Author: shivam

“Hay, — onnum illa, nothing- much, nothing— important.” With these words, manicured meticulously to appear as a musing but clearly intended to be heard by his wife, Madhava Menon Masher ( for Master ), my class teacher was pacing the polished floor of his bedroom,  when his wife was reading the Ramayanam book, with utmost devotion, moving  occasionally her eyes up to look at the Heaven and waving her hand to describe the movement of the characters, enjoying every word of her own rhythmic recitation. Masher was happy that his preamble had the required effect when he saw her closing the book and looked  up to thank the Heavens again but that joy was short-lived as  she was actually winding up her devotional chant to move out of the room to attend other chores.
“Hei, evadakka-whither? “ he stopped her by holding her hand and said, ” I wanted to discuss an important issue and you are running away ?”
“You said, ‘nothing, nothing” and how am I to know that it means something.”  Malathi Amma retorted, “anyway let us talk tomorrow, as I have to prepare the kids to bed now.”
“Nikkuka, nikkuka, wait please, this is to be discussed now and now itself.” Master tried to explain the urgency of the topic for discussion, “a baby squirrel entered the classroom and you know what a mess it created?”
” Mashre, is that such a topic which cannot wait for the sun rise?”
“Not that teacher, Kalyani Amma—” The moment he mentioned the name of the HM”s wife, she sharpened her ears and reoccupied her chair to know what all problem that good- for -nothing woman had created in the school. (Malathi Amma was also working as a teacher in another school and her husband, giving her profession the status due, called her as ‘ teacher’ and not by her given name).
“She is a nagging  husband -teaser,  always complaining of this pain or that pain, just to make her husband to work for her in the kitchen.”,  commented his wife with her satisfaction turning into a smile on her face..  Master resented her abuse on his senior’s wife though he thought it unwise to rebuke her.
 
Master gave a word-picture of the happening in the class that morning, asserting in unambiguous terms that he had no role in the animal’s roaming into the class room, Then, remembering his advice to us that one should never be afraid of telling truth even under the most adverse conditions, he asserted, ” Kalyani amma was not there, anywhere in the picture.  It was I who stupidly enquired about her health and got the reward for that from the HM..”
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Malathi Amma, regaining her natural simplicity, exhorted her husband, “let us go to HM’s house now and enquire how Kalyani Amma is doing. .She is a kind lady who has helped me on several occasions.  One should never forget even for a small help received. Didn’t Lord Rama reward the squirrel which collected a few grains of sand on its wet body and dumped those into the ocean, by petting the petty animal and presenting a permanent mark on its back as a mark of gratitude? ”
 
She looked at her husband for confirmation. Master readily agreed with her appreciation of Lord Rama’s unalloyed gratefulness though the mention of squirrel made him uncomfortable. ‘And going to HM’s house and at this unearthly hour?” The very thought sent flashes of lightening through his nerves..
 
Then silently he mediated for a moment about his profession. He was given the responsibility of shaping the character of over two hundred students by their parents and the school authorities. He should   exercise his authority as a teacher and also as a husband now, failing which he would become unfit to be the master of a school or  the master of a family. Instantly, he raised his head and in clear voice, as addressing a  scores of children in the class room, said  ” no teachera not now;  I will  collect more information from the students tomorrow and we will decide. Now you put the children to sleep. It is already late.” .
 
