Hemantha Kalam: 2021

Sunday 1 August 2021

Hemantha Kalam – 98 “The 'Parambarais' of North Madras”

I was a boy of about eight or nine years old when one day my father came home early, took a bath and dressed casually, helped me dress like a dude (he always ensured that I was dressed like a dude – a habit that stayed with me, when I want to). Immediately I knew that he was planning to take me for an outing. Those days I was quite timid and preferred not to go out much. But then I realised much later that a day out with my father was always an education.

So, this time he said “come, let’s take a walk”. My father was tall and his stride was large. I was short, small and so my stride was very much shorter and I had to sprint a bit to catch up with my dad or he had to catch up with me by slowing up, which he used to do mostly. I am not reputed to be a great walker (except while schooling and on route marches).

After about 10 minutes of walk we reached the ‘Congress Grounds’ in Teynampet, Madras which was just three streets away from our home then. There, at the entrance, I saw the huge cut outs and wall posters announcing a wrestling match among the legends Dara Singh, King Kong, Ajit Singh and some lesser known wrestlers of the day. My father got the tickets (it should be rather just a ticket, in singular, as I was let in free, as I was just a boy). If my memory serves me right, the cost of the ticket per head was something like Rs.10 for a ringside view in cane/rattan sofas, Rs.5 for sitting in foldable chairs, Rs.2 for a gallery seat (made up of casuarina poles and wooden planks) and Rs.1 for standing and viewing. We found a vantage place in the makeshift gallery, where the view was reasonably clear for me.

When the bell rang and the game started first among lesser known wrestlers and then the renowned wrestlers, my father got involved rather animatedly like the frenzied mob all around us. I was scared each time there was a wrangle but slowly I too got drawn into the game. Trust any father taking his small son to wrestling and boxing matches like my dad did. But it gave me a closer look at the game – rather a ring side look at that! And that day onwards I had a deep respect for Dara Singh.

I don’t remember much of the boxing games as those used to take place mostly at the Nehru Stadium and/or at Kannappar Thidal (Kannappar Ground) near Madras Central Railway Station from where one may safely call Madras as North Madras. I think I remember watching the game of one of the renowned boxers of the day; one Mr. Bhakthavatsalam. Here also the initial bouts were between upcoming boxers first and then among the real pugilists of the time.

Both Nehru Stadium and Kannappar Thidal are landmarks of Madras that are still around. Only that the Kannappar Thidal has been handed over to Chennai Metro for dumping excavated material etc., while laying the Metro Rail transport in the city. While Nehru Stadium was mostly used for sports purposes, Kannappar Thidal was a multi-purpose ground that was being used for foot-ball games, boxing bouts and also circuses. Congress Grounds were also used for boxing bouts but very rarely though.

The Madras Boxing history should, perhaps, be at least a century old. It has thrived well mostly in the Tiruvottriyur and Choolai areas of Madras. The players were mostly fishermen or workers working as loaders, on odd jobs or in the Madras Port and thus not economically a well-to-do people.

The indigenous sport restricted the boxers to hit only on the face and nowhere else on the body. However, the British who had influence on their workers slowly taught them the British mode of boxing which allowed the pugilists to hit not only on the face but on the body too but only above the midriff. So the boxing matches used to announce the bouts as “Rosamaana Aangila Kuththu Sandai” (Ferocious English Boxing).

The boys and men used to continuously train under some renowned teachers and each teacher is a legend in his time. So between 1960s and the 1970s there appear to be at least four well known ‘Parambarais’ or clans (I prefer to use the word legacies) in North Madras area. First ones, apparently, were the ‘Idi Appa Naicker Parambarai’ and ‘Ellaiappa Chettiar Parambarai’. Idi Appa is a moniker as his punch used to be like a thunderbolt (Idi). Soon the name became Idiappa Parambarai.

Over a period, there came into being another couple of legacies called ‘Saar Patta Parambarai’ and ‘Chunnaambu Kulam Parambarai’. Saar Patta is the Moniker and the root is four knives (Chaar Pattaa Katthi) as the punch of the pugilists belonging to this legacy equalled the pain caused by four knives. This finally came to be known as Saarpattaa Parambarai. The Tamil Chunnaambu Kulam means Lime Pond or Lime pit. Historically it appears that, over a period, the Ellaiappa Parambarai and Chunnaambu Kulam Parambarai merged with the existing legacies and Saarpattaa Parambarai and Idiappa Parambarai became renowned as rivals and vied with each other for the honours to be the numero uno.

It appears that as political connections grew and the bouts fetched money to the organisers and some winners only, many boxers found no significant wherewithal for themselves and began to stray waywardly. Some became the henchmen for moneylenders and a few of them even rowdy elements. It is sad when you come to know that a few boxers who had their sunshine days are reduced to sell vegetables in Choolai market these days.

Thus the recently released Tamil film ‘Sarpatta Parambarai’ piqued my intrigue and I wanted to see if I can relive my memories associated with these manly sports. I have to say with much satisfaction that the film did not disappoint me.

Though quite lengthy at 173 minutes (for, any film that is more than eight minutes it becomes difficult to hold my attention these days) and made as a period film (the 1970s) the picture is, indeed, a treat. One doesn’t get bored even for a minute. It is like a book that you do not feel like putting down. The screenplay is quite tight and I could easily relate with the context and the language of the conversation and dialogues.

Something interesting I found from the film was the use of some Telugu words by the members of the legacies; words like “Gelichiduven” (‘geluchu’ means to win, in Telugu), “pilaka” (in this context short form of Pilla kaaya, a word for a kid that is used in the bordering districts of Andhra Pradesh) and “Thotha” (to be pronounced as ‘thodha’ again a corruption for ‘Thodu’ in Telugu which means a companion).

