നിറങ്ങള്‍.

പണ്ടൊരിക്കല്‍,സ്കൂളില്‍ പഠിക്കുന്ന കാലത്ത്,  ’ബാലരമ’  എന്ന കുട്ടികളുടെ മാസികയില്‍വായിച്ച ഒരു കഥയിലെ  രണ്ടു വരികള്‍  ഓര്‍മ്മ വന്നു.  “ഉറക്കം…….അവള്‍ മന്ദം മന്ദം നടന്നു വരുന്നു…..ഒരു ചുവന്ന ഫ്രോക്കിട്ട കൊച്ചു പെണ്‍കുട്ടി….”

The Invisible Eyes!

When my daughter was 3 or 4 years old, I caught her doing some mischief.  Smiling innocently she asked me “ammakku engane manasillayi?” ( How did you understand Mom?).  I whispered mysteriously that I had eyes behind my back. She almost believed me! I have had experience with the “invisible eyes” of bosses who will catch you the only day that you arrive late for work, in a year! And now like the author says in the article below, I am looking forward to becoming a grandmother, with the wisdom of watching and listening, without interfering!

This article appeared in The Readers Digest (February 1992), is one among my collections.

When I was a toddler, I yearned for the day when I could go to school, away from my mother who had eyes in the back of her head and ears like radar. She a knew what I was doing behind her back, and often what I was going to do before I did it.

The golden day arrived and off I went to school, only to discover that teachers too have invisible  powers – if you tried to pop a sweet into your mouth while the teacher had her back to you, “beetle eyes” would spot it. You could whisper at the back of the class and she would hear.

I struggled through my school days with those invisible eyes and ears upon me, knowing that only once I left school would I be free of them.  But that was not to be, as I found out in my first job. Mention to a fellow worker that you were going to ask to go home early and in would walk your boss with a job that had to be finished yesterday.

What I needed was to get married – but mothers-in-law also have powers. Forget to dust the table, and she would slowly run her fingers across it.

 Finally,  I became a mother myself, and guess what? I have those invisible eyes and ears too. I know from the look on my children’s faces when I catch them in mischief.

But I look forward to becoming a granny – you see, grannies have learnt the wisdom of just watching and listening – without interfering.

Daughter : Amma………….have you ever been pregnant?

Me: Huh? What a question to ask a Mom! What do you think? The stork brought you and  your brother neatly wrapped  in a bundle??

Daughter (winking) : Oh  amma…..Its just that I was wondering whether there has been any pregnant lady ever in this world seeing all the hoo-haa over Bachchan bahu getting pregnant!


Picture courtesy : Internet

ഒന്നാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
ഒന്ന് കൂടിയിരിക്കാന്‍
ഒരു  മോഹം?


രണ്ടാം ക്ലാസിലെ
രണ്ടാം  ബെഞ്ചിലിരുന്നു
രമണിയെ നുള്ളിയ കാര്യവും
രണ്ടാളറിയാതെ
രണ്ടു നെല്ലിക്കാ മണി കൊടുത്തതും…



മൂന്നാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
മുനീറുമായി കൂടി,
മാലതി ടീച്ചറുടെ
മുല്ലപ്പൂ ചൂടിയ
മുടിയുടെ അഴകു  വര്‍ണിച്ചതും….


നാലാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
നാരായണി ടീച്ചറുടെ കയ്യില്‍ നിന്നും
നാലാള്‍ കാണ്കെ
നാലടി കിട്ടിയതും…


അഞ്ചാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
അയലത്തിരിക്കുന്ന സുന്ദരി
അമ്പിളി അരവിന്ദന്‍റ
അര കണ്ണെറിഞ്ഞു നോക്കിയതും…


ആറാം    ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
ആമിനയെ
ആമ്പല്‍ പൂ പറിച്ചു
ആശിപ്പിച്ച്ചതും ….


ഏഴാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
ഏഴാം കടലിനക്കരെ പോകുന്ന
ഏഴഴകുള്ള സ്വപ്നം കണ്ടതും….


എട്ടാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
എഴുത്തച്ഛന്‍റ രാമായണം
എഴുതി പഠിച്ചതും…


ഒന്‍പതാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
ഒത്തിരിനാള്‍ നോട്ടമിട്ടിരുന്ന
ഓമനയോട്
ഒന്നിച്ചിരുന്നു സ്വകാര്യം പറഞ്ഞ നിമിഷങ്ങളും….


പത്താം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍
പാട്ടും പാടി
പലരെയും
പരിഹസിച്ചതും…


എല്ലാം എല്ലാം….മധുരിക്കുന്ന ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍
അന്‍പതാം പിറന്നാള്‍ ആഘോഷിക്കുമ്പോള്‍
അഞ്ചു വയസ്സുകാരനെപ്പോലെ
ഒന്ന് കൂടി ഒന്നാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍ ഇരിക്കാന്‍ മോഹം..


വെറുതെ ഈ  മോഹങ്ങള്‍ എന്നറിയുമ്പോഴും
വെറുതെ മോഹിക്കുവാന്‍ മോഹം
എന്ന് പാടിയ സിനിമ ഗാനം
ഇന്നും നാവിന്‍ തുമ്പത്ത് ….

കാര്‍മേഘങ്ങള്‍ ഉരുണ്ടു കൂടിയ മാനത്തു അവള്‍ കണ്ണും  നട്ടിരുന്നു , ആരെയോ
എന്തിനെയോ  പ്രതീക്ഷിച്ചു.  നിമിഷങ്ങള്‍ കടന്നു പോയി, ഭൂമിദേവിയെ
പുളകമണിയിച്ചു  മാനത്തു നിന്നും വീഴുന്ന മഴത്തുള്ളികള്‍ എന്തെ അവളുടെ
മനസ്സിന്നു കുളിര്‍മയേകിയില്ല? നീറുന്ന മനസ്സിന് സാന്ത്വനം നാല്കാന്‍ എന്തെ
ആരുമെത്തിയില്ല?

വരില്ല എന്നറിയാമായിരുന്നിട്ടും മോഹിച്ചു…..ഒരു വാക്ക് കേള്‍ക്കാന്‍ കാതോര്‍ത്തിരുന്നു…

മനസ്സിന്ടെ അഗാധതയില്‍ എവിടെയോ ഒളിഞ്ഞിരുന്ന ദുഃഖം അണപൊട്ടി ഒഴുകി.
കണ്ണുനീര്‍മുത്തുകള്‍  കവിളില്‍ നീര്‍ച്ചാലുകള്‍ സൃഷ്ടിച്ചു. രണ്ടു കുഞ്ഞു കൈകള്‍  കവിളില്‍ തലോടി. “അമ്മ എന്തിനാ കരയുന്നത് ?”

അപ്പോഴും മനസ്സു ആശിച്ചുകൊണ്ടിരുന്നു.. …..

ഒരു വാക്കിനു….

അങ്ങകലെ, വിളികേള്‍ക്കാത്ത ദൂരത്തു നിന്നും അവന്‍ മൊഴിഞ്ഞു
“പ്രിയേ…”

Venue :Al Ain Zoo, UAE

Date :29^th May 2011

Time:6pm

Daughter : oooh Amma…. I want a Tiger as
a pet. Pleaseee…
Me:
hmmm
Daughter ( a few minutes later)- ooooh and a
Giraffe too…
Me :
(silent)
Daughter( a few more minutes later): oooh
and a Turtle, Tortoise, Elephant, Camel, Dolphins…..(Don’t forget  the Dog and Cat she has been asking for
always!)

Me (seriously): Marry Tarzan!

My story SHE    won a prize!

SHE
She watched as her brother eyed the unniyappam  in their elder sister’s plate. He was about to snatch one slyly while she was totally immersed in reading a  book.  She called out a warning “chechi…”  He glared at her at having missed the chance to get an extra unniyappam. 

