സദാ‍നന്ദന്റെ പ്രതിഷേധ ചിന്തകള്‍

ചെരിപ്പേറാണ് ഇപ്പോളത്തെ സ്റ്റൈല്‍. പ്രതിഷേധത്തിന്റെ അവസാനവാക്ക്. “ഞമ്മക്ക് തെറ്റിപ്പോയീക്ക്, തെറ്റിപോയീക്ക് ” എന്ന് വിളിച്ചു പറഞ്ഞ ബുഷങ്ങുത്തിനും, പിന്നെ ഈയടുത്തു സഖാവ് വെന്‍ ജിയാബൊക്കും ഒക്കെ കിട്ടീലേ, നല്ല സ്റ്റൈലന്‍ ചെരിപ്പിന്റെ മണം. വെന്‍ എന്നു ചോദിച്ചാല്‍ സദാനന്ദന്‍ കൊഴയും. കൃത്യമായി സമയവും തീയതിയും അറിയില്ല. പിന്നെ ഇതാ ഇപ്പോള്‍ ചിദംബരയണ്ണന്ന് പത്രക്കാരന്‍ ജര്‍ണയില്‍ ചേട്ടന്റെ വക. അതു കിറുകൃത്യമായി മൊത്തത്തില്‍ വിസ്തരിച്ചു കേട്ടിരിക്കുന്നു പഹയന്‍.

അപ്പോള്‍ മുതല്‍ സദാനന്ദനൊരു പൂതി. എന്തായാലും സാംബത്തിക മാന്ദ്യമൊക്കെയാണ്. അതികഠിനമായ പണിയെടുപ്പിക്കലാണ് മേലാളന്മാര്‍. അവര്‍ക്കൊക്കെ പിന്നെ എന്തുമാകാമല്ലോ. ഷൊഫര്‍ ഡ്രിവണ്‍ എസീ കാറ്‌, തെറി പറയാന്‍ സര്‍വ്വാധിക ലൈസെന്‍സ്, മീറ്റിങ്ങ് എന്നു പറഞ്ഞുള്ള മുങ്ങലുകള്‍, മാന്ദ്യം എന്ന പേരില്‍ തൊഴിലാളിയുടെ നെഞ്ചത്തു കയറ്റം. നമ്മുക്കോ, വേതനക്കുറച്ചിലും, നിര്‍വഹണപുരോഗമനപദ്ധതിയും, ഒടുക്കം മനോഹരമായ പിങ്ക് സ്ലിപ്പുമൊക്കെയാവും ഗതി. അതു കൊണ്ടു സദാനന്ദനും തീരുമാനിച്ചു. തന്നെ പറഞ്ഞു വിടുന്ന ദിവസം ഒരു ചെരിപ്പേറ് നടത്താന്‍. അതിനാല്‍ ചിദാംബരയണ്ണന് ചെരിപ്പേറ് കിട്ടിയ പിറ്റേന്ന്‌ മുതല്‍ സദാനന്ദനും ഒരു ചെരുപ്പ് തന്റെ ലാപ്പ്ടോപ്പ് ബാഗില്‍ സൂക്ഷിച്ചു പോന്നു.

അതു പക്ഷേ നടന്നു തേഞ്ഞ് വാറ് പൊട്ടിയ ഒരു പഴയ ഫിഷര്‍ ഹവായി ആയിരുന്നു എന്നു മാത്രം. എന്തൊക്കെയായാലും മാന്ദ്യം സദാനന്ദനെയും ബാധിക്കാമല്ലോ. പിന്നെ എറിയപ്പെടാന്‍ പോകുന്നവര്‍ അങ്കമാലിയിലെ പ്രധാനമന്ത്രിയോ ചിദംബരത്തെ ഗൃഹമന്ത്രിയോ ഒന്നുമല്ലല്ലോ, വെറും തൊട്ടികള്‍ മാത്രമല്ലേ.

ശുഭം

ദീപസ്തംഭം മഹാശ്ചര്യം..

തൃശൂര്‍ പൂരത്തിനെ വെല്ലുന്ന ഡിജിറ്റല്‍ ഡോള്‍ബി ഒച്ചയുമായി ഒടയതമ്പുരാന്‍ തന്റെ ചെണ്ടമേളം തുടങ്ങിയപ്പോഴേ ഹാജിയാര്‍ക്ക് നെഞ്ചിടിപ്പ് തുടങ്ങി.

“ഹെന്റെ പടച്ചോനെ ഒരു കൊസറാക്കൊള്ളി മയ പെയ്യുമോ ഈ നേരം കെട്ട നേരത്ത്.”

മഴ പെയ്താല്‍ തന്റെ കുട്ടികള്‍ എങ്ങനെ കോഴിക്കോട് പ്രീമിയര്‍ ലീഗ് ചട്ടിയേറ് മത്സരത്തിനു കളിക്കും എന്നായിരുന്നു അയാളുടെ ആശങ്ക. പൊന്നും വില കൊടുത്തു വാങ്ങിയ മക്കളാണ്‌. ചട്ടികള്‍ ഏഴും ആദ്യത്തെ ഏറിനു തന്നെ എറിഞ്ഞിടാന്‍ കഴിവുള്ള ചുണക്കുട്ടികള്‍. അന്തിക്കാട്ടുകാരന്‍ ജാക്കിക്കു തന്നെ കൊടുത്തു അയാള്‍ തന്റെ ഉള്ള സമ്പാദ്യത്തിന്റെ പാതി. അവനാണെങ്കില്‍ ചട്ടിയെറിയാനും, നിമിഷങ്ങള്‍ക്കുള്ളില്‍ ചട്ടി വെയ്ക്കാനും, എതിര്‍ ടീമിന്റെ പുറം എറിഞ്ഞു കലക്കാനുമൊക്കെ ‘ഉസ്താദ്’ തന്നെ.