When I tried to do some quick research I came to understand that as over a period of time these legacies were supported or patronised by political parties several hues were applied to the sport and there even has been an un-proclaimed ban on the sport. It was in those times that the interested kids were sent to Boxing trainers in Andhra Pradesh for training. This, in itself, was news to me as I never heard any news of boxing in Andhra Pradesh excepting in Hyderabad (now a part of Telangana) and Visakhapatnam. It was a surprise for me to note that there are several boxing coaching centres in Chittoor district of Andhra Pradesh bordering with Tamil Nadu.

Coming back to the film, one has a satisfaction of watching a good film at the end and that everyone in the project did their best to excel. The picture also depicted the effect of emergency on boxing in Madras with many of them treated as political persons and jailed.

As far as I am concerned, the characters of ‘Dancing Rose’ and ‘Daddy’ would linger for a long time in my memory. Apparently there was no Dancing Rose in the history of Madras Boxing and it was adapted on the basis of Prince Naseem Hamed, a boxer of repute from UK. This was played by Mr. Shabeer Kallarackal who has performed with élan and it was a joy watching him don the ‘Dancing Rose’ role. It is said that Shabeer though had taken a reference of Prince Naseem Hamed, he introduced his own style of dancing in the ring which was quite pleasant to watch. So did Mr. John Vijay as the Anglo Indian ‘Daddy’. His way of speaking was just like the Anglo Indians, quite a few of whom I knew well.

I couldn't help noticing a couple of inconsistencies though. One is that the clock at the boxing ring lost its continuity during the bout between ‘Kabilan’ the protagonist and the ‘Dancing Rose’. At one point, the clock shows 5.04 minutes (at 1:15:19), next it shows 5.15 (at 1:16:04) and again after a few frames the clock goes back to near 5.05 (at 1:16:24). Apparently the clock has been inspired by ‘Dancing Rose’ that it also waltzes back and forth. Surely, when it is mentioned that there were only 30 seconds for the round to close, 10 minutes could not have elapsed. Apparently someone in the charge of continuity goofed on this. If possible the shot showing the clock at 5.15 could be removed. Similarly, on the one old red bus that was shown a few times, there also should have been the Tamil words “Pallavan Pokkuvaraththu Kazhagam” {Pallavan Transport Corporation (PTC as it was dearly referred to)}.

While these are but two tiny inconsistencies, the film overall was excellent. Not once would one feel that they are watching a movie but the actual boxing scenes and the background realities. Each and every member of the team toiled to that extent and succeeded well. That the film was made during the pandemic of COVID-19 and still withstood the impediments is a point to be lauded.

A good film well made. Congratulations to the entire team!

My only regret is that it came at least five years late for me. Though it did help me to relive my memories (the transportation to the 1970s was complete), it deprived me of the pleasure to watch this film along with my dad. Had it been released in 2016, both of us could have reminisced together with my father’s memories put in for a good measure. And I have no doubt that he would have been regaled in watching the film.

So, until the next,

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Dhanyosmi (Sanskrit), Thanks (English), Dhonyavaad (Bangla), Dhanyabad (Oriya and Nepalese), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic and Sudanese), Shukriya (Urdu), Sthoothiy (Sinhalese) Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai), Asante (Kiswahili), Maraming Salamat sa Lahat (Pinoy-Tagalog-Filipino), Tack (Swedish), Fa'afetai (Samoan), Terima Kasih (Bahasa Indonesian) and Tenkyu (Tok Pisin of Papua New Guinea), Malo (Tongan), Vinaka Vaka Levu (Fijian)

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Sunday 25 July 2021

Hemantha Kalam - 97 'Emotional Locos'

I got down from the local electric train at Mambalam station, to meet my friends and go ahead to college together with them. I couldn’t meet them yet and so was loitering on the platform. Meantime several trains came and went, the frequency being about one each every five minutes or so. One train just stopped on the platform and an old gentleman was seen sprinting down the staircase. In 1974, escalators or elevators were unheard of in many railway stations in India. By the time he neared the train, the train started moving out and he shouted ‘hold-on’ but the train, as is wont of it, did not wait and continued. He was our revered English professor Sri Devanathan. He was quite frail and that he had sprinted on the stairs itself must have exerted his energies. He had a sheepish smile at some of those students of his, which included me, who were present on the platform and witnessed this humourous happening. We had a good laughter, the whole day, thinking of this ‘funny’ episode.

The point to be made and understood is that trains don’t stop (or at least not supposed to) for frivolous reasons except in accordance with their schedules, er if they follow them (well, I am referring to our Indian trains mostly, in this case).

My college was about 12 kms or eight miles away from my residence. So every day I used to pedal and go by the bicycle to Kodambakkam station (which was about three kms from home) leave the bicycle in the station’s cycle stand and do the rest of the journey by local electric commuter trains. In between, there were some four stations. Later with the introduction of an additional intermittent station they became five stations. On the very first day of my joining, the college had some protest demonstration and many of us students were forced to return home without attending to classes.

On the second day, I attended classes, careful not to be caught by seniors who would trace juniors and rag them. So during the lunch time, I preferred not to go to the college canteen for the fear of becoming a ragging victim and instead, silently eased out and went to the station to take a train to Mambalam hoping to have lunch in a restaurant there.

The train was moderately crowded but I was lucky to find a place near to a window. During the motion of the train, I suddenly found a big kite like thing flailing across the window and falling with an inaudible thud. The train stopped in a few seconds; an unscheduled stop. I came to know that someone fell out onto the ground from a doorway of our moving train and was grievously injured; and his chances of survival were rather grim. That was the first train accident I came across and the first time I saw a train coming to an unscheduled halt.

With the advent of technology came the YouTube and thanks to that we can see many wonders across the world. It is as if the world is, indeed, in our palm.

We saw trains going through slums in Delhi, India (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSzt3RAdDds); residential areas in Hanoi, Vietnam; and through a market in Maeklong, Thailand (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1KkXDZ2kCk).

There has been a case of several trains coming to halt at a time because an assistant station master was found to be apparently drunk on duty (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-fqhMRGy3mk).

