Sporting Memories

I used to play football (Soccer) when I was younger. Those distant memories stirred within while I was watching an Olympic football match the other day.

We then had a football ground, committed players and time. In those good old days, no one had ever heard of cricket and none of us ever seen a TV either. The playground belonged to the local Upper Primary School. When school was off on weekends and holidays, it was our territory. No one else was crazy to play under a hot noon sun during daytime. We had the field for ourselves, except may be for an occasional cow grazing peacefully on the field. This we didn't mind. Live and let live but try not to step in that cow dung! 

'We' were 4 or 5 kids. Average age being 7 years or so. We make teams of 2 each or sometimes 2 on one side and 3 on the other. It was not wise to make anyone feel left out. Especially when it was the younger brother of my classmate. The brat will then go and complain to his parents and if my classmate is called home to explain, we can't very well play with the rest, see?

We used to play in the 4-3-3 formation mostly. We invented the concept of 'timely goalie'. When the ball is near a goal area, which eventually happens even on that vast field with 5 kids and a rubber ball the size of a tennis ball, the guy closer for the concerned team assumed the role of goal keeper and played goalie.

 We wore skin colored uniforms. No boots were required. None of us wore any footwear for that matter. We were shirtless and our tan was visible to the astute observer who could look through the burn we got playing under the sun all the time. Properly dressed guys in this group had functioning buttons on their (Half) trousers. Not so properly dressed ones wore their trousers like a dhoti. That is to pull the right half side with the left hand and the left side with the right hand while pulling in the stomach to tie a knot. It was not uncommon to see your star striker stopping in the middle of a run to hitch up his trousers and fix it again before resuming the attack.

We played some. Argued and fought more. Other times we spent time searching for the ball when it went out of play. Old pros like us didn't have the conveniences of today's players. Nobody brought us drinks on field. We went to the nearest well for the drinks.


In the evenings, local grownups played soccer in the same field.  They played with a regular football, big one with air in it and having those black and white spots design on it. We played in the 'out'field when the grownups played. When their ball went out of play, we would eagerly retrieve it and send it soaring back in to the field, sometimes even 10 whole feet, to the impatiently waiting players. How else you can hope to play one of those real balls?

They sometimes gave us the old discarded balls but ultimately it will lose air and the bladder will be out soon. We didn't have any means to put air in it then. Somebody would be wearing it for a cap in the end.

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During rainy seasons, this playground used to get flooded. There were rice fields towards one side of it. Water will come up and we sometimes played a game which would later go on to become popularly known as water polo. We didn't grudge the floods. We accepted it calmly and fished when we couldn't play ball. Or we just made waves.

Story of a Boss

I once worked in a place where everybody seemed to have a great sense of humor. Our department head was another 'Vashalan'. There is this story about him.

Often, we get visitors to our plant from the corporate head office or other plants. And the old timers like my Boss knew other old timers in every other plants.

Story begins when one such dignitary visit our plant. After 2 days of his visit, he is supposed to catch the evening train. So Boss offers to take him to the railway station. Off they go. As they have lots of time to catch the train, Boss suggests why don't they drop in at his house for a quick tea? His friend agrees.

While at Boss' house, the visitor has to sit alone for a minute while Boss goes inside to talk to his wife. The visitor can see Boss whispering something to his wife, and the wife looking at the visitor and Boss whispering more. Visitor sees the wife going inside, coming back and putting something in the pocket of our Boss surreptitiously.

While they are out again and driving towards the railway station, Boss stops the car for a minute, goes out and comes back with a packet. They move again. So at the station, they have more time and the visitor can't hold his curiosity anymore. He suspect he is playing some part in a drama but he has no clue what this is all about. So the visitor ask the Boss what's up.

Boss explains that he was telling his wife that his friend from Chennai was a bit tight for cash. After wasting what money he brought, now the friend was broke and Boss was thinking about loaning him some money. The friend won't ask for a loan being very proud but Boss knows he needs money. Would she give him some money? She readily brought some money and put it in Boss' pocket.

The friend remember the packet Boss brought from a shop and remembers it was a liquor shop. The friend is envious about the quick thinking of our Boss. Knowing the character of our Boss, the friend doesn't mind his own name being used in pulling off this stunt.

But he has a genuine question to ask. With some satisfaction not well hidden, the friend asks our Boss what he is going to do when the missus ask him for the money back. After all, it was supposed to be a loan.

