My sweet Grandma

Three "kathina vedi" go off exactly at 3 O'clock at the Thuravoor Mahadevar temple everyday morning. Grandma along with Mahadevan wakes up hearing this. A hectic day starts there. Thuravoor temple is located probably 5 kilometers crow's distance. The thunderous kathina vedi sound could easily travel up to grandma's ears in the small hours of the day. Kathina vedi is a special type of fire crackers extensively used in Kerala temples. On most of the special occasions, Kathina was the only fire cracker went off in our village temple. Even on the festival days, kathina found its prominent place always. No temple festival could be complete without elephants, police and kathina vedi.

Grandma believed that the sound of the fire crackers from the Mahadevar Temple ends the free for all of the ghosts, yakshis and umpteen other extra-natural evil entities that roams about in the night to suck blood of the people who were caught in the darkness.  She strongly believed in Ghosts. There was always an iron sickle under her bed. She slept in an unassuming cot in the room adjacent to the kitchen. There was no electric fan in the room. Hand fan was the only way to give some relief from the hot nights of summer. There was another enemy to fight with. Mosquitoes. She used the term "chakka kothuku" for the giant sized mosquitoes with great exaggeration. All of us used hand fans to fight the heat and the nocturnal predators that sucked our blood. Thank god, had a yakshi or a ghosts sucked my blood, I would not have lived to tell this story!!

Everyone feared mosquitoes, because, Cherthala had the largest number of cases of elephantiasis. There were so many beleaguered men and women in Olavaipe with swelled legs. It was a pathetic scene to look at our boatman Thevi rowing the boat with both his legs affected by the obnoxious disease.  There was a time people of Cherthala found it hard to get a spouse because no one wanted be a partner to a prospective patient or carry the burden of a horrible malady by himself/herself.

The first thing grandma does, erect in the cot, was to call out her loyal assistant. "Edi Meenaskhi", Dee Meenakshee"...like a chant, this went on for a while. Meenaskiyamma who slept in the kitchen found it hard to wake up in the wee hours of the day. Grandma would never let her sleep more than that. Somehow, cursing all gods, Meenakshiyamma stands on her feet, roll the mat and dumps in grandma's room. Smoky stove lit up and the breakfast and lunch for her beloved grand children get ready there. Idly coconut chutney, puttu-channa masala, Dosa with chutney...so many mouth watering items took shape in the caring efforts of the duo. 

Appam was made in a different way. Soaked rice along with small onions, green chilly and jeera were ground in the stone grinder and the paste is poured in a shallow steel plate.  This then cooked in steam. Appam's combination was dry coconut chutney. It was so delicious. I do not remember to have eaten this appam after grandma left us.  Making sambar was a big task as boiling toor dal consumed too much of wood and time. Even after boiling dal for several minutes, it  still remained half boiled. But before cooking anything else, Meenakshiyamma made "kappippodi vellam", the traditional black coffee. It was a sour tasting coffee made using the coffee powder bought from the village's soul provision store. In the absence of multi branded coffee powders that flood the market now, there were not many things to choose  from in those days. The coffee itself was called "vellam" that sounded the coffee like water. Tea was always called "theyila vellam".  However, it kept their sleep at bay effectively

By the time we got ready for school,everything was ready. The cylindrical steel container was packed with rice and coconut chutney. Almost all children carried rice and chutney to school everyday. The brown coloured kerala rice, fondly called "kutthari" takes excruciatingly long time to cook. The low efficient stoves compounded the misery. I do not think the villagers of those days thought of any other rice to cook. That was a way of life. We had storage containers to keep rice that was harvested from our own paddy fields. The wooden storage container is still existing in our house. Perhaps, it houses only cockroaches now. So many times we boys were asked to enter this container to take out the grains. Inside the container, it was pitch darkness that greeted us. The only thing I did not like inside the container was the cockroaches that used to run on to my body often. 

Grandma and her assistants including our neighbourhood aunt boiled the grains in big bronze vessels, dried under sun.Drying the boiled rice grains itself was a big task. The wet grains were dumped in a mat and spread evenly. One had to stand by all through the day to keep away the crows, pigeons and chickens from picking away the grains. Many times the position of the mat had to be shifted so that it comes under the direct sun light. Suddenly, there may appear dark clouds. Commosion follows to pick the grains and move to safe place. This process continues for at least three days.  The grains were then taken to the village flour mill to remove the husk. I carried on my head the grains in bags to the mill many times although with much reluctance.  I could not say no to grandma's repeated requests to do this. 

