The ‘Little Creatures’

It was during one of my daily morning walks that this ‘friend’ of mine flagged me down from a distance. I walked quiet briskly, so he waved from a distance so that I get enough notice. He walked towards me on the walkway slowly.

As my experience goes there are three kinds of friends. The first group is those whom you have met, talked, and are or were somewhat in frequent communication with. You perhaps know his/her family members and may have even visited them. Maybe they and their family members have visited your home, too. One’s childhood and school or college friends are mostly of this type. The second type comprises of those with whom you have had some communications, but have never met. You know probably nothing about them, except their names and addresses. The third group is of people who you regularly or frequently meet, but have probably never talked to. You know nothing about them, except that you recognize them by face. You may have been travelling in the same bus or used to meet at some place regularly.

This ‘friend’ who flagged me down belonged to the third category. We used to meet frequently during our morning walks. We used to cross each other, sometimes smile or at least acknowledge each other’s presence. But we have never talked. I knew nothing about him. He knew nothing about me either.

I was slightly surprised at his signaling me to stop. I slowed down and stopped near him.

He said, ‘I am sorry to interrupt your morning walk. But I am curious and want to ask you something. I hope you don’t mind.’

I smiled and said, ‘No, not at all.’

‘My name is Varun.’

‘And I am Jayanthan.’ We smiled again and shook hands.

There were more people approaching us from both sides in the course of their morning walk. We, therefore, moved into the middle of the park around which the walk-way has been constructed, so that we don’t obstruct their way.

Then I told him, ‘All right, Mr Varun. You wanted to ask me something?’

‘Yes. Mmm. I have seen that you walk very briskly. Today, and on a few earlier occasions too, I noticed that at certain places you suddenly slow down and walk very cautiously stepping one careful step after another for a few metres. Then you resume your normal speed and continue to walk. I used to wonder why you do that.’

I thought for a moment. Then pointing to a corner on the other side of the park, I asked him, ‘Is that where you noticed me slowing down?’

‘Yes. There, in that corner. Today I saw you suddenly slowing down there.’

I said, ‘All right, let us go there.’

We walked to the corner. On the way I asked him, ‘Did you notice anything peculiar at the place where I suddenly slowed down?’

He said, ‘Yes, I did, but I couldn’t find anything.’

‘All right, let us see.’

I didn’t say anything till we reached the spot. When we reached I asked Varun, ‘Do you see anything particular there? Please look again.’

He looked again. It had rained a couple of days earlier. There was however, no trace of water forcing one to slow down lest one should slip and fall. There was no cow dung either, which sometimes we notice in the walking tracks. Stray dogs have not made the place dirty also. Sometimes both the animals use the place to answer nature’s call.

Varun said, ‘Nothing, I don’t see anything peculiar there.’

I asked him, ‘Absolutely nothing?’

He looked again and said, ‘Well, nothing, except ...’

‘Except...?’

‘Except ... the group of ants.’

I said, ‘Yes, now you know the answer to your question.’

He looked puzzled. He didn’t understand.

I said, ‘The ants are the cause of my slowing down at this particular place.’

He still did not understand.

I said, ‘Look, I do not want to crush any ant under my feet. I tread my way cautiously to avoid the ants. That is why I was walking slowly here.’

He looked at me even more puzzled, as if he was seeing me for the first time.

‘I don’t understand’, said he. ‘Is it to save these little creatures that you interrupt your pace? Are you crazy?’, he laughed as if he had cracked a joke.

I looked at the ants and told him, ‘Maybe they don’t share your views. Why do you think these so called ‘little creatures’ are not important? Aren’t they part of this vast nature? Have they not been created by God, too, like us humans? If you don’t believe in God, even then you will admit that these ants are as much part of the nature as we humans are. Won’t you?’

He was silent. He probably felt I was not joking and meant what I said.

He said, ‘Well, yes, maybe ... Yes, I think they are.’

‘Every living and non-living thing on earth is as important as we so-called wise and elite humans. The only problem is, we don’t realize that. Man has become so arrogant that he thinks everything in this world has been created for his own use, benefit, and happiness.’

I looked at Varun. I didn’t want to continue if he felt it boring. He looked confused.

I continued, ‘Some humans think even other humans are created for their use as well. How many murders, rapes, and other types of violence do you read about in the newspapers and see on the TV every day? Relatives including father and brother raping minor girls, mother selling daughters, gang rapes, killing people for money, and what not? It is really disgusting.’

He was thoughtful. ‘Yes, I agree. But what has that got to do with my question?’

‘Oh, I am sorry. I suppose I got carried away. I was only telling that humans do not consider anything other than themselves worthy of living in this world. Man thinks that this world has been created for him. If he finds something not useful to him, he doesn’t mind destroying it. No, he rather enjoys doing so.’

‘Like these ants?’

‘Yes.’ We seemed to be slowly travelling in the same wave length.

People were walking briskly oblivious of the fact that they were crushing other living beings under their feet. I picked up a dead ant from the walkway and kept in my left hand. I showed it to Varun.

I told him, ‘This ant, when lived, may have been a father, a mother, a son, or a daughter. It probably had many dreams; like we all have. Maybe not of owning a bungalow or a huge car, but little things such as providing daily food for its family members. It was minding its own business without in any way obstructing our way. But look at its fate now.’ I pointed out to him a few more dead ants on the walkway. There were many which were convulsing violently. Most of them would breath their last in the next few minutes. I looked away, without seeing anything in particular.

