A Egg-Potato Curry and a Sermon

Egg – potato curry

Ingredients :

Egg                                                                                      – four

Potato                                                                                  – four

Tomato                                                                                – one

Onion                                                                                   - two

Ginger                                                                                  – 10 grams

Garlic -                                                                                 -  10 grams (10 cloves)

Green Chillies                                                                      – four pcs

Coriander leaves                                                                  – ten grams

Red Chilly powder                                                               – two tea spoons

Coriander power                                                                   – One and a half tea spoon

Tamarind power                                                                    – half a tea spoon

Meat Masala                                                                         -  half a tea spoon

Vinegar                                                                                 -  one tea spoon

Oil & Salt as per requirement 

Put eggs in a Boiling pot for boiling. After sufficiently boiling put off the flame and let it cool.

Peel and cut potatoes vertically into four pcs, chop onions, ginger and garlic cloves into small bits and tomato into small pcs. Peel off the boiled, cooled eggs  and cut them upside down into two pcs.each.

Flame the stove and pour five to six tea spoon cooking oil into a pan and put potato pcs till the potato becomes semi brown. Take out the fried potatoes to a plate.

Put the neatly chopped onion, ginger and garlic bits into the pan and let it fry in medium flame for three minutes.Add  green chillies (split with one cut) into the pan and stir slowly for a minute. Add tamarind, chilly, coriander powder and meet masala with the mixture and stir for a minute until it smells. Do not forget to add salt. Add pcs of tomato and stir well till the masala mix becomes brown. Pour vinegar into the mixture and then add two cups of water and let it boil in low flame till the gravy becomes thick. Put the fried potato pcs into the curry and then slowly place the neatly peeled, horizontally cut eggs cut side up. Spread the minutely cut coriander leaves over the curry. Keep the pan over stove for half a minute more and douse the flame. Add half a cup milk and let it spread all over.

Good for rice and chappati – Why not try?

                                    

A thought for the day

On Sunday the 9^th of November, 2014 I was on my way to the Church for the usual Sunday Mass. My young friend, Joel who was my cab company on our way to the NDTV “We the People” Show, met me at the church’s gate and excitedly intro me to his Dad. Joel introduced me to his Dad as his co-participant in the talk-show. I extended my right hand, calling out my name, in good spirit expecting a warm hand-shake and a reciprocative self introduction. The Gentleman took my hand of friendship with a pinch of disinterest - a cold four finger touch  and a quick – I don’t care type- smirk  and then made a  walk  into the congregation of  faithful, pretending as if he will be a sinner if slightly late for the mass.

I wonder if he presumed that I am an LIC agent, who will kill him to make a policy alive with my tongue lashing. No it may not be the case.  I am sure, He doesn’t take his son, a college graduate pursuing law seriously enough or perhaps his attitude is reserved for all Joel’s friends and I accidently happened to be one.

The Sunday sermon was based on the story of the ‘Good Samaritan’ who spent his time, money and patience to look after a way-side beggar suffering with pain and fever in the biting winter on the street of Jerusalem. The beggar was passed by a priest, a merchant and many other socially very important persons. But the’Samaritan’ who was a mere traveller who never belonged to the town was the only person to take notice of the suffering man and  cared to nurse him.

With Jesus Christ’s famous parable, the celebrant Father was educating the attendant  believers that mere attending the mass and not looking at a human being suffering on the way side with pain and difficulties only make the ritual a farce.

Though the parable has  little to do with me and the embarrassed young Joel, it calls for a rethinking on the pattern of our behaviour when a person is introduced for the first time, even though the introducer is your own child and the introduced is a stranger. It is important to exhibit basic courtesy and good mannerism at all times for the sake of the honour of your child.

I have cited this true incident to tell young parents to take your child seriously enough. Appreciate his achievements and respect his friends with basic courtesy and decency. Your son may still be your child, but believe me, he is also an individual with varied qualities and multiple aquintances elsewhere.

"Ammachi - A Sneha Theeram"

Chakku - our grandson is down with fever. I am restless. It is he who decides my activities. He makes me laugh over his one liner shoots. He makes me forget all my apprehensions about the life after retirement. Appacha... Mei Hoom Na.... His innocent assurance gives me a reason to be pleasing always.

Today, I saw Soy Joseph's  post on his facebook page, he lost his "Ammachi" (Grandma) on 1st Oct 2014. I spoke to him over phone. Soy, a soft spoken -lovely but strong person, was full of unsaid emotional words when he spoke abou his " sweetest ammachi" with whom he spent his childhood. May his Ammachi smile through his life, even though she has set for her heaveny voyage.

"Ammachi" is not just a person, but a phenomenon. I can see it down here. She has all the world's time and eneregy for  her "Muthu Mon" (Chakku). No matter, she may be still the Manager of the Kitchen, the most soughtafter chef for all six of us, all her knee pains,back aches, intermittant head-aches side-steps the moment she hears his call "Ammmmachhhheeeee......." with both his hands up in the air, an obvious innvitation for a pick  up. He gets angry with a scream if any one other than "Ammachi" attends to his demand and tries to pick him up.

Ammachi runs with a PT Usha stride from wherever she is,   I wonder, from where she gets her energy charged, if not 'love' -unconditional.

I am sure, many of us have gone through this "sneha theeram" (bank of  stream of love), if not, have simply missed it - an eternal loss.

Singapore alias 'Simhapuram'

Time scarcity remains the reason for a pause in posting a blog for long.

Singapore – An unforgettable Experience

Our Singapore trip would have escaped appearing on blog as memory power is diminishing by day and not giving me sufficient support to bring back the moments in chronology.

On 23^rd April, as planned and programmed by my twins and M/s D’Pauls, we set out for our Singapore voyage by Jet Airways. After a 3 hour boredom wait at the sleepy  departure lounge of the IG International Airport, we were caged into the Jet Airways couches for a six hours’ journey to Singapore. The flight departed at 8.45 a.m (IST) and landed us at 4.30 p.m. Singapore time, with a time difference of two and a half hours, making our day longer by that many hours and minutes.

As the carrier flew over the seas of Singapore, we could view ships and cruises floating down under as if they are colourful toy cars on a plain surface. For some time we became child- like. The Singapore Flier and Skyscrapers become clearer in minutes before the final landing.  After visa stamping, emigration checks etc. at the Airport we were allowed to enter one of the neatest cities in the world.  

Contrary to my expectation of an Indian tour organizer, D’Pauls were present at the Airport. Two of their representatives received us at the airport and dropped us at the hotel in a luxury bus. We were placed in Hotel ‘Fortuna’ in “Little India”. On the way to the Hotel,  they briefed us one of the few famous shopping malls of Singapore. We went to sleep that day without any further activities except our vegetarian dinner. Little India, where our hotel stood, has plenty of Restaurants and we got into a Vegetarian Restaurant and settled for a vegetarian Thali  paying 9 dollars each. A Singapore dollar is approximately 45 rupees in value.

Singapore Flier

The next day, we were received by a loud, chattery Singaporean lady guide of Chinese Origin, Caroline by name. She got us in a Wolkswagen eight seater and drove around Singapore. We were taken to the Singapore flier, a huge large fly wheel with tubular room sized closed cabins with cushioned seats and glass enclosures. The wheel took forty minutes to make one round upside down. We could see huge tall silvery sky scrapers, Singapore’s neat and wide city roads and fly- overs one side, and the seas with cruises anchored and floating in it the other side. Far away, across the sea, we could spot Malaysia and Indonesia. After the enthralling city tour, we were dropped back around lunch time, the rest of the day was free, we had lunch from ‘Saravana Bhavan”, and repeated same for Dinner too.

The Santosa Experience

On day three, we were taken by the same lady guide to Santosa Island, entry tickets were all pre-purchased. We were dropped there around 11 a.m. for the day to be picked up at 8 p.m. from the gate where we were dropped. She had given us the Driver’s phone number.

