Operation Corona: How Kerala led the way

The state had been battling Covid-19 for more than a month before Maharashtra reported its first case on March 10. As of Saturday, it had 40 cases, while Maharashtra had 53. A deep dive on how it swung into action

On March 7, two people with fever paid a visit to Dr Shambhu, a physician at Ranni Government Hospital in Kerala’s Pathanamthitta district. It had been more than a month since Kerala reported the first three cases of Covid-19 — students who had arrived from China — so he followed procedure, and asked if they had been to any foreign country recently. They hadn’t, but said they had come into contact with a family in their neighbourhood that had just returned from Italy, where the disease was spreading rapidly.

Dr Shambhu realised that sitting before him were the first cases of secondary transmission of Covid-19 in the state. He quickly shifted them to the isolation ward and informed the health department and district administration. A medical team reached the Italy returnees’ home in an ambulance and, despite their initial refusal to cooperate, took their family members — who included their aged parents — to the hospital. The family initially refused to admit that they were sick. But when they tested positive they admitted that they had refused to furnish their travel history to authorities, had dodged screening at the airport, and had been visiting relatives instead of staying at home.

The state soon launched a massive search across the two districts the family had been to, identified more than 3,000 who had come into contact with the family, and began monitoring them. To avert a community spread, the health ministry also released a route map of the places the family had been to since returning to India. Meanwhile, CM Pinarayi Vijayan and Minister of Health and Family Welfare KK Shailaja asked everyone to stay alert.

Ahead of time

Kerala’s ‘secret’, it turns out, was being prepared for the outbreak well before it began. Dr M Narayanan, president of the Indian Academy of Paediatrics, Kerala, says, “The outbreaks in Kerala and Italy took place at almost the same time. But now, when the death toll in Italy, which has free and quality healthcare, has crossed 4,000, Kerala has not had a single death, despite having fewer resources and facilities. We have been able to identify and isolate suspected carriers, including asymptomatic ones, to avert a community-level spread.”

In what minister Shailaja called ‘a self-designed protocol’ — something she learned from the state’s battle with the 2018 Nipah outbreak, which claimed 17 lives — a surveillance mechanism was put in place in mid-January. It was part of a larger plan that involved co-ordination between the state’s infrastructure, bureaucracy and people. Quarantine facilities and control rooms were set up in all 14 districts to keep tabs on those arriving from abroad.

On February 3, as soon as the first three cases were reported, the government announced a state health emergency. As many as 18 expert groups at the rapid response control room split tasks into areas such as quarantine, isolation, monitoring, contact tracing, media surveillance, field teams, etc. When a person arrived with symptoms, health officials sprang into action at once, tracing the journey of the patient, finding his or her primary and secondary contacts, and shifting them to quarantine to avert a community outbreak. When a person tested positive for Covid-19, a map of their journey was published so that people could easily identify those who were most at risk of contracting the disease.

Dr Amjith Rajeevan, an assistant surgeon at a primary health centre in Pathanamthitta district, who also heads the media surveillance team that looks for possible links to any Covid-19 suspect that may have been overlooked, says, “When the first three cases were reported, we had the advantage of knowing they had been home-quarantined. But when a family of three dodged screening upon arrival from Italy and tested positive after visiting various places, we had the task of averting a community outbreak. The first meeting of the rapid response team was called at 7.30 am, which was attended by officials from the Chief Minister’s Office and Health Ministry, doctors, healthcare workers, public representatives and surveillance training committees. It was decided to track down the travel history of the patients and fill in the missing links. For this, we needed the help of field workers, women’s selfhelp groups and support groups, who talked to people and sourced CCTV footage. More people were quarantined, and this helped control the spread.”

Those who were quarantined in their homes were monitored using GPS to ensure they remained indoors. To support the virology institute in Alappuzha, opened after the Nipah episode, four more testing facilities were opened in various districts. At meetings convened twice a day, the ground situation was assessed and necessary arrangements were made; district-wise data and statistics on required health facilities, medical assistance and food were compiled and presented. This is followed by a daily press conference — sometimes twice daily — at which the chief minister, the health minister or both turned people’s panic into vigilance by sharing information about new developments, assuring people of a positive outcome and appreciating their efforts. While health helplines and round-the-clock emergency services worked tirelessly to quarantine suspected carriers, schools were shut down, weddings and other events with large gatherings were postponed, and cinemas shuttered.

