Nurungukal………….

     

Their first visit to our neighbourhood, a densely inhabited area, was sudden, short and unexpected. The pair of pachyderms  tusker surreptitiously trespassed into our locality under the cover of darkness, consumed a stretch of banana plants and retraced their path eluding an angry mob. The damage was costly and the target land resembled a war torn ground. From the size of the foot prints one can easily imagine the size of the animals. A boy on his way to collect the bundle of news paper from the nearby town had a glimpse of their long tusks as they were retreating in hurry at the first streak of twilight in the eastern horizon. The incident virtually hurt the otherwise peaceful locality. For the next couple of days the topic filled the air and all and sundry activated their social groups with the evidences of havoc done by our animal friends. Some even tried to mould a make belief contention that the pair are the descendants of a forgone herd who would have been reigning the hillock known as ANOMKUNNU and they have just activated by instinct an elephant path frequented by their ancestors many  years ago. As usual the memory of the invasion slowly vanished from our minds. But contrary to our wishful thinking, the pair appeared exactly after a month. A lady on hearing an unfamiliar sound peeped through her window  to witness them uprooting her plantain, a scene which will remain in her with a shrill. But to her surprise they moved slowly and left her premises placing the plant just in the porch of her little house, without causing any damage.  This time they refused to return, but remained in the vicinity for two days as if to establish a right on their ancestral domain and right of way.  Again they returned without much persuasion although this time the officials were ready to meet any eventuality. I heard today that the same pair is stationed in a coffee estate near to us. That means they are very serious about their intention of retrieving their lost ground, something precious and essential for the existence of their tribe. So far there is no loss to life or property. But how long they will hold their patience is to be seen.

       The episode has not attracted any intense media attention as in the case of Ottaplam sojourn on the banks of NILA. May be that ours is comparatively a low profile village.

       This conflicts between man and animal  on territories are to be dealt case by case. But in general the main issue is survival. The depletion of healthy forest systems denies sufficient food and water to our fore runners on earth, due to our encroachments to their territory and the lack of effective management of forest wealth. Let us hope that a day will ultimately dawn when a better harmony will prevail and till such time we would love to bear with the frequent visits of THEIR MAJESTIES… dum, dum, dum, pee, pee,pi……

Nurungukal…

     He narrated the incident with the fluency of a story teller. The flow was in correct sequence. There was no element of imagination. The young Poojari was in a trance,  as he described the unusual encounter, last night he had with a Fairy in the temple premises.

      He was young, dark, and muscular with long curly hair, which  fell below his broad shoulders. When he smiled the teeth sparkled like a crescent in a dark night. The eyes were expressive and his movements had the dexterity of a dancer. In nutshell he fit into the category of a CHULLAN , a glossary, the new gen girls use to describe a smart guy.

      It was after a frantic search we could manage to select him as the Poojari of our temple, because no member of the traditional Namboodiri family was willing to accept our offer. More over the temple is situated in the middle of a vast tea estate, isolated far away from human habitation.  He was just out of his teens and hailed from a remote village in Madurai. He had some training in conducting poojas from his uncle who was respected by all for his knowledge on such matters and was known as SASTRY.

       The story was told to us during one of our regular visits to the temple, usually after dusk to attend the deeparadhana. We selected the time mainly to get a full darsan as there would be no other devotees. In my case I took the opportunity to refresh my Tamil, conversing with him.

         After exchanging usual pleasantries, he slowly unravelled a mystery surrounding the temple.  When he was practising yoga in the open ground near the temple one night, he  felt a strange smell, followed by a tingling of anklets. There was a mummer as the slow breeze passed shaking the leaves of the Pala tree which stood majestically on the top of the nearby rock. As he turned round inquisitively a misty figure vanished with a deafening thunder and a red glow on to the top of the Pala tree leaving behind a fragrance for a while.

          In the past  I have heard about many such strange experiences, like odiyan, kappiri  etc. also stories of many weird forms from our night watchmen. Such items had never disturbed me. Even the one told by this Pujari boy, till the other day when I felt a similar feeling as I  happened to make a visit out of curiosity to the  top of the rock where the old Pala tree still adorns the surroundings. Rarely fictions are stranger than facts, I suppose……..dum dum dum pee pee pi.

