KOCHI: When fog eclipsed sun
It was Christmas day, yet overcome by the excitement to watch the annular solar eclipse for a few more seconds than normal the following morning, we — our photographer and I — decided to leave behind our native Kozhikode, which was immersed in merrymaking, and travel to Ambalavayal (Wayanad), which along with Cheruvathur (Kasaragod) had promised the best view. The Wayanad district administration and DTPC had made all arrangements at Cheengeri Hills for 500 enthusiasts who had booked in advance and everybody had come prepared, be it jackets to cover their chests or solar goggles to protect eyes. Time ticked and it was 8.05 am.
The moon started hiding the sun and I texted my friends how spectacular experience we would have soon. Then came the fog, thick and fast. We hoped it would go away before 9.27am, the prime moment. But nothing happened. And then images of the eclipse started coming on my mobile phone. To my embarrassment, they included those from Kozhikode and even sent by a neighbour who had captured a ‘ring of fire’ on his mobile phone. What Wayanad could offer us was just fog. It turned out to be a foggy eclipse.
Smart me, smarter SChool
The words ‘official visit’ send authorities scurrying to cover their ground. Recently, for doing a report, I went to a school where a camp was being planned by the NSS unit of a college in Kochi. Well, if anyone thought that the schools have learnt a lesson from the snakebite death of a student in Wayanad, you might be wrong. The school’s premises sported overgrown weeds and grass. “Yummmm... I smell a story,” I thought. “Dear sir, is this the school where a camp is to be held?” I asked a teacher of the school. “Yes, it is,” the person said. “Well, you guys might be happy that the top officers from the District Legal Services Authority (DLSA) and Childline will be inaugurating the camp?” I asked innocently.
I went my way thinking of the showdown the DLSA and Childline officers would have with the school authorities. But, I was in for a surprise the next day. I stepped into the spick and span premises. Every blade of grass was shorn off. The school campus got transformed in a single night and the only thing I could think of was “What! The school authorities have nipped the story in the bud!” And the teacher with whom I had talked the day before came to me, smiling smugly.
An unforgettable forest trail
On May 31, 2019, a team from TNIE was on a forest trail in Vazhachal forest division to understand the travails of tribals who were displaced by landslides last year. From the ghat road leading to Malakkappara, we entered a dirt track to visit Mukkumpuzha colony where tribal fishermen live. The road was in fact an elephant path with thick bamboo reed overgrown on either sides.
The tribals had warned that elephant herds frequent the area as it was located close to the river. Suddenly, the car stopped and the ignition was not working as the battery had completely drained. Anxiety gripped us as elephant dung found all around indicated presence of jumbos. After much effort we push-started the car and managed to return to the main road. During the drive, we also met Manikandan, the sambar deer which relishes banana fritter.
Death and realisation
When the mobile screen lit up early morning with the beep of an incoming message that read ‘K Mohammed Basheer passed away’, it read like just any another news input. It took a few moments for the alarm bells to ring, reminding me that the message originated from the Trivandrum Press Club and that it was about a journalist whom I had met just the day before.
The name mentioned actually belonged to ‘KMB’ — an acronym by which he was known to fellow journalists. Just back from an arduous five-hour train journey, the text message was a bolt from the blue, not just for me but to almost all fellow scribes in the state capital. What made it all the more worse was the news that followed — KMB had lost his life in an accident caused by an IAS officer who had often hogged the headlines only because the journalists chose to highlight his stance.
Taken for a ride
I was assigned to cover the landslide tragedy at Kavalappara and my experience, I’ve to say, taught me how greedy people are, even at the time of disasters. A bit anxious, I had asked a friend of mine in Perinthalmanna to arrange transportation to go to the site. When I reached Nilambur railway station, a jeep was ready to take me to Kavalappara, some 80km away. To my dismay, the police blocked us on the way and I had to hitch a ride. Wayanad MP Rahul Gandhi was visiting the place and it made things more hectic. I turned a pillion rider again on my way back and rang up the jeep driver to come and collect his amount. The ATMs had run out of money and I had left with minimum cash, so a bit worried I asked him to tell me the amount I had to pay him. And he said: “It’s `2,500”. “For a 20-km ride,” I wondered. As an aviation correspondent, I’ve seen air fares going up during the time of demand. But this was worse as the driver chose to make the most of a tragedy.
