Category: A01 — SHORT STORIES

Paying back love by love
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“Your face is familiar. Aren’t you Kuppuswamy’s daughter? We call him Kuppu”
“No, uncle. I’m Appuswamy’s wife, I call him Up”
“My son’s name too is that. But, we don’t call him Up”
“He is never up from bed before noon, right?”
“Right. How do you know?”
“I told you that he is my hubby. If not wife, who else will know hubby’s wake up time, unless he sleeps in another woman’s house?”
“To my son, to my own son, you are married?”
“Yes uncle. I told you that already”
“Don’t say that you are my daughter in law”
”I won’t. Option yours to designate your son’s wife”
“Stop talking nonsense”
“To have a son is a nonsense, uncle?”
“Talking about My son?”
“No. My son; from your son”
“Absolutely unacceptable”
‘Why uncle? He is not a man?”
“He is. But, he didn’t take my permission to marry you?”
“One needs permission to select his woman? Did your Krishna or Arjuna took permission ?”
“I sweated to make him what he is today”
“Fix the reward. I will give a cheque right now ”
“Repaying love by cash?”
“Ok. We will repay love by love. Please come home and take charge of our baby till we return from our pleasure trip”
“Let me ask my son’s mom”
“Your wife? You need permission from your wife to meet your grandson? The old lady is already there”
“She didn’t take my permission”
“She is your son’s mom, uncle”
“Yes, you said it. I’m proud of her”
“I know, you are. Let us go”

NRI boys do remove their shirts.
Many trains halted and passed through Olavakkode Junction, day and night, more during night.
Seated on the veranda of my house, by the station road, I used to watch the movement of people. From the Kalpathy villages, they used to come to receive or see off their relatives. Some of them were bare- chested and none took notice of that.
That was a Muslim majority area and many used to roam about, in the town, bare-chested, wearing lungies. None noticed them.
I too on many occasions, as a boy, had moved in towns and villages in Kerala, and compulsorily inside temples, bare chested . None noticed.
Here, in America, I can’t have that ‘freedom’, even during peak summer.
Generally, the people here, don’t bother about others in the streets. But, if I venture to go out, with no shirt on, I will be noticed. And, my children will certainly notice and buy the best seat in the next available flight to Hyderabad, drop me in the airport, give a warm hug and see me off with a fitting farewell. “Take care, Dad!”
I won’t give that chance to my dear wards. Hence, stand here on the steps, well within a building , well-wrapped. This adequate dress is to protect me from the biting Boston winter.
An old friend of mine driver Marimuthu, used to attend weddings, in full suit and tie , during peak summer, in Chennai!
“Why, Muthu?” I enquired.
“JanvAs MAppillai Sir soodu thangama kelampittarnna, nAn poi ankae ninnukalAm illae?”
If the bridegroom, unable to bear the heat, moves out, I can go and stand in his place, right?”. He was joking. But I’m not. Wedding In May, in Chennai, used to be a punishment.
Now perhaps not so. The halls are air conditioned. The wedding fire is nourished for shorter duration, as Vadyar is busy, bridegroom, is working from home ( means he is on duty). understandable.
I attended a wedding, sometime ago, in Hyderabad. Peak summer. The NRI bridegroom was unable to sit on the floor. Understandable. He was a computer boy, good in his job. He got a chair. No one asked him to remove his shirt and so, he didn’t. They thought NRI boys never remove their shirts!
No grumble. But Kuppuswamy iyer, my friend, who had roamed bare- chested during college days, through the streets of Kalpathy, along with me, performed the kanyAdanam, in full suit and tie and hat!
Boy, I was stunned. I asked him, ” Kuppu, mad fellow, you could have at least removed the hat?’
“Your Pakakkadan budhy will never leave you” he chided me, “the bridegroom is from a sophisticated family”
Sad, my friend is no more now. He passed away, shortly after his daughter’s wedding.
I attended his last journey. There was only a white sheet to cover his body!
