I want my childhood back!

I again want to walk through the Rubber trees and make cricket balls with 'ottukara!'

I again want to catch the smell of ‘chenathandan’ and get cautious.

I again want to stop at Kumar's house and pick him to play with us.

I agan want to ride my 'Captain' cycle my Achachan brought for me from Sengottai and I again want to take Vino and Prabha on it.

I again want to sleep with my grandparents, ha!!

I want to darken my mustache again!

I still want to run down the mountain as we come back from the church in Edamon!

I want to get beaten by my teachers once more!

I again want to wave my hands to the meter-gauge train that passes by my home, and collect as many garlands thrown by Ayyappans!

I again want to miss a homework and write an imposition!

I again want to get taught by Amma! My pavam amma!

I again want to hide under a ‘vazhayila’, escaping from the rain and slowly get wet completely!

I want to see our cow, Mini and her children for the last time!

I again want to tie an ‘Oonjal’!

I again want to climb trees!

I again want to pick coins from Achachan's drawer and deny it till he finds it out.

I again want Ammachi's ‘Moru curry’.

I again want to make cigarretes from ‘chakiri’ and smoke it with my brother.

I want to go back once more!

Please take me back! Once more please?

(Glossary for those who do not know Malayalam)
Ottukara - the dried up latex on the tap mark on a rubber tree. One can tie it to make real rubber balls.
Chenathandan- a common snake in Kerala, which has no poison./ Smell of Chenathandan - An unpleasant smell of a kind of wild flower.
Ayyappans- the pilgrims of Sabarimala, who used to throw garlands towards us, the group of Children..
Vazhayila- Plantain leaf. One can easily stand under it during rain, but if the winds come, you will be cheated!
Oonjal- A swing tied on a tree as part of Onam in Kerala.
Moru curry- A tasty curry from Kerala, which is made from curd. Our Grandmother used to make the tastiest Moru curry we ever had.
Chakiri- Coconut shell's grains. We two used to fill this into a paper roll and smoke them as cigarettes. One day we go caught, and the story needs another post here.

We can miss things by a second and loss them forever. A whole lot of things; even a loving grandfather.

It was our Christmas vacation, and we, Vinod, Prabha and me, were thrilled to be at Edamon, a place where our grandparents used to live alone. We came here to spend the whole ten days’ vacation.

Edamon has a nostalgic grasp in our lives. We used to live there earlier. We finished our primary schooling in this majestic land… the slinky canal flowing beside our house took us the first lessons of swimming… We rode our first cycle through the dust-filled roads of this place… The caning I had received with screech from Joykutty sir in the 4th standard of Govt Lower Primary School has its piquant reminiscence even toGday. I along with my brother, used to buy beedis from Pathumma Beevi’s shop and smoke them all hiding in Guard sir’s murky rubber estate! By now, you must have got a clear hint that how poignantly we had been affected by this place. Well, let’s come back; I will tell you more about Edamon later in another story.

Upon our arrival, Christmas was officially announced in the house. A beam of smile had dawned and spread across the old parent’s faces; like a beam of light cheep into a closed room all of a sudden. A flamboyant Christmas tree was put up, adorned with hanged lightings, color papers and stars. Our grandpa was an expert in making Christmas stars. As our arrival was pre-decided, he had already made all the arrangements to make stars. He cut bamboo in to small bendy sticks, and tied them with tags. With the help of papers and glue, he finally carved out an attractive star, which had six big corners. We hanged it in front of the tree and lighted a candle inside it.

A Christmas carol was performed in front of the tree and there was no other audience other than our exhilarated grandparents. We were treated with kisses. It’s great to be blessed by your grandparents, isn’t it?

The night was amazing. All the five of us slept on a single bed specially made. Stories were told, upon which dreams weaved wings and one of the most beautiful and obsessing nights was being flowed away.

The next day was a Sunday. The morning was promising a long day to kick-start our vacation lookouts. Swimming, trekking, fishing and every groovy option was on the list, and to begin with, church going wasn’t an option but a must-to-do.

Breakfast was on the table and everyone except my brother and me was there. We weren’t in the premises. Later we were told that our grandmother called us as aloud as she could. But those calls weren’t reaching our eardrums.

We missed a breakfast with our grandfather.

It was with our grandpa that we used to go to church. This day, he felt uneasy and we started off alone.

We missed him walking with us.

Before we could reach the church, Panikkathi, our helper came from home and told us that our grandfather was not well and he wanted to urgently meet us.

We ran back. We didn't talk anything. We threw our legs roughly into the dried up rice fields and their narrow walkable bunds; three hearts beat at the same rumbling pace!

On the way, we heard someone saying, 'He is no more'. We didn’t hear it.

But the sight at home wasn’t familiar to us. We had never seen so many people standing near our small house before. Cornered here and there, they threw silence at each other. Their gloomy eyes stared at us mercifully and attended us with care as we slowly stepped into the house.

