Noted authors Sangishetty Srinivas and Mercy Margaret were honoured with a “Certificate of Appreciation and Recognition” by the alumni of University College of Arts and Social Sciences, Osmania University, Hyderabad. 

The certificate to Sangishetty Srinivas was presented in the presence of writer and historian Dr Anand Raj Varma, former principal, Anwar Ul Uloom college who was a student of OU in 1958, and Veda Kumar Manikonda, heritage activist and  chairman of Forum for a Better Hyderabad and Chilkuri Sushil Rao, alumni of OU. 

The certificate to Mercy Margaret was presented by Sangishetty Srinivas and Chilkuri Sushil Rao. The presentation of certificates took place at the 35^th Hyderabad National Book Fair on December 31, 2022.

 

Chilkuri Sushil Rao awarded a ‘Certificate of excellence’ at the 11^th Mumbai Shorts International Film Festival.

The recognition was for the entry of a short documentary titled “The Great Indian Tamarind Tree”.  “El peso de la quietud’ made by Manuel Ojeda of Cuba was adjudged best documentary film. ‘Kara – Star of the world’ directed by Daniel Mark Bendell of the US was given the Best documentary (Jury) award.

The film festival was held in Mumbai on December 11, 2022. I would not attend the festival in person. All the entries in various categories were screened at the film festival.

It was a small recognition as my entry was accepted to be screened at the festival for which I was given a ‘Certificate of excellence’. I dedicate this first small recognition to noted filmmaker B Narsing Rao. I went to his house in Hyderabad and expressed my thanks and gratitude.

My thanks and gratitude to B Narsing Rao because the very first film that I watched in my life was ‘Maa Bhoomi’ that was produced by him and released in the year 1979. What is significant is that it was the only movie that my father took me to watch. My mother, father and I watched it at Rahat Mahal theatre (later renamed as Raja deluxe) at Musheerabad, Hyderabad. The film was directed by Goutam Ghose. I had the privilege of watching the film with the director in Hyderabad during the inauguration of an international film festival at the Lalitha Kala Thoranam.

In addition to ‘Maa Bhoomi’, Narsing Rao’s films ‘Daasi’, ‘Maa Ooru’, ‘Rangula Kala’ and documentaries 'The Carnival’, ‘The City’ and ‘Akruti – Rock formations’ have received international recognition.

“Dedicating the ‘Certificate of excellence’ to B Narsing Rao was something satisfying. He stands as a tall figure as a filmmaker on the global circuit. Every work of his shows his artistic calibre. Meeting him and dedicating the award to him has only given me more inspiration to approach a subject in a way that it is presented as conceived,” Chilkuri Sushil Rao said.

B Narsing Rao wished Chilkuri Sushil Rao many more accolades.

Synopsis of the documentary: It was the year 1908. A cloud burst caused a deluge in Hyderabad. The Musi river overflowed. The tragedy was that on September 28 as many as 15,000 people lost their lives. In the midst of this, 150 were able to save their lives climbing a tree and clinging on to its branches. The  tree stands tall and strong at Afzalgunj in the old city in Hyderabad. Local groups and tree lovers visit the place and commemorate the event. The tree is said to be 200 years ago and is part of the history of the city which was founded in 1591 by Mohd Quli Qutb Shah.

 

                                       

Chilkuri Brothers performs Burrakatha, a Telangana traditional folk art form on Christmas day

Chilkuri Vasanth Rao was the main performer with his brothers Chilkuri Shyam Rao and Chilkuri Sushil Rao being co-performers.

It was in 1978 that the first performance was given by the folk artistes. The story of ‘Samson and Delilah’ was performed at more than 60 places during the initial years itself. The places include apart from several places in Hyderabad, at Medak, Sangareddy, Nalgonda, Kamareddy, Yellareddyguda,  Vizag, Vizianagaram, Kakinada.

“Recollecting the entire story was not so easy but once we got into the narration, the sequence of story fell in line,” Chilkuri Vasanth Rao said. During the early years of their performance, the Chilkuri Burrakatha Brundham received encouragement from the well-known Surabhi Theatre Group which used to provide costumes to the troupe.

The stories that were narrated through the folk art include the story of ‘Nehemiah’ also from the Bible. The performances used to be mainly given during ‘jatharas’ churches used to hold on special occasions.

Chilkuri Vasanth Rao holds a Ph D from Germany and is currently Principal of United Theological College, Bengaluru. His elder brother Chilkuri Shyam Rao is a leading advocate in Hyderabad and his younger brother Chilkuri Sushil Rao is a filmmaker and mediaperson.

While the three brothers have performed and recorded several Telangana Christian folk songs over the years, the Burrakatha performance was given after a long gap, mostly recollecting from memory what used to be performed more than 40 years ago.

 

                     Meeting Sesanka, the man who introduced me to the internet in 1997

                                 

We met after 25 years. Sesanka Pemmaraju works for the Indian School of Business (ISB), Hyderabad, as Director, Information Technology. At his office room, I noticed a poster. It read: It’s about PEOPLE Not just Technology. This poster aptly defines Sesanka.

Let me use this space to mention something related. Comet Hale Bopp, described as the ‘The Great Comet of 1997’ was visible to the naked eye having faintly be seen and observed the previous year. It is said by scientists that the comet had previously made its appearance 4,200 years ago (source: Wikipedia).  The other details are technical with more scientific explanations but I am not going to delve more into it here. However, the comet had caught my fascination.

There was worldwide interest in the comet. I was working for Andhra Pradesh Times, a newly launched newspaper in Hyderabad at that time. With my fascination for space, I met Dr B G Siddharth, the director of Birla Science Centre. Dr Siddharth who headed the Birla Plantetarium was someone who everyone would flock to for everything related to the sky, planets, space and everything under the sun and around it. I wrote a news report about Comet Hale Bopp after speaking with him and how and where people could see it with the naked eye.

Sesanka was heading the IT department at AP Times, the newspaper I was working for.  He was responsible for all the technology involved with the making of the newspaper.

