'' Conservationists on Tuesday hailed the socialite Paris Hilton, who has been convicted of driving under the influence of alcohol, for trying to highlight the cause of 'Rice Beer' drinking elephants in the northeast.'' I read the news headline and had a genuine doubt.
We, Menons, by tradition, donot like carrying doubts in our respective minds for too long. It's unnecessary; carrying doubts and walking around; esp when brilliant people like Kochappan is up and around.
I asked him ''Doesn't the head line suggest that Paris Hilton was driving around in drunken state and got arrested to highlight the plight of the elephants.?''
Kochappan looked at me. Lord Parama Shiva is the only other known person to have a look like that, which I presume, can make the receiving end burn and turn ash in colour. Ash colour we all know, is not associated with glamour or good looks of men.
''You idiot'' he said thus.'' The Hindu paper head lines are written by world class journalists. If you can't understand good English keep quiet. Read it once gain and make sense.''
We were at the airport lounge waiting for the security check call. Kochapps was leaving for Syria.
I read the head line once again.Things didn't improve much.
What is Paris Hilton?. You might ask.Well I had made a mention about her in connection with the Pamela Anderson case. To recap, she is one of those actresses of Holly Wood who fills her sweaters well.Not to the level Pam Anders or Bipasha of Bollywood does but good enough to be in business.
''Read it and tell me more about that news?'' Kochappan was arranging some papers in his brief case.
'' The wild elephants of Assam, of late, have got into the habit of getting drunk on the farmers home made 'Rice Beer', and going on rampage destroying farms etc.This alcoholism among elephants of Meghalaya is growing and is causing concern among the conservationists and animal lovers.'' I summed up the story. ''Paris Hilton came to know of this alarming news when she was attending the fifth wedding of Pamela Anderson in New York. She left the function in a hurry ; concerned.
'' The elephants get drunk all the time. It is becoming really dangerous. we need to stop making alcohol available to them.'' She said to the World Entertainment News Network, the same evening.
'' Five elephants have died of Cirrhosis of liver and three more have been diagnosed for that''
a concerned Paris Hilt told press reporters on her arrival at the airport in Tokyo yesterday, on her way to Guwahati in India to study the problem.
'' We are happy that she ( Paris Hilt) has taken note of this incident and is coming to Guwahati to prevent elephants from consuming farmers home made Rice Beer and dying of Cirrhosis''
said Sangeeta Goswami, who heads Animal Rights Group of animals in India.
Soumyadeep Dutta of 'Natures Beckon' a conservationist group said that Elephant alcohol abuse is a real problem and it will get a boost by the visit of a person who is known in this field of
alcohol abuse.
On being asked by a correspondent about Pamela's expertise and credentials in this issue of alcohol abuse, Soumya in her deep voice replied '' Nobody from Hollywood can have more credentials and commitment in this matter than Paris Hilt.Like Mahatma Gandhi has courted
arrest and jail for the cause of freedom of India, Paris has been arrested and has spent time in jail for alcohol abuse.Such is her commitment to it.Jailed not once, but several times !'' .
I conveyed the news item to Kochappan thus; sat back had a sip of coffee and added my impressions about the news.'
'' An actress from Hollywood like Paris Hilt is concerned about the growing alcoholism of elephants of India.Has any body from Bollywood shown any concern ; Has Rani Mukherjee uttered a word about?. They have no patriotism.''
'' Why do you call her Paris Hilt.? Is she not Paris Hilton as you were mentioning earlier.?'' The genuineness of his doubt was apparent from his voice.
" That's how I call her affectionately''. I said decidedly.His jaw, the lower one, was about to fall but he managed to hold it. Some silken voice announced the security check. We stood up.
Then he asked me. ''Aniyan do you know the difference between tragedy and calamity?.''
Without waiting for my answer he said. ''The fact that I am leaving you now and will not be seeing you for over a month is a tragedy.But if the security check and the flight departure were to be delayed, then sitting here, and listening to you about Paris Hilt would have been a calamity''.
I knew that he was taking a dig at me. If you ask Kochappan ' What is it that you can put down without lifting up.?' he would say 'Aniyan'. This was one such put down.
How much and what would he know about me and my Paris Hilt, and of course the elephants of Meghalaya?.
menon ( aniyan )
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Mallur kaadukal (The Mallur Forests)
'' This is not a very old story. Yes,it's about those times; the bridge across the river at Kuttipuram was not there then.
Stray travellers to south, far and few, had to cross the river by ferry boats. Once you cross the river,the pathway to reach south of Kuttipuram was only through the Mallur Kaad (Mallur forest).
The sands of the river bed and the pathway has lot of stories to tell; gory stories of robberies
and murders of travellers ending up in 'Mallur kayam'. ''
'' What is Mallur Kayam?'' asked Naveen the six year old grandson of his neighbour;he drops in at night to hear stories from Kochappan and fall asleep.It's almost a regular affair. Today I also joined the story listening session. I sat on the floor stretched my legs in front and leaned on to the cot. Cool breeze blew in. It was quiet.Ideal for story listening session.
'' Mallur is a point in that jungle path. There was a huge trench filled with water; unused, un touched and filthy; quite deep too.That's Mallur kayam.''
'' Tell me the story''. Naveen was impatient.
Kochapps continued. '' The ferry man was a crooked and wicked fellow. He had a wife and a son, 10 years old.This man used to give information, about the arrival of travellers by his boat, to a gang of robbers. These robbers used to waylay people, rob them,kill them, and throw their body into the Mallur kayam. They used to give a share of the things robbed to the ferry man also.''
Naveen was listening with concentration written on his face. Let me admit; so was I. Long time since I listened to a story;Chittappan (uncle) used to tell similar ones years back.
'' One day the ferry man, for some silly reason, got angry with his son. He heated an iron rod and pressed that on to his son's legs above his knee ; like he used to brand the cattle whenever he bought a new one for identification. His poor mother couldn't stop the ferry man from doing it.
The mother was in agony seeing her son writhing in pain.The ferry man never repented any wrong he did in his life.''
I could see the pain in Naveen's eyes.
'' One day the boy didn't return from the forest where he had gone to collect firewood. The mother waited; for days and days. He never came back.The mother grew sick and died few months later. The father continued his activities and helped the robbers ; ate , drank well and lived.''
Kochappan was intense in his narration. It was not listening. It was seeing; the story.
