Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. There was a craftteacher in our s...

Nurungukal:  Nurungukal….    There was a craftteacher in our s...:   Nurungukal….     There was a craft teacher in our school. He taught us how to operate a hand loom and spin yarn with the use of a spindl...

 

Nurungukal….

    There was a craft teacher in our school. He taught us how to operate a hand loom and spin yarn with the use of a spindle known as thakkili. I do not remember his real name now. But everyone fondly called him BumBuka. He was called so because of the way he walked. His each step was more or less like a jump Bum Bum. He was one among a few teachers who wore pants in those days. We loved to be in his class as there was no text to learn. I used to watch him with wonder, the way he moved his hands and legs in rhythm to shuttle the warp yarn from one end to the other on the loom. It was a crude wooden loom. Very often the threads got broken and seldom allowed him to complete weaving the entire length of the cloth. In spite of my best efforts I could not for even once synchronise the movements of my hands and legs. So it remained to me a dream never come true. But instead I mastered the art of spinning yarn on the thakkili spindle, fairly fast and even managed to win a prize in the annual school level competition. I do not know why such crafts were taught in those days, may be as an attempt to prepare the children to take up a profession related to the village level self sufficiency or as a mission to inculcate some of Mhatma’s great thoughts on Grama swaraj. Although it has not helped to attain its goal in the matter of self sufficiency, it has definitely made an impact on us to uphold the values set by the greatest visionary of our age, who is none other than Gandhiji. My father was fairly good at spinning yarn on the charka. It was one of his passionate hobbies and an ardent practitioner of Mahatma’s principles in life. He used to trade the yarn in the Khadi centre regularly. Unfortunately such facilities are not available nowadays.

      We were also taught pencil drawing in the school. I do not know whether it is in the curriculum now. Our drawing teacher was highly short tempered, still a talented artist. His painting of the Goddess Saraswathy on the vast canvas was the most beautiful stage curtain I have seen in my life. Perhaps the skill we attained in sketching intricate designs set by him might have helped us to stimulate our aesthetic senses and creative aptitudes which have no doubt helped us in moulding a positive attitude in life.      

       Apart from learning such crafts and skills in school, we were engaged during our leisure time in many activities such as,  collecting match box pictures, broken glass bangles, empty cigarette boxes, feathers of different birds or even candle pieces etc. All these were a part of character development training we obtained indigenous. Collecting match box pictures was a parallel hobby to philately. We even managed to collect pictures from Sivakasi in Tamil Nadu, the abode of printing technology. With broken glass bangles bits we made garlands to adorn the pictures of Gods and Goddesses or national leaders. Also by pasting the bits of different colours on drawing paper beautiful designs of flowers and birds were made. Similarly with strips of empty cigarette packets we made  garlands, baskets, penholders etc. Pebbles of various colours made by melting the candles to make eye catching designs was our another pastime. It was with much fancy we gazed at the dancing pebbles of melted wax floating in a plate of water. Yet another time passing activity was to collect the feathers of different birds and carcasses of butterflies and delicately arranging them in an album. This helped us to identify many birds and even their calls and acquaint with the life cycle of many tiny creatures there by growing in harmony with nature.

       Although we belonged to a past devoid of less material gains have a legitimate right to claim a sustainable mode of life, thanks to the freedom we enjoyed in shaping our destiny. Now look at the brink we have reached sacrificing all freedom for the sake of the so called model developments. Even now it is not too late to look back and take lessons from our mistakes, if you wish to come back. Mother earth would be too happy to pardon and offer one more chance……

     

 

 

 

 

    

 

Nurungukal….

