Children are still running. But not after those elusive beautiful butterflies or the notices flying from the commander jeep that brings about the news of the arrival of the new movie at the nearby village cinema hall. They run for cover, very sadly. They are running for cover from the raining bullets, 
mortars and shells fired by their insane seniors. Once again I have a few drops of tears to offer to those suffering children of the conflict zones.
On the other side of the coin, there are lucky and privileged children living in the world without knowing what poverty and destitution mean. Sipping Complan and crushing Lays between their teeth, watching televisions and spending mosst of their time in front of the personal computers, they while away their time inside the four walls of their homes. They feel, they are still inside their mothers’ wombs. For them too, I have only tears to offer. Beautiful adolescence is wasted without enjoying it.
There was a time when even the birds in our village was jealous. No wonder if they turned green. We kids were enjoying more freedom than those winged creatures. But they used to give vent to their feelings whenever they got the opportunity. It looked as if the owls in the night did this job on behalf of all the entire avian community. Perched on the branches of the treens in the 'sarpa kaadu' - the places of worships in the premises of our house- these nocturnal adversaries used to give out their characteristic sounds almost every night – hmm…..hmmmmm
The sound resembled 'hmm' in the short note and a consequent 'hmmmm' in the long note. We the kids never ventured out to answer the nature's call after the night fall without being accompanied by the elders. 
We were so frightened to hear the owls’ awkward sounds in the night. Unfortunately, none of our village houses had attached bathrooms or toilets. That was not a fashion those days. Our elders could never imagine discharging one's excreta inside the house itself! Every nature's call was answered in the open air. So, in the night we had to take help from our elders to brave the owls’ vengeance to go out and empty the bladders.
Remembering the "sarpa kaadu", we have six such spots in our house premises- I should say, we still have. Each spots have a few big trees growing and in the 'kaadu'. Amidst the ‘kkadu’, there sits the 'naga raja' – the serpent king. Our grandparents revered the Snake gods and took care of them well. Look, Gods need our care!!! Lighting the lamps
every evening and conducting special poojas once in every year they kept the snake gods in good humour.
My Gnadma had a special interest in keeping the sanctity of these 'kaadu'. She never allowed us to go near them without bath. Those sarpa kaadus are still existing- rather they are surviving. Care from their protagonists has considerably depleted. The sole guardian of the Snake Gods now is my mom. She tries to maintain the same old sanctity intact, though the modern mindset of the newer generations does not want to accept the concept of 'sarpa kaadus' I really have doubt about the future of these places of worship once the older generations disappeared. Even now, a few of such spots in our village were demolished in the name of constructing houses. The occupants were summarily 'transferred' to our temple or to other convenient locations.
What ever be the belief or as some others say superstitions behind the concept of 'Sarpa Kaavu', these "tiny jungles" are definitely contributing greatly to the eco system. Let us leave the believers to their will. As long as the beliefs and faiths do not harm even a tiny ant in the universe, all faiths and beliefs need to be protected and respected
So, the birds had the sky as the limit. They did use the seamless sky to enjoy. Look at them. They never plant RDX in the nest of their fellow birds. They live in perfect harmony with the nature and enjoy the comforts and happiness collectively. We the kids too had almost a seamless play ground to enjoy in our village. The lush green lands, enchanting paddy fields, canals, and ponds were all our 'play grounds'. We too had sky as the limit when it came to enjoyment.
But still Mathai saar had a cage for us. We had to remain in that cage from 10 in the morning till 4 in the evening on every week days. There was no escape from this. Grudgingly or willingly, everyone did present in the cage as mandated by Mathaisaar. Mathai saar was the Headmaster of our LP school. Government LP School was one of the two government establishments our village had at that time.
Akhilanda mandalam aniyichorukki... was the prayer song in our school and the conclusion in the evening was made with the singing of jana gana mana. I do not remember who used to sing the prayer song,
but the national anthem was sung by one and all before we leave the school. Basheer rings the bell at four. What followed the final bell was commotion. Floodgates of excitement are opened. Kids, making shrill noises rush out of the classes. They celebrated the freedom at 4 with its full exuberance. The knickers in one hand and the (often) broken slate on the other hand, we used to rush out of the class as if crows' nests were disturbed.
