EGGS FROM THE COOP

In the past three decades, poultry keeping has become not only a popular avocation in states like Tamilnadu but also a profitable business. We gobble up eggs like mad and at the slightest excuse, order for kilos of broiler meat. At times, we hear animal lovers’ deep sighs over the cruelties involved in raising and slaughtering the fowl in millions.

 As I am a ‘chicken lover’ and not an animal lover, such talks produce only a mild guilt in me. But I don’t fail to poetically compare the olden days when my grandmother raised several broods of chicken in her huge back yard in her village house. When we went there for vacation, it used to be a great fun watching these broods in flamboyant colours and shapes. They walked all around the garden with their ‘cluckclucks’ and scratched and clawed the earth in every nook and corner to find insects and little creatures which they ate with relish. Unnoticed, they often invaded the dining hall or bed room to peck and taste some delicacies that came in their way. As a mark of invasion, they also left their sticky and smelly droppings that you trampled upon when careless.

 Then there was the egg hunt. The layers often chose the coziest places in their opinion, to lay their eggs- in the corner of a shed, inside the cow’s manger, in a grain trough, behind the paddy sacs in the storehouse and even on the roof top. Grandmother knew the behavior of most of the layers. Some still cheated her, and she had to go on a search. We used to merrily join her on such treasure hunts. Grandmother showed extraordinary affection to the good chicks and scolded the bad ones as she shooed them away. They said, “Cluck cluck.”

The greatest turmoil for the brood befell when a guest arrived unannounced. Grandmother would immediately think of Khozhikuzhambu. This means killing a rooster or a delinquent hen. Some birds as if they had super-sense to detect grandmother’s death warrant, would fly and sit on the roof top or on an inaccessible tree branch. The farm hand then would be assigned to execute the death warrant. Smart ones defied and escaped the day to wait for another arrival of a guest and a fresh warrant. When my grandmother killed a fowl for lunch or dinner, she always lamented at least for two days regretting the killing and calling the dead one by some strange pet name.

When I nostalgically look back, I realize that the domestic fowl those days enjoyed considerable freedom, joy and human affection as they lived and sacrificed their life contributing to our wellbeing. Then came our aggressive consumption, matched by poultry science. The poultry keepers said, the birds cannot behave the way they used to. They could no more live in a garden or farmhouse but inside a pen or coop where they cannot even move; get exposed to light only if they are layers and not broilers; get fed only what the poultry keepers thought is right; not allowed to go with the rooster but artificially inseminated; and finally sent to the hell holes called broiler shops to be slaughtered, skinned and sold. Notwithstanding this, I am happy about my khebhabs and tandoori chickens.    

  

                                                                                    ***

When I was brooding over the country chicken this way, my wife reading the Times of India of July 4^th edition, drew my attention to the news that some of the schools in north western districts of Tamilnadu- Erode, Namakkal and Krishnagiri excelled in obtaining the most number of state ranks in +2Exams. Jokingly, I dismissed her and said, “These districts excel only in poultry keeping and not in education.” Then she gave me an elaborate lecture on how these institutions used ‘poultry keeping method’ as educational and pedagogical methods. I said, “John Dewy and Paulo Freire will wriggle in their graves.”

These schools she said, are resident schools with highly standardized lodging facilities. It seems that children are fed appropriate food in appropriate time. But life for children compares to a regimented and calibrated life of a chicken coop. One school by name Bharatha Vidya Bavan, make children observe study hours between 4.00 AM to 9.00 AM and then from 6.00 P.M to 11.00 PM, beyond attending the regular classes. This means 15 hours of thoughtless drudgery. Worst, even the bathroom walls it seems display one-word answers which the students are expected to rote-learn. They seem to eat, sleep, work and bathe in examination. The assurance is, like the poultry chicks children would acquire capabilities of laying plenty of marks- anything between 1150 to 1199 out of the maximum possible 2000 in the final reckoning. Who knows? One day a well bred child from the best among these poultries may lay the record 2000 eggs of the season. Even this will not satisfy the greedy parents who promote these schools paying in lakhs of rupees.

                                                                              ***

The ‘cluck’ ‘cluck’ of the chicks of my grandmother’s garden I think, would make more sense than the chant of the children of the coop. It is better we raise our own brood of chicks even if they leave their droppings in our bed rooms, lay fewer eggs and sit on the roof in defiance.