    There was a craft teacher in our school. He taught us how to operate a hand loom and spin yarn with the use of a spindle known as thakkili. I do not remember his real name now. But everyone fondly called him BumBuka. He was called so because of the way he walked. His each step was more or less like a jump Bum Bum. He was one among a few teachers who wore pants in those days. We loved to be in his class as there was no text to learn. I used to watch him with wonder, the way he moved his hands and legs in rhythm to shuttle the warp yarn from one end to the other on the loom. It was a crude wooden loom. Very often the threads got broken and seldom allowed him to complete weaving the entire length of the cloth. In spite of my best efforts I could not for even once synchronise the movements of my hands and legs. So it remained to me a dream never come true. But instead I mastered the art of spinning yarn on the thakkili spindle, fairly fast and even managed to win a prize in the annual school level competition. I do not know why such crafts were taught in those days, may be as an attempt to prepare the children to take up a profession related to the village level self sufficiency or as a mission to inculcate some of Mhatma’s great thoughts on Grama swaraj. Although it has not helped to attain its goal in the matter of self sufficiency, it has definitely made an impact on us to uphold the values set by the greatest visionary of our age, who is none other than Gandhiji. My father was fairly good at spinning yarn on the charka. It was one of his passionate hobbies and an ardent practitioner of Mahatma’s principles in life. He used to trade the yarn in the Khadi centre regularly. Unfortunately such facilities are not available nowadays.

      We were also taught pencil drawing in the school. I do not know whether it is in the curriculum now. Our drawing teacher was highly short tempered, still a talented artist. His painting of the Goddess Saraswathy on the vast canvas was the most beautiful stage curtain I have seen in my life. Perhaps the skill we attained in sketching intricate designs set by him might have helped us to stimulate our aesthetic senses and creative aptitudes which have no doubt helped us in moulding a positive attitude in life.      

       Apart from learning such crafts and skills in school, we were engaged during our leisure time in many activities such as,  collecting match box pictures, broken glass bangles, empty cigarette boxes, feathers of different birds or even candle pieces etc. All these were a part of character development training we ourselves were engaged in. Collecting match box pictures was a parallel hobby to philately. We even managed to collect pictures from Sivakasi in Tamil Nadu, the abode of printing technology. With broken glass bangles bits we made garlands to adorn the pictures of Gods and Goddesses or national leaders. Also by pasting the bits of different colours on drawing paper beautiful designs of flowers and birds were made. Similarly with strips of empty cigarette packets we made  garlands, baskets, pen holders etc. Pebbles of various colours made by melting the candles to make eye catching designs was our another pastime. It was with much fancy we gazed at the dancing pebbles of melted wax floating in a plate of water. Yet another time passing activity was to collect the feathers of different birds and carcasses of butterflies and delicately arranging them in an album. This helped us to identify many birds and even their calls and acquaint with the life cycle of many tiny creatures there by growing in harmony with nature.

       Although we belonged to a past devoid of less material gains have a legitimate right to claim a sustainable mode of life, thanks to the freedom we enjoyed in shaping our destiny. Now look at the brink we have reached sacrificing all freedom for the sake of the so called model developments. Even now it is not too late to look back and take lessons from our mistakes, if you wish to come back. Mother earth would be too happy to pardon and offer one more chance……

     

 

 

 

 

    

 

Nurungukal….

    There was a craft teacher in our school. He taught us how to operate a hand loom and spin yarn with the use of a spindle known as thakkili. I do not remember his real name now. But everyone fondly called him BumBuka. He was called so because of the way he walked. His each step was more or less like a jump Bum Bum. He was one among a few teachers who wore pants in those days. As students we loved to be in his class, mainly because there was no text to learn. I used to watch him with wonder, the way he moved his hands and legs in rhythm to shuttle the warp yarn from one end to the other on the loom. It was a crude wooden loom. Very often the threads got broken and seldom allowed him to complete weaving the entire length of the cloth. In spite of my best efforts I could not for even once synchronise the movements of my hands and legs. So it remained to me a dream never come true. But instead I mastered the art of spinning yarn on the thakkili spindle, fairly fast and even managed to win a prize in the annual school level competition. I do not know why such crafts were taught in those days, may be as an attempt to prepare the children to take up a profession related to attain village level self sufficiency or as a mission to inculcate some of Mhatma’s great thoughts on Grama swaraj. Although it has not helped to attain its goal in the matter of self sufficiency, it has definitely made an impact on us to uphold the values set by the greatest visionary of our age, who is none other than Gandhiji. My father was fairly good at spinning yarn on the charka. It was one of his passionate hobbies and an ardent practitioner of Mahatma’s principles in life. He used to trade the yarn in the Khadi centre regularly. Unfortunately such facilities are not available nowadays.

