"When i went to the London city, the Indian matriculation examination......."(a catchy sentence from ‘the story of my experiments with truth’ by M.K.Gandhi)... these words form the most prominent and outstanding part of my recollection of the 1st 4 or 5yrs of my life... A gentle strong voice saying it with pride... 2 pairs of innocent eyes widening with fascination... the voice being my grandfather’s.. the eyes belonging to me and chettan (my elder brother).. Chettan learned it with ease.. it took me another 2yrs to memorise it and then another year to understand what it means ( i was sooo fascinated by it that my efforts to roll the syllables off my tongue started even before i could make head or tail out of it... :D )
As a kid, i used to spend more time with achacha (my garanpa) than with anyone else.. especially those yrs before i started going to school... the mornings were spent with achacha trying out all kinds of tricks to get me to have breakfast, my midmorning glass of milk, then lunch. Amma used to take over at tea... (and dinner was family time with everyone trying to get me to eat something..)! The time between the 'meals' was spent sitting in the verandah reading newspaper- achacha doing the reading... me just staring at the scribbles trying to look as intent and absorbed in it as him...
In the evenings, once chettan finishes his snack, the 3 of us would go for a walk- the museum or the park or the zoo or Shanghumugham beach ... I'd hold on tightly to his index finger and hop along, cos I knew that at the end of the walk there'd be an ice cream cone...
Its always been fun when the 3 of us got together... on Saturdays and at night after chettan finishes his homework, achacha used to say the most amazing stories ever... he'd either read from 'balarama' or 'amarchitrakadha' or he'd tell us an excerpt from the Ramayana... or a story about the places he has been to- being a military man he has been to a lot of places...no matter what the story is, he'd say it with sparkling eyes, lots of gestures and a voice that holds our rapt attention... perched on his shoulders (that was my favorite post... all my memories of Sabarimala trips were those of sitting on his shoulders while he balances me and his irumudikettu on his head, while my acha(my dad) balances his as well as my irumudikettu), I'd listen keenly.. with occasional holding of breaths, gasps and giggles... no one tells stories better than him...
I have always held a special place in his heart- may it be then or now....! How do I know, u ask? because of the way he calls me "molsoootttoooo", because of the way he answers with an "enthooo" when I call him "achaachaaeee", because of the way he smiles when I visit him even now, because of the way he just couldn’t stand seeing (welll, it could have been the hearing part that bothered him… I was capable of bawling quite loudly ;D ) me cry when I was small- not that he would be able to stand seeing me cry now… its just that he hasn’t had a chance in the past 10+ yrs or so.. There is this story going around in our family about how achacha used to whisk back my favorite milk bottle each time my mom tried to get rid of it after I turned 3… at times when she did succeed, achacha went to the extent of going around the shops in the city till he got a ditto bottle… with the effect that I used to drink milk from the bottle till the age of 5 (and even then, it was cos amma threw it out of the train while we were shifting from the city.. )
The fun we had while at Trivandrum can never be equaled…! The chikku tree in front of our house used to attract a lot of bats; as a result not only were most of the fruits half eaten, but also our walls were decorated by their droppings… The solution achacha sought for this was our toy guns… at every dusk me, chettan and achacha would sit in the front steps and achacha would supervise as me and chettan ‘shot’ the bats.. as a result,we started getting more fruits + this way, me and chettan got to take out all our extra energy via the shooting, and so lay off each other! ;o)
As I grew older, I realized there was more to him than the fun-playmate I knew him to be! I recognized him to be a man of character, will power and amazing endurance…
I’ve often heard about how achacha became a non-smoker overnight! Story goes that achacha was once a chronic chain-smoker; that was till the day acha laid a ban on the habit. He has never once smoked since!!! A habit of over 2 decades given up the minute a strong ‘NO’ was thrown his way- and oh no.. Not JUST the ‘NO’ (that would never do) - he was skimmed over the medical aspects about how the habit was actually a slow killer and then… THEN, he gave up!!! Not that he has ever really cared much about his health… but for his family’s sake!!
Never once have I heard him complain of bad health- in spite of the large number of problems he has had – ranging from renal stones to cerebral hemorrhage... He withstands everything without a word of complain or an audible moan. Many a times it has been when the illness had taken the reign of his life that we came to know...!!!
As my parents got tranferred when i was 5, we moved from the city and my granparents moved back to their place... Never got around to miss achacha much in those days cos of our weekly visits and what with a good bulk of our vacations being spent at achacha's place...
