My journey from 18 to 81

Friday, June 13, 2025

Journey 18 - 88

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Wednesday, November 23, 2022

A TYPICAL DAY, THEN AND NOW

The mobile by my bedside woke me up punctually at 5.30 am. I got up from the 4 inch mattress, switched off the fan, entered the attached toilet, finished my morning rituals and then went to the kitchen to drink my two tumblers of warm water. The stove could be lighted very easily with the lighter. In less than five minutes, I was ready in my track suit. Mr. Yadav must be waiting down for me. I did not want to disappoint him as it had become a routine for me to have the morning walk with him in the park opposite to our Society. The automatic lift brought me down.

But. I did not find Yadav there. I was about to ask the watchman, when my mobile sounded. It was Yadav. He said, “Please excuse me, KRK. I got up late today. Please go ahead. I can’t join you.”

“That’s alright. Hope you are fine. Will meet tomorrow” I said and switched off my mobile.

I did my morning walk alone. We used to sit in a bench for 15 minutes after finishing our walk and talk before leaving the park. Today, I sat in the bench. My mind took on wings and flew to those good old days about 75 years back, when there were no mobiles and communication was not easy.

* * *

I was in sound sleep in the verandah floor on a grass mat when the sounds of splashing of water from the iron buckets woke me up. The women-folk of my agraharam woke up early by instinct. Their first duty was to cleanse the front portion of the houses with cow-dung mixed water before drawing a beautiful pattern called kolam with rice powder, there.

I rolled up my mat along with the bed-sheet, crossed the rezhi and thazhvaaram and entered Kootam where I kept the mat in its assigned place. I saw mother had kept a lamp in front of the framed pictures of deities. I prayed there briefly and walked towards the “toilet”. It was about 200 metres away from the main structure, called kollai. The “toilet” was just a square plot enclosed by thorny bushes, with a narrow deep pit. Two planks across the pit served as foot-rest. There were no doors. A large vessel, called kindi, with water, was kept near the entry point to show that it was occupied.

I walked to the mittam a large pit made of granite rock. All the waste water was discharged here. There was a canal at the bottom, to take the waste water to the backyard. I picked up some umikkari from the kuruvatti and place it my left palm. Umikkari is the charcoal powder got from burning the husk of paddy. We added some salt and pepper powder to it. Kuruvatti is a small bamboo basket.

I used my right hand wet forefinger as the tooth-brush and cleaned my teeth. I had to take enough water in a brass vessel from a big water-storage vessel. The former is called chombu, and the latter, andaa. We had no knowledge that water could come through pipes to your hand for washing purpose and a device called wash-basin helped you to do the teeth-cleaning by standing.

* * *

“Hello KRK, you are still here?” I looked up to see Yadav standing in the front. “It is past 6.30 and you are getting late for your morning coffee, no?”

“Thank you. This is the effect of your not turning up. See you tomorrow.” I said and rushed home. There was none to welcome me there. My dear wife was an invalid and could not move out of her bed. The lady nurse appointed to take care of her, got up only at 8. So, I opened my flat with my keys. I walked to the toilet, refreshed myself and entered the kitchen. I opened the fridge, took out the milk sache, boiled the milk and prepared my coffee using the instant coffee powder.

I carried the mug of coffee to the hall, sat of the sofa. The instant coffee took me back to those days when my mother served me the filter coffee.

* * *

After finishing the cleaning of face and teeth, I entered the kitchen. Mother was mixing the decoction with hot milk. The milk was brought by a young girl, who was living nearby. The milk was freshly collected from their cow. Mother prepared added freshly ground coffee seeds to a hand-operated grinding machine. She added the fresh coffee powder to a brass filter and pured hot water to it, The water percolated through the filter to give a thick decoction of coffee. She handed me a brass tumbler full of coffee with a brass dabara. The aroma was so pleasant.

* * *

It was time for my bath now. I collected my towel and entered the attached toilet in my room. Yes, I changed the board in the door handle to “IN USE” and thus did not lock the door. This was to enable an outsider (like my son) to enter the bathroom in case I fell down inside and could not get up.

