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| Thangam's 60th birthday |
I Thangam’s
60th birthday was celebrated that year. All the children and grand-children would
be present together in the village. Aachu mama was happy and tired at the same
time. He seemed less active than before, and Nambisan’s daughter had to walk
with him. His steps were less steady and he repeated himself. He asked Thangam
several times, whether she was coming back soon. A few months later, Aachu mama
would pass away, peacefully in his sleep.
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| Aachu Mama |
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| Vaithy at home in the village |
It would be Vaithy’s
last chance to spend time in his child-hood home. It had been a difficult decision to tear down
the old house, filled with memories, but in the end, it had to be done. In its
place, he decided to build a modest house, in a mix of the old and the new, a
style sported by so many houses in the area.
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| Vaithy's child-hood home |
When Thangam met
Kaberi BoseTuttell for the first time,
it was at a Rotary function in Pittsburgh with Kannan. Born in Calcutta, she
had migrated, married and worked as a teacher, Now widowed, she was active in
her local circles. She told Thangam about her recent visits to Calcutta, and
how she wanted to do more in her chosen field. They stayed in touch, and on her
next visit, she and Thangam compared notes and found they had common goals.
Thangam told her about the progress with the school at Shiuli and she agreed to
move to Calcutta and help.
The ground-breaking
ceremony had taken place almost two years ago. Since then, progress had been
slow. Initially, Vaithy had thought it was just a matter of putting up the
building, but it turned out to be otherwise. Thangam had found two very
enthusiastic assistants. Atanu and Sutapa Roy, were then working as
school-teachers in Calcutta and were employed as the first full-time workers at
SEWA. Along with them, Thangam and Kaberi had started the process of making the
rounds of the architect, the village panchayat office, the block office and the
zilla parishad to get the necessary permissions. There were endless waits,
repeated visits, followed by more visits. Weeds took over the foundations,
while they waited for the necessary permissions. The architect they had hired
gave up his commission. He would wait no longer.
II Vaithy was a great believer in fate. He met Christopher Benninger at a
talk given by the famed architect at the Bengal Club. Benninger had given up
his tenured post at Harvard and settled in India. Since then, he had made a
name for himself in urban development and signature structures, under the
tutelage of his mentor B.V. Joshi. He had formulated concepts for affordable
housing in several Indian cities, and had been overseeing the development of ‘bastis’ for the CMDA in Calcutta. Several
SOS Children’s Villages bore his distinctive style.
When the talk was
over, Vaithy approached Benninger and told him about the school project. Could
he trouble him for some ideas? Perhaps he had some low-cost solutions that
would be suitable for the project? The previous architect had told him that the
site had an extremely high water-table, being next to a river, and the soil was
very porous. Benninger was interested. He was free the next day. Could they
visit the site? He didn’t like the hustle and bustle of cities anyway. A trip
to the countryside would be welcome.
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| Christopher Benninger |
Benninger was
delighted with what he saw. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a site like this?
It’s perfect for a school. The river provides natural air-conditioning. The
plot is already fully planted with trees, so there is plenty of shade.
I can see it. No high rises. A series of low class-rooms connected by
walkways. Flower beds, lawns and fruit trees and open playgrounds. I have a young
associate. I’ll send her over to make some drawings. She is better than me. Let
me get back to Pune and I’ll get her to call you. You need a decent contractor.
Someone who uses local materials.”
A few weeks later,
when Thangam answered the ‘phone, the
voice asked if it was Venkitachalam’s mother. “Collector wants to speak, please
hold.” She waited, and then a flustered male voice came on the line. “Hallo?
Mrs. Baidyanath? I am Sinha, R.K. Sinha. Yes, yes, your son and I are
batch-mates. Yes. Very brilliant, your son. Very brilliant. Yes, same batch. I
have been posted here as Collector last month only. I spoke to Benkat, he told
me about the school. You are facing problem? No more problem madam. Yes, yes. I
will ask for the file. No problem. I will take care personally. From today.
Yes, yes. At your service. All permissions, all clearance, my responsibility.
Yes, yes. What? No, no, no. You don’t have to come. I will send my man. You go
ahead with construction. Block office, panchayat, nobody will do anything. No,
no no. Yes, you have pen? My name R… R.K. Sinha. Yes. You please take my direct
line. Call me anytime. Day or night. At your service. Yes, yes, yes. I will
take care. No problem. If anybody ask, you please take my name.”
