The Teacher and his Timing Device

A story written by my dad

The Teacher and his Timing Device

The central character of this memory note is my teacher “Periappadan  Devassy Ashan” who taught me the first alphabets. People used to call the person who is teaching first alphabets as “Ashan”. Those were the times were no Play Schools or Anganvadis exist. It’s a story of around 69 years Ago…..!!!

We were around 15 students including me in the “Ashan’s School”. There were a house near the banks of river “Periyar” and the inhabitants were an old couple named, Mr  Venkitaraman and Mrs  Ammalu. The school was on the verandah of their home of which the flooring was done by the paste made of cow dung.

There were no slates or pencils. The “Ashan” will lay filtered sand; from the river “Periyar”; in front of each student. On this sand only the “Ashan” make the pupil to write. At first the “Ashan” will hold the finger of the pupil and show how to write each alphabet. Like this, first he teaches the alphabets from “Aa”, “AA”, “E”, “EEE” to “Ru”. If any mistakes happen, first he will make corrections, and if anyone repeats the same mistake, then he will use his “Cane”. Every morning class starts at 7:30 and the stops for lunch at 10:30.

Before closing the morning session, the teacher used to go out and look at the sky and then down many times.

Me and my friend Anbu” thought what could be the secret behind this and at last, one day we got the secret.

Outside in the fields some sort of big grasses were grown. The teacher used to water these Grasses so that it should not dry up in the scorching sun.

The secret we found was that; the teacher would stop the classes for lunch when the sun rays reaches the grasses. An Idea stuck on our mind. We uprooted the plant and replanted it on a place where the sun ray comes early.

That forenoon, as usual the “Ashan” looked on the sky and then down and he found that his “Timer Grass” is missing. He searched everywhere and found the same little away from the usual place and the grass was already dried as it was uprooted.

The “Ashan” got furious.

Question- Who uprooted the “Timer Grass”?

No one was answering the query!!. He questioned each one individually with the cane on his hands. At last Anbu the one who helped me in uprooting the grass betrayed me.

“Ashan” started beating me with the cane and I started running. “Ashan” also started running with me and beaten me until we reach my home.

To my good fortune, dad was out of home at that time.

Before starting the Afternoon Session; “Ashan” came to my home and started calling me and due to shivering fear, I hide inside my home.

In the meantime dad also reached home from outside and he greeted “Ashan”, and asked  regarding my studies.

“Ashan” told my dad in a soft way, what had happened in the morning session.

I was sure that dad will also beat me like anything.

However, Dad kept me in front the teacher and went inside and brought some Betel Leaves, Arica Nuts, One Coconut and a One rupee coin and handed over to me and told me to give it to the teacher and ordered a punishment.

The punishment was that, I should hold my left ear with right hand and vice versa and bow down fifty one times in front of the teacher.

As I handed over the things to the teacher, he put me on his lap and said

Dear Child, I don’t have a watch or the sort of things. That’s the reason I depend on the sun and the grasses.

When you study and become grown up; can you buy a watch for me to see the time?

But before I could fulfill my First teacher’s desire, He left this world and joined the majority.

Even now, when I go besides my First School, I cherish the memory of my “Ashan” and the “Timer Grass”.

 rajaramvasudev@gmail.com

The Art Director

Is there anyone without a nickname? There won’t be, I swear. My dad’s Pet Name is Vasu Swami and he has many more nicknames. Each name was bestowed upon him based on some incidents that happened to him or where he was a party to it.

For quite some time the people in our village used to refer to  my dad as “Art Director Vasu”.

Isn’t it a wonder how a person living in a village, never interested in films got the title “Art Director”?

My Dad’s uncle was a renowned Malayalam novelist. He called my dad one morning and announced that one of his Novels is being filmed as a TV Serial. He also told my dad that the main cast and location were already decided and to our amazement, the location was our own village. He requested my dad to provide all the help that he can to the Serial  Film crew.

The novel was based on the incidents from the life of the novelist, in a joint Tamil Brahmin family. As the shooting progressed at various parts of our village, the villagers were in a festive mood and were ready to do anything for the success of the serial. Many of the villagers including my dad got an  opportunity to show their faces in the serial.

During the course of the shooting, one day the art director came running to our home to see my Dad. The art director was in a dilemma. To find a solution he requested my dad’s help. The problem was that they were supposed to shoot a death scene that evening, but the art director did not know the   rituals practiced and clothes worn by Tamil Brahmins after a death had occurred.

