The traveller in me-1

What is that which inspires or interests me is something which I always search for. I do not have a perfect answer. But still I would tell that it is mobility. I hate the stagnancy and loneliness of living inside four walls. And just like water,I am good when I flow and am unpleasant when I pool down somewhere.
I was born with a peculiar love for trains, railway lines and stations. In my childhood, whenever I got to travel overnight to north kerala or tamil nadu, I had a peculiar habit. I used to stay glued to the window to take note of every station which we pass on the route and record the time at which I reached that particular station. Newer stations and railway lines merging and coupling at junctions interested me. i used to run to the door to see rivers and lakes under railway bridges.But I never howled when we passed through tunnels. Truth is that I still do watch such stuff with the same awe I had when I was a kid. The change in the geography when we crossed the Western ghats from Palakkad to Coimbatore or kollam to Chencottah created a rare happiness in me. I used to visit one of my relative's house just because I was so excited about the whistle and sounds of the trains and the awesome sight of the blue trains pacing through the rail near their home.

I used to love trying the permutations of trains one can catch for reaching one's destination. One example was when I wanted to go home in the midst of one of my summer internships. I somehow reached Chennai central station and understood that the last train westward , Cheran is my only hope. I entered the train to see the horror of people being literally packed watertight in the compartment. I became yet another part of the big pile of people. Train passed Arakonam and Jolar pettai. My calculation was being proved wrong. There was more influx of travellers than outflow. So due to the sheer lack of oxygen inside the compartment, I got down at Salem. Then I saw Lokmanya Tilak-Coimbatore shunting into the station. I got into a sleeper compartment. Here I got sympathy of some Kannadiga couple to use their berths as they were alighting at Erode. Now I was happy that I got a two hour sleep till Kovai. At Coimbatore, I had to make a quick decision. Due to the westward trains avoiding Coimbatore junction, I never had a train to reach Kerala from Coimbatore... except a passenger. This train literally linked me with the main line of Kerala. This train is very popular in North Kerala..The Coimbatore-Mangalore passenger. At last I reached Shornur. From there I got the Proud Day Express of Kerala, Parashuram express, struggling in the congestion of which I reached home.
For a normal person, this would have been tiresome. But I was very happy for it.The child like joy of having tried out more trains for a routine homeward journey was making me brimming with joy.

A day

The mornings you rise
impregnated with loads of ideas and feelings
and you are strained now
as if you have fought over something
throughout the night
the ones which get disappeared beyond recollections
after a shower as if it cleanses

the Lasya and Shrinkara which hides and seeks on your face
the Athbutha which blooms in you eyes
the fingers which clusters to form mudras unknowingly
the Beebhathsa-"yuck" you eventually emerge to others

cacophony when ragas of unknown names and origins code-mix
and code switch within you and emerge
thanks nobody listens

The late nights you are confused
between the books and the phone

the random night-walks you make
beneath the trees filtering the moonlight

Friends and their children

Even my best friend in college tells me that my blog-posts are depressing. Pardon me , my dear unfortunate readers..
Now I thought I will write about the awesome period about my life- my childhood till when I was 13 in my village- a village with traditions co-existing with the miracles of the first generation NRIs and their gulf-money
Women have always played a great role in my life. I always had a gr8 and benign influence of my mother, grandmothers, aunts of all kinship terms, sisters , child hood friends....... I had really good relationship with womenfolk around then.

What I want to write about are some friends in my life , with whom I spent my childhood , playing pranks , who now shifted to another generation when I remained still the same child.
One was my immediate neighbor. She would evoke sympathy in you at the first sight. She was so thin and shriveled that she will make impression about the poverty at her home. And the truth was contrary and her mother was an awesome cook. I ate the best "Kinnathappams" from her home. It seems from the lores of my grandma that she was a close pal of mine in my early child hood. And the change happened like this. My elder brother, myself and others including her were discussing about marriage (marriage and its pomp and splendor always interested us in our childhood). The question arose that whom would she marry. And she indicated towards my elder bro. And It seems I was damn angry at her non-choice of me that I took a knife and hurt her hand. She never remained the same cordial with me after. She remained the same- thin and shriveled. When I was in my 12th, her marriage happened and later I could not believe myself when I saw my would be-wife holding her child when I visted my village for a college vacation.

