It was like a movie that happened to someone else / It's very difficult to forget the pain

18 May 2008, 0250 hrs IST,TNN

This is where they came for me that morning." 'This' is a rumpled bachelor's second-floor house, a mighty club swing away from the swanky Karnataka Golf Association in Bangalore. 'They' were two officers from the cyber crime cell of the Pune police, accompanied by assorted assistants and a driver. 'Me'? Techie Lakshmana Kailash, a lean, tallish, dark man, then sporting a monkish head and stubble. 'That morning' was August 31, 2007.

That visit changed his life forever. It led to 50 days as an undertrial in Pune's Yerawada Jail. It brought down his carefully constructed edifice of a promising career, impending matrimony and the prospect of a secure life. His crime—allegedly posting offensive material on a social networking site—didn't stand the test of technical evidence. 'Human error' is cited time and again in the affidavits of the staff of the telecom major and internet service provider. Obviously, they are taking refuge in the philosophical 'To err is human, to forgive divine'.

"Fine, so let the service provider add the clause 'Please be aware there's room for human error in our service' in all the documents its customers sign," says Lakshmana. As a hot April sun beats down on Bangalore, we're in the same house where he was arrested. The monkish stubble has given way to a beard and a head full of hair. The backpack he totes gives him the air of a young man on the move but he also carries the burden of pain and suffering. He's now got his freedom back, but the barely controlled sarcasm betrays his despair at a system which let someone get away so easily with an error, a life-changing error at that. His efforts to seek compensation have bounced off stone walls, as immovable as those at Yerawada.

But that's all in a past that Lakshmana wants to put behind him. It cannot be forgotten easily—not the pain, not the suffering, not the pinpricks of anguish his parents in Tirunelvelli continue to experience. What he can wish for is a new beginning and so he's chosen to relocate to Chennai, hoping that a change in place will hasten the process. He's still with an IT major, the organisation he worked for when he was arrested. Since his release from Yerawada in October, 2007, he's been on medical leave. The pain has been as much physical as mental.

"Yes, there is anger, that is natural. I know I can't change the world but I can change myself, my attitude to my problems, the way I deal with situations," he speaks softly, earnestly. He's working on several tracks simultaneously—pursuing the legal option of compensation from the internet service provider, documenting his jail experience for a possible book, testifying periodically at the Maharashtra Human Rights Commission about jail conditions for undertrials, toying with the idea of studying cyber law, and exploring options for doing some social service that goes beyond writing cheques.

Lakshmana's outlook seems to be rooted in pragmatism. "Destiny has brought me so far; I'm prepared for what it has in store for me. In the jail, I learnt many things. I've stopped complaining about people. I've learnt to be patient. But there's a bigger lesson—be impatient in not accepting injustice but be patient to stay in the fight till the end."

And as he slips back to those dark days, he says, "I learnt to focus on positive things, to channelise all the anger and negative thoughts into just staying alive and doing something positive. Those days, I would imagine I was outside the jail, talking to my family and friends. I'd read a lot of books about positive thinking but there came many moments when nothing would help. I would come close to breaking down. Somehow, I found the strength to stand up. In any case, no author of positive thinking books can survive in Indian jails."

He not only stood up again but now wants to walk tall. "Keep walking, that's my mantra. Earlier, if I saw a stone in the path I would maybe skirt it. Now, I want to remove it; someone else shouldn't get hurt. I feel guilty if I don't do something about it. I will be more hurt than anybody else if I see another innocent victim facing a similar cyber allegation in future. Because it will make me feel that I have not done my part in preventing it."

Guilt has become difficult to pin down in his case. It could easily become a precedent in cyber law in India—the ramifications of the judgment could be far-reaching. So, as that process takes its course Lakshmana's prioritisation process has zeroed in on two things which can be changed in Yerawada Jail. "Fix another speaker here," he indicates on a precise hand-drawn map of the barracks. "Often, on visitors' days, inmates cannot hear their names being called because there's only one speaker. I missed meeting my brother on two occasions and had to wait for his next visit, one whole week later. The other thing is to give undertrials access to the library. Maybe they could read books which help them cope with their situation. I want to use my experience there to help change some things if I can."

He coped but barely, with meditation and yoga propping up his morale through the tough times. "Now, when I've started writing about those days, it feels like a movie which happened to someone else. I have the 50 days mapped out in my mind; all I have to do is type the words to fit the images. Those days, I'd play endless games of chess, they helped me focus on the next move."

It's all part of the rebuilding process. "Someone came and blew away the foundation. I have to start afresh, brick by brick, and build my house again. The short-term monetary compensation I'm seeking is for that. Don't even ask about the long-term damages—my family's reputation lies in ruins. How do I go about fixing that? Who understands the pain my parents undergo on a daily, weekly, monthly basis? All I know is that this shouldn't happen to anyone else. Set up systems in place to guard against it."