Boss replies he knows what he is going to do about it. When the missus ask Boss for the money, he is just going tell her that his friend, the rascal from Chennai, swindled him.

A Case for Fitness

I was going through local news and came across an interesting piece. There was a raid in a local lodge for 'immoral activities' and among those caught, was a man aged 78.

That should be a lesson for those middle aged guys that let themselves go all soft once they are in their 40s. The above news  underlines the fact that fitness is the key, yet again.

The young ones managed to outrun the police.

Making A Name For Yourself

I have often wondered what a person has to achieve in life in order for future generations to remember him. Everyone cannot be a Gandhi, or an Einstein or a Genghis Khan. Even if you were prepared to settle for something less, what is to be done? There were those statesmen and bureaucrats who made waves or even minor earthquakes while they were in power. But nobody seems to hear about them anymore once they retire. And not everyone can hope to be even one of those. You tone down a little more and think what you have to achieve so that people of your tiny village will remember you after you are long gone.

I have stayed out of my place for extended periods but it is as if I lived there all my life. I remember the junction where the bus stop was, 35 years back. That time there was a tea shop and another shop that sold rat traps and such knickknacks and toys on one side of the road and a pan shop on the other side. This junction was a place they placed cinema posters of movies playing in local theaters. Walls of those establishments usually had posters and other graffiti on them. But what I am trying to remember is the people. Do I remember the famous people that lived in my village in the past?

When there is a death in the village, I become philosophical and think if those people are going to be remembered a few years down the road. Would their grandchildren remember them? Do I know anything about my Granpa's dad? Very little. And no idea about of my ancestors before that at all. And it will be the same more or less for most people. If you forget the 'progress' part out of human life, they lived just like us. They played, got drunk, partied, fought and  had kids etc. They thought they were important just like we all think we are important and look where they are now. Not even their great grandchildren remember them.

I try to think and remember people that lived in my village in my time and that are dead now. Mind you, I am not trying to remember the name of some people that are dead. There is a difference. And I don't seem to be able to remember any of those 'pillars of society' when I try. The first names that come up to my mind are Raghavan and Pavithran. I try to analyze why these, of all people.

Raghavan had a knife wound he was proud of. He was a rowdy when he was younger but once he retired, he turned his focus to booze and smoking weed. He was found dead in front of a shop one morning. As to Pavithran, he was known to have a career relieving people of their possessions when they were not looking. He worked nights. He took his own life one day.

I have a theory forming in my mind by now. To be remembered, to be part of the colorful history of your village, you need to have a 'reputation'. But then, by this time I remember another couple of guys. One is Keshavan and the other is Madhavan. They didn't have this kind of 'reputation' I touched upon earlier. I think.

Keshavan was known because I remembered him only as Viruddhan Keshavan (Keshavan the Rebel). A name given to him by the village affectionately long before I came on the scene. And Madhavan was always known as Thoppi Madhavan. (Thoppi= A Cap) Madhavan once entered in to a bet with somebody and lost it. So he was required to wear a cap for a period of time. Just that he never stopped wearing his red cap ever after. It became a fixture on him forever after. Hence the name.

So, what is the common thread here that joins all these guys I remember as part of the history of my village? Raghavan was always known with his caste name prefixed to Raghavan. (He was a goldsmith by caste) Pavithran had his career label prefixed to his name too. So I adjust my theory a little and conclude that it is a name that you earn in your life that makes you a legend later. You might be an upstanding citizen of your time, a pillar of society and all that, but it all come to naught a few years after you are gone. You are just forgotten.

I sit back, satisfied with my analytical skills. Just the same, I think again to make sure there aren't any loopholes in my theory. It would be a nasty shock to bump in to any old pillars of society when I am parading my theory to others later. And at this stage itself in my fantasy I bump in to a solid one. This guy hailed from a respected and wealthy family. He never was known to booze or smoke weed. If he had a knife wound, he hid it well. I always remembered him dressed in a white mundu and white Khadi shirt. No red cap. For that matter, no cap at all. He didn't fit in with any of the characters I mentioned earlier. I know my theory can't be that off the mark. I think hard and then I get it.

He was known as 'Nehru' in the village because of his dress and the fact that he looked somewhat like our first PM minus the cap and the rose in the buttonhole :D


------------------------------------------------------------Some of the names have been changed in this story

Going West

First things first. Here, by west, I mean the western side of my village. In the old days when I was a kid, the west was just rivers, canals and rice fields. My Grandpa lived there. So, I used to visit his place when I had time. It was fun there. I get tender coconuts every time I visit. Plenty of mangoes when it is in season. Can fish, play in the water, get a country boat ride now and then through the river etc etc.


