Yesterday, when it rained. -- [ Nostalgia ] -- Icarus.
Icarus
I heard the rain drops as they pattered against the evergreen pines
of the courtyard around my room.
I am lying alone in a room looking out into the wild darkness of a
monsoon night in Central Kerala.
I can hear the rain falling in streams on the giant leaves of the
coconut palm. Theres a pond next to my room, and I can see the
splashes the swollen drops make as they crash-land into that placid
surface.
I remember the time me and my cousin John decided to drain the pond
because that was the simplest way we could get to the fish. We used
buckets and relay-ed the muddying water up out of the pond. And then
when there was just a half-inch or so of water left we moved in and
ran the giant "Bhraal" fish to the ground and put them into the
copper or was it bronze, "Chembu", vessels that were a part of every
home in Kerala, even passed on from generation to generation as
valuable property. The fish seemed to lose weight in the few hours
that they lived in those giant pots.
And the times we would spend watching the pond from an upstair
window, while the water snakes would ride out the storms that
July would bring in courting and thrashing the surface of the
water into a fine froth.
I remember being woken at 5:00 in the morning by the chanting of the
suprabhatam, in a dream like voice of a woman, probably in her late
twenties or early thirties. The Guruvayoor temple in all its glory,
covered with gold and shining in the mid-morning sun. The women so
freshly bathed, the men from the city embarrassed at having taken off
their shirts as tradition required.
The temple had signs posted at strategic locations, reminding people
that only hindus who believed were allowed. I remember going past the
temple sanctum sanctorum, but using the temple grounds because it was
the shortest route to get across town. And the childish pretence of
calling each other by hindu names, as if being caught in the courtyard
would be disastrous. I have never seen the inside of guruvayoor temple.
The thiruvilakku, at one end, with its hundreds of burning wicks never
ceased to hypnotize me, haunting me with the flickering glow which
seemed to dance to the panchavadyam, the five instrument ensemble,
that so characterized temple music in Kerala.
Once in delhi, on the day allotted to Kerala, on the Trade Fair grounds
I remember, a troupe from guruvayoor played for an hour or so, all
the men bare chested in decembers cruel cold that had everyone else
wrapped in wools.
And the long corridors of shops devoted to selling souvenirs and
devotional music and incense. Yesudas singing those shabiri mala
devotionals in his smoky voice. And the temple pond where as kids
we would hope to see a flash of bare skin in the drowsy heat of
that maddening summer. And the lodges that catered to those who
carried these urges to their logical conclusions.
I remember the paddy fields that now are just memories.
Me and my cousin had built the biggest and bestest kite in the whole
of kerala, having filched, begged and worked to get the money for
the string. After all this was a kite that would fly for miles together,
and we must have string enough to control it. We sent it up, running
in the parched paddy fields opposite our house, later moving to the
balcony to control it in all its majesty. The kite soared into those
blue skies, people came to watch from around muthuvatoor, our
grandmother who till then was condemning us to horrible fates for not
listening to her tyrannical orders began to cheer. We had kids
squinting into the sky to see the little fellow bob way above our heads.
And then it happened.
The thread snapped.
The kite raged on its own now, and raced across the sky.
We chased it over fields and past thatched houses till we found it
stuck way up in a coconut tree, sadly disemboweled.
Now an engineer and a tax collecting tehsildar lived on those paddy
fields, in houses that could easily make you forget that they stood
on land that once was just wind blown paddy. The fields have disappeared
in kerala now, with the pressure of the population.
2] Does anybody want me to continue ?
3] Stay Cool.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
. ~ ~ .
. o o signito ergo sum. paul chemmanoor. .
. | i sign therefore i am. Computer Science department. .
. = Univ. of Colorado, Boulder. .
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sreeram P. Veluchamy
Prasad Veluchamy
Mehul Sanghvi
> Paul's posting was good and brings back memories of home. I would be
> interested in seeing more on this net on these lines.
>
> Prasad Veluchamy
i might not be from kerala but that was a damn good job Paul. Congrats! and it does bring back memories for me as well.
--
===============================================================================
Mehul "raja lakhan" Sanghvi | University of Massachusets at Lowell, CS Dept.
Inet: msan...@cs.ulowell.edu | US Mail: 754 Aiken St. #11
UUCP: harvard!ulowell!msanghvi | Lowell, MA. 01850-1804
The Phoenix
>1] Yesterday night it rained in boulder.
> I heard the rain drops as they pattered against the evergreen pines
> of the courtyard around my room.
>>
why not.
The effects of last nights hedonistic practises still not having
gone away, I made my way with utmost caution on my bike to campus.
I hate the mornings after our "Symposiums", I mean who needs to go
to work after discussing Plato, Socrates, Gus Van Sant and indulging
in large scale consumption of Portland's own "Henry Reserve", apparently
my boss has other views.
Anyway as I gulped down that hot water which is the pitiful excuse for
coffee at the staff lounge, and took the customary "aspirin" pill, the
chillness of Portland's morning hit me. There was a sharp zing in the
morning air, and as I stood near the window, allowing the cool, biting
wind to awaken and clear my senses, I was reminded of "Perungulam".
Perungulam is this small village just north of Palghat and a mile or
two away from Alathur. As a boy, it was always a welcome respite to
run away from Coimbatore(and from school) and go to Perungalam to visit
my grandparents. I and my mother always took the morning bus, I was my
her bodyguard she would say, and I was to protect her. So armed
with my Leo machine gun and a bag for my accessories, we used to take
the Five a.m bus. We would arrive in palghat around 6.30 to 6.40, and
those mornings had the same chilliness I was experiancing then.
