The Kerosene motor

Start in petrol and then turn to kerosene. That was a famous dialogue by Radha. Till the last breath, these words can never to deleted from mind's memory space. Karthikeyan was his name but no one in our village would identify him by that name. For all of us, he was Radha. Radha lived very close to us- literally. His family consisted of seven members. Our family had a very good relation with his family. His grandfather was the one who removed the husk from the coconuts. He stood with the husk removing tool all through the day and like a machine went about his job tirelessly. Like many other jobs that needed high physical efforts, this too was a hard one and the income it fetched was pathetically low. 

Radha missed the school after he completed LP School. He was one among several kids who regularly scored a zero out of fifty marks. That was all normal. Perhaps his parents did not expect anything more than that. Teachers never looked at him. Weak students were always pushed to the back benches but they were never spared of the cane. These condemned kids bore the brunt of the teacher's anger but the same teacher never had a heart to lift the kid's morale with a healing touch.  It all evolved as if some guys and gals are destined to fail. Unfortunately, Radha was one among them. He was detained in 4th standard. All the younger siblings followed his footpath. Forced out of the stream of the education system, they took to physical jobs at an early age itself. Like that, Radha joined as a childhood friend as well as a domestic help. His main job was to assist in maintaining a kerosene operated water pump. 

This pump was commonly called kerosene motor and it was used for irrigating the coconut trees. In the summer seasons, the temperature goes up to an unbearable level and the water table goes down drastically. There was a necessity to keep the coconut tree healthy since they were the main source of income once upon a time. The paddy fields on the east side of our house go dry. This was the time we removed the remaining parts of the paddy after harvesting. People patiently pulled the stubbling one by one. They were to be pulled out along with the root itself. All the pulled out parts were put into a heap and then burnt. Come summer, there will be a number of small simmering heaps dotting all along the vast paddy fields. We too joined the process. Once the fields are cleared, children could use them to play. Acres of land for children to play while the eldres were busy thinking about mopping up the field for the next round of cultivation. By the way, how many of us would not have experienced the smell of the freshly sprouted paddy seeds? The seeds were  soaked in water for two days and then transferred to big baskets lined with cotton or jute clothes. It remained there for three to four days. After that, when the baskets were opened, the sprouted seeds set together and emit a peculiar smell. 

Of late, in the summer time, vested interest groups started letting in salt water to the fields from the back waters. This made preparing the paddy fields for farming very difficult. Still, we tried to do it in by the start if monsoon. Slowly, everyone lost the drive. Favorite occupation of a village had been mercilessly drowned in salt water. With that, our "ptthayam" the wooden container fell empty for ever and ever after that we could never enjoy the fruits of our own hard work. Presenly, the paddy fields in Olavaipe like in any other part of kerala lie barren and gradually being turned into land. The new generation would be wondering where exactly do the grains originate!!  In a way, this salt water helped the coconut trees. The kerosene motor started pumping this water to the trees. 

Back to the motor. Radha was assistant to the main man Gopalan. They took the motor all over Olavaipe to pump water to coconut trees charging a fee. Water from the nearby ponds were pumped to the trees. The suction pipe was dropped in to the pond and then the pump was primed. After that, the initial ignition was provided by cranking the engine. A rope wound around the shaft of the engine, while pulling out suddenly gave the required spark inside the engine. There is a a fuel tank with a separation. In one part petrol was filled and kerosene in the other. While starting, the valve was turned to petrol and once the engine started and pumping water, the valve was turned to kerosene. 

This motor was extremely unreliable. Most of the times, one needed to wind the rope and pull it so hard several times to start the engine. In the middle, we had to open the spark plug, clean it and refit. Every alternate day there was a new problem and at times it needed opening of the internal parts and repair. Many times, the foot valve did not work. Water taken from the pond in vessels went into the suction pipe non stopping, still it never got filled. Then we realise that the foot valve was defective. The next step was to replace the foot valve. 

When the motor is on job, its noise could be heard in the entire neighbourhood. The outlet of the pump was extended using hoses and at the end of the hose, kids fought with each other to get hold of it and point the water jet towards the tree. Wherever the motor was taken to places, rolls of hoses followed. Sometime down the line, we got rid of this motor as it was only giving more trouble than benefit.  The machine that entertained us for long and got Radha some monetary benefits went into oblivion. Still the memories refuse to go and so do those words.."petrolil start cheythu mannennayil idanam (start in petrol and run into kerosene)"

Just Jottings-4

Doves, Mynahs and tiny Sparrows were still picking their preys. Sun has already sunk in the sea.It's for real. I saw it with my two eyes while running along the coast.  Darkness has slowly set in.The birds were busy with their last pick of the day. In this open jail, they are the only ones, without any worry, live their life. As usual I ran for 6 kilometers. In a humid evening, sweat flew out from every pore. By the time I reached back in the room, the entire dress was drenched in sweat and it was dripping. The peak summer has just arrived. The months of June, July, August and the first half of September will be very hot and humid in Gulf. In my experience, rest of the time, it is pleasant to work here. 

