When The One Man Army Never Kept Quiet
By K.P. Sasi
07 June, 2010
Countercurrents.org
A salute to C. Saratchandran, a committed documentary film maker from Kerala, who passed away recently in an accident
During the period of Emergency in India, Smt. Indira Gandhi came out with a slogan: `Talk Less and Work More’. In practice, it meant `Close Your Mouths’. The press, bureaucracy, television, radio and even members of some of the political parties closed their mouths. Many people were arrested, victimized, tortured and even killed. But many people all over the country, with diverse ideological streams, opened their mouths. As a result, the authoritarian power of Emergency collapsed.
I am living in Bangalore now. Recently, I asked a friend of mine a small question: `Among the hundreds of thousands who resisted Emergency all over the country, how many are still connected with the real issues of people and still resisting in today’s context in Bangalore?’ He counted five names. Maybe there are more. We counted Mumbai. We reached up to twelve and came to a stalemate. In Delhi, the number was similar. All over India we could reach up to 70. Perhaps this number is a deep underestimation. But where have all the good people who stuck their necks out in what they believed disappeared? Having come from the same tradition of political shock of emergency, I shared with my friend that let us admit that we have failed miserably in keeping alive a political tradition of resistance against different forms of exploitation in this country. I think he agreed. The new generation is the only hope. The truth is that with seventy good people of older generation struggling even today, it is only a small fraction of diverse younger energies involving in several issues with their own levels of commitment.
Saratchandran maintained such a youthful hope for many. His dissent with the system started with emergency. Influenced by the protest against Silent Valley, he was on a stream with environmental politics. He was inspired by the`little magazine movement’ in Kerala after the emergency. He was also deeply part of the resistance against the compromises of commercial cinema. He expressed his anger on what he felt was wrong. And he expressed his love for whatever and whomever he felt was right. His passion, energy, commitment, enthusiasm, compassion and love for people were some of the rare qualities for my generation to maintain. He was only one month older than me. There was a space to be critical with him and fight his views. These fights were never taken at a personal level.
Since I do not have many qualities of Saratchandran, I cannot even remember when I met him first. But the first intense discussion with him was when Civic Chandran organized a get-together of various resistance groups at Ariyannoor in Trichur during the early eighties. Over hundred groups, many who were products of the Silent Valley movement in Kerala participated. Having gone through an intense period of radical Marxism in JNU, I found myself listening to Satish Chandran Nair who was a symbol of inspiration to many. I suddenly discovered that it was birds, bees, forests, soil, water and conservation values of different indigenous communities which sustained my life. These new discoveries were in sharp contradiction with my Marxian arrogant `all knowing’ political ideology. Sarat was already in tune with Satish Chandran Nair by that time. I felt that I had to be humble and be more humane to understand the complexities of life on earth. I felt the same when I listened to Prof. John C. Jacob, another inspirer during the struggle against Silent Valley. He was a spiritual missionary who cried for the protection of environment with adequate knowledge for the purpose. Sarat was already a fellow of this crowd much before me.
Saratchandran must be the first person in Kerala to touch what is called a video camera. He worked for a company in Bombay which provided him a video camera to shoot in Orissa. He spent the night reading the manual and experimenting and by morning he was a cameraperson. Nobody taught him. No FTII, Jamia or any other film school. He was a self-taught person in cinema and politics. A few months back, when I was traveling with him in Orissa with my activist friend Dhirendra Panda, he tried to point at the areas of the adivasi villages around Damanjodi in Koraput district where he had shot. He was clearly disturbed at the fact that those villages and people have disappeared. He could experience how companies like NALCO destroyed the lives of different sections of people and environment. He did not proceed further with the company which allowed him to use the camera.
When I met him in Ariyannoor during the early eighties, he passionately talked to me about the need for the use of video for social change. I was already. involved with such a process by then. After that meeting, Sarat Chandran was somewhere there with every film I made and I was somewhere behind with every film he made. However, my colleague P. Baburaj was a bigger soul mate with him since both of them loved the forests and a tradition of environmental politics. I was only trying to remove my baggages and learn more. But whatever Sarat touched, he produced results. In fact the result was the success of his team. What Babu had as a person, he did not have. What Sarat had as a person, Babu did not have. They often fought among themselves to create what no one else in Kerala could claim so far in the history of socially relevant video documentaries.
Sarat made a film on Pooyamkutty dam. The dam project was stopped. He made a film with P. Baburaj on Chaliyar river pollution issue caused by the Birlas. Around 200 villagers nearby died of cancer. Even the leader of the struggle died of cancer. Sarat showed around the film all around the villages and different parts of Kerala and outside Kerala to generate support for the struggle. And the Birlas had to pack off. Later, the same team of Sarat and Babu made two films on Plachimada. Both the films were extensively shown around in Kerala and outside. The screenings even were instrumental in stopping Coca Cola in many American universities. Coca Cola had to say `good bye’. Today, even the state government is demanding compensation from the company for the affected villagers. The film on Pathrakkadavu, known as Silent Valley 2 Project, was the next attempt. The Kerala State Government backed off from that project also. Next was Chengara. The government declared support of land to the people in spite of stiff resistance against the people. But since the films were instrumental in all these cases, I casually told Hari, a wonderful recordist in Chitranjali Studio that if anybody wants the studio to close down, please invite these people to produce a film on your institution. I did not think Hari appreciated the idea.