Ocala, Florida
Oct.28, 2012
 

Autumn leaves
.
‘Karuppu’ is dark shade. My friend’s name too was that. Probably he would have been named after his skin color. His face was defaced by the imprints left by the havoc of small pox; his one eye was short and one foot unsteady. He was short, shapeless. Despite all these physical deformations, he was the most joyous boy in the class, always cheerful, laughing or at least smiling, pleasant and entertaining the students as well as the teachers. Some people are born with talents of making others happy and Karuppau was one among them. Studies had the least priority in his agenda. For him, the school was an exhibition ground for his other talents and love for his pet animals, which were many- bunny rabbits, pussy cats, squirrels, Pups, baby goats, even snakes of harmless variety. During the lunch intervals, he used to stand up on the bench to overcome the inadequacy of his short build and narrate his adventures on catching and training the pets. He used to bring at least one pet to the class every day and leave it in a covered bamboo basket outside, before entering the class. The teachers knew about it but they didn’t bother as the pets remained outside in a sheltered airy basket.
But, one day a small animal did create a big confusion. Karuppu had caught a baby squirrel from a bush during the lunch interval and before he could hide it in his basket kept outside, the bell for rejoining rang and therefore he pushed it in the pocket of his knickers. The little devil remained dormant till the teacher reached the pinnacle of his expertise in explaining the intricacies of a two digit addition and then suddenly rolled out of the dingy pocket. Before Karuppu could catch it, he started scurrying hither and thither inside the class room.
“Which scoundrel let this animal to roam here?” Thundered the teacher, leaving the 15 + 25 to its fate on the blackboard, , though he was almost certain that it could be none other than the  ‘Kurukkan’ or cunning fox, his pet name for the pet- master.
Karuppu pointed his finger towards the exit door to say that the animal was a wanderer from the nearby bushes and he had no role in its release. Exactly at that moment, the head master Chathunni Menon, also an animal lover was passing through the corridor, supervising the surroundings. The simple mind of my class teacher now doubted that the little rambler could as well be the property of his senior. He put a foot forward to clear the doubt when the head master turned towards him and enquired, ”entha mashre?-any problem, teacher?”
“Hey, onnum illa; veettil chechikku sukham thannae allae – Nothing; hope your wife is fine at home?”
In his 10 years’ association with Madhavan kutty master, not once had he enquired about the welfare of his wife and therefore Chathunni Menon gazed at him for a minute and wondered why that question from his junior.
“Did anyone tell you that she is unwell? Your class children, I suspect, have the naughty habit of peering into my bed room”
“No mashrae, any told me anything about your wife”. My class teacher was apologetic.
”Then why did you enquire about her?”  After all, he was the head master and he had a right to know if there was an espionage activity right under his nose.
“Nothing Sir, a squirrel entered the class room–” Before he completed, the HM, intervened with the enthusiasm of a kid, “where, where? ” catch it. You children, all look for the animal. There is not a single squirrel in my pet collection “.
It was the order of the head of the school. All teachers and students including those from the other classes too joined in our hunt for the fortune but the clever little animal had already escaped into its original abode among the bushes. They all dispersed with shrunken face and cursing their inability and ill luck in fulfilling a simple wish of the HM. An army of two hundred students and six teachers could not catch a baby squirrel! Karuppu wanted to laugh loudly but suddenly remembered that he was in the class room and the ‘mashre’ could still punish him.
Madhavan Kutty master was now convinced that the HM’s movement outside the class room became more problematic than the squirrel’s roaming inside the classroom.
He turned to the students and ordered, “Concentrate on the calculation on the black board I say, all of you”
Then, gazing the vast courtyard, he made a philosophical remark, “every living being loves freedom; animals too have that right.”
The number of animal- lovers in the school was going up.
October 15,2012

My schoolmates -part 1.

The breeze created waves on the fully-grown, ready to reap, glistening golden paddy ears, grown abundantly in the vast expanse of land, towards my left, towards my right, wherever my eyes turned to. I was on my way to my school,’ Municipal Elementary School’,  ‘padathil’ school for all of us, as it was located in the center of ‘padams’ or agricultural lands.  I walked leisurely enjoying their beauty, awestruck, as if I was seeing those dreamy waves for the first time. This unlimited abundance would have come down from the sky along with the pouring rains, I thought. Even when the crops were fully harvested and the land became barren, dry and uncared for, there was a charm in watching the vast area of brown earth with protruding dry, left-over stem knobs, remaining as a memento of the past glory. One or two birds landed there, to assure the knobs that those were not alone and collected the left over grains, may be a beak-full and fly away without disturbing the Mother Earth under the silence of meditation. Their need is minimum, a few grains, to eat and carry to their younger ones in the nest. And once the sky opened up its flood gates, wah! it was a festival. The farmers driving their yokes with bullocks, making all sorts of sounds, splashing muddy water all over, their women waiting with food and water in mud pots to feed their men when they come off the fields, crows hovering to share the waste food, it was all fun. Then came the sowing and afterwards replanting when the small plants were  rearranged in rows by women, young and old, standing in rows, bending their head and body as if to pray to the mother Earth to bless them  with abundant crops.  For miles and miles, you see only green in its splendor.

