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Election

189 – The school teachers who went on a twelve-day satyagraha

My mother, K Jagadammal (right) with her peer and friend Jayshree Sawant (left), Bombay, Maharashtra. 1977

Image & narrative contributed by Nishant Radhakrishnan, Mumbai

This is a photograph taken in 1977 of my mother, K Jagadammal (right) with her peer and friend Jayshree Sawant (left) in Bombay. They were on a strike, outside a school compound, protesting the injustices served by the school they both taught in.

My mother, K Jagadammal was born in 1949 in Kalanjoor, Pathanamthitta District, Kerala. Her parents were farmers, and she was one of five sisters and a brother. Her father later ran his own grocery shop, exactly opposite Kalanjoor Government School, that all of his children attended. My mother and her siblings all grew up to have careers as school-teachers.

In 1972, following a matrilineal Dravidian tradition, the Marumakkattayam system (where women of the family are legitimate inheritors of property and therefore integral to families), my mother was betrothed to her cousin, her mother’s brother’s son, my eventual father, M. G. Radhakrishnan. My father had been living in Bombay (now Mumbai) since 1968 and worked in a clerical position at the Indian Cotton Mills Federation. After their marriage they moved to Bombay and on June 11, 1973, my mother armed with degrees in B. Sc (Science) and B. Ed (Education), joined the ranks of thousands of Malayalee migrants (mostly teachers and nurses), and became a Primary section teacher at Abhyudaya Education Society High School where she taught all subjects except Marathi.

From 1975, my parents lived in the teeming mill suburb of Kalachowky, among other migrants, in a one-room kitchen apartment. The 70s were also the years when the political party, Shiv Sena were mobilising their cadre against migrants, especially South Indians like my parents. But this was also the time that people away from their birth homes had begun to embrace and appreciate the other Indias. Yet like many others from Kerala, my parents had a high degree of political agency and found it hard to tolerate injustice. While it may sound like a cliché, it is second nature for us Malayalees to go on strike. The 1970s were a potent moment in India – the heady years of Emergency and after. In this photograph my mother (right) was 28 years old when the two teachers went on a strike demanding their reinstatement at the Abhyudaya Education Society High School, following three years of harassment and intimidation by a member of the school management.

In 1975, a new teacher, Kalyanikutty joined the school. She was related to a Mr. Nair, the school administrator, known to be an authoritarian figure. Allegedly, he would run the school like his personal fiefdom. On several occasions, he would command Kalyanikutty to return home over perceived slights or mistakes. The personal harassment was purely based on the close family relationship between them – found often in patriarchal Indian households. Unable to tolerate the injustice, and in solidarity with Kalyanikutty, all teachers, including my mother submitted a protest letter asking Mr. Nair to stop troubling Kalyanikutty. In retaliation, he called upon each teacher and asked them to withdraw their signatures. All the Secondary School section teachers refused to do so, but from the Primary section, with the exception of my mother, all teachers withdrew their signatures – and categorically refused to withdraw it. This began a long period of harassment for my mother – threats, show cause notices, random inspections on her classes, a trip to the police station. But my mother, with the support of my father, teachers, students and much of the management, maintained her stand. My parents’ position was clear – Mr Nair did not own the school or its employees – he was her co-worker, an employee, just like her – an equal in hierarchy.

So the stage was set – My mother, a teacher – K. Jagadammal versus Mr. Nair, the patriarch. Heavily pregnant with me, she was denied her rightful maternity leave and made to accept half-pay on leave, albeit was abruptly terminated from service. In 1976, shortly after my birth, pressured by committee members, she was reinstated, but demoted to a lower teaching position. Following Mr. Nair’s machinations, at the end of the academic year, she was terminated, again.

