NURUGUKAL……..

      I never had  such a boring rail journey than the one which I had a few days ago in an a/c chair car to Thiruvanathapuram. A pin drop silence prevailed through out from start to end , except the occasional call of the caterers. All the heads irrespective of age were bend and meddling the heavy mobile phones incessantly, completely unaware of what is happening around. Occasionally one by one got up to attend to their nature’s call which they had to at regular intervals as each one was emptying the mineral water they had procured from a hawker as soon as they got in. I was the only one trying to engage in conversation with a like minded co passenger but in vain, more so with a passion to rewind my fade memories of similar travels, during those days when reaching social media was not an essential feature of our daily routine.

       Most of my travels during the pre mobile days were much more enjoying and engrossing.  Interactions between strangers provided valuable informations on current affairs.  

      There were regular entertainers singing popular songs with improvised instruments. Among them I remember one was an expert in tapping a pair of wooden pieces holding between his fingers, another a north Indian on a coconut shell violin, or bamboo flute. A blind man using his belly as a drum and his daughter singing Hindusthani melodies yet another on a harmonium hung on his neck on a sling. I  wonder many of them if properly trained fine- tuned as in the case of present day Star Singers might have earned much more supporters and laurels. But alas they have all vanished into obscurity fighting for a livelihood. Hawkers selling eucalyptus or lemon grass oil and safety pins etc. appeared to meet your needs at regular stations. They were the best sales men, using impeccable style of marketing, creating a crave for their goods.

      Usually the journey was culminated by a ride in a horse ridden Governor’s cart relieving the fatigue unlike the one now in a ---- or  --- taxi . 

NURUGUKAL……..

      I never had  such a boring rail journey than the one which I had a few days ago in an a/c chair car to Thiruvanathapuram. A pin drop silence prevailed through out from start to end , except the occasional call of the caterers. All the heads irrespective of age were bend and and straining their eyes on the the heavy mobile phones incessantly, completely unaware of what is happening around. Occasionally one by one got up to attend to their nature’s call which they had to at regular intervals as each one was emptying the mineral water they had procured from a hawker as soon as they got in. I was the only one trying to engage in conversation with a like minded co passenger but in vain, more so with a passion to rewind my fade memories of similar travels, during those days when reaching social media was not an essential feature of our daily routine.

       Most of my travels during the pre mobile days were much more enjoying and engrossing.  Interactions between strangers provided valuable informations on current affairs.  

      There were regular entertainers singing popular songs with improvised instruments. Among them I remember one was an expert in tapping a pair of wooden pieces holding between his fingers, another a north Indian on a coconut shell violin, or bamboo flute. A blind man using his belly as a drum and his daughter singing Hindusthani melodies yet another on a harmonium hung on his neck on a sling. I  wonder many of them if properly trained fine- tuned as in the case of present day Star Singers might have earned much more supporters and laurels. But alas they have all vanished into obscurity fighting for a livelihood. Hawkers selling eucalyptus or lemon grass oil and safety pins etc. appeared to meet your needs at regular stations. They were the best sales men, using impeccable style of marketing, creating a crave for their goods.

      Usually the journey  came to an end by a ride in a horse ridden Governor’s cart relieving the fatigue unlike the one now in a ---- or  --- taxi .....dum dum pee pee  

NURUNGUKAL….

    Great calamities fall on you once in a lifetime. The deluge in August 2018 was one such. It occurred suddenly, unexpectedly without any warning. A rare phenomenon, but this time it was the ultimate result of tampering our Mother nature for the pleasure of human beings. It is more or less an alarm to stop the plunder. If the victims ignore the warning more disaster is in store.

     Any way, it is nearly two and half month since all of us experienced the disaster. Even now we are struggling to tide over the aftermath. May be that we might have managed to develop a frame work for ameliorating the loss. But it is in the administrative or official domain, the process is still shy to reach the grass root.

    But amidst this dark clouds there seems to be a beacon imparting a ray of warmth to the dairy farmers. It is emanating from a solo performer. She is none other than our energetic dairy extension officer Madam Harsha. She has given soucur to many a farmer, by gifting cows free of cost. “Donate a cow” is a benevolent gesture  developed in her young mind, prompting many from different walks of life, which by now has become our hope. This young officer has shown her merit in conceiving and implementing a project by cost consciousness and constant awareness of her social responsibilities. I hope that this may be another golden feather in her meritorious service and many more to add in future. Madam, proceed undeterred in your path, with more vigour and vision, because you are a winner always …………

-Nurungukal….