'' And one day came a traveller who looked rich.As usual the ferry man signalled to the robbers about the arrival.The traveller refused to part with the money he had. They killed him by by cutting his throat. Took away all he had and gave the ferry man his share and left.''
'' And then it happened'' Kochappan continued.'' While taking the body to be thrown into the Mallur kayam the ferry man noticed a mark on the thigh of the traveller. It was the burn mark; the scar of the wound he had inflicted on his son years back.The wound had healed but the scar remained.He had returned after years of exile to see his parents.It was a moment of realisation for the ferry man of all the wrong things he has done in his life.He dragged the body and threw it into the kayam.Feeling repentent about the atrocities he had commited ,he also jumped into the trench and commited suicide.'' Kochappan finished the story.
Naveen nestled closer to Kochappan. He was a bit scared.Naveen liked the story. He was probably turning the story over and over again in his mind.
Kochappan looked at me. He was stroking the head of Naveen to comfort him, to put him to sleep.
'' Are things any different now?'' he broke the silence posing a question; to himself, to me, to no one in particular.
'' There is one Jessica Lal cut to pieces, loaded on to an oven and roasted;not in Mallur kayam or Chambal forest. In Delhi, not by robbers but by rulers. Now such things happen every day These children will have lot of stories to narrate like I did to day.They do not take place in forests but within the cities. They are not done by ferry men but men of power and pride.They don't hide in the forests or valleys. They walk around under the flash light of cameras. They come by BMWs, Skodas , loot, kill, rape and go scot free.''
The moral anger flared up in him.He finished his soliloquy.
A 'soliloquy' as defined in the Oxford Dictionary, is, the act of talking when alone or regardless of any listeners, esp, in drama. If you have a clinical hatred towards the usage 0f such dramatic words for such a simple situation, may I compare it to the delivery of a monologue by Amitab or
(if you are particular about south) Rajanikanth.
After finishing that 'Soliloquy' or 'dialogue' he looked at me.I was overawed by his diligent summing up of the two different scenarios , of the past and the present. I sat there looking at him admiring his capacity to narrate a folk tale to a six year old with the same expertise with which he used to teach me nuances of British and American English. Amazing man this Kochappan!
After covering Naveen with ablanket he turned and saw me sitting and staring at him.
'' Why do you sit there and look like an envelope without an address written on it?''
I smiled in reply; looked at Naveen. He was blissfully asleep.
I couldn't get sleep when I went to bed.
No, its not the sad story of the ferry man and his son.It was this mention about me and the 'envelope without address on it' that I couldn't understand.
Hats off to Kochappan!. He always speaks things which people can't understand.
I must ask him about it tomorrow!
menon ( aniyan )
Stray travellers to south, far and few, had to cross the river by ferry boats. Once you cross the river,the pathway to reach south of Kuttipuram was only through the Mallur Kaad (Mallur forest).
The sands of the river bed and the pathway has lot of stories to tell; gory stories of robberies
and murders of travellers ending up in 'Mallur kayam'. ''
'' What is Mallur Kayam?'' asked Naveen the six year old grandson of his neighbour;he drops in at night to hear stories from Kochappan and fall asleep.It's almost a regular affair. Today I also joined the story listening session. I sat on the floor stretched my legs in front and leaned on to the cot. Cool breeze blew in. It was quiet.Ideal for story listening session.
'' Mallur is a point in that jungle path. There was a huge trench filled with water; unused, un touched and filthy; quite deep too.That's Mallur kayam.''
'' Tell me the story''. Naveen was impatient.
Kochapps continued. '' The ferry man was a crooked and wicked fellow. He had a wife and a son, 10 years old.This man used to give information, about the arrival of travellers by his boat, to a gang of robbers. These robbers used to waylay people, rob them,kill them, and throw their body into the Mallur kayam. They used to give a share of the things robbed to the ferry man also.''
Naveen was listening with concentration written on his face. Let me admit; so was I. Long time since I listened to a story;Chittappan (uncle) used to tell similar ones years back.
'' One day the ferry man, for some silly reason, got angry with his son. He heated an iron rod and pressed that on to his son's legs above his knee ; like he used to brand the cattle whenever he bought a new one for identification. His poor mother couldn't stop the ferry man from doing it.
The mother was in agony seeing her son writhing in pain.The ferry man never repented any wrong he did in his life.''
I could see the pain in Naveen's eyes.
'' One day the boy didn't return from the forest where he had gone to collect firewood. The mother waited; for days and days. He never came back.The mother grew sick and died few months later. The father continued his activities and helped the robbers ; ate , drank well and lived.''
Kochappan was intense in his narration. It was not listening. It was seeing; the story.
'' And one day came a traveller who looked rich.As usual the ferry man signalled to the robbers about the arrival.The traveller refused to part with the money he had. They killed him by by cutting his throat. Took away all he had and gave the ferry man his share and left.''
'' And then it happened'' Kochappan continued.'' While taking the body to be thrown into the Mallur kayam the ferry man noticed a mark on the thigh of the traveller. It was the burn mark; the scar of the wound he had inflicted on his son years back.The wound had healed but the scar remained.He had returned after years of exile to see his parents.It was a moment of realisation for the ferry man of all the wrong things he has done in his life.He dragged the body and threw it into the kayam.Feeling repentent about the atrocities he had commited ,he also jumped into the trench and commited suicide.'' Kochappan finished the story.
Naveen nestled closer to Kochappan. He was a bit scared.Naveen liked the story. He was probably turning the story over and over again in his mind.
Kochappan looked at me. He was stroking the head of Naveen to comfort him, to put him to sleep.
'' Are things any different now?'' he broke the silence posing a question; to himself, to me, to no one in particular.
'' There is one Jessica Lal cut to pieces, loaded on to an oven and roasted;not in Mallur kayam or Chambal forest. In Delhi, not by robbers but by rulers. Now such things happen every day These children will have lot of stories to narrate like I did to day.They do not take place in forests but within the cities. They are not done by ferry men but men of power and pride.They don't hide in the forests or valleys. They walk around under the flash light of cameras. They come by BMWs, Skodas , loot, kill, rape and go scot free.''
The moral anger flared up in him.He finished his soliloquy.
A 'soliloquy' as defined in the Oxford Dictionary, is, the act of talking when alone or regardless of any listeners, esp, in drama. If you have a clinical hatred towards the usage 0f such dramatic words for such a simple situation, may I compare it to the delivery of a monologue by Amitab or
(if you are particular about south) Rajanikanth.