Now when my visits are widely spaced and infrequent, I find myself face to face with what is not as obvious to the others, who visit him often - His health is deteriorating at an uncomfortable pace..!!! As his black hair is increasingly being substituted by grey-white ones, as his radiant smile is giving way to a progressively toothless grin, his confident stride replaced by a wavering unsure gait and his breathing becomes more strained…. a cold fear grips my heart….!!!! Minutes before each visit I find myself praying and hoping to see achacha in his previous glory and health… but as a take a look at the familiar, yet disturbingly different smile, reality hits me hard on the face… The end of these visits unfailingly finds me fighting back the tears… When next?? ( and my heart whispers… “if…” ). It has been getting so painful for me that I find myself making excuses to get out of these visits… I just can’t make myself look him in the face and be at peace with the change that seems to be oblivious to everyone else…. And when I can’t get out of it, I try to avoid looking directly at him or talking face-to-face with him... Out of the corner of my eye, I often see him looking at me... I take care not to notice his expression- I know what it will be… sadness etched all over his features!!! Still at the end I find myself progressively nearer tears….
The last time I talked to him over the phone, he talked about his death (for the 1st time)-not long, self pitying sentences; just a subtle mention of a brave man who is at peace with it! Always at the end of a call achacha says “call once in a while”… but this time, it was a plea… the lump in my throat impaired me from saying ‘bye’ and I just hung up.. It got me thinking and I realized that while I sought escape from the pain that truth inflicted, through my cowardly actions… achacha was being burdened by the pain that my actions caused… I was being selfish…
I have promised myself to visit him as often as possible and spend quality time talking to him… knitting together more moments worth reminiscing! Now I can’t wait to meet him... and when I do, just like old times I’ll ask him to say aloud with me “when I went to the London city……”
As a kid, i used to spend more time with achacha (my garanpa) than with anyone else.. especially those yrs before i started going to school... the mornings were spent with achacha trying out all kinds of tricks to get me to have breakfast, my midmorning glass of milk, then lunch. Amma used to take over at tea... (and dinner was family time with everyone trying to get me to eat something..)! The time between the 'meals' was spent sitting in the verandah reading newspaper- achacha doing the reading... me just staring at the scribbles trying to look as intent and absorbed in it as him...
In the evenings, once chettan finishes his snack, the 3 of us would go for a walk- the museum or the park or the zoo or Shanghumugham beach ... I'd hold on tightly to his index finger and hop along, cos I knew that at the end of the walk there'd be an ice cream cone...
Its always been fun when the 3 of us got together... on Saturdays and at night after chettan finishes his homework, achacha used to say the most amazing stories ever... he'd either read from 'balarama' or 'amarchitrakadha' or he'd tell us an excerpt from the Ramayana... or a story about the places he has been to- being a military man he has been to a lot of places...no matter what the story is, he'd say it with sparkling eyes, lots of gestures and a voice that holds our rapt attention... perched on his shoulders (that was my favorite post... all my memories of Sabarimala trips were those of sitting on his shoulders while he balances me and his irumudikettu on his head, while my acha(my dad) balances his as well as my irumudikettu), I'd listen keenly.. with occasional holding of breaths, gasps and giggles... no one tells stories better than him...
I have always held a special place in his heart- may it be then or now....! How do I know, u ask? because of the way he calls me "molsoootttoooo", because of the way he answers with an "enthooo" when I call him "achaachaaeee", because of the way he smiles when I visit him even now, because of the way he just couldn’t stand seeing (welll, it could have been the hearing part that bothered him… I was capable of bawling quite loudly ;D ) me cry when I was small- not that he would be able to stand seeing me cry now… its just that he hasn’t had a chance in the past 10+ yrs or so.. There is this story going around in our family about how achacha used to whisk back my favorite milk bottle each time my mom tried to get rid of it after I turned 3… at times when she did succeed, achacha went to the extent of going around the shops in the city till he got a ditto bottle… with the effect that I used to drink milk from the bottle till the age of 5 (and even then, it was cos amma threw it out of the train while we were shifting from the city.. )
The fun we had while at Trivandrum can never be equaled…! The chikku tree in front of our house used to attract a lot of bats; as a result not only were most of the fruits half eaten, but also our walls were decorated by their droppings… The solution achacha sought for this was our toy guns… at every dusk me, chettan and achacha would sit in the front steps and achacha would supervise as me and chettan ‘shot’ the bats.. as a result,we started getting more fruits + this way, me and chettan got to take out all our extra energy via the shooting, and so lay off each other! ;o)
As I grew older, I realized there was more to him than the fun-playmate I knew him to be! I recognized him to be a man of character, will power and amazing endurance…
I’ve often heard about how achacha became a non-smoker overnight! Story goes that achacha was once a chronic chain-smoker; that was till the day acha laid a ban on the habit. He has never once smoked since!!! A habit of over 2 decades given up the minute a strong ‘NO’ was thrown his way- and oh no.. Not JUST the ‘NO’ (that would never do) - he was skimmed over the medical aspects about how the habit was actually a slow killer and then… THEN, he gave up!!! Not that he has ever really cared much about his health… but for his family’s sake!!