The geyser supplied me hot water. I could have a hot shower bath. I did not worry about washing my clothes as there was a washing machine to do the job. You had to only add the detergent and switch the machine on. I need not know how it washed the clothes, but in 45 minutes, all the clothes got washed free of water.

I came out of the bathroom and turned the board to “VACANT”. I changed to new robes, and performed my morning sandhyavandanam. Afterwards, I was just waiting for my breakfast, giving me time to continue my reverie.

* * *

Yes, it was time for my bath in the river. I collected previous day’s dress (half-pant and shirt), a towel, a metal box containing a piece of Lifebuoy soap (for the body) and a piece of 501 bar soap (for the clothes) and a paper wrap of vibhuti (holy ash). I ran out to join my friends, Ganga, Aruna and Seetha. You are wondering how I had so many girls as friends for bathing in the river! It is not because of my name (which had “Krishna” as a part), but because they were really boys: their full names being Gagadharan, Arunachalam and Seetharaman. Thank God, they called me “Moorthy”, not “Krishna”. Some south Indian girls had the name “Krishna”.

At the river, we had our designated spots to take bath and wash our clothes. We washed our dresses by rubbing them with soap and water, beating them on the rock, rinsing them well in the flowing water and squeezing them well. We had to take turns to immerse our body in the flowing water as the water was only knee-deep. We had to remove some sand from the bottom to make a small temporary pit. Then we took turns to immerse our bodies, prostrating inside the water.

In winter, the water in the river would be so cool, that it was not possible to take bath in the river. But, we had no other go. So, we just splashed the water on one another so that we got acquainted with the cold waters and then took bath.

After the truly refreshing bath, which could take half-an-hour, we apply vibhuti on the body and do the morning prayers, sandhyavandanam, standing in the knee-deep water. On the way back, we visited two temples to pray, collected the tulsi leaves and sandal paste.

At home, I put my dresses on the clothesline in the backyard, dressed myself in new shorts and set for my next duty: filling the various vessels, big and small, with fresh water drawn from the well. We did not use the previous day’s left over water but used it for the plants which were plenty in our backyard. Since mother would not have taken bath, which was mandatory to draw fresh water, it was my duty to do this job. I tied the neck of the kudam (a copper vessel with a narrow neck) with the loop of the rope and dipped that vessel into the water in the well by maneuvering the rope which passed through a pulley. Then I dragged it up to get one full kudam of water. Like this, I had to collect six to seven kudams to fill all the vessels needed for cooking, washing the vessels and cleaning the floors.

Then I took out the vessel containing the curd from the uri, for churning. I kept the churner partially dipping in the curd, passed the two loops around the churner and tied a rope on the churner and started churning. I asked mother, “Amma, How long should I churn?

Mother said, “Chant Vishnusahasranama while churning. When it gets over, call me. I will see if you have to chant Lakshmi-ashtotharam also.”

When it was over, mother sat down and rolled up the butter and floated it in the buttermilk. She said, “See Moorthy, when the butter sinks in the buttermilk, we know it is the end of Kaliyuga.”

Suddenly, she said: “Appumama has left for office. It must be 8.30 now. Hurry with your school work and come for eating.”

Yes, we had no clock of any kind to know the time. When Appumama left home, it was 8.30, when the post-office peon (anjal sepoy) was seen running towards the post office with a sack of letters. It was 10 O’Clock. When the shadow of the opposite house crossed the middle of the road, it must be past 12 O’Clock. When the postal peon runs back with his parcel of letters, it was 4 O’Clock. Then mother would come to thinnai to receive her children returning from school.

* * *

Yes, it was time for breakfast. I finished my sandhyavandanam in my room and walked to the dining table. My daughter-in-law, Sarada, had kept all the things ready on the table. There were large bowls, containing idli, sambhar, chatni, etc. A plate was kept at every chair. A basket contained plantain and seasonal fruits. Each member of the family arrived at the table at their own convenience. There was no need of calling them to have the breakfast. Each one had a mobile and ear-phine. I sat on my reserved chair. I used the tongs to pick up the idlis and transfer them to my plate. I took the sambhar and chatni also from the bowls. Although a spoon was available, I preferred my own fingers to eat the idlis.