A more hilarious wonder was a train stopping at a level crossing where the Locomotive’s engineer went to a nearby shop to buy his breakfast. Till he got the food packed and returned, the hapless road users were stranded on the road waiting for the level crossing gate to open up (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZxO6H6Qt5E).

But very recently I came across a video clipping where an engineer had the warm heart of sopping a train, even after starting on its scheduled journey, so that a hapless aged traveller could board the train. He ensured that the traveller boarded before moving the train. It’s a heart warming video clip, indeed! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNkfe4HXEJM)

So when you think that trains are mostly brawns and no heart, think again. After all, locomotives have emotions too! J

What do you say? Well, until the next,

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Wednesday 14 July 2021

Hemantha Kalam - 96 "Melancholic Sin'

The year must be 1965 or 1966. There were two more girls before me till I could get my turn. I was a runt of a boy doing my III standard, if I got my counting right, and was waiting in the queue to participate in the annual singing competition, in my school. The venue to sing was not on a dais but in the room of the school’s manager, an unnerving person.

After an eternity, which was no more than 10 minutes, I got my chance. I had to fold my hands in humility and obeisance, to the school’s manager Late N. S. Sarangapani, and sing. I started singing one of my father’s favourite songs “Ee visaala, prasaanta, ekaanta sowdhamlo......” (in English, it freely translates into ‘in this spacious, peaceful, desolate mansion.....’), which was a private song sung by Late M. S. Rama Rao, a renowned singer in the Telugu devotional and film sectors.

My father helped me practice well for proper tuning, pronunciation, diction, appropriate spacing and word breaking. As a matter of fact the original of this song is rather sober, but my father made it more mellifluous and trained me to sing that way.

Like he used to do always, he held me in his hands and used to make my head rest on his shoulder while strolling in the house compound and singing melodies of Ghantasala, Hemant Kumar, Mohammed Rafi, Talat Mahmood and others, to make me sleep.

That’s how it was engrained into my system that I could not only appreciate melodies that were sung even before I was born but also try to sing a few of them. That my grand uncle was a well known music director also helped, as I was mostly in the music atmosphere.

Coming back to the present story, I thought I sang the song well. After all, my name and my family name were at stake and I had to keep the flag flying high (well, ours is a family of music and dance – My paternal great grandfather taught dance to the famous south Indian film actress Savithri). But dear Sarangapani hardly bothered about all these finer aspects. Apparently no song and dance jigs for him. Perhaps, I realise now, that he could have been a staunch follower of Subrahmanya Bharathi who famously said “Yaamarintha mozhigalilae tamizh mozhi pol inithaavathu engum kaanom...” (among the languages known to us, we won’t find a language as sweet as Tamil anywhere).

He randomly selected three winners, all who sang in Tamil, and that was that. I lost out. It was only then and recently that my singing was outright rejected, when one of my colleagues said that she can’t stand my singing even if I hum under my breath. Otherwise I guess my singing in general was at least bearable and approved, even if not liked.

As far as the contest was concerned, the school had multi lingual students from almost all regions of India and multilingual songs were sung on the day. But no, Siree! No chance for the others. The school was guided by a gentleman called Thomas Richard Duncan Greenlees (1899-1966 -https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duncan_Greenlees), a South African, as the Principal/Head Master/Correspondent; yet dear Sarangapani ran the school on his terms. At least his dressing and mannerisms terrified the students so much that for all of them he was no less than a despot. Whereas Duncan Greenlees made himself a darling of all school children.

In this case, Sarangapani was the jury and the judge and the verdict came out swiftly. I was in absolute tears. I knew that I sang well. The song was also good. It was so good that a good 35 years later, O.P. Nayyar used this private song in a Telugu film called ‘Neerajanam’ (1988 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zK4E6fAt3JA).

This was in the morning session. The whole bitter episode spoiled my appetite. When my father brought me lunch I broke down before him and told him that I sang well but did not win. He had this lovely smile on his face and he said “don’t worry, the others must have sung better than you. Let’s practice more”. So we kept singing together at home and used to enjoy life as it came to us. This helped me in future too.

Sometime during the time when I was doing my X standard, I got an opportunity to sing before an audience of hundreds of students. I started with the Tamil film song “Nalla perai vaanga vendum pillaigalae...”. After the first stanza, I got the jitters of the crowd and forgot the rest of the song. Hooting and catcalls started. Unfazed, I refused to get down, but then I could not remember the song either. The teachers were gesticulating to me to get down from the stage or else...! One of my ingenious friends quickly gathered his wits and scribbled the full song in a hurry and tried to pass it on to me. I didn’t want any of that. Either I sang on my own or let the others suffer. Suddenly I remembered the next words and sang the song fully and well to a loud and long applause. That I got good from my teachers later, for this circus, was another matter though.

A couple of years after, in one of the cultural programmes organised in an institution, I started singing a Hindi song “Mera jeevan kora kagaz kora hi rah gaya...”. Halfway through I felt that my legs became jelly and I couldn’t stand any more. I pulled a chair on the dais to sit down and continue singing.

If my grand uncle was alive, perhaps I would have attempted to make a go at singing for films under his tutelage, for whatever it was worth, but he died at a rather early age and I never wanted to approach others or have anything serious with the film industry. I had always been a bit of Laissez Faire that way. So I kept aloof and satisfied myself singing songs in Karaoke sessions where people seem to like my singing and where I am not shooed and shunned off!

My dad’s taste in music ranged from listening to D. V. Paluskar to the antics of Kishore Kumar. He was singularly in love with the music instrument Shehnai and adored it (which I abhor) and Ustad Bismillah Khan was his musical God.

My father used to love “Ab tere siva kaun mera Krishna kanhaiya...” from Kismat (1943) as much as “Laara Lappa Laara Lappa...” from Ek Thi Ladki (1949). He loved the songs “Sar Jo tera chakraye...” from Pyasa (1957) and “Ai dil hai mushquil jeena yahaan...” from CID (1956) which he even taught my daughters to sing.

