Latest news with #Tamil-speaking
Time of India
16 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Neeraj Pandey criticises AI-edited climax of 'Raanjhanaa' by producers; calls it 'utterly disrespectful'
Aanand L. Rai-directed 'Raanjhanaa,' starring Dhanush and Sonam Kapoor in the lead, is all set to re-release in Tamil Nadu with a different climax, edited using artificial intelligence. The producers, Eros International Media, reworked the movie and included a happy ending. The use of artificial intelligence to change a film's artistic integrity has sparked a heated debate about creative control and the future of cinema. Several filmmakers and writers slammed the move by the makers, and now, director Neeraj Pandey has joined the list. Here's a closer look at what Neeraj Pandey said. Neeraj Pandey calls the AI-edited climax of 'Raanjhanaa' 'disrespectful' In an interview with NDTV, Pandey said, "AI is just a tool. A human being is operating it. So it's the intent behind its use that matters. And if a piece of cinema is being altered without involving the director and writer, then it's utterly disrespectful." The director said that he was shocked. Elaborating further, he said if the makers are implying that they have the rights and they can do anything, "that's still no excuse." He stated that the production house could have communicated the same with Aanand L. Rai and the other creators involved in the movie. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Pierce Brosnan's Wife Lost 120 Pounds - This Is Her Now Undo He said, "It would have been the right thing to do." Neeraj Pandey on the use of AI in movies The 'Special 26' director acknowledged that the process of moviemaking has evolved with technology. He said, "While it (AI) is still nascent, it will develop rapidly. Hopefully, we'll use it well—and not misuse it." Eros on backlash The production house published a big statement on the issue. Defending their move, it called the recreated version "a legally compliant, transparently labelled, and artistically guided creative edition intended for Tamil-speaking audiences." Dhanush Turns 42! From Kajol to Aanand L. Rai, Birthday Love Floods In The statement added that the new climax has been made using AI as a tool but with a creative team of humans. They added that AI was not the autonomous content generator for the new ending.
The Print
a day ago
- Politics
- The Print
Do Chola kings represent a culturally united Hindu India? It's a modern fantasy
To understand the recent political bonanza about the Cholas, first we need to understand what they've left behind—and the many ways in which we've understood this over the decades. Most of what we know about the Cholas derives from donative inscriptions that adorn the walls of medieval Tamil temples. There is a loud chorus, at least on social media, that the Cholas—and South India in general—haven't gotten their due in the national historical imagination. But there's more going on than meets the eye. The fact is that celebrating the conquests of the Cholas misses the woods for the trees. Rather than encourage a deeper understanding of regional histories, we are instead forcing a remarkable medieval society into today's culture wars. History has rarely been away from the headlines over the last few weeks, whether through the rewriting of NCERT textbooks or PM Modi's tribute to the Chola dynasty of medieval South India. The coming month will see the millennial celebrations of the 11th-century Chola emperor Rajendra I, specifically of his conquests in Southeast Asia. Interestingly, most Chola-period donative inscriptions were not commissioned by the Chola court, but a broad, shifting spectrum of Tamil-speaking society. Through these inscriptions, we can see broad social trends. As historians Noboru Karashima, Y Subbarayalu, and James Heitzman have shown, most temple affairs—and, by extension, village affairs—depended on local collectives, rather than royal officials. These might be collectives of Vellala cultivator families, or Brahmin landlords, or merchants. These collectives, as we'll see soon, were not mute recipients of royal commandments. Temple donors were fairly diverse in the early 10th century (when the Chola dynasty was rising), sometimes including shepherds and washer-people. Over time, temple activities were steadily taken over by men of elite martial or landed backgrounds, often linked to the Chola court. These families were progenitors of some dominant castes in Tamil Nadu today. Inscriptions also show growing discrimination against landless groups such as the Paraiyar, today a Scheduled Caste. Throughout this time, indeed well after the end of the empire, collective assemblies were a major social and political force in Tamil Nadu. Many temple inscriptions also included