Nurungukal..2.

    

      As usual I was slow to respond the early morning call. It was an unsaved number and the voice I could not recognise. On the other side it was a woman. She said pardon for disturbing me in the morning and introduced herself as one of my staff who was working in my office many years ago. I tried to figure out the caller in her present state.  She is retiring from the job with in a few days and wanted me to be present in the farewell party. She was trying to pay respect as I was responsible for selection and persuading her to accept the job. In the official language she was I remember a dedicated  worker with a clean service record.

      Many of my colleagues used to be in touch with me even now although I left the service in 1990.  It may be due to the work culture and harmony we could maintain through out our service.

     As I sat on the dais of the farewell party I saw many of the retired hands  vociferously exchanging pleasantries so cheerful and healthy. Many have become grand fathers and mothers, grey and bald. I was particularly happy to meet with some of the friends who are at an advanced age, still working as assistants in goods handling, contend with their daily earnings and without any retirement benefits. We are yet to recognise their contribution in the nation building process. I bid good bye with an excitement of a few moments of nostalgic memories although  with a heavy heart.

Nurungikal…2…

      It was not a usual gathering. I sat amidst a group of differently abled girls and boys. Some were a little older than the others. Still they mingled and behaved same. Some kept aloof from the proceedings. It was a function to inaugurate a new building of an institution dedicated to take care of such children. The funds for which was donated by a benevolent couple who hailed from a far off place.

     I used to visit this school on and off to share a few moments with the children. Each time I was moved by their loving gestures. While I held them close to me  rays of love imparted , electrifying my senses, clearly communicating their feelings. They held refusing to part, and trying to retain an invisible bond. Among them a small girl used to come to me gleaming with a broad smile as if we knew each other since long. Without any hesitation she would stretch out her little hand for a hand shake. As I lifted her she would clap ending in a loud laughter. There is another who is always ready to oblige you with a popular movie song which she would render like a professional singer. Yet another would come running to you to show her painting. A few sat here and there pondering or engaged in some activity.

      Only a few members of the local community turned up for the function. I feel more than any financial assistance this special school aspire for a moral support from the immediate neighbours. There is no words to appreciate the dedicated functioning of the staff of the institution, who unlike many others are embodiments of love and patience. I can understand how much the parents of those children and the community at large are indebted to them in accepting a responsibility which others would shudder to take up. I would appeal to the local government bodies to take a leading roll in providing proper infrastructural facilities to such institutions, While let the public offer unreserved  support in the form of love and care to those who are God’s own children.

Nurungukal…3..

Ichirivettam..7….As we returned home after a social visit, I was surprised to see two constables and and a few of our neighbours waiting for us in front of the house. There were  four bunches of banana and a young man standing half naked between the police men. The sight of the police made my heart to skip one or two beats. I manged to be composed and enquired about the purpose of their presence. In their typical tone the senior one asked me whether  the banana bunches were from my field. I replied I am not sure. They confirmed that it was so, as the culprit who was standing with them had already admitted it. They examined the field which was nearby and confirmed the submission. As usual they asked for my statement, which I gave reluctantly. Because I pretty well knew the way it will be dealt in a court of law.

     I knew from them how the young thief was caught red handed. After cutting the bunches from our field he took another four from a heap collected by a trader in Kalpetta and ventured to sell them to the same trader. The trader had marked his bunches which the thief failed to notice. On seeing his marked bunches the trader cunningly informed the police and the thief  became a sitting duck. It made easy for the police to take an admission about my property. I was told that the bunches will be produced before the court and the value will be paid immediately, after the initial proceeding are over.

       As I knew the futility of pursuing such cases, deleted the whole episode from memory. After a lapse of three or four years I was summoned to appear before the magistrate  to record my submission. I was trying to visualise the events  with some nervousness which is usual  with any one, while waiting for the call. But just before entering the witness box, to my relief the constable on duty refreshed my memory about the sequence of events. I was satisfied with my performance in the box, as I saw the smile on the face of the constable. When I was about to  leave the box the magistrate asked me whether I have collected the cost of the banana bunches from the police. With all my innocence I blurted “no”, which invited a furious reprimand from the magistrate to the police. I once again looked at the constable who had suddenly lost his smile, became tense and was wiping the sweat. I just walked out without turning back and till date did not bother about the cost money …dum dum dum…..pi pi pi..

Nurungukal..3..

Ichirivettam..6..She lay completely wrapped from head to foot with plaster. motionless, on the foot path of Indiranagar in Bangalore. Passersby through notes and coins into the cloth spread in the front. A man and a girl in rags sat begging with folded arms, occasionally wiping their tears. On enquiry I was told that the lady met with an accident and is immovable. I felt pity and gave fifty rupees, which the man, with shivering hands accepted and touched my foot. While returning from my evening walk I saw him carrying her on his shoulder and hurrying away. It made me shudder and with a throbbing heart I contained my feelings. Days passed. While shopping in Majestic my attention was once again drawn by the trio . The scene was similar to the one in Indranagar. Once again my sentiments rose and offered another fifty rupees.

        The trio encountered me once again. This time it was on the foot path adjacent to the Mysore bus stand. There was a heap of notes and coins in the cloth and the man and the girl sat enacting the usual scene. I just looked at them with a smile and once again through a fifty rupee note. But this time for their ingenuity of their profession. Never again I have met them. Probably they are in pursuit of other tricks…..dum dum dum ..pi pi pi… 

Nurungukal..3..

Ichirivettam..6..She lay completely wrapped from head to foot with plaster. motionless, on the foot path of Indiranagar in Bangalore. Passersby through notes and coins into the cloth spread in the front. A man and a girl in rags sat begging with folded arms, occasionally wiping their tears. On enquiry I was told that the lady met with an accident and is immovable. I felt pity and gave fifty rupees, which the man, with shivering hands accepted and touched my foot. While returning from my evening walk I saw him carrying her on his shoulder and hurrying away. It made me shudder and with a throbbing heart I contained my feelings. Days passed. While shopping in Majestic my attention was once again drawn by the trio . The scene was similar to the one in Indranagar. Once again my sentiments rose and offered another fifty rupees.

