Nurungukal…3….contd…

      The high pitch call of the potter woman awakened me from my slumber. She was at my  gate  trying to balance a basket full of mud pots and pans on her head. “chatty, kalam  veno..” I said “no, not today”… I was a little bit angry because she had  broken my sleep. Again the appeal.  I turned my face. But she was not ready to leave me and slowly walked in. By that time my wife appeared at the front door. The potter woman gained confidence and started describing the quality  of her product and about safe cooking practises. She continued to persuade in a tone and style akin to their tribe which was very sweet to your  ears like a music. She was still balancing the weight and wiping the sweat on her face. At that moment I thought about a girl who had come to us carrying a heavy bag on her shoulder with the same intention of marketing, but in a different style and strategy. My wife volunteered to help her to bring  down the load and release the burden. I felt pity as she sat down on our step, requesting for a glass of hot water with a low gasp. My wife went inside and came out with a bowl of rice porridge, which, to my surprise she politely refused and insisted for hot water as she was observing a fast.In between the transaction we came to know that she has two children.Her husband is a labourer and the family depended also on the meagre income she earned from the sales. We settled to buy a few pieces of pots without any bargain . I was happy to note a sense of attainment passing on her face as she left with the burden of livelihood on her head and promising to call again.

         This community is one among the few which still follow their traditional craft. They cover each day many miles on foot in pairs carrying their products for door to door sale. It is a common sight  here. I do not know why many people, without knowing their hardship engage in bargain to get a reduction of one or two rupees, while without any hesitation pay whatever that is printed on a packet of cosmetics they purchase from a super market!!. And let our community who enjoys every Harthal day  in their cool drawing rooms be conscious about the hardship of many Malus  [her name] who overcome such adverse conditions to earn a living.  If you come across any like Malu  please help them in a fitting manner and celebrate a Women’s day in true spirit….

                                           

Nurungukal…3….contd…

      The high pitch call of the potter woman awakened me from my slumber. She was at my  gate  trying to balance a basket full of mud pots and pans on her head. “chatty, kalam  veno..” I said “no, not today”… I was a little bit angry because she had  broken my sleep. Again the appeal.  I turned my face. But she was not ready to leave me and slowly walked in. By that time my wife appeared at the front door. The potter woman gained confidence and started describing the quality  of her product and about safe cooking practises. She continued to persuade in a tone and style akin to their tribe which was very sweet to your  ears like a music. She was still balancing the weight and wiping the sweat on her face. At that moment I thought about a girl who had come to us carrying a heavy bag on her shoulder with the same intention of marketing, but in a different style and strategy. My wife volunteered to help her to bring  down the load and release the burden. I felt pity as she sat down on our step, requesting for a glass of hot water with a low gasp. My wife went inside and came out with a bowl of rice porridge, which, to my surprise she politely refused and insisted for hot water as she was observing a fast.In between the transaction we came to know that she has two children.Her husband is a labourer and the family depended also on the meagre income she earned from the sales. We settled to buy a few pieces of pots without any bargain . I was happy to note a sense of attainment passing on her face as she left with the burden of livelihood on her head and promising to call again.

         This community is one among the few which still follow their traditional craft. They cover each day many miles on foot in pairs carrying their products for door to door sale. It is a common sight  here. I do not know why many people, without knowing their hardship engage in bargain to get a reduction of one or two rupees, while without any hesitation pay whatever that is printed on a packet of cosmetics they purchase from a super market!!. And let our community who enjoys every Harthal day  in their cool drawing rooms be conscious about the hardship of many Malus  [her name] who overcome such adverse conditions to earn a living.  If you come across any like Malu  please help them in a fitting manner and celebrate a Women’s day in true spirit….

                                           

Nurungukal…3….contd…

      The high pitch call of the potter woman awakened me from my slumber. She was at my  gate  trying to balance a basket full of mud pots and pans on her head. “chatty, kalam  veno..” I said “no, not today”… I was a little bit angry because she had  broken my sleep. Again the appeal.  I turned my face. But she was not ready to leave me and slowly walked in. By that time my wife appeared at the front door. The potter woman gained confidence and started describing the quality  of her product and about safe cooking practises. She continued to persuade in a tone and style akin to their tribe which was very sweet to your  ears like a music. She was still balancing the weight and wiping the sweat on her face. At that moment I thought about a girl who had come to us carrying a heavy bag on her shoulder with the same intention of marketing, but in a different style and strategy. My wife volunteered to help her to bring  down the load and release the burden. I felt pity as she sat down on our step, requesting for a glass of hot water with a low gasp. My wife went inside and came out with a bowl of rice porridge, which, to my surprise she politely refused and insisted for hot water. The reason for her refusal was revealed to me after her departure. [she was carrying her third child !!!!] In between the transaction we came to know that she has two children, both girls, studying in 7^th and 4^th standards and her husband is just a labourer and seldom supports the family which depended on the meagre income she earned from the sales. We settled to buy a few pieces of pots without any bargain . I was happy to note a sense of attainment passing on her face as she left with the burden of livelihood on her head and promising to call again.