There comes the bran as a byproduct of the process. Barn is brought back along with rice.The fine powdered barn is sifted and separated. It is very tasty to eat with sugar or jaggery. The water separated after boiling the rice too was considered healthy. Most of the time barn was used as fodder for the cow grandma maintained at home. Many times ladies removed husk of the unboiled grains manually using "ural" and "ulakka" The rice then soaked in water and then ground in the manual ginding stone along with other ingredients and then poured in plates and steam cooked. These rice appams were the food grandma offered us while we returned from school. We desrved the best in the evening because we braved the weather everyday as a routine. Severe monsoon rains, crossing fear instilling backwaters, walking a few kilometers in hot sun or heavy rains along the narrow bunds of paddy fields...the expeditions was never ending in the process of schooling.  

Days were always hectic in grandma's life. She always kept her right hand Meenakshiyamma on her toes. After the morning chorus, it is preparation for the lunch,then the evening tea and then the dinner. In the middle, Meenakshiyamma rushes to the paddy fields to cut grass for the cow. Coconut husks were taken to the nearby water body to soak. These husks were soaked in water for several days and later they were pounded with wooden logs to make fibre. These fibres were then woven to coir. Dry coconut leaves were soaked in the water body for days and then woven to make plaited leaves. These leaves were in great demand for thatching houses and fencing. How fast meenaksiyamma's and aunt's hands moved while weaving the leaves. All these activities were reserved for the time slot after the "Sadhyadeepam" the holy lantern was lit and before grandpa walks in after his temple visit. The ladies dealt so many subjects as the work was in progress. Subjects obviously purely gossips about men and women around us. Discussions were often laced with jealousy and a little bit of derision.Probably, admiration was very hard to come out in the discussions. We children sat for homework with eyes glued to the book and ears to the discussions. Everything comes to an end when grandpa retuns from temple at around 9 in the night. 

It is dinner time. Grandma deposits rice and other dishes in a plate and calls us out. "Take it to grandpa" she instructs. We were a little scared of him because he was always serious. We gently put the plate on the floor in the hall and then call him for the dinner "Muthacha, choru". He never came nearby the kitchen or the usual place all other dined because he did not like fish. No one stood nearby him when he took food as all were afraid of him. Grandma never served food to him as far as my memory goes. He finishes food quietly and sometimes not so quietly. At times he got angry and there ensued an interesting duel between the old couple. 

That was the routine. She was an illiterate woman. She hardly knew about the world outside Olavaipe. Though we children could read Malayalam, we too like grandma never even touched the Malayalam daily we subscribed at home. When the Emergency was over and the horrific stories of police atrocities were occupying the newspaper pages, we along with grandma and Meenakshiyamma listened to the news read out by our mother's younger sister. She had a rhythm in reading. It reverberates still in my ears. The other source of information was the All India Radio controlled by the government. More than the content, the way the news was read out in the "akashavani" was very endearing. Though, grandma did not know the worldly things, she was very sure about her democratic right of casting vote in the elections. On every election day, she walked up to our LP school and marked her vote on  the Cow and the Calf symbol.

I challenge the God, the all powerful Almighty. If He really wields the power his blind bhakthas bestowed on him, let Him bring back my sweet grandma. Give me back my sweet childhood. In retun, take away all that He claims to have given me all through my life...

Just Jottings -3

Sunny side up. Till the other day I did not know about the auto-up gradation of class of journey on trains. This time, when I booked the ticket, I clicked on the option 'consider auto upgrade'. Ticket booking on railways is just like sipping a tea now, but still it is impossible  to get confirmed tickets if do not plan the journeys much in advance. We can never get tickets on routs like Chennai-Bangalore, Chennai-Trichy and so on even if we try to book weeks ahead. Of course it is also a game played by the all pervasive corrupt elements in the railways and its parasites to make some quick money. Even the black overcoat was once used as a convenient device to keep ill gotten money extracted from the passengers. 

This time, on board the train a little girl was traveling with her parents. She was talking non stopping in her not yet clear accent. The little cute baby was a nice thing to look at. Innocence was in full flow and what is more beautiful on earth than innocence of a child? This girl, to my surprise, when asked to sing a song, sung it in praise of Jesus. That toddler could recite a prayer, but even at this age, I can't. As I have been enjoying that innocence, the black coat sporting ticket examiner came and while checking the ticket informed that my ticket has been upgraded to the next upper class. I walked away to the new location and slept like a baby till the next morning. Learning never ends. Let it continue and may such journeys help collecting new bits of knowledge

I only pray, that cute little girl grow up in a peaceful atmosphere where no one casts evil eyes on her. Being a female is becoming increasingly difficult in this world. Around half of the population. Fear of being attacked sexually, physically or mentally from any quarter including her own family. Pedophiles, voyeurs, rapists, acid attackers, social media hawks...there is a long list of dangerous people around the women. In the war zones, women are being kidnapped and used as sex slaves. These spine chilling acts by perverted minds are happening even as we boast of becoming technologically far advanced. The 21st century is called the digital age where the unimaginable things will be made to happen. Of course, killing and dying in the name of religion is an unimaginable thing. Modern day gadgets are used only to drag our society to the stone age. The shell shocked civil society is just watching the horror unfolding, rather helplessly...