Varun said, ‘Yes, but it happened because they were crossing our path.’

‘Yes, there lies the point. They were crossing ‘our’ path. Now, tell me, Mr Varun, what is ‘our’ path? Does this walkway or park belong to us? This little portion, just as any other piece of land on this earth, belongs to the earth, and only to the earth. We are all visitors and do not own anything here. We are born empty handed and we will depart empty handed. While we are here, we should respect all other creatures, including plants and animals. They have as much right to live on the earth as we have. Their being smaller in size or intelligence or backward in technology does not give us the right to harm them in any way.’

Maybe I had been talking too much. Mr Varun was silent.

I asked him, so as to wake him from his thoughts. ‘Have you watched these ants early in the morning, before the first man has begun his walk?’

He said, ‘No’. He looked at me suspiciously. He thought I was trying to trap him with another long conversation.

I told him, ‘I have. They all move in a straight line. None of them deviate from the pre-determined path. They use only a millimetre or two width-wise. Any man can very easily cross over the line of ants without disturbing them. But who has got the time to care for these little creatures? They are just not bothered. They crush them carelessly under their feet. No one knows how many husbands, wifes, fathers, mothers, and children they crush under their feet! To know their pain, man should put his relatives in their position.’

Varun was silent and thoughtful. He painfully looked at me, forced a smile, and said, ‘Thank you’, in a weak voice. Then, without a word, he slowly walked away.

********** *********

A few days later, I was overwhelmed  to see Varun treading his way very carefully at certain spots during his morning walk. I realised that the time I spent with him has not been wasted.  

The Tragic Commercialisation of a Pious Festival!

It was after nearly 40 years that I happened to be in Kerala during Onam (on 16 September) this year. As far as I can recollect, it was in 1974 that I last celebrated Onam in Kerala. That was the last time I celebrated Onam with my parents. (Read here earlier posts on Onam – One, Two)

I visited Kerala during Onam this year to attend a cousin’s wedding. The function was fixed for 15 September, the ninth day of the 12-day Onam celebrations. The last four days (uthradam, thiruvonam, avittam and chathayam stars) are the most important. Onam, the most important day of all, falls on the tenth day.

After the marriage function, I went to my ancestral home where my paternal uncle and his family live. It is my practice to visit them whenever I am in Kerala, however short the visit may be. It is mainly to pay obeisance to our family deity. My cousin, the uncle’s son, does the pooja (worship) at the temple.

I also spent the last three days meeting several people in connection with a writing project that I have been planning since the past several months.

I do not know if I was happy or sad at being in Kerala during Onam this year. Though not deliberately, I was forced to compare the earlier ones, which I was part of (40 to 50 years ago, that is!). Onam, though not a religious festival, has religious connotations, being connected with gods and demons such as Vishnu and Mahabali. It used to be more of a family function. This is one occasion when all the members of the family are almost sure to get together. Those who study or work at reasonably distant places (so that Delhi can be excluded!) come home to be with their parents and other members of the family for the happy occasion. In Kerala schools and colleges are closed for ten days and offices and even shops are normally closed during the last four days.

This time, however, it was different for me. I was, kind of, alone. My parents are no more. Brother (at Indirapuram, UP) and sisters (at Palakkad and Kozhikode, in Kerala), with their families, were at far off places. My children were not with me. My wife, though in Kerala, was not with me either. We had temporarily parted our ways soon after the marriage ceremony, since I was going to be busy with the project work.

This year’s Onam had been completely washed away by the rains. The rains which started in the last days of May continued even after Onam on 16 September. This is very unusual. Usually the rains stop by middle- or latest by end-August. (It looked like there was an unusual pact between Lords Sun and Indra, the god of the rains, that Sun will not shine over Kerala for five months and Indra could have his stomach full of Keralites’ miseries (and curses!).)

The main cash crop of Kerala is rubber. Since the last few decades, most of the paddy fields have been converted to rubber estates. It is only in the Palakkad area (meaningfully called the granary of Kerala) that one can still see paddy fields. It has been more than five months since the rubber plants have been tapped because of the rains. Every day it rains at least for a few hours.

One thing that pained me is the lack of flower decorations in the front courtyard of each and every home during Onam. The circular flower decoration starts on the first of the 12-day celebrations on atham star. The decoration continues till the ninth day. Each day, the decoration gets bigger and bigger, having added one round more than the previous day. We used to have different flowers for each separate round. On the ninth day (uthradam star) we used to have the biggest and the most beautiful decoration of all. The flowers would all have been collected by us children wandering through bushes and tiny forests which were abundant forty years ago. Sadly, not any more! The exotic designer decorations that we can very commonly see these days were not very popular then.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

The bushes, unruly grown plants, tiny forests, all of them have been destroyed to construct buildings and roads. In the nearly half a square kilometer area we had only a dozen or so houses then. The nearest motorable road was about half a kilometre away. (When one of my uncles got terribly burnt in our family temple during those days, he had to be carried on a cot to the road where a jeep was waiting to carry him to the hospital. He had slipped and fallen into boiling arunazhi payasam – an offering prepared in the temple using about two kg of rice with six kg of jaggery!) Now there are roughly a hundred houses in the same area with motorable roads to each of them. Each family owns at least a two-wheeler, and many of them, cars. Is this development? Maybe it is. Well, something has to be destroyed to build ‘new’ things. That is nature’s law.