         This community is one among the few which still follow their traditional craft. They cover each day many miles on foot in pairs carrying their products for door to door sale. It is a common sight  here. I do not know why many people, without knowing their hardship engage in bargain to get a reduction of one or two rupees, while without any hesitation pay whatever that is printed on a packet of cosmetics they purchase from a super market!!. And let our community who enjoys every Harthal day without losing income in their cool drawing rooms be conscious about the hardship of many Malus  [her name] who overcome such adverse conditions to earn a living.  If you come across any like Malu  please help them in a fitting manner and celebrate a Women’s day in true spirit….

                                           

                      

Nurungukal…3...contd..

   I never thought that my grandson was such a bundle of energy. The way in which he climbed up a coconut tree with the help of  a tree climber surprised me. Even the robust worker in our estate hesitated to try it despite my prompting and incentives all these days. The machine was lying idle and almost at the verge of getting rusted in our store room from the day I purchased it. Once I even thought of selling it to a scrap dealer, who very often visited us and disturbed my siesta. My intention was to address a severe labour problem in Kerala. Now a days coconut tree climbers are not readily available and in my farm I used to collect the over ripe nuts as and when they fell. But this is not a good practise as it affected the fruit bearing and health of the tree.

         I doubt my grandson, APPU had visited a site in the net about mechanisation and came across this machine. He had seen young women being trained in TNAU and volunteered to give a try. He used his ingenuity to set the climber on one of the medium sized trees and after one or two trials succeeded to scale up to the middle.  It was a sight to me and his parents stood in aghast under the tree holding their  hands to the heaven and ready for any eventuality. But I enjoyed it, as a different incident unrolled in me. I was of his age. But in my case there was no machine. I ventured to climb on an arecanut tree with my bare hands. Usually such adventures we planned when our parents enjoyed a nap after lunch. When I had reached almost the middle of the tree precariously clutching it with my hands, heard a roar from the nearby compound. A shiver went through me, and the sweat in my palms made me slip down the entire height. I could not control the wetting of my half shorts. Just before reaching the ground and balancing on my feet, a smack on my posterior and a shout to go back home ,took me on heals. As I looked back Lakshmi etuthy the  next door granny was holding a stick high above with blood shot eyes like Bhadra Kali. My younger brother was supposed to stand in guard. But the unexpected shout did not give him much time to raise an alarm. There was a burning sensation inside my thighs  as the skin had pealed off during the sudden climb down. For many days I had to bear with it and never after ventured such heroic acts in my life…..dum dum dum  pee pee pi…

Nurungukal….3..contd…..

         This Vishu was so special to me. After a lapse of many many years I was in my native place to celebrate it. My sister was alone there to safe guard our old house, a Nalukettu. My father acquired it immediately after his escape from Burma from the onslaught of Japan during second world war. It was a dream house to my parents and to all of us and true to its name Ambiliparamb. Even now it is so, thanks to my sister who with much pain maintains its glory.

         Just before dawn my sister awakened me to have a darshan of the visual treat [kani]. My sister had managed to arrange it, almost similar to that of my mother’s style, with minimum ingredients viz. a big jack fruit, a golden coloured cucumber adorned with a few pieces of jewellery, mangos, betel leaves and arecanut, a bunch of ripe plantains, a bunch of Kanikonna flowers, a gold coin in a small bowl and a pineapple all placed on raw rice in a polished cauldron. On the left side there was a lighted Nilavilakku throwing  a glow to illuminate the settings. In the background the smiling face of Lord Vishnu . Like our mother she had managed to arrange it when all of were asleep. I was enthralled when she offered me the first gift of the year [kai nettam ], and that too a sparkling gold coin!!.I remembered my father, who used to offer a four ana coin to all of us ,which we spent invariably to hire a bicycle for a jolly ride, keeping our head high, through the muddy roads of our village, wishing all and sundry.