The Santosa experience started with a ride on a sleigh (a metal coated plank put on four wheels) with a single axilator–cum-break which slopped down a neatly tarred, narrow lane on a hill road with only trees to look at both sides. The lanes were skirted with concrete siding in order to save riders from a possible skid from the pathway to the deep valley.  We finished our adventurous ride on two different vehicles. Though Baby had an initial fear, she settled later though at a slow pace releasing the lever and applying the break in between, making other riders take careful turns and curves to surpass us.  It was full of fun and adventurous, The other riders, perhaps regulars were riding past us very fast.

We then headed for butterfly park, where we could locate myriad coloured butterflies and birds in a rain forest environment.

Wonders of Under-water world

After the Butterfly park, we moved to the wonder land of marine animals the “Under-water world”. The large watery enclosure with glass bottoms above was a zoo of the marines  below sea-level. A variety of sea animals cris-crossing like rockets above our head. It was as though they were viewing us the humans from their habitat the –sea.  we went round and round standing on  the conveyor, head raised above, looking at species in their natural self.  School of sharks, ray fishes, large sized travelly (Vatta), and other small fishes were floating free in their natural habitat. We saw a very Large ‘Octopus” with its tentacles spreading across.

Dolphin Show

The day stretched to a dolphin show at 3 O clock which ended at four. The Dolphins did eye- catching aerobics in the water, but it was the black ‘seals’ with their  flippers waving and tapping on the wooden podium, bouncing on its fleshy tail to take the rings flung from different distances on its neck with ease  both in and outside the waters, won our hearts the most.

We had then to spend three hours for our next scheduled programme. ‘The Song of the Sea’. We walked along the sea-shore. It was humid, Baby was tired, me too. To pass time we went in the free ride buses around Santosa Island and also the mono rail from one end to the other. During the Mono rail ride we saw ‘Universal Studios’. We did not have plan for ‘Universal Studios’, as we were told that it would be a day long affair with so many fun-rides which we were afraid we might not be able to enjoy and so skipped it. 

Song of the Sea

By 7 p.m. we assembled at the beach for the ‘The Song of the Sea’ show. It was a spectacular light and sound show with laser light magic depicting in brief the back ground of Singapore and its patron mermaid goddess.

Mohammad, the Chinese driver from D’Paul’s came looking for us at the exit gate and drove us back to the hotel.  We had to end up with ‘Saravana Bhvan’ veg food that night tooand retired to sleep.

The third day, Friday, we were free till 6 p.m. We received Sunita’s call to visit her Restaurant in Labrador Park. That day’s lunch was with her. Our First Singaporian Non-veg food. The taste of the food was marvelous. We enjoyed and ate the food like we haven’t eaten for days together.

The Restaturant named “ Paratha  Paratha”, in a ‘Gurgaon type’ modern sky scrapper complex, was Indian to the core, a name “Malabari” would have been more apt. Sunita is Nitin’s cousin and buddy. She seemed a very warm person. Sunita, like a local guide monitored our journey in the Singapore Metro from Ferrer Park to Labrador Park, with a change over at Sea front centre  till her doorstep over the phone. We were amazed that the time we set for her restaurant was the busiest hours of her business,but we could not see a trace of uneasiness on her face. She modestly received us, served us the best food that we can remember in Singapore and escorted us back till the Shopping Mall and then to the Metro. She spent almost three hours before we depart. She has two kids whose time we had stolen that day. Sunita’s Husband is running a Restaurant in Little India, where she had invited us to join on Saturday or Sunday, we could not meet them as it was raining the next two days and we could not walk the streets in comforts.

The Night Safari

Friday evening at 6 O clock  D’Paul’s bus picked us for the “night Safari”. It was an hour’s drive from our place. We reached around seven. On reaching we were put in the open top toy train and set for the jungle safari. It was a “Ride through the Jungle in the night”. Around a zoo, though, it was fun. It gave us  feel of the jungle with beattle and other night creatures sound mixed with roars of lion, trumpeting elephants, cry of fox,heyna, and wild buffaloes along with the screeching of the rail wheel while taking turnings here and there. We could see, as we moved, on both sides, animals moving under floodlights hovering over their head. Though disturbed the animals we enjoyed the ride.  After the night safari it was the turn of jungle dance. The dancers draped in cavemen’s dress performed tricks with fire by spitting fire in different ways. . These are the same tricks we see back home at various regional ceremonies. That day’s dinner was included in the  tour package and we were taken to the same restaurant where we used to have our breakfast near the hotel.

The Hoppo ride

On Saturday, since we had nothing programmed for the day , paying 33 SD per person we boarded a double ducker for a Singapore City tour. The Bus- like our Poho- went around the city in an hour. The pass had 24 hours’ validity. We could make any number of ride within 24 hours. We thought of making it once again, but could not do so owing to rain. We found a Restaurant which served Non-veg food. It was run by a Malayali Muslim. We had rice and fish curry and fish fry. We repeated the same for dinner also.

The 6^th day

The sixth day was also the final day in Singapore. During an hour long shopping at Mustafa’s, where we bought stuff for Chakku, who we miserably missed throughout. In fact, majority of stuffs we purchased meant for him only. At Mustafa’s we befriended a Sales person – Mr. Prasad, hails from Kottayam.(We saw number of Malayalees on the streets of Little India reminding us of INA Market). It would be unfair if I do not mention that this part of Singapore, gave us a feeling of Chennai as the language spoken at variance is Tamil. I could locate four large, rich south Indian Temples in the vicinity of a kilo- meter along the road where chanting of Mantras in Tamil could be heard. Singapore metro makes announcements in Tamil besides English and Malay.  

We checked out at 12 O clock. Kept the things at the Hotel lobby, we went out for one final walk through the Singapore Streets.  We repeated the previous days menu from the same “Ekkakka’s hotel’ for lunch.

Before concluding, it would be unfair if I do not thank D’Paul’s who with their meticulous planning and organizational skill made our journey in an alien land comfortable, smooth and homely without any hitches. All their reps in Singapore especially Indians were warm, helpful and always connected.

At 3 p.m. D’Paul’s Vehicle picked us from ‘Fortuna’, dropped us back at Singapore International. Again after a three hour long wait, we were caged into Jet which left at Singapore time 7. 45 for a six hours flight and flew us back to IG International at IST 10.15  giving back our lost 2 and half hours and a basketful of memories of our first International Voyage. We skipped Duty free purchases. We have visa valid for a year long, who knows we may make one more trip, but this time with Chakku and others.

 

 

 

 

This is for Prem Kumar

A day or two after our Singapore trip plan got finalized, (We made a virtual tour of Bangkok Pattaya, Sri Lanka and Dubai before we decided to fly to Singapore). got the shocking news of OCP down with a massive stroke. OCP struggled and fought for a month before finally giving up.  Nitin had already reached to be with his father in time. We got the painful news midnight Saturday. By the time it was already the next day, Sunday 8^th April, four of us- Baby, Lisa, Aditya and me managed to get in the morning by Indigo, reached Kochi in 3 hours. Always, after our children’s marriage,  Prem Kumar was there at Nedumbassery to receive us.  We had to hire a taxi to reach home as the one who used to receive us was lying motionless in the cooled mobile mortuary waiting for his last journey.

OCP’s was a sudden departure from the scene, a soft spoken he was, we had very limited verbal communications. During the course of five years or so we knew each other, it was I who used more words in talks, he used very few words to express his side, but were enough to build a bond between the two of us. The evenings of our limited Kochi stays were  made warmer by his opening a scotch and that was when OCP made his points louder with words.

Till now It has not fully registered that he will not be there at the airport when we visit Kochi or drive us down for our return in future. Also that we will not have another evening together, with scotch. Here again, I owe him a lot, a good friend.

I was proud to be a relative of this Gentleman who left this world, leaving a very strong imprint in our hearts which will remain, till memories fade. 

A Picnic to the Zoo, and a New Year Resolution

A Picnic to the Zoo, and a New Year Resolution

On Sunday the 20^th Jan 2013 we made it to the Delhi Zoo, perhaps after a lapse of twenty long years. This was with a mission to familiarise Chakku - sorry- Aditya. Aditya by his own self addressing system has corrected us from calling him ‘Chakku’. He only takes his name ‘Aditya” and we have no other option but to follow suit. Chakku will soon get into archives as Aditya is emerging strongly.