“I won’t give you my shirt and trousers today” he told her.   He relented when she agreed to give him an unniyappam from her plate.  Being the youngest and only son, he had got an extra unniyappam from Amma making her wish she also was a boy. Still the thrill of getting to wear a boy’s shirt and trouser made her barter the unniyappam for the one-time-wearing of her younger brother’s shirt and trousers. Amma did not know of their barter, most of the days she chose to barter her eatables or her window seat in the school bus just to wear her brother’s shirts and trousers.

She chose the brown colour trousers and a red shirt from his suitcase. He was least bothered what she wore as long as he got the unniyappam and also she agreed to play with him. She wore them and looked into the mirror. She did  want to cut her hair short too like a boy, but then Amma would not allow her to.  All females in the family had lovely long hair and she used to make special hair oil at home, with coconut oil and poovankurunthal plant that grew in the yard. It was her duty to pluck them and help Amma grind them on the ammi kallu. She would wander around the yard, her eyes identifying the plant by the shape of the leaf and the tiny white and violet coloured flowers.

She felt the shirt pockets. She simply loved to wear her brother’s shirts. The pockets, where she could stock all the knick knacks that she needed while playing outside their home. It thrilled her. They went out and played until her brother’s friends came and took him away.  They were going to the temple ground to play, he said. She walked back home dejected, she was not allowed to go outside the compound. She fervently wished that she was a boy  and had the same freedom as her brother.  Achan was in the front room buried in his office files and Amma was there chatting with him about his day at work. As she entered home her mother frowned at her dress. Chechi was still reading the book.  She was glad that they were going to their ancestral home  the next day.  School was closed for a week and she was looking forward to meet her cousins.

She joined her younger brothers at play  after she helped grandmother with the kitchen work.  Girls are supposed to know all house work, her grandmother told her as she taught her how to scrape a coconut and grind it on the ammi kallu smoothly, to make delicious fish curry and other curries. She did all that gladly and asked “Ammomma, can I go and play now?” Permission granted she rushed to play with her brothers. 

It was tea time and all of them sat at the table munching homemade jack fruit chips served from a big Lactogen tin.  One of her brothers commented on the ISI mark on the tin.  They were puzzled about the ISI mark seen on that and she offered her bit of observation.   She had been watching her brothers repairing an electric switch the previous day, wishing she also could work like that.  This is not a girl’s job they had teased her and she felt dejected. Again she wished she was born a boy.  She had cleaned up the place after their job was over and she knew that the cover of the electric switch had the same ISI mark on them.  They guffawed. Was there any connection between Milk powder and electric switch, they asked her. They teased her saying she was crazy to think that way. She knew she had seen it there and it was the same symbol that she saw on the tin too. Unable to convince them, she  munched the chips and went to play  with them.

Years passed by and she saw the changes brought about by nature. The slight mound that was developing on the upper part of her body and the curves on her hips,  slowly shaping  her into a woman. That was the end of her trysts with her brothers shirt and trousers. Amma’s frowns grew stronger and she wistfully resigned herself to the fact that she would  also be compelled to wear the long skirt and blouse like chechi. Now she had to sneak out of the house for a game of cricket with her brother or to  try out a bit of cycling.

Slowly she accepted the change. That she was different from a boy and there was no point in brooding.  All she had to do was study and do the house work.  None restricted her studies, no one told her that “studies” was a male bastion. So she happily studied  and obtained the much coveted seat in the best engineering college of the state.  Her father was apprehensive.  His daughter, who would make an ideal housewife, why send her for a course in engineering?  Amma was more supportive talking about the scholarship she won and how there would not be any extra expenses on that count. Or was Amma trying to live her life encouraging her daughter to work, as her own talents lay waste, not allowed to do study further by her elder brothers and her father, who got her married at the age of nineteen?