                                                                             0o0

           

 CHINNARAJ JOSEPH

A TRIBUTE TO RABINDRADOSS

(Revised transcript of the speech made in the Good Samaritan Church, Pallikaranai, Chennai, in the memorial service on 06.07.2016.)

Punitha Rabindradoss the beloved wife of the departed soul Rabindradoss who is present here, is my younger sister. Rabindradoss was of my age as he died at 63. I stand before you here in blood and flesh. This very fact increases my pain, and I helplessly curse death. My grief is too close and I am finding it difficult to gather myself and speak reminiscing and recollecting things relevant to this occasion.

 I see a big gathering of at least four generations of known and unknown faces- the immediate family of Rabindradoss, his wife Punitha, son Thambu, daughter Preethi, son-in-law Penil, grandchildren, Rabinndadoss’ brother Samson and his wife Sheila, sister Kasthuri and her husband Prince, the younger sister Adeline, all of Punitha’s brothers and sisters and their spouses, many nephews and nieces, cousins of both Rabindradoss and Punitha, their spouses and children, Aunt Getzi representing my  parental generation, childhood friends, former colleagues and friends and members of the congregation of Good Samaritan Church. Some of you have travelled from abroad. This large and composite gathering readily testifies to the love and affection Doss enjoyed in many hearts.

My relationship with Doss stretches to 36 years. I want to begin where we left this morning in the funeral service. We were told that Rabindradoss was one of those who were instrumental in building the Good Samaritan Church and his life after retirement was very much centered on the church. The presbyter was all in praise for that. But I would say that it is not after retirement, but it was from the beginning, his life was centered on the church. In a way, even he earned his wife through the church. I remember my father desperately searching for a groom for my sister Punitha and my uncle who lived in Chennai at that time brought the proposal of a boy who was in the Banking Service. My civil servant father became a little hesitant. But my uncle insisted, “It is not the banking job…  it is the  leadership qualities of this boy that has inspired me. This young boy along with his friends completely routed us in the church election.” The old guards, if memory serves me right, ironically included his father also. My father then said ‘yes’ for the proposal.

My first encounter with Rabindradoss’ family was through his mother when she came home to see the girl. After seeing the girl and spending some time, she wanted to retire to a separate room to discuss with other family members. My room upstairs was promptly given to them. After some time she sent word for me and everyone felt that she was going to say something not very helpful. When I met her, she curtly asked me, “why you call my son ‘Ravi’…  he is not Ravi.” Then she drew my attention to a wall hanging in my room. It was a portrait of Rabindranath Tagore with Stanza 35 beginning ‘Where the mind is without fear…’ transcribed alongside of Tagore’s face. “Whose choice was this” she asked. “Mine” I said. “Good, I am an admirer of Rabindranath… that is why I named my son Rabindradoss… even if you call him Ravi in Tamil, you shouldn’t lose the significance of his name…” I came downstairs and told everyone that the marriage was going to happen.

This might give you an idea about the kind of parental environment in which Ravi grew up. I think it is appropriate to recall in this occasion with reverence, the memories of Ravi’s parents whom I came to address as Uncle Selvaraj and Aunt Kamala. If the intellectual make up for Ravi came from the mother who was a teacher, his love for the Church and ‘Christian way of life’ came from the father. Uncle Selvaraj was a fine human being who was very gracious and lovable.

From the beginning I and Ravi, saw each other as friends and refused to be drawn into the fold of any formal relationship. This helped me not only to enjoy his company but also to gain rare insights into his personality.

The first quality I admired in him was that he was a man who never forgot his roots. On several occasions I have seen him moved to tears recollecting the sacrifices his father and mother made to bring him up. It was a rare sense of gratitude in him.

