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What happens at night, he doesn’t know !

 

Mothers of daughters -to -be married can be more courteous.

A friend in Chennai with prior appointment went to meet a woman in Mambalam after his son and her daughter, both working abroad, had telephonic contacts and the boy suggested his father meet the girl’s mother and proceed with the negotiation for the alliance. The present day practice is the boy and girl meet, date, decide on their wedding and then inform the parents, requesting to come and bless them. Some smart kids inform their parents only after kids are born to them! But in the above case,  the boy decided to go by the conventional path of parents meeting first. The girl agreed, on phone, as they hadn’t met face to face. 

The boy’s father, let us call him Seshu, spoke to the girl’s mother, got appointment, went with some fruits as is the custom, at the exact time prefixed .

The woman, (let us call her madam  to suit her rich appearance,) collected the fruits and directed Seshu mama: “I’m busy for another two hours.  My father in the next room will entertain you, in the meantime”.

Seshu said, ‘madam, I’m here with prior appointment and at the exact time prescribed by you.  I’m here to talk to you about the alliance of my son and not to get entertained by your father, who is possibly of my age or perhaps older. If you suggest, I will talk to your father about the alliance ‘

‘No, mama. What does my father know about my daughter’s requirements? It  is me, not even my husband, to decide about my daughter’s marriage’.

‘Good. You want me to come another day?’

‘No, mama. Wait for a short while. I will be back quickly’

Seshu waited and waited.  Madam didn’t call him. He thanked the old man for his valuable advice on ‘sthree dharmams’,. The entertainment was no more endurable ,as the old man had started snoring . Seshu collected his bag and took leave of the madam, saying, ‘we will meet on our grand child’s first birthday in Boston.’

Madam was shocked! 

‘Mama, wait please. Please come in. Tell me what is happening behind my back in Boston’

‘Nothing much madam. The day temperature is -4 deg. C. What happens at night, I don’t know ‘

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Musing from a Baltimore Mall

My son managed to find a chair in a big shopping center seeing me tired after making a few rounds. 

I wanted to click pictures of women of different dimensions and skin colors and hair styles and tattoos but had strict instructions from my children not to do that and land in the hands of cops. 

I got bored and mused how aging was reducing my movements.  My brain, mind, all parts of body are fit to go on a Manasarovar yAtra but my knees won’t cooperate. 

You would have observed that either at your home, office or among friends, there will be one guy, who comes forward with a negative opinion when you start something  good and try to stop your forward movement. 

After rejecting many girls suggested by his father, an young man known to me, liked immensely one girl and was about to give the thumb up signal to his father, when a friend who had accompanied whispered into his ear,’what an old name the girl is given! How will you introduce her to your friend?’

Her name was Kundalakesi!

This was long ago. A recent story:

Shanmukha Sundari ‘s mom rejected a boy outright, as she was not happy with his given name, Sundaramoorthy . But the girl, who liked him, suggested, ‘mom, I will take him as my driver ‘. 

The mom was happy. The boy too was happy. 

‘Ok, take me to the Kalyan Jewelers’,  ordered the mom.

‘Omg, why’re you driving like this?’, asked the mom unable to stay stable in her seat.

‘I don’t know driving madam. I know only cooking’, replied the young man.

‘Stop the car. You’re selected as my daughter’s husband’

Sundaramoorthy and Shanmukhasundai got married and lived long happily.

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Osthanu, Sir!

 

Waited behind the partially opened front door, in the early morning, to catch red handed, the culprit who steals my  flowers.  5, 10, 20 minutes passed- a hand extended towards the plant. Wanted to return to bed, if it was bangles-adorned. (Flowers are after all for whom? For God and women!) .But it wasn’t. 

Only old women are nowadays, wearing bangles and I have a sympathetic heart towards all old women, as they won’t be able to return to their young days.  Old men, all old men, will have a mental vibration unique for youngsters when they see any woman other than their life partner and during that golden moment they consider they are young.  