As I was sitting at my desk, Sesanka approached me and said: “Do you know that you can get more information about Hale Bopp?” My curiosity was aroused. The man who is otherwise completely occupied with his own work, walked me to his workstation. “These are the pictures. This is the information. You can get more information on this. Not just on this but much more about many other subjects,” Sesanka told me.

I gaped at him with amazement. “You can sit here and use my computer anytime to explore all the information that you want to,” Sesanka said.

This was the first time I had got introduced to the internet. And the wonder of it.

Internet was accessible for the public for the first time in India 1995 and in a limited way. It was still in its infancy. I had heard about it but could not visualise or imagine what it was. And here was Sesanka, with a great deal of interest explaining to me something that fascinated me.

The following year in 1998,  I wrote for Rediff-on-the-net, a news website which had gained popularity. I also used to write for a website called “Andhraonline”. I would do interviews and write regularly for it. But I used to have a difficult time explaining to people what the internet was and what a website.

Over a period of time, the internet became more known ad there were more websites and portals. And then came the dotcom bust. The talk was like there was no future for the internet and the domcoms were described as dotcons in derision.

The internet survived it all. It is the year 2022 and no one can survive without the internet.

Back to Sesanka who introduced me to the internet. As we sat for a talk in his office at ISB, he went back in time. He told me had educated himself in computers and taught at NIIT for five years before leaving for the US. After a couple of years, he returned to India and worked in top positions in different companies. He has been with ISB for more than three years now.

We were in touch in for the last couple of years or so but Covid came in the way and we could not meet.

Why did I want to meet Sensaka? This was for more than one reason. The big reason, of course, was that he introduced me to the internet, showed me how to use it and gave me the liberty to explore it.

More importantly, it is his nature. He, being an IT person, could have well been satisfied that he was performing his job well as the newspaper was getting published in time with the best quality possible. What stood out about him was the fact that not only did he read the newspaper thoroughly, he also went out of his way to see if he could be of help to colleagues during a transitional era where technology was beginning to change the world around you and the world itself.

On December 20, 2022 when I went to ISB and met Sesanka,  I was pleased to see him. I went to thank him for the person who he was. As one who introduced me to the internet when hardly anyone had practical knowledge of it, I would say Sesanka’s great gesture in opening up a whole new world for me will never be forgotten by me. Thank you Sesanka.

 

Documentary filmmaker Chilkuri Sushil Rao’s “India’s GreenHeart Dusharla Satyanarayana” has won the Special Jury Award at the Telangana International Film Festival (TIFF). 

The  awards ceremony held on December 15, 2022 at Prasad Labs preview theatre at Banjara Hills in Hyderabad.

The award was presented to the film maker by noted lyricist Suddala Ashok Teja,  TIFF founder and film director Manjula Surooju, Telangana State Police Academy deputy director R Giridhar, IPS, Murali Dharmapuri of TIFF from Australia and other dignitaries.

The 10-minutes documentary was also screened as part of the awards ceremony. A documentary on bio-degradable carry bags, the technology for which was developed at DRDO was also given the Special Jury Award and presented to scientist K Veera Brahmam.

In all 100 entries were received for the film festival out of which two were selected for the Special Jury Awards and three shorts films for the awards.

“The award is a recognition for the selfless climate activist Dusharla Satyanarayana. The choice of the jury in selecting the film only shows the importance that they have accorded to the idea of preserving nature and environment,” documentary filmmaker Chilkuri Sushil Rao said at the awards function.

“India’s GreenHeart Dusharla Satyanarayana” is about 69-year-old Dusharla Satyanarayana, who created a forest on forest on his 70 acre of ancestral land at Raghavapuram near Suryapet town. He started developing the forest more than six decades ago and preserves it. The nature-lover and environmentalist has taken up many causes in his several decades of public life.

At the awards presentation ceremony, noted lyricist Suddala Ashok Teja while lauded the film festival organiser Manjula Surooju for conducting the festival as a platform to showcase the works of independent film makers in particular.

Suddala Ashok Teja also appreciated Dusharla Satyanarayana for his work on preserving environment. A book titled “Nenu Adavani Matladuthunna” (This is Me, the forest speaking) authored by Suddala Ashok Teja was presented to documentary filmmaker Chilkuri Sushil Rao on the occasion.

The short film “Pullaiss” directed by Shivani Naidu was adjudged best short film. The film is about  a mentally challenged widowed mother and her son and their everyday life. 

 

 

 

 

When I was at Chanchalguda jail (outside), ‘Rahul & Johnson’ arrived in one of the latest cars of that time.

Ch Sushil Rao blogpost: In 2002, Don Abu Salem and actress Monica Bedi were arrested in Lisbon, Portugal and extradited to India. Monica Bedi was lodged at the Central Prison for Women at Chanchalguda in Hyderabad and Abu Salem was lodged in a Mumbai jail. There was a big crowd at the Chanchalguda jail, but mostly media personnel, television camera crew, the curious local public and the police. I’d met Monica Bedi a couple of times some years ago as she had acted in a few Telugu films. This was as part of my work as a journalist. Little did I imagine that her life would take a different turn.

Let’s get back to ‘Rahul & Johnson’. On the pavement and in the visitors’ open area in front of it near the Chanchalguda jail, the media waited for several hours. Would any of her family or relatives come? Anyone and everyone who remotely gave the impression that they were not from Hyderabad was suspect. Could it be them? There was only disappointment. None of them ‘lived up to the expectations’. That’s when ‘Rahul & Johnson’ arrived on the scene. They arrived in one of those latest cars of that time. They looked rich. Fashionable. Sad. Soon enough, they were mobbed by the media, mainly the television crew. They did not shy away from the media. They were patient and willing to answer questions. They came out of their car and stood as a number of television cameras zoomed into their faces. “We are very sad for what happened,” one of them said. “She was not the type that indulged in any activities against the country. We believe she is innocent,” Rahul & Johnson said.

Monica Bedi who had been extradited was charged with fraudulently getting a passport in Hyderabad.

