The eyes of Anthonis, the maternal grandfather of Sanju Samson, are stoic, like the sea humming behind the brown, wooden windows of his kitchen in the forenoon lull. They have seen and survived the savage tidal waves slamming against the walls of his house, the communal riots on the beatific shore in the 1990s, the violent floods of 2018, and mechanised fishing trawlers. Yet, they turn joyfully teary when he talks of Sanju, his childhood and the pleasure and pain of raising him. Anthonis now lives in his son’s house in the Nooruveedu Colony, better known as Tsunami Colony, a modest dwelling with bright blue paint, where the victims of what they call the “revenge of the waves” were rehabilitated. When Sanju was young, he lived in a house on the bend towards Ursuline Convent. The grandparents and maternal uncles lived a few rows away. “In a way, I was happy when they shifted from Delhi (where Sanju’s father worked) to home, because I could see Sally (Sanju’s elder brother) and Sanju more frequently. I had seldom spent time with them,” he says. His stuttering words, thick with the local accent, a Tamil-Malayalam blend, now assuming the pace of a whistling speedboat. The sea kept him busy for most seasons, like hundreds of families in Vizhinjam, an ancient fishing harbour now renamed Adani Vizhinjam Port. The colossal mass of gantry cranes and straddle carriers from the modernised container port overlooks a rectangular patch of land near the beach. “It was Sanju’s first ground here. Back then, it was just sand. When his father was away, or if I was not busy, I used to take both kids there and play football with them. Just kicking here and there on the sands. They would then introduce me to this strange game, cricket. I still don’t know the rules, I used to just throw the ball at them,” he recounts. Now, he watches cricket games only when Sanju is batting. “He gets really nervous,” chimes in Anitha, Sanju’s aunt. She says he gets depressed when Sanju gets out cheaply, and is overjoyed when he scores big. ‘Why are the waves angry’ When Sanju and his brother got tired, the grandfather would take them along to the beaches, where multicoloured wooden canoes and small-engine boats, mostly bearing the painting of St Antony (Anthonis is its localised derivation), lay exhausted from the day’s toils.Story continues below this ad “He would ask me why the waves are angry at times. I would tell him, they are like us, sometimes happy and sometimes angry. That is life,” he remembers. A few years ago, Sanju reminded him of the words when Anthonis asked him why he was getting out for ducks in certain games. Then he told him: “There is a god in Indian cricket, Sachin Tendulkar. He too gets out for zeroes. I am still young.” He was happy that Sanju remembered his advice (more a casual line than counsel, he remembers) and incorporated it into his game. He could now relate this to fishing — there are days of good catch as well as dry nets — even though he has stopped hitting the sea for nearly 13 years. Feast or famine, he kept aside a share of his finest spoils for Sanju and his brother. The sea and its stories fascinated Sanju. “He calmly listened to my adventures, the close shaves I had, the waters I braved,” Anthonis says. Sea is a metaphor for their destiny. He always wanted to go deep into the sea.Story continues below this ad “I have taken Sally, but not Sanju, into the sea, though he always wanted to and kept pleading with me. Maybe, one day I will,” he remembers. He never doted on his grandson like grandfathers do. He never brought him a cricket bat even though he remembers carving a bat from the oars of a boat. But he cared for him, instilling valuable life lessons and virtues. “Here in the fishing town, no one teaches anyone anything. Children just follow their parents and uncles. They watch and pick it up. It’s the order of nature here. You have to be strong and brave,” he says. Getting lift from auto-drivers The terrain, replete with slopes of vertical inclines, nurses fitness and endurance. Running and walking on sand developed strong legs and lower body. In a recent speech of Sanju on the shores that raised him, he reflected on the natural bearings to a group of teenagers. “People here have a rare strength and courage. The world should see it.”Story continues below this ad It doesn’t always manifest as sculpted biceps or square shoulders. It’s more raw, crude strength. Anthonis’s handshakes feel like the clutch from hands of iron. “We have an agile body, because we have to be light on the feet on the boat, yet strong enough to fling the nets into the distance, and then powerful enough to pull them back. Sanju has inherited it,” he says. Like Anthonis, he has thick, strong forearms and stocky shoulders. The grandfather tagging the grandsons along to the beach was a common sight for the locals. Anthonis was a popular figure and so was Sanju. They used to pause at Benny Pereira’s shop. Benny Pereira’s shop. (Special arrangement) “Sometimes, I would give him candy or soda. But he would always ask me about the next game we were playing. I was his father’s friend and played football with him. He always wanted to play, one sport or the other,” Benny remembers.Story continues below this ad The sight of the Samsons walking uphill with their kits to the bus stand, a mile away from his old home, amused passers-by. Sometimes, an auto-rickshaw driver would offer them a lift to the bus stand, from where they would take a bus to the Medical College Ground, where veteran coach Biju George coached; or someone would do double pillion. “We are a close-knit community. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone helps each other out. We have gone through many tragedies, where we had only ourselves to lean on,” Benny says. The support system they weaved was intangible yet immense and unconditional. Sanju thanked them all in an emotional return to the shores that made him a fortnight ago to inaugurate a sports event. “Among the crowd, I can see the faces that once told me, when I was nobody and just a kid, that I could play for India. I am always thankful to them,” he said. Sitting beside him on the dais was Anthonis, his battle-hardened eyes pounding with joy. “Blessings of Mother Sea and St Antony,” he says, tuning his ears to the grating waves lashing the rocks on the beach.
Inside Sanju Samson’s childhood: Fisherman grandfather’s wisdom, Kerala sea and a village that believed