         On the eighth of August 2018 it was pouring down ever since morning in cats and dogs. I thought the furry of south west monsoon is in its peak this season. By noon it gathered intensity and made me apprehensive of an impending threat. Still a wish full thinking made me to rule out a danger. By evening the rain became scattered and by night fall I ensured that the water which was stagnating in my courtyard has lowered , almost drained out. There was no warning about any untoward happenings from any corner and we after finishing our usual T.V programme called it a day and went to sleep.

        I was jerked out of sleep by the incessant ringing of my mobile. It was my neighbour. There was a heavy sound of water gushing from the roof and I knew that the rain has intensified. It was an alarm call to tell me that water is raising all around and it has entered the lower portion of his house. The tone and frenzy in his voice pulled me out of bed. When I came out to see what is happening , water has already reached our front door step and it was flooding all around. I rushed back to wake up my wife who was in deep slumber. Some of my  property documents which I had left on the table last  night were collected and deposited them on the top of an almira. After collecting my mobile and money purse, grabbed my wife and was virtually ran out of the house after locking the front door. Some of the neighbourhood youngsters had already gathered in front of the house and were ready to help us escape from the situation. They even volunteered to carry us through the water, which by that time had risen knee high. In the melee we even forgot to take out our car which eventually was drowned and damaged. But the youngsters managed to to take our cows to a safer place, and rescued them.

           I remember that in our childhood we had enjoyed playing in the rising flood water which very often reached to embrace the last steps of our gate in every season. Those days it was a fun for us to enjoy the frothy muddy water flowing to find its level in the distant sea at great speed. Lot of youngsters used to play boats made out of banana stalks and some even ventured to try big cauldrons.

          My wife was having problems to negotiate through the gushing water to reach the house of my brother-in-law which was fortunately on an elevated hillock. Even today I shudder to think of the episode which we had to encounter in our life  that day and often wonder now, was it the same house which we had to leave seeking a shelter else where.  I remember my mother narrating a similar incident in her childhood, when many of our distant relatives had to take refuge in our Tharavad house in Ponnani for days. I presume it might have happened in 1924 when a similar situation occurred throughout in Kerala. 

         My house from which I had to escape was built two feet higher than the water level of the flood which devoured many parts of Wayanad in 1961. This time the level was four feet above that. Till next day morning the rain continued, although the intensity was reduced gradually.  

         Next dayby evening I ventured to visit my abandoned House, by then the water slowly started receding. The unprecedented rain has engulfed the whole area .Many discouraged me from the attempt. Still I was curious about my house and the safety of the things inside. As I waded through the murky water I felt the enormity of the damage caused with in a matter of few hours.

        All the youngsters in the locality were ready to extend a helping hand to any one. Almost all the houses were inundated and many were marooned. A unit of the fire force was plying hither tither to collect the isolated souls. Old, sick, handicapped, and even a pregnant lady was rescued by them. Later I heard that the lady delivered immediately after reaching the hospital. The land slide and a huge rock which descended from the nearby hill demolished four houses in a row. Two small children were extricated from the debris miraculously and another family escaped sure death seconds before the earth covered their house. If the huge piece of rock which rolled down along with the soil had not fell flat on the road, it would have been a greater calamity.

        It was with great anxiety I opened my front door as I was sure the damage was certain inside. The water level was about my hip level.Nothing was in its place. It was total chaos. Fridge was floating, even the double coat was lying tilted in a corner. T.V., Computer, book shelf, nothing was left. Water has entered every almira. It was difficult to walk as the sticky silt has settled all over.I could not stand any more and left the house carrying an image which will never fade away. I stood there for a while or two, slowly walked back,trying to chalk out a retrieval plan and consoling that our loss would be much less significant when compared to what has happened to those who are lesfortunate………..and many a miles to go before I sleep.....

     

The unexpected visit of a batch of students from the Mannuthy dairy science college a few days ago gave me an exposure on the way our new generation view things. As I was narrating the step by step progress of our milk society, in particular and our concern in general on the future course of responsibility they should shoulder on alleviating field problems,  I noticed in them a sense of seriousness. I could understand that they are a class ahead of the others and would certainly be a lot, worth dependable. The interaction with other farmers on the problems and solutions might have thrown more light to them which I could read from their faces. Above all the short but meaningful anchoring done by our Dairy Extension Officer, who once again proved her excellence on narration, made matters more significant to us as well as to the students.