He was on his way to a non sophisticated family. Otherwise, he would have been in suit and tie. And a hat too, on his bald head!
P.S. Forgot to tell you. Kuppu’s last rites were performed by his son in law, who rushed from USA.
No one asked him to remove his shirt. He didn’t ask for a chair.
He sat on the dusty, ashy, wet cremation ground, bare chested!
NRI boys can sit on the ground .They do remove their shirt. I’m convinced.
 

MAmiyar murukku.
‘Mappillai murukku’ – some of you would have heard. I heard it for the first time, when I stayed for a couple of days, soon after my wedding in my wife’s house at Thiruvananthapuram. For evening snack, I was served, after asking me to be seated facing the auspicious East, Avil aka beaten rice and poovan pazham. The Avil was hand pounded, retaining the aroma of bran, the brown coloured, nutritious outer layer of the rice grain. The poovan pazham was soft and honey -sweet, as to earn the merit of one of the selected neivedyams, food offer, to the divine child of Guruvayoor. That tasty combination was served on a tender plantain leaf, just removed from the backyard tree, which too contributed to the aroma to the already tasty food.
I loved the food. But, absorption capacity is not unlimited. So, reluctantly, I left a part, back on the leaf, when a close relative, Athai or aunt, taunted me: ‘konthae, MAppillai murukku vendAm- child, abandon the inner reservation of a fresh son in law’
I’m not happy with my translation of the word ‘murukku’ here, but I could not find a better words. Colloquial usages lose the essence and charm in translation.
Now, back to the title of this story. MAmiyar is mother in law. The ‘Murukku’ here, in this context, is not a behavior. It is a food item- that hand-twisted circle, rice powder based, placed prominently on the wedding podium, kalyAna Panthal, along with sweet balls of laddus and sweet rectangles of Mysorepaks . it is also called kaimurukku, to emphasize the importance of Kai or hand, in its production.
Last year, before leaving for America, I visited my mAmiyar, mother in law, at her home in Thiruvananthapuram, the same good old lady, who served me avil and poovan pazham, long back. She had become old, naturally. For good or bad, I’m deep in my conviction that I don’t age, though all others do. But God is great. You can dupe your wife, you can dude even your mother in law, but never God. So, His Highness, Lord Sreekanteswaran, who could watch the happening in my mother in law’s house, just by a peep through the window, put a forceful break to my wicked thought that my mother in law had aged but not me.
This was what happened.
The gracious old lady, despite her physical disabilities due to old age, had prepared hand- twisted Murukku for her son in law. I’m sure that her weak fingers would have terribly protested, resisting to twist and turn to her commands. But twisting and turning are unavoidable for the simple rice flour paste, to become a mouth – watering eatable.
She served me a few pieces, on a plantain leaf. Chewing old stories, intermittently smiling, laughing and clearing the moistness from eyes, I bit merrily the circular charisma and consumed the first murukku. The moment, overwhelmingly proud of my strong teeth, I bit the second murukku. ‘Tup’ cracked a tooth, got dislocated from its time tested base and fell on the leaf. The honorable lady, whose ears are left with only ornamental role, could clearly hear the sound of the tooth – crack and more surprisingly, her dwindling eyes could clearly see the dented tooth, lying helplessly, amongst the murukku pieces on the plantain leaf.
With the speed of an eagle, flashing from the sky and swooping on a dove on the land, she picked up not only my broken tooth, but the remaining pieces of murukku too.
I looked at her pathetically, like a baby whose mouth feeding was abruptly stopped and asked, ‘ why murukku?’
‘Just to save your remaining weak teeth,” she said.
I turned my neck and looked at our neighbour, Lord Sreekanteswaran and asked,
” a punishment for my false notion that aging is only for others or for leaving unconsumed some avil and pazham, decades ago?”
As usual, He didn’t respond. His divine mount did.
‘For both,’ he said and shook his broad ears, as if to say, ‘take it light’.
. .