What is the Kerala model?

As of Saturday morning, Maharashtra had 53 Covid-19 cases, Uttar Pradesh 24, Rajasthan 17, Haryana 17, Delhi 26 and Karnataka 15. Kerala, which has been battling the outbreak for longer than any other state, had 40 cases, 44,390 people under observation, and zero casualties. Why has Kerala’s battle against Covid-19 been more successful — at least so far — than those of other states? “Compared to other Indian states, Kerala has a lot of advantages,” says Dr Amjith, who has been in charge of coordinating the state’s control rooms during past crises.

“Keralites are a global community and Covid-19 infections have now been reported from all over the world, but we were prepared to face it right from when it hit China. Equipped with a peoplefriendly health delivery system, state-ofthe- art infection control facilities, expertise of public health professionals and strong backing of district administrations, Kerala could face the challenges. The state also has another great advantage — highly educated local body representatives, who are in direct contact with the people. Kerala’s high literacy rate made spreading awareness easier,” he adds.

Apart from government medical colleges, primary and community health centres, the public and private sector healthcare systems in Kerala maintain high standards. As CM Vijayan put it, “We have excellent healthcare systems, from primary health centres to super-specialty hospitals. The spirit of this system is a popular partnership. Healthcare workers from all parts of the system have joined hands to battle this crisis.” Minister Shailaja says, “Our main target is to not lose any life. Community service and public cooperation — seeking medical assistance in case of symptoms — will help us win the fight. The key to containing the virus is responsible behaviour.”

That’s exactly what Arjun (name changed to protect his identity) exhibited when he and his friends — all of them MBBS students in Wuhan, the epicentre of the outbreak — returned to India just before the city was locked down. Arjun and two of his friends are the three first Covid-19 cases in India. He says, “Our 30-member team was the first to have landed in India from Wuhan. At Kolkata airport, we underwent basic tests and signed papers, after which we were given guidelines. Once I reached my home in Alappuzha district, I informed the health department of my arrival and stayed at home. A few days later, I saw that one of my friends had tested positive, becoming the first person in India with the disease. Though I had no symptoms, I put on an N95 respirator and reported to the nearest primary health centre.”

Harbinger of hope

Harbinger of hope Any new contagious disease brings with it desperation, panic and mass hysteria. To tackle these, the Kerala government introduced trustworthy communication channels and outreach programmes. Through the mobile app GoK-Direct Kerala, which sends real-time updates and SMS alerts to subscribers in various languages, the Department of Information and Public Relations ensure transparency. To improve the lives of everyone forced to remain indoors, the government announced it would increase WiFi bandwidth. Through social media campaigns such as ‘Break the Chain’, calls for social distancing, and by acting swiftly against those spreading fake news, it combated fear and stigma. The government also ensured the supply of essential commodities and medical assistance to the public for free. Children who could no longer go to anganwadis (rural child care centres) continued to receive their much-needed mid-day meals at home. “About 3.7 lakh students in 33,115 anganwadis in the state have benefitted from the initiative,” Shailaja says.

But the masterstroke of the Pinarayi government was the Rs 20,000-crore health package he announced on March 19 to revive the economy. Of this, Rs 2,000-crore is for disbursing loans through Kudumbashree, a women’s self-help group; Rs 1,320 crore for paying two months’ welfare pension in advance; Rs 100 crore for families that do not otherwise receive any welfare pension; and Rs 100 crore for free cereals through the Public Distribution System. He also announced the opening of subsidised lunch outlets, relaxation of power and water bills, and assistance to public transport staff.

The challenges ahead

The Kerala model has been praised widely, but with one-sixth of its 3.5-crore population being expatriates, the state is not taking anything for granted. If even one person under quarantine ventures outdoors, it could spark a community-level outbreak. “Had this shutdown been done earlier, we could have avoided the current risk of community spread from patients exposed to secondary transmission,” says Dr Narayanan. Though the state machinery was been able to contain the disease at first, this responsibility is now with the public. There are people who have organised or attended mass gatherings, prayer meets and temple festivals. Many who returned from the Hajj have not practised home quarantine. The six new positive cases reported on March 20 from Kasaragod district were infected by a foreign-returnee who attended weddings, public events and football matches, forcing the whole district to shut down.

