People of a River

Chaliyar still runs dry. The onset of monsoon has made no difference to it. It lies as if the monsoon were a frequent visitor who is now no more. Chaliyaries are exceptionally fond of it. They run, dance, play and drive on its chest and stomach. It makes its body wide open for them to run, to swim and to play football... It has formed its chest like a golf ground which is yet to be played on it.

However, even among Chaliyaries, there are some thieves who injure its body by sand mining and betraying its beauty. When their exploitation crosses the limit it beats them with mild hand of flood.

Chaliyaries are a congregated near the river. They are thickly populated and mutual cooperation between them is extremely immense. Most of the Chaliyaries share even their court-yard for their neighbors. Most of them are people of land, i.e., closely connected with soil and agricultural produce. But a large number of people are sand “exploiters”. Some are rubber farmers and some others are ex-coconut farmers but now they are coconut turned rubber farmers.

But none of them are big scale producers. Even the medium scale production units are too big for their too small beaks. It is desirable to call them small scale farmers. These micro farmers mostly use their produce for self consumption. To a small extend it goes to the “Areacoden” market. To a too small extend it goes beyond Areacode.

Mullammadakkal House

Mummed Kutty Haji (Apappa) is such a micro rubber farmer among Chaliyaries. He has a double storied concrete house. It has big well in front in the rainy muddy court yard (“which might be paved by ‘Katta’ soon”). An old 98 model “Hero Honda Splendor” motor bike stands on its ‘stand’ with no splendor.  Yellow tiled floor down stairs and red Kavi upstairs. There furniture setting was very different. A bed in sit-out along with some fiber chairs. Sofa in dinning room, which is decorated by beautiful flowers and gifts. A round table with many partially broken miniature stools is set in corner. I couldn’t see the Kitchen and back yard. The stair rail and sit-out rail have become rusty.    

Five beautiful Chaliyari children add up to Mullamadakkal family. Bava (fattest in the family – a DH fat) is among the five. But unfortunately I couldn’t see two elder sisters of Bava and he did not told me about them either. Immachi, (His mother) Nafeesa Hajjumma, is another member in Haji family.

Haji is a prestigious label for Malayalies especially for Chaliyaries. It is like: an Olympian for one who participated in Olympics; Haji for one who participated in Hajj. Unlike an Olympian it has it has gender difference “Hajjumma” (Keralite version for Hajia). Female can be spared without suffixing their name Hajjumma. But the case is different with male. If a Haji is named without suffixing Haji in Chaliyari presence they will correct anyone. Mr. Muhammed Haji was the near-octogenarian Chaliyari who corrected me when I told Bava’s father’s name simply as Mummed Kutty. Muhammed Haji is elder brother of Mammed Kutti Haji and Bava’s Uncle (father’s way).But I could meet Bava’s (mothers way) uncle too who owns a “Industrial” (a pakkka Kondotty name for metal welding industry) in the heart of Jeddah which administerial capital of pioneering Muslims country!!!! Unfortunately he left us before I could ask his name.

Saudi ‘Industrial’ in Chaliyari relation

“Unknown Industrial Owner Uncle” has flown all the way from Saudi Arabia to Kerala to witness a new birth, to share the woes of his beloved wife, to find out his heir. He was on his leave for two months. ‘I can extend my leave as I wish. It is the advantage of a “self company”’, he said proudly. Initially he was a bit reticent to talk but my inquiry about Saudi Arabia opened his moth. ‘Jeddah is a big city. It is as big as Kerala’. But I felt that it too much. I tended ask “if you adjust?” in a pure DH vein but I didn’t ask and let him show his Industrial work in his “bold silver colored mobile” “Any way, Industrial work”, he said,  “is a very hard job for an inexperienced worker and for a Bookish engineer.” He was all against the professionals who come from the engineering colleges. “Engineering colleges has nothing to do with the job. It is to learn by experience and not from the books.” But I wondered weather he will send his new born child (for whom he has taken an extendable two month leave) to an engineering college or he will struggle against professionals sending his child to learn by experience. Let us wait and see. There, however, was a little truth in his claim. He went on his bike after some time. All these were after lunch.