His favourites included Hemant Kumar’s “Vande mataram...” from Anand Math (1952), “Man dole mera tan dole...” from Nagin (1954), Talat Mahmood’s “Ai mere dil kahin aur chal...” from Daag (1952) and “Jayen to jayen kaha...” from Taxi Driver (1954).

Even while on death-bed, he was reminiscing his own memories associated with these songs and one night he suddenly described a scene and asked me whether I remember the song and the name of the film which escaped his memory. I said I did and softly sang “Raat ne kya kya khwaab dikhayi...” from Ek Gaon ki Kahani (1957) for him.

His Telugu favourites included “Pushpa vilaapam”, a private song sung by Ghantasala and written by Karunasri (Late Jandhyala Papaiah Sastry). His Telugu film favourites included “Taa dhimi taka dhimi tolu bommaa...” from Bangaru Paapa (1955) an adaption of Silas Marner and “Evaru chesina karma vaaranubhavinchaka...” from Keelu Gurram (1949).

But I used to love more of his singing the Telugu song “Ee visaala, prasaanta, ekaanta sowdhamlo...” in his own melodious tune and voice. I even dare say, without any hesitation, that his rendering of this song was much better than that of the original. It seems to have come so naturally to him (even when he was singing songs it was rare to see him practice at home).

The biggest sin is that I had never recorded him singing this song, despite having recording devices at home since 1979. In fact, I never even thought of recording any of my father’s songs ever. At least my wife made him sing a song in the end but it was only a consolation to his original melodious voice.

Alas, it is too late now as it has been over four years since he passed away on this day, the 14^th July, in 2017. If only I have the power of travelling back into time or to have a device to rewind time to bring him back! I do hope that he is able to sing to his heart’s content wherever he is now. Santhi santhi santhihi!

Well, until the next,

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Friday 9 July 2021

Hemantha Kalam - 95 'Of Campaigns and Promos'

Though my basic qualification, if I may be allowed to call it that, is an under graduation in commerce, I later fortified myself with Materials, Marketing and Finance Management studies. However, either directly or indirectly, almost all my professional life was based on communications, marketing and sales.

While in the marketing, especially the retail part of it, I had exposure to and experience in, playing key roles either in one area or all of them in the planning, budgeting and executing of several schemes and promotions, and to successfully mount campaigns around them.

Among such schemes and promotions, the ‘Introductory offer’ of one free on purchase of one item, ‘Baker’s Dozen’ which means one free for the purchase of every 12 numbers of the same product [which works out to a discount of about 8.33% by simple calculation and slightly differently if one is taking the route of a Return on Investment (RoI) calculation], so much off on return of a container or a wrapper are some of the common promotions which by now many customers are familiar with.

But I am going to write about a few campaigns and promos which, in my opinion, were quite interesting and have some anecdotes attached to the same.

The first one is ‘Door to Door’ canvassing, sampling and selling

About 40 years ago I was working in the Secunderabad depot of a nationally reputed Fast Moving Consumer Goods (FMCG) company that had introduced a new washing soap. We wanted to introduce the product to the prospective customers by doing a ‘Door to Door’ (D2D) canvassing manoeuvre. The job is to extoll the benefits of the product and if a customer shows interest, to sell the product as a sample at a discounted price.

Since the primary objective of the ‘D2D’ canvassing is to introduce a new product to a customer, that is the only time when a company really gives a discount by covering the same under the promotion cost. Rest of the times any discount offered is hardly a discount at all. After all, there are no free lunches, ever.

Because many of the local sales representatives already had their hands full, the branch has requested the Sales Supervisor Mr. TRR from the neighbouring state, to come to Hyderabad and lend a helping hand. Reason for choosing Mr. TRR was not only because he could speak the language but was considered to be of good integrity and also with considerable experience in promoting new products.

During this operation, in the twin cities of Hyderabad and Secunderabad, I was to be his side-kick. I was all of 23 years old and literally a green horn with hardly any experience in such activities. Mr. TRR had interviewed some professional teams in the twin cities who had claimed to be having an experience in the services to be provided and fixed one service provider for the job.

After due briefing, we started on day one when Mr. TRR took me along with the team to Kacheguda area and the teams were assigned as two members for a street. Inevitably, almost always, the team members were women who can perhaps have more patience and persuasiveness than men (pardon my gender bias but then there it is). The area was clearly demarcated and the team started working.

Now Mr. TRR and I had two specific jobs - to ensure;

1) the safety of women team members – after all, one doesn’t know what type of person/s the team members would encounter at each home they are knocking at, jeopardising their safety and

2) that the team members don’t sell away the product to a retailer.

As real discount is being offered during this campaign time, it is tempting to both the parties;

- an enterprising ‘D2D’ team member to simply offload the stock with a retailer on the sly, to escape the drudgery of going door to door lugging so many pieces of the soaps and

- to the retailers who can get it much cheaper than from a dealer.

Not only did I understand the job well, but being a loafing vagabond that I was and am, I enjoyed loitering in the streets and by lanes and got to know the place rather intimately.

In fact, over a period, campaigns such as these became real professional with the team members who started wearing uniform attire and going about their work. However, I haven’t come across such people over the past decade or so. Is it shutters to this type of campaigns now?

The second one is ‘Mystery Consumer’ Contest

This is a very interesting contest but works best under restricted communication pathways.

The sales representatives of the FMCG Company will offload products with the retailers through the stockists/distributors and tell the retailers that the company is going to run a ‘Mystery Consumer Contest’ during such and such a period. The company will delegate some mystery consumers who may visit the retailers’ shops anytime during the contest period. Any person may approach a retailer for buying their needs and if the retailer recommends our product and if that particular customer is the ‘Mystery Consumer’ delegated by the company, the retailer gets a spot incentive which is attractive and profitable to them.

Some of the office staff members who have not visited markets for professional reasons, have been delegated to be the ‘Mystery Consumers’. Care is taken that the market, such a person visits, is not a market that s/he frequents.