Dr Narayanan said, “After a lull, cases have spiked. The disease has reached tertiary contacts. If this explodes, I am not sure that we have enough infrastructure, hospital beds, ventilators and intensive care units to accommodate all patients and combat a massive outbreak. Even the lives of healthcare professionals are at risk. Kerala also has a huge high-risk population of senior citizens, cancer patients and others who need immunosuppressants.” Though Kerala has better medical facilities than most other states, it has only 1.1 hospital beds for every 1,000 people. While the government is converting college hostels to Covid-19 centres, it will face a shortage of ventilators and ICUs in case of a community-level spread. The only way to combat the disease, therefore, is to practice social distancing.

 Published in Mumbai Mirror on March 22, 2020

Kerala Man's Donkey Milk Business Churns Out Cosmetics

Ancient Egyptian queen Cleopatra, a stunning beauty, is believed to take regular baths in donkey milk to preserve her youthful skin. Poppaea, the wife of Emperor Nero and Napoleon’s sister Pauline too are believed to have used donkey milk for skincare. Not just that, historic records trace donkey milk to an effective medicine for skin diseases. Ages later, it took a young man from a little village in Kerala to explore the business possibilities of cosmetic products made from donkey milk. Aby Baby, a native of Ramamangalam in Kochi, runs a cosmetic brand with creams, soaps and balms manufactured using the milk of the donkeys at his farm.

It was Bible that piqued Aby’s entrepreneurial interest. “Donkeys are everywhere in the holy Bible. Jesus came to Jerusalem atop a donkey, Job had a thousand jennies and so did Abraham. It could have been a horse, but they all rode and reared donkeys. There should have been great significance,” he thought, and he started looking up. The more he knew, the more fascinated Aby became of donkey milk, its properties and nutritional riches of vitamins, minerals, essential fatty acids, antioxidants, calcium and enzymes.

Entrepreneurship, for Aby, was his calling. His great grandfather Mathai had manufactured lemongrass oil, a business that flourished till the 60s. As soon as he discovered the possibilities of donkey milk, he quit his high-paying IT job in Bengaluru to venture into the business of beauty. Donkey milk, which tends to go sour easily, had to be freeze-dried and preserved to manufacture creams, ointments, soaps and balms. Without any guidance or models to follow, Aby had to choose the trial-and-error path. There were setbacks – people thought he was crazy, 16 donkeys he brought from Tamil Nadu died, his marriage failed, but Aby couldn’t be deterred. When distribution got affected, he started manufacturing on his own, in a small unit set up near his home. His efforts bore fruit when he received the NRCE progressive farmer and agri-entrepreneur award. Currently, Dolphin IBA brings out 16 products, including face cream, facial kit, firmness cream, skin cream, fairness cream, bathing soap, shower gel, shaving soap and lip balm.

“Now, my products have customers all over the world. A royal heir in Qatar and clients from Hollywood. Donkey milk is pricey and so is the production. In Indian market, a litre of donkey milk costs close to Rs 6,000. And donkeys don’t give milk like cows. The very little quantity has to be preserved to make the cosmetic product, making the products very costly.”  But again, Aby is not worried, he is proud instead, for being a revolutionary with a visionary business acumen. “The results are so good that people won’t hesitate to buy it,” he says, confidently.  

Aby’s two-and-a-half-acre Dolphin IBA donkey farm, located at the sleepy hilly terrain of Ramamangalam which oozes rustic charm, houses 21 donkeys – Poitour jennies, a French breed, the Halari jack from Gujarat and the huge Bikaner breed jennies, the stronger and taller in the lot. “The seven Bikaner donkeys are the latest addition. They were brought all the way from Pakistan border and were transported in lorries,” adds Aby.

He and his workers look after the donkeys, each breed with special diet, taking care of its health and nutrition. “Donkeys,” Aby stresses, “are intelligent creatures unlike the popular notion. They are very sensible and smart. Love those and provide them good food and home; they will love you back with riches of milk.”