        The trio encountered me once again. This time it was on the foot path adjacent to the Mysore bus stand. There was a heap of notes and coins in the cloth and the man and the girl sat enacting the usual scene. I just looked at them with a smile and once again through a fifty rupee note. But this time for their ingenuity of their profession. Never again I have met them. Probably they are in pursuit of other tricks…..dum dum dum ..pi pi pi… 

Nurungukal..3

Ichirivettam..5….Two weeks ago we spent two days with our daughter-in-law in Mahe. Her brother invited us for a dinner. On our way to his house we stopped to check the air in the tyres of the car. The air filling shop was opposite to a bar and it was very crowded as usual in a Sunday evening especially after the closure of bars in Kerala. We noticed a young man sitting on a stack of old tyres, with a tense face. His eyes were red hot and was he was sweating. He got up with much effort and staggered to the man who was unfolding the long pipe to fill air. It was sure that the young man was under the influence of a heavy booze. Next thing we saw was the young man being pushed to the floor. He slowly returned to the original position virtually crying and pleading. Then slowly curled up like a tired dog.

          My son who listened to their conversation said that the young man under the influence of alcohol had given the key of his bike to a stranger in the bar and now the vehicle is missing. He was persistently pleading to the other for help to retrieve the vehicle which irritated him ending in the tussle. 

          We left the spot leaving him in slumber….dum dum dum pi pi pi….

Nurungukal...3..

Ichirivettam..4..This incident happened many years ago,  at Nagpur railway station. The bright Nagpur oranges tempted me to purchase a few from a hawker. It was very cheap when compared with the price in Kozhikode. I gave him a fifty rupees note . He had no change to return the balance. Requesting  me to wait he disappeared into the busy crowd in the station. The time ticked past and there was no sign of him. The final whistle was blown and the train with a hoot started moving. I jumped into the compartment at the last moment and, standing at he door scanned the entire stretch of the platform. There was no trace of him. As the train was passing the name board I caught a glimpse of him happily enjoying a joke with his friends, confirming my apprehension..dum dum dum pi pi pi….

Nurungukal..3

Ichirivettom..3..It was by luck my grand daughter noticed the little kitten which lay curled under the car. Otherwise it would have been crushed to death. Perhaps it would have been strayed or discarded by some neighbours. The brown stripes on its white body looked cute and gradually it became their pet kitten. As I watched my grand daughter playing with it, I told her to scribble a note about its pranks. She came out with a beautiful description which reflected her flair for writing and observation. And asked her to write on anything which she found interesting. Yesterday when I asked about the progress she happily told that so far she had completed fifteen such narrations. I am eager to read them now. I hope a young writer is budding. !!..dum dum pi pi pi.

Nurungukal…3..contd…

Ichirivettam..2….He lay crumpled, emaciated,wrinkled in a corner of a dark room. His nails have grown and curled up. We called him Chettayi. A small man. We have seen him moving about briskly making short steps and always smiling. On that day I had accompanied a team of palliative workers during a home care visit. I was shocked to see him in his present condition. A foul smell came out from the room. One of his sons who was mentally not o.k. was walking up and down in front of the house. He resisted our moves to nurse his father. His wife sat in a helpless mood on the veranda of their thatched house. We had no option but to abandon the mission on that day. Next day we managed to remove him to a nearby Govt. hospital with the help of a doctor and police. Although he died a few days later, we were sure that he departed with a smiling face.

      Look around there are many such Chettayis in your neighbourhood who throng for your care…dum dum pi pi pi…

                                                                                                                           

Ichirivettam…1

   Eliamma chechi have two daughters. Both are brilliant. The eldest became a bank manager. She is married and well settled. The second one also is in a high position. On the previous day of her marriage a party was arranged. The food waste was dumped in a pit and remained open. The foul smell attracted stray dogs. Ransacked her poultry. So sad about the loss of her dear chickens. So care full to manage the waste…..dum dum pi pi pi.

Nurungukal…2..contd..

         I never thought that it would be a tight rope walk when I agreed to contest in a local body election. After retirement from service I settled down in a village in Wayanad. Initially my intention was to manage the coffee estate which my wife had inherited. But as days passed,gradually I became active in some social activities. It became intense when I was asked to be a part of the peoples’ planning program . The request was based on the experience I had acquired as an official, and considering my aptitude in serving the community.

          Traditionally for generations our family  were ardent followers of Indian National Congress. The offer was from the front in which INC  was the major partner. Hence I decided to give a try. The complexity of contesting in an election was realized as the campaign progressed. I had several draw backs. My main problem was how to effectively deliver a public speech. Till then I was akin to impress a class room audience. To my surprise I found that many with much less education and exposure were able to drive home the points better than me. They received applause from the crowd. It is like sharpening an ax before the cut. It was then I recollected about the tips one famous author had given on effective public speaking. And applying them over the years now I have managed to improve on this art.

           As we went on pleading with the voters many issues in which I was not directly involved started creeping in and on many occasion I had to cut a sorry face. In a particular case I was at the verge of easing out an amount, had it not been for the ingenuity of one of our experienced  campaigner.  My temperaments were changed  and became very polite.Even very harsh and derogatory remarks failed to irritate me . I became totally immune to any abuse. I was devoid of any expressions other than a broad smile. I became calm and poised. In my sleep numerals poped up because my subconscious mind was always entangled with the number of votes I can pocket !!. I did not realize then that my bank balance was slowly depleting, as my entire concentration was on how to make a win and uphold the prestige. We chalked out some strategies. More than once we approached the electorate.

      It was customary that a candidate made condolence visits when there is death and a courtesy call in case of marriage  irrespective of the relationship or familiarity. In the case of death a wreath has to be invariably laid. Every thing is fair in love and election !. I was also forced to observe such techniques to draw the sympathy of the electorate.

           It was a team work and every thing went smoothly as planned. In the process I had a chance to visit all in the area and establish a friendship with many. In the final analysis this was the only gain from the toil. .

            On the contrary my opponent was a silent worker. Unlike me he went alone, met the voters and established a personal rapport. He was more experienced than me in such assignments. I have seen him moving from one voter to another like a bee collecting honey. By the time I realized the efficacy of his approach, it was too late and my defeat was certain. Although the margin by which my opponent won was slender, I had to admit that my strategy failed to click. The lesson that I learned from my defeat was that success is with those who know the ground well in a fight. As far as I am concerned I was rowing  in unfriendly waters, looking at the surface without the knowledge of the strength of the under current. Experience has no substitute to learn about failures.  …..contd

Nurungukal..2..contd..

        The bus moved slowly climbing the Nilgiri hills providing us enough time to blot the panoramic birds eye view of the valley consisting of vast stretches of lush green agricultural land and hamlets. Patches of mist scattered like an apron here and there added the beauty. As the bus waded through the mist the sight of the hill like a frog about to leap made the passengers to peep out enjoying the cool breeze uncared of the danger of hitting a passing vehicle. The tea at a wayside shop tasted different. It was hot and spicy. Although served in a very small cup it provided a different taste and warming up. As we resumed our journey the aroma of eucalyptus hit our nostrils revealing the Geographical index and identity of Nilgiris. It is a body chemistry  to identify a place by the aroma it emanates, viz. tea smell indicates a tea factory nearby, the smell of biscuits the presence of a bread factory, the aroma of coffee flowers declaring a good blossom in the Wayanad plantations and an obnoxious smell that of ill managed drains in a city or town proclaiming that we are about to reach our destination.