The thoughts came visiting her again, the wish that she was a boy, as her classmates made study cum pleasure trips to different parts of the state on their own. How could  girls travel with boys in a women unsafe state? Literacy, female literacy was the highest in the state, but safety? Sigh! she kept wishing again.

Undaunted, she kept working.  Girls mug up lessons and get rank, went the common refrain.  She felt proud when she solved problems on her own and stood on par with the boys and landed with a good job within the limited choice she had in her home state.

Workplace also taught her the same. Gender discrimination, subtle and glaring at times.  Still she tried her very best with the very few colleagues and bosses who encouraged her.  After two decades of work she chose to resign.

When forms were filled up, she found everyone mention “ house wife”  in the occupation column.  One day out of sheer curiosity she asked, if a man resigns his job before his retirement age would they write “house husband’ or “retired”? After all she had voluntarily retired from service before the retirement age!

It’s a mans world out there, they say. On the way to celebrate half a century of walking on this earth, she muses about her life. The different roles she played. What she achieved. Maybe she does not have a visiting card that  calls out a fancy designation,  but she looks proudly at her husband who is highly successful. She looks at the two children stepping out into their own life successfully.  She looks back at a satisfying career she left behind.  In her heart she knows she has achieved something  with the limited facilities she had.

 Proudly she says I am a woMAN. 

Achan – father
Amma – Mother
Ammoomma - Grandmother
Unniyappam – a delicacy made with rice flour, jaggery and banana fried in oil
Poovankurunthal – a small herbal plant with tiny white/violet flowers.
Ammi kallu – grinding stone

Celebrating “FemInspiration”

Hey, you Dude on the Bull!!!

It was an ethereal feeling.  I could feel myself floating, like a gentle breeze, a whiff of smoke.  I could see myself rising up, as my mortal body lay on the cot. I looked back to see my face for the last time. The prominent white hairs, a la Indira Gandhi style as my sister called them, along with the prominent wrinkles on my forehead, which, I smugly showed off as my “Einstein” wrinkles.  My soul was being taken away.  Heaven or hell, I was not sure. I had to wait until I met Lord Yama’s personal secretary Mr.Chitragupta. I tried to picture whom he would resemble, the dhoti-clad-thick-rim-spectacled old gentleman of yore or the new generation mouse-in-palm-eyes-on-monitor geek?

There is a slight jerk as I am lifted on to the Buffalo. So finally I meet him face to face…er….I have no face, but then I see him directly.  Lord Yama, with his handle bar moustache, on his Buffalo. 

 I try to suppress a giggle that erupts within; after all I am meeting Him for the first time,  the Lord of death, King Yama.  When I see the revered one’s mount, the mighty Buffalo, I am reminded of the item number remix “Baabuji zara dheere chalo, Bijli khadi yahan bijli khadi….….” the scene where the voluptuous Yana Gupta slides down from the Buffalo, shaking her assets as men drooled over her.   Although not well endowed as Yana Gupta, I too felt like singing “Yamaraj ji, mujhe vaapas bhej do, bees saal aur muhje jeena hai….” But then I was a soul now, my mortal body lay there.  Could souls talk? Er..ahem…. I tried clearing my throat. Yippeee…….Souls have voice; they can talk, sing and giggle to their hearts content.

I wanted to confront Him (didn’t my astrological forecast say that I will live up to 72 and if lucky another 5 or 6 years?) and ask whether Mr. Chitragupta had made a mistake in presenting him the daily report of the people who were to be taken to His abode.   You know, with all those Trojans, worms and other viruses doing the rounds even Lord Yama’s laptop could be infected!

 “Hey, Dude” I hear a familiar call.

Oh, that’s my daughter’s voice, I look around. Ah! There she is, dressed in her blue Jeans and her favourite black striped tee,  just back from college, her bag with books still hanging from her shoulders.

 I start the conversation “Yamaraj ji, she is calling you.”

