Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. Thirty first May2020,time 8 PM. ...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….     Thirty first May2020,time 8 PM. ...: Nurungukal….      Thirty first May 2020,time 8 PM. An event, for the first time in our family was going to take place. A zoom party. I ...

Nurungukal….

     Thirty first May 2020,time 8 PM. An event, for the first time in our family was going to take place. A zoom party. I was an amateur in handling an on line video meeting with several others. Still I ventured to take a plunge, because I was sure about the support of our younger folks. When it was finally on, I felt as if I was airborne in a cloud or on a magical carpet to float amazingly from continent to continent, country to country and place to place. As the characters slowly emerged one by one on that little screen, we were in a clamour to greet and signal each other. As usual, akin to our family trait the customary crescendo of the chorus gained rapidly and as I could see a canvas of utter chaos was slowly rising. Although we were miles apart physically we behaved as if the distance was no matter.  To many among us this event was much familiar with, and it was so in the case of some of my friends. But  to me it was so strange , energising and I carried the effervescence of that experience till late at night. Even when it lacked any charm of an organic togetherness, the meeting had all the ingredients of a live sentimental texture and closeness. In other words it was well within our expectations. As it came to a close, one by one reluctantly withdrew from the arena and the screen drew blank, letting us in wait till next week.

        The whole episode was an eye-opener to me about the vast horizon of potentialities of the technology and the accomplishments of human race. I wonder a day may come when we may be able to have access to those who had left us in grief. Perhaps that may be the only option left before us to combat future pandemics. Beware, a shade war is on. There is no escape from it until humanity  succumbs to the inevitable acceptance of co-existence…….

              

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…… He used tovisit our house at ...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal……        He used tovisit our house at ...: Nurungukal……         He used to visit our house at regular intervals. He was short and stout, not very fair. His Oxford hair style rese...

Nurungukal……

        He used to visit our house at regular intervals. He was short and stout, not very fair. His Oxford hair style resembled that of a British actor. With a square chin he was clean shaven like Dev Anand. Attired immaculately  In a sandal coloured full sleeves jubba and golden bordered double veshti, he presented an elite aristocratic look. So was his behaviour. Many of his fingers were adorned with glittering rings with stones in different colours and shapes jutting out like jamoon fruits. As he moved his head side ways a pair of ear rings  ( kadukkans )threw bright red rays. A pair of gold covered teeth peeped out while  he huskily spoke. A golden wrist watch made in Sweden dangled on his left hand casually, which he tried to keep in position now and then. He was none other than Mr. Mulloth, a hand loom owner and textile dealer from North Malabar.

      He was the first salesman I have met in my life, who actually taught me what is salesmanship. He was not really selling his products, but his manners. And of course the ethics, transparency etc etc. were complimentary.

       In mid nineteenth century there were many middle class Nair tharawads in Ponani. Most of them were joint families.  Their only livelihood was from agriculture, paddy and coconut being the main crops. The women folks in them were seldom seen in market places.  Marketing, either sale or purchase was looked after by the young male members, under the strict supervision of the head of the family (karanavar ), although it was a matriarchal regime. In nutshell women were only an ornamental entity. Of course there were exceptions.

      Our hero Mr. Mulloth was trying to take advantage of this situation for sales promotion. He procured speciality textile products from different places, besides his own and supplied them at the door steps of his exclusive customers. His hefty assistant carried a huge steel trunk box, resembling the one in the  notorious Alavantar murder case, in which the choicest collection were stuffed. They included varieties like Chendamangalam  set dotties, kancheepuram sarees, eerkalakara 100 yarn Pavu mundu, Kasavu mundu of original silver yarns etc. His arrival was usually announced by a hushed up cough. A customary welcome from the lady of the house permits his entry on to the Poomukham. He will slowly settle down on the smooth terracotta floor with a subdued  exhale. When the hosts spreads a grass mat, he would delicately exhibit the products one by one, taking care to expose their special features. Then it’s the other’s turn for scrutiny, queries and selection. In the process many apprehensions, conversation, giggles , subtle jokes etc transpire before the deal is settled. Occasionally he would stand up and volunteer to show the finer details of the fabric, all with a set smile on his calm face. He seldom insisted for ready cash settlement, instead allowed easy instalment payments. An irresistible offer to inflate his sales. He was dead sure that their vanity will not allow none of his customers to make defaults in full settlements. He and his assistant, balancing the heavy trunk on his head would leave gently on foot to the next customer and as the day ends would finally roost in the out house of one of the affluent families. This was his routine for many years. Now I understand from my sister that his successors are still pursuing his path, not on foot but in a car.

