EIGHT annas. That was Kewal Semlani’s first cause for dissent, back in the early 1950s, when the fee to take the Std XI board exam was hiked by 50 paisa.
‘‘I organised a strike in school,” Semlani says. He had a phalanx of 3,000 students supporting him, and a livid principal threatening to have him arrested.
Decades later, a week before his 68th birthday, that fever has not dulled. The coordinator of Mahadhikar—a citizen’s initiative formed in 2002 to promote the right to information—has coaxed businessmen, teachers, bureaucrats and homemakers to use the Maharashtra Right To Information (MRTI) Act .
Every week, he returns to groups of participants, to write out their applications in his round, loping longhand, lauding somebody for taking up thorny cudgels or chastising somebody else for not following the prescribed format.
Fit despite three cardiac surgeries, the ‘‘Std X pass’’ Semlani has filed countless applications, seeking details on everything from illegal parking to multi-crore projects. The box files he lugs ‘‘to work from home in the weekend’’ are bursting, the meticulous chronicles of a man who won’t let a daring law remain gobbledygook legalese.
Latest success
In July, a rationing inspector visited his home, asking if they’d purchased any kerosene. Suspecting something amiss, he filed an MRTI application, asking for copies of cash memos against his card. In two weeks, the ration shop owner, who the Semlanis have never visited, was knocking their door.
The shopowner’s worry was understandable, this was a non-bailable offence under the Essential Commodities Act.
In August, the shop was raided. Eleven thousand cash memos were seized. The owner was selling kerosene—Rs 10 a litre at ration shops, Rs 23 a litre elsewhere—in the black market. He had simply marked it as a sale to the Semlanis and other card-holders.
But the man who took Akbarally’s to the consumer court for overcharging Rs 2 on a biscuit pack opted otherwise. ‘‘I always insist, don’t use the Act for vendetta. Use it for public good.’’ He asked the owner to swear never to harass ration card-holders and to give them their full supply.
For the people
His latest muse is squalid, chaotic Dharavi, with its infinite prospects of learning and revolution. ‘‘Do you know anybody who can help organise a workshop there?’’ asks the retired Gujarati businessman who’s never ventured into the underbelly of Asia’s largest slum.
In his elegant Prabhadevi apartment, futuristic Bose speakers almost drown the incessant buzz of a cellphone dedicated to ‘‘right to information callers.’’ His assistant types away at an LCD monitor.
Graciously, Semlani attributes his dedication to circumstances. The house and its luxuries are gifts from his son who’s settled comfortably in the United States. Coming up soon is a birthday gift from the doting son, www.mahadhikar.org.
Ask the raconteur why and he tells you another story. In 1997, arguing his own public interest litigation, he had to file an affidavit introducing himself.
He wrote, ‘‘I have a debt to repay. To my country, my motherland. If not at 61, then when?’’
From Semlani’s files
September 2004: He asked the civic body about Mumbai III-A, a water supply project delayed inordinately since its inception in 1997. The reply is awaited
August 2004: He asked Assistant Commissioner of Police (Traffic) Pradeep Yadav about the delay in reopening for motorists the road parallel to the flyover at Love Grove junction, Worli. ‘‘It turned out the civic personnel had been bribed by a contractor working on the shopping centre there,’’ Semlani says. In weeks, the road was reopened
kavithaiyer@expressindia.com