Raman Mama was a very simple soul, almost like a child, though he was above forty, with a big frame, loud voice and a lavish mustache almost covering his thick lips. He was my neighbor in ‘Panchavadi’ our bachelor ‘palace’ in a village, during my early carrier days in Hyderabad.
He preferred to mould his own idol from fresh clay, instead of buying from outside, for the week – long Vinayakachathuthy festival. Despite his best efforts, the molding failed and he started weeping, like a child, when his sister in law , an young girl living next door made fun of him. Unbelievably such an innocent soul, he was.
“I won’t live for the next Vinayaka chaturthy” he moaned and vowed,
“I won’t, I won’t”  
He is fortunately still alive after some fifty years! On the Vinayaka chaturthy pooja, that huge man, weeping inconsolably, comes to my mind and not the big God of my worship, seated silently on the stand before me.
He wept as he failed in his attempt to create an idol of God.
Many weep that God has created them !

Kavassery, my mother’s birth place, is a small village in the outskirts of Palakkad. I happened to spend a few days there, as a boy during holidays. My cousin of my age asked me to sleep on the thinnai ( a raised platform in front of the Brahmin houses, roofed but front opened), to escape from the humidity inside and when I protested, fearing the pitch darkness surrounding the area, he tempted me to show a Yakshi, who, he said, used to visit the close-by tank and sing on its bank, spreading wide her hair. Yakshi in our folklore, is the female of Yaksha, with beautiful appearance, wearing snow -white clothes capable of treading earth without her legs touching the ground. When angry, the malevolent one is capable of killing men and drink blood. There are many stories of Yakshies, which mothers used to narrate for the speedy eating of their kids. There is a huge Yakshi statue in the Malampuzha Garden near Palakkad, created by my bachelor room- mate and former college, artist late Dharmadathan
Anxious to have a glimpse of such an abnormal character, though from a distance as I lacked the courage to go nearby, I agreed to cousin’s suggestion and slept outside. After an hour or so, he woke me up and asked me to follow him, revealing his real plan. It was to take me to a movie in the Swathy theater, more than a mile away. Though I was disappointed that I would not be able to meet a Yakshi, was happy to some extend that I would be watching a movie. At Olavakkode, where I grew, a theater was available close by and admission was free for us, as the owner and manager were my father’s Customers. The problem was my father would never allow us to watch movies, though during his younger days, as per his own account, he used to go for theater plays and even used to narrate some scenes too, during his leisure hours. His favorite actor was ‘Nawab’ Rajamanickam and singer Kittappa.
Crossing many marshy paddy fields, in utter fear owing to various sounds created by frogs, owls and other night birds, fearing bites from snakes and crabs, in pitch dark, we reached the Cinema theater. The journey was a child’s play for my cousin, born and brought up in the village and a horror for me, a child from a town adjacent to a busy railway junction, where the lights never used to be switched off at night due to the thriving business from the floating population.
It was a lousy picture but I enjoyed my maiden movie adventure, seated on the rough concrete floor, whistling and clapping along with the others, mostly farmers, who had come there seeking small merriment. The apex of joy was when an uncle, suddenly raised from his seat, raised both hands above, joined the palms and screamed,’ Rama chandra!”, when the Rama character appeared on the screen. When I mentioned about this to my father on my return home, he said casually, ‘that fellow would have boozed’.
Near the exit gate, a strong arm held my wrist and when I turned towards my cousin he too was struggling to escape from the clutches of another strong arm. Yes, my uncle, cousin’s father had followed us silently, without our knowledge and took us back home, ‘to treat us properly’, to use his words.
I have since then, watched several movies in India and abroad, in posh theaters. But, the excitement, anxiety and joy of my maiden movie experience were unique.
That night, I had a dream and it was not a beautiful woman with widely spread black hairs, treading an inch above the ground, but my bald headed uncle, who came as a Yakshi to suck my blood. Only consolation was like the legendary damsel, he too wore snow-white clothing and the major difference was his teeth were small and separated unlike the big, sharp, threatening tooth rows of Yakshi.
