For one or two days after Justice John Michael D’Cunha’s judgment convicting Tamizh Naad Chief Minister Jayalalithaa in the disproportionate assets case, people known to me would come and try to give me shake-hand like I did something big. Others said things like you were involved in that case, is it and I tried hard to look serious and not open my mouth to spoil the big impression they were having of me. Anyway, what could I say to correct them? That I went and sat at one table for a long time every day, and could not do my usual evening reading because of eye-strain. That I did not feel important at any point, only puzzled and frightened at the beginning, then bored and also worried, and very relieved when it was over. That it felt little bit like going to jail. Or, more accurately, like being stuck in some relative’s house where you have to be very polite. Maybe you will understand better if I begin at the beginning.

One Tuesday afternoon in October 2004, as I was sitting in my department and waiting for the bell to ring for the post-lunch class to start, I saw a peon sprint up to our door from the office. The Director of Collegiate Education wants to talk to you, he said. Come quickly to the office, I’ve left the phone off the hook.

I couldn’t have sprinted even if I wanted to, so I let him sprint back, and made my way, hastening slowly, as it were, to the receptionist’s window from where I would be handed the black Bakelite receiver through the bars. If you understand the labyrinthine complexities of higher education in Karnataka, you will understand the air of disbelief with which I approached the whole thing. Bill Gates might call Microsoft people and say hello how are you what are you doing for Microsoft today, but The Director of Collegiate Education is a grand panjandrum, sits inside a stone building that was once some royal’s property in British days, now guarded by several watchmen, within acres of garden, his office tended to by a secretary and several support staff, their office surrounded by several rooms where minions sit typing, pushing files and shepherding courses, careers and years of dust. Plus there is proper hierarchy. Commissioner, then Director, then joint directors for different regions, then officers on special duty, then principals of government and private colleges, then lecturers in government colleges, and finally us private college fellows, like ants. Every time some director puts his foot down, three of us will die.

For such an august personage to pick up a phone and dial a private Bangalore college and ask to talk to the tail of their Humanities Department was just as likely as Queen Victoria jumping off her statue near Cubbon Park and coming to my home to ring my doorbell to ask if I wanted to go and do a by-two tea inside a Brahmin hotel under a board which said no fractional service. Anyway when I picked up the phone and said hello, there was only the dying animal sound of a disconnected call. I got teased about it for the rest of that day. One colleague said, you’re a big man now, when the Director calls again tell him please release my promotion arrears they are pending from 1994. I let out a strangulation noise to let him know I was appreciating his humor and his hopeful request and the delicate way in which the two combined for a leg-pull.

The next day did not offer so many opportunities for laughter. By the time Thursday came around, everybody had forgotten about it, and all parties had gone back to sleepwalking routine, no humor, nor sprinting. Then on Friday morning, I was accosted in the corridors by a colleague and told that Principal wanted to meet me, most urgent, I could consider my morning class cancelled.

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So I went, and was asked to sit, and then the Principal said we have received this fax, you please write a letter complying with the order that it contains immediately. We are a private college, sir, the fax is directly from Commissioner of Higher Education, madam is very strict, if we don’t give prompt response then movement of files and salary bill becomes a problem. So I said yes sir, and I read the fax. It said go immediately to such and such a room in the City Civil Court, and report to Professor S who is coordinating translation team. You have to be there only till further orders from this office. So I took a white sheet, put the date, said to Madam Commissioner through Principal, today forthwith I am reporting, and I made two copies of the letter, gave one to him and left. You have to do everything in writing with officials, otherwise tomorrow they will say what order, who gave, what proof and all, and withhold pension, benefits etc and make you run from pillar to post.

Story continues

City Civil Court is a multi-storey building next to Cauvery Bhavan, opposite Central College, just a stone’s throw from State Bank of Mysore and Avenue Road. For a long time it was pink in color, then it became light-brown, and various other colors. I have many memories here, my parents did register marriage here, and then they went to the next building, which had Woodlands restaurant, and they ate ice-cream there, with their friends who had come as witnesses. Later I had to come to the Family Court in the same building to file for divorce, and sat through three or four sessions, and went for reconciliation, before the matter ended.