Another tragic part is (I am sorry, I am only talking about tragedies related to Onam!) flowers for the decoration need to be purchased from market; flowers are brought from nearby Tamil Nadu state with very few choices. Whereas we used to collect several types, shapes, and colours of flowers, now the choice is limited to two or three. Wherever I went this year, the one prominent flower seen was marigold. In fact, that is the only one I saw! How tragic!

Another more disturbing fact is, Onam is being more and more commercialised. Well, what more to expect when education, religious devotion, culture, art, and music are all being commercialised! Dirty commercialisation at that! From a purely family get-together, Onam has since grown to a social and commercial celebration. In every village there are clubs which celebrate Onam. They conduct cultural programmes, competitions and such other events. Most of the expenses are sponsored by local establishments or rich individuals. And they also collect money from families and individuals by way of priced coupons. Every club looks forward to earning profits.

How time flies! How people change! The pure familial, simple, and enjoyable Onam has now become a highly technological, showy, social, and money minting festival! Well, if father and mother can be made commercial commodities (father’s day and mother’s day), why not Onam?

Navami Celebrations – Some Recollections

We celebrate Navami (literally, the ninth day) in October every year. The next day is Dasami (the tenth day), also known as Vijaya Dasami and vidyarambham (beginning of education) in Kerala.

September/October is the festival season in India; Dussehra/Ram Lila in North India, Durga Puja in the Eastern parts of the country and Vijaya Dasami in South India. Ganesh Chaturthi is celebrated in the Western part of the country at the same time. Most of the festivals are celebrated to commemorate the victory of virtue over evil. Vijaya Dasami is also celebrated as ayudha pooja (worship of the weapon) in the South. In this context ayudha (weapon) does not depict gun or sword or even a knife. The word stands for any item of equipment, instruments, or implements that are used for making a living or to achieve our goal. On the day of Ashtami (the eighth day), the ayudha is kept for worship in front of a picture of Goddess Saraswati. The worship ends on the morning of Dasami. Students used to worship their text books and even note books which are their ‘weapons’ or implements on the path of education. I remember we were very particular to keep all the texts and note books of the most difficult subjects so that they become easier from the next day onwards! Farmers, blacksmiths, goldsmiths, everybody, keep their implements for the pooja (worship).

Our reason for celebration was, however, entirely different. It had nothing to do with triumph of virtue over evil, or the pooja, or anything religious. The most important, sweet, and cherished part of the whole celebrations is that you are not supposed to read or write anything during the time the books are under pooja. So if mother asks us to go and study on the day of Ashtami, we used to say, ‘But, mom, today pooja starts.’

And she would remind us, ‘But pooja starts only in the evening. There is a lot of time before that.’

And we would, with hesitation and a lot of ‘hmm...hmm’, open the books, pleading with God, ‘Oh, God, why doesn’t it become evening sooner?’ But starting the afternoon, we would not even pay heed to mother and she would also let it be. And in the evening the books are kept for pooja (worship).

The next day, Navami, used to be the most beautiful day of the whole year! We should not read or write anything that day! It is the middle of the year and for a full day no one would yell at us to go and study! Is it not like heaven? The whole day we would run and jump and hop and play and enjoy. When we realize that the shadows have lengthened and it will soon be evening, we would earnestly request Sun god to slow down, sometimes even at the top of our voice (so that the voice reaches him!).

We would say, ‘Please, please, hey Sun god, please, have mercy on us, do not travel so fast. Please slow down, let us enjoy for some more time. We get only one such day in the whole year.’

But the Sun god, though looked at us sympathetically, could not slow down. He, too, is controlled by time, and would slowly descend into the ocean in the West to have a bath. We would then retire for the day tired after having spent the whole day indulging in all kinds of adventures and plays. How nice it would have been if every day was Navami!

This festival is also known as Vidyarambham (beginning of education). Early next day (Dasami) morning we used to go to temple, pray to Goddess Saraswati (the Goddess of learning, art, literature, and culture), write in rice or sand the first letters that we learned, Hari Sree Ganapathaye Namah, Avighnamasthu! (Salutations to Lord Ganapathy! We pray to you kindly to remove all obstacles in the path of education). Lord Ganesh is the God who removes all kinds of obstacles. Therefore, before doing anything or starting any new venture, we always pray to Lord Ganesh to appease him so that there are no obstacles in whatever we do.

It is very auspicious to write this prayer on vidyarambham day year after year, without regard to one’s age or education. 

Letter to a Teacher

[Every year September 5 is observed as Teachers’ Day. A day to remember one's teachers. This is a story about one of my favourite teachers.]

When I used to be in school, a ‘teacher’ was always a lady teacher. A male teacher was always referred to as ‘sir’. For example, Annamma teacher, but Joseph Sir.

Annamma teacher used to teach us English in Government Upper Primary School, Puthuvely, where I studied from classes five to seven. She was one of the teachers I liked very much.

Annamma teacher took three months’ maternity leave and was away for her child birth. Though it was not very common for students to write letters to teachers, I could not help and wanted to write to her. For several days I thought about the propriety of a student’s writing to a teacher.

At last I decided, “Yes, let me write to her.”

And I wrote a letter to her. I don’t know what all did I write but I particularly remember one sentence. I had asked, “What about the matter for which you have taken leave?”

I thought it was impolite to ask a teacher, ‘have you given birth to the child?’, and I resorted to the long and curved route. I thought it was wise and polite. And I was proud.

