Nurungukal………

                                      A miniature easy chair sent to me by my daughter a few days ago rekindled my memories about a bigger version, which was adorning the front portico of our majestic Naalukettu. Of all the names we have given for a seat, like “stool”, “sofa” or “chair”, I think the most apt one was “easy chair”, when we consider its purpose and utility. Although it has disappeared nowadays from the list of essential piece of furniture, to a few like me it still holds a covetable place, because it was in such a one my father enjoyed to spend most of his day time, either reading a news paper or in conversation with others. It remained proudly in our front portico for many years till recently a plastic chair replaced it, to my utmost despair.

     An easy chair, left alone is not an attractive piece of art.   It is a folding type wooden chair, with an armrest which can be elongated to keep the legs while intending to take a deliberate sleep. It may not even capture a position in the list of an antique. Yet it attains a pinnacle of glory depending on its occupier. Many writers have opted for its comfort to roll out their best creations. So were many political leaders. I have seen my father reclining on it to devourer the “Hindu” news paper or in a deep siesta. I can even today visualize how he used to rest his head on the thump and little finger and forking the nose with the middle and pointing fingers. None of the youngsters in the house usually ventured to rest on it when our father is in the house. It was his exclusive abode, revered, sanctified and proud status symbol. The positioning of the chair enabled him to police any movements and nobody could pass the portico without his notice.

      Its position would change as the sun lowers down in the Arabian Sea. For him, its time to rest a while under the old tamarind tree in the courtyard, whistling a few stanzas of Kathakali Padams. By dusk, he will once again move up to share the company of mother and Chathettan, our neighbor and a distant relative of mother to sip a glass of warm soup. On rare occasions we used to squeeze into their company. Relaxing on the arm chair father would occasionally make some harmless and sarcastic comments about the proceedings in which mother and her relative would be the active participants.

        A cry of the mottled wood owl from the nearby sacred grove would alert father to call it a day and the trio would slowly disperse gently to meet again next day. These sessions made a great imprint in us to take stock of the important national and local events which I feel has contributed much to mould our character and social commitments. Thanks to the easy chair and the one who had designed it.