So I went, and found the room, but the coordinator was not there – he had gone to the Commissioner’s Office to send more faxes because some people had not yet reported. The court officer took my joining report, and said please fill your name in the register, you have to sign here for attendance every day, and this copy will go to Finance Department and Collegiate Education. So I did all that, and then they assigned me one chair and table, and said you have to do translation work. As I began, Prof S arrived, and said welcome sir, this is Jayalalithaa Case, all of us have been deputed here because documents are in Tamizh and case has been transferred to Karnataka, so all of us have to translate. There were about 20 people, including both pre-university teachers and college teachers, summoned from one-man or one-woman Tamizh departments. Many were familiar faces, because people in my family have been Tamizh teachers.

Anyhow, that was my two-minute orientation program, and I sat down and started translating the document given to me. It was some deposition about giving power of attorney over some land to some person. I had to read it at least ten times, because the language used in courts is very different from idiomatic Tamizh. The syntax is at least 100 years old, so in the very first sentence you will get every life detail of the deponent except his pincode and I spent half an hour trying to get all these details into one English sentence. Terms used in land-related documents tend to be archaic Tamizh, or dialect-words, or even Persian sometimes. I somehow managed, and showed it to the coordinator and he okayed it.

On the very first day, I learnt a new Tamizh word – villangam. A senior professor explained it to me in Tamizh as difficulties hindering any smooth transaction in land matters, and I translated it as ‘impediment’. When I went home and asked, they said ‘encumbrance’, and I checked it up. I spent a few days replacing hindrance, difficulty, and my own impediment in already translated documents with the accepted word. I began to learn as many as five to ten new words in my own language every day as a result of this deputation.

That very first afternoon I got the answer to one question that was playing inside my head like in the olden days movies with echo effect. How did Commissioner come to know my name and that Tamizh is known to me? I was thinking not bad, these fellows know all small things, they must be keeping full watch otherwise how it can be possible. Also, little fear, because all of us do some small things, who wants higher-ups to know all this.

While I was struggling over my maiden translation, I got an answer to my question. Every now and then, Coordinator would say we need five more people at least, who can be called. And immediately everybody will stop translating and brainstorming session will start. In a minute somebody would say Oh yes, so-and-so in such-and-such department is a Tamizh-knowing person. Coordinator would check his list and immediately become happy and say very good ma, very good, if name was not there. Usually only lady staff were making useful suggestions. They were very well-informed about these things – who knows how many languages, which he can able to read, write, speak. Then Coordinator will take list to Commissioner’s office and faxes will start flying.

Our number increased because of this to about 22, and I lost all illusions about how much anybody in any office knew about their staff and also because I now understood that I didn’t have to get arrears for anyone.

Later when I went home and told my parents, they said what is this headache job, you can’t even say no, and god knows what will happen tomorrow. Don’t tell anybody that you are doing this, and be careful, some AThiMuKa fellow might trouble you, or some Amma-veriyan (loyalist) if you go to Tamizh Nadu. Jakkirathai! Also this is a sensitive matter, don’t tell anybody anything, if more people come to know, we cannot predict what will happen. Straightaway higher-ups will put a hand in your service register, and then lifelong irritation will happen. So while I could not hide it in the college, I was careful not to reveal any details to anybody.

When the newspapers announced that the case was shifting to Karnataka, I had paid only limited attention, because who knew how it will become a Jumbo Jet landing in my courtyard. Now I went and found out whatever little details about the case from newspapers and Internet. I also looked at some legal documents in English just to get idea of how the wordings are done.