A headless, tailless Maulavy Tale

Before the lunch I had almost ten minute’s talk with afore said paternal uncle. He is the oldest of them. I could conclude with no time that he does not get much-needed audience and that is because he grabbed this new visitor with out any preface. He began to open the treasury of his experience. He gave a wayward story of a Qadar Maulavi and his epic intervention in a nuptial discord. But the fact is that even at the end of the story I had no idea about the protagonist, hero, villain, minor characters, or if there was any heroin at all in his story. But Bava mistakenly thought that I was fed up with him and with his story and he called me up stairs (to a Chaliyari cyber palace). But really I hadn’t. I liked him, his story, and more of his experience and a back ward looking from his other end of life. As if a good listener I put in “Actually, who is this Qadar Maulavi?” With a renewed enthusiasm he reacted, ‘it was Bapa”. But who’s Bapa? I didn’t know. I couldn’t reject Bava’s repeated invitation up stairs and to see his computers. But one thing: he didn’t call me to see his Apappa, Immachi, Faris Mon, Pinju mol or Ponnu mol(not  to see any live being in Mullammadakkal House but he invited me to see his soulless computer).

A Virus Abode near Chaliyar

Chaliyari computer was virus-full. It opened as slow as an old Indian Railway. Always late... If you click on an icon, you can have Malapuram Sulaimani and Parippuvada before it opened the link. “It is because of virus, isn’t it?” Bava asked me as if I am a computer raja. I nodded accompanied with ‘a mouth closed nasal sound’. Desktop was a real untidy desk-top scattered with many pieces of family photos. The Waiting before a lifeless machine felt me like a waiting in front of DH latrine, bathroom and Hawllu. This was more tiring than life-full man’s incomplete stories (Uncle’s Qadar Maulavi story). ‘Video doesn’t work’, Faris Mon complained. But video worked when opened it. I didn’t know why he complained it. It is “Katha Parayumbol” but I did want to watch it at that time.

Chaliyari Ghee Rice

After a weary waiting before the Samsung LCD, I was called for a Chaliyari dinner. It was Friday. Beef is special for Friday. It is a custom. I didn’t know if the ghee rice was special for ME or special for every body or that gulf going Uncle. Either way, Chaliyari Ghee Rice was special in its colour: White-Grey coloured ghee rice. A non-coconuted curry for it… It was a real mach. Too many Achars (Pickles)… Garlic Pickle (Muhammed Haji said it is good for health when it was brought. But he didn’t say why? It may be useful for Nenhu Neeral  and Gyas – not (LPG) Gas.) In a small saucer Ambayanga Pickle… Immediately his father interrupted, ‘it is very rare, any where it is an extinct tree’. But I thought that it still exists in my native place. But he was right in his “it is very rare”. And Manga Uppilattathu (mango in saline water)…. There were many more Achars … I don’t remember names. Bava said when last item was brought ‘Acharu Thonendello’ Immachi nodded in affirmative with an mmm…

In the mid of my lunch – a handful in my hand and a handful in my mouth- Unknown Industrial Uncle asked, ‘ as Darul Huda students, can you speak every language well? I took aback!!! Every language!!!! But Apappa corrected him ‘four languages’. But still I was in a fix. Can I speak well? I didn’t swallow my mouthful because if I did it I had to answer. I didn’t really know if I could speak English well, Arabic well, Urdu well and Malayalam well...  I kept chewing and chewing and chewing and chewing….At last Bava said: ‘We can’. He may, but I…. I swallowed saliva-mixed pulp making the job easier for my stomach.

As for dessert there was ‘Nadan’ (home grown) pine apple. But in the dead of extreme formality I forgot to have it. So I lost a Chaliyari Pine Apple. Though Bava had reminded me, it was too late and I had reached near that leaking wash basin of which his father said that he didn’t get time to get it repaired.

20 Minute Lecture on Rubber Farming

Apapa (Bava’s father) was a busy, hectic scheduled man. He is busier than a Prime Minister because PM has legally earned formal rest time. But Apappa has no formal leave but (Bava said): ‘every time it is not so’. Any way, he came after his Masjid committee appointment. He was ‘Palli president’ and ‘Madrasa president’ of Chaliyaries... And he was a Chaliyari micro rubber farmer. Hard working, God fearing, sincere, humble Apappa… His sun-burned face and a black mark in his right eye spoke well of his earnestness in his daily dealings. In home he was scheduled to receive his visitor warmly and to make the table.