        I have come across many such entrepreneurs later in my life. There was one blind man selling vegetable in the narrow streets of Calicut. He was carrying the load on his shoulder at the two ends of a bamboo stick. He was totally blind and I used to wonder how he was meticulously negotiating through without stumbling. Perhaps God might have empowered adequately his other senses or more aptly it was his will power to  uphold his self esteem to toil for a livelihood. Another one had a mobile stationery shop. Every thing from pin to plane was available in his not so big wooden box. Yet another was a fruit seller. If you just look around you can meet many like them engaged in different fields. But none of them might have found a place in the screens of a power point presentation on success stories. In fact it is in them we have to seek the real make in India spirit. A tribe in whom you can observe the finer aspects of salesmanship, self esteem, ethics and perseverance. They uphold the real Indian trend of Swaraj and the efficacy of the  post Covid 19 resilience will depend much upon how sincere our planners are in supporting them.        

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. I am nearing eightynow. The lock ...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….    I am nearing eightynow. The lock ...: Nurungukal….     I am nearing eighty now. The lock down protocols do not permit me to step out from my home. Yet, I venture to take an ...

Nurungukal….

    I am nearing eighty now. The lock down protocols do not permit me to step out from my home. Yet, I venture to take an early morning stroll down the lane.  But recently seldom I used to enjoy the walk as it used to be earlier. I was enjoying such sojourns mainly in my interactions with the passers by. A smile, a twist of the upper lip or a silent hello, besides the intake of fresh air. Now the uncomfortable cover on my face is hindering all these. In fact fifty percent of my otherwise active face is blank. I have to now manage the expressions with my eyes, which have already lost their glitter. I wonder in present days even a mother’s lullaby would be a grumble !

     A mother and a child were coming opposite to me. The sibling was full of energy as can be seen from the way she swayed her body and limbs, as she moved ahead of her mother. The young mother was trying to drag the little one, may be trying to keep a safety gap from me. As usual I threw a smile to both. When it failed to get a response, I frantically tried my luck with my eyes, but in vain to trigger a reaction from the pair. One by one many passed past keeping safe distance and I felt that I was losing my entity as a social being. The social fabric is gradually rupturing and each individual is in a withdrawal syndrome.  The sense of togetherness is steadily withering. As a matter of fact the purpose of our existence has become our own concern and the community’s roll in it is fading. Individuals are going to be self protective and a cleavage is unknowingly developing. Forcibly a tendency, to be self centred is creeping in. I fear that another ugly version of an era of untouchables is emerging. May be that the nature is forcing on us to accept a new order and meaning to our existence. “Together you perish divided you live “. Unity in diversity is going to be a far cry, difficult to be accomplished.

         How are we going to circumvent this hostile situation?. I think we can find an answer, if we dig out our past life style. I mean a joint family set up, where intense relationship was nourished with close kith and kin. Outsiders were only complimentary or supporting actors to keep the social fabric intact. But in recent years the structure became fragile. Nuclear families sprung up for reasons of individual comforts, which forced us to seek help from others. This tendency accelerated the process of dependency on The State and free welfare schemes, although many safety options were available to address adverse situations with in a joint family. We demolished a time tested institution which was more dependable and sustainable, in our craze for following an alien culture which has obviously no relevance to our legacy.

       It’s almost certain that we have to live with this pandemic or a new one for many more years, because of the imbalances created by our own short sighted actions. Any organism tends to multiply it’s progeny  and for this process the need of a host is essential. Such organisms which were once depending on animals for multiplication are forced to find human hosts since their natural hosts have been reduced as a result of the imbalances caused by the human invasions into their domain. Until then this position is reversed we are always an easy targets of such hostile agents. As things stands now we have to either live with it and to be in defence till such time an effective striking tool is developed which is still eluding us.                 