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/world/middle-east/Yazidi-women-gang-raped-in-public-by-Isis-fighters-harrowing-accounts-reveal/articleshow/46876768.cms

There occurred  a shocking incident a few days back. A young Indian woman was brutally murdered in Australia while she had been walking out of a railway station and talking to her husband in India over phone. Husband heard her begging the killer for mercy and then her screams. Just imagine she knew a few tricks of self defense. If she could take out a few steps of marshaling arts at the time of those disparate moments, perhaps she could have saved herself. Parents must take a lesson from this incident. Instead of pushing the children towards singing and dancing,  we must consider imparting some self defense tactics to the children. IITs and IIMS can wait. First, we must ensure that our children are alive and kicking. 

Last month, after I checked out of the Abu Dhabi hotel for the return journey to India, I had to wait for the taxi at the hotel lounge for a while to go to the airport. As I have been cooling my heels at the lounge, a young man came out of the lift and approached me. He wore an endearing smile. He first wished me and then shook my hand. Then moved to the man sitting nearby. That man looked to be of African origin. The young man introduced himself as a stranger and wanted to just say a hello. The man obliged, smiled and shook the young man's hand. Then, that young guy walked away with unsteady steps. Of course, he was drunk, but his gesture towards the strangers was very good. It certainly lightened my heart. I am sure it did the same to the other one too. I too wish to do the same, I mean, wishing everyone, even the strangers. Smile at them. Exchange pleasantries. That makes a difference. But, I am afraid to do so because, in our country, strangers are considered hostile all the time. If we smile at a stranger, he/she may think that something has gone wrong. Let us hope, people's attitude will undergo changes slowly but surely

The television in front of me is incessantly beaming advertisements on Akshaya Thritheeya. The Malayalam channels too are busy promoting akshaya thritheeya even as Vishu is round the corner. I wonder what is this fuss all about. The jewelry shops are constantly brainwashing the people to buy gold in the name of a superstition. Gold is sold with 916 hallmark. That means the gold sold in any shop has the same quality. Then why do these big sharks spend crores on advertisements? Big superstars are lined up to say lies to the people whom they are depending on for their livelihood. Superstition like this must be strongly discouraged by the forward looking people. Recently, a Karnataka minister went to a graveyard and ate food during the lunar eclipse. Symbolism, indeed.  There are very dangerous superstitions existing in the world- the concept of Heaven, Hell and Rebirth. These are just nonsense. How can even well informed young minds be corrupted with such beliefs? Can killing and dying for a cause like religion and god take people to Heaven? 

Instead of harping on symbolism, learned, refined, wise and informed people must work hard to alleviate such mindset. People with scientific temper shall not believe this. Hell and heaven do exist on this earth itself and we are responsible to make either of this. Blowing up people into pieces or slitting the throats can only usher in hell. Peaceful coexistence of all faiths and beliefs naturally bring about heaven. 

Meenakshi Amma

Meenakshi Amma passed away. Curtains to 92 years of very ordinary existence. The world has not stood still. People did not mourn. She was no Indira Gandhi. On the day of Indira's death, we were around 15 kilometers away from home. We had to walk all the way back to reach home as there was a total shut down in the country. What had followed that death was the most harrowing incidents. People of a particular community had been hunted down. Burnt alive.  Garlanded with burning tyres. Stabbed and beaten to death. It is simply explained as the reverberation when a big tree falls. I only pray such trees would not fall once again in our country.

Meenakshi amma's departure only brought relief to the world around her. She had been bed- ridden for the past few months. Last time when I met her, she was out of her senses. There was no response from her to the repeated calls. Bed sours were visible from different parts of the frail body. For a moment, I wished she had been called back at the earliest. That is the sad part of this life. The mortal part undergoes continuous change. Like Yudhishtir told to the Yaksha, everyone knows one day he/she has to die, but still the run to achieve something in life continues. "Day after day countless creatures are going to the abode of Yama, yet those that remain behind believe themselves to be immortal. What can be more wonderful than this?" At the last leg of all these rush, this is how a human being becomes. Incapacitated and virtually turn out to be a burden to the near and dear ones. That is a stage in our life. Everyone around us impatiently waiting to see the last breath. This woman was very lucky. Her "uneducated" children never dumped her in an old age home or left her to the mercy of a home nurse. She would have enjoyed the care of the children and especially the daughter-in-law who lived with her.