I walk a short distance on the main road, then another quarter of a km on a dirt road. Which ends at the river. Here, on sunny days you see women washing clothes. There is a bridge, which in the old days was essentially 2 planks, each a foot wide, joined somehow together, side by side. You climb the steps and step on  the bridge and the adventure begins. As you get to the middle of it, the up down motion starts getting very noticeable. Once you cross the bridge, you get to the 'west'. No vehicles beyond this point. You walk on a ridge, that is a kind of barrier that separate the river from the rice fields. Uneven surface here. If you are lucky it won't be very slippery. You walk on the ridge, which is about 4 foot wide, for another 200 meters and get to a place where you can let your breath out and walk without fear of immediately falling in to the river or the lake on the left. ( Lake, because the rice fields around this place are mostly not cultivated usually. So it will be filled with water. Generally water lilies and such vegetation floating around.) This is somebody's property but people are allowed to walk through,because, if someone were to block the path, then no one will be able to move around those places. You soon come to a small stream or canal. The bridge here is a concrete beam with a rectangular cross section. about one food wide. Only a small distance to cross and it doesn't oscillate. Now I stand in my grandpa's property.


Most houses in the west typically stand on land raised from low laying areas. So when it is monsoon season, most houses will briefly have 'running water' facility through them. When it is real bad, people move in with their relatives on higher land. It becomes practically impossible to walk on the ridge then. Water will be flowing over it in a strong current and you would have no idea where the river or the lake began.


They live in the middle of water but they have to bring their drinking water from some distance away. Because if they dig a well, they get salty water around those places. There are more houses towards the west and worse canals and bridges. Some of the canals will have just a coconut tree trunk for a bridge. Usual to have a slight rolling motion towards either side, in addition to the up/down motion. Someone who is not used to these places would gladly throw in the towel at this point. Yet, you would see women walking those tree trunk bridges with a pot of water on their head and another pot in their hand. If you were contemplating crawling across, they could even take your hand and walk you across without any problem. If you are a kid being helped across thus, having a one track mind helps. You just concentrate on not thinking about the abyss below till you are across.


You would think these ladies of the West could  whistle a merry tune while balancing a pot of water on their head, another on their hip while helping a kid across by the hand. But this was not so. Surprisingly, these brave ladies could never whistle.


My step Granny never even sang. At best, she recited some verses while she prayed at home or in Church which was mostly in subdued tones. All the years I have known her, she looked essentially the same. Always the proper dress for women of Christians our side, old fashioned. This traditional dress always fascinated me as a kid. ('Chattayum Mundum'. The white Mundu is wore such that it will have a fan shaped tail. The tail is what makes it look funny in the eyes of kids) My aunt could sing one or two lines of popular songs but the less we talk about that, the better. But there was one thing remarkable about her. She had, and still has, a hearty laugh for the occasions when she found something very funny. Many years later, this laugh would be used by diesel auto-rickshaw manufacturers for the start up sound of their autos, when they  release them in the Indian market.


My Granpa I always thought was an ordinary old man. He read his paper, smoked his beedi, went about his farming etc. But he was a very wise man. I divined this by chance.Once I was there, me and Granpa were trying to read the newspapers. Women were chatting loudly with the neighbors who dropped in for gossip. Those days people had lots of time, see. This loud chatting was getting on the nerves of us, the Men. They stopped only to draw breath or to shout a curse at an errant hen that came too close to the house or to scream at the neighbor's kid that went too near the river. I sense my Granpa getting exasperated with his reading. He lower the paper and mutter through clenched teeth,


'Vekili!!'


Now that is a slang term to describe unruliness in general. I liked him saying this. Shows him in a new light.


Years pass. Granpa is no more. I am unmarried and so theoretically should be having an orderly life. But there are times when one encounter this scene again in life. Typical family with women and kids raising a racket (sounds of domestic life) and the men of the home pulling out their hairs in exasperation. I tip my imaginary hat to the old man, remembering with awe the time he said that one word in my presence.


'Vekili!!'


He was indeed a wise old man. 

Yaadon Ki Baraat Nikli Hai.....

I knew this tune as a kid.  Only, just forgot the opening lines (all of the lyrics I knew of this song) and the tune was long forgotten. I was looking for some old songs the other day and came across this song by chance. It is always a nice surprise coming across long forgotten tunes.