So in 1977, my mother was no longer an employee of the school, yet she simply refused to accept the unfair termination and continued to attend the school in protest. Every single day, she would go to the Headmaster’s office to sign-in on the attendance muster. When she was not allowed to sign it, she began submitting letters – every day – stating that “she had come to the school and not allowed to sign”. She would stay in the school all through the working hours. She tells me that inside the headmaster’s cabin, there were two chairs and she began to make herself comfortable on one of them. Weeks later, one chair was removed, so she would sit on the remaining available chair. Then that one chair, too, was removed. After this, the only chair available was the Headmaster’s own. It was also used by Mr. Nair, when he was present. My mother clearly had no choice – she says “ I simply plonked myself on the Headmaster’s chair.” The Headmaster or Mr. Nair would remain standing, while she would sit on “their” chair and would only get to sit on it when she had needed a rest-room break. These passive aggressive comedic moments notwithstanding – every single day, K Jagadammal ensured that her protest and attendance was marked.

Five months later, after submitting a forewarning as due process to the authorities, my mother and Jayshree Sawant (herself, a victim of nepotism) embarked on a civil disobedience movement of their own – a Satyagraha. When this photograph was taken, my mother ‘s brother, my uncle, would bring me – a toddler – to the school every day, through the twelve days protest, and point her out to me. Soon after, the protest by these two teachers blew up into a full-fledged students boycott, led by my father, teachers and others. The heat was really on.

During a meeting with the enquiry commission by the BMC, (Bombay Municipal Corporation), a letter alleging that my mother ‘was not teaching at all’, but instead ‘was taking rest-room breaks all the time’ was passed around, including onto students. The letter was a tipping point and she lost her temper – she removed her footwear and proceeded to chastise one of the administrators with it. To her (and the target’s) good fortune, she was dissuaded and the slipper did not reach its destination. The protest soon found political attention and was even discussed in the Maharashtra Legislative Assembly.

But the tides were turning – for this protest shed light upon several illegalities that the administration was indulging in – forgery of musters, salary embezzlement, autocratic, misogynistic behaviour by male officials. After the enquiry, both K. Jagadammal and Jayshree Sawant were reinstated and the 12-day Satyagraha was called off. Nonetheless, a price still had to be paid and neither of the two were paid salaries for that year. The good news was that the two officials including Mr. Nair, lost the managing committee elections and never found their way back.

My mother, K. Jagadammal eventually became a beloved (and much revered) teacher in the same school and Jayshree Sawant after two years, joined another school. Somehow, the two Satyagrahis lost touch since. My mother I feel paid yet another price for her beliefs. The events of 1974-77 did compromise her merited right to be promoted as Headmistress at the school, yet she served her commitment to teach, and after 35 years at Abhyudaya Education Society School she retired in 2007.

During my childhood, I witnessed K. Jagadammal wake up every day at 4.30 AM, cook meals for my father and me, go to work on the 6.10 AM train and return at 2 pm and my father eventually became a legendary Malayalam copywriter during the golden age of Indian regional languages advertising. This photograph is a reminder of an inspiring and just legacy my parents have given me and my own new family. The two ladies in this photograph – K. Jagadammal and Jayshree Sawant teach us the value of standing up for others, to seek justice and protest whenever needed. I have grown up watching them all, but most of all, I continue to find empowerment through my mother.


162 – The day all the states of India were reorganised

AP-Formation-1956_Low

State Reorganisation Act. Legislative Assembly. Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh. November 1, 1956

Image and text contributed by Subhadra Murthy, Hyderabad / Telangana

This photograph is from my family album and was taken on November 1, 1956, on Andhra Formation Day, at the Legislative Assembly in Hyderabad. The then Nizam – Mir Osman Ali Khan, speaker Kashinath Rao Vaidya, the first elected Chief Minister Burgula Ramakrishna Rao, and Neelam Sanjeeva Reddy (the to-be 6th President of India) are seen in this image.

On this day, all states of India were re-organised by language including the state of Hyderabad. The nine Telugu and Urdu speaking parts of Hyderabad State were merged with the Telugu-speaking Andhra to create Andhra Pradesh, with Hyderabad as its capital. The rest of the state merged with two of its neighbours to form the modern states of Maharashtra and Karnataka.

My father M.K Shastri sits in the inner semi-circle in the white shirt on the right. He was fluent in Urdu, and became the Editor of Debates and the warden of M.L.A Quarters. Until this day of the formation of Andhra Pradesh, the independent state of Hyderabad was ruled by the Nizam and his family since the 18th century.