‘Rahul & Johnson’ hoped that she would be out of the jail soon and they had come there to meet her if the jail officials permitted them. By their talk and ‘appearance’ it did look like they could have been related to the actress. However, they clarified that they were not related to her. “I myself am an actor. I have acted with her in a few films and I am a friend. At this moment, I am here to  show  that we care for her and hope she will fight the legal battle and come out of jail,” ‘Rahul & Johnson’ said. They went back in the same car they had come in. For the hordes of media men, especially television crew, it was worth the effort and time. Finally, they had spoken to someone close to Monica Bedi.

I knew ‘Rahul & Johnson’. Not personally. I’d seen them in the area vrooming on their motorbike creating a ruckus. They found an opportunity that would give them their 15 minutes of fame. I watched them as they acted out their roles in front of television cameras. I stayed away from talking to them. It would have been impossible to stop the television crews of all the channels from falling into the trap of Rahul & Johnson. After the duo left, I told them that they duo lived locally at Chanchalguda as I had seen them before. Some locals who had also gathered by them laughed and confirmed that the ‘Rahul & Johnson’  the television crew had interviewed were in no way connected to Monica Bedi and they had pulled a prank on the media.

Why this? Why now? Legitimate questions. Two persons identifying themselves as Rahul Ligma and Daniel Johnson posing as fired employees of twitter spoke to the media in front of Twitter’s headquarters in San Francisco. They explained how their services had been terminated. It soon dawned on the media that it had been taken for a ride by the duo. They were not employees of Twitter and they had not been sacked.  Elon Musk who acquired twitter displayed his characteristic humour by posting a photograph of himself with ‘Rahul and Johnson’ beside him saying that they had been reinstated and firing them was a mistake. That too was a prank.

The Chanchalguda version of ‘Rahul & Johnson’ however, will be my choice for the top honours if I were to have a say on who acted better. The San Francisco duo can settle for the second spot.

 

Ch Sushil Rao: Queen Elizabeth II has passed away. My recollections with The Royal family. 

On November 20, 1983 Queen Elizabeth II visited the Holy Trinity Church at Bolarum in Secunderbad and attended the Sunday worship service there. The Queen and Prince Philip were on a visit to India and the occasion was their 36^th wedding anniversary.

 I have a photograph of the Queen at the Holy Trinity Church where she was given a traditional welcome with a garland. The then Bishop-in-Medak Rt Rev Victor Premasagar, Rev B P Sugandhar, Rev Hamiltan, the presbyter of the church at that time and other senior officials of the diocese welcome the Queen. My eldest brother-in-law Vennamalla Padma Rao, as an official of the Medak diocese is standing on the extreme right of the photograph behind the Queen during her visit.  During this visit to Hyderabad, the Queen and Prince Philip attended some programmes together and in a packed schedule chose to attend some of them separately.

Queen Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom passed away at Balmoral Castle in the UK on September 8, 2022. She was 96. Prince Philip, the Queen’s husband passed away on April 9, 2021. The couple’s eldest son Prince Charles, the who was coronated Prince of Wales in 1969 by the Queen will be the next monarch of UK.

It was during a tumultuous period in their relationship that Prince Charles and Princess Diana visited Hyderabad. It was not too much in the public about how they were not able to see eye to eye but grapevine had it that they were putting up a show as still being a couple in love. That the fairy tale wedding that was of them was crumbling was quite evident when I went to the Begumpet airport when Prince Charles and Lady Diana were on a visit to Hyderabad.

The couple visited Hyderabad on February 14, 1992. I was working for Deccan Chronicle at that time. I went to the airport after finding out the time of their arrival. It was late in the night. After the aircraft landed, the couple were given a simple welcome and they got on to a open top vehicle to acknowledge the motley crowd of officials. Having heard about the cracks in their relationship, I paid attention to every detail during the time that I was at the airport, observing the couple. Both looked cheerful. Both smiled. Both waved. Both stood beside each other and looked very happy indeed. As I said, I was concentrating more on where I could observe the cracks in the relationship rather than the mandatory show that they were putting up as a royal couple.

For as long as they were at the airport, I noticed that the couple had not exchanged a word. Maybe it wasn’t necessary as they were to respond to the welcome being accorded to them. They did not look at each other, though standing beside one another. Maybe it was not necessary as they had to look in different directions to acknowledge the small group of officials and a handful of mediamen who had come. I did some more homework. I checked with the five-star hotel where the couple were put up. It was glaring. They were in separate rooms and not close to one another. Maybe it was for the sake of comfort and convenience. I’ve argued on behalf of them so that I do not draw any conclusions myself – reading too much into what was not really significant. The fact remains that I noticed the cracks. On August 31, 1997 Princess Diana died in a car crash in Paris. The gulf had widened between Prince Charles and Lady Diana over the years and she was practically living her life the way she wanted. On April 9, 2005, Prince Charles married Camila Parker Bowles.

 There was no occasion for me to meet Prince Chales or Lady Diana during their visit to Hyderabad except for being there at the Begumpet airport and also to assume that in the darkness they had also waved to me as I was among the few people to be at the airport.

The meeting with Queen’s Elizabeth’s husband, Prince Philip, however, is vivid in my memory. This is something that I had written about in the blog earlier when he died last year and I reproduce it here again.

Music wafted in the air. Mandolin Srinivas created magic as we sat down to listen to him weave magic on his instrument on the lawns of Jubilee hall in Hyderabad .  The concert for the small gathering was organized for Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburg one evening when he was on a visit to the city in  1997. He had come to India with his wife, the Queen of England, Queen Elizabeth. While the Queen went about engagements that had been fixed for her, Prince Philip had programmes to attend in three other cities, including Hyderabad.

Having some idea about the royalty and the protocol, it was only expected that the Prince would at the most spend a few minutes at the very formal event. But Prince Philip seemed to enjoy the evening with the lilting music of U Srinivas.  There suddenly was some commotion among the officials. Departing from Protocol, the Prince had expressed a desire to meet all the artistes who had performed and also the motley group of people who had been invited for the occasion.