Zoo had Lion, giraffe, tiger, bear, deer, crocodile, swans, ducks, pelicans, parrots monkeys and many more were there. He liked them or not, but from his enthusiasm it seemed he enjoyed the over four km walk in the clean environment. Normally he is being taken to concrete-electronic jungle “the mall” but this time, it was for a change.

Recently I took part in a “New year Fun- Resolution’ contest held by TERI. My entry was selected for the first prize. I reproduce the entry below, but on the subject I wish to state that my entry was selected not because it was any literary marvel, but for the reason that scholars in TERI did not whole-heartedly took part. I had won a first prize on another occasion too.

The prize winner resolution was like

I will pedal my bicycle to office, drink from the tap and say no to recycled water,

Will have tea with Gur and Tulsi  in a mud pot, ‘n’ say no to cup of China Clay.

Switch off A/C, use inland letter pad to write a mail, and stop e-mail henceforth.

Carry a Motorola walky-talky, ’n’ will throw away my Nokia X2.

Take a dip in Yamuna River once a week and call CM’s help line ‘181’ when in need.

Put on a Gandhi topi and a Khadi Kurta to office ‘n’ say no to Polyester and Terry-cot.

Switch off FM when playing ‘Chipkale….. Fevicol Se… and

Will only listen to music when playing Meri Man ki Ganga Aur Teri Man ki Yamuna ke

Bol Radha Bol Sangam Hoga ki Nahin…..

Mushkil Hey, Magar Na mumkin bhi Nahim !

A Confession, An obituary, a Regret and more

A Confession, An obituary, a Regret and more

Amnesia, is it that, makes me forget a thing in a minute or two. Of late, it becomes hard to recall a thing I remembered a minute or so back, it is becoming tough by day. Many a ‘things to do’ does not figure in the day’s ‘list of things done’ at the end of the day. May be I have to resort to some kind of tonic for boosting memory.

I remember solidly my memory power that on a fine afternoon session in Class X, my Sir, respected V P Narayanan Nair- who is no more- caught me straying out of the window while he was lecturing the non-detail “Tarapatham”. He threw a piece of chalk, which hit my forehead and raised his finger pointer, asking me stand abrupt up, shooting a question from the lesson he was lecturing. Double sure to beat me literally with the cane, it was a long sentence, a stretch of twenty to thirty words, that he poked on me. I was shaken for a moment. But recalled all what I heard last and recited back without any error. The boys went on a loud crack, and Sir had to retreat.

A Teacher-revered- Fr. Paul Koodapuzha was the Principal of Holy Angels School, Sahibabad, when we ‘migrated’ to Sahibabad from South Delhi. Father was very kind in admitting Swapna and Lisa in Class V and III respectively. Seeing Swapna’s zeal for reading, he used to lend her books from his personal collections. He was the Principal and Head of English in the School and simultaneously held responsibility of the Parish Priest. I was selected to be the Secretary of the Parish Council at his instance. We together worked to bring new vigour in the Church community. All parishioners, then a ninety -family strong community, took part in the newly introduced changes for good. I had Fr. Paul’s whole hearted support to get things brought to the community  which  became catalysts to church’s many social initiatives. Introduction of the Celebration of the Parish Day with sports and cultural programmes being one of them. Vincent D Paul Society was brought to Sahibabad Parish.  

Father  left for his heavenly abode. His last days were in Bharananganam.  He succumped to Cancer. He was a disciplinarian in all respect. Not known for any unhealthy eating habits or smoking or drinking.  Robin Joseph, father’s nephew- had invited me for the  memorial mass( 41^st day) at Sahibabad. It was held in the Convent. Father’s lively smile  still afresh, I noticed persons who were close to him missing in his memorial. It was also a revisit of old faces. The mass was conducted by Fr. John Prakash, a friend and longtime associate of Fr. Paul himself.

Once I had an altercation with Fr. Prakash, in the church. I was overboard in the act, it was more so for instant publicity which I used to enjoy. I should have realized the fact that though father was making a false statement from the Altar, he was doing his job, and that he was trying to do it diplomatically in his style. Anyhow, it was his job he was carrying out, which I interrupted with my inflated, plummeted ego. Later, years after, realizing my fault, I called him over phone, and apologized. Sincerely hope he took it in the right spirit  and forgave me. On the memorial day when we met after the Holy Mass we hugged each other and I appologised in person once again. If it was for an ordinary person, I would n’t have gone for any repentance. But here the other person I hurt with my words was no ordinary. He was a respected preacher, a scholar, a person held in high esteem by the church and school community and also senior to me in age, he also qualifies to be respected for the reason that he has gave away his personal luxuries for the cause of the church. Though I scored an immediate point, lost a long-time friend and left a scar of guilt of hurting a person, which I could have avoided. Sorry father, I regret.

Salute to Ammachi

In the month of June, every year, I wish to go back to Kerala due to the



unbearable heat in Delhi. My secret agenda  had Ammachi's cuisines. This year too. It so happened that I had to rush to Kerala on an emergency call.


My mother in law – Ammachi for all of us - was an adorable person. Mother of Six


children, she was a great cook, a farmer, a home maker, above all a good


host. Till the last moment of her lively tenure, she lived for others. Her


children and grand-children. Last time she had gone to the nearby Mother


Mary’s chapel to light candles for ‘Sonu’ her much loved grand-son. She did


not light the candle, she fell down before Mother Mary’s statue, a place


she has been visiting for the past 50 years or so. She broke her hip bone,


was taken to Hospital in Quilon, where she was operated upon, metallic


supports were inserted into her pelvic area. All in vain. She did not


stand up again. We reached in time to see her alive. Lying on a cot, unable to lift


herself, suffering in pain, but yet,  in full of life,  enthused on a good music tapping the


mat with her frail palm at times, making us all break in to laughter, in tears. Least she showed her agony to others,like Bhishma on the “Shara -Shaiyya” she suffered with a smile. Like a sage in the indian mythology or history, she took her own life. Ever since she was hospitalized, she abstained herself taking solid food. As days passed, she restricted her intakes to a spoonful of water only. She committed a willful “Atma Thyaag”.


As in life, It was a fight to the end.On June 12th our beloved Ammachi passed away. Mrs. Mariamma Kurien, went along with her ancestors, to rest in peace.

We could not return what she had give us. We Salute her.

The not so pleasant stories appearing in the media these days tell us the lives of some colourless living beings, anglicised by the name “maid”. These stories also bring to book the true colours of some of the colour-conscious households which employ these under-aged, undernourished, under literate, and under poverty line young girls, who move by flock from villages to big cities in search of two time meals and a cotton saree to cover, perhaps. The shining Indians show kindness in keeping them at home, give them two time ‘roti’, used -old cloths (invariably larger than size) to wear for waking up early in the morning, washing few utensils, a few daily wears of the household, preparing meals for the whole family, besides looking after kids and be a watch dog of the house.


They are also provided with a shelter to sleep in the night( a store, besides the kennel or kitchen back room) The Shining India’s highly ‘literate’ masters also occasionally take the maid for “outing’ when the entire ‘master’ household is set on a dine out. There also the ‘maid’ will accompany the masters with their baby in the cart, and sit at the corner of the place looking after the toddler, her face to the opposite till the masters finish their meals.

For all these and more the maids occasionally are put under discipline drill by pulling their hair, burning their body parts, beating, many a time by the kids of the family for fun and pleasure. Cases of rape is not un-heard. Media stories are umpteen for you to believe.

Neha Afreem was born to a Bangalore couple three months ago. She died recently. The cause of the death was due to torture meted out by her own father. Report of children even toddlers raped and killed all over the country.

The story of hapless innocent Neha Afreem gave me a thought. It may not have happened in any of our families… Many of you girls are lucky to have caring parents and relatives. Beasts like Afreem who fathered Neha are still around and kicking. Birth of a Girl is a sad story in the Indian Continent.

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Oh! My God! It’s a girl

(A mini Story by M.M. Mathew)

While swimming in the water in the limited territory of her mother’s womb, she got her first shock when her Grandma was heard making a prayer, to the Alimighty.

“Oh God, My Lord, let me have a grandson”

Grandma also offered a bribe to God for gifting her with a grandson only.

