Akumal

Akumal Ramachander

Unusual name. Unusual man. An alien as he often called himself. Possessed by more than a missionary zeal to help arts and artists; a brilliant mind and heart of gold. A world citizen, even if born in a village, with roots in Mulkanaddu. Mother’s side in the court of Mysore Maharaja and father, an Army man. The frequent postings in Army gave Akumal a unique pan India palette and a plateful of languages. He could sing in Hindi, talk in Urdu, knew Polish and understood French. Telugu by birth, Punjabi by nature, Tamil of brain and international in disposition he was the quintessential celebrator of life.

Akumal, I first met at a book launch, mine, some 20 years ago, in a seven-star hotel of Namma Bengaluru called Leela Palace by the old airport owned by HAL. Those days this was the only airport in this laidback city. Cows strolled across tarmac and there were two conveyor belts for baggage. Ten taxis stood with no passengers to pick or drop. I’m talking of just 20+ years ago. MG Road the main drag of city street, hardly had any traffic and one could walk to most places. Denizens were in slow motion and time stood still. Until the IT and bio boom happened in the 2010s. Then the city started growing and how. Today, there’s no parking spot anywhere in central Bangalore.

(L to R) Guru Maya Rao, Chiranjiv Singh, Governor TN Chaturvedi, Author
Ashish Khokar and Akumal at the May 4, 2006 book launch event 

To this launch, where Bharatnatyam exponent Pratibha Prahlad danced and the most cultured CM of Karnataka, Ramakrishna Hegde sahib, desired to attend but by then he had become Union Commerce Minister in Atal Bihari Vajpayee Cabinet, so protocols didn’t allow him just dropping in. The jet set of the city were in attendance, like Foreign Secretary AP Venkateswaran with wife Usha; one holy-sounding star architect of the city who had no culture and scratched himself like there were ants in his pants; a renowned filmmaker, top fashion designers, models,  Start-Up folks, foreigners and many industrialists and media friends.

Akumal came like a storm. He lambasted most assembled privately, loved the book but hated star trappings and scolded me for underselling a priceless book for a pittance. He also didn’t like associating with seven-star culture for a book launch. All this unsolicited advice when I didn’t even know him or had never met him! It was like a Durvasa, cursing all but meaning well. A well-wisher from a past life. He became an instant friend because I get on very well with transparent people whose hearts are clean and they can talk straight and give it as is. No decorating, no covering up. Truth needs no dressing up; lies needs layers to hide.

He talked to the dozen, dropping names from Salman Rushdie to Judi Dench. Yes THE Salman Rushdie (who had written on HIM!) and THE Dame Dench (who knew Akumal personally). The French he didn’t care for as being a high-class Brahmin he felt they hardly took bath in months (and thus invented the French perfume industry to cover bath smells! he held). Poles were top on his totem pole though his biggest victory was teaching them Americans a lesson in art history.

It so happened that Akumal discovered a painter – Harold Shapinsky – forgotten even by the New York art mafia scene. He was languishing in a basement apartment, dank and cold, poor but rich in art. Akumal brought him centre stage. To galleries in London too like the Tate. For a simple English teacher in an agricultural institute of a lazy, laidback Bangalore of yore, to even travel to New Delhi was a big thing in the 1980s. Akumal went to New York and made them sit up. The New Yorker, best narrative journalism magazine till date in the world, wrote a lead piece on him and BBC Channel Four Farookh Dhondy made a documentary on him. In India, till date he hasn’t not even got a Karnataka Kalashree award which anyone can get these days and Padma award for which no one thought of even nominating him. People like him make the award credible and look good; they don’t need any award.

He was a raconteur par excellence and a live wire. He stared discovering many talents in India too: Milind Nayak, Suresh, Jayakumar and so many more. An avid reader, his memory was better than an elephant. His mind sharper than a lazer knife. His heart purer than 24 carat gold.

Bhai Sahib where are you? Was his takia kalaam! A pet greeting. He could get carried away, even angry, if anyone quoted wrongly or said a fact that was not a fact. He could show off his knowledge often but didn’t care for public opinion anyway. A real historian through and through. A collector too. As is often the case with such possessed people, the self didn’t matter. His mission and vision were larger than himself. He was a true citizen of the world. His last big and pet project was a musical he had planned for the last decade. He composed the songs and wrote the script; got a Swedish composer Stefan Ponting to set to music. Had approached many to fund it. His earlier book, The Little Pig, was about vegetarianism and was translated in many languages. He was a world class talent this city had produced.

Which is why when Zanussi, the iconic film-maker came to India, he made time to meet Akumal. Ramachander. If anyone called him Ramachandra or Chandran then woe betide that human: Hammer and tongs flew out of Akumal’s mouth.

A foodie, his mother was his world. She was his keeper even when he was 70! She knew he was a very special child and she treated him as one. His life in India revolved around her, especially once his father was no more. He dealt with colours all his life but his siblings showed him their true colours, in his end years.

Akumal, Author, Chiranjiv Singh, Elisabeth Khokar and Praveen Singh

Akumal is no more. He was my only real friend in this city of many known folks. We have a huge circle but true friends are always a handful. He would come to ration card office those days as I didn’t know the local language. Or to the CID office to solve my email hacked case (by a jealous senior critic living in Delhi).  He fought for me with local newspapers to give space to arts; talked at every forum and attended each of the 20 launches I had in Namma Bengaluru. At one – the first – in 2005, in Raj Bhavan, he stood proudly holding attenDance issue on Bangalore, Bombay and Baroda. He was the Peter Pan. He introduced  second most important family in city, that of saint patron of arts, Chiranjiv Singh. For such a top state talent who was Karnataka’s best culture, finance and additional chief secretary and also India’s Ambassador to UNESCO, to even associate with all our activities over the years, give us support and platform our cause is thanks to Akumal. We won affection – and over two decades – they became our family was mostly thanks to the Akumal link.

His last wish was to donate his body to medical research. I wish that brain with so much information could be saved for posterity. He went back to his mother ship, on 26 December 2024, being an alien. Akumal kind of people walk the earth only once and we were maha privileged to know him and become his close friend. Shivashankar Sanjeevappa, the lawyer, took care of him in the end year and gave him the much-needed affection he needed. Dementia had set in but at our last attenDance Awards our award was when he remembered us by name. That was the last time we heard his voice. May he continue to delight all gods and goddesses and entertain them with choicest stories. He was the first and the last best story in himself. He must be dancing on the moon….

Ashish Khokar uses humour to make serious points on our culture and society. A historian by training, artiste by disposition and organiser by nature ,in his spare time he has also published /authored 50 books; over 5000 articles in mainstream media in the last 45 years and served many cultural institutions in India and abroad, making him a renaissance man. He is also a pioneer in arts administration and international culture education since the 1980s. He is hailed as the gold standard of archiving, documentation and dance history.  For full bio : www.attendance-india.com