I remember it was a very exciting day in Hyderabad and everyone was dressed up well. My father wore a beautiful sherwani. I insisted that I be taken along to the assembly on this important day in Indian History. There were two galleries for people to watch the moment take place. The Speakers gallery and the Visitors gallery, and my father got us a pass to the Speakers gallery. Most people of Hyderabad state were happy that that this moment in history had taken place.

Everything had began to change when India became independent in 1947, Hyderabad was amongst the many princely states given the choice of either joining India or Pakistan. The Nizam wanted to do neither and insisted on remaining independent. Negotiations between the Nizam and the Indian government for integration of Hyderabad into the India Union were unsuccessful. He finally relented to a “standstill agreement” with India on November 29, 1947 to maintain status quo and not accede to Pakistan instead. But Hyderabad state began to experience communal unrest caused by the Razakar’s movement. The Razakar was a private militia organized by the Nizam’s aid, Qasim Razvi to support the rule of the Nizam and resist the integration of Hyderabad State into the Dominion of India. That is until Operation Polo, when the Nizam finally agreed to join the India. In January of 1950, M. K. Vellodi, a senior civil servant was made the Chief Minister of the state and the Nizam was given the position of Governor.

In 1956, I remember I was in class 10 and life was simple, though now and then there was a lot of communal friction. There used to be no traffic, we used to travel from one place to another in rickshaws for mere four annas. I also had a lot of friends, including the Chief minister’s daughter. In days of trouble we were not allowed to go anywhere but to go to school and return right back home.

The capital Hyderabad has changed a lot since. The good consequences of being a part of a state from India was that there was a lot more equality than earlier. All kinds of classes and kinds of people were interacting and working with each other. I too found a lot of great and simple friends in elite classes of Hyderabad. My family however, was quite orthodox, and while I really wanted to become a doctor, I couldn’t and instead got married. Subsequently there was change in our family’s ideas and all my sisters and brothers were highly educated. Having said that, people say that women find independence without marriage but for me, it was the reverse. I think I found my independence after marriage. I decided to become a teacher and over the years flourished at my work and in positions. I am now 78 years old, fiercely independent and am the Advisor to the Red Cross in Hyderabad. Since 2014, we are now shared capital of a newer state of Telangana.







133 – “My grandparents were staunch political rivals”

My grandparents' wedding. Gaya, Bihar. 1956

My grandparents at their wedding. Dehradun, Uttar Pradesh 1956

Image and Text contributed by Richa Srivastava, Mumbai

My grandmother, Sushila Sahay whom we called Nani, was born in Jila (District) Hoshangabad in 1926 in the Central Provision, now known as the state of Madhya Pradesh. A daughter of a Forest officer, she was brought up in Dehradun in Uttar Pradesh. When she was 13 years old, Nani heard that Mahatama Gandhi was visiting Mussoorie and she travelled to hear him speak. Heavily influenced by Gandhi’s words, she met with him and declared her wish to be involved his Ashram, the Sabarmati Ashram. However, Gandhi recommended that she finish her education first. She heard him out, but to feel associated with the movement, she began to wear only Khadi clothes, worked to uplift the Harijan groups, who were considered Untouchable in the conservative caste system of India. And when she finished her Bachelor’s degree, she did joined the Ashram. However, by then Gandhi has been assassinated.

My grandfather, Dayanand Sahay, whom we called Nana, was born in 1928, in a village called Bhadvar in Bihar to a conservative family. By the time he grew up he had already lost many siblings to the fight for freedom. He became a Sarvodaya Activist, that propagated Gandhi’s political philosophies. Later, he joined the Shakho Deora ashram in Gaya district, a branch of the Gandhi ashram established by Jayaprakash Narayan, popularly referred to as JP or Lok Nayak (people’s leader).

In the 1950s, my grandmother would travel to the ashram in Gaya with a few other women and that is where my grandparents met. At the Gandhi Ashram however, every member was considered a brother or a sister and in the beginning she also tied a Rakhi (symbol of brotherly love & protection) to my grandfather, considering him an elder brother. So for my maternal grandparents to gradually fall in love may have surprised or shocked many. Anyway, in 1956, they got married. They both only wore Khadi and as a token of dowry (as was the custom) he took only Rs. One. My grandfather’s father, I am told, was very unhappy with his son’s inter-caste marriage and declared to disown him. Nana was even coerced into attending a village panchayat meeting meant to dissuade him from marrying Nani, but he wouldn’t listen. Eventually the family came around and blessed the wedding.