Coming back to the hand moving towards the plant, I screamed, ‘poda patti’.  My pure native tongue, sudda Malayalam, escapes from my mouth only for abusing others.

-get out, you bitch! Suddamaya artham- pure meaning. 

‘Attila entae eami Sir? What does it mean?’ 

Enquired the owner of the hand still active removing flowers. 

Oh, I made a mistake- the encroacher is a Telugu, not a Malayali! 

‘Get out, you dog’. That was the meaning, I wanted to tell him; instead  said, ‘Nee thalakkaya’ – your head! That is a common abuse in mana desam, Telugu Desam.

‘Anthena? That is all?’  He was happy that my abuse was mild, went out without bothering to close the gate, with a basketful of beautiful white flowers, which were to adorn my Shiva Lingam, Saligramams  and other statues of daily worship! I came out of my hide, wide opening my door, went down the steps and closed the main gate.  Now, no one can enter. 

The unfamiliar face turned towards me before turning the street corner and took my leave, ‘osthanu, Sir- will meet you again Sir- shall come again!

He will come again, I know but he had the courtesy to say that. Nice guy!

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Dosa chattuvam or dosa ladle

“Thunder showers soak Hyderabad  city” – news paper report this morning. 

We, in Habsiguda Central Park area had only thunder and lightning, but no showers but I  enjoyed the thunder sound, lightning flashes and strong wind waves. I Was in fact excited, when the night sky’s mood  suddenly changed sending down cool wind, giving unexpected relief from the hot waves. 

The power supply went off.  I lighted a candle, pulled out a chair, sat outside to enjoy the bliss. 

‘Anna, idi idikkarthu, ullae vaa!’, warned my brother Vicha. He wanted me to get inside fearing that I might get stuck by lightning. I didn’t move an inch. I was enjoying the changed mood of the sky.

‘How nice it would be if I could die now! All my responsibilities are over’. I thought, ‘of course, Vicha is there; God will take care of him’ . 

It is no my habit to worry about my death; somehow, I believe it is not applicable to me! But, now the condition was so favorable, attractive, to quit for ever!

I thought I was thinking but I expressed my desire, rather loudly which reached the unusually sharp ears of the obese woman in the opposite side, who screamed, ‘ullae odipom, pavi Brahmana!  Omma thalaelae idivizunthu ennavathu aana, enakku pochu- rush inside you sinful Brahmin. If struck by lightening, something happens to you, I will be the loser!’

Instantly, my desire to quit the world vaporized. Here is a lady, may be fat, but still charming, who will miss me, if I quit’

I got up from the chair and shouted, ‘Paru, you will be the loser! How on earth?’. 

I longed to hear from her a long lecture or even a poetry from Changanpuzha’s love story, Ramanan or a cinema dialogue or at least the tamil cinema song:

‘PokAthae, pokAthae en kanava! ‘ though I’m not her kanavan, husband.

But crisp was her reply. 

‘Dosai chattuvam!’

Her dosa ladle is with me! I had borrowed it and forgot to return!

For women, their  kitchen vessels are more important than anything else including the sacred life of a sadhu in the opposite house! 

 

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A big man with a big heart

Big has its own charm! 

Remember a man of abnormally big size, who used to visit us often, when we were children. His name was Madhavan Panicker but his size earned him the nickname of ‘mathan’ Panicker. Mathan is pumpkin in Malayalam! Though he was discarded merciless by his wife and children, we found him extremely happy.  He used to tell us stories and one of his stories, I’m mentioning here.

‘There was a big king with a big heart and big frame. Wearing his big golden crown, he sat on his big simhasanam, which broke into pieces and the king fell down. Everyone laughed and as he was unable to get up on his own, his crown and jewels and even his golden costume were taken away by his family, before he was made to stand up. He stood up raising his crown-less head high, collected a lungi and walked out of his home, smiling. When he reached the outer gate, his wife invited him to come back. ‘Varoo, Chetta! Come back’

He laughed, removed the only possession he had on his body, a tulasimala, with golden link, threw it at his wife, saying, ‘molea, pidicho’ means, here it is, my dear’

As children, we laughed hearing his story. Now, when I turn back, my eyes become moist. 

