heraldofindia/article.php?id=628 Meet Lipin Raj Success against all odds A.J. Philip I HAD occasion to recruit many journalists, most of whom are now holding very high positions in a profession where dog eats dog. Nothing gives me greater satisfaction than the success of those whom I recruited or encouraged to become journalists. While recruiting them, I gave preference to those who prepared for the civil services examinations and had exhausted all their chances. Those days journalism courses were not popular and, in any case, it was not the first option of the bright and the brilliant. Now things have changed, as is borne out by the fact that the first cut-off for the journalism course at Lady Shri Ram College in Delhi was 100 per cent. It gave me a lot of happiness that the profession I love has started attracting the high scorers. My partiality for those who failed to join the civil services was on two grounds. A candidate who exhausted all his chances was bound to be a highly motivated person. He would also have had a good grounding in subjects as varied as economics, agriculture and history. There were exceptions like this gentleman who came through pairvi - a term that camouflages nepotism and corruption - for the post of proof reader, a profession that became a casualty of software technology. He had done nothing in his life except preparing for the IAS on the basis of which he had already married a girl from a rich family. He did not impress me at all. Since I wanted to convince him of his ineligibility, I gave him an instant test by asking him to write 10 English words dictated by me. No, I did not include words like higgledy-piggledy, embarrassment, harassment and enrolment that can confuse even a prolific writer. He could write correctly only four words out of 10. He spelt ‘prime minister’ as ‘prim minster’. The bureaucrats may no longer have the ability or inclination to trace the history of the Khap Panchayats in present-day Haryana as was done by Malcolm L. Darling or prepare district gazetteers that provide pen portraits of various tribes and sub-tribes in districts like Singhbhum in Jharkhand but the civil services continue to attract an ever-increasing number of candidates. Five lakh candidates appeared last time. What is it that attracts even those who have passed MBBS to appear for it? It is certainly the power and pelf that accompany the magical letters IAS, IPS and IFS. I still remember my cousin bringing home one night the late M. Krishnan Nair, who was at that time Superintendent of Police, Kollam district. He was returning from Sabarimala, which was under his jurisdiction, when his official car broke down near Vadasserikara. That night, while Nair slept comfortably in the guest room, my aunt did not get a wink of sleep as she was busy cooking various dishes for his breakfast. Nair was as handsome as film star Prem Nazir and I considered myself lucky to speak to him and serve him food. We all watched with great admiration as he departed in his white gleaming ambassador, a symbol of authority those days. Nair was also a good speaker and writer in Malayalam. A student of St. Thomas High School, Kozhencherry, had once seen the district Collector passing by in his official car with a red light on top. It kindled in him a desire to join the coveted civil service. But, then, who does not get such fleeting desires? I was a Sunday school student when the Catholicos of the East visited our church. He came in a big, black Impala that remained etched in my memory for a long time. Soon, I gave up my ambition to become a bishop when I realized that I was not cut out for the job of even a priest. Lipin Raj’s desire was not like mine, as fleeting as waves in the sea. At that time a job in the civil service would have appeared distant and hazy for the adolescent who came from a very poor family. Tragedy had been his constant companion ever since he lost an eye in circumstances that should impel parents not to allow their children to play with sharp objects like a pair of compasses. By the time he was taken to an apology for an hospital at Kozhencherry, a clear fluid called aqueous humour, without which vision is not possible, had drained out of his eyes. He lost one eye. What was more problematic for him was his father’s liquor addiction. One by one, he started selling his landed properties. He was on the verge of pawning his house when he had a sudden visitor, who came on the back of a buffalo, with assistant Chitragupta, who wielded a huge register called Agrasandhani. It might be impolite to thank Yama for his little mercies that allowed the family to stay in their own house. “Don’t read too much, don’t strain your eye” warned doctors but he cared two hoots for such advice, as he spent most of his time reading books including The Alchemist by Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho and Wings of Fire by APJ Abdul Kalam. He did not have many friends as he found perfect company in his elder sister. When he passed +2 with flying colours, his ambition was limited to seeking admission to my alma mater St. Thomas College, a short distance from his house at Naranganam. As my relative John Mundakkayam narrates his story in the Malayala Manorama, it was a chance encounter Lipin Raj had with the owner of a photocopying shop at Kozhencherry that changed his life. As he handed his certificate to the inquisitive shop owner, who had a cursory glance at it, he asked him about his future plans. He was wonderstruck by his marks, particularly the full marks he got for the low mark-yielding Malayalam. When he was told that he planned to join St. Thomas College and study English literature there, he was advised that he should join a college like St. Stephen’s in Delhi. The shop owner