Always I look for a silver lining in any dark, black cloud settings and invariably I get it.

Cartoon courtesy: RamKi.
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Seshumama was proverbially a slow -action man. He takes an hour to eat his food, two hours to take bath and three to do his daily morning and evening poojas. We,  in the village, loved the simple- minded, humble, soft spoken, slow walking , day-dreaming  Sesh . He can be trusted as a reliable friend except for buying medicines of urgent need.
“Avasarmae illai- not at all in a hurry” was his catch phrase..
Everyone becomes old and mama too did. Nothing abnormal.
Yama, the Lord of Death came to pick him up. Again, nothing abnormal. What other works has he to do?
Due to traffic jam, Yamaji was delayed. Impressed by Sesh’s short stature, child -like face and virgin smile, Yamaji said, apologetically, “sorry for the delay,Sesh”
“Avasarmae illai” replied Sesh in his characteristic style, spread a new grass mat offering the divinity a royal seat and stood aside as a mark of respect.
“Chukku vellam or patchavellam? (medicated warm water or cold water?),” enquirerd madam Sesh to which her humble husband added, “sorry Sir. We don’t have the practice of drinking coffee or tea”
The god was immensely pleased with the simplicity and service attitude of the couple, which he exhibited by a hearty laugh. In every other home he visited to carry on his duty, he used to be cursed, abused.
Seshu making good of the pleasant mood of the divinity, requested, “can I have a body wash, Sir?”
“Why not?”. Yamaji was extremely liberal and added, having become familiar with Sesh’s  pet phrase, “avasaramae illai. No hurry at all. take your own time”
Sesh did take his own time.
Yamaji waited near the bathroom door along with his mount.
An hour passed by. “Is he really having a body wash or a color wash?,” wondered the god, “even my mount doesn’t need this much time “.
The mount, water buffalo bowed his head, appreciating his master’s lavish praise.
Yama’s mobile was continuously ringing. For a moment he doubted whether the old Brahmin had given his the slip, through a back door. He peeped through a crack in the bathroom wall. Sesh was very much there, applying soap on the cover for his intestines.. Yama cursed his sinful mind for doubting the honesty of an old Brahmin.
At last, Sesh came out spreading the aroma of the Lifebuoy soap. Bowing to the divine guest and smiling at the water buffalo, who gave him a stern look, Sesh said,”thanks to your excellency for permitting my final bath in my loving bath room, which is my music hall, reading room and dreaming palace” . He added, hesitation breaking his each word,” I have never moved out of my house without performing my morning Sandhya worship. May I have my last wish fulfilled by the Lord of dharma and justice?” .
Yamaji liked Sesh’s addressing him as the Lord of dharma and justice but hesitated for a moment. In other houses, his victimms used to curse him as  ‘maha paapi- great sinner’ .  His cell was ringing continuously, calling for his presence at numerous places. He looked at the irritating   instrument  and at the innocent face of Sesh waiting for a reply. Sesh, making use of the time gap to his advantage, recited a hymn, starting with, “yamAya, DharmarAjAya” praising the Lord of the last breath.
“Carry on, Sesh” Yama permitted, intentionally omitting the appendix, ‘avasaram illai’.
The sandhya was taking abnormally long time to be completed. Even the gods in the Heaven do that, much  faster. The animal which carries him, had become restless. But Yama, didn’t want to disturb Seshu’s worship. Seshu worships gods including Yama and he should not be disturbed. A noble thought.
Seshu, at last, came out with a genuine smile of thanks, but saying not a single word.
“Serve food on two leaves,” he ordered his wife, without waiting for the approval of the god, “and remember, our guest is from the heaven, not from the next village or neighboring town”
The divine stomach, having waited too long, too was begging for some feed. Without waiting for the master’s consent, the mount too nodded his head in appreciation.
The food was so enjoyable that Yama went for a short nap soon after eating. The mount too followed suit.
