Author: shivam

Jamuns take back to childhood days

There was a jamun tree, in the timber storage yard behind our house at Olavakkode. It belonged to Janab Unnikkammu Saheb. He was only Unnikkamu but when he became a rich business man, his name expanded with a prefix and suffix. There was a mosque and an elementary school for Muslim kids, in the premises, which too belonged to him.
As children in the next neighborhood, our interest was the jamun fruits, which were ripe and lay spread on the ground, like a velvet carpet. We were given free entry into the depot as the Mullah of the mosque, the guardian of the premises, was Appa’s friend. Had we then known about the nutritive value of the Jamun fruits we would have collected those in baskets and brought home. Instead, we bit a few, ate the pulp, threw the seeds there itself and went back home.

It was ok, as we were children then.

But it was not Ok, when I grew up and was expected to know the value of opportunities. Instead of making use of the opportunities, chances, effectively, I threw the fruits then and there onto the dust, without even biting and tasting the pulp. During my young days, I discarded only the seeds after chewing and enjoying the pulp of the fruits.

Now, that tree is not there. Even if I wanted to collect a truck-full, it is not possible. When the tree itself is not there from where will the fruits come ? The mosque, the elementary school, a Mullah, timber depot. all are there, but not the jamun tree. And for jamun fruits, you need a jamun tree!

Many of you would have been familiar with the famous four liner attributed to Mahakavi Kalidasa, ending with, ‘Gulu, guggulu, guggulu’

The king throws in the court the fourth line of a verse, ‘gulu, guggulu, guggulu’, as a part of Samasyapooranam, an intelligent past time, play with words.

In the mind of the great Poet appears the scene which he used to observe during his walk. He recalls the sound when ripe fruits from the branches shaken by monkeys fall into the clear waters . Instantly comes out a verse with ‘Gulu guggulu, guggulu as the fourth line:

Jambhool phalaani pakwaani
Padanthi vimale jalae
Kapikampitha saakhaayam
Gulu, guggulu, guggulu’

There is another version that Kalidasa, while strolling along with the king, saw the fruits falling from the branches shaken by monkeys and instantly composed the verse.

‘It was not Kalidasa’, claim some scholars.

I’m least bothered.
The stanza sounds sweet, imaginative and interesting and it would be difficult to compose instantly another one, as attractive as this, with the limited option of the fourth line.

Glad to inform my friends that the first chapter of my treatment was over today, with the last dose of the Harmone injection. Originally, six monthly doses were prescribed, now reduced to four. So much so good.
What the nurse pushed into my system will play havoc for a few days, I know from experience. She too knows that from books but she smiled intentionally while unintentionally, I looked into her eyes. Her concentration was on my navel area around which she would select a holy dot to push in the powerful medicine.
‘Do you know the value of my ‘thoppul’ or naabhi ? I wanted to ask her. Were a male nurse, I would has asked, but not to a female. My time is bad. Why invite problems?
For the nurse, male or female, It is only a scar on my abdomen, called ‘umbilicus’. There are many scars on the body and this is one among those!
No, lady with a syringe needle in hand, it is not just a scar. It is a perpetual monument to remind my relationship with my mother!it is the holy spot which connected me with her, through the umbilical! She nourished me through the cord which was sticking to my navel, which you now call a ‘scar’! Had I the wisdom which I have now, when I was born, I would have preserved a piece of the long chord and worshipped. But another lady of your clan, holding a pair of scissors in her hand, cut it off merciless.
I was about to get up from the exam. table and grab the hand of the nurse when appeared before my eyes the ever enchanting form of Anantha Padmanabha, reclining on a multi hooded serpent, a long lotus stem projecting from his ‘naabhi ‘ at the top of which was a blooming lotus on which was seated Brahma with four heads turning and looking at all the four sides ready to create, men, women, animals, birds, insects everything , everything!
‘Anantha Padmanabham aasrayae’ I wanted to sing.
No chance, no words were coming out. I wanted to tell her at least, ‘my naval is my center of gravity. What an amazing brain it was to suspend me to my mother’s womb through a chord, from the exact center of my body? Praise to Him!
‘Yesunathar Paadinaal avar enna paaduvar?’
No luck. No words were coming out of my mouth.
I was not moving out of the table!
Time was running out. Other patients were awaiting some on wheel chair, some slanting on the arm or shoulder of the life partner and some simply looking at the roof wondering what past crime or habit, brought them there. The nurse looked at my pulse, which was precise to the text book reading .There was no need for Megh to see my pulse as her natural brain scanner which records every vibration in my internal cells and external skin told her that things were perfectly normal with me.
So, she whispered into my ears, Appa, ‘chakka pazham – Jack fruit’, which I like most, but for which, there is a ration card!
I got up from the table with a jerk, like the Kalpathy or Perinkulam chariot, given a push from the back by a huge pachyderm, like lazy Ammalu, wasting her time reading Ananda Vikatan and Kalki, when a picture of Ammini or Paru, Karthyayani or KalyAni , drops from the gaps of the pages.
When I walked towards the gate, through the long corridors, the nurse was watching from the back, till my shadow disappeared from her sight.
‘When is his next appointment?,’ she enquired the reception girl.
‘Over; no more shots for him’
She thanked Saint Patrick as it was his day yesterday.
Ps. Below is a drawing of the Vitruvian Man by Leonardo da Vinci, to show the navel as the center in the circle – drawing from the Internet.