Over time, JP and my grandparents  became close friends and associates. They became actively involved with politics. They worked with and supported JP when he led the opposition against the then Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi, in the 1970’s, calling for her resignation, and a program of social transformation, which he termed Sampoorna kraanti (Total Revolution). Instead, Indira Gandhi proclaimed a National Emergency in 1975 and subsequently, JP, several leaders and his party members including my grandparents, were all thrown into jail.

When Janata Party was voted into power, and became the first non-Congress party to form a government at the Centre, Nani who had by now become its member, became the Home Minister of Bihar for one year from 1977 to May 1978. She resigned the same day as her first grandchild, my brother, was born, and so she also missed his birth.

What I consider the most interesting part of my grandparent’s lives is that they also became political rivals, with my grandmother joining the Janata Dal Party as an MLA and my grandfather who had very early on joined the Congress. In fact, in 1989, when VP Singh became Prime Minister, was also the year that Nani stood for elections representing Janata Dal Party while my Nana supported the opposition, Congress (that eventually won). It is amazing that their relationship stood the test of political and professional rivalry, and we sometimes wonder how they even managed to work around that. Having said that, my grandmother was an idealist and my grandfather a pragmatic man, they both encouraged and respected each other and there never seemed to be any ego problems.

My grandfather or Nana went on to serve three terms as member of the parliament. He emerged as a Kingmaker for several established Politicians who would go to him for money, encouragement or advice. Nana was the first person to make pre-stressed concrete sleepers, now used by the railways for reasons of safety, speed enhancement. Inclined with a socialist attitude, he also decided to share his sleepers formulae with other businessmen. He rose in position to become a member of the Rajya Sabha, however he passed away in a car accident in Gaya in 2002.  Nani, even at a very old age, continued to serve people in her own several ways,  and was deeply concerned about the country’s emotional and intellectual health. I remember, she would dictate to us letters of grievances to the president and the prime-minister. To my family and I, my grandparents were a truly a great team and a couple to reckon with.







121 – Nehru signed his name in Devanagari script

Jawahar Lal Nehru, my brother Bruce and I, at the Air Force Station, Adampur, Punjab, India. Circa 1955

Jawaharlal Nehru, my brother Bruce and I, at the Air Force Station, Adampur, Punjab, India. Circa 1955

Image and Text contributed by Brian Fernandez, Maharashtra

This image has my three year old brother Bruce on my left, and I, four years old, gazing with awe and wonder at the unmistakable icon, India’s first Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru signing my father’s autograph book. And it has several fond and sad memories attached with it.

Nehru had arrived at Adampur, on a whistle-stop election tour, in an Illyushin aircraft of the IAF (Indian Air Force). I can still vividly remember the twin-engine, grey aircraft with its distinctive, clipped wings. I believe these aircrafts were in service for many years after that, into the 70s. The IAF also had a squadron of Vampire aircrafts ( plywood, twin-rudder, jet- fighter aircrafts ).

Our family – my Dad, Mum, and younger brothers Bruce & Barry used to live by the airstrip, in a huge canvas tent which was the standard Officers’ accommodation in those days, before we moved to Adampur village.

My father Captain L. T. Fernandez, an Army pilot, was posted to an Air Observation Post (AOP) Flight, based in Adampur and flying the propeller driven Harvard. He retired in 1981 as a Colonel in the Regiment of Artillery and passed away a year after my mother, in 2009.

Somewhere along the way we misplaced my late father’s autograph book on which Pandit Ji’s signature was taken. But what I do remember is that Jawaharlal Nehru signed his name in Devanagari (hindi) script. This photograph is special to me, because it also reminds me of Bruce, my younger brother who suddenly died at a very young age of five, on September 7, 1957, of an incurable tumour in the Jullundur Military Hospital. He would have been 59 this year. I am now a 61 year old retired school teacher.