When Yamaji woke up, it was time for Seshu for the evening Sandhya.
“Shall I perform my evening prayers too? The Sun god is about to go down the hills. He is your respected pitashree, father, whom I worship thrice a day, without a break”
”Who worships my dad after the invention of a/cs?,” Yamaji mused and raised his hands up respectfully looking through window at the setting Sun.
There was an SMS from the Heaven threatening that Yama would lose his chair if not returned to his work immediately..
“Your main interest seems to be eating and sleeping and not lifting the stock”. The next line was in block letters– “A replacement Yama is awaiting at the gate with a brand new mount”. The message was crisp but alarming.
Yama woke up his mount and got ready to depart.
“I won’t take much time” Seshu assured, before commencing his prayers.
“Take your own time -avasaramae illai” Yama assured and swept from there.
While at the exit door, the Brahmin woman, respectfully mentioned, “Elai adai is the item for the evening snack”.
“Ah, Elai adai! When did I have it last !” He had half a mind to stay back and enjoy his favorite dish. In a corner of his mind appeared his dear mother, downloading a fresh stock of elaiadai. The aroma of the cooked plantain leaf amalgamated with the mix of jack fruit paste and other ingredients expanded Yama’s nostril diameters. ‘Damn with my chair! let me enjoy the elai adai,” Yamaji thought for a moment when the cell rang its final death alarm: “Count down started, one..”
Before the count ‘two’, Yama’s proverbially slow motion mount had reached the portal of the upper world from where the warnings were issued.
“Are you my black, stupid slow-motion water buffalo or the mufti-headed magic, white divine horse of the heavens?”, wondered Yamaji, looking proudly at his mount. He was about to wag his tail but withdrew, suddenly remembering that he was no more on the earth.
The attraction of power and chair was stronger than that of Mrs. Seshu’s elai adai.
The thought of Seshu sent a shiver through Yamaji’s veins.
”Dull-headed demon,” he cursed his mount,”you mortgaged your duty for a morsel of food”
The mount wanted to pierce the tummy of his master for throwing the blame on him, but controlled his anger realizing that he is not the only black animal in the world and his master could even chose a white buffalo which are available now  in the market now.
“‘Shall I go back and get him?” enquired the obedient animal, controlling his anger. Yamaji thought for a moment about the simple-minded, Seshumama and his service-minded wife. He looked at the mount whose tongue was  protruding and whispered in a jovial tone, “you black fellow, wants to go back and gulp elaiadai alone?”
“Avasaramae illai- not at all in a hurry,” He told the mount in a firm voice. The mount, appreciating the friendly whisper of his master was about to wag his tail, but instantly remembering that he was not a dog, moved his head and added, “avasaramae illai- not at all in a hurry.

Thathukkothooppan
————————
“You know cooking?”
“Somewhat. Shall learn more from you, when I become your friend’s daughter in law”
“Smart girl. You guessed, just seeing my face that I am a culinary expert”
“Not seeing your face uncle. Hearing your question. You didn’t have any thing better to ask a prospective bride”
“Our RAMU is a gentle man to core. He hasn’t, so far, looked at the face of a woman other than his mom and sisters”
“And me, uncle”
“Wonder how?”
“We are friends for the past two years”
“Then why all this thamasha of meeting with the girl etc, before marriage?”
“Raju’s parents are unaware of our relationship”
“Relationship? Don’t say that you are already married!”
“I have to, uncle. We have a two year old child”
“Shiva, Shiva! I quit. Why did Subbu ask me to join him for this visit?”
“He didn’t uncle. You volunteered”
“You seems to know everything through Ramu. I’m quitting . Before leaving, let me ask you one more question. You know preparation Paruppu kanji”
“No uncle. I can prepare Thathukkothooppan”
“What on earth is this?. I’m hearing that name for the first time”
“A Thai special. Ramu loves it”
“Ok. You carry on. I have some work in the next street”
“Will you come back soon uncle?”