Next day, Coordinator called me and said see, you need not do translation any more, you are a humanities person plus you have knowledge of both languages, we want you to do a more responsible job. You have to be one of the scrutinizers. Three more English professors are coming as scrutinizers. When I heard important, I just said yes. Later I realized what a high risk it was. I have to read every translation and certify. There were all sorts of documents to go through – affidavits , exhibits, press-notes about a wedding, depositions, stamp-papers, bills, voluntary statements, unmarked documents, responses by defendants, government documents about seized properties, reports from raids accompanied by annexures containing detailed lists of what was found. It was quite challenging and my anxiety began to grow. Maybe in court the defendant’s legal team will say objection, then I have to go for cross-examination. My days of tension began, and I would go over every document three times, and sometimes while sleeping I would get bad dreams where some lawyer is pointing out some error, and everybody in court is laughing, even the police constables on security duty, and the judge, everybody except the defendant who is staring severely at me as if they want to memorize my face. I followed the occasional newspaper accounts of this case, and one time the defence lawyers made some complaint about translation quality. I slept badly for a fortnight after that.

Later I understood why this scrutiny happened. First there was some delay in transferring the case, because evidence had to be securely sent to Bangalore. Then they would have woken up and found out that all documents pertaining to the case were in Tamizh and had to be translated. When they looked at the volume and calculated the expense to get it done professionally, they might have balked. Especially because they were still discussing how to meet expenses incurred with the other state government. Sometimes I wonder about who came up with the genius idea of drafting the Tamizh teaching community in Bangalore to do the job. Because our fellows are undoubtedly strong in Tamizh, but not so much in English, because no part of their job requires them to transact in English, leave alone legal English. The first few translations would have had many issues. At this point, they would have decided to draft some scrutinizers also.

On the second day, somebody said Coordinator sir, what is our remuneration. So he asked, and found they were giving Rs 5 per typed page. Immediately a buzz of anger went around the room, and this was discussed, and finally one letter to the judge was drafted, saying we want Rs 20 per page and more for scrutiny, and given to Coordinator. Fifteen minutes later, the judge came and said Namaste, I hope you are comfortable, that you have everything you need, and everybody stood up, and smiled nicely, and said yes sir, no problem, sir. Later, they asked coordinator why he didn’t give letter at that moment. It did not strike me he said. He later met the judge, and handed over our demands. The judge said he will forward to competent authority for suitable action.

About a week later, our numbers fell, because all the Pre-University teachers stopped coming. Their board sent an order saying that they were required for exam work because supplementaries had started. We were now only 15 people. Some people got agitated and said what is the quantum of work per person, how many documents are there, what is the time-frame for the task. They were upset because there did not seem to be a plan. Prof K stood up and said to Coordinator, this is disorganized, why are you wasting our time like this. Prof S tried to defend, but the other man said, please don’t talk to me till you have proper information. Plus we were only given Xerox copies, which were sometimes hard to read and translate because the Xerox was too light. We had some court staff to help us, two or three typists, and an officer, a Tamizh-knowing man. He said, see, we can’t give a number like that. Some documents are handwritten, some are receipts, some are sworn depositions running to several pages. Everything is a document. Rough estimate it will take about six to eight weeks. Definitely we will make Xeroxes little bit darker, regret that we cannot give the originals for security reasons. Everybody then started work again happily.

So a new routine started for us. Everyone would arrive by 10.15am, 10.30am, and go sign for documents in the tray and start the work. By 11.30 tea and Marie biscuits would arrive, and a five-minute break was taken, people chitchatting about what they were doing, their children etc. At 1pm, pens down for lunch-break, the same boring lunch every day, veg pulao, raita and two pakodas. Yet nobody complained because this lunch-break was a good discussion time, people would say, my god, I was taken aback today, or I read deposition by Sivaji Ganesan today, such a humble man. Poor fellow, they dragged him to court and all. Back to work by 1.30pm, one more tea-break at 3pm, then work till 4.30, 5pm. That was also the time when the Kanchi Shankaracharyas got arrested by Madam Jayalalithaa’s government, so for some two weeks this was the hot topic of lunchtime discussion, some pro-Swamijis, some pro-Madam. Now and then, the court people would also tell us stories, how present judge is a nice man, but he was retiring in one year’s time, so the case will get delayed again till new judge comes. How the defendant escaped in some previous case, that judge said there has been wrongdoing, but Madam must apologize and make amends. Wah wah, some courts are giving moral science lessons and gentle taps on the knuckles. Something would have been given somewhere, some knowledgeable person said. They gave us a different room, after the first week. This was more spacious, less congested, everybody got a table, plus there was a big worktable where some people sat together and worked.