           We have made several such trips to Coonoor where my daughter is living with her husband. Nilgiris all ways enchanted us and we never missed a chance to visit her.  Their house located at a hillock provided a view of Coonoor town. The houses on the contours of the nearby hills resembled from a distance like set of boxes arranged in racks.

           More than any thing what attracted me was the Market place in the centre of the city. From pin to plane or salt to camphor was available there. Well organised providing specific slot for each commodity. Fresh vegetables, meat, fish at reasonable rates attracted me most. It is a concept which can be replicated in our cities. I think in Thiruvanathapuram there a few like that. In Pondichery I have seen one, very much similar to this. I doubt that the present day shopping malls have a thread from them.

         The Sims park with an extent of hardly twenty five acres provide a well arranged landscape with many  varieties of flora and fauna and ecological systems. It is salubrious and soothing to your senses. We used to spent hours, enjoying the dexterity of nature, birds, butterflies etc. fluttering from one flower to another and the calls of frogs and some rare birds, while munching a steamed corn or a long mango piece.

         Another place which drew my attention was the farmer’s market locally known as uzhavar chantha,where -in facilities are made by the government to make direct sale of agricultural produces  by the farmers. It is more or less like a regulated market. Fair price to the consumer and reasonable value to the producer and fresh from the farm are the main principles behind this concept. The farmers are allowed to transport their products free in the Local state transport bus.

         We always enjoyed the break fast prepared by our daughter’s mother-in-law. The taste of her crisp uzhunnu vadai and soft iddlis  along with hot hot sambar  and chattini  is unique and we are yet to taste something better. My daughter has been trying to learn the recipe tips but has not yet reached the required standard. May be that cooking is an art bestowed with certain hands. Although they belong to Kuthuparamba now claim to be inhabitants of Coonoor. She has established her identity in the locality and was even elected once as a councillor of Coonoor municipality.

          I still remember the interesting event that took place in one of our such trips. There are no direct bus from Coonoor to Wayanad. We had to catch one from Ootty. It is the only black spot of our travel, because very often they used to cancel the trip or get delayed unusually. More over none knew where the bus will station and passengers run hither and thither trying to board it while in motion in order to grab a seat. That day there was a rush of passengers and a show of strength to board. After a struggle I managed to get in and reserved two seats. My  wife followed me fast and we were comfortably seated, heaving a sigh of relief. While in the hustle and bustle to squeeze through the crowd I had sensed feebly a touch on my pant’s pocket but failed to take cognisance of it. When I sat I did not feel the usual pressure on the pocket and by a reflex searched for the purse and lo it was not there. I was frantic and gave an alarm and jumped out in search of it, but in vain. My complaint to the police man standing beside the bus fell on deaf ears and I returned to the seat as somebody  who lost a combat. Although there was not much cash I was worried about the loss of my driving license and an identity card. Fortunately the bulk of the cash was safe in the hand bag of my wife who always was care full to hug it close to her chest. The man sitting next consoled me by saying that it was a regular incident and done with a connivance. Also gave me an advice to be care full in my next visit and even today I comply with it. Another similar incident when I lost my purse was just in front of Lord Krishna of Guruvayur, which I will share with you later. My only consolation is that in both cases the money has gone to the needy. ….contd

Nurungukal..2..contd…

The snatch:

        I do not remember my mother shopping in a provision shop. That was the duty of the male members in those days, although she insisted for her presence in the case of textiles that too restricted to a particular shop as the owner was our family friend. I think that was the case in every family  till the advent of departmental shops. Many house wives took it as an outing after finishing their daily chore. After settling down at Wayanad in my retirement I used to have plenty of time to accompany my wife in such casual trips. In fact I considered it as an inexpensive frolic as it is a fun to watch the colourful crowd moving from one rack to another. Most of them took it as a social event besides the purchase, for meeting friends and exchanging pleasantries and at times refreshing their culinary expertise. In the course, many new contacts were established which later on lead into ardent friendships. House wives tiptoeing with a trolley full of ready to cook or eat foods in packs of eye catching colours, some precariously balancing a baby with one hand and some tiny tots pulling the tip of the dress of their mother to draw her attention to get a chocobar unmindful of her persistent reprimands, charged the atmosphere with energy and fun. Iam always in praise for those ladies whose contribution in balancing the harmony of the house often go unnoticed and unrecognised.

       It was on such an occasion we met Sajan [not his real name ] a sprightly young man. He was in a casual dress and did not look like a sales executive. He was arranging i a new brand of LED lamps in a stand. With a broad smile he approached us and started pouring in why the lamp was better than the other brands and about the new offers etc. etc.. When he understood that we refused to yield, as a last shot he introduced himself as the son of our neighbour, who was a member of our Panchayat. His attempt did not fail. We accepted the offer and he joyfully volunteered to fix the bulb himself  in the evening and promptly complied with it. It was the beginning of a relationship. Later on I had met him several times from the same store and at many  other places, carrying a bulky bag full of new items fore sale . He was a link of a direct sales agency. I considered him as a roll model in that capacity.

          One day his mother requested me to supply 2 glass of cow’s milk daily to nourish her son  as he was toiling day and night to boost the sales. Then onwards he used to come to our  house exactly at 8.30 in the morning to collect the milk. At that time I used to be in the front veranda reading the news paper over a cup of coffee and it became customary for him to wish me a good morning.

          That day also he strode briskly into the courtyard, in his checked t-shirt and ¾ th pants gave me a laughter and the usual wish. Without lifting my face from the paper I waved my hands. But by an impulse , when I looked up saw him moving away from me in a hurry. At that moment I never thought that it would have been my last glimpse of him. A few hours later when I was in the midst of  a meeting the tragic news reached me that he met with an accident  and is no more and it made me shudder.

           While thinking about him now I am reminded of the great saying …quote “ It does not matter how much I have. What really matters is what I do with what I have..” …unquote……may his soul rest in peace…….contd

Nurungukal..2..contd..

        Some incidents refuse to fade out from our memory. Similarly our mind is restless. It tends to fondle thoughts, which later on transform into actions or fails to click. Some such events, sweet or sour however we wish to delete reappear again and again as the impression is beyond erasing. This is more so in the case of any body who had to head an office. I had many such occasions  to recall.