Having arrived at Palghat, we would wait for the local bus that would
take us to Alathur. We never had to wait for long, the bus would be
quite empty at that morning hour, and the driver would always breeze
away,the bus would be swamped with the chilli air as the driver drove
with careless disdain, the fact that they were only two-three people in
the bus never bothered him, and neither did he feel the urge to make sure
that more people get on.
Reaching Alathur, we would now proceed to walk to Perungalam. My mother
being the model housewife she is, would not care to spend the two rupees
it would take to take us there. "Do you know how much father has to work
for that money?" she would ask me. I would just nod my head in the pretense
of having understood her, and keep walking. The route to Perungulam was
beautiful.
The road was laden with coconut trees, and it would be filled with vibrant
freshly bathed women, drawing what we tamils call "kolams" in front of
their houses. We would approach the lake pretty soon, and now Chellaiyan
my grandfather's "major domo" would be waiting for us. "Radhaamma,
Radhaama, Eppadi Erukkenge"( Radha madam, how are you) he would yell, and
he would always a "peppermint sucker" for me. Once we get into his small
boat, we would then proceed to cross the lake. You see the name "Perungulam"
meant "Big lake" and that was the focal point of the village. The village
revolved around this big lake, and the Venkateshwara temple that was a
part of it.
As we slowly made our way, Chellaiyan would account for the recent events
of the village, he would tell us about the new video and TV bought by
Ahmed, whose son Ibrahim was in Bahrain, where he had a "big job" he
would say, then he would remark about how Varadaraja Iyer's daughter
Sumangala was going to college in the big town(which was Palghat).
He would then digress into politics, "Anthony is causing too much
trouble to Karunakaran Amma" he would go on. My mother would always
intravene to ask "Ayya eppadi irukkaru?"(How is Grandfather), and
then Chellaiyan would recount the latest episode in the ever happening
battle between Dr. Murthy and my grandfather, over his diet.
To be continued.
The Phoenix
P.S The head is becoming clearer.
>3] Stay Cool.
>
>
>
>------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>. ~ ~ .
>. o o signito ergo sum. paul chemmanoor. .
>. | i sign therefore i am. Computer Science department. .
>. = Univ. of Colorado, Boulder. .
>------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--
The Greatest burden in the world is to have The Phoenix
a great potential. Reed #252
Linus from "Peanuts" Reed College
Portland, OR-97202
Icarus
[..]
>Having arrived at Palghat, we would wait for the local bus that would
>take us to Alathur. We never had to wait for long, the bus would be
>quite empty at that morning hour, and the driver would always breeze
>away,the bus would be swamped with the chilli air as the driver drove
>with careless disdain, the fact that they were only two-three people in
>the bus never bothered him, and neither did he feel the urge to make sure
>that more people get on.
1] That chilli air must have been tough on kids. :-)
>
>Reaching Alathur, we would now proceed to walk to Perungalam. My mother
>being the model housewife she is, would not care to spend the two rupees
>it would take to take us there. "Do you know how much father has to work
>for that money?" she would ask me. I would just nod my head in the pretense
>of having understood her, and keep walking. The route to Perungulam was
>beautiful.
>
[...]
2] Trying for a little sympathy from the ladies eh ?
The little kid who soon becomes the beer gulping
extra-marital sex preaching phoenix. Quite a change.
Seriously, though did you have Leo guns in the fifties ?
I can see why they drew the line at palghat :-)
The Phoenix
>In article <1992Jul27.1...@reed.edu> vgan...@reed.edu (The Phoenix) writes:
>[..]
>>Having arrived at Palghat, we would wait for the local bus that would
>>take us to Alathur. We never had to wait for long, the bus would be
>>quite empty at that morning hour, and the driver would always breeze
>>away,the bus would be swamped with the chilli air as the driver drove
>>with careless disdain, the fact that they were only two-three people in
>>the bus never bothered him, and neither did he feel the urge to make sure
>>that more people get on.
>
>1] That chilli air must have been tough on kids. :-)
Yep, bothers me even now, get the "chills" when it
blows by.
>>
>>Reaching Alathur, we would now proceed to walk to Perungalam. My mother
>>being the model housewife she is, would not care to spend the two rupees
>>it would take to take us there. "Do you know how much father has to work
>>for that money?" she would ask me. I would just nod my head in the pretense
>>of having understood her, and keep walking. The route to Perungulam was
>>beautiful.
>>
>[...]
>
>2] Trying for a little sympathy from the ladies eh ?
There you are a bit off the mark my dear Icarus. IMHO seeking
sympathy results in the scenario " I respect/pity/care for You,
therefore I cannot sleep with you" which is not exactly what
I am looking for ;-)
>
> The little kid who soon becomes the beer gulping
> extra-marital sex preaching phoenix. Quite a change.
>
Blame it on the harmones goddamn it, wait for GC or dear
Ed to kindly entertain us with the relevent facts, maybe I caught
something that was a benign offshoot of the Retroviruses.
> Seriously, though did you have Leo guns in the fifties ?
@#$%$%^ another person questioning my facts, gotta remember to
enclose a std disclaimer from now on, As for as I know Palghat
existed, and there were buses running there, and amazing of
all there was a bus station too. I am curious how you came to
the conclusion that it was the fifties.
> I can see why they drew the line at palghat :-)
Toeing a fine line Icarus, watch out for the LTTE Brigade
they are known to have Anti-aricraft artillery ;-)
Peace
The Phoenix