I was there as a reporter and it did come as a bit of a surprise as we informed that the Prince Philip would walk down to where we were sitting. Just so that there would be no commotion, the officials while conveying the desire of the Prince, asked all the artistes who were with mandolin Srinivas, to be gathered at a particular place on the lawn, not far from the dais that has been put up for the day’s cultural performance. 

Meeting Prince Philip that day turned out to be interesting because he had been informed that it the evening’s programme was a ‘formal event’ and that meeting or talking to Prince Philip was out of question. Prince Philip who was 76 years old then, not only enjoy the classical music concern but he expressing a desire to meet the guests of the evening, left a great impression on everyone who came.  Protocol officials cautioned the group of people against extending their hand to shake hands with the Prince but, of course, if he chose to, they could. And the Prince did choose to mingle freely with the gathering, shaking hands with some but with a genuine smile all through.

Prince Philip is known to be a man with a great amount of humour and the informal manner in which he interacted gave me an insight into another side of the British royalty.

 

 

 It is not unusual to hear someone hum a song as they listen to music during their metro train journey, but this young man was different. He began singing loudly.

Right into my ears. He was so engrossed in the song, which he seemed to like a lot, listening to it with his earphones, but he became completely oblivious to everyone else around him. He interrupted his listening. “Keep an eye on Adi,” he told him. “Look at the status on his social media and you’ll known why I am telling you that,” he explained to the person at the other end who probably asked him why.

A little while into the conversation, our young man on the metro train asked his friend if he could arrange some money for him. He was not too bothered about the people around him who could hear the conversation. He hardly seemed aware that his voice was loud and audible and even if people did not want to pay attention to his conversation on the phone, the only choice they had to was move away from him. There was no space to go anywhere else as more people had got into the train by then. “I happened to buy a piece of land though I had no plans of doing that,” he told his friend. He had to pay for 33 guntas of land (that is 3,993 square yards) and he did not have that much money. From the conversation, everyone understood that he already had bought one acre of land. The man from whom he had purchased had told him that there was a road pathway to his land. However, he was now being asked to pay for that pathway. He could share the cost with another person who would also be benefitted by the pathway to his land.

It was obvious that the person at the other end of the phone was not too enthusiastic about responding positively to his plea. “Just keep it in mind at least. I might call you next month,” he told him.

The next call was to Adi. With Adi, he came straight to the point. Adi too seemed indifferent to the request as it could be gauged from the voice of the young man on the metro. “It looks like you have a policy in life to perpetually tell people that you have a lot of debts to clear. You are adopting a strategy so that no request can be made to you for a loan. I need Rs 4 lakh,” the young man told Adi.

Adi, it appeared, was plain and told him it was impossible for him to accommodate his request. After some more not-so-polite talk, the young man hung up. No anger. No ill-will.

He then started singing again – like he was the male singer in the duet he was listening to on his earphones. I had no choice but to lend an ear.

 

How KCR won his first poll battle with tact and other stories his friends in Chintamadaka told me

The odds were stacked against him. The rival seemed invincible. Seemed. He had the numbers. Kalvakuntla Chandrasekhar Rao had the verve.

Something had to be done. Something had to be done quick.

Elections for the cooperative bank in Siddipet were being conducted. For the young man who was making his foray into an electoral battle, a win was what he was hungry for. If he lost, he would have lost nothing because the battle lines were clear, and it was evident that he would not make it. Who stood a better chance than him was evident from the fact that his supporters were known? They would stand by him in thick and thin. The rival, of course, did not think much of the Chandrasekhar Rao's challenge. He knew him. But from the outcome of the election, he became aware that he did not know him well enough. 

Chandrasekhar Rao had managed to pull all stops and be one up over him. The result came as a shocker. There was confusion all around. What did Chandrasekhar Rao do to emerge a winner in his very first electoral battle - a small beginning as it was?

"He had a trick up his sleeve," laughed a villager of Chintamadaka village in Siddipet of Telangana. As the battle lines were drawn and it became quite evident that Chandrasekhar Rao would in no way be able to make it, it set him thinking. Thinking hard. Strategizing. It was an 'out of the box' thinking. It needed more than imagination because the plan had to be executed without fail and the operation being kept a closely guarded secret.

As I sat under a tree in Chintamadaka village where Chandrasekhar Rao was born, the villagers who were playing a game of dice, stopped the game midway to talk to me. As an elderly man recounted the election, another man went about signalling to him to not spill the beans. They would rather it remain a closely kept secret about how Chandrasekhar Rao drew up the battle lines and caught his rivals off-guard. It needed tact. It needed to be kept a secret. It needed to be executed just in time. He won. 

Chandrasekhar Rao who had strategized to win his first election,  pursued his  political career, forming a political party - Telangana Rashtra Samithi - and also fighting for and achieving a separate Telangana state. As chief minister of India's newest state, he went on to lead his party to victory in the assembly polls again in 2018 and became chief minister for the second time.

I was curious to know from the  villagers how KCR had his first success in the bank cooperative polls. "He would have lost by one vote," the elderly man explained. "But he won by one vote," he said. But how did he manage it? "He was intelligent and sharp. Like he still is," the elderly man explained. There is a story behind what went into the winning strategy. And that something the rivals had no inkling about. 

Under the tree in Chintamadaka village, I played dice with the friendly villages. A close friend of KCR who studied with him recalled that as a child they would travel to school together and return to the village. “He had the power to grasp anything quickly. He would finish reading a book in just a matter of time,” he said. No wonder KCR has claimed that he has read 80,000 books in his life so far and he continues the habit.

The success in the cooperative bank polls was a huge win particularly in the face of a tough competition. He was not one to be deterred. KCR’s elder brother Kalvakuntla Ranga Rao was a youth Congress worker. KCR joined in his footsteps into politics but there came a time when he had to be on his feet alone as a politician as his brother passed away. The bigger challenge came when he was N T Rama Rao chose him as the newly founded Telugu Desam Party (TDP) to contest the Siddipet assembly seat on the party’s ticket. KCR did not have to think twice about it. If he had political ambitions, he would pursue them, come what may. Even if it meant, contesting against his own leader. KCR pitted himself against Congress leader Madan Mohan in the election. It was another matter that in the past he had worked for Madan Mohan’s success in the Siddipet assembly election. Now was his chance to climb the political ladder.