Then was this niece. She was the daughter of supposedly my sister in my paternal line. She was my classmate in my Madrassa. And look what, when all my classmates used to call me by my name, she called me "Kochappa"- meaning uncle. She continued calling me this throughout my childhood. She also married when I was in my school. And I later saw this niece meeting me in a recent family function with two grand-nephews of mine.

Then it did not stop there. There was this family of the "Imam' of our local Masjid. his fourth daughter was less than my age. She was a good -friend of mine and she used to make use of the fear of something called "Brahmana Shapam"of mine. It is told among Hindu folk that making a Brahman angry would be disastrous and he should be always made happy. I interpreted in my context. Imam was supposedly a religious man like Brahman . So I should never make his daughter angry, lest she curse me. She very well knew this. She would make me do her bit of home-works and above all, used to make use of my bicycle. Riding bicycle was forbidden for Muslim girls , at least in her family then . This was also at the risk of scolding of my grandparents. She too married, but very early, when she was fifteen. And her brother who was another friend of mine and of similar age married two years back. Needless to say, if both of them come with their familes to my home, it would turn into a war ground for four or five naughty little ones.

This tradition of these early marriages irks me because...........whenever I meet these friends in the family functions , and take their children into my hands, I find my parents and elders mock me...that I still play pranks or show my instinct for childish deeds and they tell that when u r supposed to have one of your own in ur hands by now, please grow up...

P.S The recent Malayalam Movie "Ivar Vivahithrayal" inspired me writing this- according to my bro

Eid nostalgia

Today is Eid, I must confess that I am nostalgic. Cheriya Perunnal as i should call it rather still lies as a loving sweet memory in my life , in the distant past. Today with my brother, I had good mallu mappila food (non veg.. ob )in a good restaurant just after the morning Eid Namaz prayers
Thanks to the insistence of Assu(my bro), I went to mosque... Else , I was even planning to bunk it, because I feel I have no more Ids in my life
My parents had a Perunnal with vegetarian food... they had cut down the food luxuries as their austerity increased...
I had to perform Musabaat (Eid hug) with my bro repeatedly after we found ourselves alone in the mosque after namaz so as to compensate the warmth of the hug with the long queue of my dear ones back home
Looking back...........
The joy of the news of the Shawwal Pira (sighting of the moon) announcing the festival..
the anxiety before it..
The thakbeer filled atmosphere-Allahu Akbar allahu,,,,,,, valillahil hamd
The fitr Sakkath- the alms to the needy one the eve of Eid and the moring before Namaz
The big rice heap from which Baapa would measure out the sakkath in the form of rice
We children would stand with big papermade cones which are to be filled with rice and then packed .
We get the route maps of which house to go and whom to give the Sakkath
The Joy of the person who recieves it
and the infinite invitations we get on this way for the first breakfast after the 30 long fasting days of Ramzan
The white cap- clad white population in the mosque
The scent of Arabian athar (perfume) breezing through the mosque
The little boys and girls who wonder what their elders while the latter are doing in the namaz and why are they standing so still..
these kids playing pranks, playing hiding and seek with each other in the mosque in the safs(rows) of the mosque
I remember Jabbar Kochappa who dressed up little Hiba as a boy to the mosque on Id
The competition of the most colourful Perunnal Kodi(Sherwanis with golden embroidery and white kurtas)
If hyderbadis have haleem and what ever kebabs... , we in south kerala are not far behind
The aroma of neichoru(ghee rice) and mutton curry
The sight of thinnest aripathiri/palaka-rottis ...
dissolving in the scented coconut milk and then in the kuruma
Neimeen biriyani of Junaida Moothumma
The tables filled with best of the mappila delicacies
not those chattipathiri and Pola sort of Telichery stuff though
The semiya payasam served when we come back from the mosque
The afternoon nap after the heavy -heaviest breakfast and lunch
The evening tour with the big family..to the backwaters or the beach at Quilon
The commotion in the kitchen and fight for caseroles and 'adukkupathrams'
for packing out food for individual homes
The glitter on the face of Baapa when we are around him
Umma's repeated attempts to perfect her Biriyani
the actual recipe of which she does not know , truly
the visits as "food inspector" in houses around to taste the different preparations of
Biriyani and Neichoru and Mutton curries
The last Iranian dates(bought for breaking the fast) left after the month-long Nombu
which we steal, along with the Kaju and Kishmish from Biriyani-Payasam recipe
We had no Eid special films though, Doordarshan days na!!!