I waited for a few days for her response. I was very impatient. But when I didn’t receive any, I thought, maybe the postal department has faulted and not delivered my letter to her. Or, I also thought, maybe she was too busy to respond to one of her several students. Or maybe she was busy tending her new-born. How does she get the time then? I was sad, but gradually reconciled to the situation. It would have been great to receive a reply from her. I could have become a hero in the class – the one (the only one!) to receive a letter from the teacher, which is not very common those days. But, alas, I was disappointed. Several days, or maybe a few weeks, had passed after sending the letter.

Then one day I was standing in the play ground talking to a few friends during lunch break. Mathew sir called me, “Jayanth”. That is how he used to call me, neither Jayan, which was a natural shortening of my name, nor Jayanthan, the full name. May be he was instrumental in my signing my name as ‘Jayanth’ in my Secondary School Leaving Certificate book. This remained my signature for many years. Those days we had the notion that one’s signature should not be legible. (So that nobody imitates it, and withdraws the thousands of rupees which you dreamt of acquiring when you grew up!)

[Only God and kings could have a lakh of rupees. And a crore remained only on paper. It was only used for indicating something which was far beyond one’s imagination. Even thinking of a crore of anything frightened us. No man could earn a crore of rupees. Not in this world, not in any worlds! Not in this life, not in several lives.

Another word which we children used to express any number beyond our wildest imagination is kaakkathollaayiram (kaakka means crow and thollaayiram means nine hundred). Kaakkathollaayiram was the ultimate number and no number could exist beyond that. Fortunately none asked us, ‘what if somebody adds one to that?’ Well, if somebody dared to raise such a stupid question, we would have said, ‘No, nothing, absolutely nothing, can be added to kaakkathollaayiram.’ I don’t know if anybody has researched to find out the origin of the word. As far as I know, it existed even kaakkathollaayiram years ago.]

Now, to return to the story.

When I went to Mathew sir, he asked me, “Jayanth, did you send a letter to Annamma teacher?”

I looked down on my toes and trembled. I wanted to say, “No”, because I now suddenly realized what I had done was a crime. But lying was not in my habit then. I could not lie to anybody, what to talk of lying to a sir!  

I hesitantly said, “Y-e-s.”

I was sure to be reprimanded for doing something which I should not have done. I stood in front of him with bowed neck ready to be reprimanded or even thrashed on my thighs with a cane. I was so tense that I thought I stopped breathing.

He then asked, “Yes? What did you write to her?”

He did not look or sound angry or threatening or ready to punish me. But I was still not sure what was in his mind. His was a tricky question which I didn’t want to answer. How could I tell him that I asked her about her child birth? Oh! God! What should I do? How did he know I wrote to Annamma teacher, in the first place?

I remember mother and some other relatives had burst out laughing and could not stop it for a long time when I told them that I asked the teacher ‘what about the matter for which she took leave’.  So I didn’t answer. I also thought maybe it was wrong for me to have asked such a question to a teacher.

I didn’t know if Mathew sir expected a response from me. When I continued to look down without responding and ready to be thrashed, he must have felt sympathy for me. He didn’t repeat the question. Instead he said,

“All right, here is a reply from Annamma teacher.”

I thought I was dreaming. A response from Annamma teacher! This was something for which I had been waiting anxiously for several weeks. I was disappointed when I didn’t receive any. I had, however, reconciled, at last, to the fact that I was not going to receive a reply from her. So the sudden announcement by Mathew sir that she had replied was like a little bombshell. I didn’t know if what I heard was what he actually said.

But, it had to be right. Here was Mathew sir standing in front of me, holding a post card in his hand. He handed it over to me. Sure enough, it was from Annamma teacher. I could instantly recognise the beautiful rounded handwriting. I don’t remember what all she had written in that card, but she had not replied to my all-important question. But Mathew sir told me that she had a baby girl a few weeks ago.

And, sure enough, I became a hero in the class. I showed the letter to everybody. Most of them were jealous of me. I made sure that I did not hand over the letter to anybody, lest they should by chance tear or otherwise damage it. I remained a hero for several more days. When I reached home that day I proudly showed the letter to mother. She had not believed that the teacher would respond to my letter. She too was happy that the teacher did.

That was probably the first and last letter I wrote to a sir or teacher while in school.

It’s Party Time!

It was in August last year, 29th to be exact, that I launched this blog. I chose the occasion of Onam, the biggest of Kerala’s festivals, to do it. It was due to the encouragement and help of Shikha that I ventured into this exciting and, to some extent, taxing venture. Shikha is also the one who told me about Indiblogger, of which I became a member, too. I did not know then how long I would be able to tread this path. But here I am, after a year, to declare proudly that I have completed one year of blogging. Sreejit, my son, commented after my first post, “You will love it”. And yes, I do love it. Except once, I have managed to upload at least one post every week during the past year. More than one, in some weeks. I thought it is a good idea to look back at the past year – the road I travelled, the people I met, the smiles I received, and the good wishes I collected. I made several more friends and renewed several old friendships.

I started with two posts on Onam, for those unfamiliar with the festival.  These were followed by a post on the heavenly feeling of slow driving. A satire on the politics of price hike followed. It was then time for a few posts on my memoirs. The incidents on the uniform and that on my birth actually dripped from my heart. The three posts on neem (neem I, neem II, neem III) were addressed to those who are indifferent to nature that sustains human and animal life. Without nature, there is no existence for humans, however super they think they are.