After finishing that 'Soliloquy' or 'dialogue' he looked at me.I was overawed by his diligent summing up of the two different scenarios , of the past and the present. I sat there looking at him admiring his capacity to narrate a folk tale to a six year old with the same expertise with which he used to teach me nuances of British and American English. Amazing man this Kochappan!
After covering Naveen with ablanket he turned and saw me sitting and staring at him.
'' Why do you sit there and look like an envelope without an address written on it?''
I smiled in reply; looked at Naveen. He was blissfully asleep.
I couldn't get sleep when I went to bed.
No, its not the sad story of the ferry man and his son.It was this mention about me and the 'envelope without address on it' that I couldn't understand.
Hats off to Kochappan!. He always speaks things which people can't understand.
I must ask him about it tomorrow!
menon ( aniyan )
Saturday, October 27, 2007
'The Californian Fire'
The name of the Drama.
The Californian Fire
The persons of the play
Kochappan - Hero
Aniyan- Hero's friend
Mrs. Kochappan- Kochappan's wife; obviously.
Mrs. Aniyan- Aniyan's wife; obviously
ActI. sceneI.
Kerala. Kochi.
Monday.
Time: 7.30am. The scene opens in the drawing room of Aniyan's Manor.
Aniyan is seated in a chair reading 'Malayala Manorama' news paper. Mrs.Aniyan enters with a cup of hot coffee. She smiles at him and places the cup closer to his lip. Aniyan holds the cup to avoid 'a slip between the cup and the lip'. Having succeded in that he has a sip and turns to the paper. Mrs.Aniyan floats out to back stage.
The telephone rings. Aniyan reaches for it without taking his eyes off Manorama; no that's not the house maid sweeping the floor, but the morning news paper.
Aniyan's expression changes to that of great concern. He drops the paper and rushes inside, returns in trousers sporting a civilised look.
He searches for and gains possession of his automobile key.
Mrs.Aniyan. ''What happened? where are you going?''
Aniyan. ''To comfort Kochappan. He is in deep distress''
Mrs Aniyan. ''What has become of him? I beseech thee. Tell me''. Mrs Aniyan was in Shakesperian style.
Aniyan while moving away. ''It's Californian fire, USA make''.
Mrs Aniyan stands with mouth and eyes wide open.
The sound of the car starting and speeding away.
ActI. sceneII
Kochappan's Mansion surrounded by neatly pruned trees.
Sound of crickets and chirping of birds.
Mrs. Kochappan floats in and around the garden.
Sound of an automobile approaching. The automobile speeds in, comes to a screeching halt.
The door opens. Aniyan comes out and runs up the steps to the mansion and vanishes into the building.
Mrs.Kochappan watches the vanishing Aniyan with open eyes; her jaws fallen. She regains composure and reinstates her fallen jaw.
ActI. Scene III
Kochappan's chamber. Huge bed at the center and a huge wall clock with swinging pendulam facing the bed. Big oil painting of Ravi Varma adorns the wall.
Kochappan is on the Persian carpet on the floor; occasionally writhing as though in terrible pain.
Aniyan enters, bends down and sits near him on the floor.
Aniyan. ''I pray you! tell me the cause of this distress!'' Touches him. Gradually Kochappan quietens.
Aniyan helps him to his bed. Gives him nourishments.
Kochappan revives and speaks. ''I am distressed since I saw the news programme on BBC this morning''.
Aniyan. ''What could be the piece which caused this agony?''
Kochappan. ''The fire in California in US''.
Aniyan. ''Any of your relatives affected?'' in Indian English.
Kochappan. ''No. Lot of dignitaries lost their homes including Hollywood celebrities''.
How does it concern him? Aniyan thought.
Aniyan. ''Any celebrity of your aquaintance?''
Kochappan. '' Yes. Pamela Anderson''.
Aniyan lapses into thoughts. Till I mentioned about her yesterday, he never knew her. What is his concern? Aniyan keeps his stray thoughts in the oak chest near the bed because he knows that Kochappan doesnot relish anybody's thoughts straying around in his chamber unnecessarily.
Kochappan. ''You apprised me about the journey of that lady from rags to riches in Hollywood. I remember your generous appreciation for her mind and body. You mentioned about her devotion to the career in the field of dramatics; her willingness to accept the challenge of dropping the clothes at the slightest suggestion of her movie directors, even in the freezing weather of American winter. Remarkable! Remarkable !''
Aniyan listens with rapt attention. His face bears a solemn look.
Refrains of Beethovan's music flows into the stage from the background.
Kochappan (adds as if with Abacus) ''I was consumed by pity for her when BBC reported about Pamela Losing her home in the major fire which engulfed California. Many a people would have lost but Pamela's loss ... ''Kochappans voice chokes with emotion. He holds his head in his hands and bends down. Aniyan moves near him; whispers sweet nothings in his ears. Comforts him.
Aniyan. ''Please donot be concerned about Pamela. She has been quoted to be saying that she intends to divorce her latest marriage to benefit from it and to make up for her loss of home''
Kochappan. "Divorce and benefit? Pray, don't be foolish, Aniyan, my bosom friend''.
Aniyan.'' She has said that she is a good home maker because everytime she divorces she makes a home from her ex-husband. She has three homes from her three divorces and this will be her fourth one. And for her luxuries of life she will work hard and never waste time being outside her bed''
Kochappan's face lights up. Aniyan moves closer to Kochappan, embraces him and departs.
The End
This is how I had to write to you about today's incidents; because today was a day of dramatic events. I swear on God ! It was dramatic, literally!!
menon ( aniyan )
The Californian Fire
The persons of the play
Kochappan - Hero
Aniyan- Hero's friend
Mrs. Kochappan- Kochappan's wife; obviously.
Mrs. Aniyan- Aniyan's wife; obviously
ActI. sceneI.
Kerala. Kochi.
Monday.
Time: 7.30am. The scene opens in the drawing room of Aniyan's Manor.
Aniyan is seated in a chair reading 'Malayala Manorama' news paper. Mrs.Aniyan enters with a cup of hot coffee. She smiles at him and places the cup closer to his lip. Aniyan holds the cup to avoid 'a slip between the cup and the lip'. Having succeded in that he has a sip and turns to the paper. Mrs.Aniyan floats out to back stage.