The fall was great. KCR lost. The fall was not crippling. In the next elections in 1985, KCR defeated Madan Mohan in Siddipet and since then it has remained his pocket borough.

“Even when he was a child, I noticed that he was a sharp learner. I did not have an iota of doubt that one day he would become the chief minister,” KCR’s brother-in-law P Yeshwanth Rao told me at Raj Bhavan during the swearing of KCR as CM for the second time after the triumph of TRS in the 2018 elections.

Jab we met for lunch

"Why? Don't you want to have lunch with me?" Chandrasekhar Rao asked me noticing the slight hesitation on  my face.

 "Tomorrow you are coming to my house and we will sit for lunch," he said. That was a decision. And he conveyed it strongly. I intervened. "It's just that we would like to meet you. Talk to you and understand the mission that you have taken up," I said.

"We will meet over lunch. That’s it," he said emphatically.  Of course, I was more than happy if the meeting happened over lunch as we would get more time to spend with him and get to more insight into how he was going his mission – a daunting task. At this point of time, no light was sighted at the end of the tunnel. It was as if he was only day-dreaming. There were critics. There were those who dismissed him. There were those who made light of him. There were those who laughed at him. There were those who chose to ignore him. There were those who felt he merited little attention. But there was one thing, Chandrasekhar Rao had been able to do. Arouse interest in the cause.

As part of my work as a journalist, I had been meeting the Telangana Rashtra Samithi founder-president Kalvakuntla Chandrasekhar Rao frequently after he launched the political party. This conversation about meeting again over lunch took place at the old office of the party a few years before the party moved into the  newly constructed building in 2006.

My then editor Kingshuk Mukherjee (who is now no more) wanted to understand the Telangana movement and the struggle for a separate state. Who best would be able to describe it other than the man who himself was spearheading the struggle? 

In the old office, KCR would usually sit at his table in a room adjoining the hall after he would address a press conference. During this time more informal talk would happen with reporters, across the table. On day, he seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. No one knew of any party programme that he had planned that day. It came as a bit of surprise. "I'm going to Abids," he said. "Looks like I need a new pair of footwear. I'm going to Bata where I usually buy my footwear," KCR said. And left.

It was on one of these occasions as we sat in his room for an informal talk that  I asked if my resident editor could drop by at the office to meet him and sought to know when it be a convenient time for him for us to chat with him.

"Why don’t you come to my house? Please bring him and we could talk over lunch," he said. "Just a meeting will do. Not necessarily over lunch,” I said. "Why? Don't you want to have lunch with me?" he said as if objecting to my refusal.

The next day, we drove down to his house at Nandinagar in Banjara Hills. We could spot him on the balcony.

"Have some biryani," he said as he served some in my plate. There was a big spread on the table. Biryani apart, rice and different curries. "You must taste these," he suggested and insisting on himself serving the food on  Mukherjee and another colleague’s plates. It was after the lunch that he spent a few hours describing what the need for a separate state was felt. “These are historical facts that you should know. Only in the backdrop of this will you be able to rightly interpret the movement that I have taken up,” he said. Even if it was the simplest of questions, he answered in detail.

Chandrasekhar Rao was by no means of description could one call a foodie. While he chose to serve us, there was hardly anything on his plate. This is what I got to see  subsequently also. During the multiple and regular meetings that he used to hold with leaders at his house on the first floor every day, lunch was not on the menu. Discussion would continue. He would make do with some 'mirchi bajji'.

On yet another occasion, we drove with him in his vehicle to Mahbubnagar where he was to visit a dargah. During the entire time of the journey, from Hyderabad, KCR talked about how it would be inevitable for the centre to give in to the demand for a separate Telangana state. We reached Mahbubnagar, and here too, he hardly ate anything while he ensured that there were proper arrangements for everyone to have their food, including the few of us who travelled with him in his vehicle. 

"They have all ganged up against a thin and lean man like me," he would say while addressing public meetings and attacking rival political parties accusing them of being a hurdle in the aspirations of Telangana people being achieved for a separate state. "I may be a 'bakka peesu (thin) but I am a 'mondi' (adamant) and one who never gives up," he would say addressing crowds. 

The post-lunch session was engrossing. Having explained his cause with facts and figures, he emphasized that he was wedded to his cause. "Nothing less than a separate state is acceptable," he said making his stand clear. That became a reality years later.

The 16-year-old tribal girl’s fate was sealed in a room with no door. 

She was now like a caged bird. She would not be able to come out of the tiny room . Four walls and a slab roof were raised.   Before the last portion of a wall was constructed, she was sent into the room. That was to be the end of her contact with the world.

Like others of her age, she would no longer be able to run around and play. Like others in her community, she would not be able to join in the celebratory dances.

The girl was now deprived of all her freedom. The  parents and family were fine with it. The relatives were happy. The man who celebrated this most was the girl’s brother-in-law.  He had constructed what he described as a temple and the living deity was the girl. She was no idol. She was a living person, breathing. If the room was sealed without even as much as a door, where would she get air to breathe? Good question. Would she be deprived of food too? Was this not practically burying her alive?

It was in her brother-in-law’s interest to keep her alive. So, he provided a window, about one feet by one feet. It was sealed with a grill. Through that the girl was given food to eat to survive.

Word spread about this in the neighbouring villages. People started making a trip to visit the deity and pay their obeisance. The village gained fame. The notoriety of the brother-in-law was more than evident for someone sitting like me in Hyderabad.

