Nurungukal: Nurungulai… Covid19 lock down protocol is in...

Nurungukal:
Nurungulai…
     Covid19 lock down protocol is in...: Nurungulai…      Covid19 lock down protocol is in progress. I have once again plunged into my old past time viz; reading, writing, gar...

Nurungulai…

     Covid19 lock down protocol is in progress. I have once again plunged into my old past time viz; reading, writing, gardening etc. But now God bless there is a thin flat gadget  with almost every body which can take you to any part of the world by a soft touch. I am no exemption. One evening as I was rolling the u tube posts, an old video of a rare breed of buffalo started playing. A hefty Sardarji, in his typical turban and colourful cloths was leading proudly  one of his pet buffaloes in a farm in Punjab.  It was obviously a Murah  breed. He was giving a talk to a videographer explaining  thread bare details of the animal. It was exceptionally heavy and dark. Decorated with multicoloured ribbons and ropes it strode in stile as if engaged in a ramp walk. It’s name is “yuvaraj” ,and no doubt an apt one. When I heard it’s price in the world market, it was mind blogging to me, an ordinary farmer from Kerala. Plus 8 cr. Even to that bid Sardar refused to part with his pet. It reminded me about the world;s smallest cow “Manikkam”, a native of kerala (vechur), which also is in the price tag of more than a few crores.

       I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was my wife who was watching the video from behind. Akin to her style, in measured words avoiding any  undue exaggerations told about the glory of a buffalo who was the most wanted and at the same time feared animal in her family. It’s name was Shanku. She continued that unlike Yuvaraj who appeared to be docile and gentle, Shanku was hostile and fearsome. Very often turned violent and charged on strangers. Only one or two members in the family could manage him. He refused to take command when irritated. But in style and stock he was almost like his Punjabi brother.   In spite of all these he was instrumental in bringing in glory to the family by winning an award in a state level cattle and poultry show held in Kozhikode on 13.3.1960 by the Director of Animal Husbandry, Govt.of kerala, exactly 60 years ago..There was also a prize money of Rs.125/- and a silver lamp as the trophy. This lamp is now reverently worshipped in the family Pooja room. Her brother the other day was describing the pain they  took to transport him to the venue of the show all the way from Wayanad in a lorry with the help three others. Yes, the award, besides the glory did bring in some considerations to them by way of free veterinary service of the doctor Mr.Harilaal who was incidentally  instrumental for the entire episode. Apart from that the bull later was considered as the best stud bull even in the neighbouring villages.

         There was a time when the family owned many pairs of buffaloes. At a time about 60 to 70 numbers. All of them were reared just for the preparations of the paddy field and for thrashing paddy when they were managing their vast property as a joint family.  I remember to have seen one of their herd keeper named Chandan (a tribal). He was an handicapped person as one of his legs were severed below his knee. He used to move about with the help of a long stick, which he positioned in between the remaining stub of the severed leg. I had seen him negotiating at great speed  jumping and shouting through the muddy paddy fields to keep the herd under his control. A speed and agility which even a normal youngster can not achieve at the peak of one’s health. The stock of such cattle and men have disappeared, leaving us with no option but to depend on machines, to satiate our endless greed……

Nurungulai…

     Covid19 lock down protocol is in progress. I have once again plunged into my old past time viz; reading, writing, gardening etc. But now God bless there is a thin flat gadget  with almost every body which can take to any part of the world by a soft touch. I am no exemption. One evening as I was rolling the u tube posts, an old video of a rare breed of buffalo started playing. A hefty Sardarji, in his typical turban and colourful cloths was leading proudly  one of his pet buffaloes in a farm in Punjab.  It was obviously a Murah  breed. He was giving a talk to a videographer explaining the thread bare details of the animal. It was exceptionally heavy and dark. Decorated with multicoloured ribbons and ropes it strode in stile as if engaged in a ramp walk. It’s name is “yuvaraj” ,and no doubt an apt one. When I heard it’s price in the world market, it was mind blogging to me, an ordinary farmer from Kerala. Plus 8 k. Even to that bid Sardar refused to part with his pet. It reminded me about the world;s smallest cow “Manikkam”, a native of kerala (vechur), which also in the price tag of more than a few crores.

