My short stay under the wrap of the Baltimore winter, though in its waning phase, had dampened my spirit, despite the warmth of affection showered on me by eldest son and his family. I was, therefore, moving towards my daughter’s house in Ocala, Florida to seek solace under the solar sky.
Soon after I came out of the Tampa airport, sighed in relief, ‘ah, what a bright son! ‘. It was so refreshing to see the bright sun. For a moment I thought that I was back in Hyderabad. What a difference the climate, like your wife, can make on your mood, thoughts, life and longevity!
While walking towards the car, led by my alludu (son-in-law, in Telugu), I paused for a moment to enjoy the sunlight.
‘You are excited like a school child hearing the evening bell,’ comments Vuday, opening the door for me.
‘Look at those tall, green trees, moving behind us on both the sides of this broad, well -laid road,’ I tell Vuday while we were moving forward. ‘I feel sorry for those cherry and maple trees in Baltimore, deprived of their rich wealth of foliage, by the winter’
‘Why worry about it,’ he asks ‘season’s impact are to be endured and according to the nature of the trees and power of resistance they shine or shiver’
‘Seems to be in a pensive mood, Uncle’, Vuday remarks, turning to me, while reducing the speed of the vehicle to 65 mph.
“Along with those tall trees rushing back, my thoughts too fly back to my childhood and surge around playmate Kamu. I answer without moving my eyes away from the palm trees on the road side. ‘I don’t know whether it is the thought of the fading foliage in Baltimore or the sight of the sportive trees here, which kindles her memory now”
‘Juvenile relationship,’ Vuday wonders with the anxiety of a child, ‘ I am ready to hear your love story.’
‘I was only ten or eleven then, when Kamu’s family moved to Kalpathy, close to my uncle’s house, which I used to visit often. I lived in the small town in the opposite bank but had to pass through the village to reach my high school and later my college. Kamu’s father was in business, mother worked as a teacher and Kamu was their only daughter. I liked that naughty girl, always laughing for nothing, bright, long, lovely bewitching eyes true to her name Kamakshi. We used to play together in the evening hours either in the backyard of her our house where the river was flowing or in the open land before the Kasi Viswanatha swamy temple’
‘She didn’t go to school?’
‘She did, till the tenth standard. Her parents were not inclined to send her for higher education.
‘Kamu was an ultra sensitive girl, used to get scared when two dogs or cats fought on the street. She used to close her eyes with her palms when a cart -man cracked his whip to control the bullock or horse and her ears when her parents scolded her.
I was sharing the waning sun- rays along with her on the bank of the Kalpathy River when she noticed a fish struggling from the fishing rod held by a boy on the opposite bank.
‘’It is dying, it is dying!,’ She screamed, jumped into the waters, pulled the rod from the hands of the boy and threw it into the flowing river. Both of us shot towards the village to escape from the wrath of the kin of the boy, who were bound to chase us’
‘I didn’t sleep last night,’ Kamu told me the next morning, ‘ the fishing rod and the struggling fish were dangling before my eyes’
‘One evening, she had almost finished her bath, while I was getting down the granite steps of the river for a wash. She mentioned casually that her marriage was fixed with a boy from a far away village.
“Do you like him?’
“My parents liked,’ she said and disappeared with the bundle of washed clothes.
That was the last I saw her. I could not attend her wedding. After a few days, she left for her husband’s place in Thanjavur and soon after, I left for Hyderabad to work.
A couple of years later someone told me how the thunderbolts of tragedy struck her life one after the other. Her husband, after gifting her progeny, died in an accident. Her mother-in-law lost her eyesight due to an epidemic of smallpox and soon after, her father in law had a stroke which made him immobile. The responsibility of looking after the invalid old couple and raising the child fell on her shoulders.
Time passed by, as it happens always. I did make some attempts to trace her but did not succeed.
‘It was an everlasting winter for her, Vuday,’ I commented removing my eye glasses and placing it back.
‘It might have been a prolonged winter, not ever lasting,’ my ever- optimistic son-in-law said, ‘her son would have brought real sun light into her life’
‘I really wish so. Anyway, the best part of her life was ruined’
Aparna , my daughter and grand kids, Raagahav and Divyaa were waiting at the gate to receive me . While hugging them close to my chest, there was a lingering pain inside me since the thought on the misfortune of my childhood friend was still churning the inner peace vigorously.
I could not but tell the story to my daughter before going to bed.
‘Appa, sleep well,’ she consoled me, ‘ every one of us is sent to this world with a purpose’
She might be right; but I had a disturbed sleep.
Recently, while coming out of the Indian Society hall in Ocala after attending the Ugadi celebration, Alludu introduced me to a physician friend of him who invited us for dinner in his house the next day.
Seeing the photos of the musical trinities on the wall, I asked, Sekhar, our host, about his interest in music. ‘My wife sings; she is from Kalpathy’
‘In Kalpathy, every child comes out of the womb of its mother singing a swara or beating a thala And you are from?’
‘Thanjavur; you would have visited our town’
‘Yes, I love that place. My first visit was in search of a childhood friend of mine, in a village called Kapisthalam in Papnasam district’
‘I am from Kapisthalam, though my family shifted to Madras, when I was a kid’
It did not take long to learn that Sekhar was Kamu’s foster child. My face beamed, eyes sparkled and sharpening my ears, I sat closer to him to know about Kamu’s life history.