Gee Maa.. you will certainly have a grandson, after all, what use to all your prayers and your offerings to God ? Is HE blind, No, not at all”- Her father, instilled confidence in Grand-Ma.

This was reason for a double shock as she heard her father supporting his mother. She was actually looking forward to the day when her dear father would jump with joy at the time of her arrival. But Nine months and Nine days , Nine hours and that many minutes and seconds, she craved to hear anyone making a prayer for a her. Bribing the Good God for A Girl Child. They prayed, wished and longed for the arrival of a boy, a BOY only.

She did not want to come out of the shell she was placed, with her inferior identity, she knew for sure that her existence will not be welcomed.

She now look up to her mother, who, for sure, would be the happiest person in the world when she actually put her foot down.

The D-day.

She wished she could stay on.

But despite her wish, she could no longer hold on to her egg shells.

Crying, shivering, as though frightened to be caught she slowly slid out of the shell.

Alas ! Heaven fell … Volcano erupted…storm, thunder, lightning and rain….

Grand Ma beat her forehead and repeated on her chest with both hands,

Severely weeping, blaming God for cheating on her, for being ungrateful.

And her mother

Mother, lied beside her bearing a blank pale and sad look as though she committed a deadly sin.

Relatives soothed her father…

No matter “Lakshmi Ghar Aye he…. Next one will be certainly a BOY”…. They ate Burfi and vanished.

A few years after.

Her mother gave birth to her second child, a BOY.

She saw her Grandmother distributing sweets to her friends and relatives..

Surprised … Grandma was dancing and yelling at others with joy - I have a Grandson born. After all, God listened, God is not blind.

They told her he was her brother.

She grew in the midst of Do’s and Don’ts particularly set for her

She was taught, cursed and scolded for

Sitting, standing, racing, singing, laughing, the wrong way

She was not allowed to wear clothes of her liking…. She was given food after her father and brother ate….

Le me sum up the story….

We wrote a rule book for HER.

MOM &MAGGI

Mom & Maggi

That was a week-end off-day.
Mom was showing signs of fatigue.
Why not?
She has been working like a non-stop machine all the time.
Though they were seeing her from day Zero but of late knew it for sure that
Mom’s style of work is the cause of her weakness.
She needs better managerial skill and health consciousness.
Children always advise her to take care of her health, but she finds no
time for the same.
She shut her ears to all their advises all the time.
Children got worked up. Their valuable advises were turning to vapours as
if poured on a hot pot kept upside down.
So, on the week-end off-day, they decided to teach Mom some basics.
They decided to show her how to manage home with minimum stress and maximum
results.
After all, they were taught of time management, space management, stress
management etc. etc. and “why not” put them to use at home also.
They also studied to face work with a smile and enjoy it.
Children took the task of home management on their shoulders, for a day.

Mom’ enjoy a day’s off.

They decided to share work, you broom, I mop;
You wash rice; mix dough; I cut vegetables, boil milk;
You make break-fast; I make lunch and we together prepare dinner – exactly
as Mom does.
You wash utensils; I clean table, spread bed cover, dust sofa, side tables,
glass panes;
You put clothes in the W/M; I rinse, you spread, I press.
All work decided, to share and there they both set out for work.

The beginning was great, started with morning Coffee, then breakfast – of
course toast & butter – time is important.

Broomed all the rooms… mopping followed… But it took little time –
inexperience, after all – with time things will speed up …

Washing clothes took a good long time, rinsing made hands burnt, reddish…
It’s OK!
It was almost time for lunch. They decided to make ‘Kitchadi” – A quickremedy - All in one, very healthy, with Achar (mom’s own yummy item).
Lunch finished, utensils to be cleaned, clothes yet to be rinsed, spread
and later pressed. Children needed a quick nap… Before that they decided
the dinner.
We will have “Maggi” for dinner.



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You can read my blog : http://mathewsponderings.blogspot.in






















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Travencore Syrian Christian Succession Act - A salute to Mary Roy

As an an LIC agent I contacted a subscriber who wished to propose a policy. Well, being an Agent myself, I provided her with all the necessary advises, documents to sign and explained to her the merits and demerits of a Life Insurance. She wanted the insurance be made on her Son’s life.
Well I did exactly as she wanted.
Exactly like an enthusiastic LIC adviser, I knew the Lady also has a daughter, elder to the son and I wanted her life too got insured. She declined saying “ No, Mathew ji, she has, in any way, to be married off soon” .
What she meant, as I could guess, was that the daughter will be sent off with a dowry, a bargain will take place later on and the amount will be fixed and the girl will be sent off. Any other investment on her will be futile.
The person whom I was interacting with is a professional and learned Lady, a mother, a wife and before that she was a daughter too. This is the attitude even educated persons hold for a girl child. That too from a member of a Syrian Christian clan, for whose girls’ rights, Mary Roy fought for twenty five long years from a Magistrate Court in Kottayam to the Supreme Court of India to gain this legitimate right of the Christian girl to have equal share of her ancestral property. The Court verdict made history. The 200 odd year old Travencore Christian Succession Act was changed to include the girl child for equal right in her parental property. A fundamental right, every other Indian is guaranteed with, but the Syrian Christian women. You know what, A girl in the Syrian Christian family- prior to the verdict- was entitled for a mere 5000 Rupees or land or property worth not exceeding this amount, come what may be the property of the family. Though, the verdict had changed the law, the mindset is still rampant in the Christian Community, who preserve their wealth for the boy. Mary Roy is the founder Principal of “Copper Christi” now known as “Pallikoodam”, she also may be, if necessary, addressed as mother of Arundhati Roy “ the creator of “God of small things”.

I know a Lady, who is also one of my best friends, who gave up her marriage to take up the responsibility of her ageing mother and ill-employed brothers. I also has a person in my life, who is a very ardent critic of mine, much more than a best friend, cool-ly telling ‘boys to be’ that her parents are her responsibility and watch them vanish.

Why Not Quit

Being Swapna’s B’day, 17th Feb, as usual, a family outing and dine together. We assembled from two directions at 2.00 past at Essex Farms, a place we used to go from days as back as Swap and Lizu were a little bigger than Chakku. This time the food was not worth its money. As can be expected, u know !
That’s OK. But I have made a resolution that day, “I will not dine in a Restaurant of that sort, henceforth, for a different reason.
While we were busy with the stuff served, there came a family stylishly attired women and men. They were five of them. One of the women was also mother of a baby. The Baby was being carried by a teenager, who, I suppose, may not be over 12. The girl was shabbily attired, looked frightened and confused. Soon the ‘Malikin’ mother took the Baby and lead the carrier girl to the green lawns outside the restaurant for her to wait until they finish their ‘cosy’ meals.
On the way out we saw the baby sitter sitting and munching a roll of dry Chappatis which may be a left over of previous night. I was wondering, why the woman offer the ‘baby sitter’ a child herself, the food she eats. The lady wants her little one be looked after by the teenager at her best attention and without any harm and discomfort to her child. On the other hand, she refuse the other person, a child herself, the basic right to food, cloth and a human dignity. I may not have explained it in its severety owing to my constraint with the language.
It pained me, irritated me, and saddened me. I wanted to call the dining family and ask them to behave. I also wanted the ‘child labour’ issue be brought up before the police. I could’nt do anything. For reason that my family will not support me for sucha an act, they would yell at me asking me to mind my own business, not to spoil their moments of fun. That way, I am sure, lakhs of poor children are treated brutally every where, and will continue so unabated so long poverty prevails in the ‘shining India’.
I have decided, I will not dine in a food joint where a poor child will be kept out starving or with a roll of ‘sookha’ roti. Also it is a sheer waste. Why not quit !