Nurungukal….

      Jimickies have returned. I love to see them dangling to provide a golden glow in youngsters. It was so in the bygone days. Tastes have changed and even mothers are sporting a pair now, may be the effect of a latest movie song. I was surprised yesterday to witness all the sales girls in a departmental store wearing glittering jimickies! as part of their uniforms.  I felt as if, a few glow worms have descended to flutter about.

     Movies are always in the front to set- in fashions, especially in the case of ornaments, dress, hair style or even one’s body language. But in the case of hair style the foot ball players are the recent trend setters, although our fore fathers have a legitimate claim. If you look at the photos of your great great grand father or uncles you can draw a similarity with latest style. During our college days it was a craze to  imitate Devanand or even Gregory Peck. So was the popular putups of Asha Parekh and Saira Banu. The bell bottom pants of Jayan, the muscle man of Malayalam movies  gave him a special identity. Robert Taylor and the legendary Erol Flynn, the sword fighter were known for their stylish moustache and of course UlBrinner for his shaved head.

      Recently, black shirt and white dhothy were a passion and so are many girls proud of  showing their  lengthy and luxuriant curly hair in front. Both these trends were the product of a movie which was the favourite among the college students. A few mothers even ventured to put up vegetables gardens on their terrace, inspired by the idea mooted by a movie. Some popular stars even went one step further to cultivate acres of organic vegetables and paddy, a welcome lead open to many farmers.

        All of us wish to change our way of life and love to be part of any popular movements. It is all part of the evolution ‘Old order changeth yielding place to new……”. So don’t be surprised  if you see your granny or grand father dancing with your grand children when the latest viral song is played. Enjoy….Enjoy….and Enjoy……Jimckies….. 

Nurungukal

   He comes often in the evening almost once in six months, carrying on his back a mobile machine for sharpening knives. He hesitates for a while to enter our compound, after a call. On seeing him my wife would rush to the kitchen and would be back soon with a bunch of rusted knives and scissors. He would carefully examine each and with a characteristic smile tell her that there is much work to be done, indicating that the charges would be more. Without waiting for her reply he would slowly set the machine and start peddling. In the meanwhile they would enter into a formal negotiation and settle the charge. Now it is time for me to enter into a conversation and brush up my Tamil, because he had told me about his native place on the previous occasion.

    He hails from Thiruthani in Tamil Nadu, where the renowned temple of Lord Muruga exists. His wife and three children live there. He finds his living by the income he gets from sharpening iron implements. Leaving his family consisting of his wife and three daughters in his native place he  wanders from place to place, in Tamil Nadu and Kerala visiting each place in regular intervals. Over the years he has managed to develop a vast clientele.

     The machine,  is one of the the most eco friendly one as it works only on human effort. There is no use of fossil fuel or even electrical energy and hence devoid of carbon emission. It provides a living, using a simple principle of physics. I used to watch in wonder the rhythm of his body movements and the bunch of the sparks like the horrifying tongue of a Chinese dragon. As the work proceeds he would narrate  the recent political scenario in Tamil Nadu, his concern about his daughters or even on the problems of climate changes, in chaste Tamil and occasionally  with an admixture of Malayalam. I used to enjoy these moments to cherish my nostalgic memories of my service days in Tamil Nadu, many years ago. As my son captured his image in the mobile camera, a strange request came from him. He asked me whether I can spare an old mobile phone. Just to get in touch with his family as he is concerned now a days about the security of his teen age daughters. I replied that I would try. After finishing the job and collecting the cash with a sigh and praise to ALLAH he lifted the machine and moved out in search of his next customer. At the same time a spark burned in me when a faded character emerged from my mind’s gallery….none other than the legendary KABOOLIWALLAH.. As I looked back I saw my wife standing at the door to receive her next visitor, probably a sales girl alias marketing trainee……[revised version of my earlier FB poat ]

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.