நேக்கும் நோக்கும்

மாநகராச்சி பேனந்தில் பாத
கலைஞ்சாரின் சொலல்
" நான் நீ என்பது ".. அப்பிடி என்னமோ
சரி அது என்னமோ

அனால்
உனக்கும் 'நோக்கும் '
அவநேயோ அவளெயோ "அவாளெயோ "
என்னது
சரி புரிஞ்சிது

அனால் எப்பிடி ஒருவனே சுயம் 'நேக்கு' என்பது கூப்படறது
அவனவனே 'நேக்கு' என்னும் எனக்கு ஏன்னு வித்தியாசமனே கூபிடும்போல்
அவனிலும் என்னிலும் வாழும் என்னதோ அதிநே
உச்ச- நீச்ச கண்ணாடியில் சவயம் பாத்து ரசிக்கிறார்

இனிப்பு

வாழ்க்கையில் இனிக்கறது என்னது ?
நேற்று பாத கனவோ
அதோ
இன்ரிக்கு தெரிஞ்ச நள்வரத்தயோ
நாலேக்காக கேட்ட நல்வாழ்துக்களோ

-home

Dear
you think that with all this I should be ok.
Good!
But I do not feel so
There is more which is involved
You know that I can't today be in my home of my .. what should i say
ancestral home? somebody else's
it is not my own
nor it was my own any time
where I am rooted in

through the eastern windows of which,
I saw the teaks and palms dancing
when 'Edavapathi ' flew from west
the dampness of the cot near Umma's
where I sat hearing her tales of benevolence
not to my Baapa nor her kids even we grand-kids ..
but the neighbors who visit her often and the servant girls at home
the wooden window plates would close with a bang
the 'thoovanam'-drops of rain driven into the house by wind
falling on me and the bed-wrap

the sweat darkened-karimban thalliya-chair
where he sat
he was a despot and niggardly,
his children punned recalling their childhood
of inadequacy in spite of affluence
but for me, he gave me eyes through which
I heard about the world around and the world left behind
of Rambuttan fuits, the days during second war
of Madras and Nagappatinam and the ships which set sail from there
language in which people asked "Saaya nama appa nama "
of how he met Netaji in that city state
of the kings and people of yore
the one who bought me a frooti. when I cried.which his children would have yearned for
and bought guavas from the far away city for the grand-kids(NRI) visiting at home
the one whose features , every son wished in his child
the smell of the "athar" touched cotton he gave me before the Eid
you smiled inside you(did not you?) when I danced before you all then
Baapa. where else I can find you today than in that old chair in the Verandah
the table on which you read Quran and did Namaz and wrote the (notorious) accounts
the diary which the scion never parted with me,
where I know are the deepest secrets on the births and deaths of your kids and grand-kids
stay in those petite handwriting
the cot with mosquito curtains and the pillow below which you kept the torch-light, hidden
you never know what I lost when you "Rooh" left behind that crowded room in "Shankers"
when I left behind you in the train to Madras
not for an extra-pie or inheritance
which the gullible and simple Umma can't understand
for whom everything is the same
but once when it was yours , there was life in my home,,
even when you complained of the long list of ailments you have
after all Vaapicha says I am the one who inherited "hypochondria" from you
it was yours .. so that it was ours