'Indian Monster' going strong

Known as ‘Indian Monster’ in bodybuilding circles, Mr Universe 2019 Chitharesh Natesan is actually Mr Determination.  

No one knew Chitharesh Natesan until late November, when cricket god Sachin Tendulkar tweeted about a historic win at South Korea – that the 33-year-old Keralite from Kochi put his hometown on the global map by becoming Mr Universe 2019. Chitharesh is the first-ever Indian to have won the title of Mr Universe in the World Bodybuilding and Physique Sports Championship, defeating participants from 38 countries and emerging as the Champion of Champions – again a first for India.

“A week before that I had won the Asian championships and become the Champion of Champions there too, but nobody knew about any of it until Sachin tweeted about it,” says Chitharesh, excitement booming in his voice. For this youngster for the tiny hamlet of Vaduthala in Kochi, the moment of recognition is a dream come true. His path to glory has been full of twists and turns. He is known by the nickname ‘Indian Monster’ in bodybuilding circles, but after a chat with Chitharesh, one would consider renaming him as Mr Determination. Numerous injuries, multiple breaks and missed championships didn’t affect his morale, but made him more focussed. Now, on a strict high-protein diet for over a year and long-hour workouts every single day, he believes he has more to do and a long way to go.

Chitharesh was not a wannabe bodybuilder; that was something that struck him at a later stage of life. His first love was hockey. “I started off as a hockey player since school days and went on to become a state-level player during graduation. Being a hockey player, I had to maintain my body weight and there was no chance of body building,” he recalls. He opted for his second graduation course at Lakshmibhai National College of Physical Education in Thiruvananthapuram, where he chose hockey as his specialisation.

After graduating, he moved to Delhi and started working with his friends’ fitness group there as a trainer. “There was very little scope for hockey in Delhi and I started weight training under the guidance of Sagar, my friend and coach,” adds Chitharesh, who considered contesting championships.

“In 2010, I participated in Mr Ernakulam championship, but soon, I met with an accident and contracted a foot infection that required two months’ bed rest. After preparations and training, I decided to compete in 2013, but a shoulder injury again pulled me down. I stayed off for one year,” he says. But the resting period had wonders in store for him. While recuperating, he took Latin Dance classes, where he met Nasiba, an Uzbek native. Soon, the two fell in love and they got married. Now settled in Delhi, the couple flies down to Kerala once in a while.

However, post injuries, Chitharesh bounced back and went on to become Mr India in three consecutive years from 2016. The year also saw him emerging as Mr India-Dubai. In 2017, he became Mr Delhi and the Champion of Champions in the contest. A year later, Chitharesh won Mr World title in the Europe-based IBFF championship and literally found himself on the top of the world. Then came the twist of fate. “I was hoping to earn a job with my win, but only then did I come to know that the federations I had been representing lacked recognition.”

He then joined Mumbai-based IBBF, where he was selected for Mr Asia championships. Chitharesh came home to meet his parents before the championships when hurdles, this time, came in the form of Kerala floods. With air traffic hit and whole life brought to a standstill, he rushed to rescue and relief operations though it took a toll on his diet and training. But he doesn’t brood over it, “When everyone around was affected, there was nothing to do. I and my friends were at the rehabilitation camps, coordinating rescue operations and helping people. There was no point in attending championships when you are not ready.”

Once on training mode, nothing would deter Chitharesh. No cheating, no breaks, not one day of eating out or hanging out. “In bodybuilding, focus and discipline are very important. So is money,” he smiles, explaining his daily diet of 300 g protein, 200 g carbohydrate and 100 g fat, which translates into 40 eggs and 1 kg chicken every day (6-7 meals a day)! “You have no idea how financially draining bodybuilding is,” he adds.

His advice to any aspiring bodybuilder is to find a good sponsor and a recognised federation to support their dreams, and an expert team of a trainer, doctor, physiotherapist. For Chitharesh, who had no sponsorship, his coach, friends, parents, wife and sisters have been his pillars of support.

“Participation in a championship means months of hard work and continuous training without any distraction. The more effort you put in the sweeter will be the success. And remember, there are no shortcuts, nothing at all,” he concludes.

