I got up depressed this morning, trying to fit plausible explanations to my ways of life; a North Indian friend of mine asked me about the movie ‘Manjadikuru’. Frankly speaking , I had lost touch with Malayalam films, so I browsed on the net and chanced upon the film’s blog; just loved it!
It brought tears to my otherwise parched eyes ; I went back many years into the past and spent some moments there .. It was divine. Thank you so much!
I will write on my past in the next few paragraphs.
My native place is Tanur. It is in the district of Malappuram. Some things about the place and people that will never fail to strike a chord in my heart …
The white sand (poozhi as we call it in Malayalam) which would be so cold in the night. I and my cousins would sit amongst the vast stretch of coconut trees in front of our ancestral home with our feet and hand tucked away in the sand. I can still feel the slightly damp, cold sand in my hands. We were terrified about ghosts but still loved to hear ghost stories. Some of my cousins, the gifted raconteurs that they were, would narrate stories which built up the tension in the air. The smaller ones would cling on to the bigger ones; the slightest of noise, the coconut leaves ruffling in the wind or the meowing of a cat in the distance; we would just run!! Back home, we would get restless as to what to do next. Those were times when electricity in the night was a luxury and one of the distinct images that come to my mind is the incandescent bulb ,barely able to light its own filament let alone give light to others. The men in the family would invariably be discussing politics which we kids never understood. The women will be in the kitchen preparing delicacies for the big family.
The monsoon too brings out indelible memories. The bunds that we prepared, in the hope of getting big fishes and how we would end up with the smallest of them; The brief reprieve during the incessant downpour when the water from the roof fell down forming small puddles in the sand; The paper boats, big and small , making their way through some of these puddles. It would be around ten o clock when grandfather would feel restless about the little ones not taking bath and getting wet in
the rain and he invariably made his point clear. The long bathing sessions that followed in the pond, splashing water on each other; We were a well knit unit ; there were about ten of us. We would use the coconut tree leaves to build houses; carefully designed with one or two rooms; the sincerity and the resourcefulness with which we did it was amazing; we just felt like it from our hearts; even the little ones chipped in with their contributions; Once the house was set, we would make tea in the house and invite grandmother and grandfather and other elders who would come and visit us.
There was certain innocence about those times; I just feel like clinging on to whatever memories that are left; those are my roots; I want to return to them time and again to recharge myself; but then I realize, those times were more about the people more than the place itself. There has been hardly any occasion in the recent years when all of us have been there together and even if there was i doubt the magic would have been reproduced. The incandescent bulbs have been replaced by CFL lamps, the red tile roof has been replaced by concrete ,TV news has replaced the regular gossip sessions…
(Nipun is a graduate student at IIM Bangalore, married, has a kid, hails from Calicut)
Note from Administrator: Nipun emailed us this heartfelt note a while ago and it has inspired us to create such a blog. However we have not been able to trace Nipun and mails to his email id bounce back. So if anyone knows Nipun, please do send him this note and a Thank you from us!