Cheloor Blog

UNHEALED WOUNDS

2011-06-24T21:08:00.002+05:30

The bus stopped at the irrigation canal bridge. It was my first visit to my ancestral home after my retirement. I got down from the bus and walked along the canal service road. Water as clear as glass was flowing in the canal. A few small fish swam at the bottom along with the flow. I once again became the adolescent boy of yesteryears full of excitement in anticipation of my visit to my erstwhile home. The water converged into an arched aqueduct with gurgling noise. Both sides of the road were lined with new houses, a sign of prosperity and affluence of the village. The canal curved to the left and I walked down the gradient to my right. The narrow asphalted road was full of potholes. As I reached the village pond, the small ripples on the water surface caused by the breeze filled nostalgic waves in me. The sun’s image was having a cool dip in the pond, weary of its own heat.

I looked around for familiar faces, but was disappointed to see none. But I was thrilled to see the building with a tiled roof, my home years back, my sweet home, with all its antiquity. I opened the small gate, made of wooden planks with vertical iron bars, and stepped into the yard which was like a small garden with beautiful flowers. The carved wooden main door shutters had not lost their glow. I knocked on one of them. The door opened with a screeching noise and I was greeted by my cousin, Devu. She was the sole occupant of the house. She was greying and her face was adorned with the usual lovely smile. She led me to the room at the right. The cement floor was very cool and a feeling of tranquility pervaded my body. I sat on the armchair and looked at the photographs on the wall. My late father, uncle and aunt were watching me through the framed glasses of the photographs, I thought. I saw a kind of glow in their eyes, perhaps created by my presence that day.

I went upstairs climbing up the wooden stairs. I made rhythmic noise on the wooden steps like a percussion artist. On to the left was the room which was used by my grandfather. A large portrait of my grandfather hung on the wall. I stood in front of the portrait. My face was reflected on the glass and I could see my bearded face next to that of my grandfather. I was pleased to see the similarity of both of our faces, one of a living old man and the other of a vanished human being. The more I looked at the portrait, the more my eyes became wet.

We talked about many things. Devu served me tea and salty snacks. Charged with them, I got out of the house. I walked along the lane abandoned by me, years back, for my selfish ambitions in my life. Now that I had retired, I did not have anything to do. Now was the time for me to visit places, meet persons whose images seemed to have faded in my life, but were still intact in my heart in all their clarity. I walked straight. The lane looked deserted. I did not see children playing. But I heard from each home the loud noise of television sets blaring out dialogues and music of movies crowding in the satellite programmes. I trod on till the end of the lane where it meandered into narrow field paths.

On to my right was an old fashioned house. I climbed up the granite steps. The house had verandahs on the three sides and it had a clay tile roof. There was no change to that house in the last five decades. An old lady came out of the house to the verandah and looked at me with inquisitive eyes. She was in her early sixties and grey haired. It was Ammu, my schoolmate.

I introduced myself.

“I can recognize you” she said with a smile. Her voice was still musical and her smile captivating. Blood rushed to her thin face. She blushed. Her eyes sparkled with tears and she enquired. “How are you? How is your family?”

I replied we were good.

“And how are you and your family?” I asked her.

She took a deep breath and said “My parents have left me forever for their heavenly abode many years back. My only brother never comes to this place. I have no other family” she said.

“What about your husband and children?” I asked her.

“I am still unmarried. I had loved someone many years ago, but he married another woman. I stay alone in this house” she said.

“But are you not feeling lonely?” I asked her.

“No. I have good neighbours who give me great company” she smiled.

I bade good bye to her and walked on. I looked to my left. Dry grass lay on the slopes of the irrigation canal. Buffalos were grazing on the banks. I took the path to the right and walked further.

I walked along the narrow footpaths which served as the boundaries of every field. I reached the neighbourhood of our erstwhile farmhouse. Smoke was billowing out of huts. In every hut thatched with dry palm leaves, farmers boiled palm jaggery and made cakes out of it. I could recognize Kesavan, who was the cowboy of our village, more than half a century back. He smiled at me.

I was ten years old. We had a black cow named Blackie. She had a white mark on her head which made her more beautiful. She was a darling to all of us. Kesavan came every morning and led her to the grazing grounds along with other herds. Before going to school every day, I used to go to the backyard and hug Blackie with all my love. She would lick my hands with her coarse tongue reciprocating her affection towards me. One morning, my grandmother went to the backyard and was shocked to see Blackie lying still. She cried aloud and we all went to her. Blackie was dead. Her udder had two blue marks. She had died of cobra bite. I cried the whole day and did not eat anything. My sorrow was boundless. My grandfather pacified me to remain calm.

“So you have returned to your native place” Kesavan said smiling.

I was brought to the present by his words.

“Yes” I said. He gave me a paper bag full of palm jiggery cakes. I thanked him and walked further. Five hundred yards away was the old farm house where my grandparents lived during the harvest time, half a century back. The familiar huge black rock stood guard to the farmhouse which was someone else’s property now. I climbed up the rock and stood there looking inside, in spite of the radiating heat. I travelled back in the time machine to the nostalgic past.

I was doing my final year degree course in Civil Engineering at a town about forty miles from my ancestral home. The year was 1962. My mother had received a telegram. The words of disbelief in the telegram described the expiry of my grandfather. When I returned from the college, mother was in tears. I read the telegram several times. The world seemed to stand still in front of me. I felt like standing inside a vacuum. I could not imagine a life without my grandfather. I burst out and the tears flowed like a stream. I wept till the tear glands became dry over the loss of the most important human being in my life. He was my friend, my teacher and my mentor. A world without him was unimaginable. I was two years old when he took over my guardianship. From that time it was me that mattered most to him. He pampered me with his uninhibited love. He hopped everywhere with me in his pouch, like a kangaroo. He moulded me and taught me everything and he was waiting for me to graduate as an engineer. He was everything to me. I had no one to go to. My grief flowed out like an open spillway.

We boarded a private bus. After two hours, we got down at the canal bridge of my village. I walked with my mother and brother as if in a dream. We passed the pond, our ancestral house and walked straight through the fields. At the farmhouse, smoke was rising high on the right side. The cremation of my grandfather was going on.

“But why did they not wait for us?” I asked my uncle. I took a piece of firewood, lighted it and kept it on the funeral pyre. I could see only the back of his head. All other parts were physically getting swallowed by the cruel flames. I had kissed that head umpteen times. I had played with that head on several occasions. I had mounted on his shoulders many times. And he would dance holding my hands and sing. He would catch my tiny hands and walk through the road proudly.

I asked where you are now my dearest grandpa. Why did you do this to me? What shall I do without you?

There was no answer. And there won’t be any answer. The smoke rose higher. The firewood made cracking noise. His head became invisible. My grandpa had changed his abode. He was with God.

But his soul is with us wherever we go. He is omnipresent.

He is the Protector of our lives.

A herd of cows passed through the muddy lane and I was brought back from the past. Smell of dust mingled with cow dung spread around. I walked back through the empty fields.

At the gate of Ammu’a house, I saw her standing hoping to have another glimpse of me. I stopped. She walked towards me and held my hands and said.

“Promise me you will marry me in your next birth”. She kissed my hands. Her tears dropped on my fingers.

“Good bye, my love” she said and went inside the house.

I was taken aback. It was a shock to me. The truth stared at me. I felt guilty that I could not understand her love towards me, years back. I had treated her as one of my friends. Tears blurred my vision as I walked past the houses to my ancestral home. Pre-monsoon black clouds were moving hastily on the sky. A few drops of rain fell on my head. The aroma of wet earth pierced my nose.

Devu was waiting for me with a cup of hot coffee. I sat on the armed chair at the front verandah. Devu sat on the raised floor.

“I met Ammu” I told her as I sipped the coffee.

“Which Ammu are you talking about?” Devu asked me.

“Ammu who lives in the last house on the lane just before the path to the fields” I said.

“What?” Devu got up and came near me.

“Ammu died five years ago. No one is staying in that house since her death”. She said with a bewildered look.

Lightning flashed. Thunder was deafening. Rain poured from the heavens.

Our Visit to Coorg

2011-06-16T18:59:00.003+05:30

In India, summer is the season when most people travel to places of better climate and of natural beauty to escape the tropical heat. While at Bangalore, my son had travelled to Coorg and stayed at several scenic places there. When he advised me to visit this beautiful place, I made immediate arrangements for a few days’ visit to Coorg, a famous tourist destination in the adjacent Karnataka State.

On 8^th May 2011, we started our journey from my hometown, Thrissur in Kerala, South India, via Calicut to Coorg. Once we reached the border of Kerala with Karnataka, our journey continued with awesome experiences and our excitement climbed to the azimuth. An unimaginable bliss pervaded us as the landscape opened its mesmerizing assets to us.

Coorg is nuzzled in the Western Ghats of the Sahyadri Mountain range. It is categorized by scattered villages and homesteads. The languorous neighbourhood has an old world charm and is very noteworthy with undulant hills and loquacious rivers. It has many amazing viewpoints. God has blessed this paradise on earth with many enchanting gifts of nature. It has lush green valleys, torpid hills, meandering roads, dazzling mountains and a numinous air all around. Its unrivalled beauty is also enhanced by vast areas of tea and coffee plantations that extend across the land. Haughty teakwood and sandalwood trees adorn the place and augment its opulence manifold. Coorg is nicknamed as the "Orange Country", for its countless orange groves. With the captivating aroma of coffee, sandalwood and oranges, Coorg imparts a delight to our olfactory senses and ocular pleasure. Coorg is also known as the ‘Scotland of India’.

At 5-30 A.M we reached Kushal Nagar, a picturesque town in Coorg, which is 80 KM from Mysore and 35 KM from Madikeri, the district headquarters of Coorg. Our place of stay was the Parumpara Holiday Resort Coorg, in Kushal Nagar (http://travel.ciao.co.uk/Parumpara_Holiday_Resort_Coorg__7866311). We checked in one of the cottages at this beautiful resort. After freshening ourselves and rejuvenating with refreshments, we moved around the resort. The cottages are located in the midst of coconut and arecanut groves with eye-catching greenery. There is an adventure play park with rope ladders, Rope Bridge, climbing walls, Tarzan swings, sky walk and tree houses and landscaped garden space with hammocks to rest on.

Soon it was dinner time and we walked to the dining hall open all four sides, in front of which is a stage for entertainment. The orchestra was on with folk singers and dancers performing. An adjacent bar was very noisy and the DJ was demonstrating his skills while ladies and gentlemen danced very ‘spiritedly’. The breeze was very pleasant as we walked back to the cottage after a delicious dinner.

In the morning of 9^th May, we were educated by the resort receptionist about the weather in Coorg. It is pleasant throughout the year with a maximum of 35C and a minimum of 25C in the summer and 20C and 9C in the winter. The Manager gave us a brochure showing the places of tourist attraction, and we drove out of the resort to our first destination, Dubare Elephant Camp.

Dubare Elephant Camp.

We reached the banks of river Cauvery and hired a motor boat to reach the other bank. The damp forests of Dubare are the abode for many birds and wild animals. It is a natural island having an area of 11 acres. This is a magnificent picnic location where one can mingle with the nature on the beautiful banks of River Cauvery. The holidaymakers regularly sight wild elephants, stag and spotted deers.

Dubare is mainly an elephant capturing and training camp of the Forest Department. We saw elephants bathing in the river with the mahouts scrubbing and washing their bodies. Some of the visitors were scrubbing the elephants themselves, while some were feeding them. Water rafting is also available and there was no much gushing of water in the river. The guide explained to us that the Indian Bison or Gaur and bears are also seen in these forests and visitors also can get a glimpse of many crocodiles in the waters of River Cauvery at Dubare, and peacocks, kingfishers and woodpeckers.

There is a jungle lodge here with 10 luxurious cottages with attached bath.

The tranquil moments at the forests still linger in our thoughts. We later drove back to the outskirts of Kushal Nagar to visit Cauvery Nisargadhama

Cauvery Nisargadhama

Nisargadhama is a mind-blowing and awesome island off the Karnataka State Highway just 2 km from Kushal Nagar town and around 35 kms from Madikeri. It is an Ecological Park. It is a paradise for nature lovers, both old and young. It is about 64 acres in area with the beautiful Cauvery River flowing around. It is full of thick bamboo groves, sandalwood, rosewood trees and waterfalls. In addition to these tourist attractions, many cottages offer delicious food and staying facilities. Tree top homes and pergolas are also available.

We parked our car on the extensive parking lot and walked along various shops and snack houses. Visitors were thronging to the hanging bridge to reach the island. We stopped at the centre of the narrow hanging bridge and looked down and saw a large number of fish swimming in the clear flowing water. We could see many pedal boats driven by merry- making tourists. As we walked along, we could see a deer park. Many spotted deers were grazing in the park. Many visitors were enjoying elephant rides, especially children.

The tryst with the nature was enchanting as walked back with the hanging bridge giving us oscillating jerks. The shops offered home-made wine from gooseberry, grapes and ginger. I bought a few bottles of grapes and gooseberry wine while my wife bought a few packs of cardamom.

Lunchtime was approaching and we entered a town restaurant and had a nice and sumptuous lunch. We drove back to the cottage. After having a short siesta and a refreshing hot water shower, we were again ready for another outing, this time to the Golden Temple. It was 4-00 P.M.

We drove about 2km on the Mysore highway and turned right to reach the Golden Temple in Bylakuppe at the Buddhist Monastery.

Bylakuppe is a Tibetan settlement, one of many in India. In the late 1950’s, the Dalai Lama changed his residence to India after his strained relations with the Chinese authorities over the latter’s Tibetan policy. A number of Tibetans followed Dalai Lama to India. The then Prime Minister of India, Mr. Jawaharlal Nehru, offered assistance to establish refugee settlements in the cooler parts of India. Bylakuppe is one of those settlements, the first one of its kind, established in 1961. Many Buddhists live here very peacefully. There are many schools, nunneries, temples and monasteries here. Bylakuppe houses one of the largest Buddhist universities called Sera Monastic University. The monasteries practice various traditions of Buddhism.