The telephone rings. Aniyan reaches for it without taking his eyes off Manorama; no that's not the house maid sweeping the floor, but the morning news paper.
Aniyan's expression changes to that of great concern. He drops the paper and rushes inside, returns in trousers sporting a civilised look.
He searches for and gains possession of his automobile key.
Mrs.Aniyan. ''What happened? where are you going?''
Aniyan. ''To comfort Kochappan. He is in deep distress''
Mrs Aniyan. ''What has become of him? I beseech thee. Tell me''. Mrs Aniyan was in Shakesperian style.
Aniyan while moving away. ''It's Californian fire, USA make''.
Mrs Aniyan stands with mouth and eyes wide open.
The sound of the car starting and speeding away.
ActI. sceneII
Kochappan's Mansion surrounded by neatly pruned trees.
Sound of crickets and chirping of birds.
Mrs. Kochappan floats in and around the garden.
Sound of an automobile approaching. The automobile speeds in, comes to a screeching halt.
The door opens. Aniyan comes out and runs up the steps to the mansion and vanishes into the building.
Mrs.Kochappan watches the vanishing Aniyan with open eyes; her jaws fallen. She regains composure and reinstates her fallen jaw.
ActI. Scene III
Kochappan's chamber. Huge bed at the center and a huge wall clock with swinging pendulam facing the bed. Big oil painting of Ravi Varma adorns the wall.
Kochappan is on the Persian carpet on the floor; occasionally writhing as though in terrible pain.
Aniyan enters, bends down and sits near him on the floor.
Aniyan. ''I pray you! tell me the cause of this distress!'' Touches him. Gradually Kochappan quietens.
Aniyan helps him to his bed. Gives him nourishments.
Kochappan revives and speaks. ''I am distressed since I saw the news programme on BBC this morning''.
Aniyan. ''What could be the piece which caused this agony?''
Kochappan. ''The fire in California in US''.
Aniyan. ''Any of your relatives affected?'' in Indian English.
Kochappan. ''No. Lot of dignitaries lost their homes including Hollywood celebrities''.
How does it concern him? Aniyan thought.
Aniyan. ''Any celebrity of your aquaintance?''
Kochappan. '' Yes. Pamela Anderson''.
Aniyan lapses into thoughts. Till I mentioned about her yesterday, he never knew her. What is his concern? Aniyan keeps his stray thoughts in the oak chest near the bed because he knows that Kochappan doesnot relish anybody's thoughts straying around in his chamber unnecessarily.
Kochappan. ''You apprised me about the journey of that lady from rags to riches in Hollywood. I remember your generous appreciation for her mind and body. You mentioned about her devotion to the career in the field of dramatics; her willingness to accept the challenge of dropping the clothes at the slightest suggestion of her movie directors, even in the freezing weather of American winter. Remarkable! Remarkable !''
Aniyan listens with rapt attention. His face bears a solemn look.
Refrains of Beethovan's music flows into the stage from the background.
Kochappan (adds as if with Abacus) ''I was consumed by pity for her when BBC reported about Pamela Losing her home in the major fire which engulfed California. Many a people would have lost but Pamela's loss ... ''Kochappans voice chokes with emotion. He holds his head in his hands and bends down. Aniyan moves near him; whispers sweet nothings in his ears. Comforts him.
Aniyan. ''Please donot be concerned about Pamela. She has been quoted to be saying that she intends to divorce her latest marriage to benefit from it and to make up for her loss of home''
Kochappan. "Divorce and benefit? Pray, don't be foolish, Aniyan, my bosom friend''.
Aniyan.'' She has said that she is a good home maker because everytime she divorces she makes a home from her ex-husband. She has three homes from her three divorces and this will be her fourth one. And for her luxuries of life she will work hard and never waste time being outside her bed''
Kochappan's face lights up. Aniyan moves closer to Kochappan, embraces him and departs.
The End
This is how I had to write to you about today's incidents; because today was a day of dramatic events. I swear on God ! It was dramatic, literally!!
menon ( aniyan )
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Pamela and Kochappan's breathing.
"Pamela Anderson got married''. That's the first thing I told him this evening. I was meeting kochapps after a week or so.
"Who is she?'' Kochappan asked me with tremendous dis interest.
''Famous actress of Hollywood like MarilynMonroe and Ursula Andress'', I related to two of the actresses of our generation. ''Now Ursula is 68 and Monroe has gone under the earth, probably inspiring cabbages there'', I completed.
"She was known as Ursula undress because in most of her films she used to shed her clothes without any provocation'', Kochappan stopped . His breathing became heavy. No, he is not an Asthma patient. It's the recollection of Ursula undress. He recovered from his recollection fairly quickly.
But I never guessed that he will lapse into another bout of breathlessness; it happened
when I showed him the photograph of Pamela Anderson. He had a look at it. Then he started gasping.
The next thing he asked me was a peg of Gin; as usual I served it Cordial ly.
''Marylin used to work a lot to do justice to her career. She used to sweat it out and 'Dramatic art', in her opinion, was filling her sweater. Pamela also belongs to that category of actresses who fill their sweater admirably well.'' The Gin had soothened Kochappan's nerves. '' What about her marriage?'' The question followed.
"Pamela Anderson is as misunderstood an actress as Urs undress. Pamela's mission in life is to provide people, in these days of hardship, some moments of entertainment which she does on and off screen. She is a path breaker and has done her lot to develop and encourage the younger generation''
'' Like what?'' he was getting interested in Pamela.
'' Like in her marriages. She always married people who are younger to her by at least 4 to 5 years'', I answered; in simple English.
'' Marriages? Youngsters?'' He couldn't understand the concept; it wasn't the English as I had thought.
''Yes. She married Rick Salomon, 32, 8 years younger to her, in Les Vegas last week. It was not that Rick was unmarried. His marriage with Paris Hilton was going bad. Paris Hilton, who is also Pam's friend, requested her to look after Rick and develop him to be a good husband. Pamela took upon this responsibility and got married to Rick, putting an end to her marriage with Tommy Lee. Meanwhile Paris Hilton got married to Jack Straw and is developing him.''
''Wait. Hold on,'' Kochappan interrupted me. ''Go slow. I am not able to catch up with the scenario fully. What is Paris Hilton? Who is Tommy Lee?''