Graduating from Madras Christian College, Ravi entered the Banking Service very early and retired as a very Senior Manager. His friend and colleague just a while ago testified to his excellent professional ability as a banker. His intelligence, ability for hard work and professional commitment gave him the mettle to excel. He was impeccably honest. That gave him the fortitude. His banker friend rightly said that he fought the powers that be for a right cause, accommodated colleagues and showed extreme compassion to those who were in the lower rungs. He is the kind of a person who would take the bull by horn if he chooses and risk life. I would like to recall one incident. As a senior manager, once he made an advance of a few crore rupees to a liquor-baron-client based on a collateral inspection done by a jurisdictional branch where the factory was located. Subsequent Income-tax raid not only unearthed a lot of cash in the liquor baron’s house but also found diversion of funds to public election. The over enthusiastic Department of Revenue Intelligence suspected Ravi of collusion and hauled him up for an enquiry. The liquor baron wanted him to support him on the wrong side of law and in lieu, promised him money that would be several times the quantum of his terminal benefits. He was also offered a job. Ravi not only did refuse but drove to the liquor baron’s office and challenged him. He called him a ‘cheat’ at his face. I was supporting him through the process of the enquiry through a lawyer friend from Madurai. When Ravi called me and told me the incident I was upset and asked him why did he compromise his and his family’s safety, he remained cool and said, “A cheat should be called a cheat at his face and he should know there are a few who are honest and courageous and would not take things lying low.” That was the spirit of the man. I was inspired.

In spite of the fact that Ravi was of short stature and slender build, he commanded a powerful presence. He looked serious and unapproachable; many mistook it for arrogance. Ironically, he was very kind hearted, compassionate and went that extra mile to help others. Ravi loved life. His public commitments never allowed him to ignore his family. He nurtured it so well that his children stand a testimony. He was equanimous in extending love that helped break borders in our families. He extended the frontiers and made the circle very cosmopolitan.

He cherished friendship. It was heart rendering to see his childhood friends breaking down. These were boys whom I had seen as merrymaking groom’s party when they first came to my town. Ravi, in my opinion, indeed has left behind an undying charm and mystery.

Any death at any age and in whatever way it visits, underlines the human limitation. All of us have seen in our own families and outside, deaths which are so untimely and cruel. Young people have died of incurable diseases. Unlucky ones have died of accidents.  Innocent ones have been killed for gain and for political reasons. It is of some consolation that Ravi had a near-full life, living for him and fulfilling his familial and public responsibilities. But still it is not an age to die. And the loss for his wife and children are very personal and one cannot fathom their personal grief.

Death often forces us to revisit and reflect on the fundamentals of our faith. Informing my 87 year old ailing mother of the unfortunate event, became a challenge that fateful morning. I told her first that Ravi was seriously ill in order to mentally prepare her in stages, before I eventually told the truth. My mother said that she would pray and God would be merciful and save Ravi. But it took me an hour or more to go to her again and tell her that God did not answer the prayers this time.

God does not always answer our prayers. The very fundamental premise of Christian faith in my opinion draws from this issue of unanswered prayers. This is where we see the contradiction between human desire and God’s will; between our purpose and God’s purpose; between our helplessness and His power. We all know Gethsemane was a defeat even for Christ in worldly terms.

Christian victory is transcendentally seen only on the cross after Christ was crucified much against his will. Behind every death, there will be the will of God. We cannot lament why death happens in a particular time in a particular way. But every death leaves us a message to make newer meanings and continue our life.

This is where we have to start afresh, after every departure of near and dear ones. Ravi’s unexpected death has particularly left his wife and children too very shocked. Amidst gloom, they need that ‘one step’ to move forward. Ask for that to God. Then the whole new purpose in each one’s life would emerge and life would continue meaningfully.

Ravi never confused ‘this worldly’ commitments with his faith. He knew the difference between his religious discipline and religious fetish. He also knew the difference between ‘building the church’ and ‘raising a congregation’. My understanding is that he only did the latter. Otherwise in his nearly four decades of association with the church, he could have been lost in the labyrinth of power tempted by the powerful positions the Church offered.

If Ravi leaves a message for the congregation, it is fellowship transcending material power, division, acrimony and creed that alienates. He certainly affirmed this world and showed us how you cannot neglect this worldly responsibilities escaping into religion.

In him, I lost a personal friend.

May his soul rest in peace.

Chinnaraj Joseph

Faceboook and a  Heartbook

This I specifically address to all those who greeted me and wrote nice quips saying how nicely I look in the facebook profile picture. For a person trained to ‘get appropriately embarrassed as a sign of politeness when openly praised’, to be honest, the two hundred plus ‘likes’ and nice comments in a few hours secretly delighted me. The way how some memories have been recollected and ‘lost connections’ reestablished, has really touched my heart. I could see my own students, good old friends, acquaintances, old colleagues (a few of them), cousins, nephews, nieces, and ‘facebook connects’ (whom I have not personally known) ‘liking’ me. Thank you.