        So the best option left before us is to adopt a workable resilience strategy. How to exist beyond the reach of the enemy, adopting the protocol now in vogue is the best option left before us. Then how to sustain livelihood.  Obviously the answer is to be self sufficient in food production. Our food basket has to necessarily fit in tune with our seasons, as was it in the early nineties viz; tubers, millets, fruits,greens etc. Even our dress code may have to be  redesigned so as to be frugal, avoiding opulence from all our activities. Thus an austere  version of development has to be aspired. I strongly believe that for many years to come global economy will loose its dominant Just try to relevance. Mainly because  the trade routes and corridors are going to be narrowed down. Prioritise investments in health, education, agriculture and biodiversity conservation based on water shed development principles. Up gradation of  any infrastructure should be ultimately complementary to a self sustainable and sufficient local community. Ultimately our endeavour should be to live in harmony with nature and her subjects. Let others live or perish. It is now or never…….Let the message of our Father of the nation  prevail in each heart "....................."

      

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. To love and tomake love are t...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….        To love and tomake love are t...: Nurungukal….         To love and to make love are two different situations. If one is mental, the other is a combination of both mind a...

Nurungukal….

        To love and to make love are two different situations. If one is mental, the other is a combination of both mind and body. If one is like melting an ice cube in your mouth the other is like dissolving a sugar cube. Both flows down tickling each cell in its path. Love at first sight is a foolish statement. No, it’s a slow process. It develops gradually. In its course of progression many elements have relevancy viz; caring, sharing, understanding, ethics, transparency, confidence, concern, compatibility etc; not the least compromise.

         It is human to fall in love. If you look back into your life, at least a few instances of infatuation, if not ardent love, can be dug out. Other wise you are devoid of a subtle mind.

        Love lost or snapped have been the theme of many a love story, for authors world over. Ramanan, Nalini, Oonhnal, far pavilion , to quote a few. In epics around the world you can come across many more. So it is love and love alone in this post.

       My uncle was a historian by birth and an advocate by profession. He had written two volumes of world history in Malayalam. It was during my college days in Kozhikode. He ventured into this epic task, at the fag end of his life. Had it been earlier he would have written many volumes and accomplished his life ambition and our mother tongue would have been blessed. He loved reading.Even at his advanced age he spent hours on books written by famous historians like H.G.WELLS. I had seen him tenaciously writing notes in his crisp Malayalam hand, sitting bend on the varandha. On and off  I had the privilege of assisting him in writing the manuscript. Such sessions had no doubt benefited me to acquire a comprehensive view of the historical events, besides urging me to access great works.

         I have not seen his wife. My mother used to talk about Ammayi, that’s how I know her. The first and the last  Ammayi  we could call. She was very beautiful. She was the daughter of the eldest brother of my father. Her father was a doctor of those days. Mother married my father and in exchange uncle wedded ammayi. It was a closely knit family bondage. She passed away at a young age, leaving behind six kids, five girls and a boy. It was at this juncture my mother had to return from Burma to take care of the children and her brother.

      My desire to join the army was in one way related to the high ranking position held by one of my cousins. In fact he was the only one who could rise up to such heights in army hierarchy in our family. We were all proud of him. Although I have not seen him in his chequered uniform, many of his photos on duty has envied me. My inspiration to join a short service emergency commission during the Chinese aggression in 1962 was actually the result of the admiration to my cousin. But unfortunately my hope in getting a rank failed at the alter of the SSB in Bangalore. My  only consolation was that I could live as an officer for a week in the camp and had a glimpse of the  life in the barracks.

        He married the eldest daughter of my uncle. It was a love marriage, I presume. It was so in those days to establish a romantic claim with in close family circles.A love story unfolds here. I do not know the finer details of it, because I was not a witness. Hence I leave it to the those who know better. As in the case of any soldier he had to often leave his family at home and move with the troops either in our frontiers or in another country on a peace keeping mission. In 1957 when I was in college his wife and children, three girls, were in Calicut to pursue their education. It was from them actually I learned many of the nursery rhymes, which helped me to recite them in correct pronunciation to my children. It was then I came to understand the importance of a well organised primary education. The discipline and order they impart in public schools at the lower standards can no doubt create a base for moulding a perfect character. Perhaps this basics might have been an important factor for their success in life, more so in acquiring worthy and enviable life partners. His wife being the eldest had to shoulder the responsibility of a guiding force to her younger sisters and brother. And she did it immaculately. There had been many an occasion to me to seek her matured advise.