      We were also taught pencil drawing in the school. I do not know whether it is in the curriculum now. Our drawing teacher was highly short tempered, still a talented artist. His painting of the Goddess Saraswathy on the vast canvas was the most beautiful stage curtain I have seen in my life. Perhaps the skill we attained in sketching intricate designs set by him might have helped us to stimulate our aesthetic senses and creative aptitudes which have no doubt helped us in moulding a positive attitude in life.      

       Apart from learning such crafts and skills in school, we were engaged during our leisure time in many activities such as,  collecting match box pictures, broken glass bangles, empty cigarette boxes, feathers of different birds or even candle pieces etc. All these were a part of character development training we obtained endogenously. Collecting match box pictures was a parallel hobby to philately. We even managed to collect pictures from Sivakasi in Tamil Nadu, the abode of printing technology. With broken glass bangles bits we made garlands to adorn the pictures of Gods and Goddesses or national leaders. Also by pasting the bits of different colours on drawing paper beautiful designs of flowers and birds were made. Similarly with strips of empty cigarette packets we made  garlands, baskets, pen holders etc. Pebbles of various colours made by melting the candles to make eye catching designs was our another pastime. It was with much fancy we gazed at the dancing pebbles of melted wax floating in a plate of water. Yet another time passing activity was to collect the feathers of different birds and carcasses of butterflies and delicately arranging them in an album. This helped us to identify many birds and even their calls and acquaint with the life cycle of many tiny creatures there by growing in harmony with nature.

       Although we belonged to a past devoid of less material gains have a legitimate right to claim a sustainable mode of life, thanks to the freedom we enjoyed in shaping our destiny. Now look at the brink we have reached sacrificing all freedom for the sake of the so called model developments. Even now it is not too late to look back and take lessons from our mistakes, if you wish to come back. Mother earth would be too happy to pardon and offer one more chance……

     

 

 

 

 

    

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. The silhouette of afrail and stoopi...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….  The silhouette of afrail and stoopi...: Nurungukal….   The silhouette of a frail and stooping figure slowly disappearing away against the receding evening sun is emerging on t...

Nurungukal….

  The silhouette of a frail and stooping figure slowly disappearing away against the receding evening sun is emerging on the screen of my memory chip as I read about the award bestowed on Thamketuthy for her  efforts to conserve a sustainable eco system  which she had inherited from the Tharawad.  Many such patches of biodiversity were maintained by our forefathers, either on a compelling belief or based on cultural conventions. But in the last few decades, especially after the demolition of feudalistic practices in agriculture or due to the disintegration of the fabric of the joint family and fragmentation of lands, to nurture nuclear families these edifices of coexistence were obliterated from our premises. 

     If I remember properly there were five such sacred groves in a row  and one by one disappeared as a result of human encroaches. In one or two there were ancient chithroda kallu, a type of stone formation to worship serpents. Even now the twin groves are well maintained in our premises, thanks to the efforts of our sister.

      My father after his great escape from Burma, in the midst of world war second settled down in Ponani, which was the native place of my mother, owning the legacy of tolerating Khilafat movement. When father purchased this property there were two sacred groves and a  dilapidated well. In the initial days when my parents settled down here they depended on this well for water. But later they had to abandon it as one day when my parents were on a pilgrimage to Rameswaram, a serpent appeared on the rope while our servant was fetching water from this well for house hold purpose, which was forbidden as per the version of an astrologer.