       I always enjoyed to sip the morning coffee while going through the news paper. Especially the brew made out of the raw Robusta coffee from my wife’s estate in Wayanad.  The announcement of the next pay revision was my interest that morning. We had already chalked out a plan how to spend the arrears. Wife wanted some new gadgets in the kitchen. I insisted for a trip far off to escape from the drudgery of the routine work in the office, where as my little son longed for a tricycle. The first page was devoid of the expected surprise. In dismay I turned to the second which usually  dealt with local news.  I was shocked to set the eyes on a column news, about the nabbing of two of my staff by the intelligence police while accepting a bribe from the contractor who was undertaking a civil work in our warehouse premises. I wondered how those two were involved as they had nothing to do with the civil work. The report said that they threatened the contractor to part with a huge amount, lest they would report to the higher ups about the poor quality of his work. Also that the pair has been whisked to Kochi to produce before a magistrate and subsequently remanded. I had been warning them ever since I smelled about their moves.

         Immediately the news was flashed to my superiors and as usual the building up of a case file was set in motion. Although I was not in any way connected with the incident, it made me restless in answering queries and an apprehension slowly started building up in me whether I lacked in some way to restrain the culprits from the unwary act ?. The departmental enquiry followed and both of them were placed under suspension. But the episode gave an opportunity to those who were waiting for a chance to snub me and dent my records and I was shifted to Dhimapur an area inflicted by terrorists in those days, with a pacifying oral remark that my yeomen service was better needed there!!. But my self respect did not permit to accept that weirdly offer and I remained on medical leave till such time  a benevolent superior helped me to get a posting in Bangalore. 

        This experience gave me a message that management  means keeping your eyes open and it should prevail upon every thing around you as its roots are far and wide and unseen to the naked eye.  …….contd….

Nurungukal…2..contd….

    

         At first I could not recognise the caller. The sound was feeble and cracking. More over the clarity of the sound system of my phone, an outdated model, as descrbed by my grand daughter of age eight years, was weak. I changed my positions with the hope to improve the reception but in vain. It was a female voice and a distant call. When she introduced her and confirmed the person at the receiving end, a thrill passed through me, awakening  a sleeping memmory. She was none other than one of my staff working at Calicut warehouse a few decades ago. The number of such callers have increased recently. Some old workmates made a courtesy visit also. Every such ocassion  gave me a chance to recapitulate at least some of the important events in my official life. She was one of the most efficient staff I had ever had. Very soft spoken and hard working. Everready to accept challenges. She was the first female employee I met, who volenteered to work in the godown along with the men engaged in loading and unloading activity who was always prone in those days to raise volatile issues of labour demands. But to the surprise to all of us she managed to work with them in perfect harmony and it made my job much easier. All though in those days the gender awareness had not attained its present status she managed to prevail upon other male staff in equal terms and at times much above. The trade union activity was just gaining momentum then in the warehouses and I had to be on several occasions function in the roll of a negotiator. It was a challenge which gave me chance to learn much about the chemistry of trade union activity. In fact my tennure at Calicut was a learning ground in labour management, which helped me to face very volatile situations else where in my service. In a way Iam thankfull to the Calicut experience. ….cntd

Nurungukal…2…contd…

    It was a mixed gathering yesterday to initiate an awareness program on the relevancy of observing a Kerala’s tradition in food habits in tune with changing seasons. There were a few of my age group, some officials, a batch of Adivasi girls and their elders and to set an apt mood the presence of one or two with long grey hair and long khadar shirts and shoulder bags and many other familiar faces whom you can see in such functions occupying the front seats. Among them I sat with a lost face occasionally wiping the unseasonal sweat with my long towel in the dais not knowing how to start my talk on the importance of ten leaves which are to be included in our diet in the Malayalam month of Karkitakam. It’s a practise which is defunct now as our tastes and habits have already been forced to be changed. To my  surprise the young Lady who was responsible for organising the class came to my rescue and whispered that I can dwell on any subject related to the custom but I should prolong till the dignitary who is to deliver the main speech reports at the venue. I breathed a sigh of relief and waited for my turn, trying to grab a string from my child hood.

       Slowly it started unfolding like a movie film so vivid and clear and as I took the mike in my hand the picture of my mother, in her immaculate traditional attire holding a lighted coconut leaf torch in the left hand and in the other an old bamboo winnow in which some symbolic representation remained to evict the evils from the house, emerged as if in a trance. My brothers and sister took positions behind her holding long banana stalks and ready to enact our roll. In the winnow there were three balls of cooked rice, yellow, white and black. They were placed in the jack fruit leaves folded and pinned at the tip. Before them six leaves pinned in the similar way was placed with cotton threads. An old and used small broom and a ladder made out of banana stalk found their places in the two corners of the winnow.  Slowly mother lifted the winnow and the torch to make a round motion covering the nook and corner of the  room and moved from one room to another repeating the movements rhythmically and artistically starting from the kitchen and ending at the back veranda in a set order. While she does this we followed her chanting in chorus poti po po po, shipothy makkalum va va va, simultaneously beating the banana stalk on the floor to make  to to to sound. She handedover the winnow and the torch to a lady named Devaki who had been with our family for many years to assist mother, attaining the status of a family member. Now it is her turn to go round the house three times while all of us chased her shouting and beating till she escapes , in a trance to dispose  off the winnow and torch under a bush on the banks of a nearby canal. The episode culminated when all of us took a dip in our pond, which was filled with water during the torrent rains received in edavapathy  and earlier nhattuvelas. This event took one or two hours before dusk. Finally all of us sat for a prayer contending that our house and surroundings are clean and tidy so would be our souls.  Off course the cleaning program was over one or two days ahead of the above ritual.

        Next slide in me showed the bundle of different varieties of plants and herbs placed out side the gate on the  ground  smeared with cow dung. It was collected by Chatha one of father’s assistants who was supposed to be an expert in those days to identify each and every flora and fauna of the locality. The value and spirit behind that collection is the best example of conservation practises and touch and feel education about an enigmatic nature. It loudly explained the complexity of life and its existence. I strongly feel that it is such closeness with nature in our child hood might be a reason now to our concern about the damage  caused.

          As a matter of practise the eldest male child in the family  lifts the bundle after a pooja and carrys to the house while all of us saying nira nira poli poli, pathayam nira etc etc. Then inside the house it would be placed in the natumuttam . We would eagerly wait for the moment when our mother would bring the sweet ada for the offering, to grab our share is always a sweet frolic and for the feast afterwards with puthari payasam. This event comes to an end when the herbs and plants are fixed in each corner and door of the house.