Sarada brought me the tea in a mug, which I consumed hot. But, I saw the others waiting for the tea to cool down to room temperature.

* * *

After breakfast, I went back to my room and continued to live my past life.

I collected my two text books (English and Malayalam), two or three notebooks, a pencil (sharpened with a shaving blade), a ‘steel-pen’, which was just a nib fitted to a long wooden holder, an ink-bottle and a piece of blotting paper.

Mother was calling. I ran to the kitchen, sat on the floor at a porcelain plate in which mother had kept some previous day’s left-over rice. It was known as pazhaya chadam in Tamil and vella-choru in Malayalam. Mother added a bit of curd and a pinch of salt in that. I mixed them with my fingers. Mother gave me some mango pickles (which she had made to last a few months). This was our breakfast. After this, I wore my half-pants and a shirt (no banian) which had been washed and dried the previous day. It was not ironed. Mother gave me a small brass container of the same food. This vessel had a handle to hold. Then, I was ready to join the same friends to walk to the school, 2.5 km away on bare-foot.

Mother accompanied me to the front of the house. She asked me to wait till she permitted me to leave. She was waiting for a good omen, sakunam, to appear. She expected a girl, a married lady, a pair of Brahmins, a cow or a person with milk in hand as the good omens. A widow, a single Brahmin or a cat crossing the path were bad omens. I could step out of the house only against a good omen.

Once, it so happened that for quite some time no good omen appeared. I was getting late. My friends, Seetha and Ganga were gesturing me to join them. Mother saw this, She was tense. Suddenly, she saw the girl in the opposite house peep out of the house. Mother called her and said, “Alamu, come here. I have something to give you.”

Alamu started from her house. Immediately, mother turned towards me and said, “Moorthy, you have the good sakunam. Leave before Alamu reaches here.”

Similar events happened on many days, enabling me to reach my school in time. On our way to school, we joked, criticized some teachers, reviewed a movie, talked about events that happened at home etc. They were our golden days.

* * *

Today, after breakfast, I had nothing to do. I walked to the ‘hall’, sat on the well-cushioned sofa and switched on the TV. Channel by channel I scanned, but I could not find one to my interest. My favourite programmes of News and debates in English did not come at that time. Disappointed, I walked to my room.

* * *

I started thinking what I did in the classroom. The same teacher taught us all the subjects till about 6^th standard. He/she was called our class-teacher. Later, the teacher who taught us in the first period became our class teacher. We started using the “steel-pen” in class 6. We had to keep the open ink-bottle in the slot on the desk. Dip the nib in the ink and write in the note-book. We could hardly write two words when the nib got dry. We dipped the nib again in the ink and resumed writing. We had to blot the extra ink with the blotter in between.

I saw my own photo when I was about to enter college. For the first time, I wore full pants and a bush-shirt. It was the very first photo of mine, taken by an amateur, in his box-camera. In those times, we could buy films which could take only 12 photos per reel. Often, the photos were blurred. There was one photo of mine earlier to that. It was a group photo of mine with my classmates, Headmaster and other teachers of my High School, taken at the end of my school career.

Later, I got my own colour-photo camera, which took 36 coloured shots per reel. The album had some of those photos too. But, unfortunately, it had no photos of my father or mother. Father could be identified in a group photo taken when one of his superiors retired and there was a farewell function. Father was wearing his uniform of a Health Inspector, standing in attention in the third row. Mother was never photographed till she became a grandmother at the age of around 60 years.

* * *

It was a wonder how mother managed the household! Father’s salary was not adequate to run a household consisting of parents with 6 children. Mother did not study beyond third standard, but her mother had equipped her with the skills to manage the kitchen and, in general, the house, after her marriage. ..I am afraid, I am moving away from the topic.