“For what?”
“To taste my Thathukkothooppan ”
 
 

 
I like pet animals, not in my house.
“Why don’t you have a pet dog to give you company?”
,
A friend asked me some time ago, when I was in my home at Hyderabad. I showed him my iPad and told him,” No other friend is needed when
I have this with me”
That was a mistake, I realized this morning. It is not always safe to depend on electronic gadgets alone for company
Soon after I get up every morning, I open the main door and worship the Divine Lamp in the Sky, mostly silently with folded hands and at times with a Sanskrit prayer. It was raining this morning in our colony in New Jersey and the Sun was entering the sky with an umbrella. I could not therefore see the face of the self Luminary.  Still, I did my prayers.
For a few minutes I worked on my iPad . Suddenly, a cat sprang from nowhere and attacked me, concentrating its eyes on my right hand. A woman could pounce on me; a dog could pounce on me but not a cat! That was my understanding but I was wrong.
Having failed in my attempts to push the ferocious four-legged back, I sought the help of my daughter in law, a lover of cats, puppies and squirrels and also my son.
I never doubt the efficiency of my daughters in law, having seen from close quarters the way they manage their hubbies, who were my sons, before they became their husbands. Anjana pushed the cat with one hand, pulled my right hand and pressed my index finger on the nose of the little unfriendly animal.
You will not believe, the cat went back, throwing an unpleasant look at me.
“Appa, you were using your fingers for copy/ paste in the iPad. The cat mistook your hand for a mouse and attacked. It is not a big issue”
Even for a short period, even partially we should not become animals, big or small.
But, is that possible?
No man can rise to the height of Shri Rama or Shri Krishna but every human is a Narasimha, half man and half lion. Depending on the basic nature and circumstances, he may turn half man and half horse, crocodile, pig, mouse, cow or cat or any other animal form, in the half portion of the body and mind. He might even turn to almost complete animal with minimum element of human hood in him.
A very few men at some moment or other, might reach very close to the zenith of human hood, but none become a perfect human.
In the rare event of a human becoming a perfect human being in all respects, he becomes a part of the Divinity

 
Sometimes, we can do nothing but wait. Depending on the result anticipated, that wait becomes joyful, fearful or suspense – soaked. The result could also be much against our anticipation, as it happened in my case when I sent a love letter to my girl friend (not now, as I have become wiser, but long ago when I was a boy!).
Within a few seconds after the letter was handed over by my courier, neighbor Appukuttan of 4th standard, I cursed, myself, ” che, is this the way to write a letter to a lover? Is there in it a single poetic flow or a flower of flattery? ”
I wanted to re-write it.
“Monae, get that letter back,” I requested Appukuttan, ‘‘run like a hare”. He did that. Ran like a hare and reached the destination within half a minute. My heart was playing idakka.  Idakka, as you know, is a small drum used in Guruvayoor and other Sree Krishna temples, generating melodious soft beats, sweet to the ears. Had I any doubt in my mind that my girlfriend (for convenience sake, let us call her Ammu), would shout at the courier, my heart would have been beating like a chendai. You know chendai, again is a percussion instrument, pounded left and right with hard sticks, produces big sounds.
Anyway, when Appukuttan approached, Ammu was making dosai on a kummutty.  Kummutty again, as you know, is a small coal-oven, used in olden days, to provide uniform heat, as is required in dosai preparation.
“Chetchi, chettan wants that letter back”, submitted my little friend.
“Which letter?” asked the innocent girl, wide-opening her small mouth and big eyes. Her mouth was small then but would have become large later).
”That paper I gave you a short while ago” clarified the innocent messenger.
“Oh, I used it for wiping the dosakal” replied the girl with small mouth and big eyes. Dosakal again, as you know, is the iron tawa or thick plate on which the dosai is made.
We didn’t have non-sticking griddles those days for making dosai. The iron pans, preferably thick ones as those from Chenkottai were considered to be the ideal ones, because of their higher heat-retaining capacity.
