The Animal Kingdom | Chapter 1: The Prince

 

The Animal Kingdom

My childhood memories are infused with various animals—those who were fortunate or unfortunate enough to spend their lives as pets in my home. This blog series is about and for them.

 

Chapter 1: The Prince

Prince has the credit of spending the longest time with us among all pets. I have a whole lot of memories involving him. Prince was a dog of the Pomeranian breed, and he lived a life as royal as his name.

Prince arrived at our home before I was born - when he was less than a year old. He drank Horlicks every day, got bathed every day, and could sleep anywhere inside the house. My mother took good care of him. Until December 5, 1994. Until I was born.

Horlicks became tea. Bath became a luxury offered occasionally. He got a new kennel outside the house to sleep. I happened to become the villain in his life. All the care and love were being rerouted to this little piece of human who appeared out of nowhere. It hurt Prince’s ego very badly.

I grew up to learn that Prince always held his grudge against me. If Prince was lying on the floor and my father happened to step on his leg while walking by, he would whine and move aside. If my mother stepped on him, while passing by, he wouldn’t even respond - not a sound, not a move. If I - someone who probably did not even weigh a fifth of the weight of the other two humans - accidentally stepped on him, he would swiftly jump up, bark in annoyance, and charge at me. He even bit me on a few occasions. Ego. Grudge.

I never considered Prince to be my enemy or competitor. Yet I did trouble him on multiple occasions – not by intent, but through the impact of my actions. Let me narrate one such incident. True to the name of my blog, I was a curious kid. (I still am one.) One day, I got quite curious about how Prince (and other dogs) barks. That elongated mouth of his opening, closing, and producing sounds that conveyed all his needs and emotions. What if his mouth doesn’t open, what if he doesn’t bark?

I decided to find out. I went out of the house and looked for Prince. He was chained to a tree to restrict him from roaming around after his routine bath. I saw my opportunity there. I procured a rubber band from inside the house, went towards Prince, and fastened it around his mouth; I sealed it. Prince couldn’t make sense of my actions initially. He couldn’t react immediately either. He was not barking anymore. But he started making a growly sound. He had visibly and audibly become annoyed.

The annoyance was escalating with each passing second. I realized that I no longer dared to go ahead with this curious experiment of mine. The moment I removed the rubber band, an attack was guaranteed. I panicked. I ran to my mother and sought help. She carried out the rescue mission immediately. I did get a sound beating for my act of curiosity. I’m sure you all think that I deserved it. Hmm…! I ensured that I did not enter Prince’s vicinity for the next few days.

Prince was a member of our family. He ate the same food that the rest of us ate. He loved tea and so did my mother. Together they consumed at least a couple of litres of tea a day. Other animals came into our kingdom over the years, but Prince held the seniority and command. He ensured that the entire campus and all its inhabitants (except me) led a disciplined life. He ensured that no outsider intruded into our peace and happiness. Prince grew old with us. He lived with us for nine years (his eternity) until he died a tragic death due to a vaccine overdose. It took us some time to overcome the loss. My mother missed Prince the most. They had a strong bond between them. Prince was very dear to my mother. For Prince, my mother was the living being he had spent most of his life with and whom he probably loved more than himself.

Prince was given eternal rest in our backyard. My father soon got us another dog. A Doberman pup. If a Pomeranian got a name as royal as ‘Prince’, what could a Doberman expect? Our Doberman had already been named by its previous owner. Frooti!

More about ‘Frooti’ and other members in the next chapter.

[Fun Fact: My parents have told me on multiple occasions that they had considered ‘Prince’ as the name for their first child if it was a boy. Not sure, whether they were being serious about it. If yes, you might have had a ‘Prince Thomas’ in your contacts!]

 

 

The Banana War of 1999

 

The Banana War of 1999

Mealtime used to be a nightmare those days – be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner. That one tumbler of milk which I had to gulp down along with the breakfast used to take the life out of me. Despite the failed attempts of resistance each morning, I would still put up a fight every new day to avoid consuming that white liquid. Five minutes of fight would also mean that a white layer of cream skin would have formed over the milk, adding to the pain. Imagine a 5-year-old kid, eyes tightly closed, tears rolling down his cheek, nose tightly closed by his little fingers, forcing himself to drink something that he hated, a part of it flowing down the corners of his mouth. It was indeed a sorry sight!