In front of us, our grand father was lying, blanketed, like a white cloud flowing in the air of prayers. His eyes were closed like a flower fell on the ground. His toes were tied and nose was blocked. Smell of agarbatti filled our senses and we felt that it was not him who was lying there.

Tears were not stopped. The love he gave us came out as tears and we had nothing to stop them. Was he just a grandfather to us? No way. He was our teacher; he taught us in the Sunday schools. He was our mate in the fields. He was our fruit-vendor; he gave us from mangoes to jackfruits to eggfruits. He was our friend; with whom we took baths in the nostalgic rivulet called chirattakonam. Nearby that rivulet, he had secretly fed a rat-snake christened by him as ‘kumar’. One day we found him feeding Kumar and that made us jealous of the snake. We were attached to him so intensely. Above all that he was a gentle man we could take pride of. V K George. That’ was not just a name for him. That was an address.

At that moment, we didn’t really realize what were about to miss. Tears had sunk our emotions and sobbings our thinking. We were sure of only one thing that our grandfather was not going to be with us any more. That no other home-made star would adorn our Christmas trees. That neither he would walk with us to the fields nor bring sweetest jackfruits freshly picked.

There was a smile on his face. It shined his face like the way the stars he made shined our faces. Looking at me it said, "never miss a chance to be with your parents, ever in your life!"

Young sister of mine later told me that she had seen the soul of our grandpa riding up in the air like a seraph, tinted by the scented smoke hailed from agarbattis burnt in front of his dead body. His spirit was white in colour.

Panikkathi was a servant of my grandmother. Dark and short, she was a bold woman of around 60 years old.

She belonged to a crazy gene as she used to do every weird thing in life such as smoking, drinking, dance after boozing etc.

During our childhood, she used to tell us stories of ghosts and fiends so that we wouldn’t get out of home at night to catch fireflies.

Catching fireflies was only meant for us, the luckiest kids like us!

What I wanted to tell you now is a melancholic note from Panikkathi’s life.

Panikkan was the husband of our heroin. He was an old sagely fellow, who took care of a temple nearby his home. One day he died leaving Panikkathi alone in this world. Between trembling nights, Panikkathi lived her lonely days.

One day, an old man from a distant place came to stay with Panikkathi. Panikkathi found it wholehearted to offer a stay to the homeless man.

Days passed like a brakeless car. And Love happened! Panikkathi was in love with that man! Having decided to be the better halves, they fixed a date for their wedding.

The auspicious day came. Dressed in her simple bridal clothes, Panikkathi came out. Like shy conquered, she was looking down and smiling to the floor. Panikkan’s temple was seemed to be a happy preface for her new life.

The registrar came! The registration book came! But the bridegroom did not come! He had gone out urgently to buy some stuff and not turned up yet!

Raising her face, Panikkathi found that there was no one near her! Neither the registrar nor the registration book! Like mocking her, a leaf fell down from a nearby coconut tree.

It was said that Panikkathi had collected a ‘big’ amount for her wedding and her bridegroom had taken her for a ride!

Kottayam is known as the Cultural Center of Kerala. But when you are there, if you don’t take ultra care of your valuables, you might say the contrary.

Yes, some times things are boasted above what’s it actually. May be to make money, or just to make some noise.

In my dreams, Kottayam has always been a lurid land of nightmares. Once upon a time, it had me in tears and fears.

After degree, I have planned to take advertising as my career stream. I have found an institution in Coimbatore offering PG in Advertising and was on my way to get admission there. I was with my Dad.

Till Kottayam, my briefcase was there in the rack of the bus. But when the bus reached the station at Kottayam, the Briefcase was found missing and replaced by another empty one.

I felt sweat on my palms! My Dad was almost mad! Who took the briefcase? It had contained a better deal of me! All my certificates, diaries, money and almost everything that I had been valuing till that date…

The police hub was found almost empty but more disappointing was the way the one cop was reacting. With a needless smile, he had poured in our details into his casebook and asked us to leave the place as soon as possible. He told us that incidents like this are very common in Kottayam and it would be ideal if the passengers could take care of their valuables. Advice, the most commonly available remedy to your disasters!!!

‘Where to go now?’ thoughts popped up as we have realized that there was no money left in the pockets.

A father and son, belonged to values, prestige and hopes, are now made beggars in a town, the cultural center!

The last pocket of my multi-sachet-pants had some hopes for me. Two hundred bucks given by my grandmother was in it, like a green in the desert.

With the remaining shock in mind, we left the place.

Till today, at least in my most eccentric dreams, I have hoped for the return of my Hard Earned certificates from a Mr. Gentleman… who would have mistakenly took away my briefcase and my scopes!!

My Dad says that the person would have completed his never-dreamt-about professional course and now working in any of the top companies! Another Santhosh George Wilson!!