I don’t know whether Ammu was using a Chenkotttai pan or some ordinary brand. But that matters little. She didn’t have a non-sticking one.
Were non-sticking pans available then, she would have given back my letter and I would have poured all my skills to ornament it.
As you know, certain things are not in our hands.
 
 

—
 

“Observe your body”- I was giving my co-traveler in the Chennai mail, an unsolicited advice, a practice which I have been following from the day I became eligible for concessional travel in Indian Railways.
”What is there to observe?” he protested as I expected and added sarcasm -smeared commentary, “I know about my body, from head to toe and in fact, that is the first thing I learned when I started learning!”
“How intelligently he talks!” His wife, sitting close to him, opposite to my seat, admired. Husbands are lucky, some at least.
Their two children, Appu and Ammu, probably between 8 and 12, turned their attention towards their mother, perhaps wondering why that unusual gesture to dad, from their mom. The granny, who was reading a Tamil magazine, lifted her head and looked surprisingly at her daughter in law. Mothers know their daughters better than you and me.
As far as intelligence is considered, I never admit my IQ was ever low, even before I became a ‘senior citizen’ and  when I crossed that barrier, I realized that my intelligence was in full bloom, competing with  my belly. Therefore, I stuck to my message, as I do invariably, when my statements are challenged.
“We all, generally, look at our body and not observe it. It pays enormously, if We  take the trouble of ‘observing’ our body and look for any abnormal growth, bend of fingers, swelling, rashes, itches, dots,  moles, dents and so on. ”
Assertive words always carry weight. Those near my seat, except the kids and the elderly lady, started self search keenly, looking for any growth, bend etc, since they left their house, an hour or two before.
Looking authoritatively at the audience, I continued, “is there any variation in the shape of your eyes, lips? Please hear carefully: If there is a tumor in the brain, there could be a slight deviation in your eyes and for a woman who put dots on her forehead; she might miss the center of the forehead. That is a warning not to be neglected.”
Assertive words always carry weight, I repeat. You may wonder why I should do that. Anyway, the old lady, kept aside her book, turned towards her daughter in law, raising her eyebrows which made the eye glass frame too to rise and queried in a hurry,
“In which bag did you, the queen of carelessness, insert my hand-mirror?”
“Ask your son, ma,” the queen responded calmly, “who else has the habit of meddling with others bags?”
I had no time to waste on such petty issues.
“Any new development should be looked into and consultation done with a physician”, I paused for a minute to enjoy a chew from my betel-leaf casket and continued, ” are your steps steady? Is your waste-discharge proper? Does your digestive system crave for more food and too often and does your bladder hurry to expel the fluid-stock? If you have any of these symptoms, better consult a doctor.”
My co-passengers were now convinced that my words deserved better attention.
“The front-center portion of your body has a tendency to show its importance, by bulging, if you continue to intake starchy food and don’t burn the extra calories, by physical exercise.  Once the belly bloats, it doesn’t shrink like a balloon, which has only air to lose “.
Now, the children who were ignoring me for some time, laughed.
“How funny if the belly bursts like a balloon?” commented Ammu. “Can I give you a punch and see how it bursts, thatha? ” Appu approached me with a folded fist. Her parents and the granny, who was still searching for the hand mirror, enjoyed the children’s prank. I continued:
“Keep a watch for similar abnormalities in other members of your family too. And also note their behavioral changes. If your kitchen reverberates too often with the noise of the vessels dropped by your wife, it may be a sign of protest at your receiving too many calls from your woman assistant or to draw your attention to your stinginess in pruning her shopping list”.
The young lady nodded her head in approval, the old one stared at me and the husband laughed ‘ha,ha’ but stopped suddenly when his wife sternly looked at him. I turned to her as she appeared to be in a mood to hear more.