 As children,the grove attracted our curiosity on many occasions in pursuit of a golden snake or rare birds. Very often a Mottled Wood Owl (kuttichoolan or kalan kozhi ) used to make its shrieking calls in the dusk, ushering us to chant Narayana,Narayana, as we believed the calls were the harbinger of death or some calamity. Even very recently I heard the calls and a similar feeling rushed into me. The groves are even now the shelter for many species of birds, reptiles, creatures etc. The variety of calls they made while roosting used to provide a musical concert. I am happy to know that even now the same ambience  of coexistence is maintained. But still the Golden serpent is eluding me. My anxiety has now increased after witnessing a classic performance ( sarpathatuam ) of Methyl Devika, the Mohiniyattam exponent, depicting the enticing movements of a serpent in tune with the old Tamil song Aadu pampe …vilayadu pampe… .Yet the enchanting sound emanating from the wooden fiddle and the mud pot with the dexterous movements of the hands of a pair of pulluvan and pullothy, vibrates in me, when I think of snakes and folk songs.

     The moving silhouette, which I mentioned in the beginning was that of Mullampulli Nambhoodiri, the then main priest of Thrikkavu Bhagavathi Temple. He was an embodiment of serenity and humility. He might have been  fairly aged. With a traditional tiny knot of hair at the top of his shaven head, he moved slowly with a hunch. Fair in colour and always with a smiling face he was the most revered person in the circle of devotees. The thrimaduram prepared  by him was a delicacy to us and I am yet to taste a better one. My mother was very particular that he himself had to perform the annual pooja in the sacred grove to appease the serpents and trees. And he obliged her, despite of his age . We used to remain in waiting impatiently till the end of the pooja to grab the karolappam and palpayasam  which obviously had unique taste. We seldom meet such noble ones, except in our dreams nowadays.

       Perhaps the acquaintance with such myths and practices might have been the reason to keep us so close to nature. Although it may be difficult to seek a scientific reasoning in such traditions, it has certainly a rapport with coexistence. If you look around there are many moods in the anvil of the nature, in which we may notice the dexterity of creation.

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. About a year ago astudent from Che...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….   About a year ago astudent from Che...: Nurungukal….    About a year ago a student from Chennai landed up in my farm with a quest for learning about squirrels. I was so fascin...

Nurungukal….

   About a year ago a student from Chennai landed up in my farm with a quest for learning about squirrels. I was so fascinated in her enthusiasm to take up a subject, as part of her research study which at a glance seemed to be silly. But my curiosity gradually was intensified as she narrated the exact purpose of such a tiny creature on this earth. When she touched upon the point that squirrels are instrumental in seed distribution and natural propagation of plants in our neighbourhood, my interest in her mission was aroused and became inquisitive.

    Unknowingly my mind slowly wandered into the past. Scene …..one……As a bunch of boys and girls rushing to pick up the sweet little ripe mango which had fallen in the previous night from the granny mango tree, one or two pair of squirrels raising vocals in chorus from the lofty branches, as if calling bad names for trying to snatch away their morning meal

Scene……two…..Me in pursuit to catch a squirrel which had strayed into the central hall of our Nalukettu and as I managed to get hold of its tail the furry flowery skin snatched away and it escaped safely through the window leaving me in despair.

Scene……three…Squirrels carrying bunches of coconut fibre or other similar materials in their mouth to build nests in between the gaps of the roof tiles. On many an occasion helping the mother squirrel to retrieve her offspring which had fallen from its nest.

Scene …..four….Their great escapes on to the tree tops  from the hungry clutches of  cats or dogs and the following shower of noisy abuses.

Scene…..five……A school mate of mine fondling a little squirrel, concealed in his pockets and the tiny tot running all over his body to our amazement. It was rescued by him from a fallen nest.

Scene ….six…….Squirrels in play full company with a bunch of seven sisters ( jungle babbler birds ). In Malayalam we called them chavatila kili.

         And off course, although a myth, the tiny roll of this creature in helping Rama to cross the ocean in pursuit of Sita can never be forgotten. Its effort even earned a claim to coin a phrase in Malayalam. Annarakannanum Thannalavanath. I even now can visualise the scene which my Granny used to describe with all its tenderness, while reciting Ramayana, especially during the month of Karkitakam in Malayalam era.

         In recent time my wife has started showering lots of tenderness to this animal, by way of feeding them with water, fruits and cooked rice. It has become part of her house hold chores and I am fancied more by their acquaintance at regular intervals daily in our premises. In company there are a few bulbuls and sparrows. But these guys are very alert in scaring the encroached from sharing their ration. Their agility, tails incessantly taping the floor and restless hops will attract the attention of any passersby.  May be these traits are akin to their survival techniques.