           I along with my grand children walked in the compound to show them the pond in which we enjoyed a splash, the mango tree under which we fought for the juicy mangos, slipping  from the mouth of the squirrels and the paddy field, which once lay vacant for miles where we flew kites made out of stolen news paper and narrated our efforts to release when they got entangled on the branches of a tall jamoon tree. As we enjoyed the sojourn a call of the Indian koel prompted me to imitate its rhythmic whistle, but in vain. The taste of the Kerala type lunch with Kalan, olan, aviyal and to top it all mampazha pulissery and parippu pradaman still hesitates to leave my taste buds. In the night when I heard the howling of a pack of jackals [kurukkan ] from the nearby bushes and the call of the Mottled wood owl [kalan kozhi] from the sacred grove I was happy to know that the fragile environment is still trying to withstand from demolition.

         As our car moved out I looked back to witness a dark shadow descending on the faces of my grand children but it gradually vanished when the vehicle  gained speed and the blaring music  'podi meesa mulakkana kalam......'  once again filled the air.

Nurungukal….2…

      Post harvest festivals are commonly celebrated in Kerala as part of an offering to various Gods or Goddesses. Most of them are in the form of rituals which have set patterns. Besides an expression of obeisance to the Deity, these festivals are part of joy and happiness that reflects the essentials of respective social fabric where each community have predefined functions. Although in the past most of them were conducted to enjoy the fruits of a good harvest. But now they are  merely routine rituals providing a chance to be hilarious in the company of a joyous crowd. The committees who organise such rituals make sure that the programme includes such ingredients in the name of divinity which can trigger not only a chance to worship but also for abundant pleasure.It can be either a colourful procession by parading a set of caparisoned elephants, in the company of many types of musical percussions. Folklore artists are an inevitable part of this galore. They have an ancestral right to perform. The art forms  are diversified from place to place and are related to the class of the main Deity of a temple.

      A few years ago I had a an opportunity to head a temple festival committee. I felt it as a privileged post. Because  during the performance of the theyyams and thiras I was addressed as the karthav  which means the creator. Thus I became an inevitable part of many ceremonies. At the end of each performance the oracle or theyyam or thira addressed me in a trance. I had to accept their commands and agree for compliance. In the process they used to give holy water [ undiluted brandy !!!] or a few pieces of burning charcoal or some time pulled me to and fro on the fire pit. Each such moments gave me an opportunity to test my belief or agility. But above all what I appreciated and enjoyed most in such rituals is the welcome prayer [thottam pattu], so melodious, stimulating your senses, when its crescendo reaches in high notes breaking the silence of a dead night and the entry of the enigmatic figure, colourful and fierce looking. The glow of the flames of many oil lamps reflecting on the surrounding mass, eagerly watching the proceedings can make you spell bound. I have witnessed in their face anxiety,sorrow, expectation,happiness, quest for consolation above all a confidence for being a part of a Devine togetherness. At the end when you are drenched by the turmeric water from the burning cauldrons by a sprinkling with the areca nut fronts one attains the satisfaction of being purified externally also. Can you visualise any other function which can cleanse simultaneously your mind and body at a time?........

Nurungukal…2….

    I always enjoyed the calls in high pitch of the hawkers, irrespective of the location viz, streets, beach, railway stations etc.. each has its own identity enabling you to easily recognise the location. If it is the chorus shouting of chai chai chai in the morning hours it is certain you have reached Malabar. At break fast time the tune is different dosai dosai. Then it is Shornoor. in Tamilnadu  you will be awakened  by melodious calls of flower sellers, mallige, kanagambaram or December.While enjoying an evening in Marina or Pondy beach it is the fragrance of cooked bengal gram[chundal] attracts you by a crisp sound. And one can never resist to taste a combination of masala gram and mango bits served in paper cones. In front of Mambalam railway station it is the rhythmic shouting of mango vendors, announcing the number and rate , 20-10 ,10-20 in repetition.If you happened to see a line of laddies selling vegetables drawing your attention by calling amma, ayya  on the side of a railway track you can be sure that you are passing through a village in the suburbs of Coimbatore or Erode, where the train driver invariabily obliges the hawkers by stopping for a while in exchange of a basket of farm fresh vegetables. The arrival of Avadi station can be easily  recognised if you hear the hooting of sirens in different pitch and tunes. In Lal Bagh garden it is the chirping of birds when they come to roost at dusk.The appeal of the women fish vendors in different markets in Kerala can force any one to make a deal.

    In every call, irrespective of the tune and pitch there is one thing in common.A struggle for survival and self reliance and expression of respective social culture.