I used to be a good bathroom singer till I was in to my early 20s. Always loved the acoustics of bathrooms. It sort of give a resonant quality and booming nature to my voice. I am sure I could have given even Rafi or Kishor a run for their money, if they cared to enter in to a singing competition with me in the bath. Not that they would, mind you. They wouldn't risk being shamed and thus taking a hit to their reputations.

In those days, the average shower time went like 60 minutes, the duration of an audio tape. Being a perfectionist, I would sing all the songs in my latest cassette from the beginning of side A to the end of side B. In the order they appear on the cassette. If it were in other languages, I sang what I knew of the lyrics and hummed along merrily the rest. Complete with background music whistled in where needed.

This bathroom singing faded a bit once I got older. Mind being heavy with other thoughts while in shower, like the design of a device that would facilitate harvesting of coconuts or  what to move next in an online chess game or thinking up some nasty things to write in the latest blog war somewhere etc. I still sang now and then but it was only for the duration of the shower. This happened when the heart was light and I absolutely had to sing.  The practice of showering for the sake of singing was abandoned long back.

So I come across this old tune again after a long time. So when I go in to bath, I naturally burst in to song spontaneously. I know only the first line and the rest I hum and whistle. The casual listener outside, if any was there, might suspect I was being tickled in between but I assure you, this was far from the case. One cannot be expected to sing the same way when he is soaping his back as when he is soaping his chest. The pitch goes a bit higher while soaping the back, the rhythm subtly getting livelier there a bit. Just like variations naturally happen when the singer  is applying soap to the face. Soaping done, I shift gears and now move my hands to wash off the soap and be as good as new again. Song gets a bit shaky when I run my hands through my hair, taking care of the shampoo to go as well. All is well till my hand comes back behind me again.

Here my hand encounters something, which I could have sworn was not there in the Pallavi (First stanza of the song) and worse, it seemed alive. Song freezes on my lips. I take a smart step forward, move my hand in a swift flicking motion near my derriere and turns, all in one fluid motion. Almost a dance step, only my mind was not on dance then. There is a small splat sound. I see a small green grasshopper lying on the tiles, apparently in a stunned attitude. I frowns. I doesn't like interruptions when I am concentrating on something. I consider what to do with the intruder. Kill him? Almost as soon as I think that, I dismiss the thought. I am supposed to be in a good mood today. The g.h somehow wandered in and was probably sitting down somewhere thinking things himself  when he found his environments getting flooded. He hopped and landed on my behind along with the droplets, in all probability. I gather a thoughtful mug of water and try to persuade him to move towards the wall and higher grounds from there. This achieved, I continue my shower but without singing.

I think about this new incident. Why, of all insects, a green grasshopper in my bathroom? Why he landed on my person there? There is a belief that these green grasshoppers bring luck. How does it mean bringing luck from this unexpected angle?

I am getting hungry and decide to finish shower and dries myself. I think about whats on menu for the supper. I remember being told today it is going to be  tapioca with Karimeen (a variety of fish, very tasty) Curry. Now too much tapioca is something the stomach could rebel at, with or without the curry. I idly worry if the grasshopper portends a windfall on the other side come next morning, something I could always do without. I eat in moderation and think how I am going to write all about this later....

 Too bad there is no Moral of the Story to go along with this. Hmmm. How about, 'Watch what is creeping up your behind while you sing and make merry in your bath'?


12 May 2012

Being More American Than Most Americans

In the old days, lots of Keralites used to go abroad looking for better opportunities. (They still do even when we have more opportunities at home these days.) 2 or 3 decades back, there was the trend of typically Christian girls, training to be nurses and then going to the USA. Then they come back and get married to someone from Kerala and then take him along soon after and they probably settle there.

First time I heard of this was when I was a small kid. A close friend of my dad is married to a nurse. She first went to the USA and then got the papers all ready and was going to take her husband abroad. Apparently, this was big event then. So his colleagues decide to give him a send off. They hire a van to see him off at the airport. I was the only kid in the party. Don't remember if I was even 5 years old. I didn't have politics then, so I was only glad to go along for this. Shucks, if somebody gave me USA on a platter then, I would have tied a string to its leg and dragged it around happily for days. The journey to the airport was nice. As usual, I get a side seat and enjoy the views. The elders made a racket joking, singing and shouting as they are inclined to do on these kinds of occassions. We get to the airport and I get to see an airplane close for the first time, sitting down on the ground. It made an awful noise though. I have something to think and to talk about to people for a life time. Most folks haven't seen one this close, I was sure about that. After the bird has flown, we go back. We stop at a lot of tea shops for refreshment on the way back. The noise slowly subsides as we stop for more and more refreshments, as I remember it.