 Published in Deccan Herald on February 9, 2020

Lost & found heroine

89 years after Rosy’s disappearance, a group of women from Malayalam film industry launched a film society in Kochi and named it after their forgotten first heroine

1930: The year the first Malayalam feature film, Vigathakumaran, released. The year J.C. Daniel, father of Malayalam film industry, made his directorial debut with the country’s first social drama feature film. The year P.K. Rosy, a Dalit labourer and a Kakkarasi theatre artist, became Malayalam’s first heroine. The year when Rosy and family were attacked and their hut burned down by feudal Nairs, irked by a Dalit woman portraying an upper caste in the film, forcing Rosy to flee and to never return. 

2019: 89 years after Rosy’s disappearance, a group of women from Malayalam film industry launches a film society in Kochi and names it after their forgotten first heroine. P.K. Rosy Film Society, according to the Women in Cinema Collective (WCC), the organisation of woman professionals in Mollywood, is an attempt to restore the name of all those who failed to find a place in the annals of film history for their caste, gender, religion or opinions.

The lost heroine

Vigathakumaran (The Lost Child) was the story of a child who goes missing and years later, accidentally gets back with his family. Call it irony, the heroine Rosy too vanishes, but her history is traced years after her death. Rosy belonged to a Dalit family in Thiruvananthapuram who was discovered by Daniel while she was playing a part in Kakkarasi theatre, a Tamil Dalit art form, and convinced her to play the lead in his debut movie. At an era where caste system was practiced openly in Kerala, a Dalit actor acting as an upper caste woman enraged the Nair community, who pelted stones at the screen, disrupted the movie’s screening and went on to ostracised Rosy’s family. They were manhandled and their hut was set afire, forcing Rosy and family to flee their native. The actor fled to Tamil Nadu where she is believed to have lived and died assuming a different identity, without letting anyone know about her past. No print of Vigathakumaran exists anywhere, leaving no proof of Rosy’s acting career. 

A memorial could be anything – a statue, award or building, but for a woman who was hounded for her identity and forced to vanish, what better way than a platform to remember everyone who has been shown the door from history! The WCC, formed in 2017 in support of a female actor who was assaulted in an incident allegedly masterminded by Mollywood actor Dileep, has been supporting movements and activities to support the marginalized and oppressed, both inside and outside the industry. The formation of P.K. Rosy Film Society is yet another huge step from the collective to celebrate the voices that have been silenced. 

All the founders and members of the society are ciswomen and transwomen and together, they will hold screenings films made by women and discourses on feminist cinema. Archana Padmini, film curator and one of the founders of the society, explains, “Kerala can be considered very rich in terms of film societies, but there are very few who engage films academically. Launching a film society was an idea that came up during one of the general body meetings of the WCC. Our major focus being representation of women and intervention in issues of all sorts of marginalization, we had to create a platform for discourses and never let those die. When we thought of a name, history gave us no choice other than P.K. Rosy, a woman who deserved justice.”

Rosy’s life story was pieced together from books penned by film historian Kunnukuzhy S. Mani (who wrote the booklet P.K. Rosy), Chelangatt Gopalakrishnan (biographer of J.C. Daniel) and Vinu Abraham (who penned Nashta Nayika). Based on these accounts, director Kamal made the Malayalam film Celluloid in 2013, depicting the tragic life of J.C. Daniel, Rosy and their ‘lost film’.

Director K.J. Jeeva, another founding member of P.K. Rosy Film Society observes that Rosy has been denied even after all these years, “The government hasn’t yet instituted an award in her name. Just look at her personal life. She vanished into oblivion, lived under another name, assumed her husband’s upper caste surname. Now, even her children or grandchildren do not want to talk about her Dalit identity. 

“Rosy is not the first and last Dalit woman in the industry who is ostracized for her identity. Even now, many hide their Dalit identity fearing that revealing it would cost them their career; that has to end in the long run. The society aims at initiating public discourses, against stereotyping, ostracism and toxicity in the industry. Film is a woman’s world too; we have been here since the beginning and we have to reassert that this space is as ours as yours. Many sensitive contents made and issues addressed through films have not reached the public. Our mission is to bring those films to people and trigger forgotten memories,” Jeeva stresses. 