” If your husband yells, searching for his misplaced eye-glasses or mobile phone and that too often, better borrow a blood pressure apparatus or inquire from his colleagues, whether his boss quarrels with his wife too often. When your son or daughter grows up, if they condemn our traditional ways as outdated, waste and worthless,  too loudly, be prepared to face a cyclonic storm soon at home; your offspring has chosen the life partner from a different caste or religion.. For every action, there is a cause, whether there is a cure or not”.
Now the elders became more attentive, while the children continued to play.” I can’t imagine Ramu, standing before me holding the hand of a girl with no ‘pottu’ on her forehead but holding the framed picture of Yesu ( Jesus Christ), her eyes searching an ideal place on the wall to install the picture in her hand.” lamented the young lady. Suddenly, she gazed at the old woman and raising her voice to a limited level, being aware that she was not at her kitchen said, “your son almost did something like that, before our wedding and if you are under the impression that I am unaware of his adventure, you are wrong, Amma.” The old lady neglected the rebuke, her son tried to laugh ‘ha,ha’ but instantly stopped fearing  the stern look of his wife. The children were least concerned.
“And observe what is happening in your neighborhood, society, town, state, country and beyond that. Any tremor anywhere in the world could shake your bed.” I warned.
“And throw you out,” commented a youngster, who intruded from the next bay. “Should we not observe the other planets too, uncle?” he questioned me with a smile, sarcasm writ large on his face.
” There you are, young man!” cleverly blotting out my anger to slap him, I said, ” yes we should; that was why your dad, carrying a bunch of horoscopes approached an astrologer, to find out whether any planet would throw you and the girl you are  about to marry, out of the bed you would  share with her.”
“Oh, are you an astrologer too, uncle?” The young blood could not control its surge, ‘how did you know that my dad went to consult an astrologer?”
Now I could afford to ignore him.
“The most difficult task is to keep your mind under constant observation.” I continued.
“Controlling the entry of unwanted guests into your big house is much easier than regulating the invasion of unwanted, unhealthy, unproductive thoughts into your mind.”
“The thoughts about my girl friend can’t be unwanted as I welcome those, can’t be unhealthy as my health improves by those and can’t be unproductive as my happiness improves when I think about those.” quipped the youngster, obviously angry at my not acknowledging his accepting me.
” I welcome that statement and appreciate your courage, though–” I paused.
“Though?” inquired the youngster.
“Wonder why you didn’t include the horoscope of that girl friend, in the bunch carried by your dad”
“Uncle you are simply great!” The youngster could not contain his esteem for me. He came closer to me and hugged.
That bonhomie didn’t last long.
“Thatha, one stone is missing from your kadukkan, ear-top!” remarked Appu, pointing his finger towards my left ear.
“Uncle failed to observe that” commented the youngster from the next bay.
“Foolish young man!” I raised my voice and challenged him.” My eyes can’t see my eyes, my eyes can’t see my ears, my eyes, though most prominent in my face, can’t see my face. Can your eyes see your eyes, ears and face? Why that lapse in the creation? Why did not the creator make a provision to turn our head one full round, by 360 degrees?  Ravana had ten heads; those could sprout again if sliced but even one head would not turn around. Why, why?”. Words were outpouring like arrows and the youngster from the next bay raised his eyebrow perhaps, wondering how the 360 degree turn of the neck was related to the drop of a stone from my kadukkan.
My Creator obviously didn’t appreciate my charge.
“Thatha, your shirt buttons are unaligned with the loops!” The Creator made Appu to point out another lapse in my observation.
”This hand mirror might help you to realign the buttons.” the old lady, who had successfully retrieved the mirror from her own hand bag, extended it, smiling through the corner of her mouth.
“The shirt buttons are not at uncle’s back and his eyes can certainly observe them, without turning his neck 360 degrees,” commented the daughter in law.
”How intelligently you talk!” her husband returned the compliment.
My face shrunk. Appu was sad to see that. His face too shrunk.
” Don’t worry thatha.” Ammu consoled and sat close to me. “I will realign the buttons.”  She did that when I hugged her close to my chest.
——