Aeroplane and Tapioca

W

henever I ask my Dad, what he wanted from Bahrain when I go on vacation, I get the same answer always.   A fountain pen!!!

This time I asked what you do with these many pens rather than writing day to day books of accounts or occasional petitions to help the needy villagers.

You have got a good narrative skill as well as good handwriting. Why don’t you write something interesting? I asked..

I never thought I would be able to motivate and influence my Dad. To my surprise I got an envelope last week from my dad through post.

Yes he has started writing….He assured me he will continue writing Small-Small incidents that happened to him!!!!!!!

He wanted to fit the story in one page. So the climax of the story is in the margin

Please see below my Dad’s maiden Story.

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To the benefit of  those who doesn't Know Malayalam, the story is translated into English by one of my  Good friend, teacher and Philosopher Mr K Mohandas (www.kothandath.blogspot.com ).

Aeroplane and Tapioca

Dad’s younger days. 7 years old.   Primary school student of  2^nd standard, Malayalam class.  By today’s distance standards, 7 Kms to traverse from home to school.  Must leave home by 8 am. Breakfast was usually previous day’s rice, curd and mango pickles. Nothing extra for lunch.  In monsoon, we used to wear cap-like umbrellas fashioned from palmyra tree leaves; there were no  ‘POPPY-mark’ umbrellas or school bags like today.  When hungry during lunch time, my friend, Mani Variyar (now a reputed

ThoppiKuda(Cap Like Umbrella)

lawyer) will share with me the rice he brought, as a share of their entitlement from the temple under their care.

Returning from school, we used to pass by Kochapputty’s tapioca stall situated at the junction. He is the ‘aeroplane’ in my story.  How did he earn that name? In our primary school days, we children used to watch with excitement, an aero plane that always sped across the sky at about 11.30am that would disappear from sight at the wink of an eye.  Like this plane, he used to run across the shop, carrying a sack of tapioca, and that’s how he earned that name!

 While returning from school, the hungry children would gather in front of Kochapputty’s stall and he would throw small pieces of tapioca among the gathering that he would have stored for us, that we, including me, used to fight for.

One day, while coming from school, we saw Kochapputty’s stall open, but he was not in.  Pangan, seated near the stall, told us that Kochapputty fell down as he was running carrying a sack of tapioca. People gathered around and took him to the hospital.  From his hospital bed, he said, “My end has come. I won’t come back to the stall. Today you must give fine tapioca to the children returning from school”, and passed away, to another world.

Me and my Dad Sri S Vasudevan