Lunch at home on weekends was another physical tussle between me and my mother. Pretty much the same story – a plate of food, tears, running around the house and all the drama that follows. However, lunch at school was more of an emotional torture for me. We had to eat our lunch at the dining area, which was a corridor adjacent to our classroom. It made sense not to allow the UKG kids to eat inside the classroom. The corridor had neatly arranged square tables. When the bell rang for the lunch break, we had to fetch our lunch boxes, walk out to the corridor, and take a place at one of those tables. There were no chairs or benches; we had to stand and eat. Each table accommodates four kids. The corridor had enough tables to accommodate all the kids in UKG. But, but, Daniel Elias Varghese did not have to take a table. Because his lunch used to be just a banana! Yes, just a single banana!

In 1999, Daniel was the luckiest boy known to me. Every school day, at lunch time, I used to envy this little chap with neatly combed oily hair, standing in a corner of the dining area, peeling a banana, and finishing his lunch in the blink of an eye, while I stood there with a box full of rice, thoran, moru, fish/chicken, and pickle. How I wished to be the Daniel who just had to eat a banana for lunch! I cursed God for putting me in a family where I had to eat rice meals. This emotional turmoil happening inside my little mind used to be halted by the sound of the bell that meant that the lunch break was over. The amount of rice left in my lunch box was directly proportional to the scolding I would get at home later in the evening.

Finally, I made up my mind and one fine evening I pitched the idea of ‘one banana for lunch’ to my mother.

“Why not; from tomorrow onwards, you can also take one banana, along with rice…”

Given that she was the mother of an underweight child who was already taking tonics and other supplements as per the directions of a doctor, this insensitive response does make sense to me today. But not in 1999. So, I threw a tantrum. After finding the verbal war to be a losing fight, I finally declared, “I will take a banana for lunch tomorrow. I will eat it; no more rice!” I stomped off to the kitchen to fetch a banana. To my dismay, our kitchen did not have the kind of big nenthiram bananas (ethapazham) that Daniel used to get for lunch. There were only small ‘kadali’ bananas. But I wasn’t one who would give up easily. I ripped out one banana, and then another one to compensate for the small size. I walked towards the drawing room, opened the small compartment on the front side of my bag and tucked the two bananas safely inside. Lunch for the next day was sorted.

My routine after coming back from school was pretty simple – have tea and snacks, roam around the house or play with my friends in the neighbourhood for an hour, take bath, study (not out of intrinsic motivation, but out of external threat), watch the evening news and mega serials on Doordarshan along with mother, slip away and fall asleep to skip dinner, get woken up by dad to eat dinner (he had a knack to coax me), family prayer and bed time.

This one evening, as mother and I were listening to the news, I heard her mumbling, “there’s some bad smell in this room, something rotten”. My ears heard it, and my brain ignored it. Only for a while. A shock wave ran through my body. I stood up and jolted towards my school bag.

After the valiant act of putting two bananas inside the bag a few days ago, I totally forgot about it, only to remember again today. A bit too late though. With trembling hands, I opened the small compartment of my bag. Over the few days, the two little bananas had undergone ‘decomposition’ – a concept that I would study in school a few years later – and formed a smelly paste. I turned back and looked into my mother’s eyes. I knew what was coming… Well, … THE END!

  

The Vaccination Eclipse

 The Vaccination Eclipse

All my childhood, I had been fascinated by solar eclipses. For a long time, it was the mystery about these days that got me excited. Also, the ‘don’ts’ associated with it – don’t go out, don’t look at the sun, don’t eat, don’t this, don’t that. Of course, children are more curious about the ‘don’ts’ than the ‘do's'. It must have been in high school that I got to understand the phenomenon of the solar eclipse, or in other words, the science behind it. This got me even more excited and eagerly waiting for further eclipses. I still remember trying to catch the eclipse on a wall and all that.

(Image Credits: Open Clipart Vectors and Alexandra Koch, Pixabay)

It was with similar excitement and curiosity that I awaited my first dose of Covid-19 vaccination. Like in the case of eclipses, this particular vaccine also carries a fair share of mystery with it – it is all a hoax, this is China trying to conquer the world, the government is going to track us, you will die soon, and so on. Well, I’m not one to comment on these allegations. However, I tried to understand the science behind vaccines.