I decided to make a trip to this village in Mahbubnagar. I took a bus with my photographer. This was during 1997-98. I made enquiries in Hyderabad itself on how to reach the village. The bus would stop close to the village. I got down the bus. Would it take five minutes to walk to reach the village? “How close is it,” I asked people on the road. “Koothakotha dooram,” the first man responded. He had given the right answer. This is what I had come to know  before I started from Hyderabad. The literal meaning is that it was as close as  the sound of a bird’s cry could be heard. “Walkable?” I asked. “Walkable,” those on the road said. I heard the chirping of birds. I heard the cry of the crow. Going by that, I should have reached the village in 10 minutes, if not five. “Which way to the village?” I asked passersby. “Proceed straight,” they guided. “How far?” “Just ahead of those big trees visible.” There was no village there. “You have to walk slightly further,” I was told. I walked slightly further. I could only see the road expanding before me.

The journey was more arduous than I had imagined. It took one and a half hours to reach the village – by walk. Midway, a question arose. If this is how long it will take to reach the village, how would we be able to spend enough time there and return back to catch what would probably be the last bus towards evening to take us back to Hyderabad? “There’s no turning back,” I told myself. The purpose had to be achieved.

The village was lively. There was a trickle of people. I was given directions to the house of the girl’s parents. They took me to  show their daughter enclosed in a room. “Food is given to her from the window,” they told me. I had questions. What about nature’s call? “She uses the room itself,” was the answer.

I asked them to call the girl so that I could speak to her. They did not. They did not want to. But I wanted to speak to the girl. I was disallowed. Then I sought to know if she indeed was there in the room? That is when they called out to her and she responded in a low voice. But she would not come face to face to the window. She was not allowed to.

How could it be acceptable to the family, the relatives and people of the Thanda (a lambada hamlet) to enclose a girl in a small room and cut of her contact with the outside world? But everyone seemed okay with the arrangement. Okay was not okay for me.

I went around speaking with more people in the village as to what they thought of this. Some shied away from the question. This, for me, was a good sign. If some people were refusing to answer, it meant there were hiding their genuine opinions, which went against the popular opinion. Refusing to express an opinion was an indication that they had an opinion. I went around casually speaking to more people in the village. This time the questions were not piercing. The questions were not to sound interrogative. Chatting up casually was the best thing to do.

The villain, it turned out, was her brother-in-law. The mastermind had a clever plan, as it turned out. He had gone to Bombay to make a living as a construction worker. “He kept coming and going to Bombay. And now he intends to settle in the village itself,” a villager told me. The intent was clear. A hundi that was kept near the room said it all. People coming from the villages nearby would make an offering. That would be his source of earning.

It was to get this money that he conceived this idea of making a deity of the girl. This was criminal intent. This was a clear case of exploitation of a girl. My probe was complete now. I was  keen on to rush back to Hyderabad. Would I get a bus? The weather seemed pleasant. It was cloudy and the walk back was not difficult, more so because my mind was light because of the information that I had been able to gather.

The wind was not pleasant anymore. It was more like a gale. So strong was the wind that I had to run for cover. My photographer and I took refuge under a tree. The danger was that the tree would probably get uprooted because of the wind. There were no houses close by. No vehicles were passing that way. No shelter around. The tree became unreliable for protection.

My feet were literally giving way because of the heavy wind that was blowing. It was clear that we would be swept away. There was to be no doubt about it. Not realising this was foolishness. Before we ran into this tumultuous weather, we came across another journalist friend, who was headed to the village that had come from. I wondered about his safety. As for me, I decided to lie down now. I held on to the grass and ground. Resisted the strong wind.  There was a high chance that we would get blown away by the mind and land somewhere – alive or not was another question.

We held on to dear life. The wind subsided after a harrowing experience that we went through. Reached Hyderabad. Published the story in the newspaper. The exploitation of the girl was highlighted. The administration promptly responded. The girl was set free from the cage of walls that had been built for her by her greedy brother-in-law who wanted to make money through her. The reports that my other journalist friend wrote and what we reported were more than enough for the authorities to understand what was going on in the Thanda.  

  “So, I managed to get lodged in the jail,” Rajappa told me. 

Sam Rajappa's entire focus in life at that point of time was to get jailed. He was eager to enter the prison. And stay there within its four walls, sacrificing his freedom.  Who would want to end up in jail? If there are life goals, this one is not included in anyone’s list. It sure does not figure in the bucket list of anyone.

In Sangareddy district of Telangana, there is an old jail where you can pay and spend time in jail and experience the spirit of ‘lack of freedom’. But that is a luxury. You ask for it. Get it. ‘Jail tourism’ is promoted so as to give people a chance to spend time in the decades old structure. If a jail cell is what one gets to see in movies and form an opinion about, this prison gives up the atmosphere because it originally was a jail before a new building was constructed.

We are not talking about jail tourism here. It was about breaking into a jail itself. Sam Rajappa worked for the Statesman and a journalist respected in the profession. “How could you think of landing yourself in jail?” I asked Rajappa. “Getting into the jail was the only way out,” he said. How did he manage to do it? But pray why would anyone want to land in jail? Rajappa did not want to land in jail. He wanted to land in that jail. There was a purpose. A need. And a burning desire to dig for the truth. The truth, he knew was bound in the lock-up of a police station. If he had to bring out the truth, he needed to break into that jail. Breaking into a jail is not as simple as walking into a café to have a cup of tea. It is not like entering a park to take a stroll.

To enter a jail one must get arrested. To be arrested, one must commit a crime. To commit a crime one must take some hard decisions. Rajappa did not commit a crime but devised a plan. A simple act of breaking the law itself could land him in prison. No harm to anyone. The journalist in the soft-spoken Rajappa was on fire. It was within. There was a larger cause.

An engineering student had vanished. It was assumed that he was picked up by the police. There was reason to believe that. But what happened after that? Where was he? No one knew. The police denied any knowledge of him. P Rajan was a student of Regional Engineering College, Calicut (Source: Wikipedia). There was no trace of him since March 1, 1976.

Somewhere, the truth was bound in chains and kept away from the reach of anyone. If Rajan was picked up by the police, something that they denied, Rajappa wanted to get to the truth. “Another student was also arrested by the police and lodged in the jail. If only I could get into the jail, I knew it would give a chance to speak to him and find out what happened directly from him,” Rajappa told me.