Never once have I heard him complain of bad health- in spite of the large number of problems he has had – ranging from renal stones to cerebral hemorrhage... He withstands everything without a word of complain or an audible moan. Many a times it has been when the illness had taken the reign of his life that we came to know...!!!
As my parents got tranferred when i was 5, we moved from the city and my granparents moved back to their place... Never got around to miss achacha much in those days cos of our weekly visits and what with a good bulk of our vacations being spent at achacha's place...
Now when my visits are widely spaced and infrequent, I find myself face to face with what is not as obvious to the others, who visit him often - His health is deteriorating at an uncomfortable pace..!!! As his black hair is increasingly being substituted by grey-white ones, as his radiant smile is giving way to a progressively toothless grin, his confident stride replaced by a wavering unsure gait and his breathing becomes more strained…. a cold fear grips my heart….!!!! Minutes before each visit I find myself praying and hoping to see achacha in his previous glory and health… but as a take a look at the familiar, yet disturbingly different smile, reality hits me hard on the face… The end of these visits unfailingly finds me fighting back the tears… When next?? ( and my heart whispers… “if…” ). It has been getting so painful for me that I find myself making excuses to get out of these visits… I just can’t make myself look him in the face and be at peace with the change that seems to be oblivious to everyone else…. And when I can’t get out of it, I try to avoid looking directly at him or talking face-to-face with him... Out of the corner of my eye, I often see him looking at me... I take care not to notice his expression- I know what it will be… sadness etched all over his features!!! Still at the end I find myself progressively nearer tears….
The last time I talked to him over the phone, he talked about his death (for the 1st time)-not long, self pitying sentences; just a subtle mention of a brave man who is at peace with it! Always at the end of a call achacha says “call once in a while”… but this time, it was a plea… the lump in my throat impaired me from saying ‘bye’ and I just hung up.. It got me thinking and I realized that while I sought escape from the pain that truth inflicted, through my cowardly actions… achacha was being burdened by the pain that my actions caused… I was being selfish…
I have promised myself to visit him as often as possible and spend quality time talking to him… knitting together more moments worth reminiscing! Now I can’t wait to meet him... and when I do, just like old times I’ll ask him to say aloud with me “when I went to the London city……”
4 comments:
I must say tat i am mighty impressed wit ur work.... execellent choice of words nd vocabulary... pace at which the narration is also good... gives jus enough time fer one to travel to one's own childhood... nyways in short...a classy work... worth appreciation...
Hey.. What should i say..Did'nt know you had it in you.. So much deep an article? Has the likes of Arundhati Roy in some verses, does take one's mind back to childhood days.. The language used is pretty simple (but you have to improve in the usage part).. It does reflect how your mind is churning up the past and maybe how much you would have liked to change the way how everything turned out. Anyway, keep on blogging and hope you improve at it!Nice work! Bubye :)
well.....bumped across ur orkut profile...dnt ask me how.....cant hide but be vocal bout da fact dat ur profile der seems like a honest effort.....may be as clear as a newbornz cornea....or as contending as ur 1st successful exploratory laprotmoy...den like an average lesser mortal wid mediocer brainz containing sheer curiosity in da putrified grey cellz wanted to read da way u blog.....well cant help but rather admit...u r waistin ur time mam....u shudnt hav done dis self glorified profession(M double B S).....gal u seriously possess sum mind zonking skillz to write....i mean wen a wierdo like me can relate to wot u write....guess da more blessed species wid more sensible white matter wud juz adore at wot u write.....kUdoZ to ya.....
gotta say dis.....wud suerly be anticipatin to read more of ur work....
lastly i dunno if ur bloggin skillz wer ment to be read by da bunch of soulz u know or wud it tolerate da crusadin nature of certain semiknown strangers like me......PEACE!!!
Thanks
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