Monsoon sets in in God’s own country on first day of June every year. Lightning, thunder and heavy wind accompanied by heavy rains mark monsoon in Keralam. It starts with a heavy cloud somewhere on the western part of the horizon- a huge dark cloud suddenly appears there. Within a few minutes, we hear a roar. The roar starts sometimes from the north, sometimes from west and sometimes from a corner.
The most attractive sight of monsoon in my memory was the swinging of the tall coconut trees in the heavy wind. Tall coconut trees swing from one end to another like a pendulum. At the back drop of an over cast sky and incessant rains, this gives an enchanting view, although my wild imaginations at times end up in the tree falling right on our house!
I feared monsoon because of its fury. The heavy winds and the deadly lightnings and thunders had all made a heady blend of a furious South-West monsoon. This always made my monsoon days very uncomfortable. Honestly, even at this age, I avoid being in Keralam because of my fear of monsoon- the fear I could not yet conquer.
Exactly on June first, schools are opened. After a no holds barred enjoyment for two months in the summer, it is time we must confine ourselves to the diktats of a few wise individuals whose technical name is teachers.
Every year, when the school examination results come out and the new admission starts, Antony sir from SMSJHS Thykattuserry sits with Mathai sir, the headmaster of Government LP School, Olavaipe to take away all the kids to his school. Our village school had only upto fourth standard. This is an age old practice. Almost all our elder brothers and sisters studied in SMSJHS and we had no other way but to follow them suit.
We never knew why our parents used to push us to all these hardships to endure. Not even a single day, even on the day one, they accompanied us to school. Of late, when we were past our innocence, we could understand the selfish motive of the school management. This exercise they did every year was in order to show adequate students in all divisions of the classes to the visiting AEO or DEO. This AEO babu visited our school once in a year largely as a ritual. Teachers were a bundle of nerves when this event happened every year
At a tender age of 9, unaccompanied by parents, not protected but supported by our seniors, we had to undertake a journey of around three kilometers on foot to reach the high school. A walk through the paddy fields, walkways, premises of many houses , roads and a ferry in between complete the journey.
Hardships never ended there. The headmaster of the school was a terror. Achuthan Nair was a hot headed and short tempered headmaster. He was always likened to Yahya Khan the erstwhile dictator of Pakistan. True to his nick name, he was never helped us find a home away from home in that school. The funny thing about our high school was that almost all the male teachers and a few famale teachers had nick names. Respectful pupils paid rich tributes to the teachers this way
Our gang consisting of around eight kids starts to school early in the morning.I mean, we started everyday at eight. In the present scenario, kids are seen on the road with heavy back-packs even at six in the morning. None of us took Boost, Horlicks or Complan before setting out for such an expedition at eight o clock every morning. As a matter of fact many of the kids would have started from home taking previous night’s remnants. No one complained about it. They all knew, their parents could never bring moon to them. We all were content with what we had but we were lavishly spending our time enjoying the childhood. No burdens of heavy syllabus ever forced us to sacrifice our childhood.
I shall honestly thank my parents for not sending us to English medium schools. Thanks to their ignorance, I can now speak, read and write my sweet mother tongue fluently. I don't care if I do not know English. I am sure if I were sent to an English Medium school, I would have ended up knowing neither English nor my mother tongue fluently. That's the way languages are handled in most of the English Medium schools
Heavy rains always accompany our trekking. The ferry was the most feared part of the journey. The ferry across the back waters of width around 200 meters used to send shivers down the spine. The small wooden boat owned by the Panchayat and commandeered by the old man named Thevi constituted the ferry. This crossing on our way to the school used to test our guts almost every day. The reason for us starting early to school was to avoid crowd in the boat during the peak time.
Thevi was an old infirm man with filariasis in both the limbs. He rows the boat using a bamboo pole. This pole, he occasionally used to kick the kids who do not sit properly in the boat. Though he ferried us everyday sincerely, we felt unsecured in the boat. He was the most hated man at that time. We kids had no other way but bear with this old man.
Rain at its furious worst strikes precisely at 4 in the evening- the time we were released from the strangle holds of the wise men and women. Many of the kids had never owned an umbrella. They could never afford to one those days. They take the help of others- owning an umbrella. Many others took the help of plantain leaves or polythene sheets to avoid drenching.
Those days, books were not carried in bags. I do not remember to have seen a bag those days. Books were carried on the shoulder. The bunch of books was bound by a rubber band or an elastic strip around it. We never carried all the books to school every day. Instead, we strictly followed the time table. Interestingly, I was one of the very few lucky kids who possessed an aluminum box to carry the books – thanks to the urban connection we had had at that time. My father was working in Visakhapatnam and all our study gears used to come from Vizag.