Lord Yama “‘Me? Huh?  I heard someone call Dude”

Me (excited and thrilled) “Yes, yes, that’s you. Stop a moment and listen again.”

Lord Yama taps the horn of the Buffalo and it stops for a second as the shrill voice of my daughter rents the air once again.

“Hey, you Dude on the Bull!”

I shriek with laughter, but then only Lord Yama can hear me now. After all I am a soul and not visible to mere mortals.

Lord Yama looks confused; he walks on with my soul.

I try to correct my daughter…”psst…..you know his mount is not a bull, it’s a buffalo”

Either she didn’t hear or she couldn’t care less.

“Hey, Dude on the Bull, come back here, this instant.”

“psst psst …Yamaraj ji turn back, you can’t fight with my daughter.” I tell him in a hushed tone.

 He is in for another tirade. My daughter’s angry voice rocks the boat er…..the Buffalo ride that I am enjoying.

“She cooks yummy food, she washes my clothes, combs my hair, and takes care of umpteen number of things that I can’t list out and how dare you take her away? You expect me to do all this by myself?  Come back this instant and give her back to me.”

Wow, wasn’t I glad that I told her stories of Satyavan, Savitri and Lord Yama in her younger days and complimented them with the pictures and illustrations of the good old Amar Chitra katha comics?

The phone rings. Lord Yama attends the call. Somehow I gather that it is his personal secretary, Mr. Chitragupta, on the other end.

“Oh umm.. you mean it’s a mistake?  She was not to be in today’s list? You better arrange for a new virus scan and set things right.  I am not very happy at being called “Dude on the Bull” by pretty young girls, who don’t even know a bull from a buffalo, when I take their mommies away” He shuts his cell phone, visibly annoyed.

I look at Lord Yama with an I-told-you–so expression.

He releases my soul; I am back into my body.

I wake up from my sleep and sing.

“Back, Back, Back
Back, Back, Back
It don’t matter what I do
Always end up here with you
Baby… I’m back”

(Song courtesy- Rihana)

“Ammaaa……..amma…, wake up. What is this, you are singing in your sleep!”

I wake up and rub my eyes to see my daughter in front of me, looking all studious with her specs on her petite nose and the thick Chemistry text in her hand.

“Huh…Where is that dude on the bull er.. Buffalo … who was taking me away…er…were you not in your jeans and striped tee just now…”

“Oh amma, you have been dreaming! I warned you not to talk to strangers on the bus and now see what’s happening after chatting with that stupid lady on the bus” she says knowingly.

I come back to reality with a thud. No Dude on the Bull, no joy rides on Buffalo, no Chitragupta or his errors in daily reports,  just my bed where I had been sleeping peacefully and dreaming.

I am alive.

My daughter goes back to her studies and I turn around in bed to catch up with my lost sleep.  I keep wondering about my dream. No wonder, it’s the chat with that lady in the bus that gave me this weird dream.

I was on bus no 201R travelling to meet a young friend at Bangalore. Being new to the city, my friend had given me necessary instructions about the bus number, route etc.  Just to be on the safer side, I asked one of the passengers for some information and that got us chatting.   On learning that I was based abroad, she immediately asked me “Oh, you get a lot of chocolates there, right?” and without a pause and pointing to my bag asked me if I had some in my bag.  Of course, I was carrying a single pack of Toblerone for my friend and was reluctant to part with it to a complete stranger I met on the bus.

Then she told me that she knew astrology and palm reading and offered to read my palm. With enough time to reach my destination, I was curious and let her.  After the initial you are well educated, you own a house, you have troubles etc etc, she came to the life line and quickly counted 10, 20, 30……..60 and said “That’s it, you will live upto age 60”.

Back home after the visit, I told my daughter about the incident.  “You won’t leave me and go that fast, will you, amma?” she asked with concern.   Not wanting to spoil her mood by discussing things that are beyond our control, I joked “In case that happens, be like Savitri and get me back from Lord Yama.” 