The tourist attraction is the Golden Temple. Many Buddhists live here. As we entered the premises a grandiose rainbow arch with the inscription ‘NYINGMAPA MONASTERY’ welcomed us. An extensive paved and beautiful yard is surrounded by rectangular buildings. As we entered another gate, a straggling garden with grazing turkeys became visible, inspiring great awe in us, on both sides of the path to the temple. The monks reside in small quarters around the garden. The painting of the temple is very ornate with lively colours. The walls are depicted with tortuous decorations in a repetitive pattern; and frescos of Buddhist themes are also displayed on the walls. Impressive golden images adorn the altar of the Golden Temple. We were overwhelmed to hear Buddhist hymns sung by monks accompanied by Tibetan musical instruments. We forgot that we were in India as the ambience virtually carried us to Tibet. Photography is allowed and we were fortunate to have clicked on the breathtaking images and surroundings of this wonderful temple. The behavior of the tourists was very commendable, very courteous with befitting decorum of such a place of worship.

We did window shopping at the adjacent shopping arcade which had an array of shops selling Tibetan and Nepalese goods. A Tibetan restaurant was very inviting but we did not go in not knowing what to eat. The sun hid below the red horizon and dusk took over. The breeze became cooler as we drove back to the resort.

10^th May 2011

The day broke setting aside a cooler night. We had a heavy south Indian breakfast in preparation for a long drive and the impending visits. Our first visit was planned for TALACAUVERI.

TALACAUVERI

At 10-00 A.M, our car started to move on the Mysore-Madkeri State Highway, a well laid asphalt road. Both sides of the road complimented each other with breathtaking scenic greenery. Talacauveri, our next destination is about 85 kms from Kushal Nagar.

We reached Talacauveri at about 12-30 P.M. The scenery on the way was splendid. As we traversed the mountain road, white clouds were caressing the peaks and the breeze, cooler than before, refreshed and excited us.

Talacauveri is famous being the mountain region where the river Cauvery originates. It is located in the Brahmagiri hill at 4185ft. above the sea level.

The huge arch greeted us and as we walked on the beautifully paved floor, a kind of tranquility spread through our bodies. The sights on both sides were enchanting. We could see a pond at the place where the river Cauvery is said to have originated. At the back of the pond, a temple is situated.

Beside the temple there is a series of 356 steps which lead to the peak from where the hills can be viewed. Visitors were climbing the steps to reach the top.

The feast to our eyes was delicious, and intoxicated with the splendour of nature, we drove down the mountain. On the way we saw many shops selling homemade wines, coffee, tea, spices and forest honey. We stepped into one of the shops. The aroma of fresh ground coffee and spices engulfed us. We bought coffee, honey and tea leaves. It was quite consoling that the products were not adulterated and were very light on our purse.

We reached Madikeri and had lunch at one of the restaurants. Madikeri reminded me of Ooty, with its narrow roads with steep gradients and houses situated on the slopes of the hills. The place had a kind of charm which endeared it to our hearts. The next place of our visit was Abbey Falls.

Abbey Falls

Abbey Falls is a spectacular waterfall where river Cauvery cascades down a rock surface from a height of 70 ft. We drove through narrow roads and reached the entrance to the falls. From the entrance we walked downhill for about 500 metres. Paved steps with wide treads made the gradient easy. Thick coffee plants and tall trees wound with pepper vines adorned both sides of the walkway, imparting soothing coolness to our bodies. All of a sudden we heard the gurgling melody of falling water and the falls became visible. The steps ended at the base of a hanging bridge built across the gorge. We could not take our eyes off the waterfall. We walked on the hanging bridge and stood there for some time as the whole atmosphere enthralled us. The wind brought water particles to our face giving a thrilling feeling.

Raja’s Seat

Raja’s Seat means Seat of the King. This is located at the western end of Madikeri. We reached the garden and bought tickets to enter the premises. It is a beautiful garden very well maintained. Different coloured flowers of various species ornament the garden. As we walked to the end of the garden, the view of the hills and the valley mesmerized us. The far stretching Blue Mountains made us breathless. The valley below was full of paddy fields and forests. Raja’s seat is a small pavilion with eye catching flowers. It is said that the kings came to this place to watch the beautiful sunset and the nature’s unending beauty from here.

We left before sunset and we could not witness that spectacle. As we were about to reach Kushal Nagar, the Rain God was kind enough to shower the blessings. It was awesome to hear the rain falling on the plantations on both sides of the road. The road got washed clean with the rain and so did our car.

The night at Parumpara Resort, Kushal Nagar was cooler with strong breeze blowing from the west while we had our dinner, with the folk music filling the air. The dancers and singers impressed us.

How to Reach Coorg by Air :
The nearest airport to Coorg (Madikeri) lies at Mangalore, about 135 km away. The second nearest airport is at Bangalore – about 250 km from Coorg( Madikeri).

How to Reach Coorg by Rail :
The nearest railway station from Coorg(Madikeri) is at Mysore, about 120 km away. Mysore is well connected to major cities in India by an extensive rail network. The rail stations in Mangalore and Hassan can also be conveniently used for reaching Coorg.

How to Reach Coorg by Road :
Coorg is well connected by road with all major cities in Karnataka. Cities like Mysore (120 km) from Madikeri, Mangalore (135 km), Bangalore (260 km), and Hassan (115 km) are linked by excellent roadways with Coorg.

11 May 2011

For everything, there is an end and so too for our adventurous tour. Checking out, we drove through the familiar roads of Coorg. Our hearts became heavy with the thought of parting with Coorg. But we traversed the beauty laden surroundings with an oath to come back again to be with Mother Nature, hopefully with our son who is expected to come from the USA to Kerala in a few months.

Good Bye Coorg!!!

And Welcome to Coorg!!! for my readers to visit this heavenly place!!!

Novel - The Desert Rose - Chapter - 3

2010-02-18T13:55:00.006+05:30

Friday Evening

Fridays were the only holidays in Dubai and the expatriates enjoyed them with great fervour and enthusiasm. Sukumaran got up at 11-00 AM. He had a cup of tea and got ready with a hot shower. He never took breakfast on any day. He dressed in his blue and white striped shirt and covered himself with a woolen coat. He was relaxed as it was a holiday. But his responsibilities were too many. He drove down to Ghusseli to check the excavation work. He parked his car and walked along the sand where the D8’s (D8 bulldozers) were working. The drivers had stopped work and had gone to the nearby mosque on the main road for the Friday prayers. There was good progress of work.

Jashwinder Singh, Foreman ran towards him.

“Sat Sri Akal sirji” he wished Sukumaran.

“Sat Sri Akal”, Sukumaran replied. Sukumaran was very happy to see that one row of labour accommodation was already completed and at the back, toilets and baths were being constructed with cement sand blocks.

“The shovel will be here by 1 O’ clock and I will dig pits for the septic tanks, sirji” Jashwinder said with much enthusiasm. Jashwinder was his favourite foreman as he was very efficient and active.

“Tomorrow, we will complete offices for the Consultants and you, sirji” Jashwinder unfolded his plan for the next day.

Sukumaran was much pleased with the proceedings. He walked back and passed the Bedouin huts. In one of the huts, an Arab, about sixty years old, was smoking Hookah (water pipe). When he saw Sukumaran, he waved at him saying “Thaal, thaal hini” (Come, come here).

Sukumaran walked towards him. The hut was made of khajur leaves, both the walls and the roof. He was sitting outside on a cot. A camel was licking the back of its calf as the calf sucked milk from the mother’s udders.

“Salaam Aalaikum”, the Arab said. The Arab introduced himself in half Arabic and half Urdu. “My name is Baqer Hussain. Please sit down Mohandis (Engineer)”. He offered a wooden chair to Sukumaran. He was surprised how Baqer could know that he was the Engineer.

He said “Aalaikum Salaam. I am engineer Sukumaran”

“I know you are the Engineer. Now I know your name” he laughed.

He brought a big circular receptacle in which there were dates, oranges, apples, grapes and various kinds of dry nuts.

“Please take” he told Sukumaran. His smile was very innocent. His lower teeth were stained and his beard was black and white. His Arab attire was brownish and his head wear was purple in colour with a striped woolen cloth.

Sukumaran knew very well about Arab hospitality which should be reciprocated with good participation in taking what they would offer. He started to eat some dates and dry nuts. Baqer went inside and brought a jug of steaming quawa (a special black coffee) with a few small coffee cups. He poured the coffee in one of the cups and offered it to Sukumaran. He drank the coffee and gave the cup back to Baqer. He filled it again and gave it to Sukumaran. Likewise at least eight times Sukumaran had to drink the coffee.

He told Baqer “it is enough”

Baqer laughed at him and said “if you don’t want more you should move your hand like this with the cup”. Baqer’s hand moved anticlockwise in a shivering action with the cup. “Like this” he said.

Sukumaran had never known about that formality.

There was laughter from inside near the window, the laughter of a young woman. He looked towards the window. The aroma of Arabic perfumes filled the air. He saw a pair of beautiful eyes; the face was covered in a black burqa. She disappeared as Sukumaran was looking at her.

“My daughter, Raffia” Baqer said.

Sukumaran thanked Baqer and said goodbye to him.

While driving back to Dubai, her pair of eyes was following him while her laughter was ringing in his ears.

The fish biriyani from Al Hamra Restaurant was very tasty for Sukumaran, especially after consuming two cans of Carlsberg beer. His experience at the Bedouin hut that morning was quite enchanting to him. He wrote a letter to his mother about the new project. He wanted to share his happiness with his mother and sister through the letter. At a stage, tears blocked his vision while writing, as he was missing all of them. The financial difficulties of his family were slowly vanishing as he was sending money drafts to them every month. It was the final year for her sister in the college for her degree in English. She would be twenty one years when she would graduate. He wanted her to go for a training course in teaching, so that he could try to bring her to Dubai for a possible employment in one of the schools. He thought that age of twenty three to twenty four would be ideal for her to get married. His mother had also agreed for that probability.

A nap of about one hour refreshed him. It was 5-00 P.M and he had a hot shower. Gopiyettan (an elderly person who was working in the British Bank of the Middle East) had invited him for dinner at his house.

He drove his car quite slowly enjoying the weather through his open windows. The weather was getting a little warmer as clouds were gathering in the sky. An impending shower of rain was in the cards, but it would drop down the temperature, he mused. He stopped at the Bur Dubai post office to post his letter to his mother. Indian and Pakistani workers were seen everywhere in their best dresses. At the Plaza cinema, they were screening a Hindi movie.

He drove straight through the Strand Cinema round about and turned towards Karama. Gopiyettan was staying in one of the small villas. When he knocked at his door, Gopiyettan opened the door wearing a dhoti and a thorthu (a piece of cloth) on his right shoulder.

He greeted Sukumaran with his loving trade mark smile. On the centre table at the sofa set were glasses and a bottle of Dimple Scotch whiskey. He had already started drinking. He took another sip and started to pour some in another glass for Sukumaran.

“Gopiyettan, not now please. I will have later” Sukumaran pleaded.

“Nothing doing, start” it was an order by Gopiyettan.

Gopiyettan was a very senior employee in his bank and it was his twelfth year of employment with the British Bank. He was diabetic, but he would not care to control his alcoholism. He had wasted a lot of money on liquor. He always wanted company to drink and he had a permit for buying liquor which enabled him to entertain his guests and himself with all kinds of alcohol. Bachelors would throng to him in most evenings for drinks and when they get married they would avoid him. That hurt Gopiyettan very much. Still he would not stop his habit of patronizing liquor parties.

Gopiyettan’s brother– in–law, who was also staying with him, joined us. He was a great cook and that evening’s delicacies were prepared by him.

“Is the cooking finished?” Gopiyettan asked Unnikkuttan, his brother–in- law.

He smiled and answered in the affirmative. His head was fully bald and small pox marks were seen scattered on his cheeks and forehead.

The drinking session continued. Sukumaran was in a controlled state. So was Unnikkuttan.

“Ammu, serve the dinner. Where are you?” Gopiyettan was searching for her. Ammu was his wife staying in Kerala.

That was his usual behaviour when he was drunk beyond limits.

He spread the thorthu on his chest and started to act like a woman.

“Have you seen Kalyana Sowganthikam kathakali?” he questioned them. “You know I was trained at the Kalamandalam in Cheruthuruthy”. He started to move in steps of Kathakali movements as Panchali.

Unnikkutan said “Suku we should stop now, let me arrange the dinner on the table.”

“Nothing doing. Unni do you think I am drunk? I am not. Pour one more for me. This is an order” Gopiyettan’s tongue was not in his control. His steps were staggering.

Sukumaran said “Gopiyetta, let us stop and eat the dinner”

“Look, you are also like Unni. You think I am drunk. I am never drunk”. With that he fell on the sofa backwards.

Unni said “let him lie down for a while. Let us eat. I will wake him up later and make him eat.”

Sukumaran felt so much pitiful for Gopiyettan. He could not enjoy the dinner. Unni made Gopiyettan lie properly on the sofa and covered him with a blanket.

Sukumaran left the house. He drove carefully.

Another Friday was about to end during the winter season of a year in the late 1970’s at the city of Dubai.

Novel - The Desert Rose - Chapter - 2

2010-02-09T19:16:00.008+05:30

Thursday Night

At 4 o’ clock, he went to his office. Mr Ibrahim Fardan, one of the partners of the company, was waiting for him to know about the day’s developments. He showed the Demarcation Certificate to him.

“We need to arrange the D8’s from tomorrow. The site is full of sand in dunes and we need to establish the levels from the benchmark from the Municipality Points. Tomorrow, itself we need to start excavation for the first group of villas” the Engineer explained to Ibrahim.

“I have already asked Kuffiffi to arrange the same for you. They will work on Friday. We need to construct the labour quarters from tomorrow. Abdulla, the General Foreman will shift some workers. The purchase department is arranging 4mm plywood and the required white wood for you, by the end of today.” Ibrahim said.

“Alright. Today is the date of start of the project and we have six months to complete this eight million dirhams project. We will work twenty four hours and all days in the week” he told Ibrahim. “It is my goal to finish the project in five months”. His words were full of confidence.

“I hope for the best.” Ibrahim said.

“Yes, Ibrahim, it is a challenge. I love challenges”, he said.

“Good Luck, Sukumaran” Ibrahim wished him.