മിഠായിഷാപ്പുകാരന്‍ നാരായണന്‍ നായരുടെ മകന്‍ രാഹുലന്‍ കൂടെ ഉണ്ടായതു കൊണ്ട് വലിയ കുഴപ്പങ്ങളൊന്നും ഇല്ലാതെയാണ് ഹാജിയാര്‍ ഒരു ടീം പടച്ചു വിട്ടത്. അവറ്റകളെ ഒന്നു കളിപ്പിച്ചിട്ടു വേണം അയാള്‍ക്കും ഈ കുരിക്കിലാട് ദേശത്തില്‍ ഒന്നു വിലസാന്‍. എല്ലാമ്മുണ്ട് ഹാജിയാര്‍ക്ക്; സര്‍ബ്ബത്ത് ഫാക്ടറിയും, ബസ്സ് സര്‍വ്വീസ്സും എന്നു വേണ്ട ഈയടുത്തു പാതിരിപറ്റ കാളയോട്ട മത്സരത്തില്‍ ഓട്ട കാളകളേയും വാങ്ങിച്ചിറക്കി അയാള്‍. അയാളുടെ പേരുച്ചരിക്കാതെ പോയ ഒരു ദിവസവും ആ ഗ്രാമത്തില്‍ ഉണ്ടായിട്ടില്ല. എങ്കിലും തന്റെ തന്നെ ഗ്രാമത്തിലെ ജനങ്ങള്‍ തനിക്കു ഒരിക്കലും അര്‍ഹതപെട്ട അംഗീകാരം തരുന്നില്ലെന്നു ഹാജിയാര്‍ എന്നും കരുതി പോന്നു. അതിനായി തന്നെ തന്റെ പേരും യശസ്സും ഉയര്‍ത്താന്‍ കിട്ടിയ ഒരവസരവും അയാള്‍ കളഞ്ഞതുമില്ല.

അങ്ങനെയിരിക്കെയാണു ഈ ചട്ടിയേറ് മത്സരം ചട്ടി മാധവനും അവന്റെ ശിങ്കിടികളും കൂടി ഒത്താശ ചെയ്തു തുടങ്ങുന്നത്. കോഴികോട് ജില്ലയിലെ പഴയ പുകള്‍പെറ്റ ചട്ടിയേറുകാരനാണ് മാധവന്‍. ഇന്നു ജില്ല മുഴുവന്‍ ശാഖകളുള്ള ‘റെഡ് ഇന്ത്യന്‍ ആര്‍ട്സ് ആന്റ് സ്പോര്‍ട്സ് ക്ലബ്ബി’ന്റെ സര്‍വ്വാധികാരിയാണയാള്‍. ചട്ടിയേറ് മത്സരം ആര്‍പ്പും വിളിയും കുരവയുമൊക്കെയായി ഒരു വന്‍ സംഭവം തന്നെയാക്കാന്‍ മാധവനും കൂട്ടരും ആ ജില്ല മുഴുവന്‍ ഓടി നടന്നു. അന്നു വരെ ആരും കാണാത്ത തരത്തിലുള്ള ഒരു പ്രത്യേക രീതിയിലാണ് ടീമുകളെ അയാള്‍ ഉണ്ടാക്കിയെടുത്തത്. സാധാരണ ചട്ടിയേറ്‌ മത്സരങ്ങള്‍ ഗ്രാമങ്ങള്‍ തമ്മിലാണ് അന്നു വരെ നടന്നിരുന്നത്. എന്നാല്‍ പ്രീമിയര്‍ ലീഗിനു വേണ്ടി മാധവന്‍ ജില്ലയിലെ പ്രമുഖന്മാരെയൊക്കെ വിളിച്ചു കൂട്ടി അവരുമായി നീണ്ട ചര്‍ച്ചകള്‍ നടത്തി. അതിനൊടുവില്‍ എറ്റവും കൂടുതല്‍ കാശിറക്കാം എന്നു സമ്മതിച്ച ആറ് പ്രമുഖന്മാര്‍ക്ക് ആറ് ടീം ക്യാപ്റ്റന്മാരെ അയാള്‍ നല്‍കി. അങ്ങനെയാണു ഹാജിയാര്‍ തന്റെ ചട്ടി ടീം ഉണ്ടാക്കിയതും അതിന്റെ ക്യാപ്റ്റനായി രാഹുലനെ കിട്ടിയതും. മാധവന്‍ തന്നെ വികസിപ്പിച്ചെടുത്ത ഒരു പുതിയ തരം ലേലത്തിലൂടെയാണു എല്ലാവര്‍ക്കും ബാക്കിയുള്ള ടീമംഗങ്ങളെ തെരെഞ്ഞെടുക്കാന്‍ കഴിഞ്ഞത്. ആ ലേലതട്ടില്‍ നിന്നാണ് പെട്രോള്‍ വാസുവിനും സിനിമാകൊട്ടകകാരന്‍ മൊയ്തുവിനും ഒപ്പം ഹാജിയാരും കേരളത്തിലെ എറ്റവും മികച്ച ചട്ടിയേറുകാര്‍ക്ക് വേണ്ടി ലേലം വിളിച്ചത്.

