Saturday, May 20, 2006

Mr C.V. Devan Nair and the Malayalis

M.G.G. Pillai,

Sunday, 11 June 2006

CHENGARA VEETIL DEVAN NAIR, or C.V. Devan Nair, is dead. Not where he was born – in Malacca, Malaysia; not in the land of his adoption, Singapore whose president he became; but in exile in Canada, hounded to the end by Mr Lee Kuan Yew, then prime minister but now two steps higher as minister mentor, whose colleague he was and who had him elected as President. He was born in 1923, and died in December 2005. He was, of course, a Malayali, a clan Mr Lee was, and is, afraid of, and who gave him his biggest trouble in his march to be Prime lMinister. He regarded them more dangerous than snakes, and did not look upon them kindly. Mr Devan Nair was weaned into Mr Lee's People's Action Party, from the pro-communist Anti-British League, and later, so Mr Lee's supporters said, he sold his friends to be firmly entrenched with Mr Lee. Mr Nair never wrote his memoirs, so we will never know the truth of this. He was an active writer since 1954, but wrote less and less after he was removed as President in 1993. In 1999, he attracted a libel suit from Mr Lee for what he wrote in Canada, but which was thrown out after his counter-claim. He married a Tamil, who died before he did, had four sons and five daughters.

Why he resigned as President is shrouded in mystery. Mr Lee said he resigned to be treated for alcoholism. Mr Nair said he resigned because of political conflicts with Mr Lee, and asked to resign, failing which Mr Lee said he would be removed by a motion in parliament. Mr Nair said his bizarre behaviour was officially induced: he was given drugs that made him act irrationally. At the time of his resignation, he is said to have grabbed the breasts of a Sarawak state minister's wife, when he was on an official visit. The minister's wife later told me the incident was true, but anyone who would would have who otherwise would have fallen into the pool, and was shocked to find the incident treated as an indecent aberaration. Mr Lee wanted him out, and his reason was as good as any! No one questioned his version, or asked Mr Nair for his. In Singapore. Then as today, what he says goes. Mr Lee, who is of the same age as Mr Nair, is minister mentor of Singapore, two steps higher than the Prime Minister. And so Mr Nair became a non-person. There was a humiliating condition to his pension, that he had to get a certificate from a competent authority that he was not an alcoholic before he got it. He rejected it, rightly. The only pension he got was from the Malaysian parliament, where was elected to in 1964, when Singapore was part of Malaysia. He remained in Malaysia after Singapore was ejected in 1965.

He was the son of I.V.K. Nair, from Palghat, who had come to Malaysia in 1910, and was brought to the then Federated Malay States. He appointed agents later in all districts. That is how Inspector P.C. Joseph. from Alwaye, and my father, from Thalavady, came to Malaysia. It was to Inspector Joseph's house in Johore Bahru I was taken after I was born at the General Hospital in Johore Bahru in 1939. James Puthucheary, who joined the Indian National Army in his twenties, was in detention with Mr Nair, when his father in 1956 died. He was among the small band of Malayalis who provided the PAP with the left intellectual framework, for which they were exiled in old age. Mr Puthucheary studied law, died a rich corporate lawyer in Malaysia, believed to the end he had failed. He said to me he would title his autobiography, which he never wrote mainly because of the stroke that ravaged his last days, "The Autobiography of a Failure." He was banned for almost 25 years from the island, lifted after his friend's wife died in Singapore, he wanted to attend the funeral, and just before he did. As an aside, I was put on restricted entry into Singapore in 1971, and permanently banned in 1991. But as I told an Italian journalist, who put the quote in his book, "I have already done my shopping."

But Singapore cannot escape from Malayalis. The republic has put a statue for a Nair, who came to Singapore in 1819 as cook to Sir Stamford Raffles, the island's 'founder'. The history of modern Singapore is peppered with Malayalis. Some were exiled to Kerala, whence they came, but many are in Singapore, out of politics, but gather whenever a like minded spirit passes away. Today, if the modern Indian plays a prominent role, he is usually not a Malayali. But it has to live with many whom it detained in the past. The PAP had all the seats in Parliament until 1981, when Mr Nair vacated his Anson seat to become president. His successor is Mr J.B. Jayeratnam, a lawyer who is facing bankruptcy by the PAP and is reduced these days to selling his law books to escape bankruptcy.

In Malaysia, those expelled from Singapore did provide the intellectual framework for much of its policies, although some had occasion to regret what they did. The former prime minister, Tun Mahathir Mohamed, in his eighties and had a heart attack around Christmas last year, is the grandson of a Malayali policeman from Travancore who became head of security to the sultan of Kedah. Many others though came here to earn a living, fought for Indian independence, and returned to serve the Indian government on independence. Among those were N. Raghavan, a lawyer who became India's ambassador to Argentina. Dr N.K. Nair practiced medicine in Penang, fought for Indian independence, married a German, and remained in Malaysia. His son died as a UN representtive in Thailand. But they are a minority in Singapore and Malaysia. In Singapore, they are looked down upon officially. In Malaysia, they are look down upon by the Tamils, who represent the Indians in power. They cannot join the Malaysian Indian Congress, unless they forget Malayalam and adopt Tamil. But in either territory, they cannot be ignored. Once in a blue moon, someone like C.V. Devan Nair would arise to make their presence felt.

[This appeared in the inaugural edition this week of Thejas, a Malayalam daily in Calicut, Kerala]

http://www.mggpillai.com/article.php3?sid=2216

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Rs 1.78-cr Swiss gift to Puri temple, but the donor cannot enter the Hindu shrine!

