hem had bank seals on top of it.

See all these things? These are all bounced cheques. If I was paid the amount in all these cheques, which I am supposed to get, probably I would have got a fairly good savings to take me through the rest of my life, not being at someone’s mercy.

“What happened? Why are these cheques bounced? Asked Sanjay

“Well..my friendly producers gave my fee like this only. When I receive the intimation from the bank, I would realize that there is no money in that bank account where the cheque is drawn. I didn’t even have the courage or money to have a confrontation with them. Well..I was never a fighter..may be that’s my inability. I was feeling so suppressed lately. Many times I requested the producers to clear my money. All they gave me were sweet promises. So many cheques..none of them getting paid..But still I acted …as comedian only..whatever roles came to me, I tried to enact them. For me it was a matter of survival. Even today it is the same.

It was at that time, some intelligent guy started up the idea of choosing the worst actor. Fate had my name reserved as the winner of the worst actor award. That’s the irony in life. You would wish for many things in life..if you are not so lucky, none of them will come on your way..no matter whatever you do. But the misfortunes will always be waiting for you around the corner. One false step you take, they jump over and overpower you. Many film viewers rated me as the worst actor. Film magazines and critics roared for my blood. They wrote many articles about the falling standards of my acting. .I am not blaming anyone. But it had to be me.

For four years successively, I was elected as the worst actor. Media, critics and everyone liked me in that role. Those incidents practically sealed my fate as an actor. Hardly any producers visited me last year. I was almost forgotten. Last week a good friend of mine advised me to come to Ernakulum and meet a young director and producer. I came here carrying lot of hopes. But they made me realize that I am an old stock. Their picture is pretty modern and there are no suitable roles for me. I felt that I am good for nothing.. a simple rotten old stock. So I am here. Going back to my home..sitting with you in this train..making you bored to death with my story.

Rajendran took his specks off his eyes. He lifted the tip of his dhotthi and wiped his eyes. Then he put the specs back. For few minutes no one talked. Only the rhythmic sounds of the train and it’s occasional whistles prevailed in the air.

“I have no complaints. Don’t know how many more years I have to spend before leaving this mortal body. I am sure the almighty would have kept something for me till my last breath. “

After some time the train reached Kollam Junction. Rajendran got down there.

“Well Sanjay…it was nice talking to you. Though we are total strangers, I opened my heart to you. I feel very relaxed. Anyway..thanks a lot for being a patient listener. Have a nice vacation. God bless you dear.”

Through the window of his compartment, Sanjay looked at the frail figure of Rajendran, walking along the platform. Few minutes later, the train whistled again and continued its journey further south. Sanjay kept on thinking about the plight of the poor old actor. He felt bad on thinking that he too had played a part in crucifying Rajendran.

“I can’t wash my hands like Pontius Pilatus. I am also partly responsible for his fate. I shouldn’t have taken part in that poll” .Sanjay whispered to himself.

One year later, it was again the awards season. As usual Sanjay got hooked to the internet to put up his opinion poll for selecting the best actor and actresses. He didn’t forget to go to the site for Golden raspberry awards in Malayalam. First he scanned through the names of the actors and actresses listed in various categories for the worst performance awards. Rajendran’s name was not there. Probably because he didn’t have any films that year. Sanjay didn’t vote for anyone. He looked at the web site in detail. Then he went straight into the feedbacks section in the website. After few thoughtful moments, Sanjay wrote..

“Hi..

Congratulations on your initiatives. I am a regular follower of the events in the film industry. Glad to know that people are serious about analyzing the performances of our actors and actresses. But I have a request to make. Before conferring the worst actor title to someone, and embarrassing that person, please take a minute to imagine, what consequences that can have in the life of that person. Not everyone has the endurance to ignore the shame this award brings with it. It can break someone to death. When I say this, my friend..I mean it….because I can never ever forget the tearful words of a man whom I voted as the worst actor.”