That Thursday evening was special to Sukumaran. It was the start of a dream project, the largest project by his company. He was instrumental in getting the project awarded to his company, as he had tendered for the project with the most competitive rates. In fact M/s Tariq & Associates, the Consultants of the project had commented that the rates were very low and the Contractor might not complete the work on time. But Ibrahim’s influence in the Ruler’s Office fetched him the project after he had promised that he would complete the project on time.

Sukumaran thought, I am two years old in this company and I need to prove myself and I will finish the project before time with good profit to the company.

Fernando brought “Red Label Johnywalker” bottles for the evening. Fernando was the chief accountant of the company. Being a Goan, he was a very good cook. He took care of the kitchen and started to prepare his usual fried rice with sausages and tasty sauces.

Sukumaran had a hot water bath and deposited himself on the black sofa set in front of the black and white TV. He switched on the Sony three-in-one player and inserted the LP record of Demis Russos. It started to play the song, “Good Bye My Love”

Meanwhile, Fernando opened one Johnywalker bottle and poured a large for Sukumaran. He took two sips at a time, as Demis Russos continued his songs.

Sukumaran thought about his family at home, back in India. His sister had told him when he was about to leave for Dubai “Brother, I wish you all the best and I promise you I will graduate with flying colours”, her voice was choking.

He hugged her and said “And I promise you I will arrange a good groom for you”.

His mother was sobbing and told him “Take care of your health. Don’t worry about us, we will all pray for you, for your prosperity. She wiped her tears with her sari.

Sukumaran’s heart ached to leave all his loving ones.

He said “I will fulfill my mother’s wishes, and will keep up my promise to get Sridevi the best husband a girl can have.”

Sridevi, his sister, laughed through her tears and hugged him again.

“You are very slow this evening” Fernando said and poured another small peg of whisky for Sukumaran.

“Fernando, please change the record, Demis Russos is very sentimental and he is putting me off. Play El Bimbo by Paul Mauriat. Let me uplift my mood”. Sukumaran emptied his glass in one sip. The pungent liquid spread fire to his throat and then travelled like lava down his gullet to his innocent starving stomach.

Abdul Halim Hafiz, the Egyptian singer, was on TV singing his famous song “Ahwak"

Sukumaran’s heart sank as the song spread pathos in the air. The intoxication level was rising and his eyes filled up.

He closed his eyes and there she was with her captivating smile.

“Suku, I Love you more than anything in the world’. She clung to him as their lips met for a long time in inseparable love. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“But, it is impossible. I can never make you mine” he said.” You belong to someone”

She did not answer, but instead she hugged him closely with her lips glued on to his.

Fernando’s voice brought him to the present. Sukumaran poured another small peg of the liquor. He splashed a few ice cubes into his glass and gulped the fiery liquid. His eyes were red and his actions were becoming involuntary.

“This is for your success in starting the new project” Fernando raised his glass in a toast.

It was 11-00 PM, when Sukumaran started to drive his car to Deira. Fernanado was very confident as Sukumaran was the best driver while drunk. A few Arab youths were blaring their car horns as they sped past. At the Deira Cinema the night show was on. Chilly wind blew from the nearby desert and Fernando kept down the shutters of the car.

Being Thursday night, the Deira Restaurant was full with Arabs, local and expatriates. Sukumaran and Fernando sat at a vacant table. A pot tummied waiter, a Lebanese, approached them to take the order.

Sukumaran ordered the usual kababs with Lebanese bread, homuz and salads (Lebanese delicacies).

While the food was eaten, the intoxication reached its azimuth for them and their eating went on uncontrollably. By the time they stopped, two dozens of kababs had passed through their mouths full of saliva to their eating bags below.

Sukumaran drove the car very immaculately with much more care than of a sobre person. When they passed the Clock Tower round about, the needles showed the time as 2-00 A M, on Friday.

Novel - The Desert Rose - Chapter - 1

2010-02-08T21:53:00.004+05:30

On to Bedouins’ Land

The Landrover travelled with a very slow speed on the Quarry Road. Their destination was the village of Ghusseli. They were surveyors from Dubai Municipality to demarcate the construction site for the building of eighty villas at Ghusseli which was forty kilometers away from Dubai, on the Al Ain road. The road was one lane with two halves one higher built of asphalt and the other one of concrete.

He drove his “Oldsmobile” car with care so as not to come in contact with the edge of the two halves lest the tyres should get damaged. There were camels, crossing at various points which were a very great danger on that road. Stretches of waste desert land of sand dunes lay on both sides of the road. The automatic car sped slowly following the Landrover. He inserted the gadget to play audio cassettes in the slot. The cassette of Boney M started the songs with their latest one, “Ma Baker”.

The road took a turn to the right. The Landrover stopped to catch up with him. They got down and ushered him to get down from his car and accompany them in the Landrover, as they had to traverse through fine dune sand. He parked his car on the right side and jumped into the back seat of the Landrover. The four wheeler bumped over the sand dunes which gave him a very uncomfortable feeling as his stomach churned inside. They drove for about five kilometers through the sand. Many huts made of Khajur (Dates) palm leaves were visible along the way.

“Bedouins”, the Egyptian Surveyor smiled at him. “They are the local Arab inhabitants, the original Arabs”. The surveyor explained in his Arabic covered English. Invariably at every hut, there were camels.

“They drink camel milk. That is why they are healthy and strong like me”. He rolled his half sleeves of his shirt up and showed his muscle to him with a roaring laughter. The Egyptian gentleman looked very innocent. The Landrover stopped. Everyone got down. The surveyor took out the surveying instruments and set up them for their work to start.

The winter sun’s rays were very pleasant. Chilly winds brought sand particles and pierced his eyes through the sides of his sun goggles. There was a howling noise as the wind passed through the Landrover seats and the tarpaulin roof cover. He covered his ears tying a woolen cloth.

Three hours passed and Khalid, the Chief Surveyor came back to the Landrover.

“Khallas (over)”, he said. “Mohandis (Engineer), I will show you the demarcated points” Khalid told him and He drove the Landover with the Engineer sitting along with him in the front seat.

“Look, these are the four corners of the first group of villas. You need to protect them with a concrete base around the wooden pegs”. Khalid advised him. Likewise he showed him all the points for all the eighty villas.

The Engineer looked at his watch. It was 1 O’clock in the afternoon. As it was winter there was no much thirst. Khalid asked the Engineer to sign a paper called “Demarcation Certificate”, which he did. From that moment the waste land bounded by the established points was his property, his company’s responsibility till the constructed villas were handed over to the Dubai Municipality.

Khalid dropped him at his parked car and said “Mashkur Mohandis (thanks engineer)” and said good bye.

The Landrover sped back to Dubai. The Engineer got inside his car and reversed it. He was feeling hungry. As he drove, he looked to the left side for any restaurants. At the intersection of a Strategic Camp, he spotted a restaurant, “Khalifa Canteen”. He parked his car and went inside the restaurant.

A few Bedouins were sitting around a table and drinking “Sulaimani” (tea without milk). As usual, the owner of the restaurant was a Keralite.

The Engineer thought of having a full lunch and ordered Porottas (a kind of wheat preparation) with mutton chaps (mutton curry). He was very hungry and in no time he ate three porottas. He took a cup of tea. The owner had put ample sugar and milk in the tea for the Engineer.

The Engineer paid money and took leave of Abdulla, the owner of the restaurant.

The Obsessions - Final Chapter

2010-02-06T15:37:00.009+05:30

Paradise Lost

It was Christmas time. The Paradise was illuminated. Everyone’s face was beaming with happiness. On the Christmas Eve, we arranged gifts to be distributed among the inmates. Krishnan Nair brought an attire of Santa Claus. I became the Santa for them. I gave the presents to them. When they hugged me, tears rolled on to the long white beard of Santa. That was a moment of joy. I felt proud of myself. I said to myself that I would see triumph in my life, which was eluding me all these days. Loving people were around me and God’s kindness flowed through them.

Gopalan made special dishes. Some of the inmates sang devotional songs. I joined the chorus. As the midnight hour struck we looked for the star in the sky. The stars were twinkling in everyone’s heart. We sat around the table and enjoyed the dinner. We thanked God to have allowed us to live another day. The joy in the Paradise was boundless. For those who had been deserted, God is there always to protect them.

The joyous mood of the Paradise continued, awaiting the New Year. The sun dipped in the sea for the last time in the year at the western horizon. We had arranged a local orchestra to perform at the paradise. Everyone danced. It was great fun. Gopalakrishnan Nair’s Kathakali was grand, as he played the part of Poothana with long stuffed breasts. We laughed our hearts out, when at the end, the breasts fell down from Nair’s chest. Abdul Khader sang “Kayalarikathu…” With prayers, we greeted the New Year. Our merriment continued till late hours in the morning.

The New Year sun rose in the east. There was a thin film of mist on the surface of the sea. The sea was very calm that morning, perhaps it had taken a resolution of remaining calm all through the year. At the Paradise, everyone got up late. There was no bell ringing at 6 O’ clock as Gopalan was snoring away to glory.

At midmorning, a man in a lawyer’s uniform arrived at the Paradise to my inquisitive surprise. He delivered me a sealed parcel and a sealed envelope from the Court of Law. I signed the acknowledgement of receipt and the lawyer left without much talking.

I opened the envelope. My astonishment knew no bounds as I started to read a letter contained in that envelope.

There was no date and no place of origin written in the letter.

“You might be wondering who the sender of this letter is. I am Kamala. Now you will remember me. You had visited me months back after you had returned from the Gulf.”

My excitement rose high. I continued to read the letter.

“I wanted to divulge a stark truth to you that day. But I thought this would be the right time to reveal the secret”.

Secret? I was bewildered.

“Years back; you had come to me one day during one of your vacations while you were studying for engineering. That day was the happiest day in my life. We had celebrated our mutual love when our bodies mingled with each other in conjugal happiness.

You had again visited me after many months when you had arrived to take part in the Kummatty festival. You heard a baby crying and asked me about him. I answered that he was my third son and you had asked me whether I had patched up with my husband. I said I had. That was a lie. In fact we were divorced and we had no relationship at all after our rendezvous the previous year.

You are the father of my third son. He is YOURS, YOUR FLESH and BLOOD”

It was like a lightning striking me. I thought my heart would stop. My senses went astray. Darkness spread everywhere. Oh My God. I read further.

“I kept this as secret because I did not want to derail your life with the unbelievable reality. Our son grew up not knowing anything about his real father. He was under the impression that my husband was his father. He had never seen my husband in his life as we were divorced. But I had to tell him the secret while he was leaving for the United States for his higher studies in medicine. He was only twenty two years then. I told him to take an oath not to be in touch with you or search for you.

He did his post graduation from the United States. He flourished there and now he owns a Hospital there. He came here for his wedding and I asked him to renew his oath about you. He would never come along your way in your life.

You won’t be able to meet me in person, because by the time you receive this letter, I would be dead and gone. This is the arrangement I made with the court.

I wish you all the best in your life.

Kamala….”

My God!!! Kamala is dead!!!. I could not believe it. The ocean roared behind the Paradise. It was perturbed as I was. Tears rolled out of my eyes like a never ending flood. My throat choked. My heart pounded heavily. I was a teen father. And all these years I never knew it. I have another son and he is the elder brother of my daughter and two sons. What an irony of fate!!! I have to meet him and I need to apologize to him. I have to bring him to our family. I took an oath.

I opened the parcel. My eyes could not believe the sight. It was the yellow sari she used to wear whenever we had met, decades back. Sobs emanated from my chest in an uncontrollable succession. I buried my face into the softness of the fabric. Her aroma spread the atmosphere. I would never see her in my life. I will keep the sari as a memento, as a treasure. I sobbed again.

The Paradise was gloomy. All the inmates wished me a peaceful life. Abdul Khader and Gopala Krishnan Nair wept, hugging me. For the first time I saw tears in Krishnan Nair’s eyes. He was a seasoned campaigner and he had seen many moments of anguish and mental agony. But he could not resist that day.

“I am losing, my right hand. You helped me in running the Paradise. This was not a shelter. It became a temple of love with your arrival. Your compassion and brotherhood will always be a lesson to everyone and you will remain in our hearts eternally” Krishnan Nair said.

I walked to the beach behind the Paradise, for the last time. I wanted the waves to wash away my sins once again. I walked ahead and washed my face with the salty water of the sea, my companion. I looked at the setting sun. It submerged and promised me to meet again somewhere at the other side of this planet.

There was a spot of tear in Joseph’s eyes as I looked at his portrait. As the taxi car moved ahead, the Paradise moved backwards slowly. The car sped along. I felt alone in the crowd.

At the airport, the noise of jets landing and taking off did not amuse me. At the gate, my son and daughter stood with faces of depression.

“I am going out of God’s Own Country. I have not spoken to your mother for days. I will do that later, I have to tell her a lot. Good luck and God bless you” I said. A faint smile adorned their faces when they bade goodbye to me. The dark constable at the gate examined my ticket and passport. The Emirates flight took off on time.

My youngest son greeted me at the JFK airport, New York. The atmosphere instilled more freedom in me. We took the next domestic flight to my son’s place. We reached in one hour. We walked to the parking lot where my son’s car was parked.

Snow fell like white rain, profusely. All along the road, bulldozers were clearing the snow. On our way back to his residence, there was complete silence. As we reached the residence, Vinay knocked at the door. I was astonished and I could not believe my eyes. My wife stood at the door entrance, with a mischievous smile.

“Happy Wedding Anniversary, father” Vinay wished me. I looked at the date in my watch. That was the day of the month when I had married her years back.

That night when she hugged and kissed me, she said in my ears “Even though we are two bodies, we are one. Aren’t you my love, my life?”

Yes I am my dearest I said. I hugged and kissed her her in a warm embrace. She was the only solace to me.

I was on a mission…………on an expedition…….

******The Beginning******

The Obsessions - Chapter - 18

2010-02-03T23:04:00.010+05:30

Childhood Revisited

My retirement days became more excited with the arrival of the monsoon with a bang. Miles and miles of dark clouds moved from the Arabian Sea to the skies of villages and towns. The sun took a holiday. It was difficult to trace the sun as it hid behind the rain clouds all day. The rain fell in inclined lines as the howling winds blew in accompaniment. The artificial darkness and the noise of the distant rains advancing further increased the merriment of the living beings. Humans, who had complained about the merciless sun battering the earth, withdrew their tongues inside their mouth and instead ran for covering their bodies from the pleasant coolness spread by the blessed showers from heaven. On such a beautiful day, my brother Sivan and I ventured out in our car. Driver Ramesh was excited as he was going to our destination for the first time.