All of you might have heard of mock drills. Some of you might have even witnessed or been a part of one or two. Like the ones where they assume that a building is on fire and raise an alarm and the fire force gets into action and all that? Vaccination is a similar process taking place inside our bodies. The vaccine triggers a false alarm that makes the defense department of the body get into action to fight an intruder – the virus. The soldiers go running here and there in search of their weapons. You know, they have been sitting idle for quite a long time! It’ll probably be utter chaos. Soon enough, they’ll be ready with a strategy to go to war with the enemy.

“Load your guns.”

“Fir…”

“Wait, that was a false alarm.”

“But stay on alert.”

It is this hustle and bustle of the soldiers in our body that supposedly results in fever and tiredness after the vaccination.

Quite interesting, right? Well, our body is in fact a package of such wonders.

Last Monday, I got my first dose of the Covid-19 vaccine. I had been counting my days to it, as there was a prescribed wait period after testing positive. After getting vaccinated in the morning, I waited anxiously for my soldiers to get into action. At around six in the evening, I heard a rhythmic marching from a distance. They were getting ready. Abhi, Appu, and I were in our routine book reading session (routine might be an exaggeration, as we have had only three sessions so far). At one point, I started mixing up characters from two different books and this signaled that the military force was almost getting into action.

It was a hell of a (mock) war after that. I was down with a high fever. Fortunately, I got to sleep through most of it. The next morning, though the pseudo-war was over, the dust hadn’t settled. I was quite tired all through the day. However, when I woke up today (the second) morning, it felt very calm – the kind of calm you feel when you wake up to a bright morning after two days of heavy rain.

Kudos to my soldiers!

I’m eagerly waiting for the next eclipse.

***

 

"Ten plus one is not equal to eleven."

"10+1 is not equal to 11."
പതിനൊന്നാം ക്ലാസ്സിലെ ആദ്യ ഫിസിക്സ് ക്ലാസ്സില്‍ നക്കു പറഞ്ഞ വരി ആണ് ഇത്.
അതായത്‌ പത്താം ക്ലാസ്സ് വരെ പരീക്ഷയുടെ തലേന്ന് പഠിച്ച് മാർക്ക് വാങ്ങി കടന്നു കൂടിയത് പോലെ ഇനി നടക്കില്ല എന്ന്!

ശെരി ആയിരുന്നു. വളരെ ശെരി ആയിരുന്നു.
പത്താം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍ നല്ല മാർക്ക് ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു. 12 ആം ക്ലാസ്സിന്റെ ആദ്യ pre-board കഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോള്‍ ഞാൻ principal ന്റെ മുറിയില്‍ പോയി ഒരു മുദ്രപത്രത്തില്‍ ഒപ്പ് വെച്ചു. അടുത്ത pre-board ന് രണ്ടു വിഷയത്തില്‍ കൂടുതൽ തോറ്റാല്‍, സ്വയം board പരീക്ഷയില്‍ നിന്ന് പിന്‍മാറി കൊള്ളാം എന്ന്.

അപ്പൊ കാര്യങ്ങളുടെ ഒരു കിടപ്പുവശം മനസ്സിലായി കാണുമല്ലോ. ഈ കാലഘട്ടത്താണ് കഥ നടക്കുന്നത്.

11 ആം ക്ലാസ്സിലെ നക്കുവിന്റെ ഒരു ഫിസിക്സ് ക്ലാസ്സ്. ഇപ്പോൾ പഠിപ്പിക്കുന്ന chapter എതാണെന്നു പോലും അറിയാതെ ആണ് ഞാന്‍ ഉള്‍പ്പെടെ പലരും ക്ലാസ്സില്‍ ഇരിക്കുന്നത്. നക്കു ക്ലാസ്സിലേക്ക് വന്നതും ക്ലാസ്സ് നിശബ്ദമായി.

പറയാന്‍ മറന്നു. നക്കു എന്നത് നാരായണന്‍കുട്ടി എന്നതിന്റെ ചുരുക്കം ആണ്. അംഗീകൃതമായ വിളിപ്പേര് ആയിരുന്നു അത്. അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്റെ ഒപ്പും അങ്ങനെ തന്നെ ആയിരുന്നു.