.....

I don't know why my mother used to joke about this trip to her friends and drag my name in to it every time she talked about it. The story goes like this.

After the trip, we get home and my mother ask my dad if he was drinking toddy. He innocently ask mother, 'What toddy?'. So mother ask me if we went in to any toddy shops. I say no. She ask if we stopped for tea while on the journey. I say yes! She ask me if the walls of the tea shop had white painted wooden screens in them. I say, 'Yes!'. And my mother and her friends laugh.

(in those days, those white painted wooden screens were a fixture of toddy shops) 

 Years goes by. My dad's friend visit Kerala now and then. He brings presents for his relatives and friends. I remember he bringing me dress and chocolate. (I still didn't have politics then!) More years go by and I slowly become political. So when he comes for a visit, I like arguing with him I suppose he was mostly egging me on but I suspect he was at least a little being more American than most Americans. We argue about India and America. I still remember the time he acted out how our then PM went to the USA to seek aid. To beg, in his view.

I don't know how I replied to that but I don't forget him acting it out I was not angry at him and laughed at his acting. I must have been in my early 30's then. More time pass by. Last time he was here, I was in a better position for our argument. And I am getting better with saying things in that dry tone and straight face, ya know. This time I thought I was getting him unsettled. He was trying to hit below the belt and his wife was getting concerned and trying to cool things off in a diplomatic way. Our families were around watching. I didn't resent the old man. I could still believe he was playing. So at a point I tell him that I am leaving the argument because I can't go beyond a limit and laughs. (I call him uncle) He suddenly beam and ask me to step close. Says, 'Come here. Let me hug you!'.

Some American thing, this real hugs. I am not much in to those but I sacrifice my fine feelings and step forward. All is well.

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I can't stop this without stating that, he bought a property in Kerala and is planning to retire here I should ask him next why retire to the 3rd world India when he is an American, dash it. I am sure he will tell something about sentiments for the good old Kerala. 

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 If you are interested to read a little more about toddy shops in Kerala, search for 'the toddy odyssey'. An article that I came across about these shops. I was researching to see if the white painted wooden screens still were there. I think it is well written.
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(I posted a copy of this in the other site too. This is for the occasional visitor that is not a member of the other site)

A Coconut Story

In my state, coconut trees and coconuts play a very important role in our daily lives. Our state derives its name from coconut trees. State is named Kerala(m), which means the land of coconut trees. We use the coconuts in many of our dishes, we need its oil on a daily basis for cooking and even for applying on the hair before taking bath. Toddy can be tapped from coconut trees. etc etc. It is hard to see a property without coconut trees here, especially in the villages.

There is a people that traditionally do the harvesting of the coconuts. The caste is known as the Paravans here. Before anyone gets excited about the caste system of India, note that just because these people traditionally did this work doesn't mean they are forced to do it. Like everyone else, they can pursue any career they like. And as the state and country was getting more prosperous, that is exactly what happened. Now we don't have enough people to harvest the coconuts and it is becoming a problem.

Recently there were some tree climbing aids invented so that ordinary people could climb their coconut trees to pick the nuts. (You can search online and see some videos where you can see even small kids climbing the trees with ease, as if walking up steps) The government started some programs where they trained batches of youth in climbing the trees and taking care of the harvesting, pest control etc. So that you can call a number and someone come on a 2 wheeler to your place and harvest your trees, just like that. It is still not all that popular in villages yet.

We had a man that traditionally climbed our trees. R was a man that did very little talking. Slightly stooped, he would come with his bamboo ladder - Just one long pole of bamboo with the small branches trimmed where he can put his foot. It will have 2 horn like projections towards the top to prevent slipping from the c. tree - on his shoulder, with a ring made of coir hanging from one end of this ladder. He would be wearing only a 'work'  towel around his waist and will have his long handled knife hanging from a shoulder, down his back. This man always looked the same all my life. Always chewing pan, with a trace of smile on his face. When R went in to retirement, his son B took over. He generally looked the traditional climber except he didn't have the sunny outlook and professionalism his father had. B liked his toddy or even more potent drinks. He was not regular either. Sometimes you don't see him for many weeks and you would be worrying about the coconuts getting dry and falling down before you see him again. (It is said that B likes temple festivals where they bring elephants. So he goes along to cut palm fronds for the elephants to eat)

That much for background.