         Strangely now I shudder to think about, even touching a ripe mango slipped from the tender hands of a squirrel, because of the recent revelations that a bite by such creatures can cause virus infection. But in our child hood days we always relished to enjoy the other side of the bite and remained healthy acquiring natural immunity. The famous song from a Malayalam movie, annarakanna va poovala changatham koodan va…stands testimony to my claim.  

          Once or twice in recent years, after the deluge, their big brother mountain squirrel strayed into our tree tops. Its visit was conspicuous not only from its long leaps from one tree to another but also for the loud calls and colour. I was much interested to know about its fondness to maintain a harem and its regular visits to each fiancee daily.

          I am prompted to post this text after hearing a talk by Dr. Nandini Rajamani an enthusiastic researcher from Chennai. It was very informative and thought provoking as I could understand to what extent the existence of even such a tiny life is important to maintain the balance of Mother Earth. Each such mechanism if in jeopardy can invite a break in our safety chain. So next time if you notice a squirrel hoping around your habitat, be sure your surrounding is healthy.

         Here I would wish to place on record my humble salute for the yeoman service a bunch of young enthusiasts like Mr. Vishnudas,an acclaimed ornithologist, Dr. Ratheesh, a vet. Etc. in Wayanad have under taken under the banner Cafe Scientific. All nature lovers eagerly wait for more and more such meaning full episodes from them………

                  

Nurungukal: Nurungukal….. When Baletten’s photo appeared o...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal…..   When Baletten’s  photo appeared o...: Nurungukal…..    When Baletten’s   photo appeared on my mobile screen I was virtually taken aback to grasp the speed at which twelve ye...

Nurungukal…..

   When Baletten’s  photo appeared on my mobile screen I was virtually taken aback to grasp the speed at which twelve years have passed by.

    Mother might have named him Balakrishnan in memory of her brother who offered his young life at the altar of India’s independence struggle in 1921, the year which has once again been referred to in recent hot debates, in the name of a movie which is yet to be conceived.

     If I roll back the memory tape about him, the first clip would be about the hectic preparations mother used to make, to see him off to Madras to join a bachelor course in Madras Christian College, Thambaram. That unusually sized trunk box, stuffed with clothes, pickles, records etc. still remain fresh in me. Then his return during the two vacations, Christmas and annual for which we looked forward eagerly expecting petty gifts like a fountain pen, magnifying glass etc.

    He would be in his peak when all of us get together during Onam celebrations. The house would be in seized   frenzy in his company, with jokes, counters, laughter, while our father would be enjoying the drama gracefully relaxing on an easy chair. My mother like a busy bee would be wandering from room to room as a co- artist to Balettan, occasionally raising her finger to subdue the crescendo of the chorus.

    While in college many a time me and my kid brother had followed him to Manachira surreptitiously and persuaded him to buy tickets for us too, to witness football matches in Sait Nagji Football tournament. Each time he obliged us, though with a noisy reprimand. Similarly we had enjoyed many second shows with him and Thampyettan and Padmanabhettan. But he seldom had the patience to remain in the seat and enjoy the film. In those days, roasted potatoes and dhall vadai were the delicacies in Crown and Radha theatres and of course the Masala dosa in Rama Vilasam and Shanta Bhavan hotels. Whenever I visit Calicut even now those moments creep in unknowingly.

      It was much later in my life I came to know about his yeomen service in organizing the co-operative movement in Malabar, especially in the dairy sector. His ardent contribution was a prelude in forming the Malabar cooperative Milk Union.