I would not dare to claim that the achievements of success of the struggle were the result of the film alone. Certainly, it was a combination of many factors. There was a people’s movement, a section of the sensitive press, television channels or internet and a large number of activists, groups, artists, poets, writers and intellectuals in all the above struggles. But I am sure the films inspired, motivated, reassured, informed and strengthened all these people. Above all, there was a missionary spirit of Sarat Chandran to screen the films wherever possible and talk to large section of people all over Kerala about the need to support the affected people. He never limited himself to the role of film making. Screenings and interactions with diverse people motivated his purpose of life. A chain of diverse powers provided results for the struggles. But the role of Sarat was an integral part of success of all these struggles. On many occasions, I have envied the sheer energy he projected to act for what he believed in. For all those who wish to learn what films can do for social change, the life of Saratchandran is certainly a doctoral thesis.
When Sarat was making a documentary on John Abraham, I provoked him with a few questions. As far as I understood, John neither involved with many marginalized people’s movements nor strengthened their struggles through his films. I wondered if it was more appropriate that John had made a film on Sarat rather than the other way around. This provocation was enough to make him angry with his worst emotions. Like John, he believed in friendship of people and there was a similarity of a sufi charecteristic of journey between friendships and dreams among both of them. Both were inspired by the sheer love of people. For Sarat, love came from his diverse friends in cinema, activism, literature, art, intelligentsia and many other ordinary people. But he might not have proceeded with the same path without the unconditional support from his wife, mother and sisters. I still can not count how many people cried for him all over the country and even abroad for his sudden departure that no one expected.All I know is that even a small faction of them will not cry for me when I leave. Because for he believed in relationships religiously and maintained them regularly unlike me.
Not many weeks have passed for several years for me without five calls from Sarat. Often, it was at 1 pm or 2 pm. I would wake up to listen to his powerful voice singing `Ividallo Nammalethra Ponkinavin Viththu Nattu’, a song all his friends have heard from him several times. But I have heard it in Khandamal, Posco, Narmada Valley, auto rickshaws, buses or vehicles of different places during different journeys. Last few days, I even wake up at night thinking that he is singing this song to me. More than anything, I must say that it is his deep base voice that enters my body even today.
After the initial attempts of film activism during the eighties, Sarat had compiled enough debts and was pressurized to go to Gulf. He mentioned his plan to work for five years in Gulf and come back with a camera, editing machine, projector and minimum sustainance. Though I was not sure of a wild plan like this, I morally supported the need, since he was in trouble. Many friends were against his decision. I argued with some to understand the human situation. Thus, just before going to Gulf, he came with me to shoot a documentary on Narmada in the late eighties, got ourselves arrested along thousands of adivasis and farmers of the region and later we traveled in an unreserved compartment with a dash of his song on forests. However, after few years, I suspected that he was becoming a different mould than what he had declared to become. But to my surprise, after seven years, he did exactly what he wanted. He came back with a video camera, projector, editing machine, etc. He continued his life as a film activist till his death recently.
Last year when he was going through a deep financial crisis again, he mentioned again of an offer for the job in Gulf. By now, he was established in Kerala as a documentary film maker. His role as an activist was irrefutable. He even had a presence in the mainstream press and tv channels after some awards. I strongly resisted his idea about going to Gulf on this occasion since I felt that he had major role to play. His role in Kerala I felt was too crucial. Nobody could replace his role in Kerala. He was a one man army who never kept quiet. Caught up between the agony of life and dreams, I am cursing my stand today. Perhaps, if he had gone to gulf, he would not have fallen from the train in Kerala causing deep pain to all of us.
Sarat was instrumental in taking me to Dr. Vijayan’s place in Kallar. The adivasi ayurveda practiced by Dr. Vijayan has benefited thousands of ordinary people. Breath control was an essential part of his treatment. To control the habit of snoring and unlimited over ventilation during sleep through opened mouth, Vijayan had advised us to use paper plaster on our mouths during sleep. Both Sarat and I found adequate results. I am convinced that many health problems can be solved with adequate breath control. The health practitioners in this country will have to travel a long way to discover Dr. Vijayan, another close friend of Sarat. But neither Dr. Vijayan nor Mrs. Indira Gandhi could close Sarat Chandran’s mouth. Because he had a lot to tell us from his own life. Those who did not listen, may listen now.
Six days after his death, I am standing here along with film maker Meghnath and different activists from diverse people’s movements in Orissa. Most of them are adivasis and dalits. He had promised to join us. We have no option to wait. Perhaps his body was left behind in Kerala. But I know that his soul is traveling among the faces I meet here. For his dreams crossed all borders. If we love him, we must keep his dreams alive. We, in thousands!
K.P. Sasi is a film maker based in Bangalore