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One of those mornings, I wake up around 7 am. I go to the kitchen for my morning cup of  black coffee. There I see my mother and Sister-in-Law standing transfixed, looking out the window to the north. I follow the gaze and see only our neighbor. (The neighbors are a retired couple living on our north side.)I start getting the coffee and mixing sugar and ask what's up. They hiss 'Shhhh! Look!'


I look. I see our neighbor now walking around a coconut tree, occasionally looking up. I see him suddenly taking a step to the side and a coconut falling close to him. Now I watch closely. It appears that our n. is talking to someone, who is not yet in the picture. As the n. is looking up and apparently talking to someone there, I look up. And I see B sitting atop the c. tree, some 50 ft up. I find it odd that he is sitting on the fronds on top, where he doesn't need to climb for his work. And I find it odd that this close supervision is not needed for this activity and it is silly standing right under a tree which is being harvested. No one in his right frame of mind want one of the coconuts falling on top of his own coconut. I could use some enlightenment here and I proceed to get it. After some shrewd questioning, I gather that,
1. Neighbor was desperately looking for someone to pick the c. for him
2. He somehow got hold of B in the morning and enticed him to work for him first thing in the morning.
3. Most importantly, now it seems B was very much under the influence.
4. That B is now some 30 minutes in to his roosting act.


So I get the posish. The sunshine is getting strong. B on top doesn't respond to his supervisor down below. B might even be drowsing. The neighbor is worried. If B falls down and break something, he will be in some trouble. (There is no well defined consequences but n. will be expected to compensate for treatment etc)


We watch. After minutes of inactivity, we see B chopping down something within reach every now and then. In between we see our neighbor going in to the house to confer with his wife and coming back again. She is a dominating type of woman but strangely, she doesn't come out to handle this particular situation. My people think if there was one situation that called for strong leadership, this was it and where is the woman to save the day?! I remark dryly that, this is one situation where personality is not going to work and our neighbor lady knows it. Not easy to intimidate someone who appears to be stoned, sitting 50 feet up where he is not likely to hear the commanding voice issuing from down below like that. Our neighbor in between move as if to come to our house to ask what to do but he still goes back to walking around the c. tree looking up, making gestures and going in to the house again. We are also worried but there is not a lot that can be done. We think about suggesting calling the Fire fighting department because they are known to save people from difficult situations like these.


Anyway, after nearly an hour or so of this  show, B decides a change of scene is in order. So he initiates maneuvers that will eventually take him down to terra firma. We hold our breath. After agonizing seconds, he is in a position to move vertically down. He starts slowly moving. Then towards the middle he stops. We wonder if he again decided to take a nap or if he is tired and just taking a rest. I help things along by suggesting may be he is planning to climb back up again to take something which he left behind. But he starts the downward journey again and finally land safely. Our n. pays him handsomely to prevent him from climbing more trees in this condition and the episode ends well.


I tell my folks that this should be a lesson for them all. I say, under no circumstances, B should be allowed to climb our trees again, especially in the morning when he is likely to be under the influence. We joke about the incidence for days after that.


A few days goes by. Another of those days I wake up late and goes for my coffee. I don't see anyone in the kitchen. What ho. May be busy outside doing this and that. I take my coffee and comes in search of the newspaper. I see the gathering in the front yard. I have a sinking feeling. I look where they are looking. I see the coconut tree and the coconuts/tender coconuts/green fronds and what not scattered around the tree. I look up the tree. I see B sitting on top of the world. Not 50 ft up but still a good 30 ft.
First thing I do is to look around to see if any neighbors are enjoying our predicament. None visible and I thank God for small mercies.


I fume at my folks, saying that they shouldn't have let this happen. Dad says, B looked sober and they decided to let him climb that one small tree as the nuts were falling down dry. That they didn't want to risk the nuts falling on someone's head. Bro and dad were dressed to go out but I said better wait. You people let this happen and go your way only after seeing B down safely. To cut a long story short, eventually B came down  without mishaps after what seemed like eons, and  was paid well to discourage him from climbing more trees right after..

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We still have coconuts falling down for want of harvesters. Sometimes I think I should get one of those machines and climb them myself, to avoid the nuts falling on someone's head.

