The day of the "We Too"

THE DAY OF THE WETOO

I think, in these days, while every male is afraid someone from his past will make his life miserable saying “ me too“, the ladies are getting bored because of the numerous unbelievable “me too” stories. With too many “me too” stories around I thought you would enjoy a “wetoo” story from my past for a change.

“Sir…Sir..” I looked back hearing Thirumeni calling me in distress. My colleague Narayanan being a nice simple man, was addressed by everyone as Thirumeni, a term used for respectable high caste Brahmins of Kerala in old days.
It was only a few minutes back we parted after the long train journey. Being past midnight the railway station was almost deserted. Thirumeni had a bundle of files with him and me a small briefcase. He wanted to eat something before going home as he did not want to disturb his old mother and I wanted to get home without much delay. So we parted though we had to go by the same route.
There were no cabs or autos at the porch, so after a few minutes I decided to  walk towards the market junction nearby. It was then I heard Thirumeni.

I saw Thirumeni in the midst of a small crowd of men and a lady, who looked familiar from the distance.Two of the crowd were shouting at Thirumeni while the lady was uttering something in low voice.

“Just ten rupees?. Are you not ashamed?” one man shouted.

“Just ten rupees for spending the entire night with you. Poor creature, give her 500 at least” shouted the other.

I walked towards them. I had an inkling what was happening. So I watched the persons while walking. Something about the  shouting young man was familiar. So on reaching I told him loudly “I know you somewhere”. There was a pause. He stared at me.

There was something of a sort of recognition in his stare and I became more confident that he is crumbling. The lady  stopped grumbling. She was in the train asking for alms. At that time she was looking more pathetic. Thirumeni was ready to give her some money but my outright refusal to her prevented him from doing it.

The older man became less threatening and seemed ready to escape from the scene.I looked around. There was a police man at the gate a bit away. But he appeared to be in no “mood to interfere. “Sir” I shouted aloud and waived.

I told him that we are on duty and were travelling together till a few minutes back and have the tickets with me to prove it. The files are  very important I added authoritatively. The constable was convinced and looked at the woman and her accomplices. They had become very subdued. The police constable requested us  to the police help desk away from the crowd and asked the three to follow. The older offered to carry the bundle of files which Thirumeni reluctantly accepted with my concurrence.

It was then I felt a hand on mine. I looked back. It was the younger one.

He had a pathetic look on his face. “Sir, I am the old Kuruvilla, of the boarding…… rubber band”

His words took me back to my boarding school days. Yes kuruvilla of those days was a unforgettable character. He was junior to me.He gained our attention by reading the songs of solomon and nothing else for the entire time allotted for Bible reading, but lost his popularity on the doubt that he was a spy of the boarding master. His frequent sleeping during the study time was noticed by many. He being next to me at the table I used to wake him up when the boarding master came to check. One day the rubber band in front of him gave me an idea. I twisted it till it became a short spiral. I just put it inside his shirt. The spiral uncoiling inside gave the sensation of a wriggling insect. Alarmed Kuruvilla Jumped up crying loud. All rushed to him and removed his shirt only to find the rubber band inside. I think he was able to decipher what caused it. But he did not complain and I escaped punishment.

Theconstable was not at all interested in recording the crime. As thirumeni didn't lose anything he was of the opinion that there is nothing to gain by doing so. I could have insisted but the look of Kuruvilla and the memory of the rubber band made me decide against it.

The police man was glad I did not. More so because Kuruvilla was on suspension from railway service for something not serious and was known to him. He and the police man accompanied us to the porch.

A taxi appeared from nowhere.

In the taxi Thirumeni expressed his feelings for the woman. “May be the men compelled her to beg” he could not find fault with her.

“She was involved in a murder case and came out of jail only a few weeks ago”. Taxi driver said  without looking back.

I remembered the frequent quote from Esdras “Yea, many there be that have  run out of their wits for women, and become servants for their sake. Many have perished, have erred, and sinned for women…O ye men, how can it be but women should be strong, seeing they do thus? “

“Thirumeni is not married. His stars are still searching for a match” I told the driver. He looked back smiling. “They will soon find a good Thamburatty (damsel)  for him’. He assured us in a light vain.

Within a few months I received a marriage invitation. Yes it was thirumeni’s!