eulogies to Chola kings, especially at the height of expansion in the early 11th century under Rajaraja I and Rajendra I. To KA Nilakanta Sastri, grandfather of Chola studies in the 1930s, royal eulogies showing up in temple donations managed by local collectives proved the Chola court was centralised, competently led, and yet respectful of local self-government. This was very much the kind of independent Indian state envisioned by many freedom fighters at the time. In the decades after, however, rigorous epigraphical studies revealed a more surprising explanation. In particular, Tamil and French scholars at the French Institute of Pondicherry have noted that there are clear patterns to Chola royal eulogies. Philologist Whitney Cox, at the University of Chicago, has demonstrated that eulogies were constantly issued and updated by the court, portraying the king not just as a religious figure but also as a political and military one. Indeed, if you were to look at a Chola temple donation, you'd be struck by how most of the preambles describe the king's wars: in the medieval mind, royal devotion and battlefield success were intertwined. Cox also argues that the degree to which local collectives reproduced royal eulogies depended on their political equation with the Chola king—rather than blind devotion to royal authority. And so, Chola kings had to keep conquering so as to be able to make temple gifts, through which they ensured their subjects' support for the imperial project. Grand edifices such as Rajaraja I's Brihadishvara temple at Thanjavur received gifts of war loot from the king as well as a huge cross-section of elite Tamil society. Later Chola kings could rarely summon such a degree of support for their temples. In the constant push-and-pull between ruler and collective, in the entangling of temple patronage, war, caste and property, medieval Tamil inscriptions reveal a society of extraordinary dynamism. It is a dynamism that is being quickly forgotten. Also read: Cholas and Chaulukyas understood tariffs and taxes better than Trump does Evidence and beliefs If all this sounds surprising, it's because since Sastri's magisterial The Cōḷas (1935), the perception of the Cholas has been extensively shaped by Tamil pop culture, nostalgia, and politics—in which English news media (outside of Tamil Nadu) were, until recently, largely uninterested. Indeed, despite Sastri's work being nearly a century behind the recent scholarship, he is still one of the bestselling historians of South India. As the distinguished contemporary Tamil historian AR Venkatachalapathy points out, Sastri wrote at a time when historical materials were not interrogated as they are today. Yet Sastri's work has continued to resonate with 20th and 21st-century nationalist yearnings. I will return to this point momentarily. First, I would like to ask the question: how were the Cholas remembered before 20th-century nationalisms? The picture of the Cholas in the Tamil tradition is complex and varied, depending on the social position of storytellers. Shaivite sources are extremely favourable to the dynasty, crediting them with establishing temples, settling Brahmins, rediscovering and promoting Shaivite texts. However, the Chola kings of the Shaivite tradition are a mix of both historical figures and culture heroes. Outside of the Shaivite tradition, the picture is somewhat darker. In the Mackenzie manuscripts of Tamil stories, collected in the late 1800s, one Chola king (Kulottunga I) is described as having either a dancing-girl or a demoness for a lover, and giving their son a kingdom. Srivaishnava legends accuse a Chola king of conspiring to kill the Srivaishnava saint Ramanuja. Another is believed to have killed the son of the famed poet Kamban, author of the Tamil Ramayana. And, as I've written previously in Thinking Medieval, a peasant tradition praises twin heroes who are believed to have killed a cruel Chola king. To be clear, many of these are literary or storytelling tropes applied generally to royal figures. But that is exactly my point: Before the 20th century, the Cholas were not totemic figures of an ethnic or cultural identity. And their seagoing expeditions played no role in popular culture. Indeed, as Dr Venkatachalapathy told me, when the first Indian steamship company was established by VO Chidambaram Pillai in 1906, the educated Tamil middle class had no idea that the Cholas were seafarers of any sort. All this changed from the 1930s onwards, when the Cholas received sustained academic and pop culture attention. Historians Nilakanta Sastri and RC Majumdar both saw the Cholas as representing an enlightened Indian imperialism with a sustained overseas presence—in stark contrast to the British Raj. Kalki Krishnamurthy, freedom fighter and author of Ponniyin