എല്ലാത്തിനുമൊടുവില്‍ വാസുവിന് ഈരിലക്കണ്ടിയില്‍ സഹദേവനെയും മൊയ്തുവിനു കലക്കത്തു ഗംഗാധരനേയും കിട്ടിയെങ്കിലും രാഹുലനെ തനിക്ക് കിട്ടിയതില്‍ ഹാജിയാര്‍ അഭിമാനിച്ചു. രാഹുലന്‍ അവരെ പോലെ ‘പുലി’ അല്ലെങ്കിലും നല്ല കഠിനാധ്വാനിയും സര്‍വ്വോപരി വലിയൊരു അഭിമാനിയുമായിരുന്നു. രാഹുലന്‍ ഒരാളുടെ ബുദ്ധി ഒന്നും കൊണ്ടു മാത്രമാണ് ബാക്കിയുള്ളവരെയൊക്കെ ലേലം വിളിച്ച് അത്യാവശ്യം ശക്തമായ ഒരു ടീം ഉണ്ടാക്കാന്‍ ഹാജിയാര്‍ക്ക് കഴിഞ്ഞത്. ടീമിന്റെ പേരും രാഹുലന്‍ തന്നെ നാമകരണം ചെയ്തു - “പട പന്തംകൊളുത്തീസ്”.

അങ്ങനെ അവസാനം മത്സര ദിവസം വന്നെത്തി. ഹാജിയാരുടെ പ്രസിദ്ധമായ സോഡാ സര്‍ബ്ബത്തിന്റെ ചിത്രമുള്ള ജേഴ്സിയുമണിഞ്ഞ് അന്നു രാവിലെ പട പന്തംകൊളുത്തീസ് ഹാജിയാരുടെ അനുഗ്രഹം വാങ്ങിക്കാന്‍ ഗ്രൌണ്ടിനു പുറത്തു കെട്ടിയ അവരുടെ ആലയില്‍ അണിനിരന്നു. അപ്പോള്‍ അവരുടെ മുന്നിലേക്ക് നടന്നു വന്ന ഹാജിയാര്‍ തന്റെ രണ്ടു കൈയും മുകളിലേക്കുയര്‍ത്തി പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥിച്ചു.

“കനിവുള്ള എന്റെ റബ്ബേ.. എന്റെ പന്തംകൊളുത്തീസിനെ എല്ലാ ഇബിലീസുകളില്‍ നിന്നും രക്ഷിച്ചോണേ..”

അതിനു ശേഷം അദ്ദേഹം എല്ലാവര്‍ക്കും ഓരോ സോഡാ സര്‍ബ്ബത്തും അടിച്ചു കൊടുത്തു. അവരൊന്നിച്ചു ഗ്ലാസുകള്‍ മുകളിലേക്കുയര്‍ത്തി “ചിയേര്‍ഴ്സ്” പറഞ്ഞു; ഒപ്പം പട പന്തംകൊളുത്തീസിനു അഞ്ചു ഹിപ്പ് ഹിപ്പ് ഹൂറെയും പത്തു ജയ് യും വിളിച്ചു. പത്താമത്തെ ജയ് വിളിയുടെ അവസാനമാണ് ഒടയതമ്പുരാന്‍ തന്റെ സ്പീക്കര്‍ സിസ്റ്റം തുറന്നത്. തന്റെ ബസ്സ് ജീവനക്കാര്‍ പൊട്ടിച്ച ഗുണ്ടാണെന്നാണ് ഹാജിയാര്‍ ആദ്യം കരുതിയത്. പക്ഷേ ഗുണ്ടിനേക്കാള്‍ ശബ്ദത്തില്‍ രണ്ടാമത്തെ ഇടി വെട്ടിയപ്പോഴാണ് അയാള്‍ക്ക് അത് മഴയ്ക്കുള്ള കോളാണെന്ന് മനസ്സിലായത്.

മേഘങ്ങള്‍ ഉരുണ്ടു കൂടിയതും മാനം കറുത്തത്തും സ്റ്റേഡിയത്തിനടുത്തെ പാടങ്ങളില്‍ നിന്നു പേക്കന്മാര്‍ നിലവിളി തുടങ്ങിയതുമൊക്കെ എല്ലാം ഒരുമിച്ചായിരുന്നു. പിന്നാലെ തന്നെ വന്നു ഒരു തകര്‍പ്പന്‍ വേനല്‍മഴ. കളി തുടങ്ങുമെന്നു കരുതി മഴയും കൊണ്ടു കുറച്ചു നേരം കാത്തിരുന്ന കാണികള്‍ മഴയുടെ ശക്തി കൂടിയതു മൂലം പതുക്കെ എഴുന്നേറ്റ് താന്താങ്ങളുടെ വീടുകളിലേക്ക് നടന്നു തുടങ്ങി. സ്റ്റേഡിയത്തിലെ ചട്ടി കളങ്ങളില്‍ വെള്ളവും കയറി. അല്പ നേരം കഴിഞ്ഞു ചട്ടി മാധവന്റെ മകന്‍ കുട്ടന്റെ വക ഉച്ചഭാഷിണിയിലൂടെ ഒരു അനൌണ്‍സ്മെന്റ് വന്നു.