While talking about carrying books on the shoulder, I must write about the lunch box too. A humble small cylindrical shaped steel vessel with a round handle was our lunch box. As we hold the books on the shoulder, this lunch carrier hangs from the folded hand. The lunch box invariably contained rice and ‘thenga chammandi’ ( coconut chutney) – the chutney that was crushed manually in a grinder made of stone . I do not remember to have carried anything other than this to school those days. Interestingly, in our village, ‘thengachammandi’ is still made using stone grinder, including at my home
Many times, we get stuck up on the shores of the back waters as the adverse weather prevents the boat to sail. Heavy wind kicks up big waves. Boat gets tossed in the wave that may even sink if the children in it panic. Remember, the commander was an old man who could not even stand up properly. We had to take shelter in the nearby huts or shops to save ourselves from the fury of the nature
One such shelter was a soda lime manufacturing unit. It was owned by the parents of my friend Udayan. Soda lime is produced by heating up the shells collected from the back waters. The flesh in the shells is used as a delicious dish. Many times, this raw manufacturing plant had heat in it that kept us warm. Remember we were just kids of 8 to 15 years who braved all these vagaries of the weather. By the way, my dear friend Udayan passed away recently after being diagnosed cancer.
One such shelter was a soda lime manufacturing unit. It was owned by the parents of my friend Udayan. Soda lime is produced by heating up the shells collected from the back waters. The flesh in the shells is used as a delicious dish. Many times, this raw manufacturing plant had heat in it that kept us warm. Remember we were just kids of 8 to 15 years who braved all these vagaries of the weather. By the way, my dear friend Udayan passed away recently after being diagnosed cancer.
Did the paths that we treaded religiously everyday for five long years in our life help us someway? Probably yes. It certainly helped us learn how to take rough patches in life in our stead. Now, looking from my old house, I cannot spot a tall coconut tree in our land. All those tall ones were either cut for wood or destroyed due to various diseases. There are no big trees living in our land now. We had a few big mango tress once upon a time. Even the rustic lots like us learnt the hollowness of the argument that trees are essential for the environment!
I must add this much too...my eight years old son carries books in a bag that weighs anything around three kilos. No time tables to be followed. He brings back a lot of home work. In fact those home works are meant for his parents.
The most attractive sight of monsoon in my memory was the swinging of the tall coconut trees in the heavy wind. Tall coconut trees swing from one end to another like a pendulum. At the back drop of an over cast sky and incessant rains, this gives an enchanting view, although my wild imaginations at times end up in the tree falling right on our house!
I feared monsoon because of its fury. The heavy winds and the deadly lightnings and thunders had all made a heady blend of a furious South-West monsoon. This always made my monsoon days very uncomfortable. Honestly, even at this age, I avoid being in Keralam because of my fear of monsoon- the fear I could not yet conquer.
Exactly on June first, schools are opened. After a no holds barred enjoyment for two months in the summer, it is time we must confine ourselves to the diktats of a few wise individuals whose technical name is teachers.
Every year, when the school examination results come out and the new admission starts, Antony sir from SMSJHS Thykattuserry sits with Mathai sir, the headmaster of Government LP School, Olavaipe to take away all the kids to his school. Our village school had only upto fourth standard. This is an age old practice. Almost all our elder brothers and sisters studied in SMSJHS and we had no other way but to follow them suit.
We never knew why our parents used to push us to all these hardships to endure. Not even a single day, even on the day one, they accompanied us to school. Of late, when we were past our innocence, we could understand the selfish motive of the school management. This exercise they did every year was in order to show adequate students in all divisions of the classes to the visiting AEO or DEO. This AEO babu visited our school once in a year largely as a ritual. Teachers were a bundle of nerves when this event happened every year
At a tender age of 9, unaccompanied by parents, not protected but supported by our seniors, we had to undertake a journey of around three kilometers on foot to reach the high school. A walk through the paddy fields, walkways, premises of many houses , roads and a ferry in between complete the journey.