In my case I drew ‘Jam (Zam) Bazaar’ and ‘Oil Monger Street’ in between Royapettah and Triplicane of Madras (Chennai) which is about 9 kms from my house.

So every morning I woke up early and took a bag and the gift coupons and went to the target area on my scooter. Hitching up my 'Lungi' (to look more casual and realistic I wore casual household wear) I visited the shops and asked the shopkeepers casually for this and that product and finally said ‘please also give me a couple of good soaps”. At this cue, the shopkeeper is supposed to recommend our product.

During this assignment, I had some funny experiences;

a) Most of the retailers never recommended our product and after revealing who I was, they said I did not look like the type who would buy our product.

b) In those shops where they recommended our products, it was almost always the assistants or the boys in the shops, who were real fast to see me through and to recommend our product.

c) It was tough to meander from shop to shop without allowing one shopkeeper signalling the other about my presence.

d) After the first day, I could not enter the Jam Bazaar market again the next day as message about my visit has been shared among all shopkeepers by the lucky shopkeepers. I could only visit shops in the Oil Monger Street in the subsequent days too.

e) My brown beard (at that point of my age) was a landmark give away and I could not camouflage that very intelligently.

Though it was a lot of fun to do this campaign to motivate the shopkeepers, I wonder whether this would work now in the age of smart phones and self helping super markets.

The third is a ‘Tie-up with a Film Contest’

This was another very interesting contest/campaign that we conducted sometime during 1986.

Our office in Madras was catering to the business needs of the then united Andhra Pradesh (AP), Kerala, Pondicherry and Tamil Nadu with an office in Chennai. This contest, we planned, was to be operated in AP to bolster the sales of a particular brand of soap of ours that was taking a beating with the onslaught of competition.

So, the scheme was simple. Tie up our sagging product with that of a super hit film in a unique and ingenious way. The tie-up has again been facilitated by Mr. TRR who had live connections with the Telugu film industry (certainly much better than mine).

A film that was produced by a very reputed production house and which, for the first time, was shot on the 70 mm film format in the history of the Telugu film industry was chosen for the purpose. While the film was simultaneously produced in Hindi language as well, it later was dubbed into a few other languages too, if I am not mistaken.

Now, that was the time when Madras had a ban on screening other language films, except for Tamil films, in any of the film theatres in the city. So I had been allotted the manager’s car, his chauffeur to go to Tirupathi, the nearest town in AP (at about 156 kms distance) with a 70 mm screen, just to watch this Telugu film and intently at that.

With such strict rules in our company, this was indeed a rare honour for a teeny-weeny clerk like me. So we took off on an afternoon, watched the evening show of the film, stayed back for the night and returned to Madras the next day. Interestingly, the film was a super duper success collecting most of the investment by the first week itself.

Now my job really started.

We had to design a questionnaire or a form in Telugu, make artworks, and get them printed in hundreds of thousands. The forms asked the participants to fill with answers to questions which pertained mostly to the film. Like for instance, what was the colour of the blouse, the heroine was wearing, in a particular song sequence and so on. The participants of the contest will have to answer eight such ‘interesting’ and ‘very difficult’ questions, covering the entire length of the film.

The forms were distributed free of cost in all cinema halls where the subject film was screened along with the ticket. To answer these questions, the participants sometimes had to watch the film again and again. In the absence of video tapes, CDs and YouTube, this was an opportunity for the film to garner more income.

The tie-breaker was a slogan as to why the participant was using our product and as a proof of using our product, s/he had to attach the outer wrapper of our soap. The bounty for the participant was a decent chance of winning prizes from a real large array that comprised mostly of household electronics. Thus this became a win-win-win programme.

After a few days, the mails started coming in and started pouring in over a couple of weeks. Mr. EJMR, A driver with our company who knew Telugu, and I used to sit every day in the evening, after completing the regular duties assigned to us individually, to open the envelopes, seggregate them town-wise, ensuring validity and keeping them in segments. This continued for about four months or so till the movie ran in the theatres and the last date announced by us for the contest in the forms.

The first sieving was by us in filtering the wrong answers, hopeless endorsements / slogans, invalid forms that were not accompanied by the wrapper of our product. The filtered forms were validated by a panel of eminent Telugu Poets and Pundits, Late Brahmasri Yamijala Padmanabha Swamy, Late D. V. Narasaraju and Late Behara Ganesh Patro; nominated one by our company, one by the film production office and then a neutral tie-breaker.

All of us worked in right earnest and finally drew a list of the winners and intimated the winners too of the happy news.

The film production office proposed a date when a big function was to be held at VGP Golden Beach in Madras. In turn, we had informed this to our personnel in AP as well as the winners for making the logistic arrangements for at least the top three winners to be brought to Madras on company expenses, for participating in the function and receiving the awards.

The D-day arrived and when we were proceeding towards the venue at VGP Golden Beach, I started becoming ominous. The buses from AP were lined up, bumper to bumper, all the way from the Marundeeswarar temple in Tiruvanmiyur till up to the threshold of VGP Golden Beach, on both sides of the road, which is easily an eight kilometre stretch. If each bus was carrying at least 40 persons, one can guess the number of fans that attended the function on the day. And there were buses beyond VGP Golden Beach towards Mahabalipuram too. Our estimate of the crowd that gathered on the day was about 50,000 give or take a few.

We reached the venue without much ado. But from the main gate to get on to the podium was a herculean task. On the podium were displayed our prizes for the winners and mementos to be given by the film company to their technicians. On the ground before the podium was a sea of people in all sizes and colours and were in a frenzy to see their tinsel heroes and heroines in flesh and blood.

There were heavals and surges from one angle to the other swaying and tilting the podium very precariously. Stuntmen from the film industry in Madras, many of them quite inebriated, held raw bamboo sticks in their hands and started thrashing the crowds in a blind rage, seemingly in order to maintain some semblance of discipline. Bouncers were unheard about in Madras at that time; so these guys donned the roles. Many were injured, not mortally though thankfully. There was utter chaos.