The events of the film society will be open to all, but only women qualify to be the members. Any woman who wish to be part of the screenings and discourses can register with the society. As Archana puts it, their aim is to discuss genuine, sensible, political content through films, watching it together and let discourses happen. “Film societies,” she adds, “have played a huge role in shaping up the gender perspectives, critical thoughts and film viewing culture of film viewers in Kerala. (According to the Federation of Film Societies of India, the state is home to over 125 film societies). P.K. Rosy Film Society is a platform for those who view film as an art form in both aesthetic and academic terms. And we will associate with various fields for fruitful interactions.”

The first event held by P.K. Rosy Film Society was the screening Leela Santhosh’s short film Paikinjana Chiri made in Paniya Malayalam and Jeeva K.J.’s feature film Richter Scale 7.6 on displacement woes of kolam thullal (a ritual dance form) artists, followed by discussions. In November 2019, the society screened Agnes Varda’s 1961 film Cléo from 5 to 7, noted for its French feminism narrative. Four days before New Year, they screened Deepa Dhanraj’s multi-lingual documentary We Have Not Come Here to Die, that chronicles the suicide of Dalit research scholar Rohith Vemula in the University of Hyderabad which triggered a huge anti-caste movement across the country. In January 2020, they co-organised Samabhav, a two-day film festival on gender, masculinity and relationships. 

The women have more plans for 2020. “We will be holding monthly film screenings, appreciation classes, workshops, curated packages and more discourses,” Archana says.

Each film is a learning; it’s not meant to be watched and forgotten. As the end credits scroll and the lights turn on, it fills in the minds of audience too, sometimes as revelations, and at times, as revolution. 

Published in Deccan Herald on January 19, 2020

More power to Tessa

What makes Tessa, the humanoid robot, special is that the students made her from scratch and not with the help of any robotic kit

Someone who drives past Siddhartha Central School in the quiet Pallimon village at the Kollam district of Kerala would guess that something big is happening there. For the past few weeks, people from various walks of life have been thronging the school premises, with one wish – to get a glimpse of Tessa!

Well, their latest celebrity Tessa is not student, but a humanoid robot built by the Robotics Club of the school. What makes Tessa special is that the students made her from scratch and not with the help of any robotic kit. The ‘genius robot’, as the kids call it, who would sing, walk, rotate head, narrate stories, answer queries and recognize voices was born in the school robotics lab. It took almost one year for the students to develop, programme and build a working prototype of the AI-powered 27-kg robot, for which they designed the body using thermocol, plaster of paris and fibre coating.

“Around 150 students from class 7^th and 8^th were involved in the process. They made use of their weekly hour-long robotics period and turned up at school during weekends and holidays to work on the robot. Their enthusiasm and fascination were epidemic; the teachers too were very encouraging,” says Sam, the system administrator of the school, who guided the Robotics Club along with staff of Techosa Innovations, a robotics firm.

Tessa, built on Google Cloud database, can understand natural speech and can reply to any query. She can speak, sing and being sensor-enabled, move autonomously without hitting any object on the path. Bluetooth-controlled and enabled with gesture interaction, Tessa looks at the person who talks to her and can rotate her head to the direction of sound, reciprocating to calls and conversations.

“She is an assistant to us. She can rotate her head in 180 degrees and answer any query,” says Devananda, a seventh-grader, who is part of the robotics team, and explains the future plans, “Tessa will be our school’s main attraction. After updating her with face recognition, she will be placed at the school gate welcoming the visitors and identifying the faces of parents and guardians of the students. We are also updating her with home automation so that she can control the lights, fans and electrical system of the school, switching off anything that’s left on by mistake. As of now, Tessa has no arms, so we will first give her arms.”

The students will add surveillance mechanism to Tessa, who will also be the school receptionist who can offer the visitors a guided tour of the institution. Reciting the prayer and national anthem, she will soon grace the school assemblies and be an assistant to the sweepers by helping with cleaning.

School principal Sunitha Kumari is wowed by the students’ dedication. “They used to forgo their PT hours and holidays to work on Tessa. This was also a revelation for us that education can be fun too,” she adds.