''Paris Hilton is another actress who also belongs to the 'fill- the- sweater- school' of actresses;
not as much gifted as the other two, but striving hard.
Tommy Lee is another actor whom Pamela developed when his first marriage went to rocks.''
I looked at Kochappan. For the third time today I noticed his breathing becoming heavier.
I continued un mindfully, ''Pamela the path breaker turned up in a two piece bikini for her first marriage with Tommy, but appeared in a Jeans and shirt for the third one''.
''Third one? What about her second marriage?'' Kochappan's breathing was becoming heavier.
''There are no clear records or data available anywhere of her second marriage. Pamela herself has announced a cash Award of $5000 for any body who can throw some light on her second marriage. Who, where etc''. I concluded.
''What a lady! It's a pity I didn't know anything about her earlier''. There was a sense of loss in Kochappan's voice.
'' That's exactly what all her husbands have said about her''
'' What did they say?'' He was eager.
I quoted them. ''Oh! What a lady she is! Any time she spends outside of her bed is a total waste of time!''
I stood up, collected my umbrella, and looked at Kochappan. He was gazing at the sky through the open door of the balcony of his apartment on the 8th floor.
I didn't want to break his reverie; I moved out silently.......
menon ( aniyan )
"Who is she?'' Kochappan asked me with tremendous dis interest.
''Famous actress of Hollywood like MarilynMonroe and Ursula Andress'', I related to two of the actresses of our generation. ''Now Ursula is 68 and Monroe has gone under the earth, probably inspiring cabbages there'', I completed.
"She was known as Ursula undress because in most of her films she used to shed her clothes without any provocation'', Kochappan stopped . His breathing became heavy. No, he is not an Asthma patient. It's the recollection of Ursula undress. He recovered from his recollection fairly quickly.
But I never guessed that he will lapse into another bout of breathlessness; it happened
when I showed him the photograph of Pamela Anderson. He had a look at it. Then he started gasping.
The next thing he asked me was a peg of Gin; as usual I served it Cordial ly.
''Marylin used to work a lot to do justice to her career. She used to sweat it out and 'Dramatic art', in her opinion, was filling her sweater. Pamela also belongs to that category of actresses who fill their sweater admirably well.'' The Gin had soothened Kochappan's nerves. '' What about her marriage?'' The question followed.
"Pamela Anderson is as misunderstood an actress as Urs undress. Pamela's mission in life is to provide people, in these days of hardship, some moments of entertainment which she does on and off screen. She is a path breaker and has done her lot to develop and encourage the younger generation''
'' Like what?'' he was getting interested in Pamela.
'' Like in her marriages. She always married people who are younger to her by at least 4 to 5 years'', I answered; in simple English.
'' Marriages? Youngsters?'' He couldn't understand the concept; it wasn't the English as I had thought.
''Yes. She married Rick Salomon, 32, 8 years younger to her, in Les Vegas last week. It was not that Rick was unmarried. His marriage with Paris Hilton was going bad. Paris Hilton, who is also Pam's friend, requested her to look after Rick and develop him to be a good husband. Pamela took upon this responsibility and got married to Rick, putting an end to her marriage with Tommy Lee. Meanwhile Paris Hilton got married to Jack Straw and is developing him.''
''Wait. Hold on,'' Kochappan interrupted me. ''Go slow. I am not able to catch up with the scenario fully. What is Paris Hilton? Who is Tommy Lee?''
''Paris Hilton is another actress who also belongs to the 'fill- the- sweater- school' of actresses;
not as much gifted as the other two, but striving hard.
Tommy Lee is another actor whom Pamela developed when his first marriage went to rocks.''
I looked at Kochappan. For the third time today I noticed his breathing becoming heavier.
I continued un mindfully, ''Pamela the path breaker turned up in a two piece bikini for her first marriage with Tommy, but appeared in a Jeans and shirt for the third one''.
''Third one? What about her second marriage?'' Kochappan's breathing was becoming heavier.
''There are no clear records or data available anywhere of her second marriage. Pamela herself has announced a cash Award of $5000 for any body who can throw some light on her second marriage. Who, where etc''. I concluded.
''What a lady! It's a pity I didn't know anything about her earlier''. There was a sense of loss in Kochappan's voice.
'' That's exactly what all her husbands have said about her''
'' What did they say?'' He was eager.
I quoted them. ''Oh! What a lady she is! Any time she spends outside of her bed is a total waste of time!''
I stood up, collected my umbrella, and looked at Kochappan. He was gazing at the sky through the open door of the balcony of his apartment on the 8th floor.
I didn't want to break his reverie; I moved out silently.......
menon ( aniyan )
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Kochappan; literally.
He was talking over phone to someone. I waited till he finished.
"Let's go up and sit in the balcony''. While climbing the stairs he left an instruction, '' Don't disturb us unless it is urgent''.
"You were in a mood of retrospection the other day. Got over it?'' he had a nurturing smile.
'' Yes. Those days in Bombay, struggle to get a job, the sight of the richest, the vulgar splendour of their money, and the likes of those kids I saw at the rly way station, all had made me feel dejected then. Yes I was in such a mood that day. ''
" Suburban railway is a part and parcel of the life of a Mumbaikar, is it not ?'' he asked.
'' Yes it is. Your mention about the trains brings to my memory two other instances which are hard to forget.''
'' Are they also those which touched you?'' he enquired.
''Yes, in away. Yes. In both instances it was to do with saving the life of two people; nothing heroic. Still,'' I said.
He was ready to listen. I went back to sometime in1976.
'' From Goregaon rly station there was a narrow pathway along the railway track which can take one to the main road. It was very narrow and dangerously close to the track. Lot of commuters used to walk through that path to reach the road easily. I used to be one among them.''
Kochappan's wife walked in with two cups of tea; left it on the table and left, quietly.
I continued, ''That day in the evening after alighting from the train, I was walking through that path, when I saw a man about 30-40 feet ahead of me dangerously close to the track, unaware
of a train approaching us from behind in the same direction. I made a sound; I don't know whether I yelled, shrieked, or howled at him to move out. May be it was act of sheer reflex, he jumped to the side. He had tryst with destiny. He made it in time. He was the winner. Lot of people who were in the scene, walking along abused him for his carelessness. I patted him on his shoulder and walked off.''
''Which is the other instance?'' Kochappan wanted to know.
