Where are the nails?

“Amma, Padmam…Where are the nails?”, cried Krisna swamy.
“ Look carefully. You’ll find it. Who needs your nails anyway?”, replied Padmambal from the kitchen where she was frying the kondattom( dried rice snacks)
“I had put it in the small room alongwith other such stuff. Now it is not there”
“You might have left it somewhere and forgotten about it”, said Padmaambal arriving on the scene and joining the search.
“Tomorrow that carpenter will come to mend the cowshed. I had kept it ready so that he works full day.”
“Aama(Yeah), that guy is a lazy bum. He works only when you cal him to have the coffee”
The search continued. No results

“Oh! This summer sun makes you thirsty. Give me some sambharam( buttermilk with chillies and curry leaves)
“I ‘ll get you soon”
“I thought that once our grandchildren went back to Mumbai, we’ll have nothing to do. But today seems to be more busier. What’s the time?”
“It is almost 2p.m. Didn’t notice at all. You and your nails.”
“ Did our son and family call after returning to Mumbai?
“oh! They would’ve reached only this morning. Might be resting after journey.”

“I’ll just check out the plantain grove. Will be back in an hour. Keep the coffee ready then”
“O.K. Take care. There are some snakes in the adjoining rubber plantation”
“I will wear those gumboots”

Silence. The late afternoon is very still. Padmaambal could hear the steps receding into the grove beyond. She reclined on the easy chair for a while thinking of her grandsons aged 5 and 8. Perfect scoundrels, they were. She could not lie down while they were here. She could hear fast steps approaching. Is he back already, she thought.

“Padmam, I found the nails”, panted Krishna Swamy
“Where from? Why is your hands and nails wet?”
“Just guess.”
“Well, your dear grandsons drove them home in couple of plants in the grove. All that just started to bear fruits. Just let them call. Hmmph”

Just then, the phone starts to ring. It is the son calling from Mumbai.
“Amma, we reached a bit late. Where is Appa?”
“He is fuming here”
“Why? What happened?”
“You ask”, said she handing over the mouthpiece to her husband
“Give it to Subbu” ( subbu was the elder kid)
“Hello”, squeaked a voice.
“ Why did you drive the nails into the plantain plants?”

“Oh! That. We wanted to see if it gives out sap like the rubber tree. We kept a coconut shell below to collect the sap. Ramu nailed 6 and I nailed 10. How much sap is collected? Send the money from selling it for Diwali. Bye Tatha(grandpa)”

A Chapter

It was the May of 1985. Dad bought the first car of his life , old rugged 1962 model ambassador. He used to work in central India then. And he bought the car from a doc in Kerala. He had this adventurous idea of driving it all the way up to Bhilai where our native town, Thrissur, covering more than 2000kms. So we got ourselves a mechanic and started off.

Summer in the Deccan is not one of the most pleasant regions to travel in a non Ac car. But there we were, driving through little villages with a trail of amused children and dust. We tasted all kinds of cuisines on the way from wayside little hotels and somewhat better restaurants. It was fun.

Well, we reached Hyderabad around 2 AM. And the town was asleep. We were new to the city and we did not how to get to the main road to the better hotels. We tried one or two, but they were kind of unwilling to take in late visitors and said"No rooms available". so we finally ended up in an old house converted into a hotel. It had one big squarish inner courtyard, around which the rooms were set. That night was horrible. The room was full of gigantic mosquitoes who made sure that we did not sleep a wink.

The next day we started off in search of a better hotel and found one. And we saw the Golconda fort and the Salar-e- jung museum. Drive to Bhilai from there took another two days. By the time we reached Bhilai, the driver had Chicken pox and I had fever.

The fever I had was peculiar. I ran high temperatures every alternate day and only at night. After about three cycles , I was hallucinating, seeing peacocks from my window, Amitabh Bachchan dancing by the bedside and so on... Soon, I ended up in the hospital in a double room where the other bed was occupied by a woman. I drifted off to sleep with IVs injecting medicines into me. I regained complete consciouness only by late afternoon. I had opened my eyes earlier and seen my mother talking with the woman on the bed. Now, she told me that her name was Kamala and that she had kidney failure.
" How are you feeling now?", Kamala asked
" Better", I managed.
" Oh! It's nothing. Look at me, I have dialysis twice a month but Iam OK".

I smiled. Mom took over the conversation part.
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the adjoining room. A girl my age was being given Oxygen. I saw her some moments ago as she peeked into my room from the small corridor that joined the rooms. She was a bubbly, beautiful Punjabi girl. And when mom said that she being given oxygen, I did not believe it. She had a serious cardiac problem.

Next day, Kamala had a visitor. Her husband, a trucking businessman, had come over. They spoke in hushed tones. He was crying and she was trying to comfort him. And when he left, she told us that he would return the next day with the kids. She showed some photos of the kids - a three year daughter and a five year old son.

"Cute children, are'nt they?", asked Kamala.
" And who is this?", mom asked
"That's me. I looked beautiful then. It is at a wedding."
Tears welled up in her eyes. She was lost in thought.