        Their wedding took place at Ponnani, in their ancestral house known as PARUTHOLLI. Before the marriage we used to go on visit to this house and stay there for a few days. It was a nalukettu majestically built in the midst of a three acre coconut grove. There was a gate house, a pond, sacred grove.All aligned in tune with Vasthu Shasthra. The function was solemnised in traditional style with all the ingredients such as mani panthal, the bridegroom procession accompanied by nadaswaram,sadya etc. etc.

        Many years later we resumed  meeting when they came down to settle down in Trivandrum. I remember to have made a ride in the standard herald car, which was a craze at that time, with the Brigadier gallantly. His pet vehicle which he maintained till his last.

         We have many friends and relatives with whom we move closely. But there are only very few among them who can claim intimacy and respect. This family is one such to me.

      

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. When ever I visitedancient monumen...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….   When ever I visitedancient monumen...: Nurungukal….    When ever I visited ancient monuments of great dynasties especially that of Rajaputs and Mugals, I took immense pleasur...

Nurungukal….

   When ever I visited ancient monuments of great dynasties especially that of Rajaputs and Mugals, I took immense pleasure in taking my imagination on wings to visualise the proceedings in a court room or a love scene of some of the eternal lovers of those days. Often in my dreams and solitude characters from history flashed through, taking me to ecstasy. Similar thoughts appeared in me when I used to walk through the lengthy corridors of some of the very old temples in Tanjore, Madurai etc. Although I had all these days wished to meet a Maharaja or characters of those days  in flesh and blood, it still remains unfulfilled.

                 In Kerala there were many regional kings and Queens but they refrained from creating monuments of immense  grandeur as their counter parts in North India, Tamil Nadu or Karnataka. May be that they, even from old days had a better sense of social responsibility and commitments in handling public funds. They were  democratically concerned about the welfare of their subjects , rather than building edifices for posterity. The immense wealth which still remains in the coffers of one of the famous temples in our capital city is a standing example of their frugal princely life style.

               When I think of prince and princess of ester years, I have to drag my memory of those days in college. Many of my friends hailed from Raja families of Kottakal, Nilambur and Kozhikode, different clans of Samoothiry who was, as history tells us, instrumental for hosting and allowing foreigners to forge trade relations with far off continents thus stimulating world wide markets for our aromatic and spice produces.

                     I also have a faint memory of my audience with  the head of one of the Raja in our native place. We addressed him in respect as Thampuran. Actually in those days , before the land reforms acts in Kerala the ownership of vast area of agricultural lands and forests vested with such hierarchies. Those who toiled in the land, only held possession to carry on cultivation to derive a livelihood. A designated revenue has to be yearly remitted to the local Raja. Our family also was enjoying the benefits of such a land. Once or twice my father entrusted me to remit the dues, with strict instructions that when ever the Raja gave audience I had to adhere to a protocol which included, to enter his room only when I am called, to respect him with folded hands, to ensure that my dhothi to be unfolded below the knees, to climb the wooden stair case without making noise,  etc etc. As I did not have a foot wear, the removal of it did not arise. But on reaching the palace (kotta ) I forgot the instructions and straight away walked into his room,covering a lengthy court yard and climbing the ladder loudly clattering the loose wooden planks. Thampuran was sitting on an ordinary wooden chair which looked much old and unpolished. To my surprise it was the same one who freely moved about with out any ado among the  commoners in the ball badminton tournaments and rummy sessions sponsored by the then popular Union Sports Club of Ponnani.This club was once the meeting ground of  sport lovers of Ponnani. The yearly ball bad mention tournament was an event to reckon with. High ranking players from far and near participated and in those days teenagers like me were inspired to be part of that Mela.   

                       He was smoking holding the cigarette popping up through the middle finger and puffing out  the smoke in perfect rings into the air. Much later I had witnessed to our curiosity, my brother-in-law doing this style of emitting series of smoke rings. One of my elder brothers  was a chain smoker. He held the burning stub between his lips precariously without inhaling a single puff till it ceased burning at the tip of the filter.  One of my college mates, a Muslim boy used to have  one or two quick puffs from a mini beedi during the intervals  in college, and occasionally I also ventured to enjoy a couple of puffs with him. But the Raja’s style still remain etched in my heart.  

                       The Thampuran offered me a seat smilingly. He accepted the amount which I offered After introducing me with all humility abiding to the dress rehearsal given by my father.  While writing the receipt he enquired about my father’s welfare and health and to my surprise about the productivity of the crops, for which I drew a total blank.

