Day One

Where was the beginning.... I vaguely remember the days of 'Vimochana Samaram' where at age 6, clinging on Valyammachi's fingers, I marched to Kottayam immersed in a serpantine line which seemed unending. My only interest was the little girl 'friends', hanging on the 'tails' of their grandma's pudava, who were vehemently chanting slogans in praise of 'PT Chacko' and 'Mannam' (the two legandaries of Catholic-Nair caucus to oust the first democratically elected communist government ever in the world) and at their throat's seams cursing 'EMS' , 'MN" and 'Gauri' ,Communits,the 'salesmen' of satan's kingdom. The march was a clean three miles starting from Pulinchuvadu via Kudayampady, which was a strong bastion of communists and then through Varissery and Chungom(again strongholds of the 'evils'). Marching forward ascending Chalukunnu, then alongside CMS all assembled at Thakidipuram(Thirunakkara maidanam) There were herds of MSP (Malabar Special Police) who used to 'lathi charge' the 'peaceful protesters' picketting transport buses in the town. Many youngsters of Kudamaloor who were heros of the Vimochana Samaram, got beaten and occassionally arrested.
Around this period one day, before the first communion, I had committed a 'deadly sin'. I received communion without the initial confession and the 'first communion' ceremony. I had not felt any qualm in revealing my 'achievement' to my mother. My 'religious- god fearing' mother shrudded on hearing the horrondous news of a 'deadly sin' committed by her first son. She thrashed me left and right with all abusives pulled out of her vocal basket. I got a special thrashing from my father too in the evening. All those who heard this dreadful news sympathised with me for the certain punishment waiting for me after life.
Those were days of religious intensification. The anti-religion communists have dared and dreaded the church. Nuns with the strength of their canes made sure that all Catholic(christian)children follow religious rituals without fail. They conducted morning prayer at the begining of the morning session,then noon prayer before the one hour recess, again prayer at the start of the after noon session, and a concluding prayer at the end of the school hours. The safeguards never ended at 4 p.m. For the Catholics, they had to attend a 45 minutes compulsory catechism class followed by a rosary in the church which lasts till 5.30 in the evening. Exhausted... no play...hungry.... It never ended there. The Sunday school catechisms were for warning the young 'believers' that the sinful will get the horrible hell with Satan (Chekutan)ruling that kingdom with fire and snakes and all fearsome elements around, and no scope to escape. Only those with a clean chit from the church can enter the kingdom of God, where it is always cool breeze, honey and milk flowing, beautiful angels waiving hand fans, no hunger, no pain. All good people like Holy pope, Bishops, Fathers, nuns and a very few good lay men with clean habits enter. But for the believers there is a place of purification and that was the ray of hope for the ordinery mortals like me. All the idols other than the ones in catholic churches were satanic symbols and therefore forbidden to look at. Sins, heaven and hell, church and half filled stomach... that was my childhood.

Childhood was not that bad too... A lot of fun... monkey groups.. football matches... Pachakali... kilithattu kali.. Kuttiyum- kolum and group fights.In all I was either the obvious loser or the player in waiting, except in fights where I was the leader and the one gets beaten till the last as my brave co-fighters desert me amidst the fight.... I was slowly growing.
Class VII was the turning point. Till then I was one of the toppers in all subjects despite being physcially indisposed at times, with food and clothes in scarce, abuses and freqeunt whipping by parents and teachers and occassional spanks by 'friends'. Then started the agitation against 'imposition of hindi' a North Indian monster thrust upon the Southies. Many committed suicides in neighbouring Tamil Nadu in protest. The Entire South India especially Tamil Nadu and Kerala went madly in flames. The parochial Sastri era vanished the Nehruvian 'National' pride. Sastri could not visualise India beyond the hindi-land and wanted hindi to replace english. Then came the 'Ari Samaram', the fight for rice. Those were the days for the hoarders. rice socked in water were sold at exhorbitant rate to the ing poor. Greedy became richer by day while poor starved with One time meal (kanji) one time 'Kappa' and the half baked 'Orotti' made of wheat flour . Church preached and consoled the prayful empty stomachs blessed are those who starve, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven' My classes were merged with the agitations that continued till Class X. Maths classes were never attended. English ,Social Studies along with Malayalam classes were attended. Thomas Sir ruled out my chance to get past class X.
The story continued... days of no hope.... youngsters were weary of uncertain future. Many took up extremism, drugs, hippyism... many left for big cities like Mumbi, Delhi.... Worried parents,... money in short supply... three time meal a luxury, ha! what if I could possess a terrlyn shirt.
I have passed class X. The first matriculate in the entire family. Cause for celeberation. My gradpa offered his only possession (half acre land) to make me a 'dakitar'. That was a time when joint family system has not eroded inspite of rampant povery and a very weak economy. Any how I could not, and did not go for my grandpa's 'dakitary' offer. Instead my father was broadminded enough to send me to college for a pre-degree course. I joined KE College,Mannanam enrolled 475 in ' S' batch of the 1968-70 batch. There I experienced the difference.....The rich 'Kanjirappaly' planter's hostellier sons and the non hostelliers of the local area. There was vertical gulf. I learned hard bitter lessons of life here. Two year's pre degree could not make any nostalgia. There ended my higher education.
Then it was 'Royal Technical Institute' Kottayam for Short-hand and Typewriting, the only vocational course a common 'Malayalee' pinned his hope on. Not enough memory in store. Until the next musings......