‘kamu Chithy was our neighbor in Kapisthalam and she used to help my mother in her household work,’ Sekhar continued.
‘My mom, I was told, delivered me on to her hands as chithy was the only person available for help when I was born at midnight.
Raghu, chithy’s son died when he was hardly five and within a couple of months, her in laws also passed away. She was alone. Acceding to my parents’ request chithy joined our family and we shifted to Madras. I was five years old then.
‘Within a few months after shifting to Madras, while returning from a relative’s house, a turbulent , speeding lorry knocked down and killed my parents . I escaped unhurt as chithy pushed me aside. Then on, she was my, father, mother, care taker, guide and living God.
‘Some money was available for my studies and day to day expenses but she had to struggle to augment the resources especially when my higher education started. As a caterer initially, then as a teacher and Insurance agent and then as a dress designer and in many roles she earned enough money to provide me professional education and then for my foreign trip and studies abroad. Words are inadequate to talk about the sacrifice she made for my uplift.
It was a real saga , a great yagna of self sacrifice of a single woman which brought me to this peak in life.
‘Chithy had no wants, no desires, and no aspiration except my welfare. She hardly thought about her. She was always seen with a genuine smile on her face. She laughed often, sometime loudly. With so many burdens on her shoulders and so deep in problems, how could chithy remain happy always, I used to wonder. ‘How is it possible, chithy ? I asked her once, ‘for you to smile so child-like and laugh like a mad one?’
‘Those are available free of cost, available with in and I need not step out to buy them. Then, where is the problem?’
Her last wish was to have a dip in the Kalpathy river, walk around the village, touch Siva’s chariot once, recline on the river bed for some time and pick up some pebbles from the river bed. The smell of the soil was inviting her.
Last year, around this time, I took her to her village. She roamed around like a kid, smiling and talking to every known and unknown woman met on the streets. Threw and cracked a few coconuts as offering and wept for a few minutes before the Chathapuram Ganapathy ; went down the steps to touch the tail of the elephant which was tied to a tree on the river bed, relaxed there for some time, walked along the river side, spent an hour looking at the Western Ghats, jumped into the river, drank palm-cup full of water several time, washed her sari beating it on the granite step producing loud sound, swam for a while, climbed the steps up and worshiped at the Viswantha temple for an hour. She would have perhaps rolled on the soil, which gave her birth and raised her, had she been alone.
‘Okkaruda kanna’. She sat on the sand floor before the temple and asked me to sit close to her.
‘The sun is about to set,’ Chithy said looking at the sinking disk in the western sky. “If I die here, immerse my ashes in the waters flowing below and that is the place where the last rites are to be performed” . She showed me the appropriate place in the temple premises.
“What happened to you chithy?” I was shocked, “you never used to talk like this!”
“chumma chonnainda madaya – I was just joking” . She made some sound and it was unclear whether she was weeping or laughing. Then she slowly, got up holding my hand, turned towards the temple to have a last look at the sanctum.
In Kalpathy, the Viswanatha temple is at a level lower than the village ground and steps are there to go up or down. The river flows further down and again steps are there to go down, from the temple. While climbing the steps to reach the village, holding my hand, chithy said that she wanted to touch the chariot which was parked on the ground above. But before reaching the ground level, she collapsed on the granite steps. Her pulse was becoming weak and she was sweating profusely. I knew that it was a massive heart attack and her end was imminent. I collected her on my hands, took her near the chariot and pulled her right hand towards the divine mount. My eyes were swollen and watery by then and therefore do not remember now whether her hands could really reach the chariot or not.
But I am confident that her soul would have reached the great Occupant of it. Because, He was with her and within her always, available to her free of cost and she had no need to step out to possess Him.’ Sekhar got up from his seat and moved towards the wash basin.
Unwilling to reveal my facial expression in front of others, I too moved towards the window, picked up the paper tissue from the hands of my daughter who had silently followed me and pressed it close to my eyes.
“I will come for dinner another evening, Sekhar. You and Shyamala should excuse me,’ I told the hosts and was about to move towards the car, when Sekhar held my hand. ‘Uncle, you should always smile like your childhood friend; come and eat whatever you can. An ever green tree she was, unaffected by the onslaught of the summer or winter’
‘And appa,’ my daughter added, ‘remember what I said last night- everyone is sent into this world with a purpose.’
I never question the wisdom or words of my children.
Ocala,Florida
April 13,2011
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Comments
Respected Siva Mama,
Excellent and wonderful piece of write up … torn out of somebody inner core of the heart! when I finished reading, I had developed a lump in my throat and my vision a bit blurred and they were wet!
Thanks …. Small things they may seem, but they mean a lot! Please keep writing.
Best Regards
Radhakrishnan, Al-Khobar, Saudi Arabia
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Dear Siva Anna
What a touching real time life story. My eyes filled with tears and could not control their fall on my cheeks……. reading about Kamakshi and the tragedies that she meted out………………
Extremely saddened about her and once again proved that the world is small where you come across people that you thought will never ever. Mr. Sekhar is truly sent by God to calm your memories that are rekindling you about your childhood friend or sweet heart Kamu.
Take care……. Happy Vishu.