had, perhaps, no idea that studying at St. Thomas had not prevented one T.K.A. Nair from becoming the Prime Minister’s advisor and this writer from becoming a columnist. Fortunately, he was not one of those who gave unsolicited advice at the drop of a hat. When he heard about Lipin Raj’s straitened circumstances, he said he would do something about it. He kept his word and introduced him to a bishop. Soon, he found himself pursuing a degree course in journalism at Mar Ivanios College, Thiruvananthapuram, where the bishop gave him full fee concession. There were other costs involved. His sister took tuition classes to underwrite his studies. At Thiruvananthapuram, he felt like a fish out of water. On the first day, when the lad from Naranganam was asked to introduce himself in English, he was unable to say more than “Lipin Raj... Naranganam”. When he graduated from the college and was declared the best student, he decided to speak in English. “I wrote a speech in grammatically correct English, got it checked by someone I trust for his command of the English language, learnt it by heart and rendered it over the phone to a friend before I spoke at the college function, earning huge applause”. As part of his course, he did an internship with a Malayalam daily and would have loved to pursue a career in journalism but he had not forgotten that “IAS officer who drove past in a white ambassador”. He got admission to a postgraduate course at Jawaharlal Nehru University but he did not want his sister to finance his studies by working harder. He also appeared for many competitive tests. It was while working for a nationalized bank that he appeared first for the civil services exam. He was not lucky in the first attempt but he did not give up hope. Among all the subjects he studied, it was Malayalam that he loved the most. At a time when Malayalees, who can scarcely speak pidgin English, are fond of telling their children, “Don’t say Achcha, say Daady, Don’t say Amma, say Mummy”, Lipin Raj had the guts to choose Malayalam as the medium of expression for the civil services examination. He chose to write all the nine papers in Malayalam. It was not easy to find books in Malayalam but that did not deter him. He did research to learn the Malayalam equivalents for words, thoughts and expressions in English. He did all this while doing his regular bank job. “I spent nearly Rs 7 lakh on acquiring books” which he could have, of course, obtained from a library! All through it was his doting sister, who helped him navigate the narrows of the civil service exam. He organized a group of civil service aspirants on Facebook to exchange notes on their preparation. When most Malayalees cannot speak their mother tongue without interspersing it with English words, I heard Lipin Raj speak in fluent, flawless Malayalam on Youtube. The language has been conferred the status of a classical language but in Kerala, the most thriving business is that of running English medium schools where the teachers do little else than reading out the texts in the classroom. Because of his visual handicap, he was entitled to the benefits of reservation but he did not have to avail of it as he had secured enough marks to qualify in the general category. He was, perhaps, the first to make it to the civil services on the strength of his abiding love for Malayalam. As mentioned, tragedies continued to cling to him like a leech. In one instance, the villain of the piece was the headmaster of a school where he studied. He was born on March 31 but the headmaster thought it was an error and wrote March 30 in the school register. The reason for his correction was indeed incredible: he thought March had only 30 days! The error created problems for him. To make the correction, the law demands notarized copies of various certificates, including -- believe it or not -- the father’s birth certificate. Even when everything was done, a constable at the Aranmula police station who visited him for police verification demanded a bribe of Rs 500 -- the price for the headmaster’s folly. For once, Lipin Raj, who had once exercised the Right to Information when the official concerned had only heard about it, felt the helplessness of an average Indian. When the news about his success in the civil services exam reached newspaper reader Bharati Devi, who lost two legs in an accident and was admitted to a hospital in Ernakulam, she called him from the hospital bed and said: “Your story encourages me to live again”. Lipin Raj’s is a story that should motivate all those who face challenges in life like Bharati Devi. Of course, he cannot, merely by entering the IAS, be expected to end corruption that thrives in government offices. But he can certainly remain a beacon of honesty and integrity in the profession and disprove to the world the thought contained in Changampuzha’s famous line “Aatmarthamayoru Hridayam Undayatu aanen parajayam” (My failure is that I have a honest heart). The rank Lipin Raj secured was 224th but Kerala’s most-acclaimed poet ONV Kurup saw it as the “First rank” because of the circumstances in which he accomplished it. Delhi’s Kerala Club, founded, among others,by V.P. Menon, one of India’s most celebrated bureaucrats who, as the right hand man of Sardar Patel, merged all the native states into the Indian Union, and K.P.S. Menon, legendary diplomat, is all set to host Lipin Raj at its Sahiti Sakhyam on July 19. Among those slated to felicitate him is T.K.A. Nair. May his success motivate all young men and women in the country to rise to their full potential. The writer can be reached at ajphilip@gmail Courtesy: Indian Currents Photos: Courtesy Malayala Manorama
Posted on: Sun, 07 Jul 2013 01:48:55 +0000
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