It has been two years since robotics was added to the school curriculum with an aim to encourage lessons on technological advancement in artificial intelligence and automation. “We started with basic electronics in class V and progressed to programming concepts as the students reached class VII. We want the children to bring output through hardware. It was during a summer camp that they came up with the idea of Tessa after they were introduced to the semi-humanoid Pepper robot. Guided by their instructors, principal, parents and the management, who raised funds for the project, the students, armed by determination and passion, worked hard to make Tessa. Barring a little help with programming, everything else was done by the students themselves,” recalls Sam. The robot was built at the cost of Rs 2 lakhs.

It was proud day for the whole school when Tessa was unveiled in collaboration with the promotion of the Malayalam movie Android Kunjappan V 5.25 which narrates the story of a man who grows attached to the robot which takes care of him. Devika Praseeth, a seventh-grader from the Robotics Club remembers the day vividly, “I have never seen such a huge crowd. We were both excited and worried, but everything went well and Tessa was amazing. We are proud to be part of the glory Tessa brought to our school.”

A team of 12 students are taking the glory farther by accompanying Tessa to an international robotic conference in New Delhi. Once back to school, Tessa would be actively clearing doubts, assisting academic and manual works, doubling up as cleaning staff, guard and receptionist and above all, inspiring students to become ambitious. Ask if she would replace the teacher, Sam laughs, “No, even among robots, there’s no substitute for a teacher.” The students too would agree with him.

Published in Deccan Herald on December 22, 2019

Allure of aurora

Geethu Mohandas is all set to become the first Indian woman to ever participate in the adventurous sub-zero Fjällräven Polar expedition in April

An Indian by birth and global by spirit’ is how Geethu Mohandas describes herself. The 28-year-old Keralitea an electronics engineer at a firm in Bengaluru, is all set to become the first Indian woman to ever participate in the adventurous sub-zero Fjällräven Polar expedition, if all goes well. The annual expedition to the 300-km Arctic wilderness is open to just 20 chosen travellers across the globe every year. 

“So far, there have been just two Indians who have gone on the expedition. I would be the third, and the first woman, if I am lucky,” says an excited Geethu, who is counting on the Fjällräven Polar online voting which is her ticket to see the Northern lights! 

“Witnessing the spectacular aurora borealis (the bright dancing lights in multiple colours seen above the northern and southern hemispheres), like any travel buff, is my dream too. I would consider lucky if I won and luckier if I could inspire more women to apply for the expedition next year,” she says.

Geethu has been travelling for several years now, starting with the school nature camps she has been part of as a teen. Staying in Forest Department dormitories and experiencing the warmth of nature, the passion grew with her and when she got a job, she started living her dream. Having lost count of her trips, she puts it as ‘I go trekking almost every weekend.’ Sometimes solo, sometimes with her husband Prasad Aadish and at times, with her buddies. A founder of the travel group Let’s go for a Camp, which promotes responsible tourism, Geethu believes that any journey should have a purpose. As part of the motto, she and her friends explore a place not just geographically but along with its culture, history and traditions by giving back to the people the happiness they experienced. 

“Wherever we go, we practise sustainable lifestyle and eco-friendliness. It’s not just sight-seeing. We believe in making a difference to the lives of people there. Tourism makes sense only if we explore places without upsetting the native people’s lives, nature or practices,” she stresses.

In the past four years, Let’s go for a Camp has organised 95 group journeys, thrice outside the country, every time to lesser-explored places. During the journeys, they practise and promote sustainable practices like use of menstrual cups, seed pens and green initiatives. 

“We conduct research on the historical, geographical and cultural significance of the places and while there, stay with the people, experiencing their lives, culture and cuisine, wear their traditional clothing and pay for it all.” As part of promoting employment for rural womenfolk, last April, a 15-member all-woman group comprising students, doctors, homemakers, teachers, IT professionals and lawyers from all age groups went to the Ladakh villages of Thakmachik, Choklamsar, Thiya and Mann, where they did a trial of the idea. “It was a great experience, for both them and us. We grew so close that parting was an emotional moment,” recalls Geethu, who, along with her Ladakhi friend Dolma, is planning a bigger exercise next year by taking more baches to the Ladakh villages from April to July when the climate is favourable.  