What The Well Dressed Man Is Wearing

It was the title under which Bertram Wooster once contributed an article to Milady's Boudoir. B.Wooster is a character that is found in some works of P G Wodehouse, where you can't avoid meeting Jeeves, another character. You see, Jeeves and B.Wooster are like Mary and her little lamb. But I digress. Suffice to say, I needed a title for this post and thought this one somewhat covered the topic.

I am not the well dressed man. As I don't have a woman in my life, I don't get nagged about my dress sense. I am one that never bothers to wear pressed shirts or pants, unless it is absolutely necessary. I don't shop for dress when there is a discount or there is a special occasion. I go and buy on a whim. Or I have plan to buy one but it was kept pending because I couldn't find time to go buy it. Last time I bought something was when I was caught in the rain and the shop was close by.

My dress shopping wouldn't take 15 minutes in all. Any delay is typically due to a queue at bill payment. I walk in, and I already have an idea what I am going to buy. The assistant ask me what I am looking for and I say generally, pant piece or shirting etc. I know the shrewd sales assistant will try to follow my gaze and try to take out what I am looking for. So I cleverly avoid looking there again directly. So the s.a starts pulling out stuff and spread them hoping to catch any weakness on my face. I keep what I want in my peripheral vision and says, 'Not this.. That.. NOOO.. other one!..' to the s.a, just to be civil. That is expected of one in these establishments, I suppose. But when I had enough of this game, I ask the s.a to pull out what I wanted in the first place, and says I will take those.

While the s.a is busy measuring, cutting etc, I watch others wasting their time 'shopping'. I marvel at women talking about colors like mauve/almond/peach etc. But then women are a complicated lot. One can understand painters needing to talk about 1001 colors. Mauve my foot! I am one that live very happily with less than 10 colors. Black/White/Brown/Green/Red/Yellow/Blue and may be mixtures of those.

I am out of the shop in about 30 minutes. Now is the time to go to my tailor. There are times I put off visiting him for months, for no reason at all. Mostly I go and fix things up directly after I have bought the clothes.

Now this tailor is another funny character. We go a long way back. I used to go to him when I was a kid in half trousers. I just kept him all along. He is good in stitching pants. In all the years, like 28 years, he has changed his tailoring shop at least a dozen times. He keeps the name same but keeps changing the location. So first I have to locate him by calling him up or asking around, before taking my business to him.

From the moment I walk in, the show goes in predictable ways. He shows genuine pleasant surprise seeing me. After exchanging the pleasantries, he takes the tape and starts measuring. We start bargaining. He says, 1 more inch here? I say half! etc. Then he takes a look at the clothes materials and give his expert opinions. I probably already forgot what I bought in this one hour after buying it. So I ask him not to forget to cut and attach pieces to the bill so that I will recognize it next time. He laughs, says there is no need and he won't forget mine.

Then he pops the all important question. So when do I want it done? I know he will never give it on the agreed date, from my experience so far I ask him to take his own time and tell his date. Only, I should get it when I come to collect. This is something I am particular and he respects that But we still plays along. Now he looks at the calenders on his wall in a dreamy way. All his walls are covered with calenders. I look at his face. He looks on calenders. Then he says a date. I say right ho. And I leave.

As usual, I joke about my visit to the tailor when I get home. Folks ask me why I take the trouble to go to him if I know he is not going to deliver stuff on promised dates? I shrugs. So, days goes by. On the day before I am supposed to get my dress finished, I get a call at home. It would be a surprise if it didn't come. It will be my tailor, regretfully informing me that the work won't be finished on the agreed date because of such and such reasons. If I am attending the call, I will be grinning from ear to ear as soon as I know it is him. But I groan in to the phone and plays along. He says another date. I say okay in a resigned way. If the call was attended by somebody else, as soon as they tell me I had this call from my tailor, I know what the message is

Then after a couple of days, I get one more call from my tailor. Its not the D-Day yet. He says triumphantly that the work is done! There is genuine pride in his voice saying this. He has good reasons. It is earlier than the extended date. So he demands to know when I will be along to pick them up. Now the ball is in my court. I say a date. I might or might not go on the time I mentioned. Finally when I go to collect, if it was late, he says in a sort of accusing way that it was sitting there for days now!

Sometimes I pay him in advance. Sometimes I don't remember to do it in advance. But this had been a play we had been playing for years now. I like the man because, I think he is a good simple man. And I know that if I really needed to get something done in a hurry, I could depend on him to get it done. It has happened that way too.