The school, not far from my house, was  a well-ventilated, high roofed, building with spacious class rooms and vast open lands all around.  From the main road we had to tread through a narrow mud path separating the paddy fields and we used to walk holding the shoulder of one another, maintaining the balance so that we don’t get stuck in the loose mud or slip and fall onto the fields.

It was during one of those train-formation, I slipped and fell into the paddy field and when my class teacher Govindan kutty Nair asked why my clothes were dirty, I complained, ‘Annamma pushed me, mashre’. Despite my parents’ instruction not to tell lies, I lied then, as I was afraid of the boy who actually pushed me down. Annamma was a kind girl and I was sure that she won’t expose my weakness. The mighty  mashes the meek!

My calculation went wrong. Annamma, jumped from her seat and yelled, “Nuna, sir, it is a lie. I was the engine and he was the guard”. Then she turned towards me and with the seriousness of a teacher declaring the annual exam results, told me, “Engines are to pull and not to push.”

I didn’t like that lesson on train engine; I see a dozen every day from  my back yard. “podi, thavale -get lost, you frog”. I shouted back.

Her face didn’t resemble frog’s. It was, in fact,  lovely. Nor her voice was course; it was sweet. The teacher looked furiously at me.

“Mani, kay kanikku ,”  he raised the cane to flog, but seeing my extended palm, probably, thought about my mother’s hand which had served him food many times.

“Stand up on the bench”. A compromise to satisfy his ‘manasaktshi’ or consciousness  and a consolation  prize for his duty-awareness.  That thrilled Annamma.  She covered her face with palms and chuckled. I was proud of my status in the class and standing on the bench was a blow for that. She knew it. Being a flourishing hotelier’s son, I enjoyed some privileges. One teacher or the other used to hold my hand and take me back home, enjoy food, read newspaper and a ‘murukkan’-pan chew along with my father’s witty conversation. In the morning, Sulaiman, our cart driver used to drop me at the entrance to the paddy field pathway.  No other students enjoyed such a royal treatment.

When I got down from the bench, Annamma came close, pressed my leg and enquired, “kaalu katanjo-did your leg pain?” I tolerated that with a mum, but when she advised me next,”don’t lie again”, I flared up.
“Get lost fr–” I wanted to shout but turned to the teacher. He was facing the board. I could have scolded her but looked at her face. ‘Poor thing’ I thought and smiled.

“If you call me frog again, I won’t speak to you “threatened Annamma, while returning home that evening.

“You expect me to weep, if you don’ talk to me, eh? “  I am a boy and I should not succumb to her threat. “But you should tell me your frog stories.”

She laughed so loud that her whole body shook. The glass bangles on her puny wrists too laughed along with her. Or I thought so.  Then as if she was correcting my home work, she said,” haa, fool, if I don’t talk to you, how will I tell you stories?”

There seems to be sense in what she said. I pulled a handful of grains from the plant and wanted to put into my mouth but suddenly remembered the pea nuts she gave during the lunch interval and handed  over more than  half of the grains in my hand, ‘edutholu, take “.

The one who pushed me into the paddy field was Govindan, a hefty boy. His mother used to call me often to her house, pet and pamper me.  Why, why, Govindan used to wonder. His father, known as  ‘attinthala’  Raman Nair, had a tea shop near my dad’s hotel . His head had no shape no doubt, but the nick name ‘attinthala– goat head was dumped on him by a fellow, whom Nair punished for not paying his food bill. The punishment was to crush rice and black gram mix in a big wet grinder of stone to make paste for idly[1]-making. While moving the heavy pestle, the defaulter, murmured,  cursing Nair, Initially in a low tune but when the heavy granite pestle refused to move freely, his tone became noisy and at last he screamed,  “nintae thala aatinthala- you are goat-headed, you are goat headed”. That nick name got stuck on Nair like the gluey idly mix, which hampered the motion of the granite pestle.

