Chilkuri Sushil Rao

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 practica...

  “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 th...

US President Bill Clinton's visit to Hyderabad and where my  nose for news led me Bill Clinton was coming to town. A US President flying down to Hyderabad was significant. March 24, 2000 was the day he would arrive. 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 ...

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

Sonia Gandhi asked me to leave. I stood my ground. There was a reason. “I did not want you here,” Sonia Gandhi said giving me a stern look. When she spoke, it was meant to be the final word. I stood my ground. Not wavering. “How could you come here?” she questioned. And she repeated: “I do not want you here.” I had resolved not to move from that place. April 10, 1999. The AICC president flew down to Hyderabad from Delhi in a chartered flight. It was a hot summer month. We, a group of reporters, from Hyderabad had reached Adilabad several hours earlier on that day. Sonia Gandhi was to speak to the families of those affected by viral fevers in the district. The families were brought to one place and they were all made to sit in chairs side by side. When she said “I do not want you here”, she had meant every word of it. The Congress boss had also made it clear that she had no intention of talking to the media. In old ambassadors, we had travelled a long distance from Hyderabad with Co...

                The tank bund 'breach' and how my mother ran carrying me to save my life There was panic all over. There was a breach to the Hussainsagar bund and the water from it was fast flowing like a flood. It was sure many houses would get submerged and if we stayed any longer in our house at Musheerabad, it would only be a matter of time before we also would be washed away. To my mother, the first priority was the last child in the family. And that was me. I was born on January 10, 1968, the seventh in the family. The four girls were elder to the boys. Among the three boys, was the youngest. We were staying on the premises of Wesley Church, Musheerabad where at least a dozen other families lived. My mother Chilkuri Vajramma’s first reflex was to carry me and hold me tight. And then she started running as fast as her legs could carry her, in the opposite direction of Tank Bund. The other family members, brothers and sisters too started run...

                            Balakrishna pulled my shirt. How I reciprocated grabbed eyeballs All this happened in front of hundreds of people. They had all been invited from different parts of the country. The event was big. Former chief minister N T Rama Rao launched his film ‘Brahmarshi Viswamitra’ at the Ramakrishna Horticultural Studios at Nacharam in 1989 and I had gone there to cover the event for the newspaper I was working for. Balakrishna was hyperactive that day. Perhaps the enormity of the event was too big to handle for the 29-year-old actor. Perhaps there were too many issues that he was sorting on location as his father was on the stage talking about the film. Or simply because Balakrishna was just being himself and doing what came naturally to him. I was there with my photographer Devadas (who, sad to say, passed away a few years ago). Both film photographers and photographers from newspapers and ma...

                               A new-born baby was put up for auction. How I busted the racket “A baby has been put for sale,” a source informed me. I decided to buy the baby. This, so that I could expose the buying and selling of babies at a hospital at Ameerpet in Hyderabad. The situation was quite tricky. I should react immediately and promptly before the baby got sold off and the sale closed. At the same time, I should not find myself on the wrong side of the law while engaging in this investigation. I called up the doctor and expressed an interest to see the baby as I was interested. There was no haggling about the amount on the phone. “Money is not an issue,” I informed the doctor because she said she would hand over the baby to whoever offered more money. “I’m coming over. Keep the baby,” I told the doctor. The incident took place in the early 1990s.  With a friend of mine, I landed at the hospit...

              A hot chase. Me on a Luna trying to catch up with K J Yesudas in his ambassador.  I’d seen him on the screen singing “Gori Tera Gaon Bada Pyara”. He has discomfort in his throat. Takes lozenges. His throat gets cleared and he goes on to sing without any hitches. The song was from the film “Chitchor” released in 1976.  During the years following the release of the film, the advertisement of K J Yesudas recording the song in the studio and taking the lozenges was a regular feature. The image of Yesudas stayed in my mind. Cut to 1988-89. The singer gave me a harrowing time, if I may take the liberty to use the fact. Or let me say it this way. It was an uphill task catching up with the man from whom I was seeking some answers. I met Yesudas at the Press Club at Basheerbagh where he had come to address a press conference along with the Kerala community leaders in Hyderabad. They were holding a fest. I approached Yesudas and said I ...

I patted the 15-year-old Sachin and said, "You played well". He responded with a half smile.    I sat there munching chips. It was comfortable in the press gallery at the Gymkhana grounds. I wasn’t a sports reporter but I wanted to be there to watch a Ranji cricket match between Hyderabad and Bombay on February 3, 1989. I’d played gully cricket. More for fun (as if if I had been serious, I would have outclassed many!).   Being there at Gymkhana grounds in Secunderabad was for a purpose. A 15-year old Bombay school boy was already making waves and he was there playing for the Bombay team.   He had already made a stunning debut earlier scoring 100 not out in the Mumbai-Gujarat Ranji Trophy match at the Wankhede stadium (source: Wikipedia). He proved his mettle yet again with another century later.   I enjoyed my chips. A friend of mine Sunil Robert was one of the commentators at the match. It was the pre-quarter final between Hyderabad and Bombay. I, for one, ...

V P Singh’s gaze was fixed on my writing pad. I was scribbling furiously. He grew curious.  I could make this out from the corner of my eye. I ignored it because I was busy. Too busy to even spare him a second to look at him sitting right in front of me in a chair and keenly observing me. There were other top leaders of various political parties who had gathered in the house of N T Rama Rao at Abids in Hyderabad. NTR, the leader of TDP was the president of the National Front, a group of political parties which came together as an alternative to the Congress and the BJP. The room on the ground floor was packed. There were leaders and a motely group of reporters. This probably was in 1990. I could not find a chair in the room. That did not matter. I saw the centre table in the room could serve my purpose of placing my writing pad on it. I sat on the floor and went about scribbling non-stop as the leaders spoke to the media. I could not afford to miss a single point of what they w...

“That article which appeared in your newspaper was interesting. It was well-written,” the senior said. But next a bombshell was dropped.  A group of journalists was travelling in a bus heading to cover an  event. The senior's sudden compliment came as a pleasant surprise.  I had written it myself and I assumed he saw my name on the article. To my surprise, he asked: “Who wrote the article?” I had taken it for granted in the few seconds that he had chosen to appreciate someone who was new to the profession by referring to the article. I was a bit taken aback when he asked who wrote the article.   I told him it was my article that he had read.  The senior’s silence was now defeating.  What started off as a conversation on a positive note had suddenly met with a road block. His silence was baffling.  Worse still, disappointment was writ large on his face. I asked him if there was anything wrong with the article. “It was okay.  Not so great but o...