Sandeep Mishra, May 17, 2006 TIMES NEWS NETWORK

BHUBANESWAR: Starved of resources, the Jagannath temple at Puri could not have got a better gift a month ahead of the annual rath yatra: a Swiss woman has donated a whopping Rs 1.78 crore to the 12th century shrine.

And while she may have donated the biggest ever sum to the 800-year-old shrine, ironically, she cannot enter it as she is not a Hindu.

Elizabeth Ziggler, said to be around 45 years old, has donated over US $4 lakh (Rs 1.78 crore approximately) to the temple, the temple's chief administrator Suresh Mohapatra said, "The woman, a practising lawyer based at Geneva in Switzerland, has deposited the money in one of our bank accounts, opened under the Foreign Contributions Regulation Act.

"She wants us to spend the money on different temple activities including festivals," he told TOI on Tuesday. A few months ago we received Rs 10 lakh from an unknown person, but by far Ziggler's is the highest donation ever received by the Jagannath temple.

It is even in excess of the total donations of about Rs 1.3 crore that we collect every year," an elated Mohapatra said. Temple officials believe Ziggler donated the money by mobilising funds from friends and other philanthropists.

Interestingly, it's not for the first time that Ziggler turned good samaritan to the temple, considered one of the most important Hindu shrines in India.

"Between 2001 and 2003 she had donated around US $45,000 (Rs 20 lakh) and asked us to use it to feed 101 Brahmins on ekadashis, tie bana (flag) atop the temple on December 11 (a date she specified), and distribute clothes among the poor people, along with other things," Suresh Mohapatra said.

Sunday, May 7, 2006

Education barrier for India's poor

Tuesday, 09 May 2006

By Jill McGivering, BBC News, Delhi

It was a glamorous evening in one of Delhi's most exclusive venues.As the music played, the rich and fashionable gossiped and waiters moved through the crowd with silver trays of drinks and canapés.

Before dinner was served, the main lights dimmed and the master of ceremonies announced the star of the show, businessman Lovy Khosla.
Standing in a cascade of glitter, he launched his latest venture, Elvy - described as India's first lifestyle catalogue.

After the presentation, I asked Mr Khosla what kind of people he hoped would buy the bone china, platinum-stemmed wine glasses and other luxury catalogue items.

"Aspiring Indians", he said, "the new emerging middle-class".

He admitted the divide at the moment between rich and poor was huge - but eventually, he said, everyone in India would prosper.

'Brain industry'

At times, optimism like Mr Khosla's does seem justified.

More and more people nowadays have the means to buy the international goods now available in India's cities.

The IT shops I visited in Delhi, for example, were buzzing with all the latest technology.

The IT sector itself is still small but clearly booming, a key part of India's new wealth.

But there's a clear mismatch between the hinterland of rural unemployed and the IT sector's demand for educated workers.

Kiran Karnik, the President of India's National Association of Software and Service Companies, told me one of their biggest problems is finding enough suitable recruits, people with the right education and skills.

"You have a lot of people with minimal or sometimes no education," he said.

"And the industry we work in requires at least a certain minimum level of knowledge. It's not a brawn industry, it's a brain industry. That means we're looking for people who are by and large graduates."

But why, in a country of more than a billion people, are graduates relatively hard to find?

Why do about some 93% of Indians never progress beyond secondary school?

Poor education

I travelled by train into rural Uttar Pradesh, one of India's biggest and poorest states to see the education available for children in villages there.

I was taken to a small village by Sandeep Pandey, one of the founders of the educational charity Asha (Hope).

There I came across about 50 children, of all ages from about three to 15 years, sitting under the trees chanting their lessons.

They have to learn together like this because there is only one teacher.

There was also a government school nearby but some parents in the village complained that they did not send their children there because the standard was so low.

When I asked the children what they would like to do as adults, they crowded round, faces beaming.

"Teacher!" cried one. "Doctor," said another. They were full of enthusiasm. But privately Sandeep was pessimistic about their chances.

"The children saying they want to be doctors or teachers or engineers, they'd never be able to make it," he said. "In the end they'd end up being unemployed or underemployed."

Most of the children, he said, dropped out before they finished primary school.

Their parents knew they would eventually work on the land so more than a basic education seemed a waste of resources.

"The only hope," he said, "is that by learning to read or write, they will check corruption. We don't have any hope beyond that."

'Living hell'

Those who do leave the countryside without higher education, in the hope of finding greater opportunities in the cities, often end up living in slums.
I visited Banwal Nagar, a sprawling slum on the outskirts of Delhi, a labyrinth of narrow lanes with no running water, stinking open drains and massive overcrowding.

There I met Babloo, a shy 18-year-old who came here from a village in Uttar Pradesh a year ago.

He told me he came with his brother who is earning just enough as a tailor to feed them both.

Babloo said they were always hungry in the village, there was no work there. Now Babloo is helping out - unpaid - in a mechanic's shop, trying to learn the trade.

Sitting with us, listening to Babloo's hesitant story, was an old-timer in Banwal Nagar, Anrud Mandel, who came here 25 years ago.

I asked him if he thought Babloo and his brother had done the right thing in coming to Delhi.

His answer was emphatic: "No. Like all of us, he had to leave his village because there wasn't work there."

"But we'd all be better off in our villages if we could earn enough there to feed and clothe our children and ourselves."

He gestured to the conditions all around us, the air thick with flies. "This place is a living hell."

There is no doubt India's impressive economic growth is providing new opportunities.

But the challenge is finding ways to put them within the reach of the children in India's poorest villages.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/4916946.stm