The pot holes on the national highway gaped more as the rain pulverized the road surface without mercy. The panoramic view of the scenic surroundings was a feast to the eyes. With the shutters closed, the Korean automobile braved the dangers of the ill planned roads, cut across the rain thumping on its bonnet and windscreen. When we reached the border with the adjacent state, forests surrounded us with an eerie noise of the falling rain. Already dark, the day became darker with the black cloud cover above the canopy of trees. Long lines of trucks lined the side of the road pending checking by the hardworking excise personnel.

When we crossed the border, the rain clouds chased us. The sun was still shivering and was shy to come out. The toll stations on the newly built highway, took a great toll of our money. The landscape changed. The faces of people changed. The language changed. Thick vegetation and trees gave way to open lands with black soil. Posters of movie superstars donned very huge billboards. I felt cheerful when I saw my favourite superstar in ever exciting dancing poses among scantly clad members of the fair sex. Our excitement mounted as we were slowly getting nearer and nearer our destination.

We reached Avinashi, a bustling business town. A huge wooden base with wheels used for the local car festival stood high covered with tarpaulin. I remembered very vividly the same scene, fifty three years back, when I used to travel with my grandfather in a diesel bus owned by the famous G D Naidu.

The hotel displayed its name in a huge board in front. As we entered the lunch home, we saw many humans eating, splashing their right hands into the contents of green banana leaves. The noise of breaking appalams and human teeth attacking the food inside the mouth cavity, reverberated the hall.

We settled down for lunch. A Malayalee (Malayalee Malayalee everywhere…) waiter brought us very good looking banana leaves. He warned us to clean the leaves and not to take for granted the innocent appearance of the leaves. He was overwhelmed with the fact that we brought rain to the town, as it had started to drizzle, quite uncommon during that part of the year. Two other waiters joined the ritual and threw dishes on to the front side of the leaves. Fried appalams were placed at one end of the leaves with one piece of oval shaped dhal vada at the centre of the appalams. The sight was very appetizing. They dumped rice on to the centre of the leaves to the shape of a hill. They were very generous and I had to tell them to stop the rain of rice. We ate our lunch with very great appetite and in the end folded the leaves and placed the steel tumblers over them as counterweights and rushed to the wash area to get our hands and mouths cleared of the debris of our vegetarian attack.

We enquired about our route to the destination and were advised to proceed further. As we reached the first tee intersection, we turned to the left. The road was very motorable with no bumps and potholes. It was lined on both sides with tamarind trees. Their branches touched at the centre in a parabola giving the road a green house effect with perpetual shade. Scenic green vegetation and coconut groves were on both sides extending up to large areas. The weather became very pleasant. The sky was partly cloudy.

Mile stones showing further distance to our destination greeted us intermittently. We started the count down 4,3,2,1 km and there we were at Gobichettipalayam, our dear destination. This heavenly place is special to us as we were visiting it for the first time in fifty three years. Our father was working at that place as Inspector of Post Offices during that time when I was twelve years old and my brother was five. Our happiness reached its azimuth as we were revisiting our childhood. The roads looked very neat and the town was not overcrowded. We took the wrong road to our hotel. We asked a lady the way to the hotel and she directed us correctly. The people were very peaceful and helping. Females outnumbered males. This was proved by their presence in more numbers on the road.

Emerald House was the lodge we had booked for. We opened our room. The balcony overlooked the road. The neem trees in the hotel compound transferred breeze to our room. Everything was nostalgic as we could not believe that we had reached Gobichettipalayam after a lapse of 53 years. The road in front of the hotel was quite wide. We drove to a restaurant called Anbu Bhavan. The ambience was very good. The aroma of dishes and sweets was very appetizing. Everything was served in banana leaves. We had good refreshments. We walked down the road. The Nagaiaha Theatre still stood there with an antique look. We had watched movies in that theatre more than half century back with our parents. Nostalgic memories developed wings and took us back to that era.

There was only one road running through the heart of the town. We drove slowly looking at the town which had developed into a very neat and well planned place. At one of the intersections, a certain familiarity crept into my mind. That was the Hospital road which led to the Vaikkal (Irrigation Canal). We drove slowly and reached the Vaikkal. Water was flowing with great velocity. The sight of the bridge sent shudders through my spine.

The year was 1954. It was in the evening that we accompanied my grandfather to the Vaikkal. My brothers and I were in a jolly mood spending the evening with my grandfather, outdoor. As we reached the Vaikkal, my brother Sivan, then five years old, started to walk along the wooden bridge of the canal, unattended. A raging bull came from the other bank and was rushing towards my brother who was in the middle of the bridge. We went pale with fear. My grandfather’s sixth sense made him ran towards Sivan and he carried him in his arms running towards us. The bull ran past us to the fields. It was a providential escape from a tragic mishap. For many days that spine chilling incident was the subject of our talking to anyone.

Two farmers were driving along the bank in their scootys carrying green fodder. There faces were rustic but innocent. They smiled at us. The scenic beauty of the surroundings instilled tranquility in us. The weather was cloudy with chances of an impending shower. I blotted the picture of nature in my camera. While returning, we walked along different streets to locate the house that we had lived in those eventful days of yesteryears with our parents. Our search was futile. Disappointment crept in as the purpose of our journey was proving to be fruitless. But the atmosphere refreshed us and our disappointment vanished and our excitement was reborn.

At the Emerald House, the breeze was cool. There was a mild drizzle accompanying the breeze. We switched on the television and in one of the channels, an old movie VANJIKKOTTAI VALIBAN, was being aired. It was so apt to the occasion to watch a movie of the olden era. My brother and I talked about our parents and their love for us. We talked about those unforgettable days of our childhood.

The next morning, we stood at the balcony and enjoyed the breeze caressing us. There was an unexplainable pleasure being in that place. The vibrations were so positive that we forgot everything that was mundane. After breakfast at Anbu Bhavan, we drove along the friendly roads to the nearby village where the KODAVERI DAM was situated. It was constructed during the British Raj and the benevolent Tamil kings. The canal which took off from the reservoir was full of water and lined with trees and shrubs, a feast to our eyes. We walked in the garden and watched visitors riding on round boats in the reservoir. Due to surplus water in the reservoir, one of the gates was open and the water was falling downstream and the noise was very musical to our ears. The nature’s feast was very delicious and we enjoyed the same profusely.

The town of Sathyamangalm was about 15 kilometers from the dam and we decided to drive to the town. As we reached the town we found it very crowded and business was going on very briskly. Rain fell in small showers all along our drive back to Gobichettipalayam. On our way back, we visited the Municipal Park. A huge water tank had been constructed inside the park. That was the only difference I found in the park from that of 1954. The same old library was there where I used to read Tamil books. My father’s orderly had taught me Tamil. Another place we searched for was the first house where our parents stayed when my father was first transferred to Gobichettipalayam, VEDA VILAS. There were many new houses around the park and during 1954 the place was empty and VEDA VILAS had stood single. It was very difficult to locate the house as no one had any idea of such a house. But we were not discouraged and we ventured to find out the place. We went inside a compound where only an outhouse was there and the main building seemed to have been dismantled and only some strips of foundation were visible. My brother Sivan had stayed there and his faint memory confirmed that it was the place. So we were successful in finding out the dwelling and we felt very happy.

We returned to our lodge, refreshed ourselves and proceeded to Anbu Bhavan for lunch which was delicious as usual. One salient feature we observed was that all cleaners in that restaurant were women, which corroborated the fact that women outnumbered men in Gobichettipalayam. An afternoon nap refreshed us and we strolled out to the theatre Indira where the popular movie SHIVAJI was being screened. Tickets were readily available and we lined up in our seats waiting for the adventure. As usual, many ladies donned the chairs and we could see flowers adorning their hair. The aroma of the flowers added spice to the occasion and style to the Rajani exhibition. We thoroughly enjoyed the movie, more due to the fact that we were in Gobichettipalayam, our dream place.

The next day dawned at the Emerald House. The morning sun was peeping through the clouds and the breeze was once again refreshing as we looked over the balcony. It was a Sunday and the road had a lazy look. We had our breakfast and checked out of the Emerald House. Senthil, the lodge caretaker, bade farewell to us and we took a picture of his. There was a twinge in our hearts as the kind eyes of Senthil met ours while departing and we told him that we would visit again.

We wanted to try a last chance of locating the house we had stayed during 1954. We drove through the hospital road once again. We got down from the car and walked along many byroads looking for that house. At last to our awesome surprise we found that house of our joy, affection and parental love. We recognized every feature of the house. The lady of the house, who had bought it from the original owner, spoke to us and confirmed each of our statements and questions.

We regained the Lost Horizon. Our eyes filled and the wind was caressing us. An unknown pair of rough hands patted our backs and the aroma of parental love filled the atmosphere. Our childhood returned to us with waves of love embracing us. Crows flew past the buildings behind where once upon a time corn fields had adorned the earth. Car horns sounded from the front road where weavers used to stretch their yarn for their hand looms, half a century back. Bells chimed at the temple at the dead end of the road, the same temple from where the poojari had given prasadam in our tiny hands, once upon a time. The car negotiated the curve on the road and we spotted two faces on the terrace of that house waving to us…but soon were invisible…..the faces disappeared into the MAYA of life…..the wheels of the car trod on familiar roads, so did the wheels of life……

Abdul Khader took my hands in his and said “Sir you are a great person. We are lucky to have you here.”

The moon was half crescent. The cool breeze engulfed my body. The sea was calm, and I was calm, too. But it was the calmness before the Tsunami.

The Obsessions...Chapter 17

2010-02-01T14:45:00.008+05:30

The Scars of Yesterday

I looked at the watch. It was 4.30 A.M. We did not know hours had ticked along. Abdul Khader left for his morning prayers. I felt tired of sleeplessness. I stretched my back on the bed and closed my eyes. The transition from the past to the present was not that easy. I kept my thoughts blank and fell into a sleep.

Next morning, the sound of chenda and shouting by boys woke me up. The Onam special Pulikkali was going on at the Paradise front yard. It was 11.00 A.M. I took a shower. Gopalan had kept my breakfast hot. I ate with a good appetite. The scanning of the past in my mind and sharing it with Abdul Khader left me a little relieved.

The evening was sultry. I had a cup of tea. I walked to the beach. The sea was my companion at times when I felt lonely. By looking at its vastness, I tried to keep my mind calm.

“Sukumaran sir” It was Abdul Khader. “Your story of the past has really made me emotional. You have gone through a lot of turmoils”. Abdul Khader sat near me on the sand.

“That is alright Abdul Khader. It is not complete yet” I said. I glided into the past once again, with Abdul Khader giving me a patient hearing, the sea sending calm waves to the shore.

I started to lead my life as a Gulf returnee with my wife at our apartment. It was difficult to pass time as nothing would replace my busy and fast life at Dubai. Hours seemed to stay still and days refused to move forward. We visited friends and relatives and made tours outside the state mostly on pilgrimages.

Devu, my cousin, the daughter of my cheriamma complained “When you were at Dubai, you had contacted me regularly over the phone and once you reached your native land, you have stopped calling me. And why did you take these many days to come here?” The words were so affectionate that I enjoyed her complaint. In fact, I wanted to go for the village festival but was unable to take part. She was staying alone in her house. That house was hers and I was only a visitor, the house where I was born and brought up under the affectionate umbrella of my grandfather. It was my first visit to my erstwhile home since I returned from Dubai.

I entered the sitting room. My eyes fell on the framed photographs hanging on the wall, those of my father, elechan and cheriamma. There was a time when they filled my life, in every happy and sad moment. Now I was alone and only their thoughts were with me and their memories followed me along with my shadow.

Devu was two years old and I was twelve. During every school vacation, I went to my cheriamma and elechan at my father’s ancestral home. I always felt full with their love and I never wanted to come back at the end of the vacations. Devu was my darling baby sister. She never allowed me to go out to play with friends. She wanted me to be with her always. I used to carry her round and pluck flowers from the big plot adjacent to the house. While I took bath in the pond, she used to sit at the banks with both her hands supporting her jaws. There was love and affection only, those days. It was my golden era. When I returned home with a heavy heart, there were my grandfather and grandmother to shower their love on me. I was bathing in an ocean of never ending love.

My eyes became moist as Devu brought me tea. I sat outside at the verandah on the easy chair. Devu sat near me. She had become older than the last time when I met her. She had put on weight and there were shades of cheriamma’s mannerisms in her. She gave me a complete account of births, marriages, deaths in the village and whereabouts of my old friends. My cheriamma used to do the same when she was alive.

I got out of the house. I wanted to walk along the lanes abandoned by me due to my selfish limitations in my life. Now that I had retired, I did not have anything to do. Now was the time for me to visit places, meet persons whose images seemed to have faded in my life, but were still there intact in my heart in all their clarity. I walked straight. The lane looked deserted. I did not see children playing. But I heard from each home the loud noise of television sets blaring out dialogues and music of movies crowding in the satellite programmes. I trod on till the end of the lane where it meandered into narrow field paths. I stood there. I looked to my left. Dry grass lay in the slopes of the irrigation canal. Buffalos were walking on the banks. I looked to my right. I gazed as far as my eyesight permitted. I visualized the rock, the farm house and the two old figures living inside and suddenly I saw smoke afar, which reminded me of my grandfather. He was getting transformed physically and was going up in smoke, that day, the day he deserted me to my fate.

I retreated. To my left was the Great Tailor’s house. As I walked forward, I saw Ammu standing at the gate of her house. I could recognize any one, that was my capability. She stared at me. It was evident that she did not recognize me. I smiled at her and asked her “Do you remember me?”

She saw me smiling continuously and she recognized me.

“Devu told me you have returned for good.” She said. She was the shadow of yesterday. She had lost all her charm with wrinkles on her face. Her hair had grayed. Only her smile had not lost that captivation.

I smiled again and walked along. The universal law of ageing was applicable not only to me, but to all. I pondered over that. I walked along the pond banks. There were a few bathing in the pond. They stared at me, but I did not dare to glance at them. I thought of the five decades that had mercilessly and eventfully passed during my toils and turmoils. Youth had abandoned me, as I had entered a phase, the phase of every finale.