Purpose of my visit was to inspect a land for sale. It was Apappa who inquired about the land in Chaliyari neighborhood. He began his talk with me. ‘The matter of land is as I had told you (over phone). There is no uncultivated land here any where. But there are recently planted rubber estates but it needs a good nurturing and a free man to look after it’. I confessed that I had hardly even seen any rubber tree. Then he began to explain.

‘It is a tree planted on almost 1m² land and each plant is distanced between by an almost 2.5 m. It should grow up to six or seven years under strict supervision and nursing. And then you can ‘tap’ it up to 20 years, at least. But its job needs “Anchal” speed’.

He explained what Anchal was. It was a postal system used before the British came to India. A post man runs from the moment he got the message till he reaches next post man. “Like that a rubber worker runs from one tree to another to collect the pal (sap) un-clotted. Pal get collected in a Chiratta to which pal trickle down from the tree. Tree is cut off its skin in an inch width. Its bark has recoverable capacity. That is, once it is removed it grows again in the same place”. It has to be formed to the shape of a sheet which he showed me outside. If it is dried in the heat it becomes more costly. But drying in the heat has its risk as he explained.

“Cheek” is the Mandari for rubber a farmer. It destroys a rubber farmers’ fortune. Despite of several anti-Cheek operations still it grows invincibly. It is the greatest threat of rubber farmers.

Later he explained serious irregularities and discords between a governmental claims and a farmer’s hands-on experience.

In the form of advice he concluded: “it is most profitable farming in Kerala. Still it has its risks too. Tell your father all the concerns about it. It will not be possible if you have not a believable relative or the likes”. He repeated it many times. But I did not know whether he meant that he, too, is not ready to look after it even if he helped buy it. May be or may no be. But more seriously and philosophically continued: “Nowadays God fearing people are very few. Most trusted may prove most cheat!!” Then my memories and experiences flooded my mind. I agreed tacitly that is true a hundred times….

His schedule was calling him. It’s about 3:20. A Nikah party is waiting for him. Faris Mon confirmed if the droning sound of Jeep meant that Nikah going. Then I told ending the talk: “if you are being waited you may go”. Then he stepped out of his two storied, yellow tiled, distempered house. Walking through the muddy court yard, he advised his son Bava to go to DH that evening itself or to do what seems right to him. In Bava’s view the right was to stay till Saturday morning. But poor Apappa didn’t know that it was right because Europe is in a festive mood. In the dead of night Netherlands fate will be decided.

(Two P’s): Ponnu and Pinju

We went out for a short walk. Through Chliyari court yards and Chaliyari outskirts we reached on guttered, potholed and two metre wide road. It led us to the Chaliyar River Bank. Ponnu (who is Bava’s eldest sister’s daughter -about 5 years old) is youngest and most delightful in this walk. Pinchu (Bava’s youngest sister) is a bit older (about 8 years old) and she is Elema of Ponnu. But she did not know she was it. To her Ponnu was her friend or youngest sister. But both were in their childhood bliss. They both are real mach (like Swafa & Marva) I am sure that they are glad every time but especially glad for a Virunnukaran (ME) in their home. On the river bank they ran, jumped, capered, reveled, and did every thing their age could afford. In their merriment they felt their slippers unnecessary. Ponnu cried at Bava to carry hers. But Pinju never satisfied. She made Bava carry hers too. Now they are freer with no weight in their legs. They showed before me several items of jumping and diving.

I liked them very much ……. very much…. Some times they both are most-liked by me among Chaliyaries. I loved them too…. But they are not at a loveable age.  I liked and loved their playing only because of childish innocents and beauty. I felt sorry that I couldn’t bring them any chocolate… I liked to play hide and seek with them. I liked to piggy back both of them. I liked to listen to their nursery and LP school songs. But I was unsure of Bava’s response to that. I gave up the idea. But still I am sorry for that.

Musings about Ponnu made my delightful mind down. Ponnu may not have known that her father is no more. I thought what will happen when she is able to know the truth? Sympathetically my heart sank for some time….  And I couldn’t give her a chocolate in absence of her Father.