I think it is dangerous to have different sets of rules for man and woman.They are equally good and equally corrupt, equally strong and equally weak and one cannot exist without the other (at least till they start cloning ).
So this 'we too' story.

THE CAT OF COROME

THE CAT OF KOROM

In those days KOROM  was a cluster of some 30 small buildings on either sides of the road to Niravilpuzha river. The road with many potholes was not surfaced. There was hardly any traffic on the road as it was the end of it with no bridge to cross the river. The buildings, mostly houses except one or two shops, were almost identical,and  were painted in different shades of green. Huddled together and with no traffic to hinder the houses formed a close knit community.

There was no power supply and no TV or other intruder gadgets to disturb  them.

The house we stayed was the last one on the row. Our immediate neighbor was an old lady whom everybody called Hajjumma. (Hajj mother) and we too followed it.

When we heard  Haj Umma first through the window “Kelappa bemees undo?” (have any beans Kelappa ?) we thought we had overhead a private conversation. Soon we realised there was nothing  private about her request to Kelappen, as many such requests and offers from both followed. Kelappen an young government servant, was one of her tenants who used to cultivate ganja (cannabis) in her kitchen garden. If we heard her saying “Mullan vannittundu” (mullan - a type of small fish- is on sale) it is an announcement for all (ladies and gents) in the neighbourhood.

Many household vessels and equipments  going around or agriculture tools available on request did not have  definite owners. That included the only mousetrap in the neighbourhood.

But what impressed me most was the service of the  only cat of the locality.

One day when I detected the presence of mouse in the house I asked Abdulla how to get the mousetrap. He just asked the nextdoor lady and with in a few minutes it arrived at our door.

The trap was set with a mullen as the bait. We were successful in trapping the enemy, but how to get rid of it ?.  Abdullah said “It is easy just take the trap outside and knock the side of it, the cat will come and catch it”.Seeing my disbelief, Abdullah took the trap to the road in front of the house and knocked the side of it with a stone. Within a few seconds a large brown cat appeared on the other side of the road watching me with his curious eyes. Abdullah opened the trap and the mouse jumped out to freedom for a moment. Then there was a flash of brown and both the cat and the mouse disappeared. It was a mystery how he was able to appear so fast. (The only possibility  I could imagine was the cat was constantly tracking the movement of the mouse trap). Of course you may ask if the cat overheard our discussion.

I couldn't to continue my association with the community for long due to a transfer. It was some 15 years afterwards I met Abdulla again.

He was not staying in Korome anymore.

Lot of changes that the electricity and the bridge over Niravilpuzha brought , along with the many TV's and cars and  bikes evicted many from Korome.

He moved to a nearby house with a compound around. Hajjumma went to live with her brother in town away from Korome. Kelappen reluctantly left when his small ganja ( cannabis) garden  became a hot topic.

I could not resist asking about the cat of Korome.

Abdulla smiled.A few years after my leaving Korome one fine morning four kittens looking just like the Cat of Korome appeared in response to the knocks on the mouse trap.  The dupli -cats’ ,as they were known along with their mother took over the gamekeeping of Korome

By that time the bridge was completed and Buses started playing, new shops and small restaurants changed the face of Korome Blaring TV serials and decorative lamps ushered in a new way of life.And the dupli-cats got engaged in many activities other than attending to the knocks on the trap.

But all the new facilities will  never be able to bring back the smooth functioning and coordination the Cat Of Korome once  represented -- Abdullah ascertained.

KUDU KUDU PANDI ON THE BRIDGE

KUDU KUDU PANDI ON THE BRIDGE

It is raining. For the last two months we have rains everyday. We enjoy it. And there were hardly any mishaps due to rains. And no one talks about the rain. You may call it silent rains.

Last year it was different.The flood in Bihar was unprecedented. Hundreds lost their lives in some 16 districts affected by the deluge. Three from a family lost their lives when the bridge they were crossing washed away, the online news said enclosing a video of the incident. The mother and two kids were just a step short to the safety of the other end.

When ever I read about bridges being washed away I remember Kudukudu pandi.

