Nurungukal….2….

    To be in the company of a group of ecologists and nature lovers with an intention of repairing a torn fabric of ecology  of Wayanad  and be part of an effort to formulate a critical rejuvenation strategy , gave me deep insight into the impending disaster facing the agrarian economy  of this tribal district. It was virtually a journey into the flora and fauna, landscapes, history, birds , animal and even the amphibian wealth of this  piece of land, popularly defined as the lungs of western ghats. As the power point presentations revealed the dwindling number of species and vanishing land scape, one could easily comprehend the gravity of the issues that we try to address. It is  a ‘now or never’ alarm, no doubt.

       The response from the gathering  traversed through different paths, depending on individual interests. When many desired for an immediate remedy to combat draught due to the climate change, others craved for ways to compensate crop loss. Some dowelled on ‘man animal ‘ conflicts. But all in chorus demanded strengthening the arms of Local Bodies to enforce existing  laws without compromising with short term gains.

       As a  mark of respect to the proceedings the nature also  responded by providing scattered showers which gave an added energy and enthusiasm to the organisers of the two day workshop [MSSRF]. The presence of the luminaries from different walks of life viz; scientists, environmentalists, social workers, farmers, elected representatives of local bodies ensured the  quality of the deliberations and above all the flawless management of the event helped to reach a meaning full culmination. Above all the presence of the vice chancellor of a newly formed university , who was once the head of National Bio diversity board and the tips he offered to formulate an effective approach was the main attraction of the event. I am sure that the participants might have left the venue with  a feeling of satisfaction and achievement……..

Nurungukal…2..contd..

    Last week blessed us with an opportunity to rewind the past and made us slide through some nostalgic memories.  As we descended the misty mountain road on our way to a suburban village in Palghat I never thought that the journey would end in the midst of a memorable past.

         After gracing through a muddy road wading through  lush green paddy fields and rows of palm trees we reached an ancient house  which was the abode of rich childhood events of my wife. In fact she was very fond of this visit and insisted for it adamantly contrary to her normal habits. Her father had renovated this house to its present status and glory a few decades ago. He was the dominant patriarch of the family and a strict disciplinarian. The eldest member of the present occupants, who is actually his nephew narrated how the dilapidated thatched house was transformed into the present state by using materials, especially wood from Wayanad. All of them were brought in buffalo carts which was the popular mode of transport at that time. . The design, workmanship and structure was very much similar to the houses in Wayanad. As we walked in the surroundings of the house my wife was overwhelmed with joy. The ambiance rekindled her childhood experiences. The banks of the huge pond and the shades of the granny mango tree made her vociferous to explain the pranks she had with other children during each vacation. She even remembered the different taste of each mango and the ecstasy they had while sipping the juice.  

      There was a ritual on that day which was being conducted without fail over the last many many decades without fail. Almost all the family members assembled on this appointed day every year and celebrated the occasion as a grand gala get together. The worship and pooja extended up to late night. It gave us time to cud the glorious past of the family and recollect the many fun each had in a joint family matriarchal system. All were in high spirits and gathered in groups to exchange each one’s past and present. Late at night after a sumptuous dinner which included a variety of sweet and sour dishes we bade farewell with a promise to assemble again next year.

    Next day we headed for Ponnani, my native place to attend a function, in connection with the 84^th birth day of my elder sister. As we covered a few kilo meters the rumour came that three tuskers from the nearby forest are enjoying a sojourn near Ottapalam, even enjoying a splash in Nila river. In spite of the concerted efforts of the forest guards and police they refused to return to their natural abode. The curious crowd which had gathered to witness the rare sight made matters worse to the guards to retrace. Unfortunately we failed to be part of the melee.

       Many from different walks of life attended the function which my sister and her children had meticulously arranged. I met some who were once my close friends. They had changed a lot , some sob re, some looked wiser yet another pretended diplomacy by keeping silence. But the majority made use of the occasion exchanging pleasantries.  What impressed me most was the after dinner chit chat we had with the grand children of my uncle. We could manage to cover many episodes of our life with clarity.  I even managed to recollect a few lines of H.G.Well  about Emperor Asoka which  my uncle had taught, while he was dictating to me his book on world history in Malayalam. The tender feelings which one can derive from such intimate get together can preciously be nurtured deep in our hearts without losing their fragrance, rest of our life.  

And while the taste of the Payasams and Omanian special Halwa linger in my taste buds, me like Dushyantha try hard to keep my heart  from  galloping back…..dum, dum, dum, pi, pi, pee……

      

     

Nurungukal…3…

      It was a different experience the other day when we concluded a work shop on the glory of mangoes. Usually any such event concludes abruptly with number of promises to carry on an indistinct plan, which never happens. But this time strangely there were no assurances, instead left deep in us the sweet and sour taste of about sixty five varieties of native mangoes and a lost past. Each one took ample time to etch an incident which lay deep in their memory. Whether it was about the taste of the juice of the fruit they sipped which had fallen from a Granny  tree at dawn. or about the one they downed surreptitiously from the neighbour’s tree or the extra taste they enjoyed when their mother served the yummy pieces when they returned from school.The list was long and elaborate.