Shanti
Dear Kamu’s lucky friend,
The tale you just narrated so well was not only poignant but should stir the hornet’s nest in every soul.A similar tale, well written by M K Indira “Phaniamma” in Kannada was as absorbing and I think kamakshi was either related to the novelist(she happens to be Mysore Iyer) because it is hard to think kamu as a fictional character. That you were bestowed by her friendship platonically, gives me an urge to visit Kalpathy with you and Meena and perhaps film those places and just add the character of Kamu and you would have made an epic. Very well narrated and the dialogue with Vuday and chance meeting with Shekar comes once in one’s lifetime. Preserve the tale to posterity.
Prasanna
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Mahadevan Venkitasubbaiyer
April 17, 2011
What a poignant story ! I wish Shri Sivasubamanian had met the physician earlier or that the doctor had brought his “Chitthi” to Florida for a visit and perhaps Shri Sivasubramanian could have met his childhood sweet heart.
“Our Sweetest songs are those that tell us of
Saddest thoughts”.How prophetic Shelley’s words were!I agree with Shri Sivasubamanian’s daughter that every body is sent with a purpose. Sometimes even to complete an unfulfilled task of the earlier birth.From the flow of words I could gauge the intensity of the feelings. This real life story would remain long in the minds of those with poetic sensibilities.
V.Mahadevan
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[email protected]
15 April 2011
Dear Sri Perinkulam Sivasubramanian Maama:
Namaskaram.
This mail of yours literally made me sob and cry aloud. To be burdened with an aged imbecile in-laws, a child, and herself a young widow, my goodness, after all how much sorrow can a human heart endure!! ? But your Kamakshi, she endured it all. She had a wonderful death. I pray for her to have a happier birth full of wealth, health and prosperity, and a satisfying one. May her childhood love (I am sure she must have had you in her heart before she was married) fructify then.
Maama, I can understand your feelings. You must be a great soul to have such sublime endearing thoughts after so many years spread over continents. It must be a privilege to be even acquainted with you!
With best regards,
Affectionately yours,
Raju
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Dear Sri.Perinkulam Sivasubramanian,Very well narrated.In fact i too was looking for a napkin to cover my moist eyes the moment i had finished reading the mail.
Keep it up SIR :
With Warm Regards,
S R Iyer
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Regarding such a poignant narration early in the morning, makes my eyes misty. I can empathise with you for your feelings.
regards
saikrishnan-
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Sir,
The message made me to weep. wonderful anecdote.
From
swaminathan
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sir
Story of Kamu is really touching. Most of us have some one in our younger life. I too had some one and miss that friend even now, wwhen I am 65.
I could not slee3p after reading Kamu story. I wish I am there with you to console you.
namaskarams
Veeraswami V
Chennai
Home: +91 44 24934730
Mobile: +91 9962 117 843
[email protected]
Dear Sir,
I am touched by the story of Kamu. Needless to mention, there might have many Kamus in this world living just for others’ sake. They might die, but their souls live ever for generations to come!
Regards,
N Raghupathy, D6/14, Kendriya Vihar, Yelahanka, Bangalore 560064; Tel: 22930014 / (M) 9844172976
Date: Sun, 17 Apr 2011 10:25:08 +0530
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: [Iyer123] Kamu, my childhood friend
To: [email protected]
Dear SIR,
I am a great FAN or your’s and I read all ur WIRTE UPS More than once and I enjoy it.
Just yesterday I was very much moved after reading ur write up on MADAM KAMU and tears in ur eyes at this age.
Really Sir you are a nice and noble person and I pray that the Almighty give you a very long healthy life and always be happy with your SON,DAUGHTER AND THEIR FAMILIES.
The summary of my life so far ( AGED 59.5 now )nearing the grave,is
EVERYONE NEEDS ME BUT NO ONE LIKES ME
but still I continue moving the same way with everyone and continue to think good of everyone friend or foe because as your Daughter says
EVERYONE IS SENT WITH A PURPOSE.
MY Namaskarams to you SIR, and wishes to all in your FAMILY.
A5 Ramani
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VEERARAGHAVAN <[email protected]
–
Interesting and a moving story!
Thank you sperinkulam.
Pulacode Veera
ashok k <[email protected]
Dear Mama
Pranams to you ,Kamu chiti and ofcourse to your Daughter and son in law who were their to support u .
It is very much true every person in the world would have a balya kala sakhi which they cant forget in their life till the last breath the luckier together and the destined away,
but its truth that definitely they will meet in their life time again before their last breath like in your case in the form of shekar .
Thanks for sharing your experience
Regards
A k Iyer
jai ramnath <[email protected]>
Dear Mama
A truly gut wrenching story – destiny, unwavering purpose & simplicity, all intertwined to deliver a simple yet strong message in todays turbulent times where in pursuit of temporary & meaningless goals, most of us lose the essence of Living a simple yet effective life
I am sure that the story has touched a nerve among all readers, meaning different things for different people, remembering an incident, a distant relative, another simple soul whom we have all known in our lives and most important – a strong message on ancient values that we need to pass on . . .
Best,
Jai Ganesh Ramnath
Chennai
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arkm
[email protected]
DEAR APPUGARU:
I JUST WENT THROUGH YR SERIAL -NAY REAL STORY OF SOW.KAMAKSHI, YOUR CHILDHOOD FRIEND, ADHEREVERLASTING MISERIES, BUT EVER SMILING FACE.I WAS REALLY MOVED FOR A WHILE BUT WHEN I READ THE OORUKAIPADAM OF YOUR BELOVED DAUGHTER, “EVERYONE ISSENTTO THIS WORLD WITH APUPOSE” I COULD CONTROL MYFEELINGS,SILENTLY WIPNG MY TEARSWITHOUT THE KNOWLEDGE OFMYBELOVED DAUGHTER INLAW WHO WAS BUSYIN THE KITCHEN MAKING SOME DINNER.