Mathan panicker lived long and I was told , died peacefully. Some one known to him buried his body, uttering ‘Shiva, Shiva’.

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An obese old lady in the opposite house

I can make anything to happen!

‘Which idiot is calling me at midnight?’, I yelled and opened the front door, eyes half closed and half opened. The huge figure wrapped in a big sari, the lady in the opposite house was there and I rubbed my eyes to make sure that it was not a dream. Damsels from heaven used to appear in my dreams earlier but of late, only negative feminine characters of Ramayana are visiting me in sleep. But this is not a dream, it is real. I’m awake!

‘Meera, eami sangathi ? You, in this midnight? What is the matter?’, I muttered, giving respect to her gender and age.

‘Pada, take me to the Saibaba maternity home’, she ordered in her hoarse voice.

‘Santhosha vartha meeru naakku cheppalaeaethae’. Oh, congrats! You didn’t give me the happy news earlier ‘

I looked at her middle part but was difficult to gauge whether she was pregnant or not as the entire front portion looked like a barrel, covered with a color cloth.

‘Not me, my daughter in law Ramalakshmi. Jeldi randi. come fast’.

I pleaded my helplessness . ‘ I’m not a doctor, not even a midwife, in what way I am going to be useful to your DIL?
I have never delivered a baby ’

‘You can make it happen. You have an obligation, nay responsibility, my daughter says’

‘Obligation, responsibility, my God, what am I hearing! I was shocked. ‘upon God, I’m telling you, I have no obligation, no responsibility. I’m totally innocent, harmless, came here just a couple of months ago. I was away for one year’

‘Don’t tell me stories. ‘I want SP, I want now’, says my daughter’

‘But, for her I was uncle, while in good moods or thatha while in not-that – good mood. She never used to call me SP’

‘SP!’

‘Now you’re calling me SP? ‘

‘When your are SP for her, you’re SP for me too. Come on. She is waiting for you, carrying a baby ready to come out, which will happen, the moment you land there. You have to make that happen’.

‘I have to make that happen!’

What is she talking about after waking me up from my deep sleep, midnight !

I told her the truth. ‘Madam, I have no car. I never had a car. I don’t even have a two wheeler. You know, I can’t walk to the Nursing home. You carry on now. I will come early morning to see the baby and give my blessings’

She didn’t say a word. She pulled me by her big hand and took me to the street ahead where a few rickshas were parked. ‘Drive on’, she ordered me, after occupying one.

‘But, how? I never drove an auto ricksha. Bicycle rickshas I used to drive , when I was jobless. Anyway sit in the center. The ricksha is tilting to a side. She moved to the center and the moment her full weight jammed the driver who was sleeping there, he yelled, ‘Devuda, Devuda, God, I’m getting crushed, I’m dying’.

My neighbor ordered the driver: ‘get up and drive the ricksha to Saibaba Nursing Home, fast. Glad that you are inside your ricksha’

Her daughter, mother of three girls, all prepared to deliver her fourth baby, may be a boy, may be a girl, made me to sit on a chair near her bed and said, ‘uncle, I know your relationship with my mother’.

‘My relationship with your mother ! I know her as a neighbor, that is all. Nothing more, nothing less, that too only for the past two months. Last year when I left for USA, my opposite house was vacant and when I came back, it was richly occupied by your mom’

‘Yes, I know. And on the very first day you landed, she saw you standing near your side gate and without any formalities, enquired where your wife was. You replied you’re unmarried and raising both your hands up said, ‘I’m looking for a big wife.’ She become very close to you from that time’.

‘Close to me in what sense?’, my voice had started shivering.