    When my turn came, the first thing that came to my mind was a flight on a rope swing tied on the branch of a mango tree. It was not a solo flight. In company was  a girl of my age. She was heavy and I struggled hard to lift the flight. I gathered all my strength to swing back and forth but in vain and finally lost the grip and fell flat on the ground, leaving the girl on the swing. I left the scene ignominiously. Dum..dum…dum..pee..pee..pi.But my self respect did not allow me to reveal the incident, instead just mentioned the thrill of other events, which the present day children miss. Instead I remembered about the smacks my mother had given when we spoil our dress with the mango stain or when our neighbour complained about breaking his tiles while we tried to bring down the mangoes with stones.

         As I passed through the row of mangoes displayed,my childhood instinct once again forced me to steal one or two for  sharing them with my wife nostalgically.

      Here I would be immensely glad and thankful to place on record my appreciation to that little girl who had once again proven her sincerity and ability to methodically conduct such events. But for her imagination we would not have been able to make a sojourn with our past. Thank you Suma.

Nurungukal…3…

v..chat… There was a time when we used to gather around a radio to hear eagerly the voice of Melvin Demalo, the famous news reader of all times. The husky rhetorics between Nehru and Lohia on the floor of our parliament still reverberates in our ears. When one praised about the ethos of India ,the other countered to remind the pathos. These are memories every Indian once again cherish to experience. So are we proud about the proceedings in the first Kerala assembly lead by EMS Namboodiripad. The never ending speech of V.K. Krishna Menon  before an august audience on the floor of UNO can not be forgotten so easily. There were many luminaries, to mention a few for eg. AKG, Dange, Vajpaye, etc. etc. who had made a mark of their own as good parliamentarians. If we search history  we can spot many such luminaries both in the distant past and in recent time worth emulating in speech and actions. I have read somewhere about the instant rhetoric of an advocate when he was admonished by the judge. The advocate by a slip of tongue addressed the judge as ‘you’. The judge immediately pointed out that there is no ‘you’ in the court. The advocate countered it by saying that …’but Me Lord …there is a U in the middle of the CO U RT’, making the entire court, including the judge to enjoy the counter. The above examples show the high degree of sense of respect the speakers held while driving home their point of view effectively.

       If one follow the language of some of the present day speakers, who are holding important positions acquired through public support, we shudder to claim a legacy of decency. Although many words in our language have derived different meanings, such as adipoli,kalakki etc. they are accepted as harmless improvisations.  But surprisingly now a days we venture to defend other’s intentional act of disrespect to others. Even an act of vulgar gesticulation of showing the inner wear in open by a public personality was pardoned off. These are situations which  can not at any stretch of imagination be compromised  by a society, which claim hundred percent literacy and progressive mind. It indicates that the time is ripe to initiate a sense of refinement among us to claim that top position. Otherwise posterity will blame us for the degradation.

         

Nurungukal…3…

        Some events in our life emerge most unexpectedly. That too when we are fighting with the time, for eg. to catch a train or attend a meeting. Narration of the details of such incidents are always an interesting part of our conversations. I remember a case heard recently from a senior officer. She was rushing to catch a train. There was not much time left for the departure. After hurriedly getting down from the auto when she wanted to make a call she was taken by surprise that her hand bag was not on her shoulder and lo it was left in the auto. A shiver passed through her and stood in aghast on the foot path at her wits end worrying about her precious belongings viz. ATM cards, mobile phones cash etc. etc. On seeing her predicament a police man came to her rescue. His directions helped her to retrieve the lost property intact  from the nearest Police station. To her surprise the auto driver who had dropped her at the station was standing out side with an expression of satisfaction of upholding the ethics of the auto drivers of Kozhikode city. Probably he was waiting to ensure that the property was returned to the correct owner, again a sign of good sense of duty.

            Another case I heard, was about the dangerous risk a young mother took to jump out of a moving train carrying her two children in one hand and a few luggage in the other. She was forced to be adventurous on this mission when she knew that she had boarded a wrong train and interestingly in the company of her father who was a retired railway staff. Her father with an exclamation was gasping to tell me how he managed to board the running train once again and jump out safely after retrieving a bag which he had left over in the first attempt. While her father was proudly highlighting his agility and technique in the act to me I was spell bound with a mixed feeling.

         On hearing these two episodes I am recollecting about one such situation in which I became a victim. It was in1958 when me and my younger brother accompanying our eldest brother were returning to college after vacation from our native place. As the steam engine  with a long whistle and puffing of smoke and steam made a thudding halt a few feet away from us, we had only one thing in mind that to squeeze into the compartment though the crowded door and never thought about the two bags in which we had stuffed our clothes and books. The thrill of that journey vanished at the moment we realised that we had forgotten to take the bags from the platform and became a target of reprimand from our brother and a laughing stock to others…..dum…dum…dum…pee…pee…pi….

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….