A Christmas Souvenir
A travelogue is not what I am planning to put down under. This is only a narration of a refreshing experience. Essentially not in sequence.
Duronto Express safely landed us in Ernakulam on 19th December 2011. Pemkumar, Pinchoo and Namita came to receive us at the Ernakulam Junction. After communications with Thomas Francis [1]and tea we set out for the unfinished flat at Kakanad. No, the day did n’t end with that, in between ,we made a side trip up to ‘Jayalakshmi’ from where Swap picked up some silk and cotton sarees and Baby emptied my valet for two maxis. That evening was superb with French Brandy and Vat69 Super-cop treat, to the yummy l Talassery delicacy Star Aappam and fish Moily. A wonderful evening indeed.
Leaving Chakku and family to the pleasure of his grandpa & grandma (Achachan and Achamma) and his Gorgeous, EverGreen Great- Grandpa, the next morning, we headed for Destination next, we boarded a train to Varkala, a small coastal town, now a world famous tourist attraction, midway Kollam and Trivandrum. The environment in a train in Kerala is quite enviable, particularly, if you happened to travel in the North. The journey was a joy, despite our ongoing arguments on silly matters quite normal between us. I had a temptation to get down at Kottayam once the train reached Ettumanoor. My Kudamaloor is an arm’s-length from Kumaranallur. But, for the first time in forty one years I suppressed my temptation and passed by my home town without embarking there. Notably it was also my first train journey down South of Kottayam.
We had no idea about the place and the facilities awaiting us there. Nitin’s friend Rajesh, who is the General Manager of ‘Krishna Theeram’ came personally at the Varkala Railway Station to receive us. But on landing, not even for a moment, we felt out of place. Nitin had arranged accommodation in “Krishna Theeram”, a resort with clusters of moderately furnished huts spread across a sprawling land. Facing the sea, our one room hut opened to the horizon of the blue seas. On seeing the vast sea in front of us we all immediately transformed ourselves in to the Richard Brandson mode. There are ‘hammocks’ tied to Coconut Palms to hang on and swing. The absence of a TV in the room scarcely perturbed our moments. The very first evening itself we took time out to ascend the cliff top through the un-tarred, neatly laid walk- way where make shift shops of tourist attractions on one side and the vast Arabian sea waves break and splinter on the rocks down the bottom of the cliff. As sun set in the west, Diwali like illuminations appeared in the western horizon, which we learnt is that of numerous fishing boats out in the sea for their catch. The ‘Dhabas’ run by North Easterners offered variety of fresh fish displayed for tourists to get it cooked to order. We had a portion of salmon, four squids, four tiger prawns and six silver prawns got roasted with a bottle of beer each. That was the third evening.
The mornings of 21st and 22nd were spent at Ayurvedic clinic for a refreshing oil massage . Swapna was found lost in the mornings and evenings playing with and between the waves. Baby and me too joined her one evening to get beaten and wet by the waves. We also went upto the fisher men’ s cove close to the beach in the morning where silvery fishes still fluttering were being plucked out of the net. The two beaches, one a private one for tourists near “Krishna Theeram” and the wider “Papanasam” beach, both had big crowds of the global community floating, merry making in the loud splashing waves of Arabian Sea, come what time of the day. The white men and women flocked to the shores to get wet in the salty water and lie almost bare from top to bottom in the sand in order to get a sun bath. Though very challenging moments were before me to keep my eyes out of the robe-less women from far away countries, it was commendable on the part of these people who bare and dare the waves of The Arabian sea and immerse into it as if they are on a game of football back home. Children also joined them swimming, floating and cutting through the waves and none of them ever seen with an iota of shyness in appearing in the outfit they felt comfortable with. This attitude may perhaps, be the reason that they are ahead of us in many areas.
After a refurbishing three nights and four days in the shores of Varka, we left for Punalur. We had the lavish Christmas lunch and dinner a day in advance. In the evening, we went out to the Punalur town to have a glimpse of the stunning - Punalur Hanging bridge –(thookkupalam in local dialet). I took a few snaps of the engineering marvel. Swap was uncomfortable of the glances shot from the Punalur locals for whom any one differently dressed is a curiosity. I got a nice dressing which swirled away with buff curry and fish in the brandy the evening.
24th morning we headed to Kottayam, Chakku and family had already landed in Punalur by late night on 23rd. At Changanassery, there was a diversion for a by-pass to Kottayam, but finding the by-pass not very smooth, took a short cut to reach the MC road again and at Kodimatha we halted for lunch at Windsor Castle, a new luxury hotel built on the Kodimathat Chira, They offered Buffet lunch with duck mappas, meen karri, buff and pork, kappa, appam, rice and other veg items at a price of four hundred chips per person. Then, there was a halt see Mother. My mother and Mother Mary at Kudamaloor Church. Chakku and all of us had a few snaps with Ammachi (available in face book).
Back to Ernakulam, we rested at YMCA- a dry place. On the morning of Christmas we had a Buffet B/F from Abad, then set out for the Vallarpadam shrine of Mother Mary, a long time cherish accomplished. Then we headed to see the Dutch Palace, now ITDC’s ‘Bolghaty Palace’ where we had coffee, courtesy Nitin’s friend Aneesh. Aneesh arranged a speed boat in which we made a voyage in the back waters of Kochi. An hour sailing in the Vembanad Kayal, till the mouth of the sea, we had glimpses of Ernakulam Town, Kochi, Wellington Island, Vypin Island, an Entering Ship, another ship offloading at the Port. No matter, the trip was a really brilliant idea and paid off well. (Snaps were taken, available in face book.)
Evening, we checked out of YMCA and boarded a train to Trichur for attending the Baptism of Thomas Francis. We were put in the “Regency Club” where “Pranchiyettan” the famous Mammootty film was shot. That evening with Royal stag, pork and chicken we concluded Christmas of 2011 in Poolside of Regency.
26th was the Baptism. At the ‘ Nadathara’ St. Mary’s Church Thomas Francis was sacramented to enter the Holy sea, the Kingdom of the Roman Catholic Church. Priest in his sermon, pronounced, Thomas Francis having undergone three sacraments, knowing well of Baptism, but unclear of the other two, though vaguely heard – Confirmation – a sacrament, normally applies after Communion and Confession, unheard till then, tradition may have changed, we kept on wondering and arguing about the additional two sacraments. Anyways our confusion vanished with the lovely lunch rich with Pork, Buff, Chicken fry, fish curry and variety of other veg items and ice-creams.
After lunch Baby and me checked out of ‘Regency’ for Ernakulam for another stint with the YMCA and the next day of 27th to fly back to Delhi by Jetlite. Our 26th December dinner at the famous ‘Grant’ was not so grant. Chakku & Co arrived by Air India Maharaja, carelessly losing a packet of carefully packed ‘Palaharams’ somewhere en-route, arrived late in the night. Soon it was New year with a bang!


[1] Thomas Francis, a Australian National, would be getting Baptised on 26th December at his Ammachi’s abode .