MY HUMBLE REQUEST TO YOU WITH FOLDED HANDS PLEASE CONTINUE WRITING SUCH ARTICLES.IT WAS VERY INTERESTNG, INFORMATIVE AND OFCOURSE A BIT TOCHING, B/COZ UR TAKING THE CHARACTERS TO THE VERY FRONT OF THEREADER. MAYGOD GURUVAURAPPAN BLESS YOU WITH SUCH BRILLIANT IDEAS TO KEEP THE READERS HAPPY.
BEST REGARDS,
KRISHAMURTHY
Krishnamoorthy Pazhayanur Shivaram <[email protected]>
Sir,
I am also as old as you are now.
The childhood friend’s story is very touching and tears were rolling down my eyes
as I was reading the final return of your friend Kamu to Kalpathy.
This has taken me back to my own younger days in Pazhayanur where I had the
same experience and now lost forever.
Words fail me to write further, sorry
P.S.Krishnamoorthy
Dear SP,
I read your post “Kamu, my childhood friend”.What a real life story.
It brought tears to my eyes.Many helpless women would have given
up after such successive disasters in their life and languished their life
in self pity and depression.But Kamu chose to adopt a neighbor’s child
and made her life meaningful.I salute this courageous woman.
Thanks for this post.
Sitaraman Balachandran
Natraj from Canada
To [email protected]
Hi Siva,
ou must be enjoying the Florida sunshine and your flare of the Englishlanguage is outstanding indeed. Every wordin your recent writing email was excelent and if Shakesphere was here
he would have prostrated in your “Padam” I like it very much.
So here is how I satart my day:
OH GOD THOUGH ART THE GIVER OF LIFE
REMOVER OF PAIN AND SORROW
THE BESTOWER OF HAPPINESS
OH CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE
MAY WE RECEIVE THEY SIN DESTROYING LIGHT
MAY THOU GUIDE OUR INTELLECT
IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION
ATHEIST’S PLEADING TO THE UNKNOWN POWER OF THE UNIVRSE.
ENJOY FLORIDA. WHEN R U LEAVING FOR INDIA? WHEN U RETURN DONT FORGET THE MAHANI KIZHANGU PICKLE.
BLESSINGS ALWAYS
NATRAJAN
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Dear Shri Siva Subramanian Perinkulam,
That was one of the most touching write-ups I have ever come across. The goodness and determination in the hearts of many unsung heroes is often not known to us and the life of Ms. Kamu hold valuable lessons for all of us. She is truly a great inspiration. Thank you for sharing this tale of courage and sacrifice with us.
Incidentally, my father-in-law Shri Perinkulam Ramaier Subramania Iyer carries the name of your village. He migrated to Ceylon in the 1930s and died there in 1983. I marriied his 3rd daughter Lalitha. My father (Lakshminarayanapuran Narayanaier Krishnamurthy) also went to Ceylon from Lakshminarayanapuram in the 1920s. He too passed away in 1995 in Colombo. My father and my father-in-law were life-long friends. I have heard so much about Palghat from both of them. Although we lived in Colombo we used to make regular trips to Tamil Nadu and Kerala. I now live in Sydney, Australia.
With respectful namsakarams and fond regards.
Sincerely,
Ramanathan
Tag: 1 — SHORT STORIES
A lazy fly on a life- less face
My friend’s father, an old man of irrefutable knowledge, irresistible dynamism and irritating arrogance passed away yesterday and I had been to his house for condolence.
‘To his house?’ I hear you asking. V‘How could he own the house when he doesn’t now even have a body of his own and is it possible for a soul which has left the body to own a property in this world?’.
Give me some time to think hmm, I think I was right. Won’t his sons shortly say, ‘let us share our father’s house?’ So the house now is his and will continue to be so till the property changes hands. ‘Changing hands? How, on earth can it happen when the old man’s hands will turn into ashes which will be swept by the waters of the Krishna or the Godavari river in a matter of hours?’ You ask again. Too many inconvenient questions!
How inhuman am I! I have come here to share the grief of my friend and his family and convey my condolence to them, accompany them to the cremation ground or go back home and attend to my routine, if going back home to watch the cricket match is more important than accompanying a family friend in his last journey . What I am actually doing is watching the movement of every one assembled here and note their facial expression. I have no business to count the number of cell-phone calls the purohit attends while reciting the mantras or look deep into the eyes of the wife of the deceased to see whether there is a shade of happiness in her deliverance from the decades-old relationship with a tough man. Shame on me; I should behave fitting to my age. Wait a minute. The old man’s daughter-in-law comes from inside, looks at me for a moment and instantly breaks down and sobs, intermittently praising her father –in-law’s great humanitarian aspects. She would have had a prolonged crying session at my presence but for the kindness shown to us by a relative who wanted her presence inside the house. But before parting, she calls me aside and remarks, “remember what he said last evening. He would never give a pie for my children as I am from a different caste. Now his entire property is ours!”
The word ‘caste’ catches my attention and I discontinue the call on my cell phone enquiring the latest cricket score. Is there a caste-wise allotment of space in the place where he is now leaving for, or all the divisions last only up to the gate of Death?