My dad agreed to help him out and both of them went to the director. The director also requested my dad’s help and asked him if there was anything to be bought for setting up  the scene. My dad agreed to prepare a list and indeed as you imagine it was a big list!

Sandalwood Powder, Sacred Ashes, Flowers, Garlands, Oil lamp wicks, coconuts, betel leaves, areca nut and many more things that usually are required for such an occasion. He arranged that one of his friends would bring it from the town. My dad was very happy that he was going to be an art director and  the perfectionist in him wanted to do it  perfectly. So he rechecked the list to avoid any omission.

Thank God….! it’s good that I rechecked the list, my dad exclaimed. We need a white silk cloth too, my dad said to his friend.

Dad’s friend started to the town which is around ten Kilometers away from our village. It takes at least two hours for him to  go and comeback.

My dad thought of remaining in the location itself so that he can observe what was happening there. He saw the art director pouring something into the glasses.

What is that? ……. Dad asked the Art Director

Its Butter milk Sir……the Art director replied.

Can I have one glass? I am too thirsty!!! My dad requested.

Extremely Sorry, Sir. It’s the property for a lunch scene , that will be shot today. The art Director replied.

PROPERTY……….What is that?  Dad asked.

 Property means any items or objects used on the set of a play or movie to create an effect to the viewers. For example, if the background of the story is olden times, then we select dresses and articles of that time which will create the  feel of that era to the viewers. The Art Director explained to my Dad.

My dad was very happy that he has learned a new terminology “property”. And at the same time he got confused.

If it is to create more effect, why the butter milk is on the steel glass? My Dad Questioned.

That should have been Copper Glass as the time line is 1950s, my dad added.

I shall provide you the PROPERTY. I have many copper glasses at my home. My dad decided to bring some.

My dad felt very happy  that he was able to correct an experienced Art director and  was full of self admiration for this  brilliant observation.

He bought the old Copper Glasses from home and he himself poured the Butter Milk in to it and kept the PROPERTY ready for the next scene.

The Director saw that, and he appreciated my dad for his sincerity, which further boosted my Dad’s confidence.

Two hours passed and my Dad’s friend returned with the “properties”.

Vasu, you can start now…….the director told my dad to arrange for the Death scene.

Ok Sir I will start right now……..replied my dad.

My dad called the actor and asked him sit on the easy chair and started “decorating” him with the “properties”.

He mixed the  Sacred  ashes with water and made a paste and he dipped his three fingers in to it and drew lines on the actor’s arms in three places, upper arm, elbow and the just above the wrist.

With the balance paste he drew three lines into the actor’s forehead and chest.

Dad then made a paste out of sandalwood powder and the same too applied in the same manner.

He took red KumKUM and placed it on the middle of the three lines on both the hands, on forehead and on the chest.

After that he placed a chain made of “rudraksha” through the actor’s neck which followed by a garland made of Jasmine.

All these decorations by my dad took around 2 hours to complete  and in the mean time the director was busy  shooting the lunch scene.

There were three people in the lunch scene. The hero, his sister and his brother in law. The hero and his BIL were sitting on a mat and in front of them the plantain leaves were kept. The scene was like, the sister has to serve rice and other stuffs and the two guys sitting should eat the “properties”  as if they are having a delicious feast. Towards the end the hero should drink the buttermilk and appreciate his sister for her cooking skills.

The scene was ok on its third take and now the hero has around three glasses of buttermilk in his tummy.

Once the lunch scene was over, the director asked his associate whether the makeup was over for the corpse. my dad was on its final touch up and he told the associate that, he would bring the actor in another 5 minutes.

After 5 minutes my dad and actor went near the Director. Seeing the actor and his makeup, the director was very happy which  can’t  be expressed in words. He appreciated my dad for his valuable contribution for the success of the scene.

The camera was set, the director asked the actor to lie down in the “frame” and to close his eyes.

All set!!!

Start Cameraaaa.....the director shouted

Rolling………, the Cameraman shouted,

Scene No 21…Shot no 1…...the Clap boys Clapped.

Actio……………

One second, director sir. My dad interrupted and he gave the white silk cloth to the associate director; which if you remember was the last item in the list of properties and said.

Now you have to cover the body with the silk.

The director appreciated my dad’s timely advice and ordered his associate to cover the body and the associate covered the body of the actor.