‘She is your FB friend and likes any rubbish you write.

It was great relief. If closeness is restricted to FB , nothing to worry. I’m safe.

‘Uncle, I’m in a critical position,’ she continued. ‘ It is going to be Caesarian for me. My husband wants my present baby to be a boy and he has gone to Tirupathy seeking Lord Venkateswara’s help. The doctor has posted my case for tomorrow morning and I need 40k before 8am.. I have my husband’s two ATM cards but don’t know the passwords. . I know two passwords but the relevant cards are not with me. The moment my husband is back, your money will be returned ‘

‘If the Baby happens to be a girl again and your husband in utter dejection goes back to Tirupathy, what will you do?’ asked the old lady. Wrong question in wrong time, which deserved no reply. But, the daughter had a reply, which shook me to my roots.

‘Shut up mom. I’m sure my next baby will be a male and I know that SP will make it happen ‘.

While I was standing stunned without knowing what to say, the daughter asked, ‘SP, will you please go home and get your ATM card? There is a center right across the road’.

‘SP will make it happen’, assured the mother and asked the riksha wallah to take me home and bring me back safely

‘And come again tomorrow morning with sweets to bless the baby, your baby!’, the mother -to-be-soon again ordered, while I was coming out.

‘My baby?’, I turned back and asked, anger unavoidably reddening my query.

‘We too are your babies, SP’, hailed happily both the mother and the daughter.

‘You too, madam?’, I turned my sharp eyes towards the obese old lady in the opposite house.

‘Me too’, she declared clearly, loudly and vehemently .

My doubts are cleared. I can make anything to happen.

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Kappi to Kathakali

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At times my brain works at abnormally high speed.
A recent example.
Time 3.30 pm. Vicha ‘s electronic clock woke him from his post-lunch nap, for a purpose.

‘Anna, kaappi’

Wait man, let me solve this Sudoku four star.
Minutes, one, two—

‘Shall I make kaappi?’ He turns restless.

I rushed into the kitchen. To make coffee you need just two things, decoction and milk. No sugar for thammudu. Where is milk? In the fridge. Very good.

Where is decoction? Filter empty. No problem. Srikanth has neatly labeled the dabbas. Picked up coffee -power dabba.

The holes of the upper mini drum were all blocked. No problem. Let me clear the blocks with a needle. Where is the needle ! Searched everywhere. Not found.
(There is a box full of insulin syringes with thin needles, but my brain, had gone for a Kerala hartal)

A flash inside. Brain wakes up like undesirable desires rising at my heart at times. Bad comparison. It is ok. Bad also is a part of life. Black makes white whiter. White is often forgotten; black stay longer. All the luxurious parties in star hotels forgotten; only #MeToo stays.

There is a solution for every problem. I switch on the stove and holding the percolator carefully with tongs, heat the bottom so as to burn the coffee granules stuck in the holes. The holes are meant for free flow. All holes.

The idea is not mine. Yes, it was Perinkulam Anantha
Iyer’s practice. Great man he was. The son follows the father’s footsteps. A proud father, he would have been excited had he watched my action.

Minutes, one, two —

The bottom of the percolator turns black. Doesn’t matter. It can be washed off. Some blacks can be cleared, not all. Some stains are immortal. Man goes, stains stay back.
But wait. Let the heated percolator be on the platform. Let me get milk from the fridge.
‘Don’t heat the milk now; let the decoction be ready’, advises the brain.

Very good, opened the coffee powder dubba, removed the powder and just lifted the percolator with two fingers. It was still red -hot! I forgot. It didn’t .

Ohoooooooooo! Two fingers got burnt! Ohooooooooo.
Rushed towards the tap to pour water on the fingers. Oooooo, pooooo!

Vicha sitting in the hall didn’t hear my screaming from the kitchen. He wouldn’t have heard even if I had screamed at his ears!

‘Anna, kaappi aacho?’ Is coffee ready?’

