Dear Suresh Gopi, we have one thing in common: Thrissur. I come from that town. I don't know if I will go back to it, though.
You are the elected MP, representing the BJP, and now the people of Thrissur and Kerala at large. The first time I saw you in person was around 7 pm on an April night so hot it might have dropped from Venus, and just as bright with all the white lights in the world, most of them shining on your face. The place was next to a temple in a residential area. You were making a speech on what you would do for the town if elected.
The last I saw of you was on channels on a hotter Sunday night, taking oath as a minister of state in the third Modi cabinet. What a summer it has been for you.
In 2019, you lost by over 1,00,000 votes in Thrissur (population 33,51,000, 58 percent Hindu, 27 percent Christian, the rest Muslim), traditionally a leftist bastion with an occasional lapse in favour of the Congress.
Five years later, you won with a majority of over a lakh. The Left has accused you of stealing Christian votes by gifting a crown of gold to Mother Mary in the Our Lady of Lourdes Cathedral. But I believe it was a goodwill gesture, and only you could have done it.
If any other candidate were so open about getting gods of different faiths to rally behind him/her, they would have perhaps lost their deposit altogether. Contrary to general perception, Kerala is a cruel place. The culture mob, to the last person, is anti-patriarchal, though some of them may be living off their father’s ill-made wealth. You are nothing if not a (benevolent) patriarch.
My respect for you is primarily based on the quality of the nearly perverse persistence with which you stuck to that image. You are for god, order, Mohan Lal, and the BJP. And all of it somewhat makes sense because, as hundreds of needy men and women would testify, you are well-intentioned at heart.
Just like the roles in your movies—most of them hits, especially those in which you are a police commissioner or a vigilante forced, late in his life, to fight for justice. You are Kerala’s friendly, overweight, sentimental Spiderman. Kerala could do with more like you.
Which brings me to the point. Notwithstanding your minister’s post, there are things you could do to help your constituency.
You have, among other things, promised to extend the Metro service from Kochi to Thrissur. This is a necessary idea. The highway traffic is so bad that the 75-odd km take forever. Your other promises include an improved market square and a more organised station for private buses. All good.
But.
Thrissur is a wealthy town. The place is littered with vast mansions of gold and jewellery merchants with private jets and helicopters in their backyards. Half the town’s population is abroad, mostly in the Middle East. (The other half are shopkeepers or professors—petty bourgeoisie and bourgeoisie, both classes reassuringly devoted to the cause of the revolution and chit funds.)
The younger generation is migrating in hoards to Canada, Japan and Germany. Whole populations of senior citizens wander around in their big houses in deserted colonies, forgetful of who they are, as in a Marquez novel. Senior community centres and services would be a merciful intervention. The government can initiate these centres, or encourage private initiatives to make the town a little more friendly to the old.
The low-lying areas of Thrissur are prone to flooding, as happened in 2018. One reason for this is that the drainage of water is impossible as gutters and sewers are nonexistent or inadequate. Often, residents block drains with concrete as these pass under their gates. Free flow of rainwater is essential. This means coordinated efforts with the municipal authorities.
Thrissur is a carnivorous town. Toxic waste piles up on streets in ominous proportions. Viral fevers break out with the regularity of festivals— the town is particularly prone to this cultural epidemic, hosting hundreds of events a year. While nothing can be done about this, the clearance of waste and its recycling demand urgent intervention.
Thrissur has three great medical colleges/hospitals: two private ones and a government-run one. With expatriate help, more such hospitals could be set up. This should transform the town into a medical tourism hub and help generate jobs and enterprises at all levels.
All these must seem rather micro. But the traditional politics of Kerala is too ideological and abstract to focus on the basics. Things happen. But they happen rather on their own will. Then they stop—again on their own will. For instance, the connectivity to Nedumbassery Airport used to be good in terms of public transport. Direct air-conditioned and ordinary buses plied regularly from the town to the airport. The service is down to two or three buses now. Thousands travel from the town to the airport daily.
Perhaps, as the metaphoric minister for Thrissur, you could call for an open contest of urban town planners, and choose the best scheme.
Thrissur is a temple town. And you are a great believer. But you know how gods are: they keep away from stuff like drainage inspection.
The very best to you.
(Views are personal)
C P Surendran | Poet, novelist, and screenplay writer. His latest novel is One Love and the Many Lives of Osip B