Hardships never ended there. The headmaster of the school was a terror. Achuthan Nair was a hot headed and short tempered headmaster. He was always likened to Yahya Khan the erstwhile dictator of Pakistan. True to his nick name, he was never helped us find a home away from home in that school. The funny thing about our high school was that almost all the male teachers and a few famale teachers had nick names. Respectful pupils paid rich tributes to the teachers this way
Our gang consisting of around eight kids starts to school early in the morning.I mean, we started everyday at eight. In the present scenario, kids are seen on the road with heavy back-packs even at six in the morning. None of us took Boost, Horlicks or Complan before setting out for such an expedition at eight o clock every morning. As a matter of fact many of the kids would have started from home taking previous night’s remnants. No one complained about it. They all knew, their parents could never bring moon to them. We all were content with what we had but we were lavishly spending our time enjoying the childhood. No burdens of heavy syllabus ever forced us to sacrifice our childhood.
I shall honestly thank my parents for not sending us to English medium schools. Thanks to their ignorance, I can now speak, read and write my sweet mother tongue fluently. I don't care if I do not know English. I am sure if I were sent to an English Medium school, I would have ended up knowing neither English nor my mother tongue fluently. That's the way languages are handled in most of the English Medium schools
Heavy rains always accompany our trekking. The ferry was the most feared part of the journey. The ferry across the back waters of width around 200 meters used to send shivers down the spine. The small wooden boat owned by the Panchayat and commandeered by the old man named Thevi constituted the ferry. This crossing on our way to the school used to test our guts almost every day. The reason for us starting early to school was to avoid crowd in the boat during the peak time.
Thevi was an old infirm man with filariasis in both the limbs. He rows the boat using a bamboo pole. This pole, he occasionally used to kick the kids who do not sit properly in the boat. Though he ferried us everyday sincerely, we felt unsecured in the boat. He was the most hated man at that time. We kids had no other way but bear with this old man.
Rain at its furious worst strikes precisely at 4 in the evening- the time we were released from the strangle holds of the wise men and women. Many of the kids had never owned an umbrella. They could never afford to one those days. They take the help of others- owning an umbrella. Many others took the help of plantain leaves or polythene sheets to avoid drenching.
Those days, books were not carried in bags. I do not remember to have seen a bag those days. Books were carried on the shoulder. The bunch of books was bound by a rubber band or an elastic strip around it. We never carried all the books to school every day. Instead, we strictly followed the time table. Interestingly, I was one of the very few lucky kids who possessed an aluminum box to carry the books – thanks to the urban connection we had had at that time. My father was working in Visakhapatnam and all our study gears used to come from Vizag.
While talking about carrying books on the shoulder, I must write about the lunch box too. A humble small cylindrical shaped steel vessel with a round handle was our lunch box. As we hold the books on the shoulder, this lunch carrier hangs from the folded hand. The lunch box invariably contained rice and ‘thenga chammandi’ ( coconut chutney) – the chutney that was crushed manually in a grinder made of stone . I do not remember to have carried anything other than this to school those days. Interestingly, in our village, ‘thengachammandi’ is still made using stone grinder, including at my home
Many times, we get stuck up on the shores of the back waters as the adverse weather prevents the boat to sail. Heavy wind kicks up big waves. Boat gets tossed in the wave that may even sink if the children in it panic. Remember, the commander was an old man who could not even stand up properly. We had to take shelter in the nearby huts or shops to save ourselves from the fury of the nature
One such shelter was a soda lime manufacturing unit. It was owned by the parents of my friend Udayan. Soda lime is produced by heating up the shells collected from the back waters. The flesh in the shells is used as a delicious dish. Many times, this raw manufacturing plant had heat in it that kept us warm. Remember we were just kids of 8 to 15 years who braved all these vagaries of the weather. By the way, my dear friend Udayan passed away recently after being diagnosed cancer.
One such shelter was a soda lime manufacturing unit. It was owned by the parents of my friend Udayan. Soda lime is produced by heating up the shells collected from the back waters. The flesh in the shells is used as a delicious dish. Many times, this raw manufacturing plant had heat in it that kept us warm. Remember we were just kids of 8 to 15 years who braved all these vagaries of the weather. By the way, my dear friend Udayan passed away recently after being diagnosed cancer.
Did the paths that we treaded religiously everyday for five long years in our life help us someway? Probably yes. It certainly helped us learn how to take rough patches in life in our stead. Now, looking from my old house, I cannot spot a tall coconut tree in our land. All those tall ones were either cut for wood or destroyed due to various diseases. There are no big trees living in our land now. We had a few big mango tress once upon a time. Even the rustic lots like us learnt the hollowness of the argument that trees are essential for the environment!
I must add this much too...my eight years old son carries books in a bag that weighs anything around three kilos. No time tables to be followed. He brings back a lot of home work. In fact those home works are meant for his parents.
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