An understandable gloom has set in the whole surroundings and almost all adults including me sit or stand keeping our head down, remain silent mostly and talk in a soft tone occasionally. “Only the kids have taken the death lightly. What is there to worry about death?” I muse observing the merrily playing children around the dead body. The words of wisdom from God Krishna as revealed in the Gita, throng my little brain and I try to impart my knowledge to a lady sitting close to me reading a magazine on fun and fashion. I add approving her action. “You have conquered death. What is there to worry over it?”
Hei, wait a minute. A lazy fly is hovering over the life-less face and hesitantly sitting on the right ear of the dead man, the opening of which is plugged with a cotton wool. I am sad that the six-footer with a steel-like frame, who was a terror till a few moments ago, is lying helplessly tolerating the nuisance of the irritant insect. Someone, by waving a sheet of paper across the face, is trying to ward off the nuisance of the intruder. ‘Nuisance?’ –how? Is the old man affected by the unwanted, untimely attack of the insect and why so much consideration for a body which is to be placed on a platform to be swallowed by the fiery tongues of fire? Now a VIP, gets down from a Government jeep and places a garland on the dead body and I am not able to control my amusement. But, it has served one purpose. The fly flew away. Flies need only blood and trash. What will they do with flowers? Only bees need them.
“Fool, the garland is placed as a mark of respect to the good acts of the old man” An explanation appears in another corner of the mind. My doubt doesn’t get dispelled. Were the good acts performed by the body or soul? If by the body, it should have accepted the honor and asked the official why there was no shawl and cash pocket. It didn’t do that. Then, why this tamasha?
The damn fly is now turning towards me and alas, sitting on my nose. Suddenly, I realize that it is me who is actually lying on the straw bed and not my friend’s father, the old man of irrefutable knowledge, irresistible dynamism and irritating arrogance. My spiritual thoughts on the insignificance of death vaporize and my only anxiety is to make sure that I am not a dead body. I wipe my face to ensure that that there is no blood stain or trash on my face and slap on my chin to announce to the people around that I can, on my own get rid of the insect and need no help from others. I pull the small copper vessel containing the water of holy Ganges from the hands of the Purohit and throw it at his face after making sure that no fly sits on his face. I now see the VIP accompanied by an armed guard approaching me with a garland in his hand and I grab it and throw it at his neck after I am convinced that there is no fly sitting on his face. I remove the ties on my hand and legs and run towards my car but I have no patience to open the door and therefore jog, hop and run towards my house which is in the next street. It is locked. I am completely exhausted and stretch my legs on the mini platform of the well. I look at the water down inside the well and see my own face with a fly on it. I try to escape from there when Ammalu comes from the opposite house and asks me not to enter through the main door but to sit near the side door. “I will pour a bucket of water over your head to purify your body” She says.
While Ammalu pours pots after pots of cold water on my head, I feel that I am an innocent baby on my mother’s lap, coated with a mild oil, enjoying a warm water bath and not my friend’s father, an old man of irrefutable knowledge, irresistible dynamism, lying dead unable to ward off an insect attacking his face.
“I am alive, I am alive” I say rather loudly.
“What do you mean?” Asks Ammalu. How will she know the joy of a just-escaped from the jaws of Death?
“You are the most charming woman in the world” I answer with a naughty smile.
She knows that it is not all that true. Still, she smiles approvingly.
Hyderabad,
14 December, 2010
AMMALU IS ALWAYS RIGHT –
The dawn broke over the hills auspiciously on the day I left for US. Ammalu’s prayer before hitting her bed the previous night, was not in vain. ‘Nalekku kannai thorkkarathe nallatu kananame, Krishna!” –“Only auspicious things should I see when I open eyes, tomorrow”.
When I opened the front door to welcome the heavenly glory slowly emerging from behind the eastern hill, Ammini amma, my former colleague and wife of my friend Gopalan Nair, staying in the opposite house, was waiting at the front gate with a bucket- full of water and a broomstick. With wide-opened eyes I looked at her wondering why she should clean our frontage and before I could ask for the clarification, she started sweeping and cleaning, turning her back at me. Instantly, from nowhere, Saniyan (that was the name given by Ammalu to my neighbor’s pet dog; actual name Sawny), came running wagging its tail, made a right turn, rested its huge body on the gate, lifted a leg and standing authoritatively showing its back towards me, emptied its bowl exactly on the black granite slab laid for the purpose of drawing the kolam.
Ammalu, wiping her eyes came out of the bed room and was shocked at the awry sight in front of the house.
‘Krishna!’ she lamented to her God, “did you wake me up to see the back of Ammani and saniayan, early in the morning?”
“What is there for you to see?” she directed her anger towards me,” Why don’t you get inside and attend to your routine?”
Gopalan Nair retired as a professor. The movies showing American professors entering the campus with an umbrella in their hand prompted Nair to carry one with him, even while going for a morning walk. The stick is a necessity for him as a support but his entry into our house, holding an umbrella and stick, early morning, annoyed Ammalu.
“Kodai, vadi, choolu-ini ethavathu bakki irukko-umbrella, stick, broomstick( all inauspicious objects) anything left?” Ammalu’s anger was understandable.
“Ammiarea, kappi ready ayo-is coffee ready?’” I could hear Nair’s inquiry and Ammalu also would have heard it. Otherwise she would not have replied in a low voice, ‘Kappi on mottai thalele kottaren- I want to pour coffee on your bald head”
‘Ammalu, one cup for me too” demanded Ammini who joined us, with another bucket of water and broom stick, as the dog’s menace could not be wiped off with one bucket of water .