For a person who belongs to a generation that believed in ‘personal relationships’ and ‘direct contacts’, this is a bit difficult to understand. It is my young (24 year) old techie friend who in the first place inspired me to change my ‘profile’ picture. So, I was careful to take a few pictures as soon as I returned from the hair dresser. (These days my barber takes Rs. 700/- to do a reasonable job on my head with the hair dye). When I said this to my techie friend, he said, “Why boast of your barber, I can make you look much better if I ‘process you’ on my photoshop.” I certainly allowed myself to be processed before I showed my face on your pages. And you all seem to like it. When you all said, you like it, I went back to see myself again and again… and again and again. My photo slowly started gathering some light and hue and I looked more handsome in it. Every time I went back, I looked more handsome and more handsome. I started liking myself very much. I too did not fail to check how rapidly the ‘like’ count went up. I was quiet pleased with the going.

As I was looking at my own image, my old memory popped up, something which I had not recalled for years. Once upon a time when I was a teen ager I had a Canadian female ‘pen friend’ by name Amy Logan. Oh! I must tell the younger ones who a pen friend is. A pen friend is one whom you have not met but become friendly only through exchange of letters. He or she normally lived in a foreign country. My mother encouraged me to have pen friends for the purpose of improving my written communication and acquiring a cosmopolitan outlook. Watch the word cosmopolitan. But ironically, she hated all my local பெண் friends and drove me mad. Amy was of my age, 16 or 17 at that time and I really longed to see her at least by looking at one of her photos. Though she wrote very sweet letters, she never sent me one. Though I was a little disappointed I, I went about pleasurably casting her in several images my creativity permitted. The exchange did not last long.

 As these thoughts were gaining strength, my brain whispered in a measured tone, “Hi… Chinnaraj… like you, Amy must be on Facebook… why can’t you search for her?” Listening to this voice, I searched…and re-searched. I know Amy Logan could have become Amy something else now… Maybe, foolishly I thought Google can ‘mine’ the ‘unminable’. Several Amy faces, young and old, pretty looking and not very pretty looking came up on the screen. I narrowed down to faces older and then much older. Then I gave up.

After that I conjured up the old memories hidden deep in my heart. But the image of Amy I created long long ago was too fragmented to develop into a recognizable form in my mind’s sensors. But this sudden popping up of an old memory brought me a strange sense of mystery and a fleeting joy. Few minutes had passed and I anxiously went back to see how the ‘like’ counts improved. I took another look at my profile picture. This time, I didn’t look that handsome in that picture. More I looked, more it deformed itself into some ugliness. I went back to my ‘heartbook’ trying to turn a few more of its crumbled pages.

Then my wife’s shrill voice rudely shook me up, “It’s enough you played with your I-pad…your dinner is ready.”

 Dear Mr. Sagayam IAS...

Dr. T. CHINNARAJ JOSEPH JAIKUMAR                  

 (Former Principal& Secretary

The American College, Madurai)                               

47/23, Old Natham Road,

Madurai- 625 014.

To,

Mr. U. Sagayam, I.A.S.

Dear Mr.Sagayam,

             This open letter, I am prompted to write as a responsible citizen of India and as a senior academician-teacher who has been working with the youth of Madurai for about four decades. Though I have not personally known you, I have not failed to notice your activities as a public servant with keen interest. This is simply because you have proved to be one among the few civil servants in Tamilnadu, why, even in the whole of India who continue to carry the rare DNA molecules of the service in terms of intelligence, professionalism, personal courage and commitment to public duty. These DNA molecules somehow through some strange mutation, have vanished from the genetic store of your esteemed colleagues who have taken to political share-cropping, corruption, looting and begging for post-retirement positions crawling on the floor and touching the feet of the politicians. In such a vitiated milieux, civil servants like you always have to dare to weather the storm alone. You proved your mettle during your short term as the Collector of Madurai during the 2011 Assembly Elections and thereafter, probing the granite scam.

           Although you deserve applause for all that you have done, only luckily, I would say only luckily you got the opportunity to demonstrate your calibre as a civil servant. It is quite an irony in India that only an election commission or a law court can identify an honest bureaucrat to be given special assignments, and not the elected political executive. In such shuffling of dice of bureaucrats, many of your honest and able colleagues do not get such opportunities but simply fade away living in the fringes of the bureaucracy.