       I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was my wife who was watching the video from behind. Akin to her style, in measured words avoiding any  undue exaggerations told about the glory of a buffalo who was the most wanted and at the same time feared animal in her family. It’s name was Shanku. She continued that unlike Yuvaraj who appeared to be docile and gentle, Shanku was hostile and fearsome. Very often turned violent and charged on strangers. Only one or two members in the family could manage him. He refused to take command when irritated. But in style and stock he was almost like the Punjabi brother.   In spite of all these he was instrumental in bringing glory to the family by winning a third position in a state level cattle and poultry show held in Kozhikode on 13.3.1960 organised by the Director of Animal husbandry of the state of Kerala, exactly 60 years from now.…There was a prize money of Rs.125/- and a silver lamp as the trophy. This lamp is now reverently worshipped in the family Pooja room. Her brother the other day was describing the pain they  took to transport him to the venue of the show all the way from Wayanad in a lorry with the help three others. But the award did bring some considerations to them by way of free veterinary service of the doctor Mr.Harilaal who was indecently  instrumental for the entire episode. Apart from that the bull later was considered as the best stud bull.

  There was a time when the family owned many pairs of buffaloes. At a time about 60 to 70 numbers. All of them were reared just for the preparations of the paddy field and for thrashing paddy during the days of a flourishing joint family.  I remember to have seen one of their caretaker named Chandan (a tribal). He was an handicapped person as one of his legs were severed below his knee. He used to move about with the help of a long stick, which he positioned in between the remaining stub of the severed leg. I had seen him negotiating at great speed  jumping and shouting through the muddy paddy fields to keep the herd under his control. A speed and agility which even a normal youngster can not achieve at the peak of one’s health. The stock of such cattle and men have disappeared, leaving us with no option but to depend on machines, to satiate our endless greed………

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. Even beforehundred and odd year...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….      Even beforehundred and odd year...: Nurungukal….       Even before hundred and odd years   many of our elders had gone to distant countries in search of livelihood and som...

Nurungukal….

      Even before hundred and odd years  many of our elders had gone to distant countries in search of livelihood and some to acquire more wealth. Mlayasia, Singapore etc were those much sought after pastures. There was a pair in Ponani, popularly known as African brothers. Later they both returned and settled down comfortably.  My father was also such an NRI of those days. He was in Burma now Mianmar, working as a stenographer to a colonial boss.  Much later in my life only I came to know that our mother was his second alliance as the first one had to be terminated soon, since she refused to accompany him to such a far off place. But our mother enjoyed every moment of her life in Burma with hi. It was evident from her narration about many of the events she was involved there. Her days  in Rangoon  was a land mark in her life because it is there she was exposed to many niceties in life such as social contacts with the elites, a club activity, modern practices of health care, platform for articulating her in-born qualities etc. Above all, may be that it provided  her an opportunity to derive a freedom and  to escape from the short comings of a joint family life back home. All my elder brothers and sister were born and brought up there. Unfortunately when my turn came, mother had to leave Rangoon at the advent of the second world war. As destiny would have it I was born under native facilities unlike my brothers and sister who enjoyed modern health care of that time in their infancy. When Japan started bombarding Rangoon my father had to leave his job and flee to India in the last ship, disguising as an employee of an oil company. In shambles he reached home leaving every bit of his earnings, to mould another life which he accomplished steadily and in style by consolidating his and mother’s share in their ancestral properties.

           Like the saying “time and tide wait for none”, my growth was also just an evolutionary process. There was nothing special in it. No achievements worth mentioning to my credit. I was Just another human being on this earth. Even my degree which I managed to earn after several attempts did not help to claim a status. In the arena of job hunting I was just one among thousands. It was at this point of time in my life, I felt despair and failure. I was confused and unprepared to face the reality. Left with a conviction that at any cost I will emulate my parents. Compassion, ethics, co-existence, friendship, nature friendliness etc were my guiding factors. Even now I feel these values remain deep in me.

         My younger brother overtook me in grabbing a job. I was still hunting! Time was running out . I was virtually in a state of hibernation. It was during this period, my father started using my potential in assisting  him in farm management. Day by day my responsibilities were multiplying. Gradually I was getting equipped to address intricate problems of maintaining a farm. A basic knowledge of science helped me to seek solutions rationally in managements of cultivation practices, pre and post harvest operations, processing, marketing, in and out flow of finance, inputs, labour etc. I was virtually metamorphosing into a full fledged farmer.

      When the daily assignments were over, I took pleasure in going to a local library which had started functioning under the initiative of some of my close relatives and other public. Apart from my father’s favourite The Hindu daily news paper, I started devouring popular weekly journals, and magazines. Many of such publications have disappeared viz; Sports and Pastime, Illustrated weekly, Blitz etc;. Also we had access to the literary works of many famous authors both in Malayalam and English.