One day, in a fine morning in Chennai, I was walking out to buy milk from the near by shop. I saw two crows pulling a twig to opposite directions. That twig is evidently meant for constructing a house. In the duel, the one that had better strength flew away with the twig. I expected a fight later on. The vanquished crow fetches a gang belonging to his community and attack the crows belonging to the victor crow. Nothing of that sort happened. It looks they took it in their stride. It is just a matter of ego. They learned how to get better of egos despite not reading hundreds of religious books like we human beings do. Amazing indeed. 

This time on my leave cycle, we went to Pazhani temple. From Chennai we boarded the Pazhani express at 1030 in the night and reached the destination at 0730 in the morning next day. Three kilometer journey to the hotel, The hotel was located very close to the steps to the hill temple. We climbed the steps to the hill with frequent breaks. There was unprecedented rush in the temple on Sunday. Somehow we could manage the darshan and return to room by evening. While returning we walked along the ramp. This is an alternative to the steps in Pazhani. 

the Ganesh temple at the foothill

There were a number of processions in the temple. Accompanied by a lot of percussion instruments, devotees carry the "kavadi" and take a round of the temple. This is one of the most important offerings to Lord Murugan. Nice to watch these processions. But, it was not nice on the temple authorities part to charge a fee to see the Lord. There are three types of queues. One for who can pay hundred rupees, another for the ones who pay ten rupees and then another one for free. Rush was more in the hudred rupees queue than that in the free darshan queue. Why should there be a fee to see the God? It is all happening because the temples are ruled by corrupt, greedy and atheist babus and politicians, I suspect. We can see similar scenes in famous temples like Tirupathi too. I only hope, temple authorities one day will make God's and Goddess's darshan purely a private affair between the devotee and the Almighty. May there be no middlemen involved in between

Nowadays, visiting a temple became increasingly expensive. At least ten rupees need to be deposited in the hundi. Ten to anything upwards needed to buy offerings. Then the middle man. Unless we please the poojari, God's blessings will never be transferred. So, in total, by the time we come out of the temple, we will be poorer at least by thirty rupees. Still, many temples offer "annadaanam", the free food during lunch time. When I visited Mangalore, I saw every temple there offering lunch. Lunch, otherwise called "prathal" is one of the most important offerings in the famous Vaikom temple. To sponsor this offering, one has to reserve a day at least a dew years in advance.

We took a bus from Pazhani to Polachi and from there to Thrissur on the next day. On the way a group of 3 young men joined the journey from somewhere inside Keralam. One of the men, aged around 23 has been taking two others of around the same age bracket. The bus was very crowded because it was running like a town bus. Somewhere on the way, the young man got the seat nearby me to sit. He started a conversation. He has been going to Thrissur to attend his hospitalised father. His father was a government employee tasked to catch fish from the Dam nearby their home. He earned decently good remuneration. His wife, took good care of the husband. She cooked tasty food for her husband except the fish that he brought. He cooked fish to make it more delicious. Along with fresh water fish, he started consuming liquor too. The loyal wife never objected to this. The habit grew into addiction and as the time passed, he fell sick. Liver failed. Now, his stomach often gets filled with puss and it bulges out like a balcony. After every three months, he has to be taken to hospital to remove the puss and then do dialysis. The young man said, the total cost of the treatment every time he is taken to hospital is nearly twenty thousand rupees. In addition to this, he has to find people who can donate blood. 

This young man is dedicated to the aging parents. He works as a tile laying worker in buildings and earns around eight hundred rupees everyday. He has to sacrifice his one day wage and also  that of the accomplices. He pays the price for one reckless man who enjoyed his life with a high all the time. The high spirit he embraced everyday would have made his life so exciting. As he enjoyed his life the way he wanted, the hapless or ignorant wife just looked on. All the addicts are like this. They enjoy their life alone and at last they need everyone to share the resulting   miseries. 

താൻ താൻ നിരന്തരം ചെയ്യുന്ന കർമങ്ങൾ 
താൻ താൻ തന്നെ അനുഭവിചീടുകെന്നേ വരൂ 

That is what Ramayanam espouses. Whatever you do, the consequences are also to be faced by you. That is in Ramayanam. In the real life, we all expect others to share all that bad is happening to us because of our own misdeeds...