Our manager who brought his family for the function prudently sent them back home immediately, in his car. He could not climb the podium as over a thousand people were trying to board it all at the same time. We had to literally hold his body parts whichever way we could lay our hands upon and haul him up.

Once he was on the podium, the stage started swaying and tilting dangerously. Not only our prize material but the safety of us was in jeopardy that day over there. We all jumped down in a hurry and one by one we all went our way. How the prize material was protected and brought back to be distributed later, was a puzzle to me and for which I don’t hold an answer till date, but somehow they were rescued unscathed.

All this happened because the film production gave full-page advertisements in the local vernacular newspapers inviting the fans for the function unconditionally. It helped the film production company to shoot that part of the people’s gathering, free of cost, which they could use immediately in their next film, based on a political subject.

The next time I met my manager in the office, he swore that he will never again tie-up with a film. But it did stir the hornet’s nest and the exercise did help boost the visibility of our product and the campaign was the talk of many places across the state for about six months at least.

Mr. EJMR could clock overtime and augment his monthly income for a few months.

And for me, I too could clock overtime for a couple of hours every evening and weekend days thus increasing my monthly income for a few months when the campaign was active. And at the end of the programme, I was also given an endorsement by the company, exemplifying my efforts for the programme, and a cash award of INR 1,000 (today's estimated value being Rs.12,350 approximately) as well.

I don’t know how well such tie-up campaigns can work now but if anyone needs consultancy in the same, they know whom to contact! J

The next one is Sampling ‘Pet food’ Campaign

How do you make a pet owner buy your product meant for the pets? Only the pets would know what they like and not the owner and the pets can’t communicate? The answer is in making the pet happy and ensuring the pet-owner perceives that happiness.

So in the 1990s that’s exactly what I attempted to do when I was working with a Pet food manufacturing and marketing company. We were making qualitative but comparatively costlier pet food, especially dog food. As a sales manager I had to work out a promo scheme to ensure better market share for our product.

I had launched on a twin pronged programme of door to door canvassing, sampling and selling programme on one side and free sampling in the veterinary hospitals and clinics, in Bangalore (now Bengaluru) both probably for the first and may be even the only time in this country.

So when we sample, if the dog took the samples with enthusiasm we go on about a spiel explaining to the owner the virtues of the product and try to sell the product. If the owner was a kid, it was a bit easier.

At that time, there were about eight major veterinary hospitals / clinics in and around Bangalore and we linked a distributor for the supplies. Every day I had to supervise the sampling programme in the hospitals and once in a way the D2D campaign, which was entrusted to a reliable agency. After about a month’s daily visits to the clinics, those close to me started noticing and even complaining that I smelt of animals, especially the dogs.

I am not sure whether this campaign was ever again tried but while it lasted it was good and gave me a high that it was done for the first time in India by me. Well, I do think so but my boss, though was happy with the initiative, was not at all happy with the increase levels of the sales.

The final one is Referral Campaign for Vehicle Finance clients

By 1994 I completely changed my industry and became a marketing manager of a leading financial services company which was the first to get an ISO certification for Non Banking Finance Companies (NBFCs) in India.

We did a referral campaign for car financing, again for the first time in India for such a programme of referring of new clients by existing clients. In turn, the existing clients were offered real good, worthy and useful gifts depending on the value of finance extended to a new clients referred by them. The benefits increase in a steep and stepped up mode.

Here, the volume of clients is not high as it was noted that only the women clients or relatives of clients were interested in this scheme. So we had to choose the gifts based on the preference of the gender and it was a very interesting exercise I would say. Apart from monitoring the referrals and the yields from the referrals I also had the job of tying up with the dealers/manufacturers of the gifts worth co-branding, at a significant discount. Our vendors were like Titan Watches where we had customised watches as an added incentive.

Well, those were the days. With change of time, I wonder how many such schemes would work today where everything is instant and people do not have the patience to understand the virtues and thrills of being patient.

I did a few more campaigns alright, but they were mostly the run-of the mill stuff and not really worth posterity.

So, until the next,

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Friday 14 May 2021

Hemantha Kalam - 94 'Calculative, Callous and Charming?'

It was sometime in June-July 1990. We boarded the luxury bus of the Karnataka State Road Transport Corporation (KSRTC or Karnataka Rajya Rasta Saarige Samsthe) and settled down comfortably to do the approximate 560 kms of journey before us. I would have preferred a train but my colleague dear Mr. Nagaraj had advised that bus journey would be as comfortable. Being in the prime of the youth it didn’t really matter for me though.

At about 5.00 pm the bus started from the Majestic Bus Centre in Bangalore and rolled out smoothly. It was a journey that I was looking forward to. My knowledge of Kannada language at that point of time was zero. So I was oblivious of the mild conversations taking place in Kannada, Konkani and Tulu languages among the other passengers. As always I was drinking in the passing out scenes that appeared through the bus window till it became dark and I couldn’t see clearly anymore. It was monsoon season and once we passed Peenya, it started drizzling slowly and by the time we reached Hiriyur it graduated into a steady downpour. It was cosy in the clean bus. KSRTC buses by comparison have been cleaner than buses of their peers elsewhere in the country. At least they used to be, as I haven’t travelled by KSRTC buses after 1994.

I think we stopped on the outskirts of Davanagere for dinner and slowly all the passengers, including me, dozed off. When we woke up it was about 5.30 am and we had reached Panaji or Panjim as it is referred to in the state. We got into a lodge (how sad that I don’t remember the name of the place) whose rooms looked like those out of a colonial house and had a little nap just in time to wake up for the breakfast.

Post breakfast we hit the market on our work. The next day we boarded a ferry to cross the beautiful Mandovi or the Mahadayi River. It was the first time for me to visit Goa and also board and ride a mechanised ferry. In my native state of Andhra Pradesh I had crossed rivers on manually oared ferries but this was an experience for me where I saw motorbikes and cars being ferried across. I was enjoying this new experience and in less than 10 minutes, we hit the other bank. If I remember the other side was Bardez and from there we needed to travel to Mapusa for our work in an auto-rickshaw for about eight kilometres and the time taken was about 15-20 minutes.