Again All set

Start Cameraaaa.....the director shouted

Rolling………, the Camera man shouted,

Scene No 21…Shot no 1…...the Clap boys Clapped.

Actio……………

Before the director could complete the word “Action”, an innocent boy from the gathering asked….his doubt little louder.

Why did you cover the body? If you wanted cover it, then why  did you decorate his chest and arms with garlands, holy ashes and Kumkum?

The Director, my Dad and the others gathered were stunned and embarrassed for a moment and when they realized their mistake, all of them burst out laughing. Even though, they had incurred unnecessary expenses to buy the properties as per my dad’s list they still saw the humor in the situation..

Ultimately, it was decided by the director not to cover the body as, considerable time, effort and money  had been spent on the  actor.

When all the people were laughing, the hero, who acted in the lunch scene was missing and a vomiting noise attracted the attention of the gathering.

Yes that was the hero, who had gulped down  three glasses of buttermilk form the copper glass,  who was vomiting excessively.

An elderly man, who was an expert in remedial medicines, explained the reason of  the excessive vomiting. When the  green patina clinging to old  copper vessels (Copper Oxide)  mixes with acids ( the chemical name for buttermilk is Lactic acid)    the lactic acid becomes very  poisonous.

My dad looked in to the eyes of the art director helplessly. The art director also looked into my dad’s face and the unsaid  message could be this;

Thanks Vasu……….thanks for ruining my day………..

That day onwards, the nickname “The Art director” was bestowed up on my dad for a long  time to come.

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

If we were in America or Europe

It was a day in the mid of November in the 1950s.  The invention of Telephone, telegraph  along with the  widespread habit in people to read the newspapers and discuss the events happenings worldwide  over a cup of tea in tea shops and in the  Libraries had already made everyone feel that  the world  was  becoming smaller and smaller even in  those days. They discussed about the launch of Soviet satellite Sputnik, death of Joseph Stalin, creation of polio vaccine, Hungarian revolution, culture of western people, and many other varied range of interests.

                                                                                                                    

I do not know for sure whether, the time line actually matters for this story, but that was a day in the mid of November in the 1950s. Mid November has its own charm in Kerala. It’s the starting of the Malayalam month “Vrischika” which is considered as a holy month for the Sabarimala pilgrims and is the season of festivals in our geographical area.

                                                                                                                     

That day my Grandma and Grandpa had a fight at home for some petty issues which always is worldwide for domestic squabbles, and  in order  not to lose his temper my grandpa left home and went to his paddy farm to shoo away  the parrots and crows and to do some other work as well.

My grandma was considered as the “Iron Lady” of that area which is a small village called “Thottuva”. While for many a people, she was a problem solver, still more people considered her as a problem maker. Many have tasted her kind gestures while many others have tasted her bitter anger as she had her own ideologies.  For many of the petty issues in our neighborhood, she was the decision maker. Someone who bore the brunt of one of her decisions once murmured; “who is she to order things around here?  Is she the Magistrate of Thottuva?” and that’s how the name “Thottuva Magistrate” was bestowed upon   her. Till her death in 1983, she was carrying this name. After that the title was passed on to my sister Jayasree.

[To know more about my Grandma, I urge you to read the Malayalam Novel “Verukal” By renowned novelist Sri Malayattoor Ramakrishnan who was the younger brother of my grandma. That was his life’s story where he has portrayed his sister by the name “Amulu”]

On the contrary my grandpa was soft-spoken, kind and helpful and if you know me personally, it is not really necessary to describe my grandpa. ;-)

As my grandpa had returned, he was very hungry and had totally forgotten about the fight he had with grandma, asked her that what is there for breakfast. My grandma who decided not to cook anything for the day as she was still angry with grandpa told arrogantly; Go!! Have it from Raman Pillai’s Teashop.

Helpless and angry with hunger gnawing his stomach, he went and opened the rectangular wooden silos, where the Bananas are kept to ripen; took out some and satiated his hunger and relaxed for a while.

This was around 9 o’ clock in the morning. What can we call it telepathy or coincidence; Raman Pillai, the village Teashop owner appeared on the scene with a plea to my Grandma.

He was a short and fat guy and used to wear a single piece of towel which reaches up to his knees with  no shirt or anything to cover his upper torso.

He started the conversation.

Namaskaram!! Oh my lady, as you are aware, this is the festival season in our village and we are expecting a large crowd in the temple for next forty one days.