“Nee enthikkidi Ammini. Chumma chumma choolem morathem thookikindu kalam karthale ullevarai?”
So early in the morning why do you come so often with inauspicious broomstick ? “ Enquired Ammalu, in a pathetic voice .
‘So what Ammalu?’ I admonished her, ‘you still believe in such stupid things? As a good neighbor and friend she wants to help you as the maid servant has taken off today”
‘Mannan katta-rubbish” her husband came out with the truth. ‘Ammini wants to give you some materials to be handed over to her daughters in US. She is preparing the ground for that”
‘She has already done so” I interjected pointing my finger to the corner where baggage was arranged, “that black suit case is full of her things”
Nair wanted to say something but paused as the panthalu from the temple was entering with a broken coconut and some flowers. ‘Meeru America veluthunaru katha, prasadam theeskkondi” . I requested him to keep the prasadam in the pooja room .
‘Oru ottappattarum vandaya?’ -And you, a single Brahmin too arrived to complete the list of inauspicious things?).
Panthalu would not have understood a word of Ammalu’s contempt.
But I understood clearly that Ammalu had a point when Nair explained why Ammini was showing unusual interest in the cleanliness of our frontage.
“Sami, this woman is mad!” That is OK. All husbands say that. But what he said subsequently was not OK.
“She wants to send through you, three portable granite grinders with pestles to be delivered to our daughters in America. Those are for powdering chukku, dried ginger, for preparing chukka vellam, medicated hot water for drinking”.
Sakunam (signs and signals) is showing its teeth well in advance!
Ammalu is always right.
When I opened the front door to welcome the heavenly glory slowly emerging from behind the eastern hill, Ammini amma, my former colleague and wife of my friend Gopalan Nair, staying in the opposite house, was waiting at the front gate with a bucket- full of water and a broomstick. With wide-opened eyes I looked at her wondering why she should clean our frontage and before I could ask for the clarification, she started sweeping and cleaning, turning her back at me. Instantly, from nowhere, Saniyan (that was the name given by Ammalu to my neighbor’s pet dog; actual name Sawny), came running wagging its tail, made a right turn, rested its huge body on the gate, lifted a leg and standing authoritatively showing its back towards me, emptied its bowl exactly on the black granite slab laid for the purpose of drawing the kolam.
Ammalu, wiping her eyes came out of the bed room and was shocked at the awry sight in front of the house.
‘Krishna!’ she lamented to her God, “did you wake me up to see the back of Ammani and saniayan, early in the morning?”
“What is there for you to see?” she directed her anger towards me,” Why don’t you get inside and attend to your routine?”
Gopalan Nair retired as a professor. The movies showing American professors entering the campus with an umbrella in their hand prompted Nair to carry one with him, even while going for a morning walk. The stick is a necessity for him as a support but his entry into our house, holding an umbrella and stick, early morning, annoyed Ammalu.
“Kodai, vadi, choolu-ini ethavathu bakki irukko-umbrella, stick, broomstick( all inauspicious objects) anything left?” Ammalu’s anger was understandable.
“Ammiarea, kappi ready ayo-is coffee ready?’” I could hear Nair’s inquiry and Ammalu also would have heard it. Otherwise she would not have replied in a low voice, ‘Kappi on mottai thalele kottaren- I want to pour coffee on your bald head”
‘Ammalu, one cup for me too” demanded Ammini who joined us, with another bucket of water and broom stick, as the dog’s menace could not be wiped off with one bucket of water .
“Nee enthikkidi Ammini. Chumma chumma choolem morathem thookikindu kalam karthale ullevarai?”
So early in the morning why do you come so often with inauspicious broomstick ? “ Enquired Ammalu, in a pathetic voice .
‘So what Ammalu?’ I admonished her, ‘you still believe in such stupid things? As a good neighbor and friend she wants to help you as the maid servant has taken off today”
‘Mannan katta-rubbish” her husband came out with the truth. ‘Ammini wants to give you some materials to be handed over to her daughters in US. She is preparing the ground for that”
‘She has already done so” I interjected pointing my finger to the corner where baggage was arranged, “that black suit case is full of her things”
Nair wanted to say something but paused as the panthalu from the temple was entering with a broken coconut and some flowers. ‘Meeru America veluthunaru katha, prasadam theeskkondi” . I requested him to keep the prasadam in the pooja room .
‘Oru ottappattarum vandaya?’ -And you, a single Brahmin too arrived to complete the list of inauspicious things?).
Panthalu would not have understood a word of Ammalu’s contempt.
But I understood clearly that Ammalu had a point when Nair explained why Ammini was showing unusual interest in the cleanliness of our frontage.
“Sami, this woman is mad!” That is OK. All husbands say that. But what he said subsequently was not OK.
“She wants to send through you, three portable granite grinders with pestles to be delivered to our daughters in America. Those are for powdering chukku, dried ginger, for preparing chukka vellam, medicated hot water for drinking”.
Sakunam (signs and signals) is showing its teeth well in advance!
Ammalu is always right.