A Christmas Souvenir
A travelogue is not what I am planning to put down under. This is only a narration of a refreshing experience. Essentially not in sequence.
Duronto Express safely landed us in Ernakulam on 19th December 2011. Pemkumar, Pinchoo and Namita came to receive us at the Ernakulam Junction. After communications with Thomas Francis [1]and tea we set out for the unfinished flat at Kakanad. No, the day did n’t end with that, in between ,we made a side trip up to ‘Jayalakshmi’ from where Swap picked up some silk and cotton sarees and Baby emptied my valet for two maxis. That evening was superb with French Brandy and Vat69 Super-cop treat, to the yummy l Talassery delicacy Star Aappam and fish Moily. A wonderful evening indeed.
Leaving Chakku and family to the pleasure of his grandpa & grandma (Achachan and Achamma) and his Gorgeous, EverGreen Great- Grandpa, the next morning, we headed for Destination next, we boarded a train to Varkala, a small coastal town, now a world famous tourist attraction, midway Kollam and Trivandrum. The environment in a train in Kerala is quite enviable, particularly, if you happened to travel in the North. The journey was a joy, despite our ongoing arguments on silly matters quite normal between us. I had a temptation to get down at Kottayam once the train reached Ettumanoor. My Kudamaloor is an arm’s-length from Kumaranallur. But, for the first time in forty one years I suppressed my temptation and passed by my home town without embarking there. Notably it was also my first train journey down South of Kottayam.
We had no idea about the place and the facilities awaiting us there. Nitin’s friend Rajesh, who is the General Manager of ‘Krishna Theeram’ came personally at the Varkala Railway Station to receive us. But on landing, not even for a moment, we felt out of place. Nitin had arranged accommodation in “Krishna Theeram”, a resort with clusters of moderately furnished huts spread across a sprawling land. Facing the sea, our one room hut opened to the horizon of the blue seas. On seeing the vast sea in front of us we all immediately transformed ourselves in to the Richard Brandson mode. There are ‘hammocks’ tied to Coconut Palms to hang on and swing. The absence of a TV in the room scarcely perturbed our moments. The very first evening itself we took time out to ascend the cliff top through the un-tarred, neatly laid walk- way where make shift shops of tourist attractions on one side and the vast Arabian sea waves break and splinter on the rocks down the bottom of the cliff. As sun set in the west, Diwali like illuminations appeared in the western horizon, which we learnt is that of numerous fishing boats out in the sea for their catch. The ‘Dhabas’ run by North Easterners offered variety of fresh fish displayed for tourists to get it cooked to order. We had a portion of salmon, four squids, four tiger prawns and six silver prawns got roasted with a bottle of beer each. That was the third evening.
The mornings of 21st and 22nd were spent at Ayurvedic clinic for a refreshing oil massage . Swapna was found lost in the mornings and evenings playing with and between the waves. Baby and me too joined her one evening to get beaten and wet by the waves. We also went upto the fisher men’ s cove close to the beach in the morning where silvery fishes still fluttering were being plucked out of the net. The two beaches, one a private one for tourists near “Krishna Theeram” and the wider “Papanasam” beach, both had big crowds of the global community floating, merry making in the loud splashing waves of Arabian Sea, come what time of the day. The white men and women flocked to the shores to get wet in the salty water and lie almost bare from top to bottom in the sand in order to get a sun bath. Though very challenging moments were before me to keep my eyes out of the robe-less women from far away countries, it was commendable on the part of these people who bare and dare the waves of The Arabian sea and immerse into it as if they are on a game of football back home. Children also joined them swimming, floating and cutting through the waves and none of them ever seen with an iota of shyness in appearing in the outfit they felt comfortable with. This attitude may perhaps, be the reason that they are ahead of us in many areas.
After a refurbishing three nights and four days in the shores of Varka, we left for Punalur. We had the lavish Christmas lunch and dinner a day in advance. In the evening, we went out to the Punalur town to have a glimpse of the stunning - Punalur Hanging bridge –(thookkupalam in local dialet). I took a few snaps of the engineering marvel. Swap was uncomfortable of the glances shot from the Punalur locals for whom any one differently dressed is a curiosity. I got a nice dressing which swirled away with buff curry and fish in the brandy the evening.
24th morning we headed to Kottayam, Chakku and family had already landed in Punalur by late night on 23rd. At Changanassery, there was a diversion for a by-pass to Kottayam, but finding the by-pass not very smooth, took a short cut to reach the MC road again and at Kodimatha we halted for lunch at Windsor Castle, a new luxury hotel built on the Kodimathat Chira, They offered Buffet lunch with duck mappas, meen karri, buff and pork, kappa, appam, rice and other veg items at a price of four hundred chips per person. Then, there was a halt see Mother. My mother and Mother Mary at Kudamaloor Church. Chakku and all of us had a few snaps with Ammachi (available in face book).
Back to Ernakulam, we rested at YMCA- a dry place. On the morning of Christmas we had a Buffet B/F from Abad, then set out for the Vallarpadam shrine of Mother Mary, a long time cherish accomplished. Then we headed to see the Dutch Palace, now ITDC’s ‘Bolghaty Palace’ where we had coffee, courtesy Nitin’s friend Aneesh. Aneesh arranged a speed boat in which we made a voyage in the back waters of Kochi. An hour sailing in the Vembanad Kayal, till the mouth of the sea, we had glimpses of Ernakulam Town, Kochi, Wellington Island, Vypin Island, an Entering Ship, another ship offloading at the Port. No matter, the trip was a really brilliant idea and paid off well. (Snaps were taken, available in face book.)
Evening, we checked out of YMCA and boarded a train to Trichur for attending the Baptism of Thomas Francis. We were put in the “Regency Club” where “Pranchiyettan” the famous Mammootty film was shot. That evening with Royal stag, pork and chicken we concluded Christmas of 2011 in Poolside of Regency.
26th was the Baptism. At the ‘ Nadathara’ St. Mary’s Church Thomas Francis was sacramented to enter the Holy sea, the Kingdom of the Roman Catholic Church. Priest in his sermon, pronounced, Thomas Francis having undergone three sacraments, knowing well of Baptism, but unclear of the other two, though vaguely heard – Confirmation – a sacrament, normally applies after Communion and Confession, unheard till then, tradition may have changed, we kept on wondering and arguing about the additional two sacraments. Anyways our confusion vanished with the lovely lunch rich with Pork, Buff, Chicken fry, fish curry and variety of other veg items and ice-creams.
After lunch Baby and me checked out of ‘Regency’ for Ernakulam for another stint with the YMCA and the next day of 27th to fly back to Delhi by Jetlite. Our 26th December dinner at the famous ‘Grant’ was not so grant. Chakku & Co arrived by Air India Maharaja, carelessly losing a packet of carefully packed ‘Palaharams’ somewhere en-route, arrived late in the night. Soon it was New year with a bang!


[1] Thomas Francis, a Australian National, would be getting Baptised on 26th December at his Ammachi’s abode .

I make up and down trips in the Airport Metro on almost every working day. After the Aero-City station, the train suddenly enter the elevated section of the railway, I raise my chin from the pages of India Today / The week in expectation of something new in the opened up horizon. Each time I observe something new on either side of the rail-way. It is like a panoramic canvas with myriad colours changing images every day. sometimes it is a parade of puffy capped soldiers,(the area being the Cantonment) in the lawns of one of the Defence buildings, or herds of village women squatting in circles preparing dung cakes in the open grounds, green spinaches and blossoming Mushrooms, gazing buffaloes, besides the ever flowing fleets of swanky cars, smart red and green DTC buses on either side of the metro; all add to the canvas every day. The beauty of the canvas is eye catching when the train pass through the ridge where the leafy tree tops along the ridge looks like flowing mounds of green clouds. Lucky if you find a monkey family feeding on a shoot of the tree on a sunny day. New Delhi is celebrating its centenary, I am entering my forty second year of Delhi life and am very fortunate to be alive to see the changing colours of this Cosmopolis. Malls apart, noticeable advancement is its transportation systems. There were times when I had to wait for hours to board a DTC bus with passengers flocking inside, roof top, and clinging on all protruding parts of the dull and poorly maintained DTC. The plight of the ever-crowded bus reminded of a monster eating sacks from the rear and vomiting the same from the front, each time it stops. That was it. Many Delhi Babus have struggled their ways making it to the North Block, Patel Chowk, CP , Daryaganj, Okhla etc..etc.. when there was no AC bus, No Metro rail, leave alone Airport Metro. Few of my contemporary Babus retired to rest after a long spell of wrestling and yelling in the Delhi roads to catch a DTC in order to reach places. All things are bygones. Now, Delhi’s roads carry smart Air conditioned buses with obliging drivers and conductors. Not to mention the praise worthy Metro. A sad news the man who changed the face of Delhi is retiring to his humble hamlet in Kerala. No one, it seems, has suggested a ‘Bharat Ratna’ though all cry for the same for Sachin and Bachan OR even Ishwarya’s new born unseen daughter are hot in the air.

This week end we are proceeding to Kerala. This Christmas will be in Kerala. Will have lots of Starry trees next time.