          I did not know how long I took to depict this nostalgic memory. The young lady passed on a slip of paper  indicating that the time is up. I was also exhausted and reluctantly closed my talk with a satisfaction of giving me an opportunity to open  my memory  cheppu [cask].

        

Nurungukal..2..contd…

      It was a shock to hear the death of one of my ex-collegues and dear friend Vinoben. We joined on the same day in Southern Railways in 1963, the year in which I lost my father. Ever since for many years we lived together along with other friends in several places. Although he left Railways to join in Central Warehousing Corporation, we maintained our friendship and it remained intact till his death a few days ago. It was he who promted me to join CWC. I do not know what attracted us both to be so close. May be the mind set or wavelenghth or the chemistry in our attitudes or approach to issues that we face in life. It was quite sure that both of us endured challenges in a positive spirit and was free of worries. Our life style matched almost same except when it came to traditions. I would say that he was one step ahead in breaking the bonds of values wich lacked scientific rationale.

       It will be very intersting if we,at a later stage in life make an evaluation of the diferent types of bond that one had with friends at varrious periods. My experience was not different. Take for example our class mates in primary  school. Most of them were benchmates. It was casual and temporeary. Wereas from high scool onwards we had a tendancy to select or choose one who fit in to our standards. In college the friendship attained more meaning and that made us close life long in certain cases. I think that may be one reason why we refresh the friendship by organizing get togethers.

        As we move from one place to another in our official or social settings many faces remain with us subconciously for years. Like that of our family docters, shopkeepers with whom we have an account, the rickshaw wala who used to shuttle  our children to and fro or a family friend whom we might have choosen either from our official or social circle or rarely a collegue or very often a good neighbour.

         Still more interesting is the friendship we acquire in the course of a train journey, especially when it is to a distant destination. But that would happen to only those who engage in conversation as the journey proceeds. The process is slow. It often starts with an enquiry about our destination, the intention, followed by a curiosity about our job and slowly it will slip into a vociferous debate on th current politics and policies of the Govt. I remember about an incident in which a co-travellor who was silent all along suddenly became furious about a remark I made on the integrity of a local politition. I was virtually taken aback from his sudden reaction and had to seek the help of other passengers to get extricated from a bad  situation which would have culminated in a phisical tustle. I was always comfortable in the company of soldiers as they had many adventurous stories to depict which often kept us away from the monotony. They became saviours to those who need some physical help. We felt a sense of security while travelling in their company.

       My wife used to get in friendship with our neighbours more easily than me, although she is not talkative, yet confirming to the saying that a silent listner is a good conversationalist. Normaly I used to be a bit choosy in picking up neighbourhood friends.

       Apart from many dignitories with whom I could fortunately develop a raport, I have in credit a strain of friends from th lower strata of life also. I proudly consider the network of friends I could maintain through this media and the personal contacts as an asset which provides me a linkage beyond the geographical barriers. They often appear in my dreams or solitude to provide a nostalgia beyond description.

      

       

Nurungukal..2..contd..

    It was very heavy as I lifted the bag of a 6^th standard student. She was stooping while scurrying to the nearby school. Out of curiosity I requested her to open it and show me the contents. There were a dozen text books neatly wrapped in brown paper. Another set of note books much larger in size than what we used in our schooldays, a lunch box and water bottle made the bag bulging. With much strain she lifted it with her weak hands and adjusted to rest on her back. Now I knew why she was stooping.

     I made my memory chip to open and the display was quite different and interesting. With much less number of books, secured by a rubber band cut out of a punctured and abandoned  cycle tube, me with my neighbourhood friends ran up and down to our school freely, kicking what ever that came on our way, a pool of water, an empty coconut shell or a rotten mango, or lingering here and there to catch a dragonfly or to bring down a bunch of mangos by a sharp shoot. Our books were  wrapped in old news paper or old calender sheets. Some came with a cover showing the smiling faces of film stars. And my text books were that of my elders, never a new one  denying me to enjoy the  fragrance of a fresh print.

     She had a colourful umbrella neatly rolled up which fitted correctly into the side pocket of the bag. Mine was the one which my father was using for many years with long bend handle refusing to flung as the bamboo handle might have swollen in the middle due to absorption of moisture. To camouflage the grey colour of the old cloth we used to dip in water. The cloth too would have several patch work and looked like the coat of Mammed Kakka in the film Kandambecha coat. I used to hang it on my right shoulder folded and tied with a piece of jute twine as we covered the distance to the school in batches.

     I envy the neat and crisp uniform the children wear  now, some with a neck tie and shoes. I went on bare foot and my shorts rarely had all the buttons intact, instead we used sharp thorns of koovalam to pin.  We knew the exact time to start from home not from a clock but by  looking at the position of the sun light falling on the floor of the nadumuttam  of our nalukettu  house.

     I looked for a long time at the frail girl walking away from me briskly, swaying her hands right and left, often adjusting the bag and thought about the burden she is carrying  which I hope can ensure her a bright future.

Nurungukal..2..contd..

    This summer was unbearable. The mercury went high unusually. The water table went down. The change in the climate though predicted made all of us to think about the ways to combat it effectively. It was an anticipated phenomenon. Still we were unprepared. Global warming, el-nino etc are subjects discussed in every forum.It is my apprehension that these effects might have set in ever since we triggered a development based on fossil fuel. And now it has reached the peak stage, damaging the environment and human life irretrievably. All of us know that how many million years it might have taken to accumulate the fossils and how soon we depleted it, making an irreparable damage. Now we calmer for remedies.

       Many are in the fray to provide a soothing touch. Most of us think that planting a few saplings here and there with much fan fare would help in rejuvenating the earth. It is not the planting of trees alone that can come to our help. The most important aspect is that who will sustain them, who will nurture them, or who is concerned about their growth. Every year come June people come with plans like vanamahotsavam, thanal marangal or ormamaram etc. etc. depending on their imaginations to coin catchy glossary and also derive support from social forestry etc and plant numerous seedlings, mainly on both sides of our highways and waste lands. But if you take stock of the survival a few years later a dismal picture will emerge.

       There is no dearth of trees in Kerala. When compared to other states we are blessed with a better greenery and eco systems. There may be short falls here and there. But over all the situation is not so alarming, if we can arrest the plunder in future. For that I believe that corrective steps should be initiated in the cities and towns where the pollution is at its peak. Our cities and towns have attained the present status by demolishing fragile eco systems. Take the case of Olavanna village near Kozhikode. It was once a serene and salubrious place to live. The undulating terrain, ravines, paddy fields,wet lands and stretches of coconut groves, a perfect blend of nature and aboard of many species of flora fauna and animals birds etc. It was the scenario in the fifties and sixties. Now look at it as you pass through any one of the by pass highways. The contrast will  make a shudder in any nature lover’s mind. Need no explanation. Here also the real villain is the so called development based on petroleum products.