On school working days we had our meals, prepared that day, only at night, because we had to depend on firewood to do the cooking and gadgets like mixie and pressure cooker were not known. The grinding and mixing had to be done in the rudimentary devices called ammi and aattukal, which were slow and tiring. We did not have a set of burners: we had to cook all our dishes in a single “furnace”. On working days, we opened our lunch vessels during the recess, (which began at 1 O’Clock,) in our classroom itself. We used our hands to take out the rice and the accompanying pickle, We washed our mouth and the vessels and drank water from the stored clay pots. The water was neither boiled nor passed through a purifier.

* * *

A call on my mobile brought me back to the present. Sarada was calling me to collect the vegetable set for our lunch. I and my invalid wife, Madhuram, with her care-taker, were staying in a flat in the 5^th floor, while my son, Anand and family were in 2^nd floor, due to space constraint. The automatic lift helped me in collecting the dishes from Sarada. It consisted of sambhar and a side dish.

Today, we had kuruma as side dish for the chappathis which our maid-cum-nurse had made. Thanks to Sarada, I have so far tasted many North Indian dishes, going by the names Chhole, raitha, kofta, Manchurian, etc. Mumbai life had introduced me to dishes like noodles, pizza, sandwiches, paav-bhaji etc. which are not known in places like my home-town. Of course, Sarada prepared our conventional dishes on other days, but on holidays we enjoyed these North Indian dishes. We however chose dishes rich in vegetables. I took some chappathis with kuruma, followed by curd bath. My meal was not complete without a curd or buttermilk mixed rice. We had readymade pickles bought from the market.

I turned towards my laptop. I wrote some articles or went through youtube entries and also about tutorials on Acrylic painting of landscapes. I have done a few paintings but it could be improved. Normally, I took a nap for about half or after lunch. I laid myself in the cot today, but my mind travelled to my past.

* * *

Mother was an expert cook. She prepared dishes named sambhar, pitla, mulakootal, morkoottan erisseri, aviyal, vattal kuzhambu, menthiyakkuzhambu etc for mixing with rice. As side dishes, she treated us with olan, poduthuval, kootu, podimaas, pachadi, kichadi, etc. She prepared a variety of condiments and pickles during their season. Katukumangai and karuvadam are worth mentioning here.

If she thought we were hungry at about 2 pm on school holidays, she would mix some rice with buttermilk and keep some kuzhambu ready. Then she would ask us to sit in a semi-circle in front of her and place one small ball of the mixed rice in our palms by turn. Then, she would keep some kuzhambu over it and ask us to swallow. It used to be very tasty. Thus, each would get about 4 to 5 balls of rice. On those days, there would be no evening snacks.

* * *

My mobile sounded to remind about my medicines. Yes, I have to take tablets for my BP, Blood sugar and cholesterol. In my childhood, such names were not known at all. There was no need to go to a doctor, although we had a family doctor by name Dr. C V Venkataraman. He did not have much of a ”practice” as the people in the agraharam did not fall sick that often. Still, he had fixed a placard in his consulting room, which had the following lines in bold letters:

COME TO A MAN OF BUSINESS

SOLELY ON MATTER OF BUSINESS

QUICKLY TRANSACT YOUR BUSINESS

AND GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS

LEAVING HIM TO DO HIS BUSINESS

We really enjoyed our meals at night on school working days. We sat on the floor under a hanging kerosene lamp (as our house was not electrified then. We had our designated plates having raised edges. The raised edges prevented the rasam or buttermilk from flowing out of the plate. Mother did not serve rice in an empty plate as she considered it inauspicious. She served the side dish first and then the rice. She poured a small amount of ghee over the rice and then the main curry to mix with the rice. I was just a miracle how she completed the cooking, using just fire-wood and grinding stone to help her. There was no LPG, mixie or pressure-cooker then. In between, she had to go to the river to bathe and to wash the clothes.

* * *

“Uncle, tea” That was our maid, waking me from my nap. She knew that I left the flat for my evening walk at 5 pm. Yes, it was 4.30 then. I had tea and biscuits. I wore my track suit and left for my walk. Today, I decided to walk to my “Society” where I have my flat, now rented out. I met some of my old friends there and I completed my walk with them.

