No one in Hyderabad has heard of Sana Sathish Babu. True, Sana is a side story in the midst of election fever that has Telangana in its grips. But a local man who is a crucial element in the war that’s broken out in the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI)… and no one’s heard of him? It was hard to understand.
“There are so many like Sana around, it is hard to keep track,” said a local reporter laconically. He is reported to have begun life as an employee of the Andhra Pradesh State Electricity Board (APSEB) and then quit the government to start his own business, networking through cricket boards and leaving a trail of closed or inoperative, largely shell companies in his wake.
The CBI first took notice of him in 2008 in a case of allocation of 15,000 acres to the Vadarevu and Nizampatnam Port and Industrial Corridor (Vanpic) by the government of unified Andhra Pradesh, headed by Y S Rajashekhar Reddy. An industrialist, Nimmagada Prasad, who was a promoter and had invested in companies belonging to Jaganmohan Reddy, had made Sathish Sana a director in Vanpic. Prasad was briefly arrested on suspicion of money laundering and investigations are continuing.
The Enforcement Directorate (ED) began taking an interest in Sana when it stumbled upon his name in the Moin Qureshi meat export case. Sometime in between, Sana floated the Playboy Club in Hyderabad. As the name suggests, it was not among the places you could have taken your family to on a Sunday afternoon. Then, came news that Sana was the conduit through whom a bribe was allegedly offered to CBI Director Alok Verma in a money laundering case against Qureshi.
A local bureaucrat said Sana and individuals like him were par for the course. “The police create people like Sana who are useful for their purposes but then they tend to become bigger and go out of control. Then they have to be reeled back in.”
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The bureaucrat cited the case of Nayeemuddin, who was killed in a police ‘encounter’ in 2016. Nayeemuddin reportedly started as a land shark, became a police informant, and because of a couple of big land deals, became a millionaire. He was contacted by “important people in the government” for “assistance” in a land deal but he refused to oblige. Shortly after, he was killed in an encounter. Nobody knows where the papers to the disputed land can be found.
‘Room’ for debate
Mention land to anyone in Telangana and their eyes light up. Everyone wants to be a dora (landlord). Those below a certain income threshold who don’t have land are being given houses — and not just a single room but two-bedroom homes that the state will build for you.
The issue was the subject of a hot debate at a tea shop in Abids, the heart of Hyderabad. “Right next door,” said Sharif briefly when asked where the houses built by the government were located. An elderly, Meraj, looked up in interest and said: “But you have to check if there are any people living in them.”
“Of course there are,” retorted Sharif, “My relatives have got possession.” “But not a double-bedroom house, right?” said Meraj knowingly. Then at large to anyone who is interested: “Those will never come. It is impossible for the government to build so many houses. There is no land, no water…”
“You wait, houses are already ready in Gajuwel (Chief Minister K Chandrashekhar Rao’s constituency) and they will soon be allotted,” said Sharif hotly. “Hau, hau (yes, yes),” said Meraj mockingly.
The exchange summed up the doubts and the faith people have in the Telangana Rashtra Samithi (TRS). In many ways, this election is about welfarism — and the limits to how much traction political parties can get if governments throw money and other “freebies” at them. But the TRS government has done significant work for those who are marginal to the election discourse as well: Like a scheme for pension to abandoned women, who have nowhere to go and have been thrown out by husband and children. Such women today get a pension of Rs 1,500 per month and this will go up to Rs 3,000 if the TRS returns to power. This was seen on a large scale in Tamil Nadu (a bureaucrat recalled that on one occasion, then chief minister J Jayalalithaa remarked wearily: “We have given them everything. What else can we give?”). But Telangana is sure to emerge as the state with among the highest levels of public spending on welfare schemes proportionate to its budget if the TRS is returned to power.
Decoding Hyderabadi Hindi
The language, culture and smells of Hyderabad cannot be found anywhere else: Nor indeed, the peculiar sense of humour of the Hyderabadi. “Kya ismart dikhre yaaro tum (loosely, ‘you look good, dude’),” murmured a boy to his friend as they met at Rahman Bakery in Somajiguda. Coming out of Ameerpet, a residential colony, a three-wheeler almost rammed into a Maruti. “Tumara bawa ka road samjha kya re rei (You think your father owns this road)?” yelled the car owner. “Lite lo miyaan (Relax, boss)," replied the three-wheeler driver, soothingly, meaning: No damage done. And the directions to Nirmala Swagruha Foods, home to the best avakkai pickle in the city, went something like this: “Aap sidha jayo, left mein do turna aathi, wo nakko lo, uske baad ka right maro! (Go straight, you’ll come across two left turns, don’t take them, take the right turn after that!)”. Google maps came to the rescue.
Read our full coverage on Telangana Assembly Elections 2018
Read our full coverage on Telangana Assembly Elections 2018
And the smells! Walking into Nirmala’s was intoxicating. Nirmala herself died several decades ago at 40 and she looks beautiful as she pouts from a painted portrait on the wall. But the family continues to run the shop. Glass jars with all kinds of pickle — gongura, drumstick, brinjal, tomato — glint an evil red: The shop is redolent with the smell of sesame oil, chillies and more chillies, asafoetida and pure ghee. Further down the locality, someone is pounding ginger and garlic to make a paste for biryani. And there is the fragrance of roasting meat. You get the picture.