My Dad, A Crow
I have spent countless hours, peeping through the window in the spacious libray, in my son’s house in Baltimore, facing the vast meadows boardered by maple and oak trees, looking for my charming childhood- friend- a crow, any crow! I have been dreaming that he would perch on the maple or pine tree across, with a slanted head or moving his neck right and left and glancing me through a corner of his eye. That was how, as a kid lying on my mother’s lap, I had been seeing crows playing, and picking and enjoying the paddy seeds, spread for drying, in front of our Olavakkode house. Neither the crows worried about my mother’s presence nor she, about the loss of paddy stock. It was a mutual understanding, which perfectly worked, to keep me in good moods.
“Kakke,kakke,koodevidea?
”koottinakthoru kunjundo?”
Where is your nest, crow?
Isn’t there, a small baby inside it, crow?”
This song, heard several decades ago, from my mother’s lips, is still fresh in my mind, though I have forgotten my Shelly and Shakespeare, learned, much later.
There is a high level ‘sit-out’ or deck, at the extension of our dining-hall, in Baltimore, separated by a glass door, where I spend most of my time during summer months, reading or just watching the trees or the vast stretch of lawns, beautifully manicured, spread all around. One day, I was sitting there and enjoying the sunset with my grand daughter, Ananya, a two and half year old lovely power pack. For a moment she became still and pointing her tiny finger towards a pine tree, exclaimed, “thath, what is that?” I turned my head towards that direction and lo, and behold, there was a crow perched on the branch of a pine. I was thrilled at the sight of the guest for whom I was eagerly waiting for. Leaping from my seat, I yelled and invited all inmates to come out and see the wonderful sight.
‘What bird is that?’. The child repeated her question.”That is a crow, the bird on which I have told you many stories ”
She was equally excited and enjoyed my action imitating the bird’s fly and neck movement. Except us, the oldest and youngest in the family, others didn’t seem to understand the importance of the event and they retired . The same was also the case, when the other day, a squirrel climbed a tree, ditching the efforts of a cat which gave it a hot pursuit. Something is wrong somewhere in the behaviour of the youngsters.
‘”Catch it; I want to play with it”, ordered the sweet little one.
I didn’t succeed in my effort to obey her orders and therefore Went on to the next best task- I explained to her, with appropriate body movements, about my expertise in crow-catching and the statistics of the male and female crows, whom I had conquered when I was of her age.
Kids are the best lie-detectors. She was not impressed and started crying. I did what any sensible person would do on such occasions- I shouted at her.
‘Madaya Mahasamudramey!-you, the ocean of idiocy!” I heard someone shouting at me and looked around to locate the source of those words, which were the most familiar ones, I used to hear from my father. He, in fact used to call me “madaya siromani- the crown-jewel of idiots, in the early days but later, when I grew big, perhaps thought that the appellation too mild and changed it to ‘madaya mahasamudram’ or the ocean of idiocy, to fit to my intellectual growth. I stood in stunned silence when the crow said, turning its one eye towards me, “I say don’t scream at the child!”
Now, wait . No doubt, it is the crow who spoke and the voice was my dad’s !
Thanks to my association with Vishnu Namboodiri who had inherited the knowledge of crows’ language, from his ancestor, Kakkassery Battathirippad, I am in a position to communicate with crows and therefore, I asked the crow “Tell me the truth crow! Are you really my Appa?”
‘ Yes, I am; but call me ‘dad’ ” The crow replied, “and remember, birds do not lie”
”I know that birds and animals do not lie”, I agreed and extending my head towards the bird, asked- “could you just for my confirmation, say one or two more pet words, I was used to, during my childhood?”
‘”Muttal! Fool, you are keeping the book upside down!”
“Ha, ha, it is you, my dad! I am convinced and thrilled at your sight. How did you become a crow”
” Due to octoliea”
“What is that?”. I enquired. I have several manias and phobias but not this one .
“I had to tell lies to prosper in business’, dad conceded.. The number of lies, in my life time, exceeded seven per day and therefore I became a crow”
“Oh! I never knew that rule. Thank you for enlightening.” I replied. ” I shall see that I don’t cross the mystic number seven .”
“My worthy son, you’re!’ . He was always proud of me.
” If I exceed number seven, my soul will become dark and obtain a matching body, right dad?”
“I never doubted your I.Q” He nodded his head in full appreciation and added,” Yet I expected a more intelligent question from you!”
‘What is that dad?” I asked, wondering how there could be a more intelligent question than the one, I already raised.
“you didn’t ask, ‘ why the lord Mahavishnu is also dark in complexion?’
“Why dad, due to octroliea?”
“Due to hyper octroliea . I told you that the soul get darkened, if one tells lie regularly.There are multi million such darkened souls and ultimately where do they reach? At the feet of the Lord..Since He is the Soul of souls and his body doesn’t disintegrate, He became Hyper octrolieic.”
‘Great, dad. Your interest in Kathakali and carnatic music still continues?”
“Week ends, I go to Paris to watch dance in nightclubs”
“Glad you are enjoying your life. You deserve it dad, for all the trouble you took to give us good education, which led us and subsequently our children to the present prosperity”
“Thank Nancy for that”
“Who is she dad? I haven’t heard that name before.”
‘She was kalyani teacher who kicked me out of the school in the third class. She too have become a crow.” Dad said, ” I shall bring her here, one day.”
“She too became a crow for crossing the number seven?”
” Yes. One lie I am aware of is, she said that I had pulled her hand, which forced her to discard me from the class”
“The truth was?”
“I tried to pull down her sari.”
“I am not surprised dad, you were capable of pulling down many such things. But what is her contribution to the welfare of our family?””