KUDU KUDU PANDI

The man  raised his hand signalling us to stop the car. He was tall and well built. In white shirt and dhoti he was visible from far though it was getting dark. There was no one else on the road may be due to the chilling weather. He said salam raising his hand again and my father responded saying salam. The bridge is under repair he informed. It is safer to take alternate route he advised. My father thought for a moment and  then thanked him for the information but explained being in a  hurry he wanted to see if he could negotiate it somehow. The man followed us to the bridge. My father got out and walked to the bridge  My brother and I followed while our mother with my kid brother waited in the car

There were no boards indicating the condition of the bridge. It seemed the tractors were detoured through a new muddy track and crossed the stream where it was shallow. My father had a good look at the bridge. Many of its planks were missing but the girders appeared to be intact. So he decided to negotiate the bridge.

The tall man requested my mother to come out and asked us to follow him while father made some mental calculations looking at the car and the bridge alternately.

At the stream the man in white waited for us to go ahead and followed us closely. We removed our footwear and waded in to to the stream. The water was chilling the stream was fast and there was water up to my knee.  I had rolled up my shorts  expecting more .

We heard the car starting up I wanted to look at it but the man hurried us. It was then the loud noise of planks cracking reached us. I turned my head lost balance. The strong hand took hold of me before my body touched the water. By the time I became aware of what was happening I was placed on the other bank by the strong hands and I saw our car roaring at the other end of the bridge

He said something in a language not known to me but I think he was thanking god.

My father wanted to offer him some money but he had already crossed the stream and continuing his journey.

The early next morning we learned the  bridge was washed away at night. My mother was all praise for the stranger for saving us from a mishap. While my father had different opinion.

It was a few weeks after wards  I heard ‘Kudu kudu kudu’ at the front door. the sound was not familiar. So I looked through the window.There he was tall and in white cloths.

“Nallakalam varuthamma Nalla kalam”. (Good days ahead Madam Good days) he said and made the loud  Kudu Kudu sound with a small instrument. It resembled a small can wth strikers attached with string on both sides. He waved the drum  twisting wrist and  the strikers beat on the drumheads making loud sound. Kudu Kudu Kudu……. making me terribly afraid.

My mother went inside and came back with a big heap of rice in her hands. Looked at the rice and spread one end of his long white  shoulder cloth to receive it. There were other bundles which were smaller  on the other end. He arranged the cloth around his neck. The big mustache and the ashes on his forehead were exactly like the image, of people kidnapping  small children, in my mind.

Next time he came he had a thin spear pierced through his chins. No chanting only the Kudu kudu.

His visits were rare At times had small limes at the ends of the spear.

But the thing that   comes to my mind when I think of him, is the bridge that washed away

ON THE BRIDGE

I loved bridges very much.

One of the best things I remember about Munnar High School was the number of bridges nearby, especially the hanging bridges. They were meant for walking.

The steel bridges that allowed cars and lorries one at a time were narrow. People were very patient and courteous in those days and they waited patiently for oncoming vehicles to pass. Invariably they received a Salam from the driver and many times a wishing from the other occupants

The hanging bridges allowed only single line on both the direction. It was really a pleasure to cross it. In the middle where the swing of the bridge was maximum it offered a feeling of flying if you look down at the rushing water below. In the initial days I used to finish my lunch lunch at the earliest and run to the nearest hanging bridge.There used be no one else on the bridge at that time. But the difficulty if any one rocks you may lose balance if not careful.

The caves of the tribals on the hills across the river.was something I wanted to see very much. One Friday at lunch break (which was longer) I decided to run up the hill.

No one to come with me. They were interested in games only.

I had to run really fast to reach the caves up the hill and return in time. But the hill was steeper than expected forcing me to slow down. On return  I ran faster and did not slow down on the hanging bridge. It was at half way I noticed the man coming from the other end.

The pandi

The thin spear with lemons on either ends was not there. But the white cloths and ashes on his forehead, there as no chance of mistaking. With the large bundle on his head he almost  lost his balance.

I ran back and waited. Instead of Nallakalam the image of kidnappers appeared in my brain. I was frozen with fear

I felt a hand on my head

“Son now you run. I too used to run like this when I was a kid”.

I went back to the online report. This time I carefully  searched the faces of the onlookers in the video. There were no Kudukudu pandi among them

Doesn't any gudugudu pandi live in our country anymore. So sad anyway.