Later she told mom that her treatment costs were getting out of hand and that her husband was the youngest brother and he could no more take money from the family business to treat her. But she held nothing against her in -laws. She believed in God and fate.

Next day, Kamala was up early, all dressed to see the kids. Soon, we heard chattering voices in the passage. The kids were here. They came and leapt at Kamala in joy.

"Come home", they said.

I was a witness to the poignant moment. Her husband and her eyes were happy and sad at the same time. The husband had brought some food. She fed the children with her hands. The elder was telling her about school, the younger one about her cousins. It was the first time I realised, the value of life.

That evening, she was mum, unlike her chattering self. By night, she said that she asked her husband not to show her body to the kids. She wants them to remember her as an active mother.

I got discharged the next day. Later we came to know, she was soon paralysed and her systems shut down one after other and she died. She was cremated nearby and not taken home as per her wishes.

I will always remember this chapter of my life.


P.S This post was originally published in overacuppacopy.blogspot.com

Gafur ka dost

Any Malayali worth the name will remember the snip from the movie- Naadodikattu. It comically brings out the scams that go on in the name of recruiting for overseas jobs. Lured into the net with dreams of a wealthy tomorrow, the hit duo Mohanlal-Sreenivasan, give Gafur, the agent whatever money they could manage for a ride on boat to gulf as they have no VISA. And they are fooled by the agent who tells them to hop off after an overnite ride to Chennai. He gives them a pair of Arab dress, teaches them some useful Arabic like Salaam Valaikum, Valaikum usalaam and tells them to blurt out Gafur ka dost if some one asks more.

Kerala is full of such agents. You get ‘Gafur ka dost’ for any job to be done- some take you for a ride while others deliver. It is really a difficult job to differentiate one from another. Maybe Kerala has the maximum no. of agents who provide gas connection, rail or air tickets, Visa help, school/college admissions, real estate, housemaid, home nurse, babysitter, painter, plumber, electrician, taxis, bystander at hospital if you have none in the family to do the service, beautiful well dressed girls to pose as bride’s friends and add glamour to a wedding and on goes the list. And the public is kind of wary but still uses these invaluable services, sometimes in the process losing all their valuables.

In this scenario, the simple Good Samaritan who tries to extend help to fellow beings in whatever way possible is gauged differently. The absolute free services don’t carry the same weight as paid service. So, the person you are trying to help either looks at other avenues or runs out of patience and rarely is able to receive a help well delivered.

Things have come to a pass where we find difficult to believe a person through and through. “Nothing comes for FREE” – is it getting a bit too much into our heads? Or are we losing patience working on computers as in “Hey, this page is taking forever to load, let’s try other options?”

Railgadi chuk chuk chuk

Trains fascinate me. My first train travel was as a one year old. The annual two day journey to Kerala was the greatest attraction for summer. As I grew up so did the Indian railways. The steam engine gave way to Diesel and then to Electric engines. But the clamour, melee at stations, the running after TTE for a berth etc continued. Then, few trains had AC coaches, now there are many and more travelers opting for it. But Iam here to relate few incidents of some train travelers of yesteryears.

1.Mr. Bannerjee took the express to Calcutta. At Jharsaguda, the train waited at the station for further signal. The power in the coaches went off. Mr. Bannerjee got down to the platform and dozed off to sleep on a bench that sultry summer night. Waking up, he asked the station master to send a telegram to his brother to collect the luggage at Howrah terminus.

2.Dad was single then. He was returning from kerala after attending the funeral of an aunt. He makes it to Jolarpettai. From there onwards, he has no connecting train for another 14 hours. Has to reach ASAP. He boards a goods train. Makes friends with engine driver, shares his dinner, sleeps on his bed and reaches destination in time to report to duty.

3.There was no direct train to Kerala from Central India. The Keralites in Bhilai gathered for an agitation. I remember riding on the carrier seat of Dad’s Yezdi, the road swirling up dust as hundreds of Malayalis- Hindus, Christians, Muslims all rode on various vehicles to the rail crossing to have a Rail Roko. Years later, I drew parallels when I saw Gandhi – the Dandi March scene. First we got two bogies which were pulled in by some train to Nagpur where it waited in the outer to get hitched on the Kerala Express from Delhi. A year or two later, we got the train Bilaspur Cochin Express which is now extended to Trivandrum.

4.Mr. Mahalingam, Mrs. Mahalingam and three kids board the train. There is nothing maha about Mahalingam, a puny man while wife is rotund and pregnant fullterm. Draped in a nine yard kancheepuram and bedecked with flowers they get on with at least eight small pieces of luggage. Dinner is packed in a typical cloth bag. After dinner, lights go off. At 11.00 p.m, the pains start. Mahalingam swoons. Other passengers now have it on them to pull off a delivery. The next station with medical assistance is a good four hours away. People run along the train in either directions to get hold of a Doc or nurse. They find an ortho and a military nurse who deliver a baby boy on lower berth with sheets as partition from passage.