Matter ലേക്ക് വരാം.
സമയം 12:43 ആയി കാണും. നക്കുവിന്റെ ക്ലാസ്സും പരീക്ഷയും ഒക്കെ ഇങ്ങനെ വിചിത്ര സമയങ്ങളില്‍ ആയിരിക്കും ആരംഭിക്കുന്നത്. ഓരോ മിനുട്ടിനും വില ഉണ്ട് എന്നു മനസ്സിലാക്കി തരാനുള്ള അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്റെ ശ്രമം ആയിരുന്നു അത്.
"The exam will start at 2:32 PM. My class will start at 3:33 PM." അങ്ങനെ ഒക്കെ.

വീണ്ടും വിഷയത്തില്‍ നിന്നും തെന്നി മാറുന്നു.

നക്കു വന്നതും ചോദ്യങ്ങള്‍ ചോദിക്കാന്‍ തുടങ്ങി. ഓരോരുത്തര്‍ ആയി എഴുന്നേറ്റ് നിൽക്കാൻ തുടങ്ങി. Sreenath, Anand, Vishnu, Kevin, Binu, CP, Anjana... ആര്‍ക്കും ഉത്തരം അറിയില്ല. അറിയാൻ വഴിയും ഇല്ല.

"താന്‍ എഴുന്നേക്ക്."
ഈയുള്ളവന്‍ തന്നെ.
അറിയില്ല എന്നു പറയാന്‍ വാ തുറക്കും മുമ്പ്‌ ട്വിസ്റ്റ് വന്നു.
"ഈ ചോദ്യത്തിന്റെ ഗ്രാഫ് ബോർഡില്‍ പോയി വരയ്ക്കൂ."
ശുഭം!

ഇരുറോകളുടെ നടുവിലൂടെ ക്ലാസ്സിന്റെ മുന്നിലേക്ക് നടക്കുമ്പോള്‍ വധ ശിക്ഷക്ക് വിധിക്കപ്പെട്ടു, വിധി നടപ്പാക്കുന്ന ദിവസം കൊലക്കയറിലേക്ക് നടക്കുന്ന കുറ്റവാളിയുടെ നിസ്സഹായത ആയിരുന്നു എനിക്കും.
"നീ തീര്‍ന്നെടാ" എന്ന സഹതാപ തരംഗം ക്ലാസ്സിലെ എല്ലാവരുടേയും മുഖങ്ങളില്‍ അലയടിക്കുന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു.
'പടച്ചോനെ ഇങ്ങള് കാത്തോളീന്‍' എന്ന് മനസ്സിൽ ധ്യാനിച്ചു ഞാൻ ചോക്ക് എടുത്ത് ബോര്‍ഡിന്റെ അടുത്തേക്ക് പോയി.

Graph ആണ് വരയ്ക്കാന്‍ പറഞ്ഞത്‌. എന്തായാലും ഒരു 'L' അങ്ങ് വരച്ചേക്കാം.
അത് വരച്ചു. 

ഇനി എന്ത്‌! 

ചോക്ക് ഗ്രാഫിന്റെ ഒത്ത നടുക്ക് കൊണ്ട്‌ വെച്ചു.
പെട്ടെന്ന്‌ നക്കു ക്ലാസ്സിന് നേരേ തിരിഞ്ഞു.
"നിങ്ങളോട് ഒക്കെ ഒരു 100 തവണ പറഞ്ഞിട്ടുണ്ട് ഗ്രാഫ് വരയ്ക്കുമ്പോള്‍ ആദ്യമേ തന്നെ axis രണ്ടും name ചെയ്യണം എന്ന്..."
പിന്നെ എന്തൊക്കെയോ പറഞ്ഞു.
ഞാനും ക്ലാസ്സിന്റെ നേരേ തിരിഞ്ഞു. ശൂന്യമായ കുറേ കണ്ണുകള്‍. ഒരു പിടിവള്ളിക്കായി എന്റെ കണ്ണുകള്‍ പരതി. അപ്പോഴാണ് ആര്യയുടെ കണ്ണുകളില്‍ എന്റെ കണ്ണുകള്‍ ഉടക്കിയത്. അവൾ താടിക്ക് കയ്യും കൊടുത്തു ഇരിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു. ഞാൻ എന്റെ കണ്ണുകള്‍ കൊണ്ട്‌ ആംഗ്യം കാണിച്ചു. അവൾ പതുക്കെ ഒരു വിരലുകൊണ്ട്‌ മൂക്കിനു താഴെ ഒരു മീശ വരച്ചു കാണിച്ചു. ഞാൻ ഒന്നു പുഞ്ചിരിച്ചു.