“മഴ മൂലം ഇന്നത്തെ പട പന്തംകൊളുത്തീസ് വേഴ്സസ് തരികിട തെമ്മാടീസ് മത്സരം ഉപേക്ഷിച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു. ഒരു ഏറു പോലും എറിയാന്‍ പറ്റാഞ്ഞ സാഹചര്യത്തില്‍ പമ്മന്‍-രത്നാകരന്‍ നിയമം ഇവിടെ ഉപയോഗിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്ത വന്നതിനാല്‍ ഇരു ടീമുകള്‍ക്കും ഓരോ പോയന്റ് വീതം വച്ചു നല്‍കിയിരിക്കുന്നു. ഈ ചട്ടിയേറ് മത്സരം കാണാന്‍ വന്ന എല്ലവര്‍ക്കും എന്റെ പേരിലും എന്റെ അച്ഛന്റെ പേരിലും ഞാന്‍ നന്ദി രേഖപെടുത്തി കൊള്ളുന്നു. എന്നു നിങ്ങളുടെ സ്വന്തം ചട്ടി മാധവന്റെ മകന്‍ കുട്ടന്‍. പ്രോപ്രൈറ്റര്‍ ഇന്‍ ചാര്‍ജ്ജ് ഓഫ് ചട്ടി മാച്ചസ്‍”

ടീമിനു ഒരു പോയന്റ് കിട്ടിയെങ്കിലും തന്റെ പന്തംകൊളുത്തീസിന്റെ പ്രകടനം നാട്ടുകാരെ കാണിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാഞ്ഞതില്‍ ഹാജിയാര്‍ നന്നേ ദുഃഖിച്ചു. ടീമംഗങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് അന്നത്തെ കൂലി കൊടുത്തപ്പോള്‍ ഒട്ടും മെയ്യനങ്ങാതെയാണല്ലോ അവന്മാര്‍ ഈ കൂലി വാങ്ങിക്കുന്നത് എന്നോര്‍ത്ത് അയാള്‍ അല്പം സങ്കടപെടാതെയുമിരുന്നില്ല.

പിറ്റേന്ന് പന്തംകൊളുത്തീസിന് കളിയുണ്ടായിരുന്നില്ല. അന്നും മഴ ആര്‍ത്തലച്ചു പെയ്തതിനാല്‍ പ്രീമിയര്‍ ലീഗില്‍ കളിയൊന്നും നടന്നില്ല. അന്ന് ഹാജിയാരുടെ സര്‍ബ്ബത്ത് പീടികയില്‍ സര്‍ബ്ബത്ത് കലക്കി അടിച്ചു കൊടുക്കുന്ന ആളിനെ കണ്ട് കുരിക്കിലാട് ദേശക്കാര്‍ ഒന്നു ഞെട്ടി. അത് നാരായണന്‍നായരുടെ മകന്‍ രാഹുലനായിരുന്നു. അപ്പോള്‍ മലോല്‍മുക്ക് സ്റ്റാന്‍ഡില്‍ നിന്നും വില്യാപ്പിള്ളി വഴി കുറ്റ്യാടിക്ക് പോകുന്ന ഹാജിയാരുടെ നീലപൊന്മാന്‍ ബസ്സില്‍ കിളിയായി നിന്ന് ആളെ വിളിച്ചു കൊടുക്കുകയായിരുന്നു അന്തികാട്ടുകാരന്‍ ജാക്കി. അയാളുടെ തൃശൂര്‍ ശൈലിയിലുള്ള -“കുരിക്കിലാട്, വൈക്കിലശ്ശേരി, വില്യാപ്പിള്ളി വഴി കുറ്റ്യാടി ഘടിയേയേ..”- വിളി കേട്ട് ആളുകള്‍ അത്ഭുതതോടെ ചുറ്റും കൂടി നോക്കി നിന്നു. അതേ സമയം ദൂരെ താഴെയങ്ങാടിയില്‍ സഹദേവന്‍, പെട്രോള്‍വാസുവിന്റെ ബങ്കില്‍ പെട്രോളടിച്ചു കൊടുക്കുകയും, ഗംഗാധരന്‍, മൊയ്തുവിന്റെ സിനിമാകൊട്ടകയില്‍ ടിക്കറ്റ് മുറിച്ചു കൊടുക്കുകയുമായിരുന്നു.

ശുഭം

P.S: I have been hearing comments about square boxes appearing in this post :). My Mistake. Here is the font to read.

"Reality" Bites

What was the last time I saw her. It would have been close to 13 years before. Back when our High School awards functions were held. The last information I heard about her was that she got married. It was Sai who told me that she did a court marriage. There were a lot of resistance from her relatives and she took the courage to marry her sweet heart from a different religion.