  

I was surprised and happy to receive an invitation from The Writer’s Drawer to contribute to their website. The invitation came as a comment to the uniform. I contributed an actual story of the fight of a woman. The freak was prompted by a TV programme on children suffering from autism. I killed my daughter resulted from a personal experience. I was asked to prepare a proposal and then my boss slept on it for six months. I then withdrew the proposal. Monologue of an official is on corruption. Memoirs on Dr Akavoor Narayanan and Prof. Arithottam Parameswaran are my tributes to them. Both were my teachers without me being their formal student. They were also my close friends and guides and always encouraged me.

Wait for White was written several years ago, which was also published through The Writer’s Drawer. The poem I am a woman is a tribute to the victim of the December 2012 Delhi gang rape. I followed this up with another poem and three notes (one, two, three) on the same incident and related developments. An unusual gift is a story based on a true incidence where an actress let the birth of her daughter video-recorded for a movie. Minister without portfolio is based on a personal experience. I was invited to contribute an article which was later rejected ostensibly due to shortage of space, but actually, I believe, due to other reasons. The series of posts on Dr R.K. Pachauri (I, II, III, IV) were my personal experiences of working with him during my tenure of a little over 25 years in TERI. 

My nephew Sujai married Ria who belongs to Kolkata. We had gone to Kolkata to attend their marriage. A note on this visit, my first to the city, was posted on my return. My first article is about my contribution of a small second-hand piece to our college magazine. This is special because that was the first time I ever saw my name in print. Posts on my memoirs included a three-post series (one, two, three) on my father’s illness (he suffered from cancer) and his passing away. Padasparsham kshamaswame is on the propriety to respect mother earth. The felling knife and the split personality are notes based on true incidents which made a sea-change in the protagonists’ character after an incident.

While most of the posts are my memoirs, I did try to respond to a few current social issues. Yes, this blog was initially conceived as a forum where I could post stories from my own life; stories that I have neither forgotten nor would forget even after several decades. In fact one of our old colleagues wondered if I was old enough to write an autobiography!

Initially my posts were normally read by people who knew me personally. But the small poem I am a woman, changed the scenario. It soon became the most popular post. But this was soon overshadowed by the posts on Dr Pachauri, especially the first in the series. This was more or less expected because I had sent the link to my former colleagues in TERI. After more than a year, this post has constantly remained the most popular.

I have been receiving very encouraging comments from my readers. The first-ever comment I received on my first post last year was from my nephew Vineet who has continued to put in his comments later too. I should specially mention here that Omy, my cousin and best friend, has commented encouragingly on several posts. Then there are several others who by comments, or personally, encouraged me. Many of them have said that even if they had not commented, they used to read my posts and encouraged me to continue writing. I would like to mention here that Mr Ramachandran Pillai, a published writer, happened to read my blog when Jayaprakash Bhatt, a mutual friend, forwarded the link to him. He used to call me nearly every time on reading a new post. Later on he started his own blog through which he teaches the correct usage of English language. Even now he remains my regular reader as several others. Immediately after going through the post, he points out mistakes, if there are any. I am grateful to him for his gesture.

The world of blogging is indeed a marvel for budding (at 58 years!) writers like me. You can express your views here which people acquainted with you, and sometimes even others, read. This is a comfortable way out, like thousands of other bloggers, who can’t expect to see one of their articles published in a newspaper or a popular magazine. There are stories of bloggers becoming published writers too. (Why should one be miserly while dreaming?)

May I now bore you with some statistics?

This has been a journey of 368 days, 67 posts, over 16700 page views, and over 520 comments (including my responses). I know this is nowhere near even a poorly popular blogger. But then, all freedom fighters cannot be Mahatma Gandhies, all batsmen cannot be Sachin Tendulkars or Donald Bradmans, or all social servants cannot be Mother Theresas!

Least views in a month (I am not counting the three days in August 2012) have been 991 in September 2012. After that it has been over 1000 every month. The highest number of viewers, 2442, was in March 2013. This was because the posts on Dr Pachauri appeared during February-March. I am glad and proud to say that Dr Pachauri, though unimaginably busy all the time, found time to go through the posts and also to comment on them.

All said and done, this has been a tremendously rewarding experience. And I plan to continue this as long as possible.

I hope to continue to receive constant encouragement from you. 

‘Reinforcing’ My First Pair of Sandals

I got into the Grand Trunk (GT) Express bogey from Alwaye (now Aluva) (that was the first time I got into a train) to go to Delhi in 1973. There was no direct train to Delhi from Kerala those days. One had to travel to Madras (now Chennai) and then catch another train to Delhi. One bogey of GT express, however, used to be attached to another train coming from Trivandrum (now Thiruvananthapuram) which took us to Madras. We reached Madras in the morning around 10. GT Express from Madras to Delhi was scheduled to leave in the evening at 4. So we had about six hours to ourselves.

When we got out, Narayanan ettan (my elder cousin with whom I was travelling) looked at my feet and asked, ‘Oh, you don’t have sandals?’

I said, ‘No’. I had never worn slippers or sandals till that time and I never felt the need for it. I didn’t understand why he was asking this. What is so peculiar in not wearing a pair of sandals? I was amazed. (Read another post related to this here.)

He said, ‘Delhi is not like your village back in Kerala. You cannot live in Delhi without sandals. Let us go and purchase a pair.’