She was the right hand of our beloved grandma. Meenakshi Amma claims that she entered our home when I was born. Since then, for around 40 years, she served all of us. She stayed in our house though her house was just a few meters away. Hers was a very poor family. Her husband passed away long time back leaving behind two children to be taken care by this poor woman. This might have forced her to go to work. The elder boy at a young age went to Vizag to assist my papa and the younger one stayed back as mamma's boy. Both of them did not do any formal education, but Meenakshiyamma could read newspapers.

The most vivid thing in my memory about this woman is her preparation of fish curry. She had a stoop. She could bend fully down while still on her feet. She cleaned fish in that posture, standing in the open space just north side of the kitchen accompanied by a number of crows and a dog and a cat. The unwanted parts of the fish were thrown to these creatures. While throwing them, she used to say, she would feed only the dogs, because they are very loyal. When we reach heaven, dog will talk in favour of us, while the cat, even if we feed them, would talk only bad about us. For her, the crows were the souls of the ones who departed us. I stood by her all through the process of cleaning to pour water to the earthen pot. Several times, I lifted water from the well as she cleaned the fish thoroughly. By the time she finished it the fish would look silver. The dogs' eyes look shinier and the happy crows fly away with a sumptuous dinner...

She then takes a coconut, removes the husk using the tool, breaks and grates. The grated coconut is then places on the grinding stone along with all ingredients and she starts crushing the mix. It is a long process. In every one's house, by the side of the kitchen, there located a grinding stone. Our beloved ladies worked on it to churn out delicious food to us. The efforts went into each item deserves a salute. The finely crushed paste along with the pieces of fish is then put on the stove in an earthen vassel. The stove is powered by wooden logs. Our kitchens were once a place were smoke ruled the roost. Our moms and grandmas spent a major part of their life in the middle of smoke. The rest of their life could be spent to rear her children. The fish curry is the best dish Meenakshiyamma made under the supervision of grandma. It ought to be the testiest, because it is made with love, affection and commitment. 

We devoured. On holidays it was with the lunch and on weekdays, we had it with the dinner. We had a bench and a desk to eat food. Grandma served food and we three brothers sat together to eat the dinner. We talked a lot while enjoying the fish curry. Our eldest brother used to perform a "Ottanthullal" on the silly things happening in our village Olavaipe. It was all about the first bus service started from Olavaipe. People  have celebrated the first step towards development. Sadly, our village has not put another step forward yet. Still one bus comes and goes as a routine. Ottanthullal and the spicy fish curry made an exhilarating combo for entertainment. 

The verses of Ottanthullal were impromptu but sounded very funny. My elder brother acted as the second man, like in the traditional enactment of the great art, and repeated the verses sung by the main performer. That peppered up the fragrance of the spicy fish curry. At the end of the dinner we could have become just like a snake that gulped a prey. At the end of the dinner, the lukewarm jeera water. As the warm water goes down the neck, the happiness touches the crescendo. Grandma and Meenakshiyamma sat on the floor and took food after we vacated the scene. Then, Mennakshiyamma takes all the utensils and plates to the well. She cleans them using ash. I always walked down up to the well to lift water. By the time the entire process was completed, it could be 10 in the night. She slept in the kitchen itself in a mat only to be woken up by grandma by 4 in the morning. Grandma always had anxiety. She wanted the breakfast and the lunch to be ready by the time we were ready to go to school. 

Meenakshiyamma lived a very simple life till the end. In fact she was forced to do that since there was no big income to her family. By the time the younger son married, she shifted her stay to the little house our papa constructed for her in her land. Still she visited our house everyday and joined in all activities in the kitchen. Her connection with our family was like an umbilical chord.

Meenakshiyamma, in my view, is another example for living happily even though not being rich. She used to handover a small part of money to my mom from the paltry amount of the old age pension she received from the government. That is what richness means - the willingness to share. She could see her hut like house turn into a good looking  and more comfortable dwelling place in the sun-set period. She died in the revamped house, perhaps with a sense of satisfaction. Her soul would have gone to the heavens, no doubt. 

Everyone came to bid adieu to the mortal remains looked very pleasant. In villages this is still happening- cutting across caste,creed and economic divides, all assemble on such occasions. Whoever came there gave their last respect to the body and then hung around outside the house. In small groups they were discussing various subjects, from politics to children's education to their jobs while impatiently waiting for the cremation to start. No point of time the name of the departed soul came in the discussions. Once the smoke started emanating from the pyre, one after the other everyone dispersed. Perhaps, that also could be the society's dynamism. Agony or ecstasy, to share or not, villagers are readily available on the spot. To that extent, our villages are blessed...