Today she was standing in front of me in my cabin, looking pale and tired.

“… Deee..paa.. Isn’t that you ?” I asked with a pause of doubt.

“.. Yes.. ..Rajan.. How are you?”

“I am fine, how are you and how come you are here?”

“I am ok. I work here in this city. My school is on the second cross on this road and I am a clerical staff there.”

“Clerk?” I asked doubtingly.

“Yea. And I never knew you were here. How long have you been here?” She asked.

“5 months. Got a promotion from the last branch and I am in charge of this zone now. Tell me what can I do for you?”

“Rajan… I am in need of some real quick money and I have only these as options” She told this as she was getting out a dozen of bangles from her hand bag.

“Can you please take this and lend me a loan?”

I sat perplexed. Never in my life would I have thought of facing such a situation. Not at least facing Deepa. She was the best student in the school, and we all thought she will go on to become a Doctor or Engineer or even a Civil Service personnel. Such were our aspirations; more than ours, our parents’.

“Hmmm .. sure let me weigh them and I want you to fill this application form in the mean time ”

As she was filling out the form, I asked her about her family and kids. Her husband was working in a corporate firm and had a kid going to the same school she worked. I never asked more about her financial situation and even if I asked I was not sure which way she would take it; she was not the Deepa I knew 13 years back.

She filled in the form and I told her the amount she would be able to get. She seemed quite okay with it. I gave her the money the cashier brought into my cabin (Some of the luxuries I can afford to take as a Branch Manager).

“Thank You very much Rajan. You don’t know how much this means to me. I must be going now.”

“I know Deepa. I do know” - I said to myself.

I walked her to the door. As she went down the stairs, I called her again.

“Deepaa.. I never expected you to see in this state. I thought you will be a Doctor or Engineer by now”

“I too Rajan.” She replied. “I never expected to see you as a Bank Manager”

She said that and walked away.

Years before Deepa was the best student of my school. I always was the second or at times third or fourth. There was always a Rajesh or an Anitha to knock me down. But Deepa was always the first. Never in her school life has she given that spot to any one until the State School Final Examinations. In our SSLC examination, that year I topped the school and the difference between Deepa’s and my marks was just one. By virtue of that one mark I won a lot of prizes. Those prizes, which Deepa might have cherished to hold in her hands.

That year at the high school awards function she congratulated me on the reply speech and personally came to me and wished me good luck.

Me, my mother, Anitha and her mother were walking back to home that evening after the function. As we were crossing the play ground in front the school suddenly Anitha’s mother held my hand and started talking.

“See Rajan.., hard work never fails”. I never realized why she started that topic. I thought it was going to be just another “hard work” advice from a student’s mother until when I noticed Deepa and her sister walking along with us at a distance. As they came closer to us, she dropped the bomb.

“Rajan, you have been playing the second fiddle for a long time now. And you delivered at the right time. To some other people consistent first rank has gone onto their head and it was good that at this time you could bring them down.” She was obviously hinting at Deepa and she made sure that Deepa heard it by saying it a bit louder than usual.

The Deepa I knew never held any air about her being the first rank holder. She was very friendly and helpful to most of the students in the class. The fact was she was number one in the studies and we couldn’t just catch up with her. And when someone finally did, it happened to be at the worst time for her and that guy had to be me. I felt bad hearing those words from Anitha’s Mom. As Anitha was protesting with her mom, I could see Deepa walking down the next by lane to her house. I never saw her face, but I was sure there were tears rolling down her cheeks. It was the last time I saw her before today.

As I drove back home, it rained for the first time in the summer. Monsoon has started knocking down and my mind too was freshened up with some good memories from the school. Those days when you spend laughing, playing and studying without any fuss. Tensions were for parents. Catch up with Rajesh; catch up with Deepa. They would yell. They would find out where Deepa was going for tuition and send their child there.

For me; it would be the times I spend on the playground, the youth festivals I participated and the plays I enacted that I would cherish. But that small pep talk on the awards functions evening which left me embarrassed and which might have left tears on Deepa, would be the one I would love to forget even though it keep on haunting me. And today as she walked into my cabin, that evening 13 years back was the first thing that came to my mind.

My wife opened the door for me with an exaggerated smile. She always puts on that smile whenever she wants me to do something for her.

As I sipped in the coffee, she came and sat near me on the sofa’s hand rest. Putting her hands around my shoulder and gently massaging them she said:

“You know something. There is a competition for the children from the age of zero to two years. It’s called the Happy Baby contest and is hosted on India TV by the Tuggies Diapers. It’s like a reality show for the kids. “

“So?” I frowned.

“There is an audition at Tagore Centenary Hall this weekend. Shall we take Vava for it? ”

My Vava is just 7 months old and her mother is already gearing her up for a competition. I had suffered the stress of being competitive at school and have reached nowhere. Is Vava too going to suffer the same way at such an early stage?

I sat confused as my wife explained the rules, regulations and the intricacies needed to survive in the competition.

(C) Dhanush Gopinath 2008.

Those Last Few Days

45 days. That was the number that he had in his mind, when he returned from the office that evening. Forty Five days to live this life to the fullest. After that it was a period. He had to decide what he wants to do in those days…

Those days would be his last days.

