Sunday 13 January 2013

The Sojourn

Once again I am back to Doha that has been providing me with food and shelter for the last several years after spending a few weeks in my village where I am now a native turned tourist . I don’t know why I feel I am missing something,  I behave as if I have lost something and why melancholy still haunts me . The images of those ponds, paddy fields, coconut palms, mango trees and papayas that are the salient features of Kerala flash in my mind. I " pine for what is not " as usual and wish I had remained there some more time. Our sandy seashore where I used to go at dusk to gaze at the horizon covered with golden clouds and the fishing boats bringing various types of fishes, some of them live and shining like newly printed silver coins, continue to beckon me.
Paddy Fields
I am glad that I was not born with silver spoon in my mouth but as the son of a common man and a farmer who was uncertain while sowing the seeds whether he would reap the fruits of his labour. He was entirely dependent upon Nature to irrigate his paddy fields in those days when modern irrigation system was non-existent . In times of flood or drought his crops were destroyed. Just as he was rejoicing when he walked though his paddy field and saw lush green rice plants fluttering in the air , he was terribly upset when his crops were destroyed by drought or flood which meant that his pains and pleasures were inextricably entwined with the soil. His pains exceeded his pleasures and hence he loved to share grievances rather than joys. I will not be able to refute if someone argues that I have inherited these traits from my father. That may be the reason why it is easier for me and my children to shed tears and why tears roll down our cheeks when we watch moving scenes in movies or listen to sad stories.

A Pond in front of our house

I do miss the innocent smiles of some of our villagers who are yet to learn how to dislike others. Among them are elders who treat me like their son, children who behave as if I am their father; my beloved teacher Prahladan Nair who narrates how he used to call at our home when I was a child and how he had taught me the alphabets of my mother tongue while I sat on his lap ; friends and relatives who ask me to be extremely careful while crossing the national high way running through our village as it is an accident prone area; my relative who welcomed me with the vigour and enthusiasm of a youth though he is 99 years old; the old lady and skinny lady who frequent the houses in our neighbourhood to assist the housewives in their household chores and buying food stuff irrespective of whether they pay her or not and the dishevelled woman in her fifties who roams in the village and considered as crazy by others whereas those who know her closely say that the origin of her problem is poverty.

Another  pond in our plot covered by water weeds

Swimming pools are still unknown to our villagers. Before the introduction of bathroom and toilet culture, each house had a pond attached to it which was linked indirectly to Kanoly Canal that runs through the village but the number has now come down. There are very large ponds attached temples and mosques used by the public as common bath. It is always delightful of watch children swimming in the ponds creating a splashing crashing sound. One of them told me that he loves to take bath in a pond though his house has bathrooms and toilets in which he feels that he is locked and his freedom is curtailed.


This is the flowering season for mango trees in our area and some of them bear green mangoes . Even these flowers have an appetising smell . Green mangoes add flavor to fish curry and are widely used by housewives in Kerala and salted mango and mango pickle are popular items . I am sorry that I will not be there when the mangoes ripen. How delightful it is to look at mango trees branches laden with mangoes !

The Father


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