       His pet hobby was chess. He was an addict and gave his heart and soul in promoting it. He was the pioneer in initiating and practicing the correspondence (now online ) chess. Each day at least a dozen post cards indicating the moves of a distant player were received, to be answered and in a few cases I had the privilege of assisting him.  I even now remember how much effort he took to organize the first ever chess tournament at Zamorin’s School in Calicut. Later his perseverance culminated in a Kerala State level event in the memory of our Father who incidentally was a lover of Chathurangam. I had seen them on several occasions playing this ancient version, by carving out the pieces from the bark of a single banana leaf. It was he who showed me the move in …unthun thund, thund thund,  ale  undhu  …..Many a time I had the chance to play with some of his veteran chess mates, M/s  Prabhu, Lancelot Thomas and Krishnan Nair.

      Late in his life he even tied to give expressions to his humor sense by caricaturing some cartoon characters. I think he had written about his eventful life, right from the Burma days, which is still to be published. A dream unfulfilled. I fervently hope that this can be accomplished by his illustrious daughter.

     He was conspicuous in any company by his light hearted jokes and innocent loud laughter. He was a class apart in acquiring relationships and even now many of his friends, especially in the YMCA circle cherish his memory,.
     I always feel his presence where there is joy and happiness........

     

      

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. It was after aprolonged, strenu...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….      It was after aprolonged, strenu...: Nurungukal….       It was after a prolonged, strenuous and concerted effort that I managed to get a transfer to Kozhikode warehouse. Fr...

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. It was after aprolonged, strenu...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….      It was after aprolonged, strenu...: Nurungukal….       It was after a prolonged, strenuous and concerted effort that I managed to get a transfer to Kozhikode warehouse. Fr...

Nurungukal….

      It was after a prolonged, strenuous and concerted effort that I managed to get a transfer to Kozhikode warehouse. From the social and personal point of view the new assignment was pleasant as I could join my near and dear, but officially it poised many challenges. The trade union activity in those days in Kerala was very sensitive, vibrant and volatile, which demanded endurance, proper perspectives in tackling trivial issues which erupted unexpectedly. Previously I was sailing in safe waters as the work culture in Tamil Nadu and Pondichery was totally different.

      Any way my first priority was to ensure admission to my children in a good school. It was not an easy task as I thought to be. I had to go from pillar to post, taping at every door as the admissions were already at the verge of closure. I wondered how easy it was once upon a time, for me to step into the first standard without an entrance test or an evaluation of the social preparedness of my parents.

       We managed to live with my mother- in- law till her death and moved on to a rented house. Although it was near to my office, on the whole we were not happy and satisfied with the surroundings. After a prolonged search and hunt we were lucky to move to a new place, where even though there were a few inconveniences, the neighbourhood kept us to remain there until after a few years when we moved into our own house. There were twelve identically designed houses, in two rows separated in the middle by a service road which also was used as a play ground by the children. The tenants belonged to many walks of life. There were officials, businessmen, advocates, bankers, insurance agents etc. Even though each of us hailed from different back grounds, considering our cast and creed we lived like a cohesive commune in perfect harmony. Our togetherness was so intense that we never felt wanting in anything. It was sharing, caring, helping each other and an air of tranquillity ever prevailed. The rest of the family was always safe in the hands of the next door dwellers, even when the bread winners were away.

       The day as usual begins with a slow tempo. Men enjoyed a walk on the adjacent highway or went for marketing, invariably unaccompanied by their family. The prayer calls and devotional songs from the nearby temple and mosque kept us conscious of the time. My wife switched on her radio to schedule her chores in the kitchen and to manage the time efficiently. If by chance that tiny machine went off, the rhythm of her daily routine used to be in shambles and we had to bear with her through the rest of the day. As the day progresses one by one, starting from the children spurted out either in search of knowledge or bread as the case may be.  Say by ten in the morning the colony settled down in a slow pace, followed by the sound of the washing machines. Gradually by noon a silence prevailed as the inmates fell into their habitual slumber. Once again the tempo would slowly increases, when the women flocks for an afternoon gossip. If by chance any of the male members reach earlier than the scheduled time, he had to be a dog in the manger. By evening the children will take over the ground and it becomes a battle ground in all sense. There were many girls and boys of the same age and agility. A few babes also were there. It was the most enjoyable part of the day. As we witness their games and prangs, enjoying every moment, we elders shed our worries. This will go on and on until one of us forcibly put an end and call it a day. It is no wonder that many of them are even now frequenting us through our social media as intimately as they were used to be face to face in those days. 