One more funny thing about some guys and gals were that they regularly sported two tusks emerging from the two holes of their noses. When they take a deep breath, these 'tusks' disappear only to reappear after a few seconds.
Basheer was the peon of our school. He had a special respect among the kids because he was the one who set us free every day. He had another role too- serving the noon meal which we skipped everyday.
There was a reason for our skipping the noon meal. We had a belief that this noon meal is for poor people and the 'lesser mortals' of the society. Sitting among them and eating the uppumavu (upma) was perceived to be demeaning. However, 35 years down the line, I never approve of our attitude of those time. I shall never let my kid think in this line. He will grow us as a person who respects people of every walks of life irrespective of their caste, creed or religion. I guarantee that
Noon meal was uppumavu. There were so many children who were attracted by this and attended school. No wonder, their parents' poverty forced them to send their wards to school only with a view to ensure one full meal a day. Education and acquiring knowledge came next to them. We never waited for the uppuma. I do not remember to have even tasted it.
Kids never returned home straight. They used to visit every house on their way back home. They visited every mango and cashew tree and picked all those tender mangoes and nuts from the ground. Sometimes they stone the trees only to be chased by the elders of the houses. By the time kids reach home, hands and pockets would be filled with the collections. Tender mangoes are best for soaking in saline water. Chutney using soaked tender mangoes and coconuts gives a special taste. When we graduated into the UP school, the main dish in the lunch box was usually this chutney.
Any narration of the LP school of my memory shall never be complete without mentioning Postman Krishnan Nair. At that time, we did not have a post office in our village. We were connected to our kins outside Keralam through letters and money orders. Postman Krishnana Nair was the middleman in this connection. The nearest post office was at Poochakkal. He used to walk from there and deliver the messages and cash everyday. Though the element of our sincerity in waiting anxiously for letters from outside is debatable, everyone of the family in the village certainly waited for the money orders.
Postman KrishnanNair had to cross through our school premises to reach the southern part of Olavaipe. After delivering letters and money orders in the northern part, he walks past our school premises. Incidentally, this was the time we get the interval. Spotting the postman, kids run and make a ring around him. They curiously enquire if any letters were there for their family. The postman passively replies 'no' to all those queries and rushes past the kids. The kids run after the postman till he crosses the southern side fence of our school. Even though the kids were not so serious about letters, they found it an opportunity to tease the frail old man.
Kannusaar was our teacher in the second standard. He came from the neighbouring village. Mathai saar and Basheer also came from the nearby villages. Kannusaar used to ride a bycycle. He was a easy go lucky kind of teacher. But still he never wasted any opportunity to punish erring children. His weapon of submission was pinching. Right down the arm pit he chooses a spot and start winding up the skin in between his fingers. Though it was a painful experience, many kids struggled hard to hide it. Prestige was at stake, per se!
Mathaisaar spanks the kids. He had a trademark smile and a kaalan kuda hanging from the collar of his shirt when he walks to and from the school. Though the teachers never left any cherishable memories in our minds, Mathaisaar still walks in my memories, sporting his smile and ofcourse the kaalan kuda on the collar of the shirt . After I left the LPSchool, I never met Kannusaar or Mathaisaar. The bitter part of the otherwise sweet memories of childhood was the indifference both the Gurus and the Sishyas showed towards each other.
Krishnan Nair was a poor old man who eked out a living by distributing the letters and money orders to the public. Emperor Sibi was a King who ruled his empire with compassion. He was no ordinary human like the postman. He was a great king and a kind hearted human being. . He was the epitome of all virtues. He was ever ready to even lay down his life to help others. What better stories than this could we be taught in standard II? The poem about Kunjiyamma,her five children, the fifth chied Kunju,his boat and the sugar bags stacked in the boat. It is hard to forget all these stories and characters.
I wish once again a class room in front of Kannusaar were recreated. Sitting among the little rascals Jayachandran, Minikumari, janardhanan, Balachandran, Sivarajan, Mahilamani, Prathapan and shaji I want to recite the poem “ raagi parakkunna chemparunthe…”
Nostalgia, you are like Puspaka Vimanam. How quickly you took me to those golden days of childhood…and how quickly you dropped me back to the real world of worries and uncertainities….
