In the woody environs of the sprawling Theosophical Society, the air hung quietly. Putting tea cups before us, the aged attender Rangaiah said: “This is not from MTR...” All those present in the room knew what he was referring to, but it was only after crossing those moments of awkward silence, one saw nostalgic nods. A few moments later, around ten of us were standing at the entrance of the historic Shankariah Hall [now under repair], trying to invoke the presence of the man who was physically no more. “See, that’s where he used to sit, under that huge tree,” Secretary of Theosophical Society, Sanath Kumar was saying. “This hall would be jam packed and students would be overflowing from all the doors,” Murthy was trying to recreate. “One hour before the classes began, he would personally supervise if the carpets had been laid out properly, the whole place swept and mikes connected… everything,” Prakashappa, the gardener said, choking on his words. “That’s the stage from where we taught. For us teachers it is as holy as Kashi,” saying this professor Lakshman Prasad got onto the stage and stood there for a couple of minutes. Murthy’s mother stood a few feet away, and as we walked out, “I got to know about Saar’s death only a day later…,” she said. That was true of most people there -- a man with whom they had spent three to four decades of their life -- they had all learnt of his demise late.
As I stood there watching all this unfurl before me, I realised that each of them was trying to relive Annaiah’s nobility of purpose through a re-enactment of his actions. For someone who had grown up in Gandhi Bazaar and had heard ample stories about the Yuvaka Sangha and the free lectures at Shankaraiah Hall from family members who had been beneficiaries, I understood that not a single of them could say, ‘Annaiah said this, Annaiah used to say that.’ They could talk only about what he did.
Venkatappa Annaiah, a contemporary of the Gandhian H. Narasimhaiah, plunged into the Freedom Movement in his high school days. He was jailed three times during the Quit India Movement and that’s when he met V.S. Krishna Iyer, K. Hanumanthaiah, Nijalingappa, H.S. Doreswamy and others. Together they started the Yuvaka Sangha in 1943, when Annaiah was barely 16. During pre-Independence days, Jawaharlal Nehru, Jayaprakash Narayan, Babu Rajendra Prasad, J.B. Kripalani, Krishna Menon, Vinobha Bhave and many other great leaders visited the Yuvaka Sangha on the request of Annaiah. They made motivational speeches to large gatherings of youngsters urging them to take part in the freedom struggle. In fact, Annaiah had once recalled that when Nehru came there was a gathering of one-and-a-half lakh students. “Here’s the jewel of India,” he had introduced Nehru to a thunderous applause.
Though Annaiah sacrificed his education to take part in the Freedom Movement, Gandhiji’s words that ‘education must be made accessible to the poorest of poor,’ became the mission of his life. He came from a rich family, but chose to remain a bachelor and live a life of service. He had inherited over 100 acres of land in Kumbalgodu, all of which he gave away for the needs of the Yuvaka Sangha and other acts of charity.
After Independence, the activities of the Yuvaka Sangha took a turn. Along with Krishna Iyer, Annaiah started lecture classes for economically poor high school students. The classes became so popular that soon they extended it to SSLC students and later up to graduation as well. “You will not believe the huge queue in front of Shankariah Hall! In fact, the queue would spill on to the road for nearly half a kilometre,” narrates Sanath Kumar, who was a student of Annaiah’s classes in the 70s. The classes, he recalls, would start on time and for each session of one hour there would be over 1000 students. “Everything would be managed so perfectly. Annaiah, with his team of volunteers, ensured that discipline was maintained. As soon as the first batch started, students for the second batch would start queuing up,” he recounts. Annaiah would pick the best teachers from every school and college. He personally met them and requested them to conduct the lecture classes, and nobody ever refused. “Everyone who taught here was a stalwart. The teachers considered it their privilege to teach at Annaiah’s lecture classes. It’s impossible to express our indebtedness to what Annaiah did for us…,” says Sanath Kumar, his eyes welling up.
“For the last two decades Annaiah has been the moving force of my life. What’s the worth of all the education if you cannot give it back to society,” says professor of Commerce Lakshman Prasad, who sobs uncontrollably. “Annaiah was an exceptional human being. Not once would he come on stage. He always remained behind the scenes and worked tirelessly. I have hardly heard him speak, a very silent man who believed only in right action,” says this dedicated volunteer of Yuvaka Sangha, which is also called Annaiah University.
Morning and evening, Annaiah was at the venue. His day began at 4.30 a.m. He would set out from home, walk to Lalbagh, and literally tap the door of MTR at 6 a.m. sharp! After two idlis and a coffee, he would proceed to Theosophical Society. An hour before the classes began, Annaiah would start making reminder calls to all the professors. “He would treat his teachers like angels,” says Chikkanna, Annaiah’s friend and co-worker for four decades. “He made sure that there was a snack and coffee for them, and it had to be from MTR, nowhere else. He showered them with personal attention. In fact, he had even kept a mirror and comb for them in case they came directly from their workplaces. At the end of every academic year, all his teachers would be felicitated. Such people are hard to find…” he remembers.
Always clad in khadi, the quiet Annaiah represented the Shakarapuram constituency as a councillor between 1970 and 74. He contested the elections in 1984 on the behest of Congress party, but lost. “In retrospect, I feel good about his losing. He was too innocent and generous to be in politics. Had he won, politics would have snatched him away from the Yuvaka Sangha work,” feels Lakshman Prasad. Wherever Annaiah went, he was bound to meet students who attended the lecture classes. Cricketer G.R Vishwanath, actors Manjula and Vishnuvardhan, and some of the top bureaucrats and engineers are all beneficiaries of Annaiah’s classes. Annaiah would often recall that how he got an overwhelming reception from them, though many a times he failed to place them. “Often we had bureaucratic hurdles, but no sooner did we mention that we are from Theosophical Society, officers would attend to our work without any delay. ‘Why didn’t you say this before? We too came to the lecture classes at Shankariah Hall..,’ they would remark. Annaiah had earned a lot of admiration for his work,” says Venkatesh, Manager at the Theosophical Society.
Dr. H. Narasimhaiah who had immense respect and affection for Annaiah called him the eternal ‘yuvaka’ (young man). The yuvaka has left the mortal world, but he lives on as a source of great inspiration in the hearts of thousands of youngsters. The world is still a place for good people and good actions, Annaiah had an eye, and a heart for it.