A Bank with no Ujala drops

Chaliyar takes too much time to get introduced with a visitor. As I walked though its chest its bushes dispatched its soldiers against my encroachment. A small thorn like particle penetrated in my White Mundu of double folds. I and Bava sat on the river bank for removing these thorn-like bushy particles from the Mundu. It was very important sitting as far as I am concerned. Because it is a significant tryst of two close (I daren’t say closest) friend after an excessively long, long, long gap. When he helped clean my cloth I felt some indefinable affection towards him. It was a real unexpected confabulation of two friends on river bank. A typical cinematic experience…

Our talk went on sports. From Olympics to Asian, to National Games, to golf, to rugby, to tennis (Federer, Sania, Nadal etc.), to food ball, to cricket it rolled. It ranged from FIFA & UEFA, to ICC & BCCI. It went from one to another: Word Cup, Confederation, Euro, Copa, and Golden, Asia, Australian Cups… ODI, Test Series, Twenty 20s…Wimbledon, French Open, Australian Open, US Open… Lost glory of Indian Hokey…

Sitting there he showed me Vettupara (of which Muhammed Haji earlier introduced as “Manhoolingal”) on the other side of river (Akkare). He reminded me: ‘E T Hussain Vettupara’. Really I knew what did he meant by this ‘special mention’ and I didn’t continue on the subject. He convinced me it was there that I had my Jumua prayer in the morning. Othukkummel Masjid.

I looked on the river bank for a single drop of Ujala because it symbolized many thing for me. For good or bad, it had made possible for classic and epic beginning of a friendship. Almost eight years ago, some drops Ujala has made big difference in my life. But unfortunately Chaliyar kept no drop of Ujala for me. It wiped all.

On the way back, “most expert Chaliyari fisher man” waked by us. But Bava gave me no information about him except that he is most expert. In my first sight he was so old but still energetic. He waked past us without even catching a glimpse of us. Like delayed Bus he went by so hastily. Moments later, My Father called me over phone.

A Doctor’s tale

She was not only a doctor but also an “ex-dancer, home-needs farmer, cook expert” as Bava put it. But she is Bava’s Immachi. Her clinical traits were conspicuous in her calling-aloud directions at the departure of Industrial Uncle. As a cook too, I could see Immachi, when I had Chaliyari Ghee Rice and Areacoden Sulaimani and Neyyappam in the evening prior to my return. As a farmer, she excelled when she requested me to take the Nadan Pine Apple to my home. She wanted to bring it but I timely rejected the idea and it was cancelled. But she complained me that she couldn’t talk with me for long.

Specks-worn Immachi felt me like a Shri Padmaja Doctor, (Com Trust Eye Hospital Calicut) in her way of talking and shape. Immachi has changed much from her old photographs and she has become much leaner and now it is a ‘slim beauty’. At last she wished me a “come again”.

Faris Mon

Having the evening tea I wished a good prosperous upcoming SSLC for Faris Mon. I said simple lie to encourage him that I had a good impression of his study. Any one could see an artistic bent in his mind and deed. I saw his ‘pasted a Thavakkalthu Ala Allah’ on the office room door.

 In river bank visit, he remained almost inactive. But I could read in his face that he was happy for my arrival.

When I was about to leave I thought about Chaliyari meandering way through Kinettum Kandi and Kuniyil... There roads as well have typical river-ly feature of going through the winding ways. I couldn’t think of the moment when I mistook my way on my arrival and fateful driving up a guttered Himalayan-steep rising road and down a self same falling road. Two Masjid-leaving teenagers were on their way guiding me to Bava’s home. They parted with me at their home long before I could reach the Mullamadakkal Palace. But teenagers’ guidance helped me to a large extend. But expecting me on a bike Bava and Faris Mon left me unnoticed. But before reaching home he could guide me, at least for a short distance.

But this time (on the return) Bava led me to an unconfused way. We again kissed a Big Bye to Chaliyaries…

Still….

Still doubts remain that whether it was an unwelcome visit. Or was I an uninvited guest. Or was I on my purely business visit? Was the Industrial Uncle the real “Pilot Uncle”? Was it the first and the last visit? I can answer one. It was a more-than-business visit to me. It smelled of friendship rather than the business. But as for “the first and the last” I wish that let it not be so… I’d like to go to there again, to enjoy Chaliyari joy, to eat missed pine apple, and to give chocolate to 2P’s.