        During my college days I was a regular visitor to the public library in Kozhikode, near Mananchira square. It’s here I had seen a standing desk for reading news papers.  I was happy to see some such desks in the Local library in Ponani also. Mr. Malayatur  Ramakrishnan had described  in one of his stories, which I read recently during the Corona lock down the advantage of using such desks. One of the  British District Magistrate and Collector of erstwhile Malabar was fond of hearing, scrutinising and studying all papers and pronouncing  important judgements  leaning on such a desk as it reduced fatigue, prevented anal problems due to long hours of sitting. One of his juniors when he became Malabar collector, long time afterwards also used the same desk to study and pass the verdict in a very controversial case.

        One or two advocates from the local bar and a few others were regular visitors of this library. Gradually it became a regular meeting place of us to dwell on all and sundry matters. And frequently some of us in close circles found pleasure in taking long walks through nearby vast stretches of paddy fields, sandy  beds of Bharatha Puzha, and deserted mud roads. Those walks accompanied with meaningful discussions, debates  arguments etc; provided a ground to keep in abreast with the latest developments around the globe. To me it was a dress rehearsal to equip with adequate tools to meet future challenges. Like the saying by a British premier “Briton won the world war in the play grounds of Etton “, I broke the dead lock by striding in a village in the company of unequal personalities…..!!

         When I left my native place the perspective of future was clear in me. The basics of what I am today was etched in me during that one and years of hibernation…….. !!

 

Nurungukal: Nurungukal.. Five pairs of buffaloesmoved s...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal..       Five pairs of buffaloesmoved s...: Nurungukal..        Five pairs of buffaloes moved slowly one behind the other in the muddy field surrounded by small hillocks. Their mo...

Nurungukal..

       Five pairs of buffaloes moved slowly one behind the other in the muddy field surrounded by small hillocks. Their movements were very slow and rhythmic. They moved forward knee deep in the mud, pulling the ploughs, splashing mud and swaying their heads. Unmindful of the occasional beating  and shouts from behind the animals did their duty while chewing the grass which they had swallowed last night in greed. The half clad  men  not so robust as those in the planes shouted in union, waving their long sticks over their heads to usher the animals. They were also fully drenched in mud. The animals took turns and circles exactly in tune with the  commands, like well oiled machines.

        I was enjoying the scene from the elevated  courtyard of her house. It was early in the morning. My second day after the wedding in my wife’s house. The taste and aroma of the coffee brew made out from farm fresh beans  was unmatched. For a moment I was trying to recollect a similar effect while sipping a cup of coffee from India coffee house in Calicut.

       A few women were uprooting paddy seedlings from the beds. They were also knee deep in the mud. Their dress was traditional. A broad red cloth tied tightly to their waist identified them as tribals. They were scattered in the field, unlike those in down planes, who always maintained a row in such jobs. Each seedling was uprooted briskly with both their hands. Intermittently straightening to bunch the seedling after washing away the mud. There was so much dexterity and speed involved in every movement. Another set of women were engaged in the transplantation.

      Two pairs of buffaloes were engaged in leveling the fields. They were pulling a broad wooden plank over which a man was balancing precariously by holding a string tied to the yoke. Here the animals were more sturdy and pulled the man and the plank at a fairly good speed. As they took speed jets of muddy water rose through the holes in the plank like fountains.

       On the other side a few were engaged in repairing the bunds with heavy scoops of mud, in order to ensure management of correct levels of water, which is an important component of paddy cultivation.

   

       All these activities I have experienced in our fields in Ponnani. What aroused me here was the performance of some extras. There was an aged couple in traditional attire making rhythmic movements in tune with the sounds of the utukku  and kuzhal. In chorus many others also joined them to move their body and arms up and down and occasionally shrieking and whistling. Even the women engaged in plucking the seedlings joined the dancers. Turn by turn they squeezed into a nearby hut and rejoined the group with more energy. On the slope of an hillock, under a tree a few cloth cradles dangled from which tiny brown foots kicked out occasionally. The granny who was sitting nearby pulled the rope to swing the cradle munching betel leaves and humming a native lullaby. Slowly and steadily the crescendo of the chorus attained high pitch, triggering a new energy to all the performers, forgetting  drudgery and fatigue they were all set on a mission to be accomplished. A mission to fill our granaries, so noble yet ……….????

      I just turned back and she was there all set for a ride….

 

 

Nurungukal: Nurungukal In 1970 I turnedthirty. By that ti...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal     In 1970 I turnedthirty. By that ti...: Nurungukal      In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now ...

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

Hi every body

Nurungukal: Nurungukal In 1970 I turnedthirty. By that ti...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal     In 1970 I turnedthirty. By that ti...: Nurungukal      In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now ...

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialised in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………     

         

Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………