So we went and purchased a pair of plastic sandals from the first available shop. I felt very uncomfortable walking using sandals. I thought I would fall. I walked very carefully. Boots used to be all right (which I had to wear as part of uniform while I was in the National Cadet Corps in college).  They covered one’s feet completely and could also be tightened with laces. But sandals were different. You need to clutch it tightly with your toes and other fingers! Oh, God! What kind of customs has man made for himself? It was also unfamiliar because earlier with every step you touched different parts of the earth and the feeling used to be different and pleasant every time. This was slightly different when you walked on huge rocks on hot summer noons. We had to run. But take it as a new experience, and you will enjoy it, too. But now, it is only the sandals that you step on wherever you go! What a pity!

Since we had a lot of time, Narayanan ettan said, ‘Let us go to Moore market’.

Moore market, he said, was very famous. It was very near to the railway station. We could reach it on foot. And it would be a loss if we did not visit it. It was not to purchase anything in particular, but just to see and wander through the market. And then, we also needed to spend the time till evening somehow. So let it be Moore market. We were walking around looking at things and people and traders. Suddenly a man called us. He was a cobbler. He looked at my sandals and said he could make them stronger by fixing on to them some special kind of nails. He said if we did that the sandals would not need any repair for several years! Ettan contemplated after seeing his eagerness and readiness to ‘help’ us.

Ettan asked him, ‘How much would it cost?’

Cobbler said, ‘Thirty paise’. 

It was a considerable amount 40 years ago. Ettan further asked, ‘For both the sandals?’

He confirmed, ‘Yes’.

Ettan then told me, ‘Let us do it’. And I gave him my sandals.

The cobbler stuck two nails on to one sandal. His eyes were all the time wandering around looking for more preys. Suddenly he got up and ran after another man pleading with him how he could reinforce his shoes. He did not want any such thing. The cobbler returned and started working on my sandal. After fixing another nail, he again ran after another person. This happened quite a number of times. We were getting frustrated. After a good 45 minutes he had ‘reinforced’ my sandals with nine nails on each of them. It should actually have taken two or three minutes. Ettan gave him 30 paise.

He looked at the coins and asked, ‘What is this?’

Ettan said, ‘Thirty paise, that was the agreed charge, wasn’t it?’ Ettan was already upset at the inordinate delay he caused in completing such a minor activity.

The cobbler said, ‘You have to give me 5 rupees and 40 paise’!

We were utterly shocked. The sandals had cost only less than five rupees. Now he wants even more than that for fixing some nails on it.

Ettan argued, ‘But you had said it would cost 30 paise.’

The cobbler then said, ‘Yes, thirty paise per nail. And I have put 18 nails. So it costs 5 rupees 40 paise.’

Ettan was very angry at this unreasonable demand and the misinterpretation of his own words.

He took out some more coins from his pocket, counted, and threw them at the cobbler yelling, ‘This is another rupee. If you want, take it, or else do what you want to do.’

Without waiting for the cobbler’s response, ettan clutched my hand and we walked away hurriedly.

I was scared. This was the first time I was travelling out of Kerala. These people were talking Tamil, a foreign language to me. And maybe this trader is a goonda, who knows? Maybe he has his gooda friends too somewhere hidden in the market. Maybe he would follow us with his goonda friends! I was really scared, but at the same time appreciated Ettan’s courage. I turned and looked back several times to make sure that he and his friends did not follow us. He did not. Maybe he had caught another client by that time. Or maybe he was happy that he had extracted a rupee more than he had actually expected.

Several years later, when I heard that the whole Moore market got destroyed in a devastating fire, I had mixed feelings. With the kind of trade they did, did God punish them?

Independence Day Anniversary – 50 Years Ago

[Why do we say we are celebrating the 66th Independence Day this year? There was only one Independence Day, which was on 15 August 1947. The rest are anniversaries.]

I was in school then. Independence Day anniversary always used to be an occasion for enjoyment. One, it was a school holiday; and two, we used to have a function in the school. A school function is always a festival. The function was organized in the large hall which was in normal days divided into several class rooms using temporary partitions. Only in the high school did we have separate brick-walled class rooms. I do not remember if we had elaborate cultural programmes that day. Probably we did not. But there was an assembly of students and teachers presided over by the headmaster. (We had headmaster or headmistress and not principal in school. Principals were heads of colleges.) He and other teachers gave speeches on the importance of Independence Day. We knew Independence Day was a BIG thing, but actually did not know what it was. What was it ‘to gain independence from a foreign power’? Why did they talk all those things against the British? What did Gandhi and Nehru do? We didn’t know, and we didn’t care. Well, the teachers knew all those things, that was enough. But yes, we had pictures of several leaders in our text books and we did learn a few things about them, that’s all. In higher classes, of course, we studied several of those things in detail.

After the speeches, some of the senior students sang patriotic songs. And the function ended by around 11 or 11:30 a.m. Oh, yes, I forgot to say that we started the programme with ‘Vandematharam’ and ended with ‘Jana Gana Mana’ and a lot of enthusiastic ‘Jai Hind’s and ‘Bharat Mata Ki Jai’s (Triumph to you, Bharat Mata).

But the most important and enjoyable part was yet to come. We were taken to the nearby small town named Koothattukulam. I do not remember how we were taken. Our school did not have a school bus. And I do not think we hired a bus. We probably went using public transport. The ticket then used to cost 10 paise. I do not know if we got concession being students and also since it was a tour arranged by the school management and teachers on an Independence Day anniversary.