പ്രഭാഷണം കഴിഞ്ഞു നക്കു വീണ്ടും എന്റെ നേരേ തിരിഞ്ഞു.
"ആ വരയ്ക്ക്..."
ആര്യ വരച്ചത് പോലെ ഞാൻ അങ്ങ് വരച്ചു.

"Is this a coefficient of *എന്തോ ഒന്ന്*?"
മനസ്സു പറഞ്ഞു: "തമ്പുരാന് അറിയാം."

"Yes sir!" എന്നങ്ങു കാച്ചി.
"അപ്പൊ അറിയാം. എന്നിട്ടാണോ നിന്ന് പരുങ്ങിയത്. Good, go back to your place."

ഇരുറോകളുടെ നടുവിലൂടെ തിരികെ എന്റെ സീറ്റിലേക്ക് പോകുമ്പോള്‍ എന്റെ ഏകദേശ ഭാവം ഇങ്ങനെ ആയിരുന്നിരിക്കണം.

  (Screenshot from '+2 Free Period' by Karikku)

ശുഭം.


(കഥകള്‍ ഇനിയും ഉണ്ട്. തുടരും.)

Pothettan’s Shakespearean Brilliance

Pothettan’s Shakespearean Brilliance

Joji, the latest movie by Dileesh Pothan and team, has won hearts much like their previous projects. The movie, starring Fahadh Faasil, Unnimaya Prasad, Baburaj, Shammi Thilakan and others is inspired by one of Shakespeare’s most famous plays Macbeth.

Macbeth is a brave general in the army of Duncan, the King of Scotland. A prophecy by three witches that one day he would become the king of Scotland leads to the birth of greed and ambition in Macbeth. When his wife, Lady Macbeth, learns about the prophecy, she further adds fuel to his ambition. They plot to murder the king when he visits their place. They succeed in their act, but not without leaving suspicions in the air. Macbeth is crowned the king, yet his ambitions do not die. The witches had also prophesied that the sons of Banquo, another of King Duncan’s generals, would be future kings of Scotland. In order to prevent this from happening in the future, Macbeth orders the assassination of Banquo and his son. While Banquo is killed, his son escapes. Lady Macbeth, initially a partner-in-crime, soon falls prey to guilt and eventually commits suicide. The thirst for ultimate power sets Macbeth on a killing spree. However, he too soon loses hold over his mental balance. His ambition and blindness in power lead to his downfall.

(Photo Source: Pixabay) 

If Joji, played by Fahadh, is the Macbeth in Joji, then his sister-in-law Bincy, played by Unnimaya, is the Lady Macbeth. In a family where they have no voice of their own, both look forward to freedom and power. It is his relative Dr. Felix a.k.a. chettayi (Shammi Thilakan) addressing him as a ‘millionaire’ that turns out to be the ‘prophecy’ for Joji or rather the event that triggers his ambition. Much like Lady Macbeth, Bincy is the partner-in-crime for Joji, though her involvement is not as deep as that of her Shakespearean counterpart. Joji too, like Macbeth, goes on to remove all obstacles in his pathway that pose a threat to his ambition – which leads him to kill his elder brother Jomon. Bincy is no longer a party to the crimes of her brother-in-law. She watches in disbelief as she sees him become a cold-blooded criminal. In fact, the scene where she asks him to put on a mask before coming out in public for his father’s funeral reveals the onset of fear and guilt in Bincy and coldness in Joji. In the end, Joji too faces the same fate as Macbeth. Coincidentally, much like how Banquo’s son has a key role in the gathering of forces against Macbeth, Jomon’s son Popy is the one who hammers the final nail in Joji’s coffin. ‘Ambition’ and ‘self-confidence’ had taken them so far that both Macbeth and Joji fight till their last breath – as we see the latter denying his crimes even in the last scene of the movie.