      Now our young Agriculture Minister has vociferously declared that he will not allow not an inch of paddy field or wet land to be reclaimed here after. A declaration we all look forward to be implemented in its true spirit. At first let me tell you that paddy eco system is not one created by nature. It is one evolved as a result of man’s intervention on mainly marshy lands for meeting his food security. And now only very few small or medium farmers hold paddy fields. With the existing facilities provided by the Sarcar a farmer derives only a meagre income, often resulting in loss, and due to the vagaries of nature.  Law does not permit him to grow any other crop. So he will be always looking out for a better income. Very often such a quest will result in the sale of his beloved land to a land mafia. The mafia is an expert in manipulations and disposes the land by virtue of the loopholes in the law.

         What the government should now think of doing to avoid the distress sale of paddy fields is to ensure a better price to paddy and also to provide irrigation systems besides other incentives so that a farmer can take more than three crops in a year. The huge funds available with the Government on account of carbon trading or carbon credit can be channelled to create a corpus fund exclusively for helping those farmers who conserve an eco system, be it be paddy field or a sacred grove or any other nature friendly biodiversity preservation work.

        Be frugal .avoid plastic,paper cups,napkins at functions. Try to retain our traditional systems. O.K let us work together.

Nurungukal…2…contd…

       I have been lucky to be part of many a  work shops or seminars on various subjects, mainly related with conservation and biodiversity. Now at this age of 75 years, when I look back and evaluate the end product of such gatherings, a sort of dismay creeps in. Because many, the majority of them, were conducted for the sake of spending a fund. There was no sincere effort to follow up. You can notice that in our society the months of February and March are always busy for people like me with such programmes. Because before the end of the financial year the organisers have to utilise the funds. I have struggled to comply with the schedule, many a time.

       Professionalism in managing the proceedings of such events is a matter to reckon with. Some institutions,for example , M.S. SWAMINATHAN FOUNDATION, have a retinue of manpower, who knows the pulse of the faculties and audience as well. More over the infrastructural facilities with them are most modern and flawless. The home work such institutions do are meticulous. Even in such arrangements I have come across instances when the power point system failed and the speaker grappling in the dark. Most of them now depend on such gadgets to ensure the flow of their presentation and any failure in the system will force them to draw a blank. Some used to manage the situation with ingenuity, but many struggle to put up with the it. I was also once or twice the victim of such embarrassing situations and that too before an elite audience of scientists and scholars at a workshop organised by CFTRI Mysore.

    The scenario is entirely different when it comes to a village level programme. I had the opportunity to conduct many in my capacity as the president of a milk co-op society. Here we have to observe some strict schedule of protocol. The printing of invitation letter itself is a difficult process, because if we by chance make a mistake in positioning the name of a dignitary, it can attract his wrath,which some time may even be by boycoting the function not only by him but also by his political followers. The omission of a personality may lead to even more dangerous situations. The most difficult task is to get an impressive gathering and to make them patiently sit till the very last event. The ring tone of the mobile phones very often interrupts and above all one or two will be always on the move to the sides of the hall  to attend to their calls, distracting the speaker. The functions usually as a matter of routine take off at least one hour late from the scheduled time. So now the organisers have started requesting the dignitaries to report only after a call.

    The last minute cancellation of the invitees to attend the function always put in a difficult predicament, especially when it is the person to preside over the function or the one to inaugurate it. After noon sessions used to be always very drab as many of the participants, especially the elders like me will prefer to enjoy their routine siesta unintentionally. Usually the kids from the nearby schools used to oblige us with welcome prayer. But on most occasion it has become convenient to satisfy with a silent prayer, leaving it to the choice of the audience to make mental recitation.

      Now when I sit back and take a mental stock of the results of such elaborate exercises in the process of knowledge imparting and efforts to induce a change in evolving policies and above all the impacts on our practises, it draws a pathetic picture. How many hours  and how much public funds we have spent on matters such as conservation of biodiversity, waste management,discarding of plastic etc. Still the issues stare at us often unresolved,questioning our sincerity of purpose and commitments to the society at large.

Nurungukal..2..contd..

     For the last two months it was election festival for keralites. I do not know whether Kerala Tourism dept. ventured to attract tourists like last time to enjoy the mela. This time there was not much processions and rallies in Wayanad, organised by the political parties to show their might. Instead they preferred to make house campaigns. Only the main contestants viz UDF,LDF and NDA  were in the arena as far as canvasing was concerned. Although it started in a subdued tone, as days advanced the intensity increased reaching a high crescendo in the last lap.

       The social media also played an important roll depending on the choice of the user. This of course made the posts either jovial or informative. The roll of such reactions in influencing the electorate will remain as a case for research to the political Pundits.

       It gave an opportunity to the common man to witness the big guns in action, pleading and even performing snap shots of mimicry. Candidates made marathon visits in their constituency with folded hands. No wedding function remained unattended and during the last few days they never failed to make condolence visits. And the public took every such reaction in good spirit and hope.

        No wall paintings, thanks to Sheshanji. But the blaring of slogans and parodies virtually did more damage to our organs. The positive change this time was the distribution of some serious manifestos explaining their vision and future plans. But it remains to be seen how many will be complied with once they come to power.

     I hope that when the event is over each one will take care to remove the posters and hoardings, instead of abandoning them to be decayed and polluting the nature.

         The most important change which I experienced was that none came to collect funds for their election expenditure. I wonder what the reason is?!. Anyway it is a positive sign. Thanks for their self sufficiency.

        Tomorrow is the D day. Let us hope that the enlightened electorate of Kerala will choose the most eligible without fear or ferver…contd

Nurungukal..2..contd…

      Mithuna our grand daughter is just seven years old now. She is sprightly and have all the prangs of her age. As time changes  children also adapt to noval acivities atune to the changing lifestyle. For instance in our time we were satisfied with what was provided by he parents. Our toys were made out of things available locally, say a ball or bird made out of a coconut leaf or at the best a rubber ball purchased at a festival market. And all this depend on the time elders can spare or the availability of funds. But now things have changed. If we fail to satisfy  their demand, which sprout according to their moods you are in a danger zone staking the peace of your home.