* * *

In my childhood, after we returned from our school, we played some out-door games. We used balls made of waste paper tied tightly in the form of a sphere with jute strings. That was our badminton ball. We tied a rope to serve as our net and used our palms as the racquets. We played marble games, in which the loser had to receive the strikes with the marble, from the winner, in the hind part of his hand, kept at floor-level. There were other games like Thief-police, seven-stones, kottiyum pullum (a game using two sticks one long and the other short).

Occasionally, we walked to the reading room-cum-library 2.5 km away or to the Railway station 3 km away. As the sunset was nearing, we all assembled in the yellow sands of the Kalpathy river and talked and talked. As we heard the whistle of the Cochin-Madras Express, we got up and performed our saayam sandhya vandanam in the river-water and walked homeward. On our way home, we witnessed the deepaaradhana at one temple.

At home, I and my siblings sat in front of the deities and chanted a set of slokas together. In the end, we prostrated and applied vibhuti on our foreheads. Till 8 pm, we all were busy with our homework. At about 8 pm, we had our dinner under a big hanging lamp. Since there were no distractions like Radio or TV those days, we were in our ‘beds’ by about 9.30 pm. The front-door, which was kept open from 5.30 a.m. was finally closed at this time. Yes, there were no calling bells. A visitor just entered up to our kootam before announcing his/her visit.

* * *

I returned to my flat at 5.30 pm. The maid, taking care of Madhuram, said goodbye and left. The other nurse was expected by 10 p.m. I lighted the lamp in front of the deity. The Sankara channel was telecasting Vishnusahasranamam. I joined chanting along with Madhuram, who was already doing it. At 7.30 sharp, Sarada came up to give dinner to Madhuram. I too had my food then. Sarada put Madhuram to bed and left. I resumed watching the TV, this time, Newschannels in English and Malayalam.

Sharp at 10, the second nurse reported and disappeared into Madhuram’s room. I did some work on my laptop and then, by 10.30, went to my room to sleep.

* * *

Saturday, September 19, 2020

ARE YOU A MADRASI?

ARE YOU A MADRASI?

The announcement came that the plane would be landing in Bombay International Airport in a short time. In the meantime, the passengers were asked to fill in the landing slip to be presented at the immigration counter. I was returning from Hong Kong after a two months’ stay with my daughter.

I filled up the form, mentioning that I have nothing to declare in my luggage. As iwas not a senior citizen then, I had to fine my way myself to the immigration counter, after collecting my luggage. As iwas loitering in the area, my eyes caught the running display over the immigration area. It said about the weather in Bombay, the conveyance the passengers could use, the availability of free transport to the domestic airport etc. But, the surprising fact was that the messages were translated into, hold your breath, Malayalam, of all languages. As I wondered, a cotraveller cleared my doubt. It was because a flight from the gulf country had just landed there. The majority of passengers were normally Keralites and hence the use of Malayalam in the display. I smiled at this finding.

Without any difficulty, I came out of the immigration counter and started proceeding to customs. I chose the green channel as I had nothing to declare. The official asked me to pass my suitcase through the X-ray machine. As I collected it, the official asked me if I was sure about my declaration in the landing slip. He said he could see something in the X-ray screen which needed inspection by them. He directed me to the red channel. By that time, the passengers were walking through and disappearing. I became tense. An attendant led me and my trolley to the official in the red channel. That officer asked me if I had anything objectionable in my suitcase. He demanded my passport and the slip. I geve them to him. He asked me to open the suitcase. You can imagine my state of mind. It took 4 minutes to get my key from my hand bag, after looking for it in all other places like pant pockets, backpack and vest pocket. I opened the suitcase and rummaged inside with his hands. He got satisfied that I was honest in my declaration. He asked me to close the suitcase and go to the exit gate. I thanked him and led my trolley to the exit gate. By then, all my co-passengers had gone out. The security guard stopped me and demanded my passport and the slip. O God, where are they? I could not find them in my handbag, backpack, pockets. Then where are they? I doubted if the officer in the red channel did not return it after the check?

I told the security guard that I could not find my passport. He sai he was helpless. He would not let me out without seeing them. I informed him that my son, Anand, would be waiting to pick me up outside. He should not go away, thinking that I had somehow missed my flight at Hong Kong. I did not have a mobile yet. I asked him how I could message him about my landing in Bombay and had misplaced the passport.