“If she hadn’t kicked me out of the school, I wouldn’t have gone to business. I would have completed my matriculation and retired as a honest Government clerk and you wouldn’t be sitting doing nothing and talking to a crow, in America.. You would be selling vegetables, across the street of Kalpathy, pushing a cart, in the hot sun or pouring rain ”
“How is our neighbor Chami pattar, dad?”
“That guy who dropped invalid coins in the temple hundi, closing the vision of the deity, by standing in between ?”
“Yes, dad”.
“He has a busy time at Tirupathy, collecting coins thrown by the pilgrims on his towel spread on the road side”
“what would happen if the Tirupathy hundi is open for the offering of only pilgrims of higher class?”
“The Lord will keep both his hands high above his head and go down the hills crying “Govinda,Govinda’.
“And, God has two more hands”
“He will collect his jewels and valuables and catch the next available train to his place.”
“Why do they put such a big namam to the Lord of seven hills, which I feel, stands in the way of enjoying the beauty of His lovely face, his prominent nose and big eyes?”
“It is always easy to remember an unusual or abnormal object or event rather than a common one, we see everyday around us.” Dad clarified. The Lord of the seven hills with his big namam, high crown, conch and wheel kept high above the shoulder level and body decorated with colorful clothes and dazzling jewels, occupies the central seat in the heart of his devotees. Even without all the paraphernalia, his white broad namam in the dark back-ground is an ideal object for concentration.
“So is Ananthapadmanabha’s posture lying on the multi-hooded serpent, with a lotus developed from his naval supporting the Brahma. A marvelous product of the imagination of our ancestors, this statue is highly symbolic.
“Calcutta kali with her protruded tongue, elongated charming eyes and eyelids extending to both sides and a similar central eye, on the forehead looking upward, is another memorable object for meditation.
“So is the Balarama, Krishna and Subadra combination of Puri with their round eyes and Dwaraka Krishna with his decorated turban turning to one side and Panduraanga with his short stature?” I enquired.
“And the image of Mahaganapathy, with a protruding big abdomen and unusually long nose,
sitting over a tiny mouse, according to you, is also so designed, to facilitate meditation?.”
“Yes.Even Guruvayoor krishnan’s dazling ‘kandojwalal Kousthupam’ and Koupeenam and also, Darmasatha’s yogic posture.
Dad continued his innovative finding.
“The Siva Lingam- there cannot a better symbol than Sivalingam to meditate on the Universal Parents,’Jagadapitharaah:’. The combination of lingam looking up and the yoni looking towards the earth, ready to pour amrithavarsha, the incessant flow of nectar of love and life . The moment you open your heart and pour on the lingam all your sorrows, all your needs, all your anxieties in the form of milk or gee or simple water.
All these symbols are meant to engrave the visual objects of your worship deep into your mind so that concentration becomes easy.
I am sure that in management science, you would have come across such tools of memorizing techniques.”
“So, a lot of thought have gone into these designing?” I asked.
“No doubt, our forebears, were not only great thinkers but men of great vision and imagination too.”
“Then what went wrong ?’ I asked
“‘We simply lived in our past, talking about our ancestral glory and doing nothing to carry on the torch handed over to us”
“Our community especially” father continued,” refused to change according to the time. Cocooning around the false notion that they were superior by birth to others and therefore entitled for free service from the society, many of our seniors refused to learn new skills; working under others was considered below their status. Trading or business activities were prohibited for them, they thought. A few had agricultural land but those were tilled by others who, in due course, became the owners legally. Many families survived on the free food provided by temples. Abject poverty and ignorance killed many. While other communities allowed their women to work and support the family, our women were mostly, subjugated within the four walls of the house, resulting in their lower education level and health consciousness”
“But dad, when we grew up” I intervened,” we realised the blunder committed by our elders and grabbed the limited opportunities available and did the best we could and came up in life”
“You did” Father agreed. “But when your children grew up, they mistook our culture and heritage as the root cause of all the problems in the family and threw away the baby along with the tub”.
“I beg to disagree, dad” I replied. “They have kept open all their windows and doors; fresh air which gushes in will wipe of only the foul smell. They would have discarded their sacred thread or any such external symbols, but they cannot exsiccate the cultural essence from their blood”
‘you are right.With all their backwardness in the standard of living, our forebears didn’t indulge in any illegal activities. They didn’t aspire for others properties or ask for any illegitimate favours. They silently suffered their deprivation; they didn’t harm others . I am glad that the present generation preserve the imbibed high principles and in fact outshine us”
The sun was setting. The sky was afire with the tints of gold and red and it was a splendor to behold that event . I forgot for a moment that I was far far away from my Hyderabad house. The sunrise and sunset, the sky and oceans, the moon and stars are same everywhere, whether you are at India or US.
“‘I should take leave of you, son” My dad said, turning his head to a side and looking at my eyes.”Let me fly back into darkness to rest in my nest and – to wake up again at the wee hours of the morning to announce the arrival of dawn”
‘Thank you for your visit dad, do come again” I murmured, wiping off the tear drops from my eyes.
“With whom are you taking Appa ?’ Enquired my daughter in law, Meghana, who just entered the premises along with her daughter.
‘Thath was talking to a crow” The tiny tot, replied pointing her little finger towards the pine tree .
“Don’t talk nonsense, Ananya! ” The mother rebuked.
“Children never talk nonsense, Meghana! And they never lie ” I wanted to tell her. Instead, I just smiled.
Baltimore,
Jan 2007