Children For Sale
For as little as Rs 3,000, impoverished parents sell their children to adoption centres and unscrupulous operators in Andhra Pradesh, who in turn earn up to Rs 3 lakh from foster families. A look at the people involved, the law and where the process went wrong.

Amma Turns Red
J. Jayalalitha's hopes for contesting the elections have been dashed with the rejection of her nomination papers. But this does not deter her from stepping up her campaigning efforts for the AIADMK and assuming an aggressive stance.

Past Tense
The muted reaction of the Government to the massacre of the BSF troops raises many questions. A look at the past skirmishes between the BSF and BDR gives an insight into what led to the heightening of tension at the border.

Coming To Life
With the end of state monopoly, private insurance companies are offering wider risk coverage and better customer relations.

Starting Over
It's been three months since nature shook Gujarat, killing over 30,000 and shattering dreams. Despite government promises and generosity of individuals, rehabilitation is still to touch the lives of many. The story in pictures.

STATES: ASSEMBLY ELECTIONS 2001

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF CANDIDATE JAYA
Tour De Farce

By S. Prasannarajan in Madurai

The sun is a blazing hosti-lity in Tamil Nadu nowadays, and that is not because this burning star happens to be the election symbol of someone who wears dark glasses even after sunset. At this moment in this temple town, the sun over Hotel Madurai Ashok is hot enough to threaten the life of ordinary leaves. But leaves are no longer botanically fragile here, and that is because they happen to be the symbol of Dr Puratchi Thalaivi J. Jayalalitha; they are made of flesh or ink or hair or chemicals. So, let the sun rise and rise in retributive splendour, an equally high-wattage planet is rising from below: Planet Jaya, a sprawling, sweating collage of white dhoti, white shirt, white vans, white cars, golden watch, golden ring, sculpted moustache, Ray-Ban glasses, shot guns, desperate cameras and pairs of V-shaped fingers aspiring to be leaves of victory. The overwhelming presence, of course, is not Meenakshi, the presiding goddess of Madurai, but an absence named Amma.

Amma, where art thou? It's almost 2 p.m., and you were supposed to come out of the sanctum sanctorum of the hotel-turned-temple and conquer the hearts and minds of the Dravida makkal in the morning. Amma, can't you see J.J. Jaya-raj, an alphabetical celebration of your immortality, with two hairy leaves leaping from his shaven scalp, running restlessly for a darshan? Or, Amma, how can you be oblivious of bare-bodied Thangarajan, painted leaves on the skin being his only protection from the merciless sun? Look Amma look, if you can look through one of those curtained windows of your sacred room, and see adoration and anxiety multiplying on the street, sweat-soaked anticipation lengthening from the hotel doorway. But Amma is elsewhere, as the enigma of absence. "It's the rahu kaalam that is detaining her," says a knowing Dravida makan. "No, no, she is waiting for the news from the EC," says another son who seems to know more. But you madly want to see Amma, you want to see her in her famed Garden Vareli bathos, you want to see her as the avenging Comebackamma, larger than cardboard life. That's why you are here, here in southern Tamil Nadu where Amma is the most sacred four-letter word man has ever spoken.

Sad, you have no choice but to be content with inanimate Ammas smiling benevolently from pen caps and golden rings, bespectacled multiple chin Ammas smirking mysteriously from yellow posters, curvaceous Ammas in flowery saris walking from faded banners straight into thin air, Amma with a red bindi coyly co-existing with a suited and booted Anna (MGR) on the rear window of a Tata Sumo... So you talk with Neela Megham (translation: blue sky), appreciate the laminated artistry of his ring, on which lives Anna in the company of two green leaves. You ask head constable Ramesh Kumar why Amma is late, and he refuses to reply.

Then it happens. A sudden stirring outside the hotel. A delirious rush towards the gate. Soaring two-finger leaves. So you flash your identity card, cross the gate, chat up the security officer in mufti and place yourself close to the Tempo Traveller with the registration number TN 07U995, Amma's chariot. "She is coming," someone whispers. The spasmodic breathing of the Tempo is an endorsement of the expectation. The engine has been switched on in advance so that the air conditioner can make the interior of this vehicle the coolest place in Tamil Nadu ("Amma can't tolerate heat, Amma sweats a lot"). But folded hands on the lobby are breaking the rule to wipe sweating necks. And village women ready to convert from DMK to Amma's party, waiting since the morning outside the hotel with the DMK membership cards in their hands, are melting inside silk saris. But Amma still does not come out. The carpet on the doorway continues to be perfumed and reperfumed. The custom-made steps to the Tempo's front seat are waiting to be touched by Amma's feet.

O, there she is, Our Lady of Salvation, looking into the void (pity those folded hands and yearning eyes), walking on the perfumed carpet, stepping into the Tempo, and making herself comfortable on the front seat (pity those women who wanted to be blessed and converted). Amma today is not a kitschy diva in metallic splendour, that white line of hair only contributes to her spartan gravitas. Apart from her driver Chelian, there is place for three more passengers. Sasikala, "sister", sits behind the driver's seat. The last seats are for the attendants, two teenage girls. The Tempo moves, and along with it almost everything except Hotel Ashok Madurai moves. The rest is a story told by the speedometer.

The Amma convoy is a 100-vehicle long vaudeville meant for roadside humanity. Hardly 30 minutes after the departure, Amma's chariot disappears from the main road and takes refuge behind real leaves. Where's Amma? "Amma has gone to the toilet." Where is the toilet? "Another van, saar." "No saar, Amma is having lunch." Anyway, Amma has lost herself for an hour to the leaves. She returns only to redefine what her programme schedule calls public meetings. For in places like Thiruparankundram and Thirumangalam, "public meeting" is Amma's prepared speech - "Karunanidhi is corrupt, Karunanidhi is conspiracy" - delivered from the chariot, endorsed by the public's "Puratchi Thalaivi Daactar Jayalalitha ... Vazhka! Vazhka (Long live the revolutionary leader)!" This is Tempo Rani as Dravidian Evita: "I'll come back, and I'll be millions." But a glass window separates the shirtless of Tamil Nadu from their Eva.

Amma has 30 more public meetings to attend. After Sivakasi, she changes route and mind. Where is Amma? Amma has gone to Tirunelveli, Amma will spend the night there. Amma has vanished into the night of Dravidian fantasy.

That day, remember, Amma has not touched the earth.

MetroScape

Focusing On Art
The brief for participants at
"Exhibit 'A' 2001" organised by the
200-member
Photographers'
Guild of India at the Nehru Centre, Mumbai, was clear—no advertisement and portfolio photos. more...

Looking Glass

Delhi Poster:
One Page Classics

Calcutta Pub:
London Pub

Bangalore & Mumbai Rock Concert:
Bryan Adams

West Bengal Chief Minister Buddhadev Bhattacharya reflected optimism about winning the state election when he spoke to INDIA TODAY Senior Editor Sumit Mitra at the CPI(M) headquarters in Kolkata, minutes before rushing off for campaigning.
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