Piqued pigs
Reporting directly from a flooded pig farm, that too in a country boat, can be dangerous. That was what Team TNIE experienced during the coverage of flood on August 9, 2019. It was our photographer A Sanesh who found out the pig farm which was almost submerged. Three of us, the other one being a woman reporter, reached the spot in a country boat which was rowed by a local. All of a sudden, two of the pigs, which were fully grown and weighed more than 300kg each, became aggressive and started to fight with each other. They jumped and fell into the water, splashing water into the boat making it almost capsize. One of the pigs even jumped over the small boat. However, it was the bravery of the local people present there that helped us escape the “big pig fight”.
Honouring invites
By 2019, I had figured out that if a friend calls or messages me after a long interval, it’s mostly to invite me to his/her wedding. Incidentally, most of the travelling I had done this year was to attend weddings. Keeping that aside, I also got invited to four weddings of people who I had spoken to get news stories. While three of them invited me to their own weddings, an IIT Delhi researcher wanted me to attend his brother’s wedding. Unfortunately, I couldn’t attend any of them. The last of the lot is set to happen in January and I hope to make it to that one at least.
Dilemma at times of tragedy
Askar Kannankadan, 38, was walking in a perplexed state on the site of rescue operations at Puthumala in Wayanad where a major landslide occurred on August 7. Askar flew down from Riyadh after learning about the disaster and had been anxiously waiting for five days to find his missing father Aboobacker. I spoke to him a couple of times, not introducing myself as a reporter. I had his story ready, but had no photograph. How to ask him to pose when he was looking around for his father? I followed him persistently and tried to click a picture on my mobile phone, but the anxious man was moving all the time. Finally, Sub-Collector N R K Umesh came and Askar greeted him. There he stood still for a few minutes. I did not have the courage to go and click his photo from the front. I clicked his profile from the side. It got published along with his story the next day.
The ‘healing’ hat
Areporter for a Malayalam newspaper calls journalists in Kasaragod, saying a team of UK scientists was coming to study the medicinal effects of caps made of palm sheaths, worn by farmworkers in north Malabar. “I have done a report,” he said. The headline read: “Palm sheath cap has medicinal property; international team arriving for research”.
“They are visiting an arecanut plantation in Bovikkam. Come there,” said the reporter. The suspicious TV journalists were there. After 30 minutes of waiting, an Innova car pulled over. A woman wearing sunglasses and a sheath cap stepped out. “So you are from which institute in the UK,” asked a reporter. “I am a techie in the US. We are from Pune,” she said. “So you are not a scientist?” “No. But we have experienced the medicinal properties of the hat,” she said. “What are they?”
“We wear the cap for 30 minutes before going to sleep. It eases our tension and helps us get sound sleep.” The reporter quoted from his report: “It also stops radiation from mobile tower.” “Let’s go to the plantation now,” said the woman and walked ahead but alone, as the journalists felt they were taken for a ride.
Taken for a ride
I was assigned to cover the landslide tragedy at Kavalappara and my experience, I’ve to say, taught me how greedy people are, even at the time of disasters. A bit anxious, I had asked a friend of mine in Perinthalmanna to arrange transportation to go to the site. When I reached Nilambur railway station, a jeep was ready to take me to Kavalappara, some 80km away. To my dismay, the police blocked us on the way and I had to hitch a ride. Wayanad MP Rahul Gandhi was visiting the place and it made things more hectic. I turned a pillion rider again on my way back and rang up the jeep driver to come and collect his amount. The ATMs had run out of money and I had left with minimum cash, so a bit worried I asked him to tell me the amount I had to pay him. And he said: “It’s `2,500”. “For a 20-km ride,” I wondered. As an aviation correspondent, I’ve seen air fares going up during the time of demand. But this was worse as the driver chose to make the most of a tragedy.