The security guard suggested, “Go to the public booth and contact him from there.”

But, I did not have a rupee coin! Neither the security guard. Anyway, thanks to him, he got one coin from his colleague. I thanked them both and successfully contacted my son on his mobile. When I mentioned about the passport, he asked me to report to the police immediately and try to retrieve the passport, otherwise I would have to spend the rest of my time there itself till it was found out. I asked him to wait for some more time and came back to the security guard.

At his suggestion, I ran to the red-channel, but the officer had already left his post, as all the passengers had gone past him. I located him a little distance away, sipping a cup of tea. I went to him and said, “You have not returned my passport, I doubt. I am not getting it at the exit gate. Please check.”

But, he said, “I am sure I had not kept it with me. We return all documents to the passenger. We do not have any use for them. I can’t help you in this. Please look for it yourself.”

The guard smiled and said if I could contact my son. I told him that my son would wait for me.

Then he asked me, “Are you a Madrasi?”

“Yes, how is that information doinf to help me?”

“I could hear you talking to your son in Madrasi language. Do you wear dhoti at home?”

“Are you mad? Why are you teasing me by asking these silly questions?”

He replied, “It is you who is getting mad. I am trying to help you find out your passport.”

“Okay, agreed. Yes, I wear dhoties at home.” I replied calmly.

“Have you any dhoti in this suitcase?” he asked.

“Yes. Do you want to see, like that customs official?”

“Yes, open the suitcase and take out one dhoti. Spread it here on the floor. Then open the suitcase and take out the things slowly and put them on the dhoti.”

I did that. Lo, my passport was smiling at me inside. “How did you know, my friend?”

The security guard smiled and said. “You had given your passport to the customs officer. He says he had definitely given it back to you. Afterwards, you had only walked to the gate here, without dropping anything on your way. You had checked your other luggage. So, where else it would be? The customs officer must have kept it among the things after he did not find anything objectionable. So, I concluded it has to be inside the suitcase only. And my guess was right.”

AS I repacked my suitcase, I felt ashamed that I did not think along the line he thought. I wanted to thank him with some money. I rummaged in my purse and found the hundred-rupee note I had kept for my taxi-fare if Anand could not turn up at the airport. I was happy.

I took it out and thrust it in his pocket. “I know you will not accept it. But, you have saved me from an ugly situation. Please have it as a token of my gratitude. Bye.” I said and started pushing my trolley past him.

“Bye and thanks.” He waved me back.

INTRODUCING THE CHIEF GUEST

INTRODUCING THE CHIEF GUEST

The invitation card on my table reminded me of the cultural programme in the community hall this evening. I, as a committee member, had suggested my friend as the chief guest and the Committee had approved it. Naturally, I had a seat in the front row. The chief guest had come in time. But the President of the Committee had not yet arrived. He was to introduce the Chief Guest to the audience. What had happened to him? It is time for the curtain to go up. Just then, the secretary’s mobile sounded. Hurriedly, he received the message and exclaimed, ‘Oh God!’ He signaled to the committee members sitting in front rowto come up and meet him. We met him in the side room.

He said, “Our President is stuck up in a traffic jam, near Dadar TT. We can’t expect him to reach here for half-an-hour at least. We cannot keep the Chief Guest waiting for him. And the audience will not keep quiet. What we should do? The Chief Guest has already occupied the seat.”He said, “Our President is stuck up in a traffic jam, near Dadar TT. We can’t expect him to reach here for half-an-hour at least. We cannot keep the Chief Guest waiting for him. And the audience will not keep quiet. What we should do? The Chief Guest has already occupied the seat.”

I suggested, “Why worry? We have our Vice-President here. Ask him to introduce the Chief Guest.”

But the Vice-President, Shri Venkatachalam, was not willing. He said, “Please spare me. I have never faced an audience. And I have not prepared anything. I am totally ignorant about his qualifications, position or his achievements. Then, how can I talk?”