Who was Rajappa and who was I? And why was I discussing what happened more than 50 years ago with him.

I wanted to speak with Rajappa. It had been a long time. Long time, since both us stood in a court room to stand for trial in a case that had been booked against us in Hyderabad. This was also in connection with our professional work during the late 90s. Rajappa used to fly down from Chennai to attend the court proceedings. It was about a report that was published in AP Times for which he was Editor during 1996-97.  I was a reporter in the newspaper and was the one who had written the articles. Sam Rajappa who was a well-known and respected journalist all over the country for his exploits  stood showing all due respect to the court. I would always make it a point to accompany him till the gate of the Nampally criminal courts and wait until he got into an auto.

One could wave an auto and get into it. How could one simply walk into a prison and ask to be lodged there? Only a court could direct that someone be sent to jail. Let’s get back to the famous Kerala Rajan case. “I had friends,” Rajappa said continuing our conversation on the phone. He had friends who could get him to be lodged in a jail! Everyone did their part and Rajappa successfully entered the jail, rightfully. He had broken into the jail and he had a right to be in jail! “I met Rajan’s friend in jail. He explained to me what had happened with Rajan. I got it directly from the one who saw it, the only man who knew,” Rajappa recalled as our phone conversation continued, perhaps for more than an hour.

The adventure, something that hardly anyone would want to take, got Rajappa to the truth that he was so much craving to get to. Through his reports in the newspaper later, the true investigative reporter that he was, Rajappa brought out the facts. Eventually, the police had to admit that they indeed had picked up Rajan and he had died in police custody. For Rajan’s father Eachara Warrier who had knocked on the doors of the courts seeking the whereabouts of his missing son, the investigation done by Sam Rajappa was crucial.

The daring act of Sam Rajappa to take his investigative skills into the prison became a talking point in the country in the 1970s.

“Journalism was not my first interest,” Rajappa told me as we continued our conversation. He had strayed into it. And stayed in it. Journalism did not want to leave him. Neither did he after what became a solid bond with The Statesman.

When a new newspaper, AP Times, was launched by K T Mahi, a businessman, in Hyderabad, I joined it. Rajappa unsettled me as soon as he arrived from Chennai. I had made a conscious career decision. I joined the features desk. I wanted to write my heart out. I had been a reporter since 1988. And now decided to shift gear a bit. Features gave me the scope to develop my writing skills.

My joy was short lived. Rajappa came to take full charge as the editor a few days after the newspaper was launched. He would give it a direction. In the process, he gave me a ‘U turn’.  In his gentle voice, Rajappa dropped a bombshell. “You should be doing hardcore reporting like you have been doing all along,” he told me. I heard him. I was hearing something that I did not want to hear.

After a stint in Citizen’s Evening where I started in 1988, and then worked for five years in Deccan Chronicle, I had joined the Guardian, a newspaper that was intended to be launched. I worked there for a year but the newspaper was not launched. Everyday, we would work like the edition would hit the stands the next day as dummies were being brought out. It never did and eventually got closed. In the Guardian, as I arrived at the office, there was a message waiting for me. “The editor wants to see you,” a colleague informed. The editor Narendar Reddy was a nice man. He had a chequered career, most of it in Delhi and had a good standing.

“You have to head a team that we are creating. The focus will be on city coverage,” the editor told me. I liked the ‘focus’ part of it. As for reporting about the city, I had been doing it for seven years until then. The team was in place. The planning happened everyday. The stories were delivered. The pages were made. The editor was brought out. Except that the newspaper did not hit the stands. The paper was not formally launched. The owner Magunta Subbirami Reddy whose interest it was to launch the paper was killed by the Naxalites. The family lost interest in the newspaper. That was when AP Times came up on the scene.

In the one year or so of heading the reporting team at Guardian, I felt my energies were unnecessarily being diverted in managing a team. So, when I joined AP Times, I chose to get into the features department – so that I could enjoy doing my writing. I did enjoy. Until Sam Rajappa came and applied brakes on what I was doing.

Much as I wanted to be in features, when Sam Rajappa told me that he would like me to do regular reporting, I did not resist the idea. After all, I had joined the newspaper and it was the discretion of the Editor as to how he would utilise me in the overall interest of the newspaper. Sam Rajappa was to drop a bigger bombshell a little later – something that I was not prepared for. “I am carving out a city bureau. You will have to head the team,” he told me. Just what I did not want! Just what I had run away from! The last thing that I wanted to do. There was finality in his words, though the words were polite and the demeanour pleasant. He had decided. I was not given a choice.

Understanding Sam Rajappa was tough. His nature was uncommon. It was a culture shock, literally. While working at my desk, glued to the computer screen (I get so immersed), I began writing a news report. It was only until I was satisfied with how I had framed my copy that I looked up – only to notice Sam Rajappa who had been standing behind me. He chose not to disturb me when I was writing. He waited until I looked up to notice him and only then told me something that he had come to convey. Did Sam Rajappa have a choice? He had plenty. He could have shouted aloud from his cabin asking me to come. That was not his style. He would never raise his voice. He could have asked the office boy to tell me that I should go and see him. That was not how he functioned. More easily, he could have called me on the landline extension and I would have rushed to his chamber. That wasn’t the style of a gentleman that he was.

Sam Rajappa was a human first. Everything else was secondary. Being like that had its risks. Perhaps, everyone would take advantage of his good nature. Perhaps subordinates would take him for granted. Those were the perils. Sam Rajappa dealt with those. Firstly, he did not consider anyone a subordinate. Irrespective of the time of the day, whether he had come across them before or not, Sam Rajappa would give a smile. This brought a sense of belonging to everyone in the office. No one was less important. No one more. No one was preferred more. No one less. No one discriminated against. No one favoured.

One would look forward to a new day at office. That was because there was much to learn from Sam Rajappa. There was much more to unlearn. Much of the learning did not happen because of his teaching. It happened by looking at the way he conducted himself and treated everyone with love and respect.