        Mithuna, if she do not hve any one of her age group to play with the choice falls on my wife, who at her age 70 has to play the roll of a student often, or that of a patient or of any oyher character. The teacher student scene is enacted in perfect harmony with what happens in a her class room. With a cane in her hand and a black board on the dining room wall,she makes my wife  to learn what ever she has been made to in the school, starting from the morning greeting, in exact sequence. At time she appears to be very angry when my wife’s attentions wanders to the food on the stove. The enactment is meticulouse in details to that of a very temporamental teacher. I always used to wonder whether she is imitating her class teacher in true sense and how much anger the teacher might have transmitted to the the tiny tots.

         She can perfectly show you the Baratha natyam mudras in the correct order while reciting the relevant sanskrit sloka. Similarly  she has learned many tamil film songs ,many of them having tongue twisting lyrics and can also perform some items in the gyrations the heroines make.

        During this vecation she learned cycling within a few hours herself. I have seen my daughter persivering for hours to teach cycling of other children a few years ago. I think human capacity to adept a setuation increases as generations progress. My children were faster than me in learnig cycling ,swimming etc.

         When they are at home my computer and mobile phone  are at their disposal. Infact I have learned many of the applications of these gadjets from them.

       Now they have returned leaving us once again to our solitudes, devoid of laughter. With many of their demands remain unfulfilled we bid good bye looking yonder for the next holidays.

Nurungukal..2..contd…

      Mithuna our grand daughter is just seven years old now. She is sprightly and have all the prangs of her age. As time changes  children also adapt to novel activities attune to the changing lifestyle. For instance in our time we were satisfied with what was provided by he parents. Our toys were made out of things available locally, say a ball or bird made out of a coconut leaf or at the best a rubber ball purchased at a festival market. And all this depend on the time elders can spare or the availability of funds. But now things have changed. If we fail to satisfy  their demand, which sprout according to their moods you are in a danger zone staking the peace of your home.

        Mithuna, if she do not have any one of her age group to play with the choice falls on my wife, who at her age 70 has to play the roll of a student often, or that of a patient or of any other character. The teacher student scene is enacted in perfect harmony with what happens in a her class room. With a cane in her hand and a black board on the dining room wall,she makes my wife  to learn what ever she has been made to in the school, starting from the morning greeting, in exact sequence. At time she appears to be very angry when my wife’s attentions wanders to the food on the stove. The enactment is meticulous in details to that of a very temperamental teacher. I always used to wonder whether she is imitating her class teacher in true sense and how much anger the teacher might have transmitted to the the tiny tots.

         She can perfectly show you the Baratha natyam mudras in the correct order while reciting the relevant sanskrit sloka. Similarly  she has learnt many Tamil film songs ,many of them having tongue twisting lyrics and can also perform some items in the gyrations the heroines make.

        During this vacation she learnt cycling within a few hours herself. I have seen my daughter persevering for hours to teach cycling of other children a few years ago. I think human capacity to adept a situation increases as generations progress. My children were faster than me in learning cycling ,swimming etc.

         When they are at home my computer and mobile phone  are at their disposal. In fact I have learnt many of the applications of these gadgets from them.

       Now they have returned leaving us once again to our solitudes, devoid of laughter. With many of their demands remain unfulfilled we bid good bye looking yonder for the next holidays.

Nurungukal…2…contd…

     Many of us are very inquisitive about the proceedings of a marriage function. I have heard many a time people critically commenting on the correctness of the sequence of events. Sometime on the positioning of the bride before the nuptial knot, Whether she should be on the right side  till the nuptial knot is made  or the correct custom is to keep her on the left side of the groom from the very start. Or there was a lapse in the way the father of the bride offering  her to the groom. All this happens because there is no pattern set by an institution, as in the matter of other communities and no authorised person to conduct the ceremony. In our case , I have seen on many occasions the couple succumbing to the instructions of the camera man. At one instance even the nuptial knot had to be retied  on the demand of the camera man as he failed to get a good shot at the first try. On another, he even ventured to arrange the frill and pleat of the saree of the bride at places, which normally a lady is allowed to manage.  In another case the couple was asked to re-do one or two steps again and again just for the convenience of the photographer.

         Now a new breed known as event managers have appeared. They own the last word in what ever happens during the function. The magnitude of their roll and events depend on the bulge of the purse of the parents. From a to z every thing will be taken care of by them, even a marriage function at a distant destination.

          The other day we were received and ushered in by two beautiful girls whom I have not seen in any of our family circle. With folded hands and Namaste they flowed in style before us  like a pair of air hostess. Many such girls were positioned at all the strategic places, even on the stage  and they were the best attractions  than the best attired guests.

      One by one the camera crew with back packs and long baggage entered and encroached the space below the stage. There were about twelve of them standing in a row on the stage like a wall, obviously showing their posterior to the audience and some of them were holding huge umbrellas  obstructing what ever little gaps through which the crowd strained their necks to witness the proceedings. The concerted efforts of a host to  crack the wall were in vain  and we were satisfied with a grand view of the changing positions of the “buttock wall”.

            Helplessly I derived  solace in remembering my roll as a boy in sprinkling the rose water on the bride groom party and distributing lemons to the guests during the wedding  function of my sister a few decades ago.

Nurungukal..2..contd…

        Sitting on the veranda of the newly built house of my brother’s daughter on the banks of Nila an unusually hot wind grazing the warm sand and withered shrubs caressed me. Lot of water fowls were taking an ocassional dip in the water and some were sitting on the shubs spreadyng their wings to dry.  A narrow stream of muddy water flew touching the western bank to show the world that Nila is struggling to exist  and lay lifeless as a vanquished.I did not resist my  temptation to touch her and as I stepped down,  a tickle passed through. I remained there for a while enjoying the rhythm of her heart beat. It seems that there was nobody to take care of her, when I witnessed several plastic bags full of waste lay scattered and  the fluttering pieces of plastics on the branches of the shrubs. Many a great poet has wept over her pathos.Still we are blind to accept the very purpose of her existence as one of the main arteries of Western ghats.        This sight was a total contrast to what I experienced on the previous day.It was an undulated patch of land, nearly twelve acres, maintained by an ancient Namboodiri family known as Pathirikunnu mana. The Mana now exists on the strength of  a belief as old as 1500 years, about their association with serpents.  The sight of sky high trees, intertwined with  rare  species of creepers, small ravines and a few ponds , the chirping of birds, a few colonies of honey bees hanging over in cluster on certain trees, the penetrating rays of sun reflecting the cobwebs as they filter through the vast canopy  of towering trees, ripe native mangoes strewn like a carpet every where and the roots protecting soil and water fascinated me. I felt as if I was in the midst of a pristine forest. These are the best models of biodiversity conservation which truly demands the support of carbon trading proceedings.