Chirikkatha Malayalee

Watching the in-house audience of Malayalam reality shows I sometimes wonder, why are they there? Majority of them are motionless and still with a blank look, as if they are attending a holy mass in some alien language. I sincerely feel the TV men should outsource viewers from Chennai OR Mumbai, but no Malayalees, please!
You know, we Malayalees seriously think there is a tax if we are loud. You can watch a Malayalam TV program where audience sitting numb over the VJ or a celebrity on stage deliver a word or two in a lighter tone. You know we Malayalees find something wrong in every thing. That is why we blog, tweet and hate Ranjitha Haridas’ Manglish. We Malayalees can not stand another Malayalee speaking Queens toungue, OR atleast we think, can’t Ranjitha pronounce the way we Malayalees speak, why imitate the Queen. Rubbish. You know, Deedi, I mean usha Uthup, literally inflame the audience of Kolkotta and \
umbai, but you know her efforts to induce the Malayalee audience miserably failed her.
A few decade back Comedian Mehmood depicted the face of an average malayalee. His mimic of a Malayalee resembled someone after biting ‘khatta imli” Nammude Valan puliye… That was not the television era, so it was a clip in the “Illustrated Weekly of India”. A hurt Malayalee, I could not control my anger on Mehmood on that. I do not know when and what incident provoked Mehmood to create such a mime. But I knew in my heart of heart, and have personal experience too that Malayalees at random see it as a risk to smile at an acquaintance for some fear.
On a recent visit to Kerala, I happened to pass through a house of one of my childhood friend, a classmate for decade. He (not smiling) stayed put in his Muttam and chatted,— Enna Undu Vishesham, Enna Vanne, Enna Pokunne, blah! blah! over ! — with me from his court yard, but there was no gesture to invite me home. On the other hand, whenever, even an acquaintance visit Delhi, I have not hesitated to receive them and be a reasonable host.
An old friend of mine carry Mehmood’s mime face, that of a imli eating Malayalee. He is a miser at home, not only for money but for smile too. He strongly believed, his friendly deal with his only son would spoil the child. It was so! The boy longed for love, care and understating from his father, but it was not so. He lost his only child. How? What happened? It’s OK, it’s a tragedy.

Oru Swapna Veedu

You may think why I blog on such irrelevant subjects which has very little relevance whatsoever. But my dear, this has my own aspirations and desires fulfilled and unfulfilled, so let it be there.
In the beginning there was One Madrasi, One Madrasi brought another one, then another one, then a generation, generations and now stands at the gene of Mallu which is a beautification of Malayalee derived from the species of Madrasi. Ooomph! Let me take a glass of water.
Earlier the Malayalee life existed from One Onam to the next Onam. OR you can put it this way, one Nattilpokku to the next. Good number of men, married and unmarried, lived ‘ bachelors’ in rented ‘rooms’ those days, wife and kids back in Kerala. Mobile phone, not yet born STD calls very costly, the only link with the dear and near ones was the blue coloured ‘inland letter’ weekly update.
I am talking about the period before the emergence of the term ‘Mallu’. In fact, ‘Madrasi” was the term Vadakkans in Delhi used to refer to us—Malayalees. Malayalee men who could not make it to Air Force, Army and CRP in that order were flowing to Delhi for a living. They had already made their presence felt in the Jute Mills of Calcutta, The Cloth Mills of Bombay and the Auto Industry in Chennai. Women from Kerala, spread to the North and everywhere in the Health Sector. Catholic Priests and Nuns were already there with their education and health care mission.
A house made of dream
Bhaskaran Master landed in Delhi in the sixties. A under literate, Bhaskaran left Payyannur, with the sole purpose of having three full meals for himself and Vayaru Niray Bhakshnam for folks back home, then the ‘God’s most neglected country’.
Bhaskaran could find a job in a “Kerala Hotel”. A Dhaba owned and operated by another Malayalee, who put his foot at the Paharganj Side a decade or two ago. “Kerala Hotel”. was situated near the then ‘Hindustan Times Block” in the outer circle (opposite Statesman). This ensured Bhaskaran three full meals a day for a dawn to dusk job. Bhaskaran’s job in the “Hotel” and his hunt for better pastures continued side by side.
Through a regular Dosa Sambar customer, Bhaskaran got a ‘decent’ job in a Multinational company near CP. A peon in a Multinational was a lucrative job those days. Good salary and bonus, Bhaskaran used to earn over- time and conveyance as extra income from the job.
Soon, Bhaskaran bought a Bicycle and took a room on rent in Lakshmi Nagar for residence. The Cycle remain with Bhaskaran throughout his Jeevitha Yathra. There was a story going around those days about one of Bhaskaran’s adventures.
Oru Avadhikku Nattil pokan,
Bhaskaran could not get a birth in any of the south bound trains. He packed his ‘Petty’ with necessary items and bound it on the carrier behind the Bicycle, and pedalled the three thousand miles (5000 kms) through the Chambal kadukalum, Vidhya Malakalum, Kadum, Nadikalum, Kattu jevevikalum. On the28th day he reached Payyannur. By then his PL got over. The next day morning he along with his cycle boarded a train from Kerala and landed back in Delhi.
Edakkalathu Enno
Bhaskaran got married. He had four kids during his journey, all girls.
Bhaskaran’s acutely needed more space to live in. He dreamed of having a house, that would be his own, his Swapna Veedu.. Bhaskaran, managed a 100 yard plot in Lakshmi Nagar, then a catchment of Yamuna, and started his house building. He constructed a single room and kitchen, then another room and a floor above were added one by one. He built his Swapna Veedu – Dream House brick by brick. Much of the house building work was Bhaskaran’s on. He seldom depended on an outsider for white washing and painting his house. All he did himself. He loved his house as one of his daughters.
He saved on his meals and clothes. (Bhaskaran was never shy in his outfit the ‘Official Khaki’ that was the identity of a peon those days). Khaki clad Bhaskaran, his bi-cycle and the house became one in as much that each one existed for the other.
Before coming to conclude Bhaskaran saga, let me peep through another old timer Malayalee’s life.
Devassy disembarked GT Express at the Paharganj side . He was a Matriculate with a “Type and Short hand” Upper Certificate(Then Type writing/short hand was a highly sought after technical qualification with Lower level and Upper level exams conducted by state authorities for a certificate). “HR” was not a familiar term those days. Various Company agents waited at the Railways station to tap the qualified, English Speaking “Madrasis” for the ‘Steno’s job. By one of such act, Deveassy could also place himself behind a “Halda” type writer in one of the many large “holes’ in CP. Devassy later on underwent a UPSC test and got a job in the North Block and become a Central Govt employee. A “Steno Typist” to be precise.
A year after, when Devassy visited village with a new status- a “Kendra Sarkar jolikkaran”- a very valued profile. His marriage happened in the village with a reasonable(?) and attractive ‘Sthree dhanam”. Devassy’s Father was kind enough to allow Devassy to utilize his dowry for a cause. So he bought a piece of land in the Western side of Delhi for 5000 rupees. Devassy took a loan and added to all his savings, started building a house. He could then move out of his Sarojini nagar sub-let one room-accommodation to the West Delhi pocket. Devassy built a reasonably big house. Years passed by and his family grew bigger by the size. He was an ardent believer, so, in spite of scarce DTC service, and the nearby Church being the Sacred Heart Cathedral, Devassy seldom commit a deadly sin missing Sunday Mass, without sufficient reason. Though very often, he failed take Thresia, his wife and children for their inability to get ready on time.
Much water has passed through Yamuna. Devassy retired and become a full time evangelist and presented himself for the Charismatic works of the Church. His children also grew up and settled in life.
A few years back Bhaskaran died. He had married off all his four daughters. They all were settled separately. its heard from a reliable source that Bhaskaran’s daughters unitedly deciced to sell off Bhaskaran’s Swapna veedu and divided the booty amongst them.
In the case of Devassy, he can not walk without the help of a stick now. His vision poor, his church activities also become difficult these days. In fact Devassy is now living with one of his children.
His children are finding the old house of no much use.

Swapna Veedu polum thakarnnu veezhan oru jeevitha kalam mathi !

Change -Imminent

Change - imminent

It was a decision, made for better, so do I believe. The decision was painful. Almost a decade and a half we spent in the 900 sq ft area. Baby spent 24 x 7, loved it like a baby ,until Chakku’s arrival, which made all the difference. More so it was our own house, we named it our permanent home. Namely 406. I attach my savings from TATA to this house.
Baby, not at all game for a change, ultimately proposed the change, for her priority has changed to Chakku and the house, which she nurtured like her third daughter, flipped past.
We had no other alternative. It was impossible to adjust all in the 900 ft area. It was also unthinkable to leave Chakku in the care of Shanti. So for the better. Chakku will have a better environment. We all will have power cut free nights.
Change is obvious. Be it residence, attitude, approach. Progress comes through changes only.
So for my daughters, Papa makes hasty decisions, but many a times, it turns out OK. Isn’t it?