Selvan, wrote of the Chola king Rajaraja I with 'the Mahatma's nobility, Nehru's charisma, Patel's steel, Rajaji's integrity, and the compassion of Buddha and Ashoka'. As noted above, the epigraphic corpus of the Chola period was picked up and studied by decades-long multinational academic collaborations, summarised in the previous section. Yet academic findings, especially the notion of critical interrogation of sources, did not percolate into pop culture. Within dominant Tamil media, the Cholas came to represent a politically-useful, 'perfected' notion of Tamil history: one where caste discrimination, temple politics, gendered violence, and warfare against other Indian states either didn't exist, or weren't that much of a problem. Dalit cultural figures who have questioned this depiction, such as director Pa Ranjith, have had to face court cases for outraging sentiments. The Cholas became foundational figures of Tamil legend, similar to Shivaji in Maharashtra. But while Shivaji has long been integral to Hindutva history as an opponent of the Mughals, the reinvention of the Cholas was largely confined to Tamil Nadu—until recently. Also read: A Chola queen shaped Hinduism like no one else. Yet you haven't heard of her Tribute or appropriation? I will try to summarise, as fairly as possible, the view of the Cholas now projected by the Union government. First and foremost, they were great Shaivite Hindu kings, exemplified by their massive temples, which were built for devotional purposes. Second, they conquered abroad and projected Indian influence into Southeast Asia. To do this, they used a large royal navy (on which, more in future). Third, they were patrons of the arts, responsible for divine bronzes as well as prestigious Tamil arts such as Bharatanatyam. Fourth, they were great administrators who ruled a fair and just system. It is impossible not to see the overlap between the Tamil nationalist view of the Cholas and the Hindutva view. Essentially, what we are seeing now is an attempt to integrate a regional nationalist narrative based on pop culture into a subcontinental nationalist narrative—which is based on a much more vociferous pop culture. There are, however, two important differences. Hardline Tamil nationalists reject the notion that the Cholas patronised Sanskrit learning or Brahminical institutions, though this does not find support in the evidence. (Teenage adherents of this view have commanded me on Instagram, in no uncertain terms, that Rajaraja I's imperial temple must be called only by the Tamil name, Peruvudaiyar, rather than the Sanskrit Brihadishvara—never mind that both of these mean the same thing and originated well after the end of the empire.) More broadly, and with more evidence, Tamil nationalists have also never seen the Cholas as anti-Muslim figures, whether as part of a cultural competition or as rivals to Muslim powers. In recent weeks, however, a bestselling North Indian writer of mythological fantasy, with ties to the ruling establishment, has announced a work of 'speculative' fiction where the Cholas undertake a surgical strike against Mahmud of Ghazni. Since this is 'speculative', one can hand-wave away the strong-arming of this remarkable medieval power into modern political buzzwords. One can ignore the fact that Chola inscriptions show absolutely no interest in happenings in North India. One does not need to address the unique structure of Tamil society and its amazing political dynamism. Instead, we can indulge in the modern fantasy of the Cholas as ideal kings with bulging biceps, representing a culturally united Hindu India, and beating up the 'bad guys' of Hindutva history. We are also treated to North Indian politicians tweeting photos of Chola temples, claiming that the South has been ignored—with vociferous support from dominant caste Tamil influencers. Personally, much as I would like to delight in regional histories getting the spotlight, I am not sure whether this is a 'celebration' of Chola history, or yet another reinvention. The fact is that what's happening to the Cholas isn't particularly new. Chest-thumping about medieval royalty, fantasy fiction, and textbook rewriting have long been used by regional political parties to promote linguistic pride and secure votes. But this comes at a cost. In twisting the medieval 1 per cent into today's culture wars, the medieval 99 per cent, with all their foibles and uniqueness, are simply flattened into an undifferentiated mass of devotees and willing foot soldiers for military and cultural projects that appeal to dominant interests. The stories we tell of the past always say more about us than they do about our ancestors. Indian democracy could easily fund studies and exhibitions about medieval architects; conduct ground-penetrating LIDAR scans