'' Santacruz station on a Sunday night. Not very crowded. I was returing to Goregaon. The train
had started coming in to the platform. I heard voices shouting from behind me. I looked back and saw two people pointing to a girl clad in saree, standing in front of me at the edge of the platform. The train was coming in, but a bit away. She didn't move or make any effort to do so. Since she was closer to me I called out to her to warn her about the approaching train. She heard me, but stood motionless. I felt something fishy; her neglecting my call. Now the train was coming closer. I ran to her, caught her elbows from behind and pulled her backwards towards me. She was lean and I managed to pull her back.T he train stopped at the station as it does. I jumped into that train itself which I was to board. She was still standing in the platform. There was no expression on her face; she was blank.'' I stopped.
'' Touchy incidents. Aren't they?'' He commented; in the form of a question.
'' The second instance was also touchy but less emotional. I walked off to the main road at Goregaon. Probably after about 5 minutes somebody touched my shoulder from behind.It was that man from the pathway near the rly track. He extended something to me and said
'' Mere paas iske alava aap ko dene ke liye kuch nahi hai''. I looked at it. It was a Parry's toffee
(the ones available those days which had green coloured wrapper) which would have cost him 25 ps those days. What the third one gave me was blank look;a very blank look.''
Kochappan had a smile when he said this to me. ''All the three incidents were touchy literally and figuratively. The first two came and touched you and you went and touched the third one;
the girl.''
Only one conversation I can remember I have had with Kochappan without taking a lesson in English was the one I had with him the other day. I thought this day would be another. I was proven wrong.
'' Your saying he made it 'in time' to move out off the track is not the apt usage. It should be he made it 'on time' because he made it at the nick of the moment and not little early as 'in time' suggests.''
With a mischievous smile he asked me the last question on those incidents.
'' Tell me Aniyan, frankly. Literally was that girl in saree good figuratively?''
Let me tell the truth. Kochappan confuses me a lot; I am telling you the truth he does that literally every time !!!
menon ( aniyan )
"Let's go up and sit in the balcony''. While climbing the stairs he left an instruction, '' Don't disturb us unless it is urgent''.
"You were in a mood of retrospection the other day. Got over it?'' he had a nurturing smile.
'' Yes. Those days in Bombay, struggle to get a job, the sight of the richest, the vulgar splendour of their money, and the likes of those kids I saw at the rly way station, all had made me feel dejected then. Yes I was in such a mood that day. ''
" Suburban railway is a part and parcel of the life of a Mumbaikar, is it not ?'' he asked.
'' Yes it is. Your mention about the trains brings to my memory two other instances which are hard to forget.''
'' Are they also those which touched you?'' he enquired.
''Yes, in away. Yes. In both instances it was to do with saving the life of two people; nothing heroic. Still,'' I said.
He was ready to listen. I went back to sometime in1976.
'' From Goregaon rly station there was a narrow pathway along the railway track which can take one to the main road. It was very narrow and dangerously close to the track. Lot of commuters used to walk through that path to reach the road easily. I used to be one among them.''
Kochappan's wife walked in with two cups of tea; left it on the table and left, quietly.
I continued, ''That day in the evening after alighting from the train, I was walking through that path, when I saw a man about 30-40 feet ahead of me dangerously close to the track, unaware
of a train approaching us from behind in the same direction. I made a sound; I don't know whether I yelled, shrieked, or howled at him to move out. May be it was act of sheer reflex, he jumped to the side. He had tryst with destiny. He made it in time. He was the winner. Lot of people who were in the scene, walking along abused him for his carelessness. I patted him on his shoulder and walked off.''
''Which is the other instance?'' Kochappan wanted to know.
'' Santacruz station on a Sunday night. Not very crowded. I was returing to Goregaon. The train
had started coming in to the platform. I heard voices shouting from behind me. I looked back and saw two people pointing to a girl clad in saree, standing in front of me at the edge of the platform. The train was coming in, but a bit away. She didn't move or make any effort to do so. Since she was closer to me I called out to her to warn her about the approaching train. She heard me, but stood motionless. I felt something fishy; her neglecting my call. Now the train was coming closer. I ran to her, caught her elbows from behind and pulled her backwards towards me. She was lean and I managed to pull her back.T he train stopped at the station as it does. I jumped into that train itself which I was to board. She was still standing in the platform. There was no expression on her face; she was blank.'' I stopped.
'' Touchy incidents. Aren't they?'' He commented; in the form of a question.
'' The second instance was also touchy but less emotional. I walked off to the main road at Goregaon. Probably after about 5 minutes somebody touched my shoulder from behind.It was that man from the pathway near the rly track. He extended something to me and said
'' Mere paas iske alava aap ko dene ke liye kuch nahi hai''. I looked at it. It was a Parry's toffee
(the ones available those days which had green coloured wrapper) which would have cost him 25 ps those days. What the third one gave me was blank look;a very blank look.''
Kochappan had a smile when he said this to me. ''All the three incidents were touchy literally and figuratively. The first two came and touched you and you went and touched the third one;
the girl.''
Only one conversation I can remember I have had with Kochappan without taking a lesson in English was the one I had with him the other day. I thought this day would be another. I was proven wrong.
'' Your saying he made it 'in time' to move out off the track is not the apt usage. It should be he made it 'on time' because he made it at the nick of the moment and not little early as 'in time' suggests.''
With a mischievous smile he asked me the last question on those incidents.
'' Tell me Aniyan, frankly. Literally was that girl in saree good figuratively?''
Let me tell the truth. Kochappan confuses me a lot; I am telling you the truth he does that literally every time !!!
menon ( aniyan )
Monday, October 1, 2007
The scars that remain.
''It was around 11.30 at night. There were very few people on the station platform. That is a very rare sight in any platform of a suburban rly station of Bombay. 'Bombay' because this was in 1975''.
I stopped and looked at him. kochappan was listening; that's the impression I got.
I continued speaking. It was not speaking. It was recollection of memories; on a damp evening in the balcony of his apartment. There was silence in the air; nothing depressing though.
''I was standing somewhere in the middle of the platform. The frequency of trains is low at that time. I felt a the touch of a hand almost at me knee. I looked down and saw a small boy; or was it a girl; long hair in tangles wearing a cloth which could be a shirt or a frock (I don't recollect what it was). It reached, let me say to his knees. The look in his face was not of hunger. It was a look of desperation. I fished in my pocket and a got a coin and extended it to him. My salary was Rs.200/, those days, less provident fund and ESIC; on hand around 140/. I was depressed and looking for a job with subsistance level salary. I took out another coin and offered. He, without accepting it, pointed towards the small tea stall in the platform. It was an expression of desparation out of hunger.''
