Visakhapatnam -3: Some feeble memories

Just opposite the restaurant, there was an oil mill. Two bulls blind folded and tied to a pole used to walked round and round for hours. We used to sit in front of the restaurant looking at those bulls. Those bulls would have walked hundreds of kilometers in their life time. At last, when they were no longer able to work, they would have been unceremoniously bundled up into a truck that would have transported the bulls to Keralam!!

Ramesh Cafe, that was the name of the restaurant. It was named after our eldest brother. Our grandma used to describe as "Vadakku" that means North when she referred to Visakhapatnam. For her, Visakhapatnam was somewhere in the North and perhaps her imagination about north had extended only upto Visakhapatnam!

When our parents return from Kerala, they sent telegram to home informing their safe arrival in Vizag. That brought a big relief to everyone at home. The news would have come after four days of their setting out from home. As our mom and dad board the wooden boat to Kuthiathode, from where they took bus to Ernakulam, the flood gates of sadness opened up and we were left unconsoled. Still, people like our grandparents and of course, our Babuchettan (the eldest brother) made everything feel at ease.

For the next few months, there followed letters and money orders. The postman, the brisk walking old man from Poochakkal, was a usual visitor to our home like to many other houses. In one of the letters, amma informed that a bicycle was being sent as a parcel through the railways. It was certainly not a BMW car to be so excited about the parcel, but our anxiety had no limit.

We spent sleepless nights to see the cycle in front of our home. By that time, we learnt cycling by hiring small bicycles on rent. That was called "half cycle." Learning bicycle was so entertaining. At least once, everyone fell from the two wheeler and made extensive bruises. We took this as the license to ride a bicycle. Guys took turns to ride as the others run after the cycle to prevent the rider from falling down. After several hours of rides, everyone became expert in cycle riding

The wait for the coveted prize was too long. It had to be transported by the coal locomotive those days. Those were the days, like the government departments in our country, the Railways put the public in the last of their priority. A consignment booked in railways might take days or weeks together to reach the destination. The letters posted in Visakhapatnam reached home after a minimum of ten days. The contents of the letters usually were all about well being there and enquiring after the well being here. Each one in the family was asked about in the letters. Reply too will be filled with well being here and equiring well being there.

The news about a birth or a death in the village, rain on the previous day, number of coconuts harvested for the month, start of cultivation in the paddy field... the letter turned out to be a treasure trove of information. The funny thing was that our grandma and grandpa wrote separate letters to Visakhapatnam as they were at loggerheads for years together due to the reasons best known them. Grandpa could read and write and he wrote his own letters. For the illiterate grandma, her younger daughter wrote and many other times, we did it.

" Priyapetta Radha ariyuvaan...." grandma dictated the words. Radha was the name of my mom whom my grandma affectionately called thus. A well written letter those days was like a poem. That was the power of mother tongue. We could flawlessly express our feelings as our thinking was in our own mother tongue. In the age of emails, the art of letter writing in mother tongue is dead. Even if we venture into writing a letter, more than half the words in it will be English.

At last, the cycle has come but it did not come to our house. To our utter shock we heard that this cycle was meant for another person who was also a member of our team in Vizag. It was heart breaking. We all felt so angry with our parents. Money orders from the "north" would have kept usin good humour always. We could meet our reasonable demands with ease everythime. But still, the Bicycle episode left us sulking for a long time.

It took an year or two more to get our own bicycle. That was a modern looking one with a stylish handle, and wheels. By the time it had come, we were good riders. The owner of this luxury vehicle was our eldest brother. He used it to reach the nearest bus stop, around three kilometers away on this cycle. The first cycle was not so good looking. It was good that we did not get the first cycle as it was not so fashionable too. But, still the happiness those "half cycles" gifted us on several occasions including on Onam eves could never be repeated by any substitues.

The villages were less polluted and the life was still in harmony with the nature. Slowly but steadily, the cycles gave way to luxury cars and motor bikes. Now, on the single narrow road in our village, many bikes and cars are running at high speeds. The road has become unsafe for children and old people to venture out. In this insecure world, kids are confined to the four walls around our homes. There, these kids happily spend their blissful time in front of the internet, video games and television. The worried parents look out for their children straying into forbidden pastures....