Lost connections

I remember the day thru my Pre-degree in KE College.
We sat for lunch in the large lunch hall behind the main college building, near the loo. The hall with aroma of different variants of food packed in banana leaves and aluminiun vessels, filled the air.
Time One O clock. Stomach burning with hunger. I too opened my banana leaf roll. It opened up to white boiled rice with a spoonful of red chilli chutney. That was all I had.
My friend, Vijayan opened his lunch box which had a coconut chutney & fish peera. I could not stand the smell. I asked for a little portion of his fish peera. He was hesitant, not because he has problem in sharing, but because, he belonged to the Velan caste (DrKRN was born in that caste) which was too low a community for the Syrian Xtian, that I was, because we were taught that we have Brahminical hang over cord with which we stand above even the formidable Nairs. Let it be so, Vijayan asked me if I really have no problem sharing his food. I said NO not a bit. The Meen peera was good. Then on we shared food, to be true, Vijayan parted with his curry for me.
Vijayan’s parents wanted him to do MBBS, which he could not, owing to his not clearing PDC in the first and second attempt. Instead he joined the Homeo and become Dr. Vijayan and practiced in Kudamaloor. He was physician to my father also.
Vijayan had a love with a pretty girl which didn’t work. Problem was perhaps the same. Caste. He as every other Kudamaloor-ite was close to the liquor, both Desi and Videsi.
I have left for Delhi in 1971. Forty years over. Relationship with my childhood friends severed, Vijayan was no exception.
Yesterday, Vijayan passed away. I had planned to visit Kudamaloor yesterday, but it did not work out. Vijayan was my only connection to AKG Panicker, our common friend, and my childhood best friend, who too is lost in the sea of time. Now I have to find some ways to get Panicker connected.

Book of Genetics

Long long long ago, lived a Gentleman, Adi, with his wife Iva in the Country of Eden on Earth. Little did he know he was made the King of Eden. He lived on rare fruits from the trees of his own orchard. So plenty were the yields in the garden that he was busy trying one fruit after the other until he fell down and snoozing. This continued in Eden until…

His wife, attractive Iva, on the other hand, was conscious of her image and beauty. Busy collecting herbs and rare leaves of cosmetic and medicinal value, she was very selective in her diets and never ever ate anything and everything comes her way. More so, she was kind with other creatures in Eden. She, in fact, used to make good friends out of the other creatures of Eden. Iva, being the most beautiful of all the Edenites, used to get very flavoured fruits of rare kinds from other Orchards too. Those were special fruits which were not often found in Adi’s orchard. Adi, though, had no knowledge of this trespass and continued his careless lifestyle. Iva used to induce her appetites with the apples and berries so brought for her from other orchards by her admirers.

Adi, though was to take care of Iva, seldom cared for her. He was trying on various fruits from the Orchard and had nothing else, but to sleep after filling his belly. What to say, his life was an interval between filling and emptying and refilling belly.

Eve, was often getting tired in the Kings Villa, that she had to be on her heals alone, many a time. What to say, after all, she was also made of flesh and blood. Her despair was growing day by day.

Then on one such day…

On one of her stroll in the back yards, she happened to come across, Serpan, a handsome young adult with long arms, dark blue eyes and wily grin on his lips. He was holding a very beautiful bunch of purple berry. With bubbling mouth Iva could not beat her tempt which eventually set upon the man and the berry.

Iva ate the berries. That day and days after.

She sensed pukish and pleasant uneasiness in her under belly. Never mind she had had a fine feeling inside. Her flat leaf-like under belly was growing……that it has become as big as a jack fruit found in her Orchard.

Tired and exhausted, one day while sleeping, Iva heard a voice. It was from the Watchman of the Orchard, who knew what had happened inside the Orchard.

The watchman pronounced, Iva ate the fruit which was prohibited in the Eden, and for that matter, she was no more eligible to be in Eden. She was asked to leave, no matter where, as that was the order of the owner of the Orchard. She held Adi’s hands, who was still asleep, and walked out of the gate of Eden.

The door was shut behind them.

When Adi woke up to his senses, he found himself out of the Orchard and in a dry land where he could not lay hands on his favourite fruits. He could not stand that and became angry. He beat Iva in anger that she was put on breathtaking pain in her belly. Not knowing what was happening Iva cried cried until she was parted with her burden. Beside her laid the twosome – later named Cai and Aai- both boys.

Slowly and steadily thereafter ….

Iva forgot all the pain of the beating she got from Adi. After all, she cheated on him by having those berries from that Wily Serpan. Otherwise they would still be in Eden and their beautiful Orchard. Never mind, Iva felt more happy as she has something to do here now. She was busy in nursing her two sons, Cai and Aai and fetching and cooking meat for Adi.

Adi seldom spoke after that, he, in anger, got hold of a sharp object and started tilling the land. From sun rise to sun set.

There was rain, and soon there were grains along the tilled lines. Adi plucked the wheats and ate. He found it good.

He gave some grains to Iva and the twosome. They ate and found it good too.

Then, cai and Aai had many of their brothers and sisters and lived in that place and that was named after Cai, the first born, Canai….

The story does not end here…

A sunday movie Outing

Sunday has, for long, been a day for reading columns of HT, matri-ad for Swap in MM & TOI, fishing at Seemapuri, eating, dozing and normally ends with Sunday marketing (buying vegetables for the week). This being the routine for all Sundays, we took a different course on 22nd May 2011. After trying seeing-off Latha and Premkumar at Nizam-Uddin (trying means only Baby could see them off as I was the watchman for the two cars- lack of parking space at both sides of Nizam Uddin – a sad story). We, Baby and me, took a break at TERI Library, had coffee and headed for a stroll at INA. Bought some more nappies for Gundappu, had meals at ‘Kerala Hotel’ , a Dhaba at INA. After that unpleasant meal we came back to IHC to watch Pranchiyettan and the Saint.

Pranchiyettan and the Saint- a beginning to end absolute entertainer with strong mind stirring message. The story in a nutshell is : Pranchi-(y)-ettan, a typical Trichur Nazrani, a rice trader by profession, with bags of money in his kitty, but gets little respect in society. (The Trichur Nazranis conveniently abbreviate names like Pranchi, Prunchu, Porinchu, Pinchoo etc from Francis – Varuthu, Vareethu, Varu etc from Varghese – Chacku, Chakkunni, Chakkappi out of Jacob). A straight forward, rich but uneducated Pranchi earned an adjective to his name Ari- Pranchi( u can interpret it in English as Rice Francis)from his school days.

Francis Cheramal’ (his baptized family name) who is Ari- Pranchi for the town, struggle to attain some name worth his financial status (nilayum vilayum). He tried various means to get his name included in the list of ‘Padmashree awardees’. His liaison manager, hilariously enliven by veteran Shree Innocent, even offered to get him a ‘Chevalier’ a French knighthood. Pranchiyettan, as a true Trichur catholic businessman , sees his baits soon. He realizes, the only respect he gets from the market is the yettan added to Pranchi, which he is aware, even Trichurites will call Jesus- if given a chance – Yesu-(v)-ettan.

Pranchiyettan, a staunch believer in Church and its saints, calls on his favourite Punyalan (Punyalan is Saint in Malayalam) and his namesake St. Francis of Assissi. St. Francis started his sermon in French, which stunned Pranchi for he believed that the prayers he made all this while in Malayalam went absolutely waste as the Saint could not understand a bit. But the Saint, took note of Pranchiyettan’s agony and thenceforth conversed in staunch Trichur slang.

The Punyalan opened Ari Pranchi’s eyes, though late, to the hollowness of Nilayum Vilayum and the futile efforts people make to please the Punyalans with bribes (offerings)to reach their goals and their finding solace in a bottle of water(holy water) or a blessed rosary. I suggest a Catholic should watch Pranchiyettan and the Saint- filmy melodrama aparts- for a change.