I paused and took a sip of water.
Kochappan was now listening with rapt attention. I could see it in his face. There was silence.
I continued.
"I walked towards the stall. He followed me. I bought two pieces of 'paav', local term for small thing like 'bun'. I gave it to him. He, instead of eating it, walked with it to a spot near the foot overbridge nearby. I was watching him. Then I noticed another kid lying on a fragment of what could have been once a sheet. He bent and touched that kid. He, or may be she, moved a little. This boy helped the kid to sit up. He also sat near the one whom he woke up and gave that piece of food which I gave to him. He fed him piece by piece. The one who woke up ate with half closed eyes.''
I paused for few seconds and continued.
''Saab kya dekh rahe ho? Gaadi aa rahi hai. Javoge ya nahi?'' the booth owner who was watching me reminded me. Not many customers. He also didn't have anything to do!
''Nahi, mai agle gaadi se javoonga. Whose kids are they?'' I asked the stall owner without taking my eyes away from the kids.
'' God knows sir, they have been here for the last few days,'' he answered disinterested.
I bought two more pieces of 'paav' and two 'batata vada' and walked towards those kids. Both looked up at me. I gave the paav and vada to him, the one who came to me first. They continued eating and I walked away.
I was sitting on a bench waiting for the next train. I felt a touch and looked. It was that kid.
Suddenly he bent and touched my feet and looked at me. And then he walked away. His legs carrying that tiny frame moved away from me. I sat lost. I felt a lump in my throat. The train was moving in. I shuffled and started gettingup......
The rude sound of the calling bell interrupted us. Kochappan's wife called up and wanted him to go down to meet some guest who had come in. Kochapps looked at me. His eyes told me that he wanted to listen to me. The conversation had to stop for the day.
"Aniyan,'' he paused; then asked me, ''Is it something which really happened?''
'' Yes. It is'' I replied.
I said 'hello' to his guests and walked out.
From behind He called up, '' Will you come tomorrow? You must.'' He wanted to continue.
''I will, definitely. I will be here by 9 at night''
I felt relieved. It was like unloading a burden which I have been carrying for years. The burden of the look in the eyes of that kid; the burden of the sight of those slender legs carrying that frail frame carrying the 'paav' to feed his brother lying in ragged piece of cloth; that burden of seeing the half closed eyes of the kid trying to eat that small piece of bun.
I will come back tommorow. Sit with him and speak. You feel so great that you have people, like him and few more with whom you can unwind; share the agonies of the moments you have gone through, the moments which have touched you.
I started walking back home .... Wounds may heal, but the scars remain.
menon ( aniyan)
I stopped and looked at him. kochappan was listening; that's the impression I got.
I continued speaking. It was not speaking. It was recollection of memories; on a damp evening in the balcony of his apartment. There was silence in the air; nothing depressing though.
''I was standing somewhere in the middle of the platform. The frequency of trains is low at that time. I felt a the touch of a hand almost at me knee. I looked down and saw a small boy; or was it a girl; long hair in tangles wearing a cloth which could be a shirt or a frock (I don't recollect what it was). It reached, let me say to his knees. The look in his face was not of hunger. It was a look of desperation. I fished in my pocket and a got a coin and extended it to him. My salary was Rs.200/, those days, less provident fund and ESIC; on hand around 140/. I was depressed and looking for a job with subsistance level salary. I took out another coin and offered. He, without accepting it, pointed towards the small tea stall in the platform. It was an expression of desparation out of hunger.''
I paused and took a sip of water.
Kochappan was now listening with rapt attention. I could see it in his face. There was silence.
I continued.
"I walked towards the stall. He followed me. I bought two pieces of 'paav', local term for small thing like 'bun'. I gave it to him. He, instead of eating it, walked with it to a spot near the foot overbridge nearby. I was watching him. Then I noticed another kid lying on a fragment of what could have been once a sheet. He bent and touched that kid. He, or may be she, moved a little. This boy helped the kid to sit up. He also sat near the one whom he woke up and gave that piece of food which I gave to him. He fed him piece by piece. The one who woke up ate with half closed eyes.''
I paused for few seconds and continued.
''Saab kya dekh rahe ho? Gaadi aa rahi hai. Javoge ya nahi?'' the booth owner who was watching me reminded me. Not many customers. He also didn't have anything to do!
''Nahi, mai agle gaadi se javoonga. Whose kids are they?'' I asked the stall owner without taking my eyes away from the kids.
'' God knows sir, they have been here for the last few days,'' he answered disinterested.
I bought two more pieces of 'paav' and two 'batata vada' and walked towards those kids. Both looked up at me. I gave the paav and vada to him, the one who came to me first. They continued eating and I walked away.
I was sitting on a bench waiting for the next train. I felt a touch and looked. It was that kid.
Suddenly he bent and touched my feet and looked at me. And then he walked away. His legs carrying that tiny frame moved away from me. I sat lost. I felt a lump in my throat. The train was moving in. I shuffled and started gettingup......
The rude sound of the calling bell interrupted us. Kochappan's wife called up and wanted him to go down to meet some guest who had come in. Kochapps looked at me. His eyes told me that he wanted to listen to me. The conversation had to stop for the day.
"Aniyan,'' he paused; then asked me, ''Is it something which really happened?''
'' Yes. It is'' I replied.
I said 'hello' to his guests and walked out.
From behind He called up, '' Will you come tomorrow? You must.'' He wanted to continue.
''I will, definitely. I will be here by 9 at night''
I felt relieved. It was like unloading a burden which I have been carrying for years. The burden of the look in the eyes of that kid; the burden of the sight of those slender legs carrying that frail frame carrying the 'paav' to feed his brother lying in ragged piece of cloth; that burden of seeing the half closed eyes of the kid trying to eat that small piece of bun.
I will come back tommorow. Sit with him and speak. You feel so great that you have people, like him and few more with whom you can unwind; share the agonies of the moments you have gone through, the moments which have touched you.
I started walking back home .... Wounds may heal, but the scars remain.
menon ( aniyan)
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Worst spell of bowling , Sreesanth and Kochappan
I was at the wheel. We were nearing Alwaye. It would take another half an hour to reach the airport.