                         I dissented the stair, and this time silently, as I had already developed a high esteem of that unassuming, democratic Raja. When I was about to leave the gate, looked back and had a glimpse of the Kotta, which was at the verge of dilapidation. I could very well imagine the plight of the financial position of that Royal family and  it might have  only worsened after the land reforms later on.

                       Conventions and customs have changed. Yet we face challenges to attain contentment, which is distancing always like a mirage. Its an illusion that refuses to merge with reality.

Nurungukal….

   When ever I visited ancient monuments of great dynasties especially that of Rajaputs and Mugals, I took immense pleasure in taking my imagination on wings to visualise the proceedings in a court room or a love scene of some of the eternal lovers of those days. Often in my dreams and solitude characters from history flashed through, taking me to ecstasy. Similar thoughts appeared in me when I used to walk through the lengthy corridors of some of the very old temples in Tanjore, Madurai etc. Although I had all these days wished to meet a Maharaja or characters of those days  in flesh and blood, it still remains unfulfilled.

                 In Kerala there were many regional kings and Queens but they refrained from creating monuments of immense  grandeur as their counter parts in North India, Tamil Nadu or Karnataka. May be that they, even from old days had a better sense of social responsibility and commitments in handling public funds. They were  democratically concerned about the welfare of their subjects , rather than building edifices for posterity. The immense wealth which still remains in the coffers of one of the famous temples in our capital city is a standing example of their frugal princely life style.

               When I think of prince and princess of ester years, I have to drag my memory of those days in college. Many of my friends hailed from Raja families of Kottakal, Nilambur and Kozhikode, different clans of Samoothiry who was, as history tells us, instrumental for hosting and allowing foreigners  to forge trade relations with far off continents thus stimulating world wide markets for our aromatic and spice produces.

                     I also have a faint memory of my audience with  the head of one of the Raja in our native place. We addressed him in respect as Thampuran. Actually in those days , before the land reforms acts in Kerala the ownership of vast area of agricultural lands and forests vested with such hierarchies. Those who toiled in the land, only held possession to carry on cultivation to derive a livelihood. A designated revenue has to be yearly remitted to the local Raja. Our family also was enjoying the benefits of such a land. Once or twice my father entrusted me to remit the dues, with strict instructions that when ever the Raja gave audience I had to adhere to a protocol which included, to enter his room only when I am called, to respect him with folded hands, to ensure that my dhothi to be unfolded below the knees, to climb the wooden stair case without making noise,  etc etc. As I did not have a foot wear, the removal of it did not arise. But on reaching the palace (kotta ) I forgot the instructions and straight away walked into his room,covering a lengthy court yard and climbing the ladder loudly clattering the loose wooden planks. Thampuran was sitting on an ordinary wooden chair which looked much old and unpolished. To my surprise it was the same one who freely moved about with out any ado among the  commoners in the ball badminton tournaments and rummy sessions sponsored by the then popular Union Sports Club of Ponnani. This club was once the meeting ground of  sport lovers of Ponnani. The yearly ball badminton tournament was an event to reckon with. High ranking players from far and near participated and in those days teenagers like me were inspired to be part of that Mela.   

                       He was smoking holding the cigarette popping up through the middle finger and puffing out  the smoke in perfect rings into the air. I had witnessed to our curiosity, my brother-in-law doing this style of emitting series of smoke rings. One of my elder brothers  was a chain smoker. He held the burning stub between his lips precariously without inhaling a single puff till it ceased burning at the tip of the filter.  One of my college mates, a Muslim boy used to have  one or two quick puffs from a mini beedi during the intervals  in college, and occasionally I also ventured to enjoy a couple of puffs with him. But the Raja’s style still remain etched in my heart.  

                       The Thampuran offered me a seat smilingly. He accepted the amount which I offered after introducing me with all humility abiding to the dress rehearsal given by my father.  While writing the receipt he enquired about my father’s welfare and health and to my surprise about the productivity of the crops, for which I drew a total blank.

                         I dissented the stair, and this time silently, as I had already developed a high esteem of that unassuming, democratic Raja. When I was about to leave the gate, looked back and had a glimpse of the Kotta, which was at the verge of dilapidation. I could very well imagine the plight of the financial position of that Royal family and  it might have  only worsened after the land reforms later on.

                       Conventions and customs have changed. Yet we face challenges to attain contentment, which is distancing always like a mirage. Its an illusion that refuses to merge with reality.