‘Unduraa. I will blast your head.’, I screamed. No problem. He wouldn’t heard that too. Disability is a blessings, at times- for others!

‘How difficult is the job of a house wife!’ I thought and praised mentally the woman who silently served coffee, 3/4 times daily, just for asking and even without asking for the whole family, friends and frequent visitors, for many years. She would have been appreciating seated on mango tree branch, somewhere. I would have said coconut tree beach, but that tree is too high for her. I don’t want to trouble her. Have troubled her enough before.

I praised my intelligence too.
‘Had I not used the tongs and directly held the filter in my hand and heated?’ Not two fingers, the whole hand would have been burnt. I was indeed a wise man.

P.A.Iyer, be proud of your son. He I didn’t blame his Fate or the star on the sky on the day of his birth for the mistake he committed.

‘Anna, should I come and help you?’

Oddu Raja, oddu. Your coffee is almost ready.

The burnt fingers continued to blame my foolishness- ‘you have no sense’, I passed on the blame to my brain.

‘If I’m senseless why did you scream, when you got burnt? ‘ asked the brain.

‘Kappi unda, illaya- are you going to give me coffee or not?’

Oh my god! The milk has boiled and boiled and boiled, overflown on the burner, putting off the flame, leaving the base of the vessel charred. I was standing almost touching it but didn’t notice the overflow of its anger. Not surprising- I was standing, not close, but touching a woman, but failed to see her overflowing anger. Anyway that was when I was younger. When you are young, you fail to see the face of your wife, see only her back and when the time comes to see her front, you see only her back, that too from a distance. No problem, I see her face from the wall opposite to me.

‘Anna—-‘ Thammudu reminds again. What to do now? No milk in stock. Shall I go out and buy a packet from the shop on the circle road? Poor Vicha is going dry with no kaappi which keels him alive, though limping.

At that critical moment, the embodiment of immense mercy,
Saraswathy Devi, who had abandoned me for the past two months, inspires my mind and I sing aloud, for the first time in the last two months, a popular Kathakali padam, loudly:

:
“ajitha hare jaya madhava vishno!
ajitha hare jaayaa maadhava vishno!
ajitha hare jaya madhava vishno”

Viswanatha Iyer, heard the third repetition and responded, skipping the next few lines, and sang, in high pitch. That is how that padam has to be sung.

“paladinam aayi njanum balabhadranuja ninne paladhinamayi njanum balabhadranuja ninne nalamodu kaanmathinnu kaliyalleruchikunnu
nalamodu kaanmathinnu kaliyalleruchikunnu”

He wanted to convey that he too, was like Sudhama, waiting long, not to meet Lord Krishna, but for his favorite kaappi

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His wife in my kitchen !

‘Ayya,  anaeka kodi Namskarams. I was longing to have a glance of you, even from a mile away. Now you are standing before me like Kothanda Ramaswamy ’

That was Naidu, an old friend, who had borrowed money from me last time, on the day I returned from USA, telling me a lie that his wife was in the hospital.

‘Your wife has returned from hospital, Naidu?’, I enquired purely out of curiosity in her good health.

‘Ha, ha, Emi Sir, which husband will allow his wife to stay in the hospital, that long?’

‘But she was sick!’

‘Eami Sir, who said she was sick ?’

‘You said so and borrowed 7000 Rs. for treatment’

‘Eami Sir, I took money from yoU!!! . You took ten thousand rupees from me. I’m here to collect the money ‘

‘Ok, I will give back your money. Wait a minute. I will call your wife as a witness. She is inside my kitchen’

‘Eami, Sir, eami mattaladuthunaru? What are you talking ? How can my wife be inside your kitchen?’