I stopped at the famous gate where invariably she would have been waiting. The gate was open but there was none at the verandah of the house which once used to be populated very much. I walked along the sandy path to the house, the same house. There was no change. I stepped up to the verandah and knocked at the thick, black painted door.

“Who is it?” a coarse voice came from inside.

I introduced myself.

“What?” there was a shuffle inside and she ventured out.

“I know you have retired” she said

“Devu told you?” I smiled at her.

“Yes” Her voice was a little shivering. When she smiled her teeth was not white and they did not sparkle. There was no sandal paste on her forehead. She was not wearing a yellow sari. The foregone seasons had carved a new figure to her physique. The front teeth were missing. Her face was full of wrinkles. Her neck muscles sagged down. Her bosom was flat.

“So, you have settled down there, right?” she asked. “I am happy that you came to my house. I have not seen you for ages” She became silent. It was evident that she was traveling back in her mind. Back to those days which would never come back. They had all slipped into oblivion. One could shed loads of tears reminiscing those days when everything was beautiful, romantic and melodious. She brought me a glass of buttermilk. I sipped it. It had the same taste of yesteryears.

“Now you can come to this place frequently.” She smiled.

“Yes” I said

I said good bye to her and walked back the sandy path to the gate. I looked back. She was standing stooping, one hand holding on to the door frame and the other waving to me.

I drove back on the bumpy roads, my feelings down in the dumps. The writing was on the wall. Time will only reveal it. I arrived at the village of my college friend, Ram. The canal banks were not maintained well. The car jumped on its springs intermittently as I turned right to the agraharam. The buildings had become old, and all of them lined on both sides of the street, as before. The well was still at the centre of the wide street. I walked towards the well. The street looked deserted. There was none at the well. I knocked at the door of the house towards the right side of the well. A middle aged lady opened the door. Her grey hair covered her ears. The forehead was smeared with kunkumam and sandal paste. There were dark shades below her big eyes. Her ears were supporting a thin frame of her spectacles.

“I am Ram’s friend. Do you remember me? Years back I had visited this agraharam. You are Alamelu, right?” I asked her. I was surprised to see her there after so many years.

A cloud of gloom set on her face. But suddenly her mood changed and she smiled. Her teeth had lost the glow, the lower ones were stained.

“Yes, I am Alamelu, I do remember you, How can I forget?” her voice was little choked.

An elderly man, about seventy years old, came out from the room on the right of the verandah. “He is my husband” she introduced him to me. I folded my hands and wished him. “He is Ram’s friend” she said. Her eyes were getting moist.

Her husband left the scene and climbed up the wooden stairs.

“How come, Ram and you are not married” I asked with a note of disbelief.

“Well it is like a film story. Boy and girl love each other. Boy’s parents object and boy marries another girl”. She said humourously. But her words were tinted with the pain she had accumulated in her heart.

“My husband is my maternal uncle. After I took my B.T. degree, I managed to get a job in the high school here as a teacher. I have retired now, but I am continuing my profession by taking tuition classes to students of the school. Soon after my marriage, my father died of heart attack, and my mother followed him after one year. She had stomach cancer” her words, then, were without any emotion.

“Ram and family sold their house and left this place many years back. I do not have any information about them and I never cared to know about their whereabouts”, she sounded stubborn in her words.

“And your children?” I asked.

“God had played with me in my life from the very beginning and He continued His authority and decided that we should not have any children. So we do not have any” she said. Her words were full of pathos. My heart grew heavier. I knew how much Raman had loved her.

She brought murukku and mixture. The coffee in the steel tumbler was very hot. I had to blow the heat off while sipping the tasty coffee. My tongue was coated with the stain of coffee and thick milk. She asked about me and my family. She wished me all luck while I said good bye to her. I looked back through the rear screen of the car. She was standing at the door of her house. She again stood in front of my mind’s eye with her half sari and the jasmine flowers in her hair which flowed down to both sides to her shoulders. A thin mist of tears formed a curtain over my cornea and the dream girl of my dearest friend, vanished.

The car passed through the narrow roads. The bamboo fencing on both sides of the road had been replaced with masonry walls. The population had seemingly become affluent. At the right angle turning of the temple, the curve was flattened a little and a new boundary wall stood there guarding the God. The road beyond the temple was of concrete for a short distance. Only dry sand was there on the river bed. Small pools of water lay scattered where half naked women were applying soap to their smooth thighs with their big and long breasts moving in the air like pendulums.

I stopped at the junction of the roads and walked towards the cycle shop. I knew that my cousin Govindan Nair did not own that shop any more. But I wanted to see that shop again. I once again wanted to see him sitting there, always smiling and feeling very happy at my arrival. I looked opposite to the shop at the tea stall from where he used to get us tea and dhal vada. I walked further and went inside the tea stall. I had tea and ate the usual tasty vada. Govindan Nair filled my thoughts, as my journey continued.

The Obsessions - Novel - Chapter - 16

2010-01-08T12:01:00.003+05:30

Wheel of Time

Summers changed into more pleasant winters every year. God made me instrumental to arrange the entry of some of my relatives, friends and others to Dubai. They worked hard and earned money quite well. Many other fortune seekers thronged to Dubai thinking that they could pluck money from the trees in the desert. I was blessed with two sons by the mercy of the Almighty. All the three children grew up and their education was well attended to.

While Dubai was maturing like a teenaged girl, my dreams slowly blossomed. Good deeds would be rewarded with better gains, with God’s grace. The trees which I planted and grew up with my sweat, started to yield fruits slowly. My mother left us for her heavenly abode leaving us in a chasm of grief. But her blessings surely transformed the balance of fortune in my favour.

It was the turn of my grandmother. She never got bored with her longevity. In fact, she proved that old was gold, as she enjoyed her life to the brim of earthly happiness. God decided to give her a break. She, one day, left us for ever leaving with us all the memories of her. I prayed for her soul from the land of opportunities. When I had sought her blessings prior to my departure to Dubai for the first time, she had said “your stars are great now. Jupiter rules you now. You will earn a lot of money”. I prayed to God for her statement to become true.

I came home with my family on leave. After a fortnight, it was my daughter’s wedding. My sorrow flowed like the rainwater that day, when my daughter in her bridal attire, went to her husband’s house. My pain was unexplainable, as I felt a part of my heart was cut and severed from my body. As the years gave her marital bliss, she presented me a jewel to my crown, a grandson. I attained the same happiness which my grandfather had experienced when he first took me in his hands, half a century back.

My cup of happiness was getting fuller as my age advanced in the Pearl of the Gulf. By this time Dubai transformed into a young maiden, attracting more and more persons towards her. On my sixtieth birthday, shashtiabdipoorthy, I did not go for work. It was an auspicious phase in everyone’s life. Phone calls from my daughter and sons confirmed that I was sixty and I was congratulated. My wife prepared a small feast. That evening we visited a photo studio to record our physical state in a photograph which I could always point to people, boasting of my age and internally praying to God who had blessed me to live that farther. My daughter gifted me a granddaughter, another jewel to my crown. I eagerly waited for and prayed for a jewel from my son. My wish came true, as my son obliged me with a granddaughter, the third jewel to my crown.

The day dawned, another day in my life. That day had no aim and purpose.

I thought I was free as the blowing wind, free as the swaying leaves and free as the singing birds. I did not have any driving tensions. My ego was very satisfied and there was no boss for me that day. I cherished my memories at Dubai, my second home. That day I looked back into the past. I could see the happy faces of my dear and near ones basking in my love and affection, satisfied at their attainment in their lives. That day I prayed to God to shower His blessings on every one to prosper in their lives.

That day, I had retired from my employment at Dubai.

My brother in law drove the car. I put down the shutter so that I could see the place for the last time. My wife at the back seat sat with a very sad face. She never wanted to leave the place. I, too never wanted to leave. But my health limitations compelled my resignation, even though with hesitation. All my previous journeys to the airport were exciting with the anticipation of going to the homeland for vacation. There was a gloom surrounding us. I looked at every landmark as the car sped past. The Citibank building constructed by me stood at the left as a monument to my Engineering excellence, along the airport road. I looked at it for the last time as tears blinded my vision. We passed the Al Garhoud Bridge and cruised along the road by the side of the Airport Hotel to the airport. On to my right was Rashidia, a very important place in all our lives. Many of my relatives would never forget that place. We sat at the airport at the departure section, waiting for the PRO of my company to arrive.

The PRO arrived and handed over the passport to me, my passport to freedom from my hard work, my passport to leave my Dubai for good. I flipped the pages of the passport. On a page my residence permit was cancelled. My heart ached as I would not be able to come back to this place any more. We got the luggage screened and proceeded to the immigration counter. The huge airport, one of the best of the recent times, spread a melancholy gloom in me.

When the aircraft rose to the sky, I looked down at the lights, at the city of joy and hope, where I toiled, where my children studied, grew up into independent adults. I said good bye to the rulers, to the friendly people. I saw my wife wiping off her tears. I gathered courage and closed my eyes.

Welcome to Emirates flight no: the Captain announced.

Novel - The Obsessions - Chapter - 15

2009-11-20T11:46:00.005+05:30

Arabian Nights

The room was single with an attached bathroom. It was part of an apartment of a Maharashtrian family on a monthly rent of Rs 100/. I worked as a Project Engineer in a small construction company, in that huge commercial capital of India, Bombay. The job in Uttar Pradesh did not provide me either job satisfaction or financial security. I had to abandon it. My daughter was five years old. Our world was that small room. It was our bedroom, dining room and kitchen. The smell of kerosene and dishes was always floating in the room. There was a window on the west side, the only outlet to see the nature.

When I returned from work that day, my daughter was sleeping sweetly cuddled to the bosom of her mother. I looked at the sky. Stars were scant. There was a cloud cover, making the weather very sultry. I stared at an imaginary point.

I received a telegram from my father-in-law announcing the birth of my daughter. I was doing three months’ training at the Irrigation Central Institute at Lucknow. My job satisfaction was nil and the birth of my first child hastened me to take leave and go to my state as soon as possible. I did not have any leave due. I took three days casual leave and travelled home.

When I held my daughter in my arms I felt a heavenly bliss. Looking at her innocent face, I was at awe of God’s manifestations. My wife looked more beautiful, while she was feeding milk, churned out of her blood, to the child.

I approached a physician and obtained a medical certificate and dispatched it to Lucknow, requesting for a month’s leave. I was excited to be near my child and wife.

We visited my house in the north. My mother was overwhelmed with happiness to see her granddaughter, her first granddaughter, for she had only grandsons. My brothers carried her around the house, bathing in the happiness of the presence of the little one. My mother took her in her hands and said “She is going to be a beautiful lady.” My wife was very joyful and her smile was very innocent.

I was awakened from my thoughts by the transistor radio giving out the Malayalam news from All India Radio.

At Bombay, the Tamilian agent took Rs 300/ to arrange my passport. He promised it would be ready within a fortnight. The scope and chances of employment in the newly independent United Arab Emirates, was the talk of the Construction circles. News of the emigration of many workers, skilled and unskilled and technical personnel, gave me a little enthusiasm. I started to infuse in myself an ambition, which was never there before. A stubborn determination engulfed me and I took a vow to succeed in my life. There was a stamp on me that I was a weakling, always overweighing the emotional aspects of life rather than having a pragmatic approach. I wanted to turn the tables on this notion of everyone. My wife gave me moral support. I wrote to my mother about my newly kindled aspirations. She wished me good luck and promised to be on my side, as always had been. My brothers too supported me in my new quest for greener pastures.

When I received my passport, I was happier than the moment I took my engineering degree. I registered my name with a travel agent. I waited. I knew the day would come. I needed patience. For everything there was a cost to bear. The travel agent advised me that he would charge me Rs 4000/ as his commission.

The fate smiled at me with a little encouragement and I was summoned for a meeting with an Employer from Muscat. The meeting took place at the Oberoi Sheraton. While he interviewed me, tantalizing damsels served liquor to him. He was impressed with my credentials and he selected me. He even gave the documents of the new project to be started in his country. As he was going to Germany, he promised that he would send the employment visa within a fortnight.

My happiness was beyond imagination and I wrote to my mother about my success. I took a week’s leave from my current employer. I went straight to my father in law’s place. He congratulated me on my newly planned venture.

I went to my family house to meet my elders to receive their blessings along with my mother and brothers. We swam in the waves of happiness as a bright future was waiting for me. We were all in a jovial mood and my cousin next house, Govindan Nair joined us. As we were discussing many subjects, I thought of telling a joke to him. This joke was very greatly appreciated by my brothers and other friends. So whenever I discoursed that joke I was confident that there would be applause all around. The joke was:

Two tortoises went to a restaurant with their son. They ordered three cups of coffee. As soon as the waiter brought the coffee to the table, it started to rain very heavily. So, the mother and father tortoises asked the son tortoise to get an umbrella and promised him that they would drink the coffee only after he returned with the umbrella. The son agreed and left. Days passed, weeks, months and a year passed and there was no trace of their son returning with the umbrella. The mother and father tortoises lost hope of their son returning and the mother said. “He will not come. Let us have the coffee”

From the main entrance their son tortoise said “Then, I am not going”.

Govindan Nair looked at me blankly for a few minutes and said “Oh I see. Where is Krishnan Kutty theses days?”

There was dead silence in the room. Every one looked at me with sympathizing eyes. At last my cousin asked “Can anybody explain what has been happening here now?”

Everyone burst into uncontrollable laughter, to the disapproval of Govindan Nair, who left the room. Govindan Nair was very much remembered whenever someone wanted to crack a joke.

I planned to return alone to Bombay, leaving my wife and daughter, mother and brothers.

My wife tearfully said “Take care of your health and write to me frequently. My father-in-law advised me to be careful about the weather. We parted again.

At my house, my mother and youngest brother, as usual, were very grieved. How many times I had parted with them? I thought with agony.

“I am going to a foreign land with a purpose, mother. Don’t get worried” I said

“Take care of your health. I have heard that Muscat is a desert and very hot. We will all pray for you” she said. “Bye for now” they waved as the taxi moved along the narrow lane and it disappeared into the main road. My heart pained for all my loved ones.

I arrived at Bombay. One week passed and there was no news from Muscat about my visa. I enquired with the agent. The owner of the company was still at Germany and would go back in another ten days only.