While on our way, I was savouring the beautiful sights of the river Mandovi to our right and the terrain was rocky which is typical of the west coast. When we were passing a particular stretch at Porvorim, the auto-driver made sure that we didn’t miss a restaurant and pointed it to us saying “look at that O’Coqueiro restaurant which has now become very famous. Know why? That’s the restaurant where CS was arrested in April 1986 (apparently on his 42^nd Birthday) after his daring escape from the high secure Tihar Jail, India, just within a few days of escape.” (https://www.indiatoday.in/magazine/offtrack/story/20041213-goan-restaurant-uses-statue-of-tourist-killer-charles-sobhraj-to-promote-tourism-788874-2004-12-13)

The incident, for no reason, has been filed in my memory.

Now during this compulsory home stay for over 14 months, for lack of any other entertainment, I have taken up to watching varieties of programmes on the Netflix and a couple of such are ‘The Serpent’ series and the Hindi film ‘Main aur Charles’; made with CS as the central subject.

Well, CS is none other than Charles Sobhraj. It is understood from several sources on the internet that he was born in 1944 at Saigon (presently Ho Chi Minh City), Vietnam, as Charles Gurumukh Sobhraj, the son of Sobhraj Hotchand Bhaonani, a Sindhi international tailor from India and a French-Vietnamese lady Tran Loang Phun. It appears that he didn’t get much of his biological father’s attention right from his childhood and this might have had an impact on him.

In any case, Charles Sobhraj became notorious for the several murders that he apparently committed in several countries that included India, Nepal, Thailand and other crimes in countries like Greece. He is known as ‘The Bikini Killer’ as the corpses of many of his victims were apparently found in their bikinis and ‘The Serpent’ due to his ability to slip through the fingers of the law.

Apparently, several countries had look out notices and warrants issued for his capture. While Police from several countries were kept busy in working towards his capture, one person was persistent - a Dutch Diplomat in Bangkok Mr. Herman Knippenberg – and who seems to have worked tirelessly in gathering evidence against Charles Sobhraj, who then was operating from Pattaya, Thailand as a gem dealer.

Eventually Sobhraj’s luck appears to have run out and he had been arrested in India to spend time in Indian Jails for about 21 years between 1976 (when I was just getting out of college) and 1997.

It is strongly suspected that his flamboyant escape from Tihar Jail was a well orchestrated one and facilitated too. Theories have been afloat that Thailand had issued a notice for his capture and extradition, eventually leading to a death sentence. However, the notice/warrant has a life of only 20 years and if he can escape being extradited to Thailand after serving his sentence in India, he can escape death. It is firmly believed that his escape from the Tihar Jail and eventual re-capture in Goa was a carefully calculated scheme by him making the police just roles in his drama. As desired by him, he got his punishment extended and by the time he was released after fully serving his sentence, the Thai warrant apparently lapsed.

After release from the Indian Jails he seems to have taken a French citizenship. Evidently he is an excellent negotiator who sold his photographs, his story, his time for interviews and whatever, at very lucrative if not stupendous prices. Books have been written about him and films have been taken with him and his life experiences as subjects.

Yet, for some reason, known only to him, he returned to Nepal in 2003 where the notices and cases against him have not been fully closed and he has been arrested and presently is serving his time in a Kathmandu Prison ever since. Meantime he has raised a family it appears.

His story appears to be having all the ingredients to raise anyone’s intrigue – charm, trust, greed, intellect, intelligence, efficiency, inefficiency, luck, dogged determination and grit. And what more, it is international!

How many of the crimes attributed to him were actually committed by him would, perhaps, be known only to him. However, apart from being a hyperglot (it is believed that he know some 14 languages) and suave, that he was calculative, callous and charismatic seems to be beyond any doubt or debate. The internet is filled with content of such stories about him and so does the film and the Netflix programme.

Well, what do you say? Till then,

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Sunday 2 May 2021

Hemantha Kalam - 93 'How I ended up as a writer too'

Thanks to COVID-19 (Corona Viral Disease-2019) there is almost a military routine lined up at home. Anything that comes in from outside, except milk, needs to be quarantined and thus I am given the newspapers to be read two days hence. Inevitably I am behind the ‘latest and hot news’ by two days, when it should have become cold. One such late but news that is quite important to me triggered my thoughts on what prompted me to take up writing, making me end up a writer as well. There have been several reasons for this.

At school, I was frequently taking part in the bi-lingual essay writing competitions and have won considerable prizes rather consistently. The praise that comes along with the prizes was sort of, er, intoxicating. Yes, you would notice that in this era of self projecting social media exposures, even very humble people like me are forced to shun off the modesty.

Apart from the essay writings, some of my articles were being published in the primary school magazines too. Of course those subjects were very mundane such as describing a cow or a mango tree etc. And right from school I had been a bi-lingual writer – writing in English and my mother tongue. And those days I was credited mostly as ‘P. Hemanta Kumar’ and not with my present elongated name which came to me much later due to some clerical gimmickry at my high school.

Somewhere in the latter half of 1972 I was relating a tiny half paged funny story to my neighbour who was just bringing out a children’s magazine called ‘Bommarillu’ in my mother tongue. He got my story published (he wrote it himself) and paid me a princely fee of Rs.5.00 (valued at about Rs.200 today) for the story. Thus my first earning was when I was about 16 years old and from a literary work literally. I am not counting the earnings that were given to me by my uncles and aunts whenever they used to visit our home.

Between 1972 and 1984 there was a lull in my writing activity. My maternal uncle and also my mentor in photography Late Jonnavitthula Purnaiah Sastry always used to goad us (his nephews and nieces) telling us that when we read so much, if we don’t attempt writing, we were wasting our education. He never appeared to have thought of or worried about the talent portion of it. Apparently this worked silently at the back of my mind, in a latent manner.