Early morning next day, he left out on his bike.He went to the shop on the side of the hill, bought a beedi and sat there watching the clouds. Clouds passionately kissing the hilltops. Then he remembered her, and their first kiss. She was coming back from the temple, through the muddy by-lane which had huge walls on the both sides. Sun was setting. He met her while she took the turn to her house. And she offered the sandal wood ‘prasad’. But he wanted it to be done by her and so she obliged, and pasted the paste of ‘prasad’ on his forehead. He in return took her face in his both hands and kissed her. Nothing was planned, it just came and she didn’t hesitate.

That ended there, and they separated. And now he doesn’t know where she is. He just remembered her, and his past life.

That night, he packed his bag and went out again on a journey. To meet people, to capture the last glimpses of the places he knew very well. For days he wandered, alone, but with memories of his past life. To his school, where he was a kindergarten kid, to his college where is studied the algebra’s of life, to his hostel room where he found himself.

He drove down to his past companies, where he did various kinds of jobs for a living. He went to his favorite dimly light lit bar and boozed, took tequila shots for the one final time.

He came back to his house, invited his best buddies. Some turned up; some said some excuses and didn’t come. He served them Chicken Curry that he always made to its best. And had Rum, Vodka and Champagne for a toast. He delighted them with music, and Ghazals. They partied into the late night.

He woke up with a heavy hang over the next day. The hall where they partied the last night was a mess, with glasses, bottles, plates and food all over. Nobody was there. He checked the time in his watch and noticed the date. One month more.

He went to his bed room, took out an envelope from the drawers of his table and opened it. Inside it was a letter. He read it once again, put it back into the envelope, and wrote the address of his best friend. He sent out his marriage invitation letter, after those last days of his bachelorship.

Yet Another Love Story

The Mail Express was very late that day when it reached Cannanore Railway Station. In its last leg of journey, it looked like an old man. The sound and smoke of the engine reminded of person vomiting blood after severe cough. People had begun finding their ways out, to continue their onward journey. And by the time I got down last from that compartment, she had got into the arms of her parents. I could see the happiness of home coming in her tired face.

There was a reason why I noticed her even after getting down. Hours ago, probably I must be the first person to notice the wetness on her left eyelid. Next to her he was sitting, with the closeness of being more than a friend. I was sure that they were not a married couple, the signs didn’t say so. But it was my friend, who was an expert in Man-Woman relationships, who confirmed that they were young human beings who are inseparable in life.

I wouldn’t have noticed them and would have indulged into my reading until he put his left hand behind her neck, clutched the steel rod of the window and brought her close to him. She rested her head on his shoulders and held his right hand. My mind was getting dirty, hoping to see some romantic actions that might come up, and since I sat across them I had a nice view of them. They should be students studying in some big college out of the state. It was vacation time and they are coming back. They were surrounded with more young people, who seemed to be their friends or classmates. But they never disturbed the couple in their private moments.

She was talking to him continuously. Their acts and faces clearly said about the separation they were about to face. Minds struck with grief of a possible break-up. It reminded me about the ‘couples’ who sat on the college gallery during my college days. Most of the gallery portion will be crowded by the final year students. A boy and girl, either of them who will be leaving the college in few days, will be walking hand in hand. They will then walk down the ground through the sides of the Chemical Block and finally reach the Ladies Hostel. In front of the Hostel Gate at the Dispensary, they will sit and talk till its time for her to get in.

What was the difference between them and the couple in the train? Romance built up on the same mould. Some stay, some separate – all decided by destiny.

As the train approached the station I heard silent sobs across the seat. She was crying and his face was red. From a mature young man who was consoling his mate a few minutes ago, his face now turned to that of a young kid who couldn’t control his sentiments. Suddenly he took her hand from his, stood up and walked to the doors and stood there. She looked at him. The moist eyes were calling him back and she yearned for a hug from him.

The train blew out a long horn, indicating its entry into the station. She started packing her bags. Handkerchief wiped out the final tears on her cheeks. When the train stopped, she got down through the door opposite to the one he was standing. Later he too got down, and behind him I and my friend.

We stood there on the platform drinking a tea, browsing the Higgin Botham’s book store and saw her pass by along with her parents. She was a cheerful young girl now. As we climbed the over bridge I saw him sitting on a bench, looking at a walking her in the distance. Once she looked at him and smiled. He buried his heart-aches in that smile and then he walked away, in the opposite direction.

I and my friend discussed about them and their relationships. Her transformation from a crying lover to a happy daughter was something which I could never understand. My friend explained the intricacies of those relationships and the state through which her mind traveled. It is either love or lust, nothing else. He concluded.

At night, as I wade through the pages of my book, she came to my mind again. Whom did I see? A lover going to bed, after a long phone call with him, with mind full of him and his memories? Or a student sleeping deeply with the tiredness of the final exam behind her?

After a long study, scribble and dinner as I switch off my bedroom lamp late in the night those two young love birds and their love stayed on in my mind.

As my characters.
As an ever lasting picture in the mind of a writer.
Above all, as an unresolved mystery.

When My Eyes Lost 'It'

It all happened with the wretched giant wave that swept Varca Beach. I was playing with the waves a bit away from the shore. Please don’t misunderstand; I was that much away so that a person who doesn’t know swimming would not be drowned. The Wave No 8734567839 of the day came in. I am not sure about the number, but it could be only approximately correct. It splashed hard on my face and I could sense something moving away from my face. In a moment I knew my vision was going absurd. I checked my face with my hand.