The long wait continued. I started to be nervous. But to my relief, the agent called me again. I was required to meet two Arabs from Dubai, that afternoon at the Taj Intercontinental hotel. I met them and they asked me some silly questions from which I came to know that they very badly in need of a Civil Engineer. They selected me for the post. They left, promising the visa to be sent within three days.

I paid Rs 4000/.. to the agent. He gave me the air ticket. He said that the visa would be presented at Dubai airport by the sponsor. The flight was the next morning. I was relieved as at last it was going to happen. I wrote a letter to my mother and wife about the new developments. That night I did not sleep due to the excitement of travelling.

The day was Friday. The flight was by Kuwait Airways. I was dressed in my best, in a green striped shirt having collars like the ears of a donkey. They allotted me the last but one seat, the middle seat on the left of the aircraft. Young and sexy looking girls in uniforms and with caps on their heads were moving inside the aircraft, receiving everyone’s glances. It was my maiden flight. I have seen aircrafts only in the sky, from the ground. One of the girls offered me chocolates and a glass of orange juice. I was not in any mood. I drank the juice with great aversion. The chocolates were deposited in my pant pocket. She asked me to tie a belt called the seat belt. I struggled with it. She helped me in fastening it around my thin waste.

Some melancholy music was being played, adding to the sorrow of my heart. They were doing some safety demonstrations. I did not pay any heed. It was time to leave the ground. The aircraft started to move along the concrete apron for some time and it halted at a far away place. The engines made big noise and the aircraft moved with enormous speed and we were in the sky. My heart pounded. I prayed for safety. As the roaring engines made noise systematically, my heart grew lonesome in that crowd of passengers. I did not know what was in store for me at Dubai. I chanted God’s name, as the jet engines pierced the white clouds, hanging like bundles of cotton.

During the flight, the Captain of the aircraft announced something which I failed to understand. They served breakfast and an English movie was shown on a screen. I felt strange.

The Dubai International Airport looked small with sand stretching on the sides.

Vehicles were moving like specks on the roads and I noticed that they were following “Keep Right” traffic laws.

The plane landed at the Dubai airport. At last, I was in a foreign land, in the United Arab Emirates. I stood in the queue at the immigration counter. I was impatiently looking for the sponsor to turn up with my visa. I became nervous. At last, an Arab in the local attire was calling out my name. I raised my hand. He took me to the immigration office and did all the formalities and took my passport with him. He seemed t be a man with authority as I was cleared very fast.

There was a sandstorm raging while the white Mercedes car of the sponsor moved along the roads of Dubai. My spirits further descended to low ebb as the car moved along the new and strange surroundings. The Mercedes car moved on very well constructed roads.

The sponsor arranged hotel accommodation for me. The manager of Hotel Satwa was also in the local Arab dress but without the head wear. He called the boy “Abu Bakr, take sir’s luggage and allot him room no: 10”. He spoke in Malayalam. I was relieved to find a Malayalee there. He was the first Malayalee I met with, but I did not know then, how many Malayalees had migrated to that land of opportunities for making their lives.

That was the beginning of a new chapter in my life.

In the evening I sat at the corridor of the hotel in the first floor. The black and white TV was showing "The Six Million Dollar Man". I was also there in that country for a few dollars.

The Arabian Nights had befallen.

Novel - The Obsessions - Chapter - 14

2009-11-18T19:18:00.003+05:30

The Holi Day

It was 12 midnight when the Madras - New Delhi Grand Trunk Express reached the railway junction of the fort city of my employment. Abdul Nassar brought his car to the railway station. Nassar garlanded both of us at the platform. We got inside the car. Tongas lined on both sides of the car and gave a Guard of Honour to us, in the land of the Stubborn Queen. Horses neighed while greeting us.

The new government quarter looked neat and clean. Bahadur and Ramcharan came running as the car entered the gate and stopped in front of the steps. The front garden displayed many flowers, roses of different colours and some other varieties. Bahadur and Ramcharan took our luggage inside as I paid some money to Nazar.

“No, sir. This time I will not receive any money. This is your first visit with memsahib (Madam)”. He left saying good bye to me.

The lights in all the rooms were burning, so also the ones in the backyard, including the beam lights at the poles of the badminton court. Hanif, who was transferred from the Executive Engineer’s office to my office, was standing at the back door with his wife.

“Namaste, huzur”. He garlanded us. Even though the time was past midnight, they were happy to receive us.

Bahadur rushed to the kitchen, as we freshened ourselves with a hot bath. Ramcharan placed dining plates on the dining table. Bahadur brought hot potato filled paranthas and egg curry, my favourites. They stood there for us to start the meal. I relished the food, but for my wife it was a strange kind of food. But when she started to eat, she too enjoyed it.

The double bed was spread with jasmine flowers. Ramcharan set it right, and vanished. The weather was still cold out there. The surroundings were very strange to my wife. I changed into my night dress and started to read the Screen I bought from the railway station. My wife was standing near the window and was looking out. The moon was crescent shaped and a few stars gave accompaniment to it, in the blue sky. It was our first night in North India. She was thinking about her parents whom she had parted with for the first time in her life. Her face was sad. I removed the pearls of tears from her cheeks with my fingers. I put my right arm on her shoulders and led her to the bed.

“I am with you, don’t worry” I said to her. Her smile returned to her face.

The satin finished rug was very warm and it was very cozy under it, but her body gave me more warmth than the rug as I fell into a deep sleep.

It was mid April, the previous year, when I went home on my annual leave. After staying a week with my mother and brothers, I planned to go south, mainly to meet my fiancée. We used to exchange regular letters and we had come closer through the letters. We used to write the lyrics of Malayalam songs to each other, to express our mutual love. As the days went by, an inseparable bond of love developed between us.

I wanted to meet her in person.

The house was not a new place to me. It was the same place where we had stayed for three years with my father, mother and brothers. The house owner and his family had recently shifted to that house from their ancestral home. It was 9 O’ clock when I reached the house. The gate was closed. I made some noise by lifting the aldrop of the gate from outside, and hitting it on the metallic sheet. The verandah lights suddenly went on and my future father in law came to the gate. Seeing me, he smiled and asked “Why are you so late?” By that time his wife also came out and was standing at the house entrance. I carried my air bag and I was directed to the portico room. He asked me about my job and enquired about the well being of my family. As I had taken my dinner at the bus stand restaurant, I washed up and retired to bed.

I got up early listening to the recorded hymns being played at the temple. To go to the bathroom, I had to cross the bedroom, the same bedroom where my parents used to sleep. While going inside the bath, I saw her in the room opposite to the bath on the side of the hall. As soon as she saw me, she hid behind the door. As I finished my bath, I looked through the key hole. She was standing in front of that room. She had grown taller. She was wearing a half sari, pink in colour and a black blouse. A red round bindi was on her forehead and a streak of sandal paste above the bindi. Her hair was done tied to both sides of her head. Her face looked a little oily. Her large eyes were lined with kajal which extended a little beyond the corner of the eyes. When I opened the bath door, I saw her blushing and running into the kitchen.

My mind grew restless as I was in a hurry to meet her and speak to her. The day passed. I was served lunch by her mother, very delicious lunch with aviyal and theeyal. Her father joined me for the lunch. I had a small nap, but could not sleep as I was excited to meet her. The evening bells rang at the temple at the time of the deeparadhana. I was leaning on to the pillow and was reading a book, as her mother came inside.

She said “You may talk to her if you wish”. She went out. My lady love entered the room with her eyes looking down. I closed the door. I asked her to sit on the cot. She was very shy. I held her hand and made her sit on the cot. She applied sandal paste on my forehead and as she finished I caught her hand and pulled her towards me. She was on my left side. My left hand circled her neck. I got closer to her. Our eyes met. The songs of love, the lyrics of which we wrote to each other, came alive in our hearts. I saw her very closely. I could hear her heartbeats; she must have heard mine, too. I drew her closer to me. My lips touched her cheeks. The aroma of Cuticura powder gave me an unknown pleasure. My lips moved slowly on her smooth cheeks to the corner of her lips. With great courage, I kissed full on her lips. I had read about various kinds of kisses in a book called Kamadarpanam, belonging to my grandfather, stealing it from his library. She did not respond, but as I continued my kisses, she held me close to her body and kissed me with uncontrollable passion. Two lovers exchanged their love in that room for the first time and with every passing moment; our souls were bonded more and more. Reluctantly, she left my room to retire to sleep. I tried to sleep, but could not. She was in front of me whenever I closed my eyes, in my arms, in my embrace.

I stayed in that house for three days. Each moment saw us getting closer. We used to part only for certain requirements. In the evenings, we took liberty of lying side by side in the bed. As our bodies met, the young man and woman in us lifted their heads. At certain moments, my passion went wild beyond imagination and I wanted to cross the limits. But God did not allow me. The blood running in my body, the blood of my parents, also did not permit me. My upbringing, thoughts of my mother, my father and grandfather, who had taught me to be a person of sanity, formed a wall in front of my manly desires. I would never have done that to my beloved girl who had surrendered and reciprocated to my relentless passion. I knew that she would be mine one day. I would wait for that day and every day I would worship her in my heart, I would worship her as the deity in the temple of my heart. I set aside all the past inglorious deeds of mine and sought pardon for my sinful mistakes to God.

The sound of percussions of an impending Kathakali at the temple was not new to me. They reminded me of my parents and my brothers with whom I had stayed in that house.

Her parents never objected to us being together. It was obvious that they wanted us to become closer and inseparable. The night previous to my departure, we sat out at night on the western side of the house. My father in law relaxed in his easy chair at the verandah. The jasmine flowers at the entrance near the main gate sprayed their fragrance into the air. The summer wind was not hot but it blew through the tree leaves and made them nod at us. The moonlight drew designs of light and shadow on the sand at the front yard, sneaking through tree leaves. We talked and wished that the night never ended and the morning never arrived. I told her. “Don’t worry. I will come soon to take you with me for ever. Have patience. I know you love me, but I love you more than you do”. Tears flowed from our eyes, it was a flood.

The next day, when I reached home I was impatient. I told my mother “I want to marry her immediately”.

She understood my urgency. She smiled and said “Look, your sister is little sick now. Let her regain her health. Wait patiently. The girl is for you only, why are you worrying?”

I opened my eyes. The rug had fallen off. It was colder as the morning was approaching. I set it right. My wife slept like a baby. I drew closer to her. I mused “I should have married her immediately after our first meeting” I heaved a sigh and closed my eyes.

The town was in the merriment of Holi, the festival of colours. On that day, all my staff visited me and we hugged each other with the application of gulal, the coloured powder made from flowers, on our foreheads. We visited Bansal saheb’s house. The daughters and wife of Bansal saheb were waiting for our arrival. They threw coloured water on us. “This is your first Holi, you should have more colours.” Bansal saheb’s wife said.

Each one of them threw colour at me and my wife who was getting a little nervous. I glanced at her and asked her to have patience as that was the custom in North India. We were served with sweets. We went out in Bansal saheb’s car to other friends. It was an occasion to remember.

We returned home. We laughed at each other at the condition of our faces and bodies, which were full of different colours. We closed the doors so that no one else visited us. My wife went straight to the bathroom and was about to bolt the door. I pushed it open, went inside and bolted the door.

“What are you doing?” My wife protested. I opened the shower and pulled her towards me and hugged her as the water sprayed on our heads and bodies. We undressed. The water from the shower washed down the gulal in different colours from our bodies. The water traversed down our bodies like a stream in a hilly contour with bushes. That sight made my blood boil with anticipation and my heart pumped all the blood to one point. We kissed with great passion. Our bodies yearned for each other. The pages of the book Kamadarpanam opened one by one in front of my mind’s eye. While I was an adolescent boy, when I first read the book, my fantasies had gone wild. But now it was not a fantasy, it was a reality wilder than the fantasies. Vatsyana, I thought, would have revised the Kamasutra that day, the Holi day.

Novel - The Obsessions - Chapter - 13

2009-11-13T17:10:00.009+05:30

The Nuptial Knot

My professional life continued for three years at the fort city. This period saw in me a marked maturity. My fiancée grew at the native place into an eighteen year old damsel, ready to marry me.

I came on a three week’s leave home. My wedding was to take place in a few days. It was celebration time for my brothers. We always got out to the town together. Our mother watched us leaving together. She used to tell us “I want the three of you to be united like this throughout your lives”

The atmosphere at our house reverberated with merriment. Jokes and anecdotes of the past were freely exchanged. It was a pleasure to see my mother laugh uncontrollably with her head moving up and down with her right hand cupping her mouth.

The wedding invitation cards were printed. The name of my grandpa was missing in the cards. He was in his heavenly abode. I felt very sad. The deep wounds inflicted on my heart by the departure of my father and grandpa from this earth, once again became painful.

It was five years back. I was doing my final year engineering course. My youngest brother was studying in the high school two kilometers away from the farm house where my grandparents were staying. We spent our Onam vacation with our grandparents. We had sumptuous feast for Onam. My grandpa had improved from the fall he had at the ancestral home, a few months back. He could walk around slowly. While I returned after the vacation, I was very sad and was waiting for the next opportunity to go to him again.

Lecturer Eapen was going through the ritual of taking the class on Irrigation Structures. While writing he was talking to the blackboard. He never bothered whether we understood the subject or not. While the farce was going on, I saw Raman standing near the window at the verandah and waving at me to go to him. I took permission to go out and meet him. The news given by him was one of shock and utter disbelief. My grandpa had expired.

I came home with Raman. Mother was in tears. I read the telegram. It was in the morning. I could not control myself. I wept over the loss of the most important human being in my life. He was my friend, my teacher and my mentor. A world without him was unimaginable. I was two years old when he took over my guardianship. From that time it was me that mattered most to him. He pampered me with his uninhibited love. He hopped everywhere with me in his pouch, like a kangaroo. He moulded me, he taught me and he was waiting for me to become an engineer. He was everything to me. I had no one to go to. My grief flowed out like an open spillway.

My younger brother arrived from his school. We got in a private bus. The conductor was a very witty man. All his humourous discourses did not amuse us that afternoon. We were impatient to reach our village on time for the cremation. We asked the conductor whether we would reach on time.

He said “Don’t worry, saippu will make up.” Saippu was the bus driver.