of medieval settlement mounds; excavate known Chola palace sites to learn about daily life; or sponsor multinational studies of medieval Tamil diaspora sites. There are plenty of ways to pay tribute to history that allow history to be history, instead of a warped and fractured rehash of our own culture wars. What does it say about us that we choose, again and again, to celebrate warrior-kings and their temples? Anirudh Kanisetti is a public historian. He is the author of 'Lords of Earth and Sea: A History of the Chola Empire' and the award-winning 'Lords of the Deccan'. He hosts the Echoes of India and Yuddha podcasts. He tweets @AKanisetti and is on Instagram @anirbuddha. This article is a part of the 'Thinking Medieval' series that takes a deep dive into India's medieval culture, politics, and history. (Edited by Theres Sudeep)
Time of India
3 days ago
- Politics
- Time of India
Congress MP Manickam Tagore mocks Election Commission with 'YES SIR' cartoon amid Bihar SIR row
Congress MP Manickam Tagore on Tuesday posted a cartoon on X, mocking the Election Commission of India (ECI) in connection with the recent controversy over the SIR (Special Intensive Revision) in Bihar . The cartoon shared by Congress MP portrays a man labelled "EC" dressed in uniform and shackled, holding what resembles an EVM (Electronic Voting Machine), with a speech bubble saying "YES SIR." The tweet was captioned with a single, sharp hashtag: #SIR, a clear reference to the recent allegations by opposition parties that the ECI is functioning under pressure from the central government, especially in light of developments in Bihar. Explore courses from Top Institutes in Please select course: Select a Course Category Tagore has accused the Centre, led by BJP of misusing the Election Commission as a political tool to disenfranchise marginalised communities , including the poor, Dalits, and backward castes. Earlier on Thursday, Tagore alleged more than 56 lakh voters are being removed from the voter list in Bihar after the Election Commission's Special Intensive Revision and termed it an "attack" on democracy. He also reiterated the opposition's demand for a discussion on the exercise in Parliament. Live Events "The INDIA bloc wants the Parliament to discuss the SIR issue because more than 56 lakh voters are being removed from the electoral roll. This is an attack on democracy and the election process itself. The EC has become an agent of the BJP. As Leader of Opposition in the Lok Sabha, Rahul Gandhi has said, We want a discussion in the Parliament, but the government is not conceding to any kind of demands on the SIR," Tagore told ANI. Moreover, Congress MP Tagore moved an adjournment motion notice in the Lok Sabha on Monday morning to discuss the "mass demolition drives" in Delhi. He said that the demolition drives were a "violation of the orders" and were leading to the forced displacement of marginalised families. "This House expresses deep concern over the ongoing demolition drives in various parts of Delhi-including Jailorwala Bagh, Govindpuri, and Jamia Nagar, especially the demolition of homes in Madrasi Camp (Govindpuri), where hundreds of Tamil-speaking Indian citizens, daily wage labourers, domestic workers, and construction workers were forcefully evicted without proper rehabilitation," the notice read. Tagore pointed out that the Tamil migrants who have been living in Madrasi Camp for 50 years were rendered homeless, bracing rains with no access to essential services such as water, electricity and medical care. "The Madrasi Camp, established nearly 50 years ago, was home to migrant Tamils who moved to Delhi in search of livelihood. Generations have lived there, contributed to the capital's economy, and voted in every election as full citizens of India. Today, they are homeless, living under tarpaulins in the rain, with no access to water, electricity, or medical care. Across Delhi, over 27,000 people have been forcibly evicted, with more than 9,000 families not even considered for rehabilitation," the notice read. The Congress Lok Sabha MP criticised the action of the Delhi Development Authority (DDA) for "disregarding legal directives". "Despite stay orders from the Delhi High Court, bulldozers razed homes, violating fundamental rights to shelter, dignity, and justice. The actions of the Delhi Development Authority (DDA) have not only disregarded legal directives but also trampled upon the humanitarian values enshrined in our Constitution," he said. Asserting that the lower house can't remain a mute spectator, Tagore argued that the centre and DDA must be held accountable for these "unconstitutional and heartless actions." Rahul Gandhi, Leader of the Opposition (LoP), visited the affected sites and met families living under plastic sheets in the rain.