For the moment, he takes solace in another mantra that kept him from going out of his mind in jail: Enjoy the silence wherever you are. In the bustle of urban chaos, perhaps it's a trick we all need to learn. We never know when we may need it. TNN

This is where they came for me that morning." 'This' is a rumpled bachelor's second-floor house, a mighty club swing away from the swanky Karnataka Golf Association in Bangalore. 'They' were two officers from the cyber crime cell of the Pune police, accompanied by assorted assistants and a driver. 'Me'? Techie Lakshmana Kailash, a lean, tallish, dark man, then sporting a monkish head and stubble. 'That morning' was August 31, 2007.

That visit changed his life forever. It led to 50 days as an undertrial in Pune's Yerawada Jail. It brought down his carefully constructed edifice of a promising career, impending matrimony and the prospect of a secure life. His crime—allegedly posting offensive material on a social networking site—didn't stand the test of technical evidence. 'Human error' is cited time and again in the affidavits of the staff of the telecom major and internet service provider. Obviously, they are taking refuge in the philosophical 'To err is human, to forgive divine'.

"Fine, so let the service provider add the clause 'Please be aware there's room for human error in our service' in all the documents its customers sign," says Lakshmana. As a hot April sun beats down on Bangalore, we're in the same house where he was arrested. The monkish stubble has given way to a beard and a head full of hair. The backpack he totes gives him the air of a young man on the move but he also carries the burden of pain and suffering. He's now got his freedom back, but the barely controlled sarcasm betrays his despair at a system which let someone get away so easily with an error, a life-changing error at that. His efforts to seek compensation have bounced off stone walls, as immovable as those at Yerawada.

But that's all in a past that Lakshmana wants to put behind him. It cannot be forgotten easily—not the pain, not the suffering, not the pinpricks of anguish his parents in Tirunelvelli continue to experience. What he can wish for is a new beginning and so he's chosen to relocate to Chennai, hoping that a change in place will hasten the process. He's still with an IT major, the organisation he worked for when he was arrested. Since his release from Yerawada in October, 2007, he's been on medical leave. The pain has been as much physical as mental.

"Yes, there is anger, that is natural. I know I can't change the world but I can change myself, my attitude to my problems, the way I deal with situations," he speaks softly, earnestly. He's working on several tracks simultaneously—pursuing the legal option of compensation from the internet service provider, documenting his jail experience for a possible book, testifying periodically at the Maharashtra Human Rights Commission about jail conditions for undertrials, toying with the idea of studying cyber law, and exploring options for doing some social service that goes beyond writing cheques.

Lakshmana's outlook seems to be rooted in pragmatism. "Destiny has brought me so far; I'm prepared for what it has in store for me. In the jail, I learnt many things. I've stopped complaining about people. I've learnt to be patient. But there's a bigger lesson—be impatient in not accepting injustice but be patient to stay in the fight till the end."

And as he slips back to those dark days, he says, "I learnt to focus on positive things, to channelise all the anger and negative thoughts into just staying alive and doing something positive. Those days, I would imagine I was outside the jail, talking to my family and friends. I'd read a lot of books about positive thinking but there came many moments when nothing would help. I would come close to breaking down. Somehow, I found the strength to stand up. In any case, no author of positive thinking books can survive in Indian jails."

He not only stood up again but now wants to walk tall. "Keep walking, that's my mantra. Earlier, if I saw a stone in the path I would maybe skirt it. Now, I want to remove it; someone else shouldn't get hurt. I feel guilty if I don't do something about it. I will be more hurt than anybody else if I see another innocent victim facing a similar cyber allegation in future. Because it will make me feel that I have not done my part in preventing it."

Guilt has become difficult to pin down in his case. It could easily become a precedent in cyber law in India—the ramifications of the judgment could be far-reaching. So, as that process takes its course Lakshmana's prioritisation process has zeroed in on two things which can be changed in Yerawada Jail. "Fix another speaker here," he indicates on a precise hand-drawn map of the barracks. "Often, on visitors' days, inmates cannot hear their names being called because there's only one speaker. I missed meeting my brother on two occasions and had to wait for his next visit, one whole week later. The other thing is to give undertrials access to the library. Maybe they could read books which help them cope with their situation. I want to use my experience there to help change some things if I can."

He coped but barely, with meditation and yoga propping up his morale through the tough times. "Now, when I've started writing about those days, it feels like a movie which happened to someone else. I have the 50 days mapped out in my mind; all I have to do is type the words to fit the images. Those days, I'd play endless games of chess, they helped me focus on the next move."

It's all part of the rebuilding process. "Someone came and blew away the foundation. I have to start afresh, brick by brick, and build my house again. The short-term monetary compensation I'm seeking is for that. Don't even ask about the long-term damages—my family's reputation lies in ruins. How do I go about fixing that? Who understands the pain my parents undergo on a daily, weekly, monthly basis? All I know is that this shouldn't happen to anyone else. Set up systems in place to guard against it."

For the moment, he takes solace in another mantra that kept him from going out of his mind in jail: Enjoy the silence wherever you are. In the bustle of urban chaos, perhaps it's a trick we all need to learn. We never know when we may need it.

edwin.sudhir@timesgroup.com

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Sunday_Specials/Review/It_was_like_a_movie_that_happened_to_someone_else/articleshow/3049948.cms