During those days there were only two classes of buses for the state-owned KSRTC (Kerala State Road Transport Corporation)—Ordinary and Fast Passenger (FP). While the minimum charge in an Ordinary bus was 10 paise, for FP it was 40 paise. We always used to avoid the latter. Why should we pay three times more for the same distance? (I wish the same realization had prevailed later on also. It didn’t. When we grew up, time and comfort became more important than money – AC class in train in place of ordinary second class, air travel in place of train journey, own vehicle in place of public transport, and so on.) These days I think there are about a dozen classes. The ordinary, FP, Limited Stop FP, Super FP, Limited Stop Super FP, Express, Limited Stop Express, and Deluxe. Have I covered all? I remember once I also happened to see a Lightening Express. It was a mini bus travelling at extremely high speed (as if it owned the complete length of the road) and stopping at only very important stations. While the Ordinary, FP, and Super FP are painted in red with varying sizes and shapes of yellow lines on them, Express is green and yellow and Deluxe and Lightening Express are predominantly white.

The one and only thing we did at Koothattukulam was to visit the police station! I have no idea why it remained the only destination of visit on Independence Day anniversaries year after year. Maybe the teachers wished and hoped that we would never have a chance to visit the place in future unless it was in police uniform! Whatever, the police station was so much of an enigma. The word ‘Police’ in general and policemen in particular had a very fearsome image in our minds.

I remember one common occurrence where small children refused to eat food at home. Usually the mother takes the child on her hip supporting him with the hand which also held the plate with food, usually rice. The other hand had small quantities of rice pressed and made into tiny balls with hand. She takes the child out in the open showing him crow and other birds, small animals such as squirrels, the moon ‘uncle’ if it is night, and so on and so forth. If the child is not interested in any of these and still refused to eat, then she starts telling him that devil, ghost, or demon will come and harm him. But the child has not seen the devil, ghost, or the demon and sometimes even this threat is ineffective. So the next step will be to threaten him in the name of the policeman. And that was probably the last step. When the mother says, “If you do not eat, I will call the policeman and he will take you to jail and beat you up”, at which the child realises that his mother means business and usually relents and starts eating. So a policeman in our mind used to be more ferocious than a ghost or demon!

And it is to a place where several of such ferocious people work, that the teachers took us! The station was situated several feet above the ground level, so we had to ascent nearly fifty steps to reach it. The policemen, however, smiled at us and also talked to us lovingly, which puzzled us. They took us all around the police station explaining the places. We used to look at the lock-ups where sometimes we noticed a prisoner or two. We looked at them as if they were some strange animals caged in a zoo! We wanted to see how criminals looked different from ordinary people. But we were disappointed because they looked just like any other man we had met. Sometimes they used to look pathetic, probably for being made a showpiece in front of the children. Maybe he had children of our age, too, who knows!

The criminals were as fearsome in our minds as were the policemen. One day I wanted to ask the name of one such prisoner out of curiosity. But I dared not even open my mouth in front of him. Suppose he breaks out and kills me for asking the question? I told Rajan, who was more enterprising and smarter than many of us. He ventured to take up the challenge. We stayed a few feet away from the door of the lockup (so that the prisoner could not reach us through the grills and there was enough space for us to rush out in case he breaks out!) and asked his name. I think he smiled painfully and told his name without showing any anger. And Rajan was our hero for several weeks!

Once I even touched the chair of the sub-inspector (SI) (the highest ranked police official in the world!) when he was busy elsewhere! During those days an SI used to be very powerful and ruled the vast area under the station like an emperor (maybe even now he does). So touching his chair was indeed a great achievement and adventure! I drew the attention of a friend while touching the chair so that he would vouch for it when I would boast about this great event in the class the next day. He looked at me admirably but dared not follow my adventure.

After spending some time, we left the station descending the steps. On our way down, a policeman gave us a toffee each. Sometime we got the costliest toffee available in the market those days, which was Parry’s toffee costing five paise. I think Parry’s ruled the roost till Coffee Bite appeared costing an enormous 25 paise apiece. But this was several years later.

The Haunted Timepiece

When I used to be a small boy, one of my paternal uncles, Narayanan aphan (aphan means paternal uncle) always used to stay away from home with his family. He used to work as priest in temples at faraway places. This incident happened when he was doing pooja (priesthood) at a temple in a place called Ampalloor.  Once I went to visit him and cheriyamma (aunty) there. I also remember I stayed there for a few days. In childhood it used to be very exciting to go and stay with your relatives, especially if they stay at a little distant place. The bus journey required to reach the place was a bonus. Travelling by road (those days one never encountered the traffic jams that you encounter these days) has always been a passion for me. It was always exciting and I am never tired of long journeys by road.

Aphan had a timepiece, which was enclosed in a wooden box with glass front cover so that you can see the time without opening the door. The box was fixed on a window using nails. The hands and the hour spots had a little bit of radium on them which glittered during the night. It was very fascinating to watch the glittering of the hands and the hour spots. It used to be pure ecstasy to watch them when the whole room was pitch dark. It was my habit to climb on the window, because I was so small and couldn’t reach the box otherwise, to look closely at the timepiece to watch the glitter during nights.