        Let me come to the present issue. All of a sudden, close to the forthcoming Assemly Elections some people of Tamilnadu, has simply created an icon out of your  ‘honestyimage’ using the social media. They also shout from the roof top that you must become the next Chief Minister of the Tamilnadu. My first question is, “Are you aware of this in the first place?”

         When I saw the pamphlets yesterday morning announcing the ‘Ilaingar Elluchi Maanaadu’ at Madurai, the first thing I did was to call the organisers and ask, “Is Sagayam attending?” The answer was “No.” My second question was “Is he at least aware of the fact that you are calling for the conference in his name? This time the answer was a vague “No.” My two other questions were, “Is he going to be your Chief Minister candidate? And has he given his consent to be fielded by you?” The answer from the other end was sadly disappointing. “Sir, only people like us must compel him to take up the responsibility. Please come for the meeting.”

        Though I was considerably peeved by the misgivings, I decided to attend the meeting with my wife on 3^rd Jan 2016. The first thing that drew my attention in the venue was the LCD sign board where I could see your face along with that of Dr. Abdul Kalam with some slogans iconizing you both for ‘honesty.’ My idle mind immediately asked me why Mahatma Gandhi’s face, the time tested ‘honesty icon’ was left out? I also asked myself, “Was it because Gandhi was not a Tamil, and not a career bureaucrat like you and Kalam? Or is it because, our youth do not read history anymore?

          The meeting started with thappattam followed by thamizh thai vazhthu and some kind of convictionless oath taking. (I have enclosed a copy of the oath for you to read). This was followed by a 30 minute rhetoric by a 10 year old child prodigee. A few organisers spoke with great angst overcome by apocalyptic gloom that Tamilnadu will be lost forever if Sagayam fail to take over as Chief minister of Tamilnadu.’ (They were however careful not to dilute their desire by using the phrase ‘Sagayam like people’).

             Two other interesting things drew my attention. First, though there was a lot of rhetoric about corruption, no mentioning of names of a single corrupt politician in power was made. Corruption was presented as something akin to a big monsoon failure leading to farmers’ suicide. The second important thing was that they profusely thanked the ‘police’ for their cooperation in putting up the conference.

         Apart from making a spectacle, the meeting in my opinion was devoid of an agenda that can promise to radically change the corrupt political system. The most disappointing thing for me was the complete absence of leaders among the youth who could lead from the front. One reporter of a leading English newspaper covering the event told me, 13 out of 20 organisers/volunteers he met, wanted to remain anonymous and plainly refused to give him their names.

         Then, I was met by a reporter of The Hindu (English) who asked me for my opinion. I said, “It looks like a shift from celluloid leadership to virtual space leadership. These people are projecting him [Sagayam] as the change [leader]. Mr.Sagayam should clear the air and not mislead these youngsters by remaining silent”. And this was carried by The Hindu on  04/01/2016.

          In this context, I urge you to seriously consider the following in the public interest:

1.   Perception matters in Public Life

Right perception matters in public life. Some see you as a ‘superman’ who can give Tamilnadu a corrupt free Government as its next Chief minister. Some see you vaguely as a ‘messianic hope’ for the entire future. Many youth see you as a ‘role model’. (But the same youth would not lead themselves but ironically ask you to lead them). People like me, see you as an upright civil servant who can diligently and honestly do what is expected of him to do. Worst, some see in you, a publicist. This is really bad for you. Therefore, I say that the time has come for you to make a public statement as to what you want to see of yourself as a public personality and what do you want to say to the expectant public who in my opinion misrepresent/misuse your image. Your continued silence would make you a suspect.

2.   The Sun Cannot Shine from within a Glass Case

As on date, you continue to remain as an Indian Administrative service Officer with obligations to discharge duties pertaining to public administration as mandated by the elected government in office. The Civil Service Code limits your role as a public servant and as such, you can do very little to salvage the corrupt system. Only when you step out of the role of a civil servant, you can enter real public life and risk an attempt to reform the corrupt system. I have no business to compel you to leave the civil service as some of your fans would like you to do. But you owe an honest answer to the ‘expectant’ followers of yours so that they get a clear direction. As an honest civil servant, you also owe an answer to the general public as to the true nature of your public identity. Allowing too much public glare and publicity certainly vitiates civil service ethos. Don’t we criticise our politicians for cheap publicity and populism?