IOL News
5 days ago
- Politics
- IOL News
The Dolphin Unit: A Legacy of Resistance in Apartheid South Africa
(From left) The Dolphin Unit's Iqbal Shaikh, Mohamed Ismail, Aboobaker Ismail and ANC veteran Mac Maharaj at the TRC hearings on May 7, 1998. Image: Supplied For over three decades, the remarkable story of Umkhonto we Sizwe's Special Operations Unit has remained largely untold. Formed under the direct command of ANC president Oliver Tambo and senior ANC and SACP leader Joe Slovo, this elite unit executed some of the most daring and high-profile attacks against the apartheid state in the 1980s. In this groundbreaking book by ANC and SACP activist Yunus Carrim, the history of Special Ops is brought to life through the voices of its surviving participants. This is an account of the Dolphin Unit that conducted some of MK's most successful military operations Neighbours and friends With 35 operations between 1982 and 1988 and a role in the ANC's Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK's) ordnance division from then until 1993, the Dolphin Unit was one of the longest-surviving and most successful MK units. Initially made up of Iqbal Shaikh and Mohamed Ismail, it became a one-person unit of Shaikh from 1985. Born in 1958, Shaikh was raised in Vrededorp, Johannesburg. He came from 'a typical apolitical trading family. When all the clan gathered at Granny's kitchen table, political conversations were avoided. If a topic had political undertones, the elders would shrug it off, citing how important the family business was and almost always referring to the atrocities that could befall us if the blacks took over. The Durban 1949 race riots inevitably came up, followed by the Uganda story, where Amin expelled the Indians. 'At Grandpa's two busy dress shops, where we kids came daily to meet our parents after school, we knew to greet any white customer as Goeie môre, Baas or Meisie and never to take offence at the Ja, coolie reply.' Shaikh's stepfather had a dairy delivery business. 'When I reached the gate of the houses, the incessant barking of dogs, followed by the little white kids 'Ma, die melkkoelie is hier [Mother, the milk-coolie is here]. 'We often complained to Papa about why we should address these dirty, bare-footed, little white kids with respect, whilst they called us 'coolie'. Papa would urge us to ignore them and remind us how important white customers were.' From fifteen onwards, Shaik got involved in fights, joined a gang, truanted, left school at sixteen, and found an administrative job. Vrededorp had a tradition of Congress activities. Underground ANC activist Ahmed Timol's death in detention impacted Shaikh. And when the 1976 Soweto uprising erupted, Shaikh was upset at the brutality of white policemen. He moved to Durban to live with an aunt and go back to school. At the M L Sultan Technical College, he was propelled into a student leader position. It was around the food and other conditions at the residences. Later, the sectarian and class divisions among and between Muslim, Hindi-speaking and Tamil-speaking Hindu students. His interventions helped to encourage more contact between students across the divides. When the 1980 student boycott fizzled out, Shaikh felt that the Natal Indian Congress and the parents' moderation contributed to this. Disappointed, he quit college. He returned to Johannesburg and linked up with 'Chacha' – Mohamed Ismail. Shaikh's family lived near his family. They used to play 'cowboys and crooks, hide and seek, and more'. Born in 1953, Chacha 'could see the injustice, police brutality, whites beating up black people walking in the street, and nothing happened. Mozambique became independent, and the political climate was changing. It was necessary as a Muslim and self-styled socialist to become politically active against apartheid.' Through Prema Naidoo and others, he became politically active in the Transvaal Indian Congress. Former ANC Member of Parliament Yunus Carrim narrates the untold stories of the ANC's MK Special Operations Unit. Image: Supplied Joining MK's Special Ops Shaikh threw himself into civic and political struggles in Lenasia. There was constant tension between the Black Consciousness (BC) and Congress activists. The militancy of BC activists suited Shaikh's temperament and brand of politics. But he finally opted for the 'Congressites', influenced by the politics in the Naidoo household. He increasingly