All of us would be eager to look at the newspaper that Sam Rajappa would so carefully read the next day. The errors and mistakes would be marked. He would write what the corrections should have been. This served as a reference to everyone and it would be in circulation throughout the day in every department. As a matter of fact, different departments would want to take a first look at the copy. All this so that everyone could learn and improve. No mistake was corrected pointing out an individual. No one was made to feel guilty or inefficient or not up to the mark. It was this atmosphere that Sam Rajappa created on the floor of the office that everyone would go out of their way to give their best, if not more.

Having said that, it should not be surmised that the good man after all was not a tough man. When certain decisions had to be taken, he would be knowing only too well that they would make him unpopular. It was not something that weighed on his mind. He was far beyond anyone having to give him a certificate.

There came a time when the Sam Rajappa everyone loved faced a situation where he was accused of not doing enough to show himself to be on the side of the employees when the management decided to shut down the newspaper when it ran into some problems in a partnership. The situation was beyond his control. He did little to protect himself against criticism. He did not go out of his way to convince anyone that he had done what he could in the circumstances.

The day he left office for the last time, I accompanied him to a distance where he got into an auto. He went back to the Statesman which had always felt he was a part of it.

Sam Rajappa, 80, and writing for the newspaper till his last days,  passed away on January 16, 2022 in Canada while on a visit to one of his sons who lives there.

I messaged Sam Rajappa’s number on coming to know that he had passed away. This morning I got a response from his son Sanjiv from Canada. “Thank you for your kind words,” he said in response to a condolence message that I had sent. Rajappa’s younger son Manu is an airline pilot who lives in Fiji with his family. Rajappa’s wife Grace passed away in 2019.

To Sam Rajappa who lived and breathed journalism for six decades, tributes from one of his many admirers.

Sam Rajappa: June 5, 1939 - January 14, 2022.

 

 

US President Bill Clinton's visit to Hyderabad and where my  nose for news led me

I was curious. What goes into the coming of the most powerful person on earth? That there is meticulous planning is anybody’s guess. That the security will be tight goes without saying. There were official functions arranged. Those we could anyway cover in the newspaper.  What more? What else?

So I got interested in the weather.

Weather? Well, the weather was clear. In any case, once he arrived at the Begumpet airport, he was to travel by road to the couple of functions that had been lined up for him. He would return to the airport by road and fly off.

The weather was clear. But I was still keen on checking it with the weather officials directly by personally meeting them. It was, actually, a means to an end. An idea that would open up a world for me.

The Meteorological Centre Hyderabad was situated on the airport premises, on the first floor of the building. With the security pass, I proceed to the office, spoke to the officials and the work was done. The weather was all clear. I could see it.

But I could see more. Planes landing. Not the regular flights. This was a separate area at the airport where all the activity was taking place. A large transport plane arrived. A helicopter emerged from it!

Hadn’t I come here for this very purpose to seeing for myself the activity that I was sure taking place in view of Clinton’s visit? I hanged around. There was intense activity. The US security personnel arrived. There were cartons that were unloaded. There was frenetic activity. This precisely was what I had anticipated. I made a mental note of the goings on. More aircraft arrived.  Cars in them. All this was providing me an insight into what happens before an Air Force One arrives carrying the most protected person in the world.

Then I dared to do something. I approached one of the US officials. I straightaway identified myself as a reporter. He appeared to be in a bit of a confusion. How could a reporter get access to where they were? I explained to him that I had come to the weather office and that I was on my way out and decided to come and talk to him. Only I knew, the weather office was to serve more than one purpose for me.

“What arrangements are being made for the President’s arrival?” I asked him. He looked to the left. Then to the right. He looked back. But refused to look at me or make eye contact. He literally pursed his lips. Well, I knew he was not authorised to talk. But I also knew that my responsibility was to talk to him – even if he were not to answer my questions.  I glanced around. Surveyed. It was interesting.

The next day, the copy in the newspaper made for interesting reading – of what goes into the arrival of a US President.

So far so good. But it got only better. Bill Clinton wears shirts that are made in Hyderabad, India. Now how’s that? What does it take for one to believe that? The shirts are made in Balanagar and I got to speak to the manufacturer. The shirts are made here under order and get sold under a certain brandname in the US – which is what Clinton wears. 

My friend Anand Vijayender tipped me off. Anand is my first friend in journalism. We worked together in Citizen’s Evening. He was in the desk as a sub-editor and I was a reporter. A newcomer I was, but he made me feel comfortable in an office atmosphere as this was my first job. Later, he quit journalism to pursue a different line. The journalist in him remained. He informed me about the shirt and through him I could also speak to the manufacturer. Locally, it sure was of interest.

Clinton came. He attended a programme at Mahaveer Hospital. We were escorted to a place arranged for the media. There was unobtrusive security. After the programme, Clinton got down the dais and came forward to greet the small crowd that had been invited to attend the programme. The barricades were there but all the same it was a close and pleasant encounter. Clinton left. Chief minister N Chandrababu Naidu had an informal one-on-one meeting with him in the director’s chamber – something that we got to find out.

After his programmes in the city, one important one at Hitec city, Clinton left. I was at the airport as VVIPs gave him a warm send off. Air Force One took off. The gathering too left. The plane was headed to Pakistan. Something interesting happened which I got to know about only later after he landed in Islamabad. The visit to Pakistan was significant as it was the first visit of a US President to that country after Gen Pervez Musharaff seized power in an army coup.

At Hyderabad, Clinton got into the aircraft and waved his ‘good byes’. The fact was that from that aircraft, Clinton then got into another aircraft that was stationed close to it at the Begumpet airport. Everyone waved to the aircraft that had taken off assuming he was in it. The aircraft with Bill Clinton in it took off only after a small gap. The US intelligence agencies had taken the extra security precaution as they wanted no security issues as the US President emplaned to Pakistan during a critical situation.

As for everyone, as I mentioned, they waived to an aircraft in which Clinton was not there!