“I lost my specs, I lost my specs” yelled poor me.

I was always attached with my beloved Speckie Darling, and I couldn’t live without her. She ascended the great throne between my two ears when I was in class 8 and since then she has been there, growing proudly. Her vital stats revealed a sexy -4.5 and -4 sized big cut cucumber pieces. Huh!! She was gorgeous. Truly.

I was lost, and as I went down the sea bed to search her wave numbers 8734567840 to 8734567845 came in and I was swept ashore.

I am half blind now. I cannot see the distance, I cannot read, I cannot watch TV, I cannot ogle at the foreign tourist in her bikinis, I cannot drive, I cannot take food from the Rs. 275/- + taxes buffet at the hotel without looking at the name tag so closely.

I am frustrated.

I decided to check out in the town. I find an optical shop. I am glad. Cloud Nine!!

“Boss, I want a frame and lenses with this prescription. When can I get it?” I ask Mr. Owner.
“In 3 days” He replies after a deep study of my prescription.
“What? I am asking for a normal lens and you need three days for that?” asked the Kaliph akka Kalippan in me.
“We don’t have a factory here, it need to be made”
“But normal optical shops give me it in a day or max 3 hours"
“This is not a normal optician shop young man. We serve the foreigners who come here and we would live on them and not on once in a life time creeps like you. May be you can try contact lenses if you are in an urgency.”

Contact lenses, they are supposed to be kept inside the eyes. Won’t they harm? How will I put it in? Thoughts and more thoughts.

Finally I decided to give it a try.

Mr. Owner comes up with the set and hands it over to me.

“All yours, dude.”
“But how will I put it?”
“Never used before?”
“Nah.”
“Okay, sit on that chair. I will come in a moment.”

He briefs me about the rituals that should be performed, before putting in the lenses. Then he shows me the new green cell membrane like lenses that will cover up my old speckies.

He tells me to open up my right eye. I reluctantly do it. But he is not satisfied. With much force he opens ups my two eyelids. Poor my black beauty. I can see her enlarge; she is tense as she senses something is going to pierce into her. She sees the green thin membrane on top of a finger. She feels she is to be broken into pieces. She feels she will be raped, by a sadistic male pervert, who with his dagger like fingers wants to rob whatever she has left in her.

My Oh My!!! Her Ijjat and Virginity at stake???

With all my power I release my eyelids from his custody and tries closing them, like a rape victim who tries to latch the door when the villain approaches her (As seen in many movies).

“What are you doing? Open it up”.

He tells me about how the eyes should be kept open and how the lens should be put in with the finger. Then he pulls the eyelids back again and stretches them to maxima. I pull them down when he approaches with his finger. The tug of war goes for sometime, and finally he puts it in, with much difficulty.

He puts in the other too onto my left eye with the same amount of effort he had to use for my right eye. The new lenses floated on the tears that bathes the eye when I blinked them.

Thus I got vision, my eyes still itching of the new covering they have got. Mr. Owner came in again; this time to demonstrate how to remove the covers.

He asked me to open up the eyelids again. As I do it he puts in his eye again onto my eye-balls and pulls the covering down. Then he tries to pluck the lens with his two fingers. My black beauty is scared. She cries.

“He is plucking me out. He is plucking me out. Help!! Help!!”

In the end, he succeeds. The lenses are in his hands. My eyes turn red. She is bleeding.

My eyes, she lost it. The sacred thing, her virginity.

That Thin Line Between Sin And Salvation

It was three in the early morning when the driver stopped the bus for a break. Govind woke up from his seat. He needed a puff; he wasn’t sleeping all the night. The business proposal from his client was worrying him much. He walked down to the hotel across the small ground. It was crowded, yet he made his way into the counter boy and got one cigarette.

“Yevalavu Vila Aachu” – Govind asked the cost in the little Tamil he knew. It was somewhere on the Tamilnadu –Kerala Border that the bus has been stopped.
“Randu Roopai”

Govind gave him the two rupees and walked to the Public Phone kept near benches. He dialed his friend’s number. It was one of his hobbies to call his friends in the midnight. He was feeling bored, and also he had to inform his friend about his arrival.

At the end of the 4th ring some one picked up at the other end.
“Machcha, Govind Here”.
“Who? Which Govind?” Answered a feeble voice
“Abhey Saale, The Same Govind who baptized you on the rocks.”
“Oh Machcha, tell me, Where are you?”
“I am on my way to Calicut, Thinking of dropping at your place, will you be there…. around.. at ..” . It was then he noticed the fragile old man who was making the tea.
“…..”
“Hello, Machcha, You there”
“Kich, will call you later”, and Govind hung the phone up.