 3. Civil Service Route to Politics

Civil Servants entering politics is nothing uncommon in India. One has the constitutional right to do so. Many yester year civil servants have done well in politics too. But the way a civil servant enters politics is important. You might have noticed civil servants directly winning elections using civil service vintage and move up in the party hierarchy. (Yashwant Sinha, Mani Shankar Iyer types). Some are invited by established political parties for their expertise. (Manmohan Singh types). Some develop additional six legs and move like spiders chafing the feet of powerful politician while in service, the quid pro quo route. (This fast emerging species is numerous that it is difficult to classify).

4.   From Admiration to Adoration to Adulation: Why Civil         Servants alone?

I am also prompted to draw your attention to the question why an honest and diligent civil servant alone is celebrated by the Indian/Tamil public, and not several other honest but humle people. [Thank God they do not celebrate efficient Army Generals as they do in Pakistan]. I will say that the creation of charisma in favour of civil servants in India, come from two premises. First, it is the colonial hangover that stokes the imagination that a civil servant is a ‘man extraordinary’ who can shower any amount of benevolence if he wills. (The corollary is, many don’t will). Madurai for instance, even now remembers Peter Raus (Collector of Madurai between 1815 and 1828) through ballads. He has been celebrated as ‘Peter Pandya.’ Interestingly, glorification by the then Madurai public made him commit benevolent excesses and overstep his shoes. Finally, he had to commit suicide facing enquiries.

Only the residues of colonial memory and imagination left in the collective consciousness of our people make them think that civil servants are super human. You will appreciate the point that in a democracy, an officer like you or any public servant for that matter is entitled only to a rightful admiration (meaning applause and acclaim). But what needs to be discouraged are adoration (reverence and devotion) and adulation (glorification and hero-worship). If at all our democracy has gone toxic today, it is because of adoration and adulation of leaders, leading to cult and hero-worship. Will you agree with me on this? During yester years, these adulations came through creation of celluloid images. Today, in your case, people are ironically creating it through virtual media and by singing hosanna to ‘a prophet who would not arrive at the Gates of Jerusalem yet.’

        The second premise of admiration and adulation of civil servants come from sheer abdication of personal responsibilities of individual actors as citizens. When someone does not want to take minimum personal responsibility as a citizen and pay the price for that, he or she expects somebody else do the house keeping for him or her. They are the lot unwillingly but selfishly subscribe to benevolent dictatorship or authoritarianism. Only inwardly weak individuals crave for ‘externally strong leaders to lead.’ And they want them to come from somewhere. They always like to be camp followers without taking responsibilities.  In no time leaders become gods.

       In my grandfather’s days at the face of political distress, people used to say, “The white man should not have left this country…our people do not know how to rule. In my father’s generation I used to hear sighs, “We need a military rule and not democracy…. Gandhi must be blamed for all these democratic mess… he got freedom free… without sweat and blood.” In my days, I have heard people saying, “We need an Indra Gandhi to discipline this undisciplined, through another National Emergency.” Like me, you also must have heard all these groans of desperation. Now, I hear the slogan, “We need Sagayam to salvage Tamilnadu.” Perhaps you also hear this. (If not, please see the pamphlet I have attached with this letter).

       My point is that no one is willing to acquire capabilities to be a citizen of this country; no one wants to pay the price of being a leader, both the young and the old; no one wants to understand that each individual in a democracy has a personal price to pay to enjoy freedom and dignity. They want a messiah to arrive and shoulder the burden of transforming Tamilnadu. In other words, the message is that they want a cult figure whom they can worship; a dictator whom they can obey; and if needed a messiah who can be sent to the sacrificial altar.  We have had enough of this in the name of democracy.

5.   Messiahs go to Live with the  People

       If by any chance Mr.Sagayam, you choose to leave civil service and enter public life, do not get encouraged to encash electoral politics. But start a grassroots movement. People like us would hold hands with you. Even the greatest of messiahs like Christ and Prophet Mohamed when they arrived, went down to the people of the lowest rung and gave their sweat and blood. If you also commit to do that, you will build basic capacities in people as citizens; help the youth to lead from the front and not hide behind icons, real and imagined. Then you will be at the head of a movement, and not a Chief Minister of a ‘servile Tamil Country’ of cult worshipers.

Are you willing to do this Mr.Sagayam ?

         I would certainly appreciate a reply from you.

                                                                      In Democracy we commit.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Your Fellow Citizen

05.01.2016

Madurai                                                                      Dr. T. Chinnaraj Joseph Jaikumar