Monsoon Memories -2

June 1. Sun may not rise in the east. The siren at 8 am may not go off to alert the workers in my village, but monsoon rains would never miss the date. As we get ready to go the school, thick dark clouds in the south west corner greeted us on the first day to school. Umbrella was a must. But umbrella was just not adequate to prevent us from drenching every part of the body except head. Protecting the books from rain water was a task. Most of us kept it intact by covering them in polythene sheets. Still, there were children without umbrellas. Many parents could not really afford to buy an umbrella and many others were just indifferent. They knew children would still walk all the way to school with the help of a plantain leaf, take shelter in a wayside shop or take help from the ones who had an umbrella. 

Somehow every kid tried to go to school everyday irrespective of the end results. Result was not a concern for anyone, be it the student or the parents. My slate always showed 50/50. These

figures filled the entire space of the slate in every exam till the 4th class. As I walked back from the LP school to home, I proudly held the slate aloft for everyone to see. I do not remember if anyone was appreciative of this big achievement. Perhaps grandpa felt happy though he never showed it outside Grandma never knew how big the 'laurels' her grandson brought home. She would have felt very happy and recorded in mind that I would become a big man in future. She did not live long enough to see her dreams come true and I am still waiting to fulfill her presumed dream!  That was how the villagers treated education. Nothing great has been lost, anyway. Everyone is living happily and the bottom line of all achievements in life is living happily. Visibly, it is happening, going by the good houses and the happy faces I could see when I visit my village occasionally. 

All ponds overflew in the monsoon. So did the 'sarpakulam' the sacred pond dedicated to the snake gods. A small canal was cut open to make the excess water to flow out to the nearby paddy field. A small stream of water flows from the revered 'sarpakulam' to the paddy field carrying a number of small fish along. We made paper boats and put in the stream. The boat moved hitting so many hurdles till it sinks as it absorbed water. Sometimes, even big fish came out of the pond which directly went to the kitchen. There were such small incidents of pleasure in the monsoon days though hardships got better of everything else. 

All over the land, there were water loggings. Gutters in road were filled with dirty water. The precincts of our temple has big water logging. Ankle deep water was so pleasant to walk through. The plus point was that since it was a temple, no one spitted or threw rubbish into it. We ran through the shallow water splashing it all over. Water when stamped with one foot and then kick the splashing water with the other like a football, a loud noise is created. That was a favourite pastime for the children. Run and kick water several times was a thrilling game. Some guys were amazingly fast in kicking more number of times with louder noise

Rain or shine, thunder or storm, we never missed the visit to the temple. Once on his stay at home, our father gave a task to lit a few lanterns in the Sri Krishna temple. The temple has been our family property for long but there was no pooja conducted in the evening time. From the day he advised us to do so, we never skipped even a single day. Every evening, we two brothers along with other children walked to the temple. We carried oil in a small bottle, cotton wicks and a match box. Even in torrential rains, that was a regular feature on monsoon days, we did make it to temple. Many days, during the evening pooja in the Mahadevar temple, we two brothers and the old lady from the neighboring house were the only attendees. In the clear weather days we had another companion. The cute little boy, our eldest nephew. That was the time our eldest sister gave birth to a baby boy. We were crazy about the child and vied with each other to carry him and entertain him. We took him to temple many days. On the way back, he always slept and my brother used to carry him on his shoulder. That was interesting because we were playing uncles for the first time. 

A metallic tin with four ropes tied to it, two on top and two on bottom acted as a device to transfer water from one place to another. In the water logged landscape, our device worked as a water transferring mechanism. Four boys holding each end of the rope dipped the can in the water and then simultaneously pulled it to throw the water to another place. It was a very thrilling game indeed. Elders used much improvised device to remove water and mud from our ponds during renovation and maintenance work in the ponds. Four muscular men do this and as the metallic vessel go up and down the pond carrying mud and water, it was like watching a JCB in action in the modern days. The only difference might be the former was very eco friendly and always done with a view to help nature whereas the JCBs are meant mainly for destruction. 

At the end of all the entertainments we found in the incessant rains we were left with itchy feet. Come night, the feet start irritatingly itchy. Two hands were too less to tackle the problem. Elders lent their hands quiet often. Crying in helplessness was the only thing we could do in the night. They apply medicine all over the feet that brought much needed relief. The tender feet turned violet after the healer medicine is applied. Somehow we hit the bed and slept only to wake up in the morning to go to school. On the background the siren goes off alerting the children to come to the road to start the long march...