felt that 'this mass politics is not for me. I want to go to the next level. It was convenient to be in mass politics and not the armed struggle because that was a harder option.' So, he approached Chacha to link him to the ANC. Chacha's brother, Aboobaker Ismail, had joined MK and would at times meet their parents in Swaziland. In September 1981, Chacha took Shaikh with them. In a hotel room, Ismail (MK: Rashid) ran a tap, switched on the television and asked them to sit away from the window. This was their first lesson in underground activity. They were trained then and on subsequent trips on urban guerrilla warfare, including the use of limpet mines and pistols. MK operatives created a hidden compartment in a Peugeot for them to transport weapons in. On their first attempt, as Shaikh and Chacha got to the border, it was 'very tense, we had sweaty palms, but you had to keep your composure. There was silence at the border, each with his thoughts. When we were barely three minutes over the border into South Africa, we erupted spontaneously into emotional yelling and handshakes. Perhaps the best high five in all my life!' They would bury the weapons in dead letter boxes (DLBs), mainly in Lenasia. 'It was backbreaking work. We weren't used to manual work. The gardeners did that. Now we had to dig up hard ground in the dark of the Highveld winter. It's work fraught with difficulties, sometimes more dangerous than hitting the target.' The Dolphin Unit Called the Dolphin Unit, they started with low-level targets in December 1982, and with experience, took on bigger targets. These included police and army offices, railway lines, electricity pylons, government buildings, the Ciskei consulate, big businesses that fired workers, a fuel depot and more*. On 10 October 1983, President PW Botha was to address a Kruger Day gathering in the Warmbaths civic centre. The unit decided to hit the civic centre and a fuel depot about a kilometre away. 'The night before the operation, on their dry run, an aggressive white man blocked a café entrance and shouted at Chacha, 'Koelie, wat doen jy hier [Coolie, what are you doing here]?' 'We passively passed by and bought our snacks for the road home. Walking back. I told Chacha you should have replied, 'Baas, ek doen niks vanaand, maar ek kom weer môre [Boss, I'm not doing anything tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow].' We laughed and returned home.' The fuel depot was damaged at about 02:20, but the limpet at the civic centre was discovered and defused. Shaikh said, 'The regime claimed that highly trained terrorists [laughter] were involved and planned to annihilate the cream of society.' In late 1986, Shaikh and Chacha went to East Germany for training. On landing, the pilot announced their names and asked them to disembark. 'What's this about? I was scared there might be [apartheid] security branch guys among the passengers.' An East German government official came onto the plane and took them away in a Mercedes, followed by a military vehicle. 'It's everything we've seen in the movies. We were very surprised …' They were trained for three months. Shaikh observed 'all the little contradictions we'd heard about in Soviet-style communism. It was demoralising.' He later said that their 'special advantage was our mobility as Indians. We were less visible as MK operatives and less detectable than our African cadres.' In crossing the South African border, 'we would weaponise our ethnicity. We used apartheid racial profiling to our advantage. By neat business attire, briefcase with brochures, bank notes, samples of a commodity, politeness at all times, and half a dozen samoosas ready on hand, nobody suspected. This was no passport to freedom, but it helped.' While helping out in the family takeaway business, it was easy for Shaikh to reconnoitre targets in the city centre. 'I often wore a toppie and kurta to disguise what I was doing. I was almost rubbing shoulders in the passageways with people linked to my targets, who would never think that I could be in MK.' He could plant limpet bombs inside buildings during work hours to go off at night, when there was nobody around. In communicating with Rashid over the phone, they would use coded words in Gujarati. Being part of a gang as a teenager and a streetfighter, as well as his instinct for challenging authority, contributed to Shaikh's success as a guerrilla. His temperament also drew him to the armed struggle. His impatience with mass struggles, the endless speech-making of leaders, the trade-offs and the failure to get more results more quickly all steered him into the armed struggle. His faith in the armed struggle drove him to be results-driven. He certainly had an adventurous, daring spirit. Shaikh's long association with Rashid and Chacha as neighbours and a shared cultural background made for a level of trust. 