We got down at the bridge. I walked with my mother and brother as if I was walking in a dream. We passed the pond, our ancestral house and walked straight through the fields. At the farmhouse, smoke was rising high on the right side. I ran inside. The cremation was going on.

“But why did they not wait for us” I asked my elechan. My youngest brother was standing there, crying. This was the second time I was seeing my young and innocent brother pass through the situations of witnessing the death of dear ones. It was year back when the first tragedy struck and now, the second.

I took a piece of firewood, lighted it and kept it on the funeral pyre. I could see only the back of his head. All other parts were physically getting swallowed by the cruel flames. I had kissed that head umpteen times. I had played with that head on innumerable occasions. I had mounted on his shoulders several times. He would catch my tiny hands and walk through the road proudly, showing his grandson to everyone.

I asked. Where are you now? Why did you do this to me? What shall I do without you?

There was no answer. And there won’t be any answer. The smoke rose higher. The firewood made cracking noise. His head became invisible. My grandpa had already changed his abode. He was with God and was in my heart, with me till I would die.

My tears dropped on the wedding cards. I wiped them off. I should not cry, I decided. I was going to give happiness to my loving girl who was waiting for that day, when we would be tying the Nuptial knot. And my father and grandpa would be there to bless us from heaven.

In front of the Lord, I tied the Mangalsutra on her neck. From that moment, the shy, eighteen year old girl with big eyes was mine in all respects. We went to the inner shrine and prayed. Oh! Almighty! Forgive me for all my sins. I now take an oath that I will make my wife the happiest human being on earth. Bless us, Lord. My eyes dampened.

As per my family customs, the groom had to stay the first night at the bride’s house. I entered the house which was a familiar place to me. It was the house in which my father breathed his last. I remembered the words of my father in law while we were leaving that house three years back. “Don’t cry, you all will be coming to this house in the future”

I was relaxing in the portico room, when my sister came to me and announced that my wife would not be sharing the room with me due to some norms created by her physical condition. I was totally disappointed. But I saw her standing near the window, outside, with her friend, looking at me with her large eyes and smiling. She was wearing the wedding sari which I had given her in front of the Lord. She looked stunning. She whispered “See you tomorrow” and vanished.

The next morning, at 7 O’clock, we were travelling in a taxi car to my ancestral home, 200 kilometres away. The back seat of the car accommodated four passengers with difficulty. I was sitting near the window and she was next to me. With every jerk of the car, I moved closer to her pressing her body to mine. She smiled heartily at my mischief and she clung closer to me, till we reached my house. With every touching of her body she became closer and nearer to my heart.

The luncheon party at my house was very grand. The feast was prepared by Doraiswamy Iyer. In the evening, there was a reception party. My friends and relatives arrived. My wife was an object of curiosity as in the village, all brides used to come from nearby villages or towns. When the party was over, all my friends left.

The night arrived. Our bedroom was upstairs, the western room. The open windows brought in moonlight and the breeze. The same smell of night queen filled the room. We talked till late in the night.

The next morning, everyone stared at us, thinking what might have happened during the previous night. They must not have known that we were a patient couple.

We made our return journey to her house after breakfast. That evening, we visited the temple and prayed. The onlookers watched us with affection.

Later in the night we were alone in our bedroom. It was the same bedroom my father had used. It was the same bedroom on the floor of which my father’s body lay in state. I prayed for his blessings. The zero watt bedroom lamp was on. In the dim light, she looked straight into my eyes. I kissed the eyelids. A tear drop rolled out of her beautiful eye. It was the tear of joy, the tear of the long wait and it was the catalyst for the union of two young bodies.

She was shy. But I did not care. My lips closed on hers, our breaths became one. Heat from two bodies flew into one another. I was very cautious, even though urgent. The melody of her muffled voice was musical and intermittent. The blood of my father and mother, running through my body wished an outlet. It transformed and attained a life giving posture. Heaven was let loose; she clung to me as her agony vanished into ecstasy. Our lips met again and when I melted into her, it was as though flowers were falling on us from heaven, dew drops being sprayed on to our bodies, and our muscles being stretched into an unknown bliss. We did not know that night, that the seeds of a new life were sown in, at that very room where my father and mother had shared their beds.

Days flew with faster pace. At the railway station, her parents and my brothers bade us farewell. They were all in tears. We were on our way to North India.

It was good that we were allotted a first class coupe. The express train sped along and crossed the Western Ghats. I tried to make her cheerful. I showed her the changing landscape. The meals vendor knocked at the door and I ordered two vegetarian meals. It was her first outing outside the state. We ate our meals though they were not tasty.

I sat beside her. She rested her head on my right arm. Her right hand caressed my cheeks. It went towards my moustache and down to my lips. She put both her hands around my neck and pulled my face to her. She parted my lips with her tongue and kissed me passionately. The engine driver threw more coal into the fire. The train gathered speed. The rocking motion of the train brought our bodies closer and closer. The wheels of the train rattled on the rail joints with the same rhythm as our bodies met with each other. The gates of paradise opened.

Tears of joy flowed from her eyes as she kissed me passionately. The whistling of the train buried our moans inside the coupe.

Novel - The Obsessions - Chapter -12

2009-11-05T17:48:00.005+05:30

The Fort of the Lioness and the Lamb

The winter wind was very chilly. I left the Kanpur Central station by the Lucknow Express. My thoughts were disturbed, as I was going to an unknown destination to join my new job position. I looked out. What a contrast to the greenery and streams of my native state! Barren fields stretched up to the horizon and there was no habitation. The sight filled me with an unknown fear. Which godforsaken place I am going to? I asked myself. At every station dirty looking passengers got inside the compartment, making me sicker. Some of them entered into very earnest conversation with me of which I could not follow a word. I smiled at them nodding my head. They opened the bundles carried by them and started to eat some food which looked like dry chapattis. Their side dish was green chillies and onions. An old man offered me what he was eating. I thanked him. The smell was appetizing but I could not adjust to their hygiene. The train sped past a gantry bridge making huge noise. I looked out. For a change the sight was pleasant. The river was full and I looked afar.

“It Is River Jamuna”. My co passenger educated me. It was news to me. I refreshed my knowledge of Geography. The topography changed. I could see many fields with green crops and farmers were irrigating the fields. “It is the Rabi crop” my companion continued to explain to me. I did not understand what Rabi crop was. I gazed at him expressing my ignorance on the subject. “Well, it is the wheat crop; the cultivating season is called Rabi.” I nodded at him. I was collecting so much information during the journey. At the next station I took tea served in small earthen cups. The taste of the tea was strange. But the cups were hygienic as they were thrown away after one use. The landscape slowly changed. Buildings were visible and I could understand that my destination was not too far off.

At 1-30 P.M the train reached the junction. I got out of the carriage. With my luggage, I crossed the over bridge to the first platform and got out of the station. A battalion of tongas (horse carts) greeted me. The drivers were announcing names of different places in the city where they would take the passengers. I approached one of them. Smell of horse dung was all around.

“Take me to Hotel Durbar “I said to the driver.

“You have to pay one rupee”. He cautioned me.

I sat at the back of the tonga. It was very strange. The roads were very narrow. Horse dung was spattered all along the road at intervals. A surge of feeling of helplessness crept into me. Is this the place I have to work? I wondered. The rhythm of the horse’s hooves hitting the asphalt road, reminded me of the songs of Naya Daur and Howrah Bridge. On the way the tonga driver was blabbering in his dihati (Village) Hindi about something.

“Durbar Hotel, huzur” the tonga driver announced. I paid him off and went to the reception.

People were taking lunch at the restaurant and the scent of spices and mustard oil, gave me a nauseating feeling. I hired a single room. The room was very small and not so neat. There was no attached bathroom.

“You have to use the outside bathroom” the waiter said. I threw my luggage around and spread the bed. I opened the window on the west side. I could hear the sound of the hooves of horses and some buses moving along the road. I went to the outside bathroom for a shower. The water was ice cold and I asked for a bucket of hot water. The hot water bath refreshed me and I thought I was regaining my appetite. I pushed the button for the waiter.

“Yes, sir” the waiter came inside the room.

“What can I have for lunch?” I asked him. He recited the whole menu in one breath and I ordered some chapattis and meat curry.

I was very tired. I wanted to sleep for a while after I ate my lunch. The room was very cold and the weather was getting colder as the afternoon advanced. I opened the rug and covered my body and lighted a cigarette. I could not enjoy the cigarette and soon I fell into a disturbed slumber.

I woke up after two hours. I could not believe that I was at a new and strange place. The sun was about to set. My heart felt very heavy and a feeling of homesickness and the thought of my mother, brothers, sister and nephews saddened me so much. I decided to go out for a walk. I rinsed my face with cold water and dressed up covering myself with my usual woolen jersey and got out.

The road was not crowded. I walked southwards and reached a junction. There was a theatre and people were queuing up for the next show. I stepped into the theatre restaurant. A hot cup of tea enlivened my spirits. I walked eastwards from the junction and reached another intersection of roads. I saw many Anglo Indian couples walking along with special dresses and I remembered that it was the Valentine’s Day. The weather was very cold and I started to shiver. I smoked two cigarettes in a row and walked back to the hotel.

The hotel had a bar. It was populated very well. The smell of tobacco and liquor filled the atmosphere. I called the waiter and asked him to bring a quarter bottle of Old Monk rum to my room. I sipped the drink and as the alcohol started to spread into my blood vessels my imagination went astray. My sentiments got very much depressed and I thought of my mother and my brothers at the faraway land. I was not sure when I would be able to see them again and stay with them. My young mind could not stand the strain of separation. I consumed the whole bottle of rum and ordered my dinner. As I started to eat, my intoxication reached its azimuth and I felt that the room was reeling around me. I did not know when I fell asleep.

It was the day when I received my first salary, as Junior Engineer in the Hydro-Electric project, at the age of twenty one. When I went for my lunch at the mess, Workshop–in–charge, Sukumara Pillai reminded me “Look, it is customary that every new entrant to this mess will host a party to the mess mates when he receives his first salary. It is your turn. I shall arrange everything and you can pay with the monthly mess bill.” He smiled. His white teeth were a contrast to his dark face.

Work was over in the evening at the usual time. I had tea and went to the project club. Joseph was ready with the shuttle cocks and rackets. We played a couple of games. By that time, the basket ball players arrived. We moved to the basketball court. We played a few matches. Joseph was a university player in West Bengal. He always wore a jersey of the university. Mathew and Hanif joined. Varkey came in his shorts. He smiled at me and said “Congratulations on your first salary”. I felt proud of myself. I had started to earn. Our family financial problems would all be over. My mother’s patience and her dedication were the driving factors of me becoming an engineer. I had already sent a part of my first salary to my mother by a money order at the post office.

We stopped playing and dispersed early due to the oncoming evening party. I had a hot bath. The weather got colder by the evening. When I reached the mess at Parameswaran’s quarters, I got nervous, as I knew that alcohol was going to be served. I had never taken alcohol in my life. All the messmates arrived. It was party time.

“This is fish from the forest streams” Varkey pointed to a plate full of fried fish. Another plate contained meat pieces with gravy. Naked boiled eggs were ready in another plate for the oral pleasure. Fish curry and egg curry were some of the other delicacies. Sukumara Pillai brought a bottle of Brandy. He poured it in many glasses like a professional bartender. Water was poured in the glasses to individual tastes. He handed over a glass to me.

“Please, I don’t want, I don’t drink, please excuse me” I pleaded.

“Don’t talk like a girl” Mathew made fun of me.

“Sir, have a little, it is brandy. It is good for the winter. Nothing will happen” Varkey came to me and patted my back. Varkey was a real well wisher of mine and I yielded. All raised their glasses. I followed suit. All the glasses met in a mild clatter. “Cheers”. The uttering was very hurriedly completed, as everyone started to sip the liquid like starving people. With a shivering hand I put the glass to my quivering lips. The brandy drops first rolled over my tongue as fire balls and then entered my throat. I felt like someone is poking a molten iron rod into my throat. The liquid travelled to my stomach like a forest fire. The innocent lining of my stomach was inundated. Varkey offered me a piece of fried fish and asked me to eat. I bit the piece and swallowed it and drowned it with another sip of the fiery liquid. My ears became hot and I felt as if hot fumes were escaping through my ears. There was a gnawing sensation in my stomach. My eyelids started to close a little. Another sip gave me a little pleasure. I started to smile at others involuntarily.

While others completed two pouring, I found it difficult to finish the first one. Mathew poured another one in my glass. The attack on the food and the dishes started as lions would on their prey and there was silence except for the sipping of the liquor and biting of the bones. When I finished the third one, I was out of my senses. The room was turning around me with the people in it. All the faces looked like demons. My stomach started to churn inside. There was an upward flow through my gullet. Varkey took me to the bathroom. I thought it was the end of the world. I emptied everything that I took inside my stomach…….

My head was aching and when I opened my eyes, I was lying on the bed at the Durbar Hotel. I had vomited profusely on the floor. I pressed the call button. When the waiter came in, I gave him Rs 10/ and requested him to clean up the room.

The morning was misty. It was 10 O’clock when I stepped into the Canal Divisional Office with a nagging head ache. A bunch of people wearing old type coats were working around huge piles of files. I met the chief accountant and showed him my appointment letter. He smiled at me and requested me to sit on the chair in front of him. He called the orderly and asked him to accompany me to the Executive Engineer’s office. I followed him. On the way he asked me several questions and I answered them without knowing what the questions were about. We walked along the railway station road and negotiated a gradient and turned left at the next junction. Proceeding further we turned right on to a mud track. It was very narrow. A few quarters were visible. There was a board at the first house, R K Agarwal, Asst. Engineer. Moving along we reached the Executive Engineer’s office. It was an office cum residence. In front of the office there was a beautiful and well maintained garden. The front elevation of the building was full of arches and the architecture surely belonged to the era of the British Raj.

A lean and dark person came out of the office. His upper lip had a Hitler moustache. He smiled at me reminding me of Charlie Chaplin. He wished me and led me inside. The Executive Engineer was in his early forties and of medium built. I wished him and he shook hands with me. His hands were soft and his smile came from within his heart, I guessed. A lady fat and plump with a non proportionate body with respect to her individual parts, was sitting on the left side. She, too, smiled at me. The lady started to talk first. She asked me how I came so far from Kerala to Uttar Pradesh and joined the department. I had my ready made answers which I had already given to several of my co passengers in the train.