The Secretary prompted him. He told him, “It is the Vice-President’s duty to carry out the tasks of the Presdent when the latter is not available, as per our bye-law. And, when you start your talk, I will place a note in front of you giving all particulars about him. You just read it. That;s all. In the end, invitehim to talk to the audience.”

He agreed (Well, he had to.) and took his chair on the dais.

The curtain rose. The Secretary came to the podium and welcomed all. He added that the President of the Sabha had got stuck up in a traffic jam about 4 km away, since last half hour. “We can’t keep you, especially our Chief Guest, who has spared a few minutes to grace us, waiting. We are just starting our programme with a prayer. The audience will please stand up for the prayer song.”

The song ended and the audience took their seats. The Secretary invited Shri Venkatachalam, the Vice-President, to introduce the Chief Guest to the audience.

Shri Venkatachelam began, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I am not used to speak from a dais and so, I request you to pardon me for any mistakes I may commit and to encourage me. Firstly, I thank the Mumbai traffic jam, which has givenme the opportunity to stand before you to give this talk.” He glanced at the wing of the stage. The Secretary was busy writing something in a hurry. Venkatachalam knew that it was the bio-data of the Chief Guest. Venkatachalam continued, “It is our great fortune that we got this dignitary to accept our invitation and grace this occasion. “ Venkatachalam extended his hand and received the sheet of paper from the Secretary. Then, he continued, “The Secretary has provided me with all the information required to introduce our Chief Guest today. He was born in a BPL family. I mean, a below the poverty line family. He has worked his way up by his hard work, honesty and sincerely. He got Ph D from two universities and is discharging his responsibilities with extreme devotion. He has been very kind to the suffering people. He has donated to several NGOs who help the poor, destitute and disabled. He had also donated to our benevolent fund, which is meant to help those of our members who are in need financial aid for their medical problems. We wish you all happiness and prosperity in your future. Now, I have the pleasure to invite you to address our audience.” With a big relief, he was leaving the podium and the Chief Guest stood up.

Suddenly, a member in the third row stood up and shouted, “What is his name?”

Another from the other side got jup and said loudly, “The Vice-President has omitted his name in his speech. What is the reason?”

Someone from behind called out, “It is an insult to the Chief Guest, if his name was not mentioned in the introductory speech. You must apologise.”

I saw suddenly that the Chief guest, who was ready to come to the podium, had sat down.

Venkatachalam ran here and there looking for the Secretary. He did not mention the name in the sheet of paper. The Secretary was trying to make the audience keep calm.

Immediately, I stood up and ran to the podium. I addressed the audience, “Dear Ladies and Gentlemen, on behalf of the Association, as a Committee member, I extend an apology for not mentioning the name of our Ghief Guest today.”

The audience shouted back. In short, they said, “We don’t need an apology from you. Let the Vice-President himself speak.”

I called Venkatachalam to the podium and showed the name printed in the invitation card. He thanked me and talked into the mike, “Dear friends, I am very sorry, I missed the great personality’s name. It is a big omission and I apologize for it. I had already requested you that I could make errors in my speech and you should kindly excuse me and encourage me. Well, our Chief Guest today is Shii R. Venkatachalam. Surprisingly, he has the same name as mine. Still, I had forgotten to mention it in my speech. Is it not something to laugh? So, let us forget the lapse and welcome our Chief Guest to the podium to speak to us.”

FLOWERS FOR ONAM POOKKALAM

FLOWERS USED FOR MAKING A POOKKALAM

While preparing this article, my mind travelled back to the good old days of 1946-47, when we were staying in Cannanore, presently spelt as Kannur. I was a boy of 8 or 9 years. I and my friends in that small colony of 15 houses, got up at 5 O’Clock in the morning and carrying a bamboo basket around the beck, we ran to the other side of the railway tracks to the bushes where the plants bore a variety of flowers fit for a flower decoration, called pookkalam, in front of our houses. After a bath, we started to prepare the pookkalam. Mother kept a small ball of cow-dung in the middle of a circle and planted a pumpkin flower vertically on it. Then, we all placed different flowers around, like the picture given here. All the houses co-operated in completing the circles, exchanging flowers one another.