"The flight is on time. I want to be there when it lands,'' said Kochappan.
Hold on. You might be wondering what is Kochappan doing at Kochi. He flew in day before yesterday to receive Sreesanth returning after the Twenty20 match; hence the trip to airport.
'' Hurry, or else I will miss the boat'' quoth Kochapps in OE. I did not, as usual, understand the afore mentioned reference to 'missing the boat' when one is proceeding to the airport.
I sought clarification with reluctance. He gave me a look; something similar to what Dhoni gave to Sreesanth, who in a benevelent mood, gave twenty runs in his first over.
'' To miss the boat in figurative language means to miss the excitement'', he explained. Figurative language? but I didn't proceed further.
Soon as we reached the airport. Kochappan took off, like Carl Lewis, to the terminal. The airport was a sea of humanity. We stood and watched the frenzy of people. I could see Sree accompanied by three people coming out.
'' The one on the left is Mathew Varghese, ex-captain of Kerala Ranji team'', said Kochappan.
'' I know'' said I. '' I have seen this former captain's photograph in newspapers'' I added. Iam not good in Arithmetics", still I added vehementally.
'' He is not the former captain. He is the ex-captain,'' came kochapps.
'' That's what I also said'' I retorted.
'' There is a difference . Rahul Dravid was the captain of Indian team; so was Sourav Ganguly.
when you refer to Rahul you should mention him as ex-captain because he was the immediate past captain. But Saurav and Tendulkar are former captains because they preceded Rahul.
Abdul Kalam is the ex-president of India whereas Dr.Radhakrishnan and Zakir Hussain are former presidents of India, '' Kochappan stopped. I looked at him with reverance; the variety with which people were looking at Sreesanth.
Seeing an oppurtunity to get close to Sreesanth I hurried up to him. He recogonised me and we talked. He has not forgotten his old college mate. I was elated. I looked at Kochappan from the corner of my eye. Kochappan was standing with his jaws fallen; on seeing me talking to Sree.
I reminded to collect his fallen jaw and to restore it it's ex- postion and not the former position.
Last time he did it himself.
'' Why didn't you tell me that you knew him earlier,'' asked Kochappan in a hurt tone. his jaw may have been aching.
I kept silence. Very rarely do I keep it with me. This time I did.
'' What did you two speak ?'' he was curious. I felt bad that I did not tell him about my friendship with Sree. I apologised. He accepted.
'' We remembered our old days to gether and I also mentioned about his bad spell of bowling in the last over," I replied.
'' You shouldnot have done that today,'' Kochapps opined
'' He has always had this problem even when he was in school,'' I opened the history book.
'' Our English teacher was our Cricket coach also. Whenever he had asked Sree to spell 'Bowling' Sree used to spell it 'boulin'. The master then used to say that that is the worst spell of 'bowling' he has had from any body.'' I closed the history book.
Kochappan jerked , twisted and convulsed in his seat. Then there was silence. I could listen to it.
I dropped him at his home and these were his parting words.
'' Aniyan, you are a humble man but you have nothing in you to be otherwise''
I didnot quite get it. He was probably upset about my mention about the worst spell of bowling to Sreesanth!
I will ask him tommorow.
menon ( aniyan )
"The flight is on time. I want to be there when it lands,'' said Kochappan.
Hold on. You might be wondering what is Kochappan doing at Kochi. He flew in day before yesterday to receive Sreesanth returning after the Twenty20 match; hence the trip to airport.
'' Hurry, or else I will miss the boat'' quoth Kochapps in OE. I did not, as usual, understand the afore mentioned reference to 'missing the boat' when one is proceeding to the airport.
I sought clarification with reluctance. He gave me a look; something similar to what Dhoni gave to Sreesanth, who in a benevelent mood, gave twenty runs in his first over.
'' To miss the boat in figurative language means to miss the excitement'', he explained. Figurative language? but I didn't proceed further.
Soon as we reached the airport. Kochappan took off, like Carl Lewis, to the terminal. The airport was a sea of humanity. We stood and watched the frenzy of people. I could see Sree accompanied by three people coming out.
'' The one on the left is Mathew Varghese, ex-captain of Kerala Ranji team'', said Kochappan.
'' I know'' said I. '' I have seen this former captain's photograph in newspapers'' I added. Iam not good in Arithmetics", still I added vehementally.
'' He is not the former captain. He is the ex-captain,'' came kochapps.
'' That's what I also said'' I retorted.
'' There is a difference . Rahul Dravid was the captain of Indian team; so was Sourav Ganguly.
when you refer to Rahul you should mention him as ex-captain because he was the immediate past captain. But Saurav and Tendulkar are former captains because they preceded Rahul.
Abdul Kalam is the ex-president of India whereas Dr.Radhakrishnan and Zakir Hussain are former presidents of India, '' Kochappan stopped. I looked at him with reverance; the variety with which people were looking at Sreesanth.
Seeing an oppurtunity to get close to Sreesanth I hurried up to him. He recogonised me and we talked. He has not forgotten his old college mate. I was elated. I looked at Kochappan from the corner of my eye. Kochappan was standing with his jaws fallen; on seeing me talking to Sree.
I reminded to collect his fallen jaw and to restore it it's ex- postion and not the former position.
Last time he did it himself.
'' Why didn't you tell me that you knew him earlier,'' asked Kochappan in a hurt tone. his jaw may have been aching.
I kept silence. Very rarely do I keep it with me. This time I did.
'' What did you two speak ?'' he was curious. I felt bad that I did not tell him about my friendship with Sree. I apologised. He accepted.
'' We remembered our old days to gether and I also mentioned about his bad spell of bowling in the last over," I replied.
'' You shouldnot have done that today,'' Kochapps opined
'' He has always had this problem even when he was in school,'' I opened the history book.
'' Our English teacher was our Cricket coach also. Whenever he had asked Sree to spell 'Bowling' Sree used to spell it 'boulin'. The master then used to say that that is the worst spell of 'bowling' he has had from any body.'' I closed the history book.
Kochappan jerked , twisted and convulsed in his seat. Then there was silence. I could listen to it.
I dropped him at his home and these were his parting words.
'' Aniyan, you are a humble man but you have nothing in you to be otherwise''
I didnot quite get it. He was probably upset about my mention about the worst spell of bowling to Sreesanth!
I will ask him tommorow.
menon ( aniyan )
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