Adieu to Sarat

What can I say of a man I met once? And years later learnt that he died a tragic death? Did he make an impact? Did I sound like a pompous bureaucrat, talking of my life in Delhi? Or did we talk politics? Did he sound displeased with my unconventional views? Did he talk of the causes he passionately believed in? I can’t seem to place things right. When I read about his death, I was shocked. He seemed so alive. In death I knew him better. It was moving to read what his friends had to say about him. A life committed to making documentaries on environmental issues and lives of people affected by it. I remembered how modest he was, in spite of all the fire inside him.

Saratchandran left his job in the Gulf. He saved up enough to buy film making equipment, married the woman he loved and settled down in Ernakulam. He had no kids. His looks betrayed his age- 52 years at the time of death. He spent his life on causes he believed in. Not on professions that pay you or reimburse your travel bills. Making documentaries on Cola companies that drive down the ground water, on expressways that divide people of a town, on tribals affected by mining companies denuding forests in distant lands, against detention of activists. He participated in World Social Forum, other such ‘alternate’ events and documentary film festivals. One couldn’t always agree with his causes but he had intense passion behind his belief in them. He spent his life on his terms, spurning a life of relative comfort.

He came to our house one evening with Sunanda- his sister & Anil, his brother-in-law. Anil & Sunanda are friends from my days at University Campus in Trivandrum. Sarat was Anil’s favourite brother-in-law. Sarat readily agreed to take my son & Anil’s son to see “The Goblets of Fire” the then latest Harry Potter film in town. There were no volunteers among elders to do that. I remember picking up Sarat and the kids from the movie hall. We had dinner at home and they all left. He called me up once later to know whether DVD duplicating can be done in Nehru Place. (He would give copies of the human interest stories to audiences where his documentaries were not allowed to be screened, I learnt later)

The next I heard of him was about his death. On the night of his death, no one knew what exactly happened. Except that he got thrown off a crowded train. When I read more about him, I felt silly. There he was, spending an evening with us- never talking about his life or his favourite causes. We probably discussed the right recipe for fish curry and the madness that is Delhi. I felt silly that I didn’t probe his mind or try to understand what drives him. I felt silly that while we remain cocooned in our middle class safety zone, there are those like Sarat who chase their dreams for the world. Adieu to a life cut short by fate, to a man who dedicated his life to his beliefs. He leaves behind grieving for him a wife, siblings and parents.