My own routine was not so easy. After the first month, I understood that this will take long time, so I went and met principal in college, and told him the timeframe is uncertain, so I will take morning classes, and he said okay. I would take first hour every day, full of bright enthusiastic faces in the class, and then go from this hopeful place to the court, struggle to find parking for my two-wheeler, and walk past police vans with groups of chained undertrials being taken to court, and sit in a room and ignore the typical government office smell, whitewash, dust, old files, faraway urine, and work on my files. I had to rewrite rather than scrutinize very often because all the translators were not of the same caliber. Reading all these documents was bit strenuous for me, both physically, because I had to examine a faded Xerox, then read the translation. Apart from the eye-strain, also because of their contents, how power was used, whether allegedly or truly. Something happened to me inside, a strain on my soul. I was working on my PhD then, the writing work came to a standstill. I was unable to proceed.

We began work in the middle of October 2004. When we finally finished and got our relieving orders, it was June 2005. Some 2,000-3,000 documents were translated, by estimate – we never got the actual number. We also did not receive either the promised or the requested remuneration. I met one of the people from that group a couple of years later, and he complained bitterly about the non-payment. I said, leave it, be happy that the Directorate paid your salary promptly, they could have said City Civil Court should pay you for the time of deputation. He looked at me aghast, as if to ask the question which place has this man come from.

I have been sent on election duty several times, and I see parallels between such work, and this task. Orders are given, some sketchy instructions, to ordinary people, who must in the midst of their lives and problems find some reserve of competence and sincerity to complete the task. Perhaps it is a miracle that it is completed.

I may have disappointed some people who expected juicy revelations. There were several such, but it would not be appropriate for me to reveal them. After all, this was a confidential job entrusted to me, and I have to respect that. Plus, in some sense, the matter is still sub judice. It is for courts to decide, what is true and what is not. We are not competent in that regard.

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When we look at J. Jayalalithaa’s career as a politician, I am reminded of what a novelist from another country calls ‘the revenge of the novel’. In her case, we are witnessing ‘the revenge of the heroine’. Just as fiction permeates every aspect of life in that country because the rulers once prohibited fiction, we have in Madam a person who is remaking political life in Tamizh Nadu in a sort of vengeance for the many years of not being taken seriously as a performer. If you look at the roles she was given, she was always typecast, and never had a role of substance since the industry did not take women seriously. As a person of caliber and great intelligence, she had limited roles that insulted her abilities thrust upon her. Politics in Tamizh Nadu was once ideology driven by cinema. Then MGR arrived, and ideology dwindled into slogans. Jayalalitha’s revenge has been to turn politics into cinema, and in this respect she has even outshone her mentor, MGR. After all, it was only possible for him to be CM and win elections. He could not lose, and there was never any opportunity for any court to punish him, nor any chance for the electorate to forgive him. Jayalalitha has done all that.

She has been writing her own script, and directing her own film titled Tamizh Nadu CM since the year 1989, when she finally won control over AIADMK, and since then people have only had the option of applauding. Nobody in the country can match her when it comes to making politics look cinematic, not even Narendra Modi, who needs speech writers in English and PR fellows to tweak Star Wars references towards maximizing his public appeal. For her, language is not a barrier. She knows this, and when she said Gujarathu Modi-ya? Tamizhnattu intha Lady-ya? (Do you want Gujarat’s Modi? Or Tamizh Naad’s lady?), it was not merely rhetoric, it was a revelation that politics is only rhetoric. No ideology can trip her up, whether Hindutva or Gundutva – her talent for reengineering ‘issues of people’s welfare’ and making them look like her ideas is established. When, once in five years, the people of Tamizh Naad take the choice of changing the channel, she knows at which moment to find her way into the new program and make it her film. So whatever the judgment, and its ultimate fall-out, the person writing that script and staging the surprises can only be Jayalalithaa, till Time decides to pull its own surprises.