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.

Pumpin flowers	Mookkutti flower	Jawanthi
Chendumalli flower	Kolambi flowers	Kanikkonna flowersNot blossoming during Onam
Kasithumba	Arali Poo Pink	Naalumani Poo
Chembarathi double colour	Chembarathi Red	Cemparathi
Aralipoo, White varuiety	Nithyakalyani	{ Chembarathy white
Thechipoo	Chethipoo	Mantharappoo
Pavazhamalli	Pichakam	Nandiyarvattai
Sanghupushpam White	Sanghupushpam Blue	Sampangi or Rathrani
Til flowers	Kanakambaram	Konkinippoo or Arippoo
Chembagam	Chembarathy 2 more types
Pookkalam	Kaikottikkali	Feast on plantain leaf

THE JOURNEY FROM BOMBAY TO MUMBAI

 

THE JOURNEY FROM BOMBAY TO MUMBAI

I set my foot on the vast city of Bombay in July 1958, to appear for an interview at Atomic Energy Establishment Trombay, Trombay (AEET),. It was my first experience of travel by train for two days all the way from Palghat Town in Keralam to the city. There were no direct trains to Bombay and I had to change the trains at Arkkonam Junction, after waiting for hours there.The train left Palghat Eastward almost upto Madras City (just 40 km short) and wait for another train coming from Madras and ‘catch’ it. At Arkkonam, there was enough waiting time so that some of us could even go for a movie in a nearby theatre. I was travelling by a ‘third class, Sleeper’ bogie, which had only wooden planks as seats for the day and bed for the night. Neither cushion nor any bed-spreads were provided in any class of travel. There were no AC-classes. Only First, Second and Third classes. The trains were hauled by steam locomotives for most of the distance and diesel ones for the rest. Electric engines were there only beyond Poona (present Pune).

I know, I am deviating from the topic of this article. But this will help you to the condition in which I made my first ever travel to Bombay. I likened it to a trip to the unknown land, appearing in fables. On reaching Dadar, my cousin, Bala, received me. He is my uncle’s son and I was to be with that family.

Suddenly, I saw a train in another track, full of people. I was surprised to see that it had no engine. Bala smiled and clarified that those trains ply on electricity. Not by coal or diesel.. Comig out of the station, I saw double decker buses in the main road. I was seeing such buses for the first time Bala lled me to a ‘taxi’, a black-and-yellow coloured Fiat car. The driver started the meter. Bala explained that we need not bargain the fare. We are required to pay the fare as shown in the meter.

My uncle’s house was just two kilometers away, in Matunga. The fare came to around one rupee. The driver just accepted the money and vanished. Bala told me that we had to climb two stairs. “No lift is available”, he said. I did not know what he meant by ‘lift’. I paid my respects to my uncle and aunt after reaching their house. They called it “Flat”, probably because their house was not having any sloping roof but only a ‘flat’ ceiling. It also surprised me to learn that they owned only that part of the building, not the whole structure. Their flat had a veranda, two rooms, a big kitchen and a passage. I asked Bala, “Where will you go for your bath and toilet?” Bala opened two doors inside the flat itself. One opened to the bath and the other to the toilet. Bala demonstrated how the water from a tank above rushed into the commode by the pull of a chain and kept the commode clean. I was astounded to see that there were no big vessels to store water in the kitchen. Water was available at the turn of a tap. Another surprise was the use of clean gas for cooking. No need to stock firewood or kerosene or charcoal. My aunt cooked everything using only stainless steel vessels. At Palghat, we had vessels made of soft stone, brass, bronze, tin and even iron. All these made me feel that I had entered a completely different world.

Aunt prepared a breakfast of Upuma and plantain fruits. I washed my hands in a wash-basin, which was again a new thing for me. Then, aunt asked me to have my bath. Bala showed me how to put on the geyser in case I needed hot water. All the water I poured on my body just disappeared though a drainage system in the floor.

As we were resting, I heard the ringing of a calling bell. Bala opened the front door to admit a youth clad in khaki shorts and white banian, holding a towel. He straight went inside the kitchen. I was curious. Bala told me that he was “Rama”, which was a common name for male domestic servants. They washed the utensils, cleaned the floors and washed the clothes. Their real names were Pandurang, Bhiku, Dhondu etc. but they were known as a Rama. Depending on the volume of work, they have to be paid monthly. They were very honest and can be trusted with the keys of our flats even.

Lest you get bored, I wrote all these because these were very strange for a boy like me who grew up in an agraharam which lacked electricity and other comforts.

In the evening, Bala took me to a sight-seeing tour of Matunga. He helped me in buying a smart white shirt for wearing for the interview on Monday. He could spare his full pants and a tie. Then we bought a pair of good shoes, for just Rs. 18/-. We passed through the Kin’s Circle Tram terminus and told me how the trams drew the power from the cables running above the tracks. Trams could cut through the tragic island, known as King;s Circle, but the other vehicles had to circumvent the island. We walked through Bhandarkar Road, in which Sree Ram Mandir, patronized by South Indians, was situated. Then we passed the Post Office junction. On the right, was the Post Office and on the left, Café Sasania, an Iranian restaurant. Then, we proceeded straight towards Matunga Railway station. I propose to describe my impressions in another chapter.  We roamed around the area for some more time. I will just say that Bala identified the major landmarks of Matunga which I should not miss. They were the “Society”, the Bhajana Samaj Temple, the Sankara Mattham, “Concerns” the Trichur Mess and Trichur Lodge, The flower market, the vegetable market, Nappoo Hall and the Nappoo gardens and Ruia College.

As we were returning home, I saw one person, holding a long stick, jogging along the main road, halting at every lamp post, doing something with the stick at the top of the post and running further for the next lamp-post. To answer my query, Bala said, he was a Municipality worker, lighting the street lamps. These lamps function on gas, and not electricity. That man was opening the valve with his pole to let the gas out so that burner could be lighted. A small flame would be always present for the gas to get lighted.

We all sat on the floor to eat our food, just like we did in Palghat. But, Bala told me that normally, people ate by sitting in chairs around a ‘dining’ table. They did not have it because the dining set of table and chairs occupied precious space and they did not want to eat that way.

There was no way of contacting my mother at Palghat, about my safe arrival here. There were  no phones with both my uncle and with my mother. I knew, she would patiently wait for my letter which would reach her in 3 to 4 days. Unlike now, the telegram was the only way to send messages in an emergency. And the charges were 25 paise per word, which in those days were costly. Again, ordinalry telegrams were not served immediately on receipt. For that, we should use express telegram at double the cost. Now, the use of telegrams has been discontinued.

Gas burner in my uncle's flatT

A Simple Geyser for hot water

A simple flush tank to clean the commode