5.Abdul Salim boards from Kurla terminus in Mumbai. He is a NRI- a poor one. He works as a labourer on Dubai’s prestigious projects. But he has a big suitcase. Two RPF trainees too get on the train. They want some goodies. They ask him to open the suitcase near the toilets for security reasons. Mumbai blasts are still fresh in public mind. So, they let RPF check. The lady occupying the nearby seat is concerned. She asks, “Kyon tang kar rahe ho bechare ko?”( why are you bothering him?”
People look up and want her to keep quiet. The questioning session goes on. The train is nearing Kalyan.
”Tum logon ko sirf uska saman chahiye! Arre logon, yeh bechara mehnat kar ghar kuch laya hai aur yeh nikamme use lena chahte hain. Hamare jaisa hai, Raipur ja raha hai. Kuch karo” ( you guys just want some goodies. The poor fellow has worked hard to bring some presents home and you good-for-nothings want to take it away? Hey people, he is like any of us, going to Raipur. Do something)
”Acchha Raipur Ja raha hai? Phir toh kuch karna hoga” ( He is going to Raipur, is he? Then let’s do something)
A group advances daring the RPF trainees. The train pulls in Kalyan outer. The two get off and disappear into darkness”
”Shukriya mayi”, Abdul salim says, eyes all wet. “ Main toh dar gaya tha” (Thank You, Mother. I was really frightened)

Accident Prone Kilometre

Driving down the National Highways of India, you get to see these boards now and then. Usually you find it near to a busy junction or sharp bend or blind turning the road. Similarly there are some people who can be called accident prone kilometer themselves. Things just happen to them in the most incredulous way, sometimes again and again. Let’s see what happened to Guptaji.

1. Guptaji and wife go to the railway station to receive some relatives. He wears a new kurta. As they stand on the platform, a train just leaves in the opposite direction and someone throws a pack of half eaten idli sambhar on to the platform or say directly onto Guptaji.

2. Guptaji buys a new car and parks it on the street. A coconut falls on a passing truck, gets deflected smashes the front screen.

3. Guptaji is going to home town by train. He has got himself a top berth so that he may sleep whenever he wishes to. In wee hours of morning, Guptaji tries to get down and discovers that someone had left the turkey towel to dry on the ladder. He jumps and promptly lands on to a fruit knife in open bag below.

4. Guptaji takes a holiday to Kerala. He is happy to see the greenery and fresh air and rolls down the windows of the taxi a take a fresh breath and gets splattered with puke. Someone has put his head out of the window to do so on the bus the taxi is overtaking.

5. Guptaji goes to enquire what the commotion is about in the marketplace. It seems a thief is being given the thrashing. And when the crowd wants to know who the accomplice is, he points to Guptaji and …

6. Guptaji comes home late after a party, changes clothes and goes off to sleep. In the morning, he goes to answer the doorbell and gets a queer look from milkman. He has his wife’s kurta on( all floral prints).

7. Guptaji( I.K Gupta) is a candidate at club election. And all the votes intended for him goes to L.K Gupta because the “L’ was written as ‘l’.

8. Guptaji’s Patient health card is borrowed by brother to avail free medical checkup and he eventually develops complications and dies. The PSU records now consider Gupta dead though he is very much alive. If he told the truth, he will be taken to court and his family will not get even a penny as compensation.

Celebrating 50

This is my 50th post and I would like to celebrate by giving away the Magic Blog award to some fellow bloggers. I like to read these blogs for various reasons. I like:
Insignia for her observations
Neha for her analysis
Aparna for her ruminations
Bikram for his takes on life, situations and customs
silverine for her humour
Destiny's Child for her wide angles and narrow escapes
RGB for her perfection
Karthik for his gift of writing
Anil Kurup for his quests
BK Chowla for his efforts for India
Kavita for information
wise donkey for her intense posts
Tomz for his out of the box posts
Swantantra for her simplicity
Shilpa for her variety posts
Lazy Pineapple for her humour and truthfulness
Sujata for anecdotes & Travelogues
Sana for her pure thoughts
Samvedna for her peaceful views

Comparing Notes

“Hello, we’re planning a get together. Come along. We can relive the good old times”, boomed Mr. Achuthan from the other end.

“Why not? Who else is coming”, asked Dad.

“Oh! The Menons, the Arvindakshans, the Nalinakshans, The Sudhakarans and the Surendrans.”

“ And Hemachandran?”

“ No. His mother in law is not doing fine.”

“Let me call him up”

Before I go further, this presumed get together was for some retired fellows most of them free with kids married and settled in far off places within India or in some foreign country.

“ Hello, Hemachandran? Ah! Why are you not coming over for the get together? You ask your brother in law to manage for a day, no?”

“Eeek! Should one bother?”

“Bother about what?”

“ What can we do? A pack of oldies who can’t drink or smoke or eat their fill? Compare notes on how much sugar one has or pressure? Or talk about the pains and aches? Iam not coming!”

Dad broke out laughing.