        I was in particular interested  to find the lot more and more inquisitive about the live stock , perhaps due the fact that the owner of the farm happened to be of their age . And that was the main reason for selecting such a property to show that dairy farming is no more the play ground of the seniors alone. In fact lot of youngsters and NRIs are nowadays attracted ,eventually boosting milk production manifold. The White Revolution has now actually set in motion.

      As I witnessed  enviously the young crowd like butterflies, fluttering around the premise, sometime caressing the goats, or chatting with the calves or feeding the chicken, even whispering to the vegetables, unknowingly moved to my college days and tried to dig out a few moments of ecstasies of  such trips of freedom and emotions. Gone are those days I thought and once again, as the bus carrying them moved forward,  forcefully withdrew from the illusion and bid good bye to them.Till we meet again!!!

Nurungukal…..

      When I think of football the first name that comes to my mind is Sait Nagji foot ball tournament at Manchira in Kozhikode. The only event we fondly  awaited to happen apart from the annual exhibition at Zamorin’s ground. Unlike now, we never went to put up holding along the streets of Kozhikode. To be frank I never even bothered to know about the records made by the legendaries around the world. Now when you here the running commentary of a match  the stalwarts can tell you how many times a player had taken his breadth in 90 minutes of play and how tenderly he might have thought about the twins he would have while playing a crucial match. The only thing that bothered us was, from whom  we can sqeeze  few chips to by the tickets. It can be possibly by selling the news paper without the knowledge of our sister-in-law or by surreptitiously extracting some loose notes from our brother’s pocket. We neither had sufficient funds to put up a flex costing thousands of rupees, nor had the time. We were happy  if we could manage to enter the arena with a cone of fried pea nuts. But we were lucky in those days to enjoy the  live performance  of the famous Indian player like Thankaraj, Goswamy,Chidanandan, Zulphikkar, Olympian Rahman etc. etc.  We were satisfied with the commentary of Padmanabettan or with the review of Wimzy in Sport and Pastime. Invariably on many an occasion we had to be contend with enjoying the roar from inside the stadium while leaning on the parapet wall of Mananchitra, embrazing a cool breeze from the beach. If inside the performance of many a permanent spectators who used to station at designated spots added spice to our enjoyment. Suicides and quarrels were unheard of in those days.

      There are many like me in this part of kerala and world over anxiously expecting that the Sait Nagji  tourney would be revived to provide an annual fiesta  and more over to encourage the local young talents. Let those who spend thousands   for those who earn in crores think of creating a corpus fund to bring back a lost glory of Malabar.

Nurungukal…..

      When I think of football the first name that comes to my mind is Sait Nagji foot ball tournament at Manchira in Kozhikode. The only event we fondly  awaited to happen apart from the annual exhibition at Zamorin’s ground. Unlike now, we never went to put up holdings along the streets of Kozhikode. To be frank I never even bothered to know about the records made by the legendaries around the world. Now when you hear the running commentary of a match  the stalwarts can tell you how many times a player had taken his breadth in 90 minutes of play and how tenderly he might have thought about the twins he would have while playing a crucial match. The only thing that bothered us was, from whom  we can squeeze  few chips to buy the tickets. It can be possibly by selling the news paper without the knowledge of our sister-in-law or by surreptitiously extracting some loose notes from our brother’s pocket. We neither had sufficient funds to put up a flex costing thousands of rupees, nor had the time. We were happy  if we could manage to enter the arena with a cone of fried pea nuts. But we were lucky in those days to enjoy the  live performance  of the famous Indian player like Thankaraj, Goswamy,Chidanandan, Zulphikkar, Olympian Rahman etc. etc.  Otherwise we were satisfied with the commentary of Padmanabettan or with the review of Wimzy in Sport and Pastime. Invariably on many an occasion we had to be contend with enjoying the roar from inside the stadium while leaning on the parapet wall of Mananchitra, embracing a cool sea breeze. If inside, the performance of many a permanent spectators who used to station at designated spots added spice to our enjoyment. Suicides and quarrels were unheard of in those days.

      There are many like me in this part of kerala and world over anxiously expecting that the Sait Nagji  tourney would be revived to provide an annual fiesta  and more over to encourage the local young talents. Let those who spend thousands for those who earn in corers and Kozhikode Corporation think of creating a corpus fund  to bring back a lost glory of Malabar.