the home into which my uncles brought us new aunts (even my mom)
who conspired to break the home , the joint- whatever it was
because it was never theirs..
after all they were women from 'better' families
Baapa you only told.... that proverb about gold and women
the home from which my aunts left with tears

the uncles who came with items ought with the oil-Riyals
when their luggages were open in the "Thekke Pura"
garments, perfumes , toffees, toys, ...
not for their "nuclear"unit
but for all of us- the ritual of 'Petti pottikkal"
better buy them from duty paid shop today

The Thekke Pura to which Puthiyappila and Puthiya Pennu entered
replacing the earlier/ latest reigning newly weds
some took away even the fan they brought with

The first home here I , as a kid , pissed , drooled, rolled on the floor and danced
I got astonished at the number of mothers , I had
one to suckle, one to feed and one to tell stories when I sit next to the kalladuppu
where I learnt the skill of cooking
later I cooked with my 'child-wife' on the sand below the guava with chiratta and brought out the best mannappams I could have

The Tapiaco field , with big holes , housing the pest-
mice- Baapa's rival
Did I feel happy when I saw Baapa dipping the 'Elipathayam'
in the pond, with air bubbles coming up?

The mango tree under which , led by my great Ithatha ,
we sat together, making instant pickles of the "Thambori" Mangoes ,
with hot chilly powder, salt and coconut oil
Maalu knows how good I prepared it later
The Tamarind which rained even after the monsoons
you killed it though
The Ambazham which graced our north side
the pickles we made on that Onam you remember
you even killed it
for the worthless timber from a shriveled tree
Now the Egg-fruit which stays,,
hope i will not hear its obituary
the cashew whose nuts we stole and sold..
Baapa do not know this

the cement-ground we fell on the east-side
where we fell and created really black knees
Swamis' room nearby, -
the tales of that Arogiya Swami,
who came from beyond the ghats and
became a son for my Umma as it should be ,
after all all servants were her kids
and disappeared without even a letter
The "Erithil" - for the Cattle
where the Bufflaoes and Ox and innumerable cows ruminated
and lived in the mess of straw and the precious cowdung
Baapa you never told us how much is innumerable
The smell of the urine of Palm-civet which played on the ceiling beneath the tiled roof

You all tell me that I am insensible
I am Ooruthendi- for having prolonged the stays there
why did I fight every year for a longer stay there?
and why does even after knowing everything,
I crave for being back there?

But I did not realize that it was not my own then
even today I do not

after all ownership is the criterion
but you can't prevent me from owning my memories though

***
Shankers- a hospital in Quilon, Kerala
Erithil- cattle shed
Baapa-Grandpa(not universal- specific to my family)
Umma-Grandma(not universal)
Vaapicha- Father
Ooruthendi- a wandering beggar
Edavapathi- South west monsoons
thoovanam-rain drops which fly in with wind
Rambuttan- a fruit popular in Malay
Saaya nama appa nama- What is your name in Malaya, or some dialect of it
athar- perfume (Arabic)
Rooh- Soul (Arabic)
Thekke Pura- room at the southern side
Petti pottikkal - opening a box
Puthiyappila- Newly wed groom
Puthiya Pennu - newly wed bride
kalladuppu- traditional chulha
chiratta-coconut shell
Mannappam- 'dishes' made by children out of soil
Elipathayam-a kind of rat trap
'Ithatha- eldest sister
Thambori- a variety of mango
Ambazham-hog plum tree
Egg-fruit -a rare tropical fruit tree