Last time I saw him, I found he had gone all gray. He still was in his typical half sleeve vest and white dhoti. Smoking his beedi and shirtless. With the half shy smile on his face, as always.

He definitely tried to change with time, having made his card and all. I have one of his cards. So that I can call him up before going next time. He gave it when I complained that his shifting his shop is becoming a headache locating him.

His card says, 'Experts in Ladies & Gents dress making and Curtain works' in addition to the phone number and address.

An Old Fashioned Hair Cut

Evening with winds and the smell of rain in the air. Watchful for a snake that might dash across, who lives in the hole over there. Once on the main road, 40 kilo speed. On the road, people going home after work, those going to the shops to buy stuff.. Wonders if my barbarian will be at his post. He was not there yesterday, even though his shop was 'open'. Tried 3 times yesterday.

Reach the place, put the bike on stand. Lots of youngsters sitting in front of the barbershop. Looks like a crowd. There's 2 wheeler workshop just next to the barbershop. Folks waiting for repairs, air etc. My local mechanic and his official and unofficial apprentices busy. There's some kind of a huge flex board in front of both shops. I can't bother to be going around to look at it again.

A fattish guy reluctantly gets up from the crowd and steps forward. My barbarian. After all, things are not bad. He is there and is free at the moment. Crowd not applicable to his line of work for now. I put the footwear outside, go in and sit on The Chair. One wish one had wings, because the place is not very clean inside. I once asked my barber why ask people to keep their footwear outside since its dirtier inside. He mumbled something about the bloody workshop and people bringing the oiled footprints in.

I like my barber not because he is a master of his art. Unlike other barbers, mine doesn't talk a lot. He grunts and mumbles, if customers try to draw him in on chitchat. He has a stereo but doesn't blare it like the new age barbers. When he plays songs, which is very rare, he has a taste in music matching mine. Very very nice.

He wrap the towel around. He takes a bottle of water and spray my head liberally. Sometimes water comes out. Sometimes not. I think its more of a ritual. I don't care either. He gets to work. I lapse in to a reverie. I am aware of him occasionally lining up his sight between my right ear and skull or trying another angle. He looks first at his image and then look mine, in the eye. I register my grave approval in my eyes. I am being turned left, right etc in between..

**reveries**

Sounds have stopped. Now he drop some powder on my head and try to cut it off the tip of hairs. (I have asked him what he would do if the customer is totally gray. I specifically asked if he was going to use charcoal or some black substance for this part. He mumbled some answers and I let it go at that) More finishing touches.....

............

I wake up with a start when he shakes the towel rather explosively, that was wrapped around me. That is my cue to get out of the chair and hand the money. I obliges. I am happy. No one knows if he is happy. He is not one to show emotions. I say something like 'See ya!' on a cheery note. He grunts.

I step outside in a sunny mood. I feel friendly towards the world. My mechanic nods at me and smiles. I return the favor warmly. What ho! While starting the bike, I take my time to read all the flex boards around. The big one has the life size image of a huge elephant. It (board, not the elephant)says welcome to the land of my village for the elephant King. A name was there but I forgot it now. I smile expansively.

I go home. I like the wind tickling my ears now. I see young girls going after classes, all smiling and chattering. I feel kind towards the world. I see a retired school teacher on his evening walk, walking his pot belly. Very pleasant people, these retired school teachers with pot bellies. He is going for his evening gossip as well. While I go home, I passed the pan shop of Thrillon Chettan ( His name is Thrilochanan. Another word for Lord Shiva. Literally meaning the 3 eyed. But locals, especially kids like the shortened form Thrillon Chettan.. Chettan=Elder brother, or showing some affection, respect) Thr.Chn was sitting in his shop, making beedis and chatting with a couple of golden oldies. He has been sitting like that and making beedis all his life. I have seen him doing this for at least 35 years...I pass my childhood friend's granny on the road. She is walking back from the temple. Very old and stooped. Takes her time walking back to her home which is nearby. Another person satisfied with the world, just like me.....

I get home. My niece asks me if I already got my hair cut. I say, yes!! She says I could have got it done better. Now why didn't I tell the barber to fix such and such? Now, that is one thing I don't do often. I let the man go about his barbaric rituals without interference. Still, I take another look in my reflection before proceeding to the shower. Not bad.

That's about as good as it gets.