Govinda, Govinda!
From my Blog – the story of a friend.
“Don’t forget God,” while leaving for Vaikuntom, the abode of a Lord Vishnu, my friend’s father advised his pet son, “utter always the divine name of Govinda. That will do you good”
A simple advise, well-intended.
But my friend , ‘Govinda, Govinda’ took his father’s last wish literally.
His name was in fact, ‘Aravamudhan’ but he gained the nick name due to his repeated recitation of God’s name. An obedient son he was and no one would have objected to his following his father’s commands, provided he had understood the spirit of his father’s advice. But he overacted. Not only did he recite the Lord’s name too often but he did it too loudly as if to ensure its prompt delivery to the God’s ears.
“Arava, why are you screaming, as if the Lord is deaf?’’ I asked him. His wife asked him. His friends asked him. His mother too asked him.
‘”The devotees to the Tirupathi hills, while climbing the steps, do not whisper,” he answered with a naughty smile, “they shout His name”
Apart from screaming, he also used to twist and turn his body, occasionally, as if his father or someone else was standing behind him and crack a whip, forcing him to shout more loudly.
People talked about him for a few days and ignored .They have better work to do than being after a semi insane stupid. But how could the girl who had to spend her whole life – time with him, ignore his irrational attitude ? Anantha Nayaki was taken aback by his action on their first night itself. Like any other girl of her age, she expected to hear her name uttered, softly, romantically, poetically, musically by her just-married man and certainly not, the ‘Govinda,Govinda’ shouts , however Divine that name might be. There are places to do Hari bajans, other than the room shared by the newly weds, on their honey moon night.
Nayaki was shell-shocked. She looked at her husband’s face to ensure that he was a normal man. She wanted to say something but, respecting her mother’s parting advice not to object to her husbands actions or inaction in the privacy of bedroom, she tolerated his shouts, accompanied at times, by the twist and turns of his body till dawn, for a while and then coming out, called her mother and complained, ‘ amma.onnum sari illai- nothing is OK’.
She explained what she meant by nothing is OK.
The devout mother was excited to learn about the spiritual aptitude of her son- in- law and cheered her daughter, “your son will be a divine incarnation and will outdo his worthy father”
The compassionate girl, though young, though not highly educated, could imagine the plight of her would be daughter in law, if her would be son too will be shouting ‘Govinda, Govinda’, singing and dancing, on the first night.
“It will never happen. It should never happen”
decided the desperate young wife. Now she cried,
‘Govinda, Govinda!’, having lost hope if a normal relationship with her husband.
The mother on the other end of the phone, hearing the cry of her daughter was excited. She was so overwhelmed to visualize her to be conceived, to be born grand son, enveloped in absolute God consciousness, imitating his father and mother.
“Go ahead, my daughter,” the mother blessed her daughter through air. “I can hardly wait for ten months to receive your baby in my hand”
‘Shut up, Amma!’ yelled Nayaki and kept down the receiver.
“This issue should be settled this night,”
she decided,”tomorrow will be too late”
Shutting the door after him, when he entered the bed room, the obedient wife, touched his feet and while serving the milk, he shouted, ‘Govinda, Govida!’
“Natha, respected husband,” she addressed him standing in a corner, ‘’why are you screaming as if I have given you poison? Can’t you utter the name of your Lord, less loudly?”
“You have closed the doors and windows,”
the pious husband asked her authoritatively, “if I don’t shout His name, how will it reach my Lord’s ears?”
After a while, in an unambiguous tone he instructed, ” keep the doors and windows opened, if you want me to call Him less loudly.”
The obedient wife did that . She widely opened the doors and windows!
She waited for the next dawn, but did not call her mother. She collected her belongings, carried them on her head and walked out of the main gate, reciting the Divine name, “Govinda ,Govinda’, sincerely, pathetically, unable to control the flames of agony enveloping her.
She didn’t shout or twist her body. But, the call, emanated from the cavern of a hapless young wife, would have certainly, reached the Lord.