“The people of Kerala are very enterprising. They go out of their state to work and you can find them everywhere in India.” Mr S K Bansal, the Executive Engineer praised the Keralites. Bansal saheb explained to me that I was going to take charge of the fourth sub division of field channels which is at Lalpur, about 80 km from town. Till such time the office was established there. He asked me to occupy a room in the Inspection House, near the Divisional Office as no official residence was available at that time to be allotted to me. He asked me to submit the joining report taking charge of the post at the divisional office. He wished me good luck and we parted.

Bansal saheb was very considerate and helping. That feeling gave me good moral support and relief in the land of the Aryans, the North India.

Saturday evening, I reached Kanpur by the afternoon train at 6 o’clock. I hired a cycle rickshaw and reached Shakti Nagar. My nephews hugged me and my sister was relieved to see me. I gave an account of my new job. I felt very happy. I wrote to my mother about my new job. I could visualize the happiness of my mother and brothers on reading the letter.

In the evening, I rushed to Roopnagar, to Menon and Nair. They congratulated me on my new employment. That night, we celebrated. Bhaskaran Pillai had cooked rice, saambar and Menon made very tasty omelette. Raman Nair broke the seal of a rum bottle. They actually wanted a reason to drink and that night I was the reason. I took very little liquor as I had to return home to my sister. I was musing about the life of umpteen numbers of Malayalees like Menon and Nair. They were all living at a distant place from their home for their livelihood. Evenings they spent happily with the intoxication provided by alcohol, again to get up the next morning with a melancholy feeling, and the cycle continued.

I returned the next day in the evening to my work place.

There was a knock at the door of the Inspection House. I opened the big door. A gentleman, short in stature was smiling at me with the full width of his mouth. He had parked his bicycle on the side.

“I am Balan” he spoke in Malayalam. “I work in the Railway Division Office and I am staying at the Civil Lines” he continued.

“How did you know that I am staying here” I asked him with surprise.

“Well, I always check here for visitors and I tried today and there you are” he laughed heartily. We spoke about ourselves. He said he was staying with his family and he had two daughters aged six and three. He invited me to his house. I thanked him and promised to visit his house some other time. He left and I stood at the door watching him pedal past the gate, feeling happy that at least I was able to spot a Malayalee at that place.

The evening was pleasant. The months of March were very pleasant when the severity of the winter took a downward plunge. I walked down the gradient from the Inspection House towards Durbar Hotel and turned right. At the theatre junction, I took a turn to the left. Many tonga drivers stopped and asked where I wanted to go. I decided to walk that evening. The fort was in sight. My knowledge of history was reasonable. I felt excited as I was heading towards the fort of the lioness who defied the British. She was the pride of India who would always be remembered as the most stubborn queen of the previous century. The smell of blood fallen on the earth for protecting the homeland seemed to pervade the atmosphere. I heard the cling-clang sound of the swords and daggers in my imagination. Cannon fire boomed the atmosphere, I mused. My patriotism got a boost and I felt very proud to be standing in front of that fort.

I went back to the Inspection House. I wrote a letter to my mother about the fort and my work. There was a knock at the door. Balan was standing with his usual smile. He invited me to his home. It was 7O’clock in the evening and I decided to go with him.

I sat at the back of his cycle. He carried my weight, not so much heavy, and we reached the Civil Lines. On to the left was a group of old houses, may be belonging to the British era. He parked his cycle in front of his house. Two girls came out.

“My daughters Prameela and Nisha” he introduced the girls to me. I was invited to his house. It was dark inside. The smell of coal from the anghiti (a kind of fire place like a stove) and cooking oil was floating inside the room with a thin film of smoke. Half of the kitchen was separated by a dwarf wall and seemed like a bath place. It was cool inside. His wife greeted me. She was short, slim and very beautiful. She had a small mouth surrounded by shapely lips. She was wearing a cardigan, probably knitted by her. She smiled at me exposing her well aligned and white teeth.

I sat on the sofa. Balan refreshed with a French bath. His wife enquired about my family. She gave an account of their native place. I noticed that her sense of humour was great and she laughed at regular intervals. At one instance, I noticed she was looking at me without closing her eyes for a long time. There was a red colour spreading on her cheeks.

Supper was set on a small table. The dishes were very tasty. The specialty was a pickle made from a vegetable locally called karonda. It was very hot and spicy. The mutton curry was delicious with lots of pepper in it. Paranthas prepared in ghee were crispy and tasty. I was compelled to eat a lot by Mrs Balan and she would never stop serving.

Balan gave an account of the Malayalee population in town. Captain Pillai and his wife were staying at the Cantonment quarters. Captain Pillai was recruited for Short Service Commission. The Principal of the Polytechnic was Professor Sanakara Menon.

I planned to walk back to the Inspection house after bidding farewell to Balan and family. Mrs Balan asked me when I would come next.

I smiled and said “I shall try to come some other time”.

When I looked back I saw Mrs Balan standing at the door of her residence and waving at me. I felt an attachment to that family. The girls were very loving and I felt at home.

On to the right at the junction was the residence of R P Jain, Asst. Engineer in the Khander Canal Division. As I walked along, I saw a doctor’s residence, Dr Gordhino's. The weather became colder and the mutton curry and paranthas stood in good stead for me to fight the chill.

A Short Story

2009-11-04T19:48:00.007+05:30

Wooden Heart

He returned from the college at 3-45 P.M. As usual, he went to the bathroom for his bath. He immersed the bucket at the end of the coir rope, in the well, the wooden pulley making a noise like the Panchari Melam for the Pooram festival. He poured the cold water on his head. Closing his eyes he enjoyed the bliss of relaxation. He applied sandalwood soap to his naked body. Wrapping a towel he came out of the bathroom.

He stood in front of the mirror and enjoyed looking at his body. He sprinkled “Remy” talcum powder over his chest and armpits. He applied one coat of Lacto Calamine lotion on his face and forehead and followed it by a coat of talcum powder. He spread the powder on his face. He applied one more coat of Lacto Calamine over the coat of powder and leveled to his satisfaction. With a circular plastic hairbrush he did his hair.

He had some snacks and coffee. He dressed up and got out. The gate house door had a wooden latch. He lifted the latch on one side and pulled it to the right. The wooden door opened with a screeching noise. At the opposite gate, stood the watchman of the Aftercare Shelter. He smiled at him with his naked upper gum. Neelandan, Velayudhan, Fake and Harizatto Korizoni were all dressed up to go somewhere. They too smiled at him.

He walked further. At the left turning to the narrow lane Varasyar stood with a toothy smile. Her nose was wet and brown creamy tobacco snuff tried to drop out of her nose. He smiled at her. It was a day of smiles for him. He walked further. The bamboo cluster on the right danced in the wind that played flute in a rhythmic raga. He looked to the right with anticipation. He saw her waiting for him, smiling at him from afar, in her blue skirt and white blouse. Empranthiri of the lodge next to his house had nicknamed her “Jyotsna”. But he never liked him for that reason. Because, she was his and not anybody else’s.

The stench of the lavatory of the house of “Vandikkari” (Lady Owner of a cart) pierced his nostrils. The lady was nick-named Elizabeth Taylor as she had green eyes. At the culvert where the mud track ended and joined the asphalt road, Paul was sitting looking at the sky. The transformer made more noise that day. In front of the small laundry at the corner, Balan’s wife was fanning the iron box. White smoke escaped with every sideward movement of the fan. As she saw him, she bent more to exhibit her bosom to him with a mischievous smile. On the right of the road was the tea shop where every morning people assembled and had tea smoking beedies.

He walked up the gradient and looked to the left. Swami, owner of the tile factory was setting the accounts right. He waved at him. White smoke escaped into the atmosphere through the chimneys, spreading a smell all around. At the bus stop, TMT bus was standing and passengers were alighting. He walked further. Nair’s hotel was not crowded. It was there that he had his food regularly when his mother went to his native place. The meals were very delicious with rice and mutton curry, all available for thirty five paisa. On to the right of the hotel, at a raised level was her house. She was there. Her eyes met with his glances with a deep fire in them. She would never miss him on any day.

Balan Menon sat on a bench outside his grocery shop. When he smiled his protruded tooth became very conspicuous. The Military café was displaying in its glass shelf, all kinds of edibles. The village library was getting populated and the loudspeaker was blaring out some transmission of All India Radio. Lazar was busy in dispensing grocery materials at his shop. Mandi looked like a bear with grey hair on his chest and tummy. He had an appearance of a wicked man like Shylock, but he was very good-hearted.

At the bridge, he could hear the gurgling noise of the flowing water. It imparted coolness all over his body. As he walked further, he saw that notorious tree where a man had hanged himself to death. It was a macabre sight, the other day. He always walked faster when he reached that spot. He did not want to remember that incident.

School students were returning from the city, boys and girls in uniforms. Most of them were carrying the books without a bag. The girls held them close to their bodies, hiding their ever growing buds on one side, and at the same time displaying the other side’s buds to one’s delight. He walked inside to Girija Theatre. A Tamil film was being screened there. The aroma from the canteen was very appetizing. He ordered two banana bajjis (a banana preparation) and a hot glass of tea. He bit one of the the bajjis, but could not bite the whole banana, which was hanging as a small linear piece. Rejuvenated with the snacks and tea, he went to the ticketing area where the photo blocks of the current movie and the coming movies were displayed.

While the spectators were slowly gathering, he walked out of the compound and turned right on the road. Where the asphalt road ended and the concrete road started, there were many potholes. Dark brown clothed missionaries walked into the church on to the left. The violinist played the same tune which he was hearing for the last few days. He stopped at Vallath Gopi’s house. Gopi smiled at him with his teeth spaced with gaps. His eyes were red as usual, but it was due to an allergy as he explained and not due to alcoholic consumption.

On the left was the Mascot House, the house of the affluent Iyer who owned a tutorial institution in the city. The left narrow lane ended at the Thandasseri house where he had stayed with his family a few years back. On the verandah of that house he had played caroms with bottle caps on a wooden plank, while an inquisitive Dharmu was looking at him. While the scavengers removed the human waste from the toilet and deposited it in the wheeled carrier, he had closed his nose, and so had the people on the road when the carrier was trawled along the city that boasted of the cultural heritage.

The next house was very interesting to him. Every day there stood a plump girl wearing a half sari which tried to conceal her shapely curves and glanced at him with eyes filled with utmost romance. Not a single day he would miss her. That day she ushered him inside the compound. He was surprised at the unusual behaviour of the girl. She handed over an envelope to him. She did not speak a word. She looked at him intently for a few seconds with damp eyes and ran inside the house. He folded the envelope and deposited it in his shirt pocket. He did not want to read the letter standing on the road.

He marched forward and reached the junction. On to the right was the Poonkunnam road. The gate at the level crossing was closed and the motorists were getting restless, as the Cochin – Madras Express sped along the tracks blowing its whistle melodiously. On the left Kuttappan wearing a vest was packing sugar for a customer, coughing regularly and spitting the sputum on to the road. Further up the gradient, Sivarama Iyer, the dentist seemed to have had more dozes of alcohol as he was swaying both sides like a plant in the wind. His smile was involuntary with his lips directed to one side. A little more ahead was the T-junction of the Thiruvambady temple. He stood at the entrance and prayed for all good things to come. The road on to the right would lead to the Office of the Superintendent of Post Offices with a red name board. There his father had worked. The red bicycle used by Narayanan Nair had helped him a lot for his cycle riding training.

When he reached Naikanal, he met his classmate and the erstwhile lodge roommate. They walked together to Mani’s café and sat on the chairs at the inner part of the café. On the left side, at The Rama Varma Theatre, the rush was not that much as a Hindi movie was being exhibited.

They stopped eating when the number of dosas (a rice preparation) eaten by them totalled sixteen. The ambi brought coffee in brass coloured containers. The taste was good as certified by his friend. They walked a full round and his friend said goodbye to him and went inside Vengu lodge. On to the left, pot bellied marvaris, the Lal brothers, were minting money by selling ornaments and diamonds.

At the bus stop near the Devaki dairy, he waited for a bus to go back to his house. Vazhani bus stopped and he rushed inside and milled through the standing crowd. He paid twenty paisa for the ticket and when the conductor who was standing near him blew the whistle, there was a spray of red coloured saliva escaping his betel chewing mouth.

He got down from the bus at the Company gate stop and walked hurriedly to his house. The radio was playing the last Tamil song transmitted by Radio Ceylon. He removed his sweaty shirt and took the letter to the front verandah. He sat on the wooden chair and kept his feet on the dwarf wall. Leaning back to the wall, he opened the envelope.

There was a photo card of the Taj Mahal and a white paper on which hand written texts were visible. The letter displayed:

Dearest….

I do not even know your name. But months back, on a rainy day, you came to the verandah of my house to escape from the rain as you did not have an umbrella with you. I looked at you and I fell in love with you at first sight. I did not care to know whether you reciprocated my feelings or not. But I was worshipping you in my heart and every day I was standing at the gate of my house to get a glimpse of you. We never talked. You did not come on a few occasions and I would not sleep those nights. I had idolized you. Every day you had smiled at me and I had attained an unknown bliss when you smiled at me.

My name is Radha and I have kept a name for you, Krishna. Radha and Krishna never attained their love. And I would never, too. My family is leaving tomorrow permanently to another place. This is the last day of my meeting with you. I may be owned by someone else in the future, but my soul will always carry a tear for you. Tonight I will build my Taj Mahal in this house. I will bury my love in a coffin and leave it here. When you pass this house tomorrow like every day, you will find the house locked, but my painful and deep sighs will be inside.

I love you Krishna……

Your (?) Radha

There was a sudden thump on his wooden heart. He felt a blow on his heart which shed away all hard coverings, exposing his real heart. It ached for a while, for her…..an ache of a Krishna for a Radha.

Elvis Presley was singing in the English Service of Radio Ceylon his famous song.

Can't you see

I love you

Please don't break my heart in two

That's not hard to do

'Cause I don't have a wooden heart

And if you say goodbye

Then I know that I would cry

Maybe I would die

'Cause I don't have a wooden heart

There's no strings upon this love of mine

It was always you from the start

Treat me nice

Treat me good

Treat me like you really should

'Cause I'm not made of wood

And I don't have a wooden heart