He walked up to the tea maker. The tea maker, when he saw Govind asked.
“You need Tea?”
“Sir, Aren’t you Vijayan Sir?”
“I’m sorry, you need tea?”. Replied the old man
“Sir, Aren’t you Vijayan Sir, who taught us Economics at the engineering college.” persisted Govind with his question.
“If so, who are you? And why are you disturbing me? Can’t you see that I am doing my work?” asked the man impatiently.
“Sir, I am Govind, Govind Ramesh. You taught us Economics in S5 at the college. You remember?”
“No, I don’t and I don’t want to remember anything.” The old man threw his kettle to the table and walked out angrily to the dark.
******
Years before that man was Vijayan Sir, the most famous and affectionate teacher of a lot of students in the campus. Govind Ramesh was one among them, so were his gang of four – Ravi, Akki and Kich. He was the one who bought life in to their ever-boring techie classes. He elaborated them about the Demand and Supply philosophy of Economics in a witty, simple way. In short he took them in his hand and soon his classes were mostly full. But the relationship deteriorated one day.

It all started with Vijayan Sir, catching Govind doing malpractice during his exam. He couldn’t tolerate this childish act. Even though Govind said sorry, Vijayan Sir was furious about it. He couldn’t stand it and got him a two weeks suspension. Slowly the frustration was building up in Govind’s mind. That turned into a kind of revenge. The lesser marks in the economics papers later in the year rubbed salt into his wounds. His mind was seeking only one thing. Revenge.

He waited for two more years. The gang of four made the master plan. They had noticed Vijayan Sir’s walk back to the staff quarters. He used to take the narrow by-lane, across the Hostel Mess, straight down under their hostel terrace, to his house across the college ground. It was a shortcut and was dangerous too. But still he used that, for he loved that walk across the grounds watching students play.

And the day came, the second last day of his hostel stay. When time came, four of them went to the terrace with a bag full of cow dung. The plan was to throw it at him, call him all the filthy, unnecessary words in the world and vanish. They could see Sir, entering the by-lane from the ground and he was coming towards the hostel.

“Eda, Vijayaaa, You idiot …” and a big chunk of dung followed. It fell on master’s backside of the shirt. When Vijayan Sir looked up another one was thrown to his face. He didn’t know what was happening, all he could hear was the scream – “You would suspend me, you idiot, you … , you …you will learn one day... you will.. ”. It was getting dark and from the ground he couldn’t see who all were there. Yet the topic of suspension should have ringed the bell for him.

Nothing happened. After that Govind is meeting Vijayan Sir now, after 12 years. He has grown up into a mature architect and working hard, have his own firm, friend circles and a family.
******
On that cold night at the shady joint in National Highway No 47, Govind watched that old man sitting under the tree in the dark. He was wearing a slack sleeved shirt, covered up with a sweater that looked old. His pants had stains caused due to the tea dusts. It seemed he had only that piece of cloth for his entire living.

“Sir, You didn’t recognize me? What happened to you Sir?” Govind approached Vijayan Sir and asked.
“...”
“Sir…”
“…”
“Sir please…”
“…”
“…”
“I haven’t forgotten you Govind. How can I? How is your Gang of Four? Is Ravi, Akshay and Krishnan all fine?” – answered Vijayan Sir
“Sir, Krishnan is here in Malappuram; working with a civil firm. Akshay is in US and Ravi.. Ravi, Sir is no more. You know sir he had that problem with heart valve. He died 4 years back.”
“Oh, He was the brightest amongst you”. Vijayan Sir recollected. “And what about you, are you married?”
“Sir, I have my own firm in Calicut. Manju Developers. Manju is my daughter’s name. I married Smitha, who was our junior in college. You remember her sir?”
“Was it that wheatish, fair slim girl of S3 batch?”
“Sir .. Your memory is perfect”
Vijayan sir smiled a smile that had no vigor in it.

They sat quietly for a while under the tree. Then with much reluctance Govind asked.
“Sir, what happened to you? Why are you here? If you don’t mind …”
“..”
“..”
“… I left GEC a year after you people passed out. It was a Government transfer to the Engineering College in Idukki. That was a horrendous experience. No students, most of them were criminals, I tried to be honest there and I got the reward. I caught some students red-handed copying during University Examinations. They had political backing and came from big houses. They trapped me in another incident, said I misused funds during the college annual functions. They made false proofs against me. I was first suspended and then dismissed.”
“Sir, you didn’t join any other private colleges?”
“Who will take a teacher who have served 3 years imprisonment?” A high voltage shock passed through Govind’s mind. It made him feel numb; he wanted to lie down somewhere. He couldn’t believe his teacher was behind the bars once. A sudden thought went through him.

“Was it my curse that caused Sir’s downfall? Was it my revenge that was carried out by GOD in this way?”

He had no answer. His mind had no answer. Nor he could ask his father, who always helped him in tight situations. He was alone there. He couldn’t face Vijayan Sir at that moment. He sat face down.

“… and then I left my home town.. came here .. worked in a hotel then after some time I started this tea-stall. After all I too have to live. I too have a family. Here I am fine, there is nobody to ask about my past, nobody to enquire about me and I am earning for my daily livelihood. I am happy here.. You are the first person I am meeting after I left home.”

Vijayan Sir started back to his workplace; he walked slowly. With a deep sigh Govind called, “…Sir…” his voice was trembling. He wanted redemption, and that was his last chance.

But Sir didn’t look back. He walked away, slowly and resumed his job amidst the new crowd of passengers. He was busy serving them tea.

A bit far away, the driver of the bus in which Govind came was honking the horn for the passengers to come back.

Vijayan Sir waited for the next bus.