       Those few years we consider were the best in our life as it taught us many lessons of the values of give and take, deriving immense pleasure and satisfaction.

These thoughts flared up in me when the other day I happened to chance through a video clip, celebrating the seventieth birthday of Mrs. Kumari Abraham who was our neighbour.  Mr. Abraham was popular and a good friend of some my relatives. He was a much desired personality in the then social circle of Kohikode. Perhaps he was the only one in those days to own an exclusive SKODA car. Their four kids Ojes, Thejes, Ushes and Martin were the bosom play mates of our children. I still cherish the happy moments with them enjoying many a movie and cricket match on our Keltron television screen. Together how we chased a rat snake, fetched buckets of water from the well when the public water pipes went dead, the cheer full faces of the children peeping through our window bars are some rare occasions still fresh in my memory chip.  

   I wonder how we might have behaved if a contingency like the one we are facing now would have confronted us in those days is beyond my comprehension. Whenever I feel lonely, for being forced to be away from the near and dear, thoughts like this appear in the distant horizon with a note of consolation. Venturing into the wilderness of the past and picking up a thread here and there is a mere fantasy and fun to drudge away boredom and loneliness……so refreshing...is in't it.....

Nurungukal: NurungukalYes, my father was….A Sun ……….for warmt...

Nurungukal:
NurungukalYes, my father was….A Sun ……….for warmt...: Nurungukal Yes, my father was…. A Sun ……….for warmth A Moon……..to remove darkness An Earth…….for patience An Ocean……for knowled...

Nurungukal

Yes, my father was….

A Sun ……….for warmth

A Moon……..to remove darkness

An Earth…….for patience

An Ocean……for knowledge

A Forest……..in diversity

A River……….for perennial love

A dew drop…in purity

A fire ………….Against corruption

To me he stood for many more essentials in life and that made me what I am today.

Not a day passes without seeking him

I am proud that he fathered me……

Nurungukal: Nurungukal…. I am not able tostill understand ...

Nurungukal:
Nurungukal….    I am not able tostill understand ...: Nurungukal….     I am not able to still understand the delicate mechanism of our mind or that invisible organ which helps us to rewind ...

Nurungukal….

    I am not able to still understand the delicate mechanism of our mind or that invisible organ which helps us to rewind memories how old they may be. Many vivid pictures of old incidents appear in your mind’s screen as fresh as it was when it happened. To quote a few…….How I enjoyed the way I was carried by a family friend on his shoulder to enrol me in a near by primary school, fondly named as Kunhan  college……….how my teacher in 3^rd or 4^th standard made me to stand on the bench when I was caught for copying the answer of an  arithmetic mental riddle………the minute details of the marriage of my sister,  and the delivery of her first child, which had happened when I was still in school…….the thrill I enjoyed while accompanying my father on foot to a distant place to purchase a cow……….many many naughty  advances made in the pretext of heroism during my college days to draw the attention of the other sex ……the finest details of me packing the luggage to go to Trichy for joining the Railway Training Institute, while my father was relaxing on an armed chair and mother chewing her pan leaves sitting on the wooden plank in the Poomukham…..how I missed to collect the telegram  conveying the serious position of my father’s health from the post man, which denied me to be with him during his last moments on this earth…..and the many episodes while I was in service..

        I had in the last few years put my efforts to dig many such unforgettable events, from the fathoms of my memory. I am not sure whether the depiction was complete or effective, yet it was only an attempt to reveal the past. In the past and in recent time as I traversed through the literary works of many famous authors viz; Bhasheer, Vyshakhan, M.T.V etc, most of the heart rendering works were based on their past encounters, experiences in life. Bhargavi Nilayam, Manassinde Rasathandram  and Nalukettu are all a few to mention.

       During this lock down impasse, I love to lock my heart and soul  in the nostalgic pavilions of my past , under an Ashoka tree, while the birds in different colours and agility chirp, prompting me in my solitary sojourn ……

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.

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……