'Igs [Shaikh] had that X-factor,' says Farouk Farista, who worked with him in ordnance 'To have the ability to do what he did and survive takes a remarkable human being. And he did it on his own, which requires an incredible amount of tenacity. 'He thought through every single thing with incredible detail. He never took blind chances. He knew how to play it, and he was very smart about not exposing himself and not blowing his trumpet and taking credit.' Shaikh doesn't have a sense of entitlement. After 1994, he retreated from politics. He didn't seek a post in the state. I never felt owed. I didn't want anything because I did the bombings. I had no qualifications. I'm just an ordinary Fietas guy who got into the situation. * The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL, Independent Media or The African.
The Hindu
6 days ago
- General
- The Hindu
Farmers of Hanur Taluk in Karanataka seek Coimbatore administration's support to trace map of erstwhile water body
Farmers belonging to Hanur taluk in Chamarjanagar district of Karnataka State have sought the help of the Coimbatore district administration to trace the map of a 40-acre water body at Doddadevarahalli hamlet in Martalli Village Panchayat that had existed in pre-Independence era. Kollegal taluk, out of which Hanur taluk was carved later, was part of the composite Coimbatore district during the British regime. Down the decades, the water body was subsumed in the reserve forest area. The map is crucial for the team as the Forest Department in Karnataka had reportedly expressed readiness to revive the water body on furnishing of proper records. A team of farmers had initially approached the Erode district administration and carried out an extensive search in the sub-registrar office in Gobichettipalayam, but were not able to trace the records. They were, in turn, directed to the District Record Centre at Perur in Coimbatore district. The water body was crucial for livelihood of residents in 17 hamlets including Doddadevarahalli, Kadambur, Makaralli and Elachikarai in the surroundings, Arputharaj, a team member said. The team has in its possession a document pertaining to 1915 that had been preserved for generations. The document states about the existence of the water body at the time when Coimbatore district had the jurisdiction over Kollegal prior to demarcation of boundaries on linguistic basis, after the British era. The cause of the team that has been looking for records from Tamil Nadu that would corroborate the particulars in the document in their possession was espoused at the monthly farmers' grievance redressal meeting by a senior functionary of Annur-based Kongu Ilaignar Peravai Palanisamy. District Collector Pavankumar G. Giriyappanavar, who chaired the meeting, assured the members to trace out the map from the District Record Centre. According to the Archives Department, the Coimbatore District Record Office established in 1982 preserves records of administrative and historical importance which are more than 30 years old. A total of 38,741 records belonging to Revenue, Education, Forest, Local Administration and other departments are preserved. Public welfare organisations in Hanur have been emphasising on revival of the water body for about a decade, and the farmers have been actively pursuing the issue for the last two years, in the wake of acute water shortage. The residents who are pre-dominantly Tamil-speaking people find themselves in a situation of sourcing water from borewells dug to a depth in excess of 900 metres. 'The salt content in the water is causing various ailments,' Mr. Arputhasamy said. At present, the site of the erstwhile water body looks like a shrunken pond. Fortunately for the residents, the Forest Department is not averse to restoring the water body. The revival of water body will pave way for laying a pipeline for sourcing Cauvery water from within a 16-km distance whereby the aquifer level would also rise, Mr. Arputhasamy said.
