Nurungukal..2…contd…

      I do not remember exactly when I started using ball point pens discarding the fountain pen. It can be probably in the early part of nineteen sixty's. Because I am sure in the primary school we were allowed to use only slate and pencil. The pencil was just a piece of soft stone, which came in different colours and texture. Some were very hard which refused to make impressions on the slate, instead made deep etchings, damaging the surface of the slate. We used to clean the slate  every morning using the leaves of hibiscus before going to school. A few cuttings of a grass which store water in its stems for cleaning the slate, would be always available in the jute bag in which we carried our books, slate etc.We managed to get the jute or very rarely a cloth bag from mother after a prolonged pleading. Invariably our request would be considered only after producing the one in use and confirming that it is in an irreparable condition. These bags are used to hold packets of LG brand of asafoetida [kaayam] which is popular even now.  Where as now children get costly back packs just for a song, new in every academic year.

       As we reached higher class, slate and pencil were replaced by still pens along with an ink bottle, which we precariously balanced in our left hand while running to school. Very often we came back from school smearing the ink on our dress and of course inviting painful smacks from mother. I remember that often the ink used to either drop or flow in excess forcing us to blot with dry sand collected from the class room floor.Blotting paper was unreachable then to kids. If the quality of the paper is poor the ink will spread, drawing weary designs and inviting unpleasant reactions from our teachers.  Those wooden desks with a provision for keeping the ink bottle and still pens have disappeared from the class rooms now.  Then came the fountain pens in various designs. We never had a chance to own a new pen and was satisfied with those used by our elders. Parker, Blackbird or Waterman with platinum point nibs were elusive in our student life. But there were a few students who enjoyed the elite status of owning the glittering pens.

        Yesterday once again I ventured to purchase a fountain pen in order to be a part of discarding plastics. A trend our community is now pursuing after enduring the damage for the last many years. The sales girl showed me many types, even a ‘Parker’ with a disposable ink cartridge!!. Then I thought about my school days and the elite club, but manged to resist the temptation and choose an ordinary brand so that it will remain with me as a  reminder of the distant past, the rest of my life.

   Dum…dum…dum…pee…pee…pi…..

Nurungukal..2  contd…

      For the last few years I did not venture to cultivate paddy as it was a loosing venture. But this year once again I decided to give a try, mainly to revive a nostalgia of my childhood experience. I am now over seventy five, yet when I feel the various scents emanating during the many stages of cultivation, takes me to a distant past and it reveals a vivid canvas of the activities I used to participate.

       To any body I believe, a scent relates to a place or an individual or an incident etc. As you walk on the street any passerby leaves a charecterestic smell. It can be a scent of a perfume or a smell of sweat. Similarly different places have individual identity recognised by their fragrance.For instance,as you climb the Nilgiri hills slowly  your nostrils receive the smell of eucalyptus. In Sabarimala a mixture of camphor, agar bathi and burning coconut prevails.  The first drizzle enchants you with a fragrance of the Mother Earth. When the coffee blooms it is the fragrance of jasmine. The sweat droplets on the neck of your beloved can trigger your senses. Were as the upholstery of your new car gives you a different feeling. Inside a hospital it is the smell of cheap disinfectants. A court room emanates the smell of pet up feelings and bundles of old documents.You can feel the scent of life when you hold a stuggling and skidding new born calf.

          Now when I stand knee deep in the middle of a muddy paddy field, and as the scent of mud slowly creeps into me, I feel my  adolescence. Gradually the sound of splash made by many pairs of  robust feet of buffaloes  as they move around in circles and the folk songs sung in chorus by a set of village damsels describimg the story of the heroes of North Malabar warriors reverberates in me as ever before.

       Un mind full of the clattering of the gauge wheels of the power tiller or the hoarse sound of its engine,now I used to sit in the shade of a nearby coffee plant deeply immersed and sublimated in my nostalgic memories. It is for this heavenly moments I ventured to revive paddy cultivation. But lo  the real claimants for the fruits of my labour took me in surprise to reap the harvest before me. They were none other than a few hundreds of sparrows and a family of wild bore. In olden days many acres were under paddy crop. Now the area has shrunk forcing the sparrows and bores to grab what ever is available. I have no regrets and appreciates their claim.  I am thank full that In gratitude they left for me at least a few bundles of hey and of course my NOSTALGIA as bonus.

     Dum… dum… dum…pee…pee…pi..

      

        

Nurungukal..2..conyd..

       They visit your house once in a way and never the same person repeat it  . That too in the afternoon, when we are refreshed after a siesta and open to receive visitors. The other day my door bell rang at about 3pm.I was just from bed. When I opened the door a girl of about twenty greeted me with a broad smile and introduced as a sales trainee of a marketing company. My first reaction was to excuse her and shut the door. She might have guessed my intention and softly said that she wanted only to introduce some new items which will be of use to the kitchen and started opening a big black bag which she was with much difficulty balancing on her slender shoulder. As I was about to refuse her offer my wife appeared at the door which gave the girl a ray of hope and spread out one or two items which she claimed as new in the market. She sat on the veranda and started a mock demonstration of the products claimed to be essential items in a modern kitchen. Her presentation, I could see had gradualy influenced my wife, simultaneously alerting me the impending danger of upsetting my monthly budget. As the dialogue between the two proceeded she pulled out more items from the bag and I was convinced that she was about to prevail upon my wife. I made one or two attempts to dissuade my wife from a deal with feeble arguments, which the girl cunningly over came. As I was about to leave the scene accepting defeat, wife came out with a bunch of hundred rupee notes and as a triumphant trader  marched off with two pieces of the so called new gadgets.  But I was sure that they will soon find a place in our dust bin like most of the former ones.

       As I came back to occupy the easy chair the girl had reached our gate, throwing me a smile, she left confidently looking for her next customer. I leaned back to the comforts of my chair thinking about her smart trainer.

       Dum dum dum pee pee pi !!!