 Ok Raman, what can I do for you? My grandma interrupted.

I have opened a small tea stall near the temple and for that I would like to borrow some money from you for the initial expenses. I will be blessed if I can get one hundred rupees from such an auspicious lady? Raman pleaded. I shall return it by today evening; he added.

Ok Raman, Granted…… but you should return it by today evening. Grandma Said.

As Raman agreed the deal, grandma handed over a 100 Rupee note to him which he thankfully accepted and went off.

Raman's Teashop was famous for its unique taste of  snacks especially "parippuvada & sughiyan" were very tasty and famous.  My grandma too expected a good business for him in the season.

Whether my grandma cooked or not at that afternoon or whether my grandpa was still hungry; is out of scope of our subject now and my dear readers, you should not be curious about that.

In the evening Raman appeared at our gate which is about 50 meters away from the front yard of our home.

He was seemed to be happy and as he walks towards our home, he was literally measuring the width of the road due to the high “spirits” within him. He was humming a famous Hindi song of that time which he learned from the radio. Tucked under his arm was a brown cover wrapped with jute fiber. He reached our front yard with his body dripping with sweat; and stopped as if a fully loaded lorry climbing up the Himalayan Ghats had suddenly stopped.

As Raman reached our home, my grandpa called my grandma who was inside the home.

Hey!! Here comes Raman to meet you. He shouted looking inside the home.

Hearing this grandma reached our front yard.

Seeing my Grandma, Raman’s joys know no bounds and he bowed his head in front of her.

He took the brown cover from his underarm and offered it along with a currency note of Rs 100 and a One rupee Coin to Grandma and told her; Please accept these “Vadas” and “Chips” specially prepared for you.

My grandma was little reluctant to accept the Brown cover as she had noticed the place from where he had taken it, and at the same time she  didn’t  want to disappoint him also.  She asked him to keep the cover on the table.

 Oh my noble Lady Because of your token gift, I made a big profit today. Thank you so much and may you live long, Raman added with overwhelming happiness.

I had approached many people and nobody was willing to help me. But it  was you who  helped me out. Thank you, Good lady and I have no words to express my gratitude…………. And if we were re in America or Europe……….. ;; Paused Raman.

Out of curiosity; my Grandpa and Grandma in the same voice asked; Raman, If we were in America or Europe, what  would have  happened?

Raman was little reluctant to answer that, but hesitantly he completed the sentence.

Oh my good lady……. If we were in America or Europe………..Out of my happiness…………………….. I would have rather hugged and kissed you!!!!!

Saying this Raman burst in to tears.

Grandma’s face become red due to shyness and embarrassment, and my witty Grandpa who couldn’t hide his naughty smile, looked at his wife and then at Raman and told him.

Raman, now that world is becoming small and the good thing is that we can always adopt even from a kid. Now in your mind you think that, this place is America or Europe and ………………….

Due to the effect of village toddy already sloshing in his belly, Raman couldn’t balance himself for a second and he took a step forward and fumbled towards the side.

Grandma thought that Raman took the matter seriously and was coming towards her. She tried to frantically flee from the scene and banged her knee into a pillar and her knee was fractured.

For the next few weeks my Grandma couldn’t cook anything…..and  from Breakfast to dinner they had to buy everything from Raman’s Teashop.

Epilogue

During their next fight……Grandpa requested. “Amulu” Don’t curse. Last time you didn’t cook anything and cursed and shouted at me to have the food from Raman’s Shop. You don’t know when God is present in our conversation and say “Thadhastu*”(  so be it or your wish is granted). God granted your wish last time, and I too had suffered a lot for few weeks as we had to have the same sour stuff from Raman, It’s Just a suggestion Amulu

rajaramvasudev@gmail.com                                                                             24-11-2011
rajaramvasudev.blogspot.com

I Salute You!!!!

Today I met an attention-grabbing personality at my office, LIC international.

He came to my table with a service request and started speaking in Malayalam with a sort of North Kerala slang and I recognized him as a Malayalee. Before handing over the papers to me he got a phone call and he started speaking in Telugu without any “AAhs and Errs” and now I recognized him as a South Indian who can be a Malayalee as many of my friends fluently speak all south Indian languages like Tamil, Telugu, Kannada and Malayalam.

After the phone call, he handed over the papers to me, and to my surprise, the name and sign on the paper doesn’t match what I have expected as I was expecting a typical South Indian name.