(Photo Source: Amazon Prime Video) 

While we could see the essence of Shakespeare’s Macbeth in Joji, Dileesh Pothen and Syam Pushkaran (scriptwriter) have also added their own flavours to the characters. For instance, Bincy is dealt with in a subtler way when compared to Lady Macbeth. Likewise, ‘guilt’ does not catch up with Joji as much as it does with Macbeth. Nevertheless, the movie captures the destructive influence of greed on humans much like in Macbeth. The background score is of a different level altogether and gives a ‘Shakespearean’ feel to the movie. Needless to say, ‘Pothettan’ has once again exhibited his ‘brilliance’ by beautifully crafting a Shakespearean magic in a Kerala setting.

***

Kuttikkuppaayam (The Small Shirt)

Kuttikkuppaayam 

(The Small Shirt)

'We all need memories to remind ourselves who we are.'

-                                                                    - Memento (2000)

6^th February, 2003

I stood at the gate, teary-eyed and fuming.

“I’m telling you for the last time, do it!” papa said. I just stared at him. He glanced at mummy, revved his Vespa and sped away.

I was shocked. My calculations had gone wrong. I had expected him to give in.

“Why are you so arrogant? Shut the door and come inside,” mummy said, as she went into the house.

 

29^th April, 2020

“… from concrete to representation to abstract – the CRA approach. Rote learning abstract concepts, rules, and facts don’t lead to understanding; it burdens the child…” All were in agreement to what Karthi said. “A good example is,” he continued, “the multiplication tables…”

We were discussing in our work group, the pedagogy of early Math teaching. My stream of thought took a detour and time-travelled to 2003.

 

5^th February, 2003

I winked at it. It stared at me for a few seconds and looked away. I shook the branches of the tree, on which I stood, in a bid to win back its attention. It stared at me again. I smiled. After a few seconds, it turned its head the other way. I waited. 5 seconds. 10 seconds. 15 seconds. Ah yes, it threw a quick glance at me to check whether I was still pursuing it. Success! I had gotten into its head.

I was perhaps ‘the psycho kid’ in the world of the dogs in my area. Leaning on the branch of the tree that stood by the boundary wall, I would play such mind games with the dogs in the vicinity. It was one of my favourite pastimes.

“Where are you kid? Come inside; take your Math textbook and learn the tables up to 5. I’ll give you half an hour’s time. Quick!” It was mummy sounding the siren.

I waved at the dog, jumped off the tree, and dragged myself towards the study table.

The lunch box was still inside the bag. I took it to the kitchen. The sugar jar smiled at me. I opened it and took a spoonful. The sound of approaching footsteps had me fly back to the study table.

“Three into two is equal to six. Three into two iseequal to six. Three into three seeqal to nine….” The recitation went on.

There was a two rupee coin lying on the table. I started to trace it in my rough note book. “Three into five is equal to fifteen. Threento six is equal to seventeen. Threento six is equal to seventeen….”

After the stipulated 30 minutes and a grace period of another ten, mummy walked into the room.

“Hand over the book and start reciting.”

“One into one is equal to one.”

“Start with two’s table.”

I managed the two’s table with the repeated addition strategy – adding two to the previous number, which did not take much time. However, things fell apart when it came to the three’s table. Of course, three into six wasn’t seventeen!

“I’ll give you another 15 minutes. Up to five’s table - any mistake, and that’s it for you.”

“Three into three is equal tooo…”

***

Ten minutes had gone by and I hadn’t made much progress.

The newly bought sketch pens were lying on the table. A bulb flickered in my head. I wrote down the three’s table on my left leg, the four’s on my right and the five’s on my left palm. I still had the right palm free and so took the luxury of writing down the two’s table as well.

I placed myself in the little space between the television and the window. When mummy walked in, I asked her to sit on the chair in front of me.

“Begin with the three’s table.”

“Three into one is equal to three; three into two is equal to six; three into three is equal to nine; three into four is equal to, is equal to, threeee into four is eeequal toooo…”

I slyly referred my notes.

“Fast…” she was getting impatient.

“Three into four is equal to sixteen.”

“What!”

I referred again and realized that I was looking at the right leg instead of the left. Before I could rectify my mistake, I saw a shadow looming over me.

***

My ears were burning. She had almost pulled them out. I had to rub off the tables from my body and etch them on my brain in another fifteen minutes.