On one night, as usual, as soon as I woke up in the middle of the night, I ran to the window and climbed on to the first step to look closely at the timepiece. But in my hurry and due to carelessness I miscalculated the position of the box containing the timepiece. I hadn’t switched on the lights since the glittering would not be visible then. As I raised my head after climbing on the window, it strongly struck at the sharp corner of the wooden box. Suddenly I thought a lightening had emanated from or struck on my head. There was also very sharp pain. I could not help myself from shouting aloud, “Ayyo” (Malayalam for “Ouch!”). I sat down on the floor clutching my head. Aphan and cheriyamma came rushing. There was a small cut on my head, fortunately not very deep, though. They applied some medicated cream. The pain lasted several hours. That was the last time I ever wanted to see the shining of the hands and hour spots of a timepiece.

The next day, when aphan came from temple, I saw him and cheriyamma talking in some code language using signs and single syllables. I did not understand what they were talking. But I knew that cheriyamma wanted to know something which aphan was reluctant to reveal. Playfully, of course. At last cheriyamma got the answer to her query. The moment she got the answer, she rushed inside. She came back with a packet and handed it over to me telling, “Jayanthan, this is for you”. The packet contained a shirt and a pair of knickers for me. I can’t explain how happy I was at that moment. I danced with joy. Unexpected presents give you great surprise and happiness, more so when you are a child. A shirt and a pair of knickers given to you as a present have got extra value and extra fondness than when they are purchased.

When aphan and cheriyamma shifted back to home, along with their children, they had brought the timepiece along with the box. Again they fitted it on a window. Whenever I used to look at the timepiece it used to remind me the whole episode in every detail as if it had happened only a couple of days ago. As if I had forgotten it! By then I had grown up and was tall enough not to need to climb on to the window, but I still avoided any contacts with the timepiece and the box.

For me, it was a haunted box!

The Rain and the Pool

It is drizzling outside. It has been so throughout the night. It rained heavily yesterday; and the day before … and the day before. In fact, it has been raining almost continuously since the past week. I enjoy rains ... light or heavy ... or drizzle ... at home or in the rain... in gloomy or happy mood... with an umbrella or without it. This reminds me of my childhood in Kerala. It used to rain heavily during monsoons, sometimes continuously for several days.

I enjoyed watching water pouring down through the tiny pathways in the earthen roof tiles. The continuous 'jhil-jhil' when the water falls on the ground was heavenly music. Small and large insects roamed around freely. They had been displaced from their hiding places by the rain water. Little frogs used to jump around croacking merrily. You should be watchful lest they might jump on your feet or you step on them. I used to sit in the verandah watching all these. The tiny plants, tall coconut trees, and all the vegetation used to sway continuously in the breeze which invariably accompanied the rain. The breeze also showered one with those tiny droplets all over. It was heavenly feeling.

Yes, rain is heavenly, indeed!

Monsoon reaches Kerala every year invariably in the week the school opens, that is the first week of June. And it usually happens on the first Monday of the month, when the schools open in the state. With all the climate change, with the climate in several parts of the world turning topsy-turvy, the monsoon has not failed Kerala even once. Even this year it reached on 31 May, two days before schools opened.

Our class rooms were not fully covered. The outside walls were only a few feet high with only temporary partitions between class rooms. They were unlike some present day class rooms with only a door and a couple of windows, or even air-conditioned ones. There is no dearth of air or light coming into the class rooms. We never used to have fans in class rooms, for the simple reason that we didn’t need those. Nor did we have electric bulbs. Our school timings used to be from 10 in the morning to 4 in the evening.

During rains, which, as I have already said, arrives immediately on opening the schools after the annual holidays, it was very common that they close the school earlier than the scheduled time. By afternoon we could see clouds starting to gather. By around three or nearly four, it becomes quite dark on most of the days due to the heavy clouds. Our hearts start beating faster as the clouds gather. For two reasons. One, due to happiness because school is likely to close earlier, and two, the mere ecstasy of running all the way home, about a kilometre or more, to beat the rain and reach there before it can catch and drench us. We didn’t want our precious text and note books to get wet!

I always wanted to run out and sing and dance and jump and shout in the rain. It feels fantastic when rain bathes you in its pouring waters. You feel like it is embracing you all over. And you thank the rain profusely, “Thank you, Thank you.”

But mother would not let me. She would say, 'Jayanthan, don't go into the rain, come inside, or you will catch cold'. But I was allowed to go out in the rain without an umbrella while I go to take my bath. We used to take bath in a pond in the family land. The pond is not very large, but big enough for us children to swim around. I learned swimming in this pond. I don't remember who taught me swimming. But I still remember how I did it.

There were long lines of steps along the length of the pool. During the rains, the pool always overflowed. I started swimming along the topmost steps. I touched on the large stones with my hands and moved forward, hitting the water with my legs, careful not to hit the stones. After practising thus a few times, I swam on the second steps. Since the water was slightly deeper, this was more comfortable. I could also use my hands to swim a few feet by taking them off the stones below. When I was able to swim along the steps without touching the stones below with my hands, it was time for the next step. I took small semi-circles. I swam a few feet towards the middle of the pool and returned. And the semi-circle became larger and larger. And I learned to swim.

On one side of the pool there is an 8-feet high wall, and stairs to climb up to the land above. It was my favourite pastime to jump into the water from this wall head down. The moment you hit the water, you stop all movements and allow yourself to be carried down by the force of the jump and the consequent movements under water. You feel completely weightless. The feeling used to be celestial. You remain that way till you can't hold your breath any more. And then you come up.  I again go up the wall and jump again into the pool. 

That was when I was a small boy.

Well, my house has been sold off along with the pool. The pool no more belongs to us. But even now, when I visit the place to pray to our family deity, I make it a point to take a bath in the pool ... and to jump into the pool.  Head down.