I could not control my astonishment and I enquired and found out that he was born and bought up in, Thane, Maharashtra.

Ooh!!!… So you know Marathi too other than the South Indian Languages. I asked.

Yes……and he can speak Gujarati, Punjabi, Tulu, Konkani, Bhojpuri, Arabic and Hindi and a little bit English too. His friend who came along with him said.

After the man left; to complete the service request and little bit curious too to know further about him, I took his Policy file.

I found out that, he has studied only up to Matriculation and working as Crane Operator and drawing a small Salary.

  

Dear       Dada Rao Thaku Ingole,     I Salute You………

I recognize you not as a Malayalee or South Indian.

I recognize you as a True Indian.

Epilogue

Mr Dada Rao Thaku Ingole was looking tensed when he came to my table.

He told me he will be leaving Bahrain with in a day or two as the company has terminated him.

He showed me the termination letter which states the reason that, he took part in the strike against the Company Management.

I was not a party to it. He said

I was passing through the rage area and somebody took a photograph which later came to the notice of the Management. Along with the other 25 people who took part in the rage I also got terminated without seeking for explanation. He concluded

Mr Dada Rao came to my desk to transfer his policy to LIC of India.

If he happened to come to Bahrain again he will definitely come and meet me as his request can not be completed by me due to the regulations in the policy.

Too Sad....

rajaramvasudev@gmail.com

Red Chilies

Howzzaat!!!!. My Dad and his gang were      shouting in our TV room. That was 31 of October 1987, the historical day in world cup cricket. The up roaring was when Chetan Sharma took the wicket of Ken Rutherford. As an 11 year old boy, I was also eating, drinking and breathing cricket at that time. The idiom “Born with a silver spoon” can be re phrased as “Born with a cricket Ball” in my case.  But I seldom view a full length one day match as my friends wait for me to play two or three 10-10 over matches. On holidays or on vacations we will on ground full time in the scorching sun. Due to the constant Sweating and drying made my ears get infected.

On that historical day I was bed ridden, due to intense unbearable pain on my right ear, I was rolling on the bed. Seeing my state of distress, my mom thought of calling my dad to console me; and to consult a doctor in the evening.

That was when my mom reached our TV room, the wicket of Ian Smith also had fallen and Chetan Sharma is on hat trick Chance. Without knowing this stressful, nerve racking moment, my mom conveyed the message to my dad and asked him to be with me. My dad wanted to see the next ball of Chetan and he was waiting for Ewen Chatfield to come to bat.  Mom demanded his presence with me immediately and with due hesitation and irritation my dad came to my room with his mind still on hat trick.

The most influential person in my dad’s life his years old friend Mr Pappachan was also there in my room seeing my dilemma and he suggested a onetime remedy for this infection. The remedy is that, take one spoon of coconut oil, boil it and pour the hot oil through the top opening of a red Chili. Allow it to cool and once it is little warm which is bearable enough for me, nip the bottom portion of the chili and pour the oil drop by drop to my infected ear.

As instructed my mom made the things available. In the mean while some body from my dad’s gang was shouting that Ewen Chatfield on the crease and Chetan is ready to bowl. My dad’s thoughts were still on Chetan’s Hat Trick, took the Chili and nipped the bottom part keeping it just above my ear.  As he nipped the chili big the medicated oil started flowing to my ear instead of drop by drop.

Haaaaaaaa,  I screamed and rolled on my bed upper ear down.  Yes!!, as Chetan Sharna is ready to bowl, dad had forgotten that the heat should be bearable and he had poured the extreme hot oil on my ear.

Hearing my scream all the gang rushed to my room and along with my mom and Mr Pappachan, they started shouting at dad for his carelessness. In the mean time Chethan Sharma was taking his run up from the pavilion end of Vidharbha cricket Association Ground, Nagpur to bowl against Ewen Chatfield. The rest is history!.

That power-less night, I was sleeping on my dad’s lap I saw the reflection of the lantern on the bottom of dads eye lids.

During this vacation, I happened to see dad’s friend who prescribed the medicine. Seeing me he started asking me so many things for that I have not responded. In frustration he asked,Are you deaf?

I replied. Yes, your Red Chili treatment made me deaf.!!!!!!!!. Hearing that, he and my dad burst into laughter.

At last, one question remains. Where the infection has gone? If we personify the infection as a demon, he scared and ran away from my life seeing my dad and his red chili.

rajaramvasudev@gmail.com