“Three into five iseequal to fifteen… three into five is equal to…”

The State Bank of India calendar, hanging against the wall, oscillated in the breeze.  The bulb flickered yet again. I wrote down the tables on the calendar. I then positioned myself on a chair, facing the calendar.

“Ah start… make it fast.” Mummy walked in. She came and stood right in front of the calendar, blocking my view.

“Please sit down.” I requested.

“Make it fast.” She did not move.

After ‘three into five is equal to fifteen’, I leaned my head sideways to catch a glimpse of the calendar.

She turned back and looked at the calendar.

As mummy stormed out of the room, I knew what was coming. She would go out and get a stick from the tree near the boundary wall, and in a matter of a few seconds my feast would begin. I prepared myself for it.

***

“Let papa get home. I can’t wait to tell him what you called me.” I said, wiping away the amalgamation of liquids that flowed from my eyes and nose, before they entered my mouth.

The ball was in my court now. During the treatment with the stick, an unparliamentary word had slipped out of her mouth. And I seized the opportunity.  She threw the stick away and walked out of the room. The momentum shifted my way. I followed her to the kitchen.

“Let papa come home and I will teach you a lesson.”

“Ah, let us see who is going to learn the lesson.”

***

I knew that papa would favour me. Of course, that was the larger scheme of things. Mummy was the antagonist of my study time episodes and papa my savior. The roles reversed when it came to eating food. For instance, I would hesitate to drink the mandatory glass of milk before leaving for school and papa would lose his temper, before mummy came to my rescue. At the end of the day, the house revolved around me and I knew that very well.

***

There were red patches on my hand. A few numerals were also visible. Vengeance boiled inside me. I walked into the bedroom, opened the cupboard and took out her eyeliner. I had gifted it to her on her birthday.

“I hate you. I am taking this back.”

She laughed. “I am not craving for your love. Do what you want. Also, it is a very bad habit to take back what you gifted someone.”

“Fine, I am bad.”

***

I heard the honking of our vespa. Papa was home. I ran outside to narrate the events of the evening.

“Ah ha… did she do like that! Come, I’ll ask her. We’ll settle it right away.”

I had a smirk on my face as we walked into the house.

“Why did you beat him? And he says that you used a particular word as well.”

“Did he not tell you why he got the beating? And the shameless guy has also taken away the eyeliner that he gifted me.”

***

The panchayat was settled by papa. It was decided that I wouldn’t be asked to recite the tables for another three weeks. He would write it on a chart with colour pencils and hang it in front of my study table. He assured me that I would pick up the tables on my own after a few days. All I had to do was to look at the chart once in a while, and refer to it while doing sums.

 

'Kuttikkuppaayam'

(Illustrated by Baby Parvathy*)

6^th February, 2003

It was their wedding anniversary. Both papa and mummy were in the kitchen as I got out of bed. I wished papa.

“No wishes for me?”

I did not respond. My vengeance was not over yet.

I got ready for school. The smell of biriyani entered my nostrils and I knew that it was one of those rare days when I would be waiting for the lunch break.

“Give mummy a kiss and come fast.” Papa had already started the scooter.

I walked towards the scooter.

“Go and give her a kiss. Don’t be so grumpy.”

“No, I will not kiss her.”

“It’s getting late. Let it go. I don’t want his kiss,” mummy said from the door.

“You are not going to school without giving her a kiss,” papa’s mood was changing.

I stood my ground. Tears started flowing down my cheeks.

“I’m telling you for the last time, do it,” papa said. I just stared at him. He glanced at mummy, revved his Vespa and sped away.

The larger scheme of things was a little different from what I had understood it to be.

                                      ***

(The story is based on memories from different points of time in my childhood. They have been woven together into a single piece – colourful little pieces from my childhood, stitched together into a kuttikkuppaayam. 😊 )

_______________________________________

*About the illustrator: Baby Parvathy is a lawyer by profession and an artist by passion. Her artistic concentration lies in addressing issues of social relevance and appreciating the little things in life. Here’s the link to Babie’s world of art.

 

The Angry 90's Kid

The Angry 90’s Kid

1999.

The world was a very different place then.