O God, He's Grown up!!

There was a screaming passenger in the flight. For me, every journey is a chance to snooze away, forgetting everything happening in the universe. It could be the dirty old and crammed bus running between Chennai and Pondicherry or the economically designed seats of a budget an airliner. I never find it difficult to take a good nap all along the journeys. As an extensive traveler, this was just a part of the job. Many times night journeys were a way to reach the destinations. Chennai to Bangalore, and back, Chennai to Coimbatore and back..Thanks to the Golden quadrilateral that brought about a spurt in road development in our country, such journeys are increasingly comfortable now-a-days. A jerkless night is ensured by the hi-tech busses running on these roads.

The flight from Chennai to Abu Dhabi took off at 10 in the night. There was nothing unusual as the plane took to air. As usual, I just leaned to the seat and closed my eyes. Suddenly, the entire surrounding has started reverberating with the high pitch screams of a little kid. He, accompanied by his father and grandma was occupying the seat just behind me. He could utter only a word. In between the breaks from the nonstop cries, he uttered that word "Thatha" "thatha"..... he is asking after his grandfather. In the absence of his mom, it was the old woman, his grandmother, taking care of the child. As the scream continued relentlessly, the "paatti" tried her best to console him. Surprisingly, not even once he uttered the word "amma".  He went on repeating "thatha" The grandmother tried all the tricks up her sleeve to divert his attention but the kid would never relent. Each word of the grandmas was greeted with louder screams.  What could have prompted the boy to insist thatha's presence instead of his mother? I could not yet figure out the child's mind

At home, these days we are not hearing the loud calls from the bathroom for help. The boy started doing the things by himself. No more assistance in cleaning him after he attended the nature's call. No need to bathe him and then dress him up. Feeding the breakfast or tying the shoe lace have faded into history. He is independent now.Then what do his parents do? We enjoyed doing all his needs. As a little kid, he wetted the bed quiet often. woke up in the mid night and screamed at his throat's capacity. Made our life miserable in several nights.

We took every care to give him the best. Best food, best clothes, best toys and best entertainment. Our own needs and necessities were of secondary priority. In addition to this, his grandparents were always on standby. In fact, more than us, they took care of him all the time. We sacrificed everything for his comfort. All outings, good sleep in the night and even watching the TV were on hold. But still, spending time with the little kid could fetch much more happiness than all other material comforts. We enjoyed bathing him, cleaning his excreta and urine from the bed and floor, feeding him and tying the shoe laces. We did it all for our own pleasure rather than doing a great favour to the kid

But now he does not need that extra care. Parents were knocked out of their job!! But is it really so?No way. Now the parents have a bigger role to play. Pry on all his activities. Watch him while he spends his time with the modern gizmos like smart phone and Tab. Restrict him from playing. Confine him to the four walls of the study room and press him hard to byheart whatever is told by the teacher. A++. Nothing less than this would satiate our quest for making his future secure. 

I don't own a car, a smart phone nor an  i phone. I do not embark on any expensive foreign tours with family. The worst thing is I do not work in United States of America. I could not even visit that place once. Moksha is not possible in this birth. I do not want this fate befall on my kid. Sadly, he was not born in the USA. He speaks Malayalam, not the American accented English 

We will force him burn the mid night oil. When my colleagues or friends or my neighbours and relatives ask what do my kid do, I must be able to proudly list out my kid's achievements. I must proudly proclaim through the social media that my kid achieved A+ in the 10th exam and then in the 12th, the performance was astounding. What if we spoiled his childhood? What could he have achieved if he ran after the butterflies and dragonflies?  It could probably cost him a seat in the IIT or a top Medical college. The choice is between the dragonfly and a flashy life in the future. We made the choice for him. 

All that we did and are doing are for our own satisfaction. Like in a pet show, whatever the pet accomplishes, the credit goes to the master. He/she flaunts the trophy to the public. The child sacrifices a golden opportunity to enjoy a  carefree and innocent childhood for the benefit of the parents. Still, at the end of the game, the parents claim they did a lot of sacrifices to bring him up and make him a big man- well, I mean a rich man. 

Sitting in the empty nest, the old couple shall make no bones about the young one that just flew away. Take heart. He has been lightening up our life. Imagine a life without that young bird. It could have been nothing but a big zero. Never count on the sacrifices made but just sit back and relish the blissful time spent with the kid. Simply sink in to the reality that the wheel has taken a full circle...