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| R.K. Sinha, District Collector |
III R.K. Sinha kept his word and more than that. Within a few weeks the
panchayat had sent over clear title to the land and a “No Objection”
certificate. The BDO personally visited the area and ordered the PWD officials
to start work on a metalled road to the proposed school, giving it easy access
to the village and train station. Drainage, water and electricity connections,
even street lighting appeared like magic. A contractor approached Thangam at
the site, brandishing a letter of introduction from the Collectorate, offering
to undertake the construction on a cost-only basis. She was taken aback, but he
was convincing. He showed her photos of other buildings he had completed.
When the school
opened, in the first year it had 32 students in two classes. All of them were children
of farm-workers and daily-wage earners. Atanu and Sutapa Roy worked tirelessly
to convince the villagers to send their children to the school. At first, it
was an uphill task, but the lure of two square meals a day was a powerful tool.
It persuaded the first set of parents to enrol their children. Within a year,
there would be 90 students and in two years, their numbers would rise to 226.
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| Atanu and Sutapa Roy |
The school’s philosophy was simple.
Impart education in the vernacular, with a stress on building character and
self-sufficiency. The school was as much a bridge to a brighter future for the
boys and girls who attended it, as it was an outreach to the community. As the
number of students grew, so did the staff. Among them, was Rehana, the girl Vaithy had
brought home from the pavement many years ago. She joined the school as a
teacher, and vindicated Thangam’s faith in her own vision.
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| Rehana with students |
As the school grew,
Thangam and Kaberi Bose Tuttel devised new plans for its future. They held fund-raisers
in Delhi, Bangalore and Pittsburgh, and found new suporters for their cause. MD
donated a collection of paintings that were auctioned, fetching a tidy sum for
the Trust. Kaberi used her network to the hilt, bringing in much needed expertise
and funds. Students from Pittsburgh began to trickle in, spending summers in
Shiuli, teaching and helping improve the facilities. Even more important, they
would spread the word when they returned, and more of their peers would find
their way to the quaint village the following summer.
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| Kaberi Bose Tuttel |
Three years after the
school was opened, a vocational school and day care centre were opened. The new
school offered women training in tailoring, arts and crafts and aquaculture.
Upon completion of their courses, women were encouraged to start small
businesses with micro credits. Within a few years, the women of Shiuli began to
harvest the fruits of their empowerment.
IV All the while, Vaithy was keeping a punishing schedule. Driven by MD’s
son, who had joined him, they set about growing the firm. They travelled to
Tokyo and Munich, to sign partnership agreements, laying the foundation for a
new business foray. Overseas offices were opened in Lagos, Jebel Ali and Jeddah
followed by Frankfurt and Port Louis. The firm’s expansion had been driven by a
mix of ambition and pragmatism, but now its sights were firmly set on the
future.
One morning, Vaithy
was preparing to leave for the office when he felt panicky and called out to
Nandu. Within a few minutes, he felt dizzy and lay down, while he tried to clutch
at a glass of water. It slipped from his grasp, fell to the floor and
shattered. Hearing the noise, Thangam came rushing into the room, and saw
Vaithy clutching his chest, gasping for breath. That evening, he would wake up
from the sedation in hospital. The doctor was surprised he had not felt it
before. This could not possibly be his first heart attack. The test results
were clear.
Chuppam was by his
bed-side when he was discharged and came home. “Appa, I have something to tell
you. Can I stay here? With you? I don’t want to go home.” Vaithy looked at Thangam.”Not going back?
What about the children? Are they having vacations?” Then came the tears and
the welter of words from Chuppam.
Thangam had noticed
the swelling on her arms previously, but had thought it was a rash. This time,
when Vaithy was in hospital, mother and daughter had spent time alone, and
Chuppam had confided in her. “He has been using all kinds of drugs to keep
himself awake. I think it started when he was a resident. He used to do it to
keep him awake, sometimes he had shifts that lasted twelve to eighteen hours.
When we were newly married, I noticed that something was wrong. He had mood
swings. He has a terrible temper. He has hit me. Many times. I asked him about
it, but he kept refusing to talk to me. He works very hard. Sometimes he does
six operations in a day. He is a very good surgeon. Once he comes home, he is a
changed person. The children are afraid of him. I found out he uses steroids,
and it only makes him more aggressive. I have told Appa, but he refuses to
believe me. He treats his son like a prince. It has been hell for fifteen
years.”
Vaithy listened as
Chuppam sat by his bed and lightened her burden. He felt the anger swell within
him. “My child, all this time, and I never knew.” He turned to Thangam. “You
knew, and didn’t tell me? We need to show our face to our son-in-law.” His
voice turned cold. “Don’t fret child, Appa is here.” He raised his hand, and
wiped the tears streaming down his daughter’s cheeks.
Text by Shankar A.
Narayan. Photo credits: Manoj P and Suman Ganguli.
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