“Oh, you mean that Dude on the Bull” she asks.

“Yep, the Dude on the Buffalo” I correct her. We laugh and share the light moment.

Somehow I secretly wonder, did the lady in the bus really have any psychic powers to know that I was carrying some chocolates in my bag?

 Picture courtesy : Internet

07:00:00 hrs  Sept. 20, 2010

“Have a nice day”

She smiled and waved to him as he left to spend another hectic day at work. She turned back, after bolting the door. The whole day was before her, 11 hours to be exact. She could do what she wanted, leisurely. Cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, surf the net, play word games but then it was all to be done by herself. And she loved her solitude.

She put on her shorts and sat on the exercise bike. The hot summer days in the Middle East, where they were based, made it difficult for the morning walks she loved so much.  A 30 minute work out on the bike and a few rounds of Surya Namaskaar in the confines of the air conditioned flat would make her energetic. Still, she longed for the refreshing walk in the gardens / parks in India, watching the squirrels scurry across her path and hearing the chirping birds. Nothing to beat those early morning walks and the smiles she saw all around.


One hour later she was there in front of the mirror, applying a home made face mask, a paste of besan and milk. It was then that it caught her eye. Her eyes fell upon the round black object that was stuck on the extreme right hand bottom corner of the mirror.

Size 3, she noted mentally. Having used Shilpa stick-on bindis all these years, she knew at one glance that it was size 3.

Size 3, Black. Huh? She never wore black bindi, neither did she use size 3.  She was puzzled.

18:00:00 hrs Sept. 20, 2010

 He is back from work, reclining on the sofa, solving Sudoku. They have a pact that she solves only the Kakuro and leaves the Sudoku for him published daily in The Gulf News. 

She stands, arms akimbo, in front of him.

She : Two days back you asked me whether I wear black Bindis. Why?

He (eyes still on Sudoku) :  Just like that. I always see you in Maroon ones and hence the question.

She :   Oh, is it so? Then just look at the mirror in the guest washroom, there is a size 3, black bindi there.

He:  I am not sure of the size of my dresses and you talk to me about the size of bindis?……My God!  these females!

She ( to herself) : yeah, I should know better. I should have asked you about those pipelines or tanks you design or erect or whatever!

She (Aloud again) : Ha! That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Which female has pasted that Bindi there?  Size 3, black!

He (still not lifting his eyes from the Sudoku game): hmmm…

She: Who is she, what’s her name, how old is she?

He (mumbles, as he tries to finish the game of  Sudoku): hmmm… 3, 5.

She: 35 ????

He (absent mindedly, concentrating on Sudoku) : hmmm…

He finishes the game, folds the paper and looks at her.

She (turning her face at an angle, nose slightly in the air) : Look at my skin, isn’t it glowing like a 35 year old?? The home made face pack is working well, right?

He : Ah, yes I noticed a glow on your face as you opened the door for me today.

She (lifting her top ) : The Surya Namaskar and exercise are doing me good. See my aalila vayar (nearest translation can be flat tummy, but I don’t think that does justice to the Malayalam word)

He: Wow! Who can say you gave birth to two kids? And that too they are past teenage!

She pushes off his probing hand and does a cat walk on the plush carpet they purchased last week.

He : And wow again, your thighs look really slim. Kareena will have a complex seeing you!

She (smugly) : So, how old do I look now ?

He : Not more than 35 dear.

She returns to her earlier posture. Arms akimbo.  Looks him straight in the eye and asks, 

“Then when I look 35, why did you bring a 35 year old female who wore size 3 black bindi, home?” 

She tries to suppress her giggles.  He just winks and pulls her close to him. A hurried kiss and they laugh together as he goes to check out the size 3 black bindi, stuck at the extreme right hand bottom corner of the mirror.

He mumbles that they should have a statutory warning on these bindi packets “ Sticking bindis on the mirror for reuse can cause  marital discord.”

Picture courtesy : Internet