I had just completed my Lower Kindergarten (LKG) in Bethlehem Primary School, a small school 3 kilometres away from my home. My parents wanted to put me in another school, which was just a few meters away from Bethlehem – Loyola. For them, it was a better option; however, for me, it was a different world altogether and I was in no mood to leave Bethlehem.

Other than the obvious reason of not wanting to come out of the comfort zone of a familiar habitat, there were two particular memories from Bethlehem that I hold responsible for my reluctance to leave the place.

'The Happy Bethlehem Kid'

One. The winter of 1998.

Given that Bethlehem was a convent school, Christmas used to be celebrated grandly. On the last working day, before the school closed for Christmas holidays, we celebrated Christmas. A tableau of the nativity scene was staged in front of the school and I was to take the role of baby Jesus, being one of the smallest kids in the school. Dressed in white and an ample amount of make-up on my face, I was the centre of attraction of the day. Students, teachers and parents waited in a queue to catch a glimpse of the baby Jesus and co. My parents and a few of our relatives too came to see their baby devil. Smiles, attention, camera flashes and fun; needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed the day.

Jesus and Co.

Two. The summer of 1999.

We were on our way back home after the annual visit to our native place – Kottayam. Every summer vacation, we would go to visit our relatives and spend a few days there. The return journeys were always painful, after all the fun and frolic with my cousins.

I was sitting by the window in a general compartment of our very own Venad Express. The wind caressed my hair and I was lost in thoughts. It was then that my parents met an acquaintance of theirs on the train and soon I was called to meet this lady and introduce myself. The typical questions that were thrown at 90’s kids, and for which we had ready-made answers, came to me from her. “What’s your name? Which class are you studying in? Which school? Who is your best friend?” I blurted out the replies to all those questions, when an unusual question was thrown at me – “why is she your best friend?”. I did not need time to think though. For, kids don’t think much; they don’t worry about the consequences of what they say. And I said, “because, she is beautiful.” Let’s not worry about defining ‘beauty’ or ‘friendship’ here. After all, our protagonist is a five-year-old kid who is ‘innocent’. Anyways, I was very fond of her.

So, this Christmas of 1998 and ‘she’ were two possible reasons that rooted me to Bethlehem.

However, parents have their ways, don’t they? I was assured that I wouldn’t be taken out of Bethlehem against my wish. Along with assurance, it was suggested that we visit this other school. “What’s the harm in a casual visit,” and I readily agreed. So one fine Sunday, we went to Loyola. It was a huge campus with buildings ten times the size of our little Bethlehem, vast playgrounds and a fish pond – none of which impressed me. So when the question was asked again – “do you want to join this school?” – as always, I did not need to think much. It was a plain “no”. It was then that my father brought out the trump card. “You know what, behind that huge building is a playground for kids. And there they have a toy train, like the one at the zoo children’s park. You know, your favourite one!”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Can I see that?”

“Of course, you can also go on rides, after you join this school.”

“Hmmm?”

“So would you like to join this school?”

“Maybe.”

Thus, my innocence was exploited. Bethlehem and ‘she’ were to become memories.

***

As part of the admission formalities, we had to get passport-sized photos of mine. As we walked into the darkness of Ogeena Studio, the little toy train of Loyola School was taking jolly rides inside my head. There was a dressing table in one corner of the studio room and I sat there as my father applied talcum powder on my face and combed my hair, both of which I had an aversion to those days (and the former to this day). I kept pushing his hand away, and he lost his cool soon enough. Like father, like son, I too lost my cool.

The photographer kept asking me to cheer up and smile. He even asked my father to go out of the room. I did try my best to smile. In fact, after a point of time, I wondered what was wrong with the photographer, “can’t he see that I’m smiling?”

“Onnu chirik monee… (please smile little one…),” he said, one last time before the lights flashed and a couple of ‘click’ sounds were heard.

The processing was done, and we got the photos after a week.

I do not know how they felt submitting the application form with this photo on it.

It doesn’t matter though. After all, it was sweet revenge.

***

PS: I went on to become a Loyolite and grew up there for nine long years.

PPS: Of course, Loyola did not have a toy train. The one at the children’s park in Trivandrum Zoo too went in ruins after a few years.

PPPS: I haven’t seen ‘her’ or heard about ‘her’ after LKG. Also, ‘she’ is one of the angels in the Christmas tableau.

***

First day as a Loyolite…

***