‘She came to complain about your atrocities. I won’t say that she loves me, but she likes me. She likes me because I’m not a drunkard like you. Shall I tell you what happened last night between you, in your house? ‘

‘Devuda, Devuda! Don’t tell me. You haven’t borrowed a single pie from you. I borrowed from you 7000 Rs. and I will return that money. You are not Kothandrmudu. You are Kaladevudu. Anthakudu. Ayya, pothunanu. I’m going. I’m going’

‘Your wife? Take her with you’

‘Oddu Sami, oddu. Let her be here only’

The man who went away angrily and abusing me returned soon, weeping,
‘Pantalu, my wife passed away when you were not in India’

I felt sad for him. And bad for me too, for telling him a lie that she was inside my kitchen, though I sincerely wished, she were anywhere in my house, not necessarily in the kitchen.

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In sleeper class from Palakkad

Apart from the mesmerizing winds passing through the opened windows of the sleeper class train, which kissed me all over, hugged again and again, shared some secrets and sang a Pallavi, there were other interesting aspects during my recent return trip from Kerala. I have, in my blog, already an emotional story on a similar travel earlier.

Usually, I get up more than once, from sleep, to empty my bladder, but my recent journey was so enchanting that I slept whole night, undisturbed, though there was an important reason, strong enough, to wake me up, a dozen times. That was to observe the reaction of an old lady to the ‘kusu, kusu’ sweet romantic chats of her son with his wife, about which she complained to me during the day . I never allow such golden opportunities to slip through my fingers as mothers in law and their actions and reactions always provide fodder to my internal cows of inquisitiveness.

‘Did you, during your young days, engaged in ‘kusu,kusu’, sweet talk with your wife throughout your journey, as my son is doing now,? She had asked me
and I had replied, ‘not with my wife, with some other young ladies’

At Guntur, she woke me up asked me to follow the couple.
‘Don’t sleep like a log. Catch them red handed. They have gone out for a stroll’

I got annoyed.

‘Madam, they are your own son and daughter in law. Your son would have held the hand of his own wife and gone out for a morning stroll to buy a pack of hot Guntur chillies for you. Why do you torture me?’

‘No, my son is not that bold to hold her hand right before my eyes’, she replied. Pride of a mother of an obedient son was shining on her face.

‘The trains now a days start with no warning vessels,’ I tried to explain my fear. ‘If the battery of my hear aids fail when the train moves, with me on the platform, will you ensure that the nenthram pazham and chakkapazham, long plantains and jack fruit, I’m carrying all the way from Olavakkode, will reach my Habsiguda house?’

‘We will uncle!’, the reply came not from her but from her son and daughter in law in the top births!

 

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More rooms there in ?

My new neighbor was staring at the balcony of the house next to his, seated on an easy chair, near his front gate.  I warned him. ‘Kounder, the owner of the house might think that you are looking at his wife. He is a man with strong muscles’

’How old is he?’, enquired my neighbor

‘May be 70, may be 75. But how does the age matters?’

‘The Kownder and wife fight like cat and mouse!’

‘How does that matter? The moment Kownder smells your eyes search for her, he will  start loving her deeply’

‘How many rooms are there in that house?’ He equired.
I was relieved. His interest was limited to knowing the size of the house’

‘Seven,’ I replied.

‘My house has only six rooms’. The disappointment of having one room less, was visible in his face.

‘How many rooms do you use?’, I enquired.

‘Only one’

‘You haven’t given a separate room to your wife?’

‘No, we share one room. That is more than enough for us’
He has one room more than my house’. My neighbor expressed his anguish again .

Ammalu calłed from the other side of the common wall.
‘SP come soon. The neighbor’s cat has entered our house and delivered five cute kittens’

‘Let them enjoy our space. We are now only two’

‘Come, just to see them’

I went inside my house, but soon come out hearing the loud and pathetic cry of my neighbor’s wife.. The Poor guy was struggling for breath. The ambulance was calłed and on the way to hospital, he passed away. He was not destined to die even in the single room he was sharing with his wife, out of the six rooms they had. He died in the ambulance bench. Has any rooms in the vast space he left for?

His cat and kitten were happily roaming inside our house, as if the entire house belonged to them!