Meantime, the travel bug hit me after I acquired my first camera sometime in 1980-81. I was virtually using all my Leave Travel Assistance (LTA) from my company, sell part of my leave to en-cash the same for buying film rolls and used to travel. Over time, the hitherto dormant writing bug also started working again.

So sometime around 1986-87, I wrote a quick article and titled it ‘Will Rayalaseema become an Isuka Seema?’ (Will Rayalaseema become a desert? – Isuka is sand and Seema is area in Telugu and Rayalaseema is the south-western portion of Andhra Pradesh state of India). The article tried to elucidate the plight of the people in the water scarce and impoverished place reeling under severe drought conditions at that point of time.

But I didn’t know to which magazine I should send this article to.

I don’t remember for sure, but my favourite and regularly read magazine ‘The Illustrated Weekly of India’ seemed to have stopped publishing by then. That left me with little choice than to send to some newspapers or another magazine called ‘Caravan’.

Interestingly, I have to mention here a side story. The publishers of ‘Chandamama’ brought out a magazine called ‘The Heritage’ from January 1985 (but which closed down in December 1989 exactly after bringing in the 60^th issue, for lack of feasible patronage). This magazine was to showcase everything about the culture and heritage of India in its entirety. And I was living within a mile’s distance of the publication place.

So I had sent my impeccably and neatly typed out ‘manuscript’ (I always squirm when writing the word ‘manuscript’ for typewritten or computer printed matter) along with several relevant photographs, to the editor. From that day I was looking forward to receiving their response and after a month of waiting for their complimentary copy of ‘The Heritage’ with my article published inside. Not to emphasise, I have to mention that we have been subscribing for that magazine at home, right from its inception.

However, after about a month, my manuscript and my photographs were received at home by my mother from the postman. When I came home from my work and eagerly opened the envelope, I was disappointed to see my manuscript and photographs and a small paper, the size of a ‘Postit’ slip, on which it was written that while my article was good, it should have been sent to some news magazine as it had more news value and not to a specialised magazine such as ‘The Heritage’. At the end of the message there were the initials ‘MD’, that of the editor, I presumed as I knew that the managing director of the company for sure would not have meddled with the subject of story selection.

MD could have simply ignored my manuscript or just returned it without saying a word. But he had taken the trouble of showing me the path and thus he became my guide star.

Accordingly I repacked the article and the photographs, changed the covering letter and sent it to the fortnightly magazine ‘Frontline’ honestly, with little hope of it being accepted for publication. But from that day I was buying the magazine’s issues to see whether my article was published or not.

Only a writer could experience the agony and the ecstasy of waiting to hear, for being rejected and her/his article being accepted for publishing. I had abundant experience of all these three dynamics.

About a month later, lo and behold, I could see my article in Frontline albeit under a changed title of ‘Thirsty Rayalaseema’ and also tweaking a bit here and there in the story. Trust me – first I couldn’t believe my eyes. Having studied in a slum, in a hardly respected school, to getting my article published in a most respected and reputed magazine of the times was a matter to be celebrated – at least I thought so. I went out to buy the copy during lunchtime at my work. I silently came back to my seat with the magazine, though I was literally bubbling with joy. No recommendation, just my work and my effort has fructified, on its own. Later I just showed it to a few of my close colleagues but interestingly I remember that it hardly evoked any great response I had expected from them. It was like ‘oh you got it published yeah, OK good!’

Having thus started, I found my works were later published in ‘Swagat’ the in-flight magazine of Air India and Indian Airlines, Newspapers like ‘The Hindu’, the ‘Deccan Herald’, ‘Andhra Pradesh Times’ and in Telugu magazines like ‘Andhra Prabha Sachitra Vaara Patrika’ and ‘Priya Datta’. My articles on management were published by ICFAI University both in their magazines as well as in their compendiums.

In Telugu, I have to say that while my writing is influenced by the eminent Telugu author Late Palagummi Padmaraju (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palagummi_Padmaraju) it certainly has been shaped and moulded by Late Vakati Panduranga Rao (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vakati_Panduranga_Rao) who was editing the ‘Andhra Prabha’ weekly. My interaction with him has been mostly over phone as he was in Hyderabad and I was in Bengaluru at that time. Yet, he had trust in my work and spoiled me by never editing whatever I wrote for him for four years between 1990 and 1994. My work for him, on lesser known places of Andhra Pradesh was mostly published as a ‘Centre Spread Photo Feature!’ And I had a real good fan-mail that was regularly published in the magazine every week. That’s a different high!

Emboldened by the slow but steady acceptances of my work, I approached Mrs. Susan Ram, who was then with Oxford University Press (OUP) as an editor and requested her to commission me for writing a book on lesser known places of Andhra Pradesh. She was kind to give me an appointment in her office only to politely tell me that they cannot commission any work unless I bring at least a synopsis of my writing. After about 35 years or so, I am yet to make and take that synopsis to her. Meanwhile I heard that she had left OUP and also the country.

She also was curious about the period (full stop) after my name and before my surname which I used to have those days. Only then did it dawn on me as to what an unnecessary period it was. Promptly I removed the period from my name but my signature, which I cannot change, continues to have a period after my name and before my surname. Man lives with some anomalies and so do I, with several of them, alright.

I made some money through writing, but it never was enough to sustain me as a livelihood though. The journey continues and I am curious to see how many different turns it is likely to take for me.

Meantime, coming back to the news in the newspaper that triggered this blog, it was that Mr. Manoj Das, (MD) the man who had put me on the right path in writing (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manoj_Das) had apparently breathed his last on the 27^th April, 2021. May he find the truth and peace and may he attain satgati. Today I still hold almost all the copies of ‘The Heritage’ edited by him in my collection among various others – I may be one of the few or even only one to be holding them. Now the collection should serve me as a good remembrance.

And as I write this, I realise as to how much we owe to others knowingly and/or unknowingly for existing in this society, as I do to these great writers and so many others who I came in contact with and who came in contact with me in this tiny winy life of mine.

So, to all of them and you, my

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India