     I never had  any hope of such experiences when I was heading  to participate in two functions in Valluvanad. On both side of the main high way I saw the life like boards of candidates for the assembly election showing their shining  teeth. Some with bare gums and others posed as if they are ready for a cat walk!!. Our journey was interrupted at a few places by the slogan shouting followers and way side gatherings. All was well and I enjoyed the enthusiasm of setting up a democracy.

        Paddy fields lying fallow after the harvest and a few patches of melon  and beans cultivation prompted me to make a purchase of farm fresh vegetables. It also gave me a chance to evaluate the change in he landscape use, since my childhood days till now. As I lay back relaxed on the cushion of the car, I wondered how the forefathers travelled on the rickety  roads and about their consciousness  to preserve the Mother Earth. Let us think about a day which will not depend on fossil fuel for development…..

  

Nurungukal…2…contd…

        In the late 1980s the idea to quit my job in Central Warehousing Corporation started building up in me. The farmer in me was forcing me to take the reign of management of the small coffee estate which my wife had inherited from her ancestral property. More over agriculture was in my blood ever since childhood. My father maintained a homestead farm. Entire family used to get involved in activities such as transplantation, harvesting even in pounding of rice in the back veranda along with over servant girls. There was a native cow whom my mother lovingly called Chinnu, which hardly produced 5 glass of milk. Now I maintain one yielding twenty litres !!. But the quality of milk differ very much . My cow is only a milk producing machine were as chinnu was another member of our family, so dear and pampered. It was a sight to watch her grazing in our compound as her calf struggling from behind to suck the tits and dodging to avoid her mother’s kicks.

       We children had no foot wear. In fact I bought one for the first time when I was reading for my bachelor degree!!. Perhaps that gave us an opportunity to be in touch with mother earth and a feeling of love towards nature. Similarly we children roamed in batches from field to field to collect flowers for decorating the courtyard during Onam celebrations. It gave us ample chance to get in dialogue with nature. Butterflies, birds and even snakes befriended us. Many of us took pleasure in imitating the call of different birds, especially that of kuyil.

        I thought when I settle down in Wayanad I may get back  at least a part of my old days. Yes in 1990 Wayanad was a heaven to live. The small house was surrounded with a stretch of paddy field contoured with coffee gardens. Come monsoon the Tigrina frogs used to crock loudly behind my house and during dusk the chorus of a pack of fox reminded me the child hood days. A swarm of glow worms illuminated the Tamarind tree. The flight of large colonies of wasps migrating from one place to another, making a sound  similar to that of propeller of a plane  was very common then. Now after 45 years, I yearn to experience them one again  and keep my eyes and ears sharp but in vain. Instead the sounds of speeding tillers and JCBs from a nearby quarry disturbs me.The marshy lands, paddy fields and even hillocks have disappeared which reminds me a line…” old order changeth yielding place to new….” This year  the mercury has touched unexpected heights scorching, blistering the earth and our hearts. We have seen a few birds here which used to frequent only desert areas leaving us to sit finger crossed hopping for a sustainable development concept. Let our curriculum be more nature friendly, because only the next generation can retrieve the earth………

Nurungukal..2..cont

     January first is time for me to roll back my memory and  make an imaginary walk on the Indra Nagar roads in Bangalore. My best New year days were enjoyed there in the company of a rare breed of humans whom I cherish the most dearest and close to my heart. It was a cluster of families representing different backgrounds. Keralites, Kannadigas, Iyengar and  a Maharashtrian. By a chance of destiny we met,loved,frolicked,enjoyed every moment of each other’s company without any inhibitions, true and transparent. A true expression of unity in diversity.

       I was a latecomer to the group. The banker,  an ex pilot and a teacher, the retired major, the marketing manager and a noted designer and photographer attracted me at the first encounter itself. I did not make much time to get into the grove and attain a coveted uncle hood.

      The group became vibrant on weak ends, sharing the hospitality in turn. Food from all the kitchen were pooled, to be enjoyed while the elders immersed in a vociferous session of rummy and others in lighter games.  The party used to be alive as long as the brew lasts. The discussions during the game touched almost all the current events and subjects.  An occasional fight added spice to the game. Leaving the lady of the house to clear the shambles the rest moved out with  usual fare well gimmicks  and thinking of the next weak end gathering.

      The trip to the location where  the great movie SHOLAY was shot was an event to keep preciously in any one’s heart for years. Like a military operation we moved in lock stock and barrel with baskets full of food ,fruits, drinks and what not. There was even a cricket bat and  ball. The wickets we managed with the twigs. The water in the lake resisted nobody from a plunge. For hours and hours  it was fun and merriment. As the sun slowly hid behind the mountain we managed to return while the sound of Gubbar singh  [arayo samba]and the sound of hoofs from the scenes of SHOLAY still reverberating in our ears.

       December 31^st evening  is the time for preparation to welcome New year. All would gather in a house ,invariably  Sreenu’s. Then till midnight it was time for music. eating .drinking and dancing. A blissful celebration ending with a loud wishing of HAPPY NEW YEAR.  Now every thing is like a dream. I yearn to be once again in that company .

   This post is only a memoir to the man who was responsible  for providing  me such bliss full days in my life at least for a few years…………

Nurungukal….2…contd…

     Every day sharp at 6’o clock she wakes up with a loud yawn as she scratch and arrange her hair which, was once reaching much below her posterior like a bunch of flowers of a palm tree. I have seen her managing it with great effort those days. And now she does it by a flick. As she slowly raise and staggers away, shifting her weight from one leg to another, I try to visualise  her swan walk of younger age.

By the time I get up after an extended nap the flask containing my morning coffee would be ready on the table, which I used to gulp shamelessly as a matter of right. The sequence of events that follow there after is in military precision as far as she is concerned no matter what the others do or wish. The routine is impeccably adhered.  The time slot for each activity viz. the afternoon siesta, ironing of clothes,[including mine] or stitching  is unchangeable come what may. I have never seen her in all these  45 years  enjoying an undeserved rest or interval in her daily life.

An introvert by nature, she opens herself in a subdued voice [not a murmur] when in company with her close relatives , although I am not in that list. It is always a fascinating scene, herself engaged in such moods. 

 I often used to watch in appreciation her impeccable dexterity in creating intrinsic patterns of lace work or woollen clothes. She derives an unusual joy while concentrating for hours on such a hobby.  Such expressions of excellence can  be attributed to high degree of tenacity.

 Although she has crossed 70, still pursues the above said rare qualities  to keep her engaged from dawn to dusk, without any expectation of appreciation from any corner.

 This post is only a silent recognition of all good things she stand forf.