Applying for the Fjällräven Polar expedition is also an act of ‘responsibility’ for Geethu. “I noticed that women do not apply for it. May be because it is considered one of the most adventurous trips on the planet. I wanted to break the myth. So as a preparation I led a 19-member crew, 12 of them women, to the Chadar trek, where we had to survive minus 15 to minus 30 degree temperature and cross the entirely frozen Zanskar river in the harsh winter. We spent 10 days without water. It was an amazing endurance test. That was when I knew that cold meant pain,” she laughs.

Confident about Polar expedition, she is now keeping her fingers crossed. “With the required physical fitness and confidence, I am sure that I can do it. The voting is on for another 20 days and I am at the fourth position now. No worries even if I don’t win. I am sure that next year more women would apply. Being an inspiration itself is a victory.”

Published in Deccan Herald on December 1, 2019 

Breaking the mould

A lone warrior who defies gender, racial and hegemonic stereotypes of classical dance, Guru Manu's life is a textbook

The first feature you notice about Guru Manu is his eyes — deep, calm, filled with mystery. Sporting a long silver beard, a spotless white kurta and saffron mundu, one would easily mistake him for a yogi. But when he starts talking, the Guru’s arms move gracefully, forming mudras and as if in a recital, he pulls you in, to his world of sadir. “Bharatanatyam is Sadir attam in Tamil-speaking regions. Widely considered a temple art form, it is actually based on Tantric philosophy. It’s an art form based on straight line movements involving all the eight directions,” he says as he gestures, demonstrating the hastas with arms forming a straight line. 

A lone warrior who defies gender, racial and hegemonic stereotypes of classical dance, this man’s life is a textbook. Born into a middle class Muslim family in Kodungallur as Abdul Manaf, his penchant for dance was spotted by his brother-in-law Aboobacker, who used to take little Manu to Kathakali recitals and Kutcheris. Falling in love with dance, Manu used to jump across the compound wall of a school near his home to watch a dance teacher training the children. Aboobacker enrolled him for Bharatanatyam classes, but the inevitable storm brewed and he soon became an outcaste. “It wasn’t from the Muslim community. Protests came from within my extended family and people around me,” he recalls. 

His fort, back then, was Irinjalakuda, where he attended concerts and recitals, rubbed shoulders with maestros and got trained under masters like Kalamandalam Raghavan asan. “I learned Kathakali, Kathak and Mohiniyattam, but my heart lies in Bharatanatyam. I left Kerala to learn more and travelled across Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, where sadir followed the lasya-based Thanjavur system, and then to the North. I halted at many places, at times, spent years at one spot. My return to Kerala was after 30 years,” he says. At Madhya Pradesh, where he spent many years, he trained children in Bharatanatyam. 

There, he got to associate with Bharatanatyam exponent Shankar Hombal, a direct disciple of Kalakshetra founder Rukmini Devi Arundale. Hombal considered him as his son and together, they run Kala Padma Institute in Bhopal. As years passed, he decided to take the learning further, outside books and scriptures, and went out to get first-hand experience from temple art works. His references were the temple sculptures in Tamil Nadu and south Karnataka, which immortalised dance moves on it. It was time for Guru Manu to make the move. In a transgressive attempt, he revolutionised Bharatanatyam, which is known for its fixed upper torso and spectacular footwork, by introducing bhangas and bhangis of sculptures to the dance form. 

“What I have learned is that sadir has no original form. An art form that projects femininity, sadir is being traditionally practiced with no hip movements. But in every temple sculpture, the hip had bhangas and bhangis and I inculcated it in performance,” he says, demonstrating the posture of Krishna in traditional pose and his reformed version. 

He researched through paintings and sculptures in temples across the country, came across long-lost dance forms like Laavan. A wanderer, he took his artistic rebellion to places and trained children in his own style. He is not a strict guru but is very particular that his disciples should give their whole heart to the art. “I do not train anyone who eyes competitions. Only a limited number of dancers take forward their passion. A lot of dancers are doing research and coming out with doctorates. Does anyone know what they have researched and found out?” 

In Kochi, where Guru Manu is on a halt between travels, he is training a small group of women — homemakers and artistes who are passionate about Bharatanatyam. He also conducts workshops for students. “My training technique involves developing inquisitiveness